Copyright
Charles Herbert Sylvester.

Journeys Through Bookland — Volume 4 online

. (page 1 of 28)
Online LibraryCharles Herbert SylvesterJourneys Through Bookland — Volume 4 → online text (page 1 of 28)
Font size
QR-code for this ebook


Produced by William Koven, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team




JOURNEYS THROUGH BOOKLAND

A New and Original Plan For Reading Applied To The World's Best
Literature For Children

BY

CHARLES H. SYLVESTER
Author of English and American Literature

VOLUME FOUR





CONTENTS


BETTER THAN GOLD ......................................... Father Ryan

My HEART LEAPS UP.................................. William Wordsworth

THE BAREFOOT BOY ............................. John Greenleaf Whittier

RAIN ON THE ROOF ....................................... Coates Kinney

CID CAMPEADOR

ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG ..................... Oliver Goldsmith

MOTHER'S WAY ............................................. Father Ryan

SONG OF THE BROOK .................................... Alfred Tennyson

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW ........................... Grace E. Sellon

FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS ....................... Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

To H. W. L. ..................................... James Russell Lowell

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH .................... Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS ................. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

A DOG OF FLANDERS ................................. Louise de la Ramee

ALICE AND PHOEBE CARY ................................... Anna McCaleb

NEARER HOME .............................................. Phoebe Cary

PICTURES OF MEMORY ........................................ Alice Cary

THE ESCAPE FROM PRISON ........................... Sir Samuel W. Baker

STORIES OF THE CREATION

THE DEFINITION OF A GENTLEMAN ........................ Cardinal Newman

THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER .................................. Alexander Pope

INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP .......................... Robert Browning

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE .................................. Grace E. Sellon

THE PINE-TREE SHILLINGS........................... Nathaniel Hawthorne

LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS IN NEW ENGLAND .. Felicia Browne Hemans

THE SUNKEN TREASURE .............................. Nathaniel Hawthorne

THE HUTCHINSON MOB ............................... Nathaniel Hawthorne

THE BOSTON MASSACRE .............................. Nathaniel Hawthorne

SHERIDAN'S RIDE ................................. Thomas Buchanan Read

JOAN OF ARC ........................................ Thomas de Quincey

PANCRATIUS .......................................... Cardinal Wiseman

ALFRED THE GREAT ..................................... Charles Dickens

THE BURIAL OF MOSES .......................... Cecil Frances Alexander

BERNARDO DEL CARPIO ................................... Felicia Hemans

DAVID

CHEVY-CHASE ........................................... Richard Sheale

THE ATTACK ON THE CASTLE ............................ Sir Walter Scott

THE DEATH OF HECTOR ............................... From Homer's Iliad

THE WOODEN HORSE ................................ From Vergil's Aeneid

JOHN BUNYAN

THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS ................................... John Bunyan

AWAY ............................................ James Whitcomb Riley

LITTLE GIFFIN OF TENNESSEE

LITTLE BREECHES ............................................. John Hay

THE YARN OF THE "NANCY BELL" ........................... W. S. Gilbert

KATEY'S LETTER ......................................... Lady Dufferin

THE ARICKARA INDIANS ............................... Washington Irving





ILLUSTRATIONS


REBECCA AT THE WINDOW (Color Plate) Louis Grell

THE BAREFOOT BOY Iris Weddell White

RAIN ON THE ROOF Lucille Enders

RODRIGO AND THE LEPER Donn P. Crane

MARTIN PELAEZ SLEW A GOOD KNIGHT Donn P. Crane

ALVAR FANEZ WENT His WAY TO CASTILL Donn P. Crane

THE DEFEAT OF ALMOFALEZ Donn P. Crane

THEY WENT OUT FROM VALENCIA AT MIDNIGHT Donn P. Crane

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW (Halftone)

HOME OF LONGFELLOW AT CAMBRIDGE (Halftone)

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH Herbert N. Rudeen

HE BOUND HER TO THE MAST G. H. Mitchell

RESCUE OF PATRASCHE Holling Clancy

NELLO AND PATRASCHE Holling Clancy

NELLO LEFT HIS PICTURE AT THE DOOR Holling Clancy

ALICE CARY (Halftone)

IN THAT DIM OLD FOREST Mildred Lyon

ANCHOR Louis Grell

HE SLIPPED A GUINEA INTO HER HAND Louis Grell

HE WRENCHED THE BAR ASUNDER Louis Grell

LEONTINE Louis Grell

"WE'VE GOT YOU RATISBON!" Herbert N. Rudeen

HAWTHORNE'S WAYSIDE (Halftone)

HANDFUL AFTER HANDFUL WAS THROWN IN Mildred Lyon

UP CAME TREASURE IN ABUNDANCE Herbert N. Rudeen

"FATHER, DO YOU NOT HEAR?" Herbert N. Rudeen

THE RIOTERS BROKE INTO THE HOUSE Herbert N. Rudeen

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE (Halftone)

THE SOLDIERS FIRED Herbert N. Rudeen

THE STEED SWEPT ON Herbert N. Rudeen

JOAN OF ARC (Halftone)

ALFRED ALLOWS THE CAKES TO BURN Louis Grell

DAVID MEETS GOLIATH Louis Grell

SAUL SOUGHT TO SMITE DAVID Louis Grell

JONATHAN SHOOTS THE ARROWS Louis Grell

DAVID AND JONATHAN Louis Grell

THE MAN RUNNETH ALONE Louis Grell

"IS THE YOUNG MAN, ABSALOM, SAFE?" Louis Grell

IVANHOE WAS IMPATIENT AT HIS INACTIVITY Louis Grell

THE BLACK KNIGHT AT THE GATE OF THE CASTLE Louis Grell

ULRICA LOCKS THE DOOR Louis Grell

BEFORE HIS BREAST THE FLAMING SHIELD HE BEARS Roy Appel

THE WOODEN HORSE Roy Appel

LAOCOÖN (Halftone)

ULYSSES OUTWITTED THE CYCLOPS Arthur Henderson

ULYSSES GAVE THE ARROW WING Arthur Henderson

JOHN BUNYAN (Halftone)

HE LOOKED NOT BEHIND HIM Donn P. Crane

IN THE SLOUGH OR DESPOND Donn P. Crane

THE FIGHT WITH APOLLYON Donn P. Crane

IN DOUBTING CASTLE Donn P. Crane

THE CELESTIAL CITY Donn P. Crane

WENT TEAM, LITTLE BREECHES, AND ALL Herbert N. Rudeen

"FOR DON'T YOU SEE THAT YOU CAN'T COOK ME?" Herbert N. Rudeen

TRADING FOR HORSES R. F. Babcock

RETURN OF THE WARRIORS R. F. Babcock




BETTER THAN GOLD


Better than grandeur, better than gold,
Than rank and titles a thousand fold,
Is a healthy body, a mind at ease,
And simple pleasures' that always please.
A heart that can feel for another's woe,
And share his joys with a genial glow,
With sympathies large enough to enfold
All men as brothers, is better than gold.

Better than gold is a conscience clear,
Though toiling for bread in an humble sphere,
Doubly blessed with content and health,
Untried by the lusts and cares of wealth,
Lowly living and lofty thought
Adorn and ennoble a poor man's cot;
For mind and morals in nature's plan
Are the genuine tests of a gentleman.

Better than gold is the sweet repose
Of the sons of toil when the labors close;
Better than gold is the poor man's sleep,
And the balm that drops on his slumbers deep.
Bring sleeping draughts to the downy bed,
Where luxury pillows its aching head,
The toiler simple opiate deems
A shorter route to the land of dreams.

Better than gold is a thinking mind,
That in the realm of books can find
A treasure surpassing Australian ore,
And live with the great and good of yore.
The sage's lore and the poet's lay,
The glories of empires passed away;
The world's great drama will thus unfold
And yield a pleasure better than gold.

Better than gold is a peaceful home
Where all the fireside characters come,
The shrine of love, the heaven of life,
Hallowed by mother, or sister, or wife.
However humble the home may be,
Or tried with sorrow by heaven's decree,
The blessings that never were bought or sold,
And center there, are better than gold.




MY HEART LEAPS UP

_By_ WILLIAM WORDSWORTH



My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky;
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.




THE BAREFOOT BOY

_By_ JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER


Blessings on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!
With thy turned-up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistled tunes;
With thy red lip, redder still
Kissed by strawberries on the hill;
With the sunshine on thy face,
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace;
From my heart I give thee joy, -
I was once a barefoot boy!
Prince thou art, - the grown-up man
Only is republican.
Let the million-dollared ride!
Barefoot, trudging at his side,
Thou hast more than he can buy
In the reach of ear and eye, -
Outward sunshine, inward joy;
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!

O for boyhood's painless play,
Sleep that wakes in laughing day,
Health that mocks the doctor's rules,
Knowledge never learned of schools,
Of the wild bee's morning chase,
Of the wild flower's time and place,
Flight of fowl and habitude
Of the tenants of the wood;
How the tortoise bears his shell,
How the woodchuck digs his cell,
And the ground-mole sinks his well;
How the robin feeds her young,
How the oriole's nest is hung;
Where the whitest lilies blow,
Where the freshest berries blow,
Where the ground-nut trails its vine,
Where the wood-grape's clusters shine;
Of the black wasp's cunning way,
Mason of his walls of clay,
And the architectural plans
Of gray hornet artisans!
For, eschewing books and tasks
Nature answers all he asks;

Hand in hand with her he walks,
Face to face with her he talks,
Part and parcel of her joy, -
Blessings on the barefoot boy!

O for boyhood's time of June,
Crowding years in one brief moon,
When all things I heard or saw,
Me, their master, waited for.
I was rich in flowers and trees,
Humming-birds and honey-bees;
For my sport the squirrel played,
Plied the snouted mole his spade;
For my taste the blackberry cone
Purpled over hedge and stone;
Laughed the brook for my delight
Through the day and through the night, -
Whispering at the garden wall,
Talked with me from fall to fall;
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond,
Mine the walnut slopes beyond,
Mine, on bending orchard trees,
Apples of Hesperides!
Still as my horizon grew,
Larger grew my riches too;
All the world I saw or knew
Seemed a complex Chinese toy,
Fashioned for a barefoot boy!

O for festal dainties spread,
Like my bowl of milk and bread;
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood,
On the door-stone, gray and rude!
O'er me, like a regal tent,
Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent,
Purple-curtained, fringed with gold,
Looped in many a wind-swung fold;
While for music came the play
Of the pied frogs' orchestra;
And, to light the noisy choir,
Lit the fly his lamp of fire.
I was monarch: pomp and joy
Waited on the barefoot boy!

Cheerily, then, my little man,
Live and laugh, as boyhood can!
Though the flinty slopes be hard,
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward,
Every morn shall lead thee through
Fresh baptisms of the dew;
Every evening from they feet
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat;
All too soon these feet must hide
In the prison cells of pride,
Lose the freedom of the sod,
Like a colt's for work be shod,
Made to tread the mills of toil
Up and down in ceaseless moil:
Happy if their track be found
Never on forbidden ground;
Happy if they sink not in
Quick and treacherous sands of sin.
Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy,
Ere it passes, barefoot boy!



RAIN ON THE ROOF
[Footnote: Coates Kinney, born in New York in 1826, gives this account
of the way in which the song came to be written: "The verses were
written when I was about twenty years of age, as nearly as I can
remember. They were inspired close to the rafters of a little story-
and-a-half frame house. The language, as first published, was not
composed, it came. I had just a little more to do with it than I had
to do with the coming of the rain. This poem, in its entirety, came
to me and asked me to put it down, the next afternoon, in the course
of a solitary and aimless wandering through a summer wood."]


When the humid showers hover
Over all the starry spheres
And the melancholy darkness
Gently weeps in rainy tears,
What a bliss to press the pillow
Of a cottage-chamber bed,
And to listen to the patter
Of the soft rain overhead!

Every tinkle on the shingles.
Has an echo in the heart:
And a thousand dreamy fancies
Into busy being start,
And a thousand recollections
Weave their air-threads into woof,
As I listen to the patter
Of the rain upon the roof.

Now in memory comes my mother,
As she was long years agone,
To regard the darling dreamers
Ere she left them till the dawn:
O! I see her leaning o'er me,
As I list to this refrain
Which is played upon the shingles
By the patter of the rain.

Then my little seraph sister,
With her wings and waving hair,
And her star-eyed cherub brother -
A serene, angelic pair! -
Glide around my wakeful pillow,
With their praise or mild reproof,
As I listen to the murmur
Of the soft rain on the roof.


Art hath naught of tone or cadence
That can work with such a spell
In the soul's mysterious fountains,
Whence the tears of rapture well,
As that melody of Nature,
That subdued, subduing strain
Which is played upon the shingles
By the patter of the rain.




CID CAMPEADOR

INTRODUCTION


The national hero of Spain is universally known as the Cid, and around
his name have gathered tales as marvelous as those of King Arthur and
his Knights of the Round Table. Some historians have doubted the
existence of the Cid, while others, whom we may prefer to believe, give
him a distinct place in history. According to the latter, he was a
descendant of one of the noblest families of Castile, and as early as
1064 his name is mentioned as that of a great warrior. So far as we are
concerned, we need not discuss the matter, for it is our purpose to see
him as a great hero whose name stood for honor and bravery, and whose
influence upon the youth of Spain has been wonderful. Accordingly, we
must know the Cid as he appears in song and story rather than as he is
known in history.

There are several prose chronicles in Spanish, which tell the story of
the Cid, and numberless poems and legends. The English poet, Robert
Southey, has given us the best translation of these, and from his
famous work, _Chronicle of the Cid_, we take the selections which are
printed in this volume. According to the Spanish accounts, Rodrigo
was born in 1026 in Burgos, the son of Diego Laynez, who was then the
head of the house of Layn Calvo. As a youth he was strong in arms and
of high repute among his friends, for he early bestirred himself to
protect the land from the Moors.

While Rodrigo was still in his early youth, his father was grievously
insulted and struck in the face by Count Don Gomez. Diego was a man so
old that his strength had passed from him, and he could not take
vengeance, but retired to his home to dwell in solitude and lament over
his dishonor. He took no pleasure in his food, neither could he sleep
by night nor would he lift up his eyes from the ground, nor stir out of
his house, nor commune with his friends, but turned from them in
silence as if the breath of his shame would taint them. The Count was a
mighty man in arms and so powerful that he had a thousand friends among
the mountains. Rodrigo, young as he was, considered this power as
nothing when he thought of the wrong done to his father, and determined
to take his own revenge. His father, seeing of how good heart he was,
gave him his sword and his blessing. Rodrigo went out, defied the
Count, fought with and killed him, and cutting off his head carried it
home. The old man was sitting at table, the food lying before him
untasted, when Rodrigo returned, and, pointing to the head which hung
from the horse's collar, dropping blood, bade him look up, saying,
"Here is the herb which will restore to you your appetite. The tongue
which insulted you is no longer a tongue, the hand no longer a hand."
Then the old man arose, embraced his son and placed him above him at
the table, saying, "The man who brought home that head must be the head
of the house of Layn Calvo."

At about this time, the king, Don Ferrando, who honors upon Rodrigo for
his success against the Moors, called him to aid against the King of
Aragon, who claimed the city of Calahorra, but had consented to let the
ownership of the city rest upon a trial by combat between two of their
greatest knights. The King of Aragon chose Don Martin Gonzalez, and Don
Ferrando, Rodrigo. The latter was well pleased at the prospect of the
battle, but before the day of the combat he started on a pilgrimage,
which he had previously vowed.

[Illustration: RODRIGO AND THE LEPER]

"Rodrigo forthwith set out upon the road, and took with him twenty
knights. And as he went he did great good, and gave alms, feeding the
poor and needy. And upon the way they found a leper, struggling in a
quagmire, who cried out to them with a loud voice to help him for the
love of God; and when Rodrigo heard this, he alighted from his beast
and helped him, and placed him upon the beast before him, and carried
him with him in this manner to the inn where he took up his lodging
that night. At this were his knights little pleased. And when supper
was ready he bade his knights take their seats, and he took the leper
by the hand, and seated him next himself, and ate with him out of the
same dish. The knights were greatly offended at this foul sight,
insomuch that they rose up and left the chamber. But Rodrigo ordered a
bed to be made ready for himself and for the leper, and they twain
slept together. When it was midnight and Rodrigo was fast asleep, the
leper breathed against him between his shoulders, and that breath was
so strong that it passed through him, even through his breast; and he
awoke, being astounded, and felt for the leper by him, and found him
not; and he began to call him, but there was no reply. Then he arose in
fear, and called for light, and it was brought him; and he looked for
the leper and could see nothing; so he returned into the bed, leaving
the light burning. And he began to think within himself what had
happened, and of that breath which had passed through him, and how the
leper was not there. After a while, as he was thus musing, there
appeared before him one in white garments, who said unto him, 'Sleepest
thou or wakest thou, Rodrigo?' and he answered and said, 'I do not
sleep: but who art thou that bringest with thee such brightness and so
sweet an odour?' Then said he, 'I am Saint Lazarus, and know that I was
a leper to whom thou didst so much good and so great honour for the
love of God; and because thou didst this for His sake hath God now
granted thee a great gift; for whensoever that breath which thou hast
felt shall come upon thee, whatever thing thou desirest to do, and
shalt then begin, that shalt thou accomplish to thy heart's desire,
whether it be in battle or aught else, so that thy honour shall go on
increasing from day to day; and thou shalt be feared both by Moors and
Christians, and thy enemies shall never prevail against thee, and thou
shalt die an honourable death in thine own house, and in thy renown,
for God hath blessed thee, - therefore go thou on, and evermore
persevere in doing good;' and with that he disappeared. And Rodrigo
arose and prayed to our lady and intercessor St. Mary, that she would
pray to her blessed son for him to watch over both his body and soul in
all his undertakings; and he continued in prayer till the day broke.
Then he proceeded on his way, and performed his pilgrimage, doing much
good for the love of God and of St. Mary."

Rodrigo was successful in his combat against Martin Gonzalez, and after
the death of the latter rose much higher in esteem with King Ferrando.
At no time was Rodrigo unworthy of his confidence, so that finally the
king knighted him after this manner: The king girded on his sword and
gave him the kiss, but not the blow. Usually this blow was given with
the hand upon the neck, at which time the king said, "Awake, and sleep
not in the affairs of knighthood." The king omitted this, knowing that
Rodrigo needed no such command. To do the new knight more honour, the
queen gave him his horse and her daughter fastened on his spurs. From
that day he was called Ruydiez. Ruy is merely an abbreviation of
Rodrigo, and Ruydiez means Rodrigo the son of Diego. Thereafter the
king commanded him to knight nine noble squires with his own hand, and
he took his sword before the altar and knighted them.

It was soon after this that there came to the king messengers from the
Moors, whom Ruydiez had overpowered, all bringing him tribute and
praising the generous treatment he had accorded them after his victory.
At the same time they called him _Cid_, which meant _lord_, and from
this time on by the king's orders Ruydiez vas called _The Cid_, because
the Moors had so named him. To this name is added the word _Campeador_,
which means _The Conqueror_.

The remaining incidents from the life of The Cid are taken directly
from Southey's _Chronicle of the Cid_.


THE CID MAKES A BRAVE MAN OF A COWARD

Here the history relates that Martin Pelaez, the Asturian, came with a
convoy of laden beasts, carrying provisions to the host of the Cid; and
as he passed near the town the Moors sallied out in great numbers
against him; but he, though he had few with him, defended the convoy
right well, and did great hurt to the Moors, slaying many of them, and
drove them into the town. This Martin Pelaez, who is here spoken of,
did the Cid make a right good knight of a coward, as ye shall hear.

When the Cid first began to lay siege to the city of Valencia, this
Martin Pelaez came unto him; he was a knight, a native of Santillana in
Asturias, a hidalgo, great of body and strong of limb, a well-made man
of goodly semblance, but withal a right coward at heart, which he had
shown in many places when he was among feats of arms. And the Cid was
sorry when he came unto him, though he would not let him perceive this;
for he knew he was not fit to be of his company. Howbeit he thought
that since he was come, he would make him brave, whether he would or
not.

And when the Cid began to war upon the town, and sent parties against
it twice and thrice a day, as ye have heard, for the Cid was alway upon
the alert, there was fighting and tourneying every day. One day it fell
out that the Cid and his kinsmen and friends and vassals were engaged
in a great encounter, and this Martin Pelaez was well armed; and when
he saw that the Moors and Christians were at it, he fled and betook
himself to his lodging, and there hid himself till the Cid returned to
dinner. And the Cid saw what Martin Pelaez did, and when he had
conquered the Moors he returned to his lodging to dinner.

Now it was the custom of the Cid to eat at a high table, seated on his
bench, at the head. And Don Alvar Fañez, and Pero Bermudez, and other
precious knights, ate in another part, at high tables, full honourably,
and none other knights whatsoever dared take their seats with them,
unless they were such as deserved to be there; and the others who were
not so approved in arms ate upon estrados, at tables with cushions.
This was the order in the house of the Cid, and every one knew the
place where he was to sit at meat, and every one strove all he could to
gain the honour of sitting to eat at the table of Don Alvar Fañez and
his companions, by strenuously behaving himself in all feats of arms;
and thus the honour of the Cid was advanced. This Martin Pelaez,
thinking that none had seen his badness, washed his hands in turn with
the other knights, and would have taken his place among them.

And the Cid went unto him, and took him by the hand and said, "You are
not such a one as deserves to sit with these, for they are worth more
than you or than me; but I will have you with me:" and he seated him
with himself at table.

And he, for lack of understanding, thought that the Cid did this to
honour him above all the others.

On the morrow the Cid and his company rode towards Valencia, and the
Moors came out to the tourney; and Martin Pelaez went out well armed,
and was among the foremost who charged the Moors, and when he was in
among them he turned the reins, and went back to his lodging; and the
Cid took heed to all that he did, and saw that though he had done badly
he had done better than the first day.

And when the Cid had driven the Moors into the town he returned to his
lodging, and as he sat down to meat he took this Martin Pelaez by the
hand, and seated him with himself, and bade him eat with him in the
same dish, for he had deserved more that day than he had the first.



Online LibraryCharles Herbert SylvesterJourneys Through Bookland — Volume 4 → online text (page 1 of 28)