&&000 CANADIAN SCHOOLBOOKS CA308.TXT THESE ARE FROM THE 1930'S THROUGH 1945 BASELINE LEX VALUES THIS IS FROM EIGHTH GRADE TEXTS 1st edited by dph 18 December 2003 &&111 THE ART OF THE STORY-TELLER paid thirty dollars per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to twenty dollars, the letters of "=Dillingham" looked blurred, as though they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming =D. But whenever Mr =JamesDillinghamYoung came home and reached his flat above, he was called "=Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs =JamesDillinghamYoung, already introduced to you as =Della. Which is all very good. =Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only one dollar and eighty-seven cents with which to buy =Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only one dollar and eighty-seven cents to buy a present for =Jim. Her =Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling-something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honour of being owned by =Jim. There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an eight-dollar flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. =Della, being slender, had mastered the art. Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its colour within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length. Now there were two possessions of the =JamesDillinghamYoungs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was =Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was =Della's hair. Had the =QueenofSheba lived in the flat across the air-shaft, =Della would have and as for a story to cover my journey, and my doings trust a woman's wit to invent that. They looked at her, with delight in her courage, but with doubt. "To send you," said =Hereward, "would be to send The =Wakees praying half, and that would be bad religion. The =Wakees fighting half is going, while you pray here as well as watch." "Uncle, uncle," said the young earls, "send any of you good men, but not yourself. If we lose you, we lose our head and our king." And all begged =Hereward to let any man go rather than himself . "I am going, lords and knights; and what =Hereward says he does. It is one day to =Brandon. It may be two days back; for if I miscarry-as I most likely shall-I must come home round about. On the fourth day you shall hear of me or from me. Come with me, =Torfrida." And he strode out. He cropped his golden locks, he cropped his golden beard; and =Torfrida wept, as she cropped them, half with fear for him, half for sorrow over his shorn glories. "I am no =Samson, my lady; my strength lieth not in my locks. Now for some rascales clothes-as little dirty as you can get me." And =Hereward put on filthy garments, and taking mare =Swallow with him, got into a barge and went across the river to =Soham. He could not go down the great =Ouse and up the =LittleOuse, which was his easiest way, for the =French held all the river below the isle; and, besides, to have come straight from =Ely might cause suspicion. So he went down to =Fordham, and crossed the =Lark at =Mildenhall; and just before he got to =Mildenhall, he met a potter carrying pots upon a pony. "Halt, my stout churl," quoted he, "and put your pots on my mares' back." if they cared. But eagles' eggs! Money could not buy such a sight. I was more than ever eager now to get into the nest. Working my fingers among the sticks of the rim for a firm grip, I stuck my toes into the rough wall and began to climb. At some considerable hazard and the cost of many rents in my clothing, I wriggled up over the edge and into the hollow of the nest where the coveted eggs lay. The eagles were wheeling and screaming overhead. The weird cac, cac, cac of the male came down from far above me; while the female, circling closer, would swoop and shrill her menacing, maniacal half-laugh almost in my ears. Their wild cries thrilled me, and their mighty wings, wheeling so close around me, seemed to catch me in their majestic sweep and almost to carry me in swift, swinging circle . through the empty air. An ecstasy of excitement overcame me. I felt no body, no weight of anything. I lost my head completely and, seizing the eggs, rose to my feet and stood upright in the nest. The eagles swept nearer. I could feel the wind from their wings. I could see the rolling of their gleaming eyes, and the glint of the sun on their snow-white necks. And as they dipped and turned and careened over me, I came perilously near trying to fly myself. What a scene lay under me and rolled wide and free to the very edge of the world! The level marsh; the blue, hazy bay; the far-off, unblurred horizon beyond the bending hill of the sea! The wild free wind from the bay blew in upon my face, the old tree trembled and rocked beneath me, the screaming eagles wove a mazy spell of double circles about me, till I screamed back at them in wild delight. The sound of my voice seemed to infuriate the birds. The male turned suddenly in his round and swooped directly at me. The movement was instantly understood by his mate, who, thus emboldened, cut under him and hurled herself downward, passing with a vicious grab at my face. I dodged, or she would have hit me. Shadows in the River The river, within the belt of trees, ran between steep banks, eight feet high and overhung with vegetation; the pale-backed leaves of the wild banana were crossed by long slender branches of palms drooping toward the water, while a tangled undergrowth grew between the trunks of trees and hid the edge of the river bank. The bigger trees spread their branches over the water, meeting those from the opposite bank, so that overhead was a lacework of brown and green, while below, the surface of the water was deeply shadowed. The river ran through the darkness of a deep channel, so black and silent that it might have suggested the unseen presence of something forbidding and of evil purpose. The surface of the water stirred slightly; a small, uneven square of darkness moved, detaching itself' from the surrounding blackness, crossing here a patch of gray and there a narrow streak of sunlight, then disappearing altogether into farther shadows, and finally seeming to rest in a big swirling pool a hundred yards lower down the stream: There was a stir as if some huge body turned slowly beneath the water, and then the head and body of a crocodile rose , above the surface. For a few seconds they remained just out of the water, then slowly sank until only the blunt-shaped snout and the small, Asiatically sloping eyes remained. The crocodile lay perfectly still on a narrow ledge that projected under water from the bank. The webbed claws at the end of his stumpy feet dug into the sand that had settled thinly on the rock, his body sagged to rest on the ledge, his enormous tail stretched out into the depths. From jaw to tail he measured twenty-four feet-more than twice the length of either of the other crocodiles that lived in that part of the river. He was a giant, even of his race, ugly and ungainly, but the embodiment of strength and invulnerability. Because of his huge size, he could not be content with into the stable yard, =Linda (the =StBernard) was greatly excited; weeping profusely, and throwing herself on her back, that she might caress my foot with her great forepaws. =Mamie's little dog, too, Mrs =Bouncer, barked in the greatest agitation on being called down and asked by =Mamie, "Who is this?" and tore round and round me, like the dog in the =Faust outlines. You must know that all the farmers turned out on the road in their market chaises to say, "Welcome home, sir!" and that all the houses along the road were dressed with flags; and `that our servants, to cut out the rest, had dressed this house so that every brick of it was hidden. They had asked =Mamie's permission to "ring the alarm bell" when master drove up, but =Mamie, having some slight idea that that compliment might awaken masteres sense of the ludicrous, had recommended bell abstinence. But on Sunday the village choir (which includes the bell-ringers) made amends. After some unusually brief pious reflections in the crowns of their hats at the end of the sermon, the ringers bolted out, and rang like mad until I got home. There had been a conspiracy among the villagers to take the horse out, if I had come to our own station, and draw me there. =Mamie and =ueorgy had got wind of it and warned me. Divers birds sing here all day, and the nightingales all night. The place is lovely, and in perfect order. I have put five mirrors in the =Swiss chalet (where I write), and they reflect and refract in all kinds of ways the leaves that are quivering at the windows, and the great fields of waving corn, and the sail-dotted river. My room is up among the branches of the trees, and the birds and the butterflies fly n and out, and the green branches shoot in, at the open .windows, and the lights and shadows of the clouds come and go with the rest of the company. The scent of the flowers, and indeed of everything that is growing for miles and miles, is most delicious. Ever, my dear Mrs =Fields, your most affectionate friend, THE RIVERS OF CANADA Geography and history are very closely tied together, and often it is literature that binds them. The more you know about the history of a place, the more interesting it is to visit it, and very often the more moved you are to put your thoughts into words for others to read. Perhaps all of us feel that geography would be more interesting if we could learn it by travelling to places, but there are many experiences that come to us first through someone elsees accounts of them. When we meet these same experiences in life, they are much more real to us because we have read about them. Mr =Burpee, author of the selection, is a former editor of the =Canadian =Geographical =Journal, an excellent magazine from which to study geography. Who that has travelled upon their far-spreading waters has not felt the compelling charm of the rivers of =Canada? The matchless variety of their scenery, from the gentle grace of the =Sissibou to the tempestuous grandeur of the =Fraser; the romance that clings to their shores-legends and tales of =Micmac and =Iroquois, =Cree, =Blackfoot, and =Chilcotin; stories of peaceful =Acadian villages beside the =Gaspereau, and fortified towns along the =StLawrence; of warlike expeditions and missionary enterprises up the =Richelieu and the =Saguenay; of heroic exploits at the =LongSault and at =Verchres; of memorable explorations in the north and the far west? How many of us realize the illimitable possibilities of these arteries of a nation, their vital importance as avenues of commerce and communication, the potential energy stored in their rushing waters? Do we even appreciate their actual extent, or thoroughly grasp the fact that this network of waterways covers half a continent, and reaches every corner of this vast =Dominion? Two hundred years ago little was known of these rivers outside the valley of the =StLawrence. One hundred years later scores of new waterways had been explored from source to outlet, some of them ranking among the grea ivers of the earth. The =Western Sea, that had lured large letters, on the front. And you see him put ten of these bags in his iron safe (an iron safe is easily constructed with a small packing case painted a dark colour, with a door that hinges and a piece of string on the door and a nail at the side of the case; you deftly wind or unwind the string to and from the nail while you are pretending to insert the cellar key), and as he gazes at the row of bags he says, "For her, all for her!" and then I take my candle and go to bed. And then by the moonlight you see the villain (=Fatty) come in through the window in a dark cloak, a slouch hat, and steal all the money, and thates the end of that act. And in the next act comes my big scene, when I bring my daughter into the room to give her the money, and open the safe and find the money gone-gone! It was a great scene as we wrote it. I go mad and jump out of the window. A tremendous mad scene! But, ites terrible to think of it even now! =Henry was our stage manager, and like most stage managers, he knew very little of what the play was about; so after the second act, in which the money is stolen, =Henry had to prepare the stage for Act III. He saw these bags of money at the back of the stage, and as he had made the iron safe he concluded that they ought to be in it, so he put them all back again; and when I unwound the piece of string and flung open the door, and said, "Gone! Gone!" there they were-ten of them, all marked "=500" in large letters, staring the audience in the face. Of course if I had not said "Gone! Gone!" something might have been done; with our experience of impromptu dialogue, we might have reconstructed the play on the spot, and the audience might never have known. But you see it was one of my big moments, and I had to stagger back and put my hands over my eyes in grief. And I had braced myself for it, and as I opened the safe door, I staggered and put my hands over my eyes too soon, so that when I said, "Gone! Gone!" I didn't really know that they hadnet, until I heard get in, the former adding that he had accompanied different employers there six times without success. A friend in =Peking, however, told me that one of the priests, called the =PaiLama, whatever that may mean, had come to him a few weeks before to borrow five dollars, and had said, as an inducement, that if he or any of his friends wanted to see the =Lamaserai, he would take them over it himself without a fee. So my friend gave me his big red =Chinese card with the =Pai =Lama's name on it as an introduction, and a member of the =Legation, who spoke =Chinese, was good enough to go with me, as he was equally anxious to see the place. It is on the outskirts of =Peking, nearly an hour's ride from =Legation Street, and we passed in through, two or three gates from the street without any difficulty. Then some boy-neophytes, or acolytes-we knew them from their shaven heads ran ahead of us and warned the priests, who shut the doors. After a quarter of an hour's colloquy, we bribed the door-keeper to tell the =PaiLama, and by and by the latter appeared, a small, dirty individual, who succeeded with much difficulty in persuading the others to open the gates and let us step just inside. Then he immediately disappeared, and we saw him no more. After another half-hour of bargaining, we agreed to pay them a certain moderate sum to show us the four chief sights of the temple. The first of these was the great =Buddha, a wooden image seventy feet high, richly ornamented and clothed, holding an enormous lotus in each hand, and with the traditional jewel on his breast. In each section of his huge golden crown sat a small =Buddha, as perfect and as much ornamented as the great one. His toe measured twenty-one inches. On each side of him hung a huge scroll,seventy-five feet long, bearing =Chinese characters; and a series of galleries, reached by several flights of stairs, surrounded him. The expression of his great bronze face was singularly lofty, and I was seized with a great desire to photograph him. The crowd of monks was outside the LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE BIG FOREST In spite of air transportation, the "Dark Continent" of =Africa is still the land of mystery. Fifty years ago the interior was practically unknown. The story of its exploration by =Livingstone, =Stanley, and =Rhodes is more thrilling than the most exciting work of any writeres imagination. We met them on our way through the densest forest in all the world. So close together were the trees that no glimmer of sunlight ever entered. Our sharp axes were continually at work cutting a path wide enough for our company to squeeze through in single file. Day after day the same darkness, the same toilsome hacking, the same slow progress. One day we stumbled on a little variety. Early in the morning, as we raised our axes again, we saw thirty yards ahead of us a small group of queer-looking creatures. They were about three feet high. In the gloom of the woods they appeared to be almost black. That they should be almost naked did not, of course, surprise us. Their big, bulging eyes glared at us with a wild expression of surprise. One of our number had command of enough words of that region to carry on a sort of half-pantomime conversation with their leader. He asked him if they had any ivory to sell, at the same time holding out to him beads and cowries (shells used as coins in that country). The little fellow motioned us to follow them, and they began to thread their way among the trees. For six days they led us on and on into the forest, which became less dense as we proceeded. At last we came to the first village of the pygmiese settlement. They would not let us enter the village till they had informed their king of our presence. It was three days before our tiny guide returned. They told us that we had permission to go and live in their village. For several days the little brown king was very kind to us, but his eyes had a shifty look. We bought from him and his people about four hundred tusks of ivory, and paid for them with CHASING THE LYNX and shuffled her way across this valley, which opened as she proceeded. She hoped that over the ridge she would find =Trafford, and scanned the sky for the faintest discoloration of a fire, but there was none. That seemed odd to her, but the wind was in her face, and perhaps it beat the smoke down. Over the ridge she would find him. Surely she would find him over the ridge. She found herself among rocks, and there was a beaten and trampled place where =Trafford must have waited and crouched. Then on and down a slope of tumbled boulders. There came a patch where he had either thrown himself down or fallen. It seemed to her he must have been running. Suddenly, a hundred feet or so away, she saw a patch of violently disturbed snow-snow stained a dreadful color, a snow of scarlet crystals! Three strides, and =Trafford was in sight. She had a swift conviction he was dead. He was lying in a crumpled attitude on a patch of snow between convergent rocks, and the lynx, a mass of blood-smeared silvery fur, was in some way mixed up with him. She saw, as she came nearer, that the snow was disturbed round about them, and discoloured copiously, yellow widely, and in places bright red, with congealed and frozen blood. She felt no fear now, and no emotion; all her mind was engaged with the clear, bleak perception of the fact before her. She did not care to call to him again. His head was hidden by the lynxes body; it was as if he was burrowing underneath the creature. His legs were twisted about each other in a queer, unnatural attitude. Then, as she dropped off a boulder and came nearer, Trafford moved. A hand came out and gripped the rifle beside him. He suddenly lifted a dreadful face, horribly scarred and torn, and crimson with frozen blood; he pushed the gray beast aside, rose on an elbow, wiped his sleeve across his eyes, stared at her, grunted, and flopped forward. He had fainted. DEEDS OF VALOR mounting a rising ground, which brought the figure of his fellow traveller in relief against the sky,, gigantic in height and muffled in a cloak, =Ichabod was horror-struck on perceiving that he was headless! But his horror was still more increased on observing that the head which should have rested on his shoulders was carried before him on the pommel of his saddle! His terror rose to desperation. He rained a shower of kicks and blows upon =Gunpowder, hoping by a sudden movement to give his companion the slip. But the spectre started full jump with him. Away then they dashed, through thick and thin, stones flying and sparks flashing at every bound. An opening in the trees now cheered him with the hopes that the church bridge was at hand. The wavering reflection of a silver star in the bosom of the brook told him that he was not mistaken. "If I can but reach that bridge," thought Ichabod, "I am safe." Just then he heard the black steed panting and blowing close behind him; he even fancied that he felt his hot breath. Another convulsive kick in the ribs, and old =Gunpowder sprang upon the bridge; he thundered over the resounding planks; he gained the opposite side; and now =Ichabod cast a look behind to see if his pursuer should vanish, according to rule, in a flash of fire and brimstone. Just then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups, and in the very act of hurling his head at him. Ichabod endeavoured to dodge the horrible missile, but too late. It encountered his cranium with a tremendous crash. He was tumbled headlong into the dust, and Gunpowder, the black steed, and the goblin rider passed by like a whirlwind. The next morning the old horse was found without his saddle, and with the bridle under his feet, soberly cropping the grass at his master's gate, while near the bridge, on the bank of a broad part of the brook where the water ran deep and black, was found the hat of the unfortunate Ichabod, and close beside it-a shattered pumpkin! THE COMBAT Dark lightning flashed from =Roderick's eye" Soars YOUR presumption, then, so high, Because a wretched =kerne you slew, Homage to name to =RoderickDhu? He yields not, he, to man nor Fate! Thou add but fuel to my hate: My clansmanes blood demands revenge.Not yet prepared? By heaven, I change My thought, and hold your valor light As that of some vain carpet-knight, Who ill deserved my courteous care, And whose best boast is but to wear A braid of his fair ladies hair.""I thank you, =Roderick, for the word! It nerves my heart, it steels my sword; For I have sworn this braid to stain In the best blood that warms thy vein. Now, truce, farewell! and ruth begone!Yet think not that by you alone, Proud Chief! can courtesy be shown; Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn, Start at my whistle clansmen stern, Of this small horn one feeble blast Would fearful odds against you cast. But fear not-doubt not-which you will. We try this quarrel hilt to hilt. "Then each at once his falchion drew, Each on the ground his scabbard threw, Each looked to sun, and stream, and plain As what they never might see again; Then foot, and point, and eye opposed, In dubious strife they darkly closed. Ill fared it then with =RoderickDhu That on the field his targe he threw, Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide Had death so often dashed aside; THE LADY OF SHALOTT 7 His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed; On burnished hooves his war-horse strode; From underneath his helmet flowed His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down to =Camelot. From the bank and from the river He flashed into the crystal mirror, "=Tirralirra," by the river Sang Sir =Lancelot. She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces throe the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She looked down to =Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror cracked from side to side; "The curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of =Shalott. Part IV In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining, Heartily the low sky raining Over towered =Camelot; Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat, And round about the prow she wrote The Lady of =Shalott. And down the river's dim expanse Like some bold seer in a trance, Seeing all his own mischanceWith a glassy countenance Did she look to =Camelot. FASHIONED IN SONG METAPHORS IN EVERYDAY SPEECH Have you ever realized how many of the expressions we use in our daily life are metaphors or little word-pictures drawn from many sources, carrying us back in thought to days of old and to far-away lands? It is because we have used and heard these expressions so often that we have forgotten the original and thus lose much of the charm and picturesqueness that lie hidden in our everyday speech. If you once begin to note these word-pictures, you will be astonished at the frequency with which you use them unthinkingly. In fact, you can hardly speak half a dozen sentences without one coming to the tip of your tonguethis last expression is itself a picture. Some of these metaphors consist of one word, or perhaps two, while others are longer expressions and have become almost proverbs. A key, for instance, means first an instrument that unlocks, and from that we go on to apply the term to the solution of a problem and a book containing many such solutions. As a branch is an offshoot of a tree, we have formed metaphors by talking of the branch of a family, of a business, a branch of learning, of a special subject, or of an institution. So, too, we say that our thoughts flow; we reap the reward of our actions; we are goaded by ambition; our eyes flame, and hopes are kindled, quenched, or shattered. We speak of an upright man, a striking thought, a threadbare argument, and of being fettered by poverty; and we say that a persones mind wandered, his reason tottered, or his faith failed. Most of these metaphors are formed of nouns, verbs, or adjectives, but we make them also of prepositions and adverbs, as in these expressions: beneath contempt; under chloroform; to speak fluently; what are you after? We talk of grasping an idea, of handling a subject, and of letting fall a hint; of a sweet voice, a rough tone, rugged features; and, nine times out of ten, we do not think of the first and original meaning of the expressions. THE MAKER'S ART young one followed, with much testing of the new device. Finally, one morning, =Ab issued forth from the cave armed with his axe and knife, but without his spear. He bore, instead, a bow which Was the best and strongest the two men had yet learned to fashion, and a sheaf of arrows slung behind his back. The bow and the arrows were crude, and the archer was not yet a certain marksman, but the bow was stiff, the arrows had keen heads of flint, and the arms of the hunter were strong. After an eager search for game, late in the afternoon the youth came upon a slight descent along the foot of which ran a shallow creek. Beyond the creek was a little grassgrown valley, in which were feeding a fine herd of deer, moving in the direction of the creek. As the wind blew toward the hunter, no hint of danger was carried to them on the breeze. Concealing himself among the bushes on the little height, =Ab waited. As the deer neared the creek, they grouped themselves about the greenest and richest feeding-places. When they reached the very border of the stream, they gathered in a bunch of half a hundred, close together, just beyond a speares cast from the watcher. But this was a test, not of the spear but of the bow, and the most inexperienced of archers, shooting from the place where Ab was hidden, must strike some one of the beasts in that broad herd. Ab sprang to his feet and drew his arrow to the head. The deer gathered for a second in affright, crowding one another, before they burst wildly away. Then the bowstring twanged, the arrow sang hungrily, there was the swift thud of hundreds of feet, and the little glade became silent. But it was not entirely silent, for, floundering in its death struggles, was a single deer, through which had passed an arrow so fiercely driven that the flint-head projected from the opposite side. Half wild with triumph was the youth, who bore home the arrow-stricken game. But he was not much more delighted than was the old man,who heard the story of the But, worst of all, the blow had, in addition, loosened one end of this beam, which was now almost separated from its bed flange in the corner-post. The runaway girder was swaying and banging in the wind, and should it chance to strike the loosened beam again, this would surely be wrenched from its other socket, and =PeterMalone be hurled straight to a dreadful death-if, indeed, he did not slip sooner, in the moments of returning consciousness. Cool and level-headed, the foreman had already planned the rescue. =Larry, sure-footed, quick-sighted, and boldhearted, would now have a chance to "make good." A heavy man could not walk along that beam without his weight jarring it from its remaining hold-but slender, nimble =Larry! Come, boy, quick! With two knife-slashes through the laces, =Larry's shoes were off. The foreman threw a thick coil of rope about his neck and then a smaller coil on top. "Tie him to the beam tight-then rope the girder and drop the line. Go easy along the beam. Don't spring it an inch-mind that." The boy listened earnestly to the foremanes words, then seized a rope that dangled from a beam beyond that on which his father lay motionless. Hand over hand the lithe young fellow raised himself to the socket that held the inner end of the partially detached beam, and crawling thereon, soon stood erect. Twenty-five feet to walk along a narrow, quivering, five-inch track-two hundred sixty feet from the earth, with nothing but a steady head to balance him! "Silence, men! Don't confuse him! He has his orders," said the foreman, as he saw that one or two of the workmen were about to shout suggestions. With eyes steadily fixed upon his father, =Larry pushed his way, inch by inch, over the intervening space, pausing now and then in order to lessen the vibration of the beam. The strong breeze blew sharply, and a groan went up from the eager watchers when a sudden gust lifted the boyes cap from his curly head and it fell fluttering slowly down, down, to the earth below. SPRING ON THE FARM The trees beyond the fence cut off the sunrise, so that I walked in the cool broad shadows. On my left stretched the corn-field of my planting, the young corn well up, very attractive and hopeful, my really frightful scarecrow standing guard on the knoll, a wisp of straw sticking up through a hole in his hat and his crooked thumbs turned down "No mercy." "Surely no corn ever before grew like this," I said to myself. "Tomorrow I must begin cultivating again." So I looked up and about me not to miss anything of the morning and I drew in a good big breath, and I thought the world had never been so open to my senses. I wonder why it is that the sense of smell is so commonly under-regarded. To me it is the source of some of my greatest pleasures. No one of the senses is more often allied with robustity of physical health. A man who smells acutely may be set down as enjoying that which is normal, plain, wholesome. He does not require seasoning: the ordinary earth is good enough for him. He is likely to be sane-which means sound, healthy-in his outlook upon life. Of all hours of the day there is none like the early morning for downright good odours-the morning before eating. Fresh from sleep and unclogged with food, a manes senses cut like knives. In sunny spots I had the fragrance of the open corn-field, the aromatic breath of the brown earth, giving curiously the sense of fecundity-a warm, generous odor of daylight and sunshine. Down the field, toward the corner, cutting in sharply, as though a door opened (or a page turned to another lyric), came the cloying, sweet fragrance of wild crab-apple blossoms, almost tropical in their richness, and below that, as I came to my work, the thin, acrid smell of the marsh, the place of the rushes and the flags and the frogs. So I dug. There is something fine in hard physical labor, straight ahead; no brains used, just muscles. I &&000