Journeys Through Bookland Volume X Part 14

That inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude. --Page 1.

Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky. --Page 5.

The bonny lark, companion meet, Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet Wi' spreckled breast, When upward springing, blithe to greet The purpling east. --Page 8.

He prayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best, who loveth best All things both great and small. --Page 57.

The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that! --Page 149.

By fairy hands their knell is rung, By forms unseen their dirge is sung. --Page 151.

Still stands Thine ancient Sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart.

Lord G.o.d of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget! --Page 164.

The remarkably adult yet innocent expression of their open and serene eyes is very memorable. All intelligence seems reflected in them. They suggest not merely the purity of infancy, but a wisdom clarified by experience. Such an eye was not born when the bird was, but is coeval with the sky it reflects. The woods do not yield such another gem.

--Page 263.

Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling gra.s.s, Rain-awakened flowers, All that ever was Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpa.s.s. --Page 278.

Imagine a stream seventy yards broad divided by a pebbly island, running over seductive riffles and swirling into deep, quiet pools where the good salmon goes to smoke his pipe after his meals. --Page 287.

I once had a sparrow alight on my shoulder for a moment while I was hoeing in a village garden, and I felt that I was more distinguished by that circ.u.mstance than I should have been by any epaulet I could have worn. --Page 299.

And while in life's late afternoon Where cool and long the shadows grow, I walk to meet the night that soon Shall shape and darkness overflow, I cannot feel that thou art far, Since near at hand the angels are; And when the sunset gates unbar, Shall I not see thee waiting stand, And, white against the evening star, The welcome of thy beckoning hand? --Page 389.

He who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright. --Page 397.

(Volume VIII)

Go tell the Spartans, thou that pa.s.seth by, That here, obedient to their laws, we lie. --Page 90.

Thermopylae had her messenger of defeat: The Alamo had none. --Page 152.

England expects every man to do his duty. --Page 297.

An' Oh! be sure to fear the Lord alway!

An' mind your duty, duly, morn and night! --Page 322.

They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright. --Page 322.

The best acid is a.s.siduity. --Page 332.

(Volume IX)

Write me as one who loves his fellow men. --Page 11.

When beggars die, there are no comets seen; The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.

--Page 145.

Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. --Page 145.

_Et tu Brute!_ Then fall, Caesar. --Page 154.

Surely man is but a shadow, and life a dream. --Page 286.

All service ranks the same with G.o.d. --Page 301.

The year's at the spring, And day's at the morn; Morning's at seven; The hillside's dew-pearled: The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn; G.o.d's in his heaven-- All's right with the world. --Page 303.

For what are the voices of birds-- Ay, and of beasts--but words, our words, Only so much more sweet? --Page 314.

I will pa.s.s each, and see their happiness, And envy none--being just as great, no doubt, Useful to men, dear to G.o.d as they! --Page 317.

CHAPTER VIII

HOW TO READ FICTION

1. _Different Kinds of Literature_

If there were but one kind of literature, it would be an easy matter to give the few directions that would be necessary to make good readers. In reality there are, however, several types, so different in their purpose, style and content that the reader must study them in many different ways if he would get the varied and inspiring messages. To appreciate what this means, let us look over the field.

For our purposes, as has been said, true literature, as distinguished from the practical literature of fact, may be grouped under the two general heads of poetry and prose. At first thought the difference between the two seems wide and unmistakable. Poetry differs from prose not only in form, but also in rhythm, music, beauty and sentiment. The former is usually more figurative, and aims to stimulate the imagination more keenly and to enthral the feelings more completely. Upon a closer consideration it is seen that poetry and good prose have much in common, and that often it is really but a question of form, for lyric beauty glows in the phrases of our finest prose, and both heart and soul are moved by its powerful appeals.

There are narratives and arguments in both poetry and prose, and essays in the form of both. For this reason our general method of study may be the same for both, except when form alone is considered.

The simplest and most universal form of literature is found in the catchy little nursery rhymes which the children of the nation learn at their cradles from the lips of their elders. In these, if careful search be made, may be found most of the elements which in broader and more complex forms appear in the favorite selections of maturer years.

Following the nursery rhymes appear the fables, fairy tales, myths and legends that have formed the literature of earlier races and have come down to us to be amplified and placed in modern form for the children of this age.

It has been said that in every child is seen the history of the race, and that from infancy to manhood he typifies every stage of progress the race has seen. In early years he loves the fables where animals speak, feel and act like human beings; for in former times mankind believed the fables to be truth. A child peoples his world with fairies, good and bad, and believes in the limitless power of magic. A little later he loves the deeds of the legendary heroes and revels in the marvelous acts of the more than human beings in whom the ancients believed. Later the stirring adventures of the real heroes of discovery and exploration, the heroic exploits of warriors on land and sea, and the courageous acts of n.o.ble men and women in every walk in life appeal to him; while still later, real history seizes the imagination of the youth, who now looks for the causes of things and learns to trace out their effects. He learns to reason and to separate truth from falsehood. Casting aside the wild tales of boyhood, he gathers up instead the facts of life and experience, and draws his inspiration from the n.o.ble works of the world's greatest writers.

2. _Reading Stories_

In the development of literary taste, fiction plays as prominent a part as fact, and to fiction, considered in its broadest sense, every child is deeply indebted. Many err in thinking that a stern diet of facts is the only nutriment the child mind needs, and still others err only in a less degree when they look upon fiction as perhaps a necessary evil, but one which must be avoided as much as possible and set aside at the earliest possible moment. All fiction has in it some elements of truth, and they are the sources of the inspiration which comes to children when, in their world of make-believe, they live with their beautiful and heroic friends of the story books.

To read fiction properly is to get from it the truth, which, however, is often liable to be lost by the reader in the excitement of the tale, or to pa.s.s undetected in the easy-running sentences. As fict.i.tious narratives in prose and poetry in the great majority of cases form the larger part of children's reading, it is to them we should turn our attention. Before we begin their specific study a few principles claim our attention:

Good stories are the most helpful things a child can read.

The more intelligently and sympathetically a story is read, the more powerful for good it is.

The imagination of a child is the most powerful agent in the development of his mind.

The imagination acts only to combine, enlarge, or diminish ideas that enter the mind. It never creates.