THIRD STUDY

GARDEN FANCIESTHE FLOWER'S NAMEHere's the garden she walked across,Arm in my arm, such a short while since.Hark, now I push its wicket, the mossHinders the hinges and makes them wince!She must have reached this shrub ere she turned,As back with that murmur the wicket swung;For she laid the poor snail, my chance foot spurned,To feed and forget it the leaves among.Down this side of the gravel walkShe went while her robe's edge brushed the box:And here she paused in her gracious talkTo point me a moth on the milk-white phlox.Roses, ranged in valiant row,I will never think that she passed you by!She loves you, noble roses, I know;But yonder, see, where the rock-plants lie!This flower she stopped at, finger on lip,Stooped over, in doubt, as settling its claim;Till she gave me, with pride to make no slip,Its soft meandering Spanish name.What a name! Was it love or praise?Speech half-asleep or song half-awake?I must learn Spanish, one of these days,Only for that slow sweet name's sake.Roses, if I live and do well,I may bring her, one of these days,To fix you fast with as fine a spell,Fit you each with his Spanish phrase;But do not detain me now; for she lingersThere, like sunshine over the ground,And ever I see her soft white fingersSearching after the bud she found.Flower, you Spaniard, look that you grow not,Stay as you are and be loved forever!Bud, if I kiss you 'tis that you blow not:Mind, the shut pink mouth opens never!For while it pouts, her fingers wrestle,Twinkling the audacious leaves between,Till round they turn and down they nestle—Is not the dear mark still to be seen?Where I find her not, beauties vanish;Whither I follow her, beauties flee;Is there no method to tell her in SpanishJune's twice June since she breathed it with me?Come, bud, show me the least of her traces,Treasure my lady's lightest footfall!—Ah, you may flout and turn up your faces—Roses, you are not so fair after all!—Browning.That "the poet is born, not made," is more and more an undisputed fact in every literary age. But many a birthright of poetic power has been saved from sale for a mess of pottage by a wisely ordered meeting of the young bard, while his gift was still latent, with the masters of lyric expression.Such an introduction is the object of this study, so far as it can embrace in its aim the ends of both forms of expression,—interpretation and composition. There is no thought of inducing even an aspirant to thepoetical purple, much less a Shelley or a Keats or an Alice Brown, through this brief dwelling with their immortal songs; but if this intensive interpretative study of the highest lyric expression does not result in a new sense of word values, a new sensitiveness to the music of the English language, out of which the songs of America must be made, then the study will have failed in its purpose toward you. If from this suggestive analysis of Shelley's "Skylark" you receive no impulse to use words with a new delight in thefitting of sound to sense, a new reverence for their harmonious arrangement to suggest and sustain an atmosphere; if, in short, your vocabulary is not enriched and your choice of words clarified through this study, then your new acquaintance with lyric expression will have been in vain. And, finally, if some one of you at least is not impelled by these excursions into the world of song to use his enriched vocabulary in an attempt to create a bit of lyric description in prose or verse, then the author of this study, and the teacher under whose direction it is made, must admit a failure to reach with the pupil the ultimate aim of such interpretative effort.Let us make the test. As a final problem of this study I shall ask you to let your emotion find expression—lyric expression—in a bit of prose description. Don't be afraid! Use your vocabulary! Take as a subject: the bit of earth and sky you have secretly worshiped; the bird song or flight which has charmed your day; the memory of some illumined moment; the effect of anyone of these lyrics upon you. Don't be afraid! And remember it is to be literature offeelingrather than thought;description, not exposition.THIRD STUDYTO DEVELOP THE WHIMSICAL SENSEAddressing theGentle Readerin deliciously whimsical vein on theMission of Humor, Mr. Samuel Arthur Crothers declares: "Were I appointed by the school board to consider the applicants for teachers' certificates, after they had passed the examinations in the arts and sciences, I should subject them to a more rigid test. I should hand each candidate Lamb's essays on 'The Old and New Schoolmaster' and on 'Imperfect Sympathies.' I should make him read them to himself, while I sat by and watched. If his countenance never relaxed, as if he were inwardly saying, 'That's so,' I should withhold the certificate. I should not consider him a fit person to have charge of innocent youth." We can readily see from this extract that we need not go back to the early part of the last century to find material for our test of this sovereign quality, a sense of humor. Mr. Crothers himself, the Charles Lamb of our American Letters to-day, shall furnish our subject-matter. Bring yourGentle Reader, orThe Pardoner's Wallet, or the essays collected with theChristmas Sermon, to class to-morrow. If these volumes are not in your personal library, your library is sadly lacking. Read "The Honorable Points of Ignorance," "How to Know the Fallacies," or "Conscience Concerning Witchcraft." If any one of these fails to disclose in you the mental alertness and power of discrimination which their author considers to be requisite characteristics of a true sense of humor, thenyouare sadly lacking in that coveted quality of mind and heart, and it behooves us to make an attempt to supply these deficiencies.Can a sense of humor be cultivated, and if it can be cultivated, is it safe to do so? some one asks—some one who has suffered at the hands of a clever jester perhaps. By wayof arriving at an answer, let us examine a little further the category of qualities which Mr. Crothers considers requisite to true humor.We have already noted mental alertness and power of discrimination. There can be no question as to the desirability or feasibility of developing these characteristics, since such development belongs to the fundamental effort of education. But these are but two characteristics of the quality we are considering, and not the distinguishing ones. "Humor," continues the category, "is the frank enjoyment of the imperfect." Now we scent a danger! For if, as Mr. Crothers admits, "artistic sensibility finds satisfaction only in the perfect," and since, as we all admit, artistic sensibility is an end in education devoutly to be desired, then is not a cultivation of the "frank enjoyment of the imperfect," oh dear and gentle humorist, a dangerous indulgence? The conclusive answer comes: "One may have learned to enjoy the sublime, the beautiful, the useful, the orderly, but he has missed something if he has not also learned to enjoy the incongruous, the illusive, and the unexpected." It is a conclusive reply, because we know that it is just as essential to achievement in the finest of the Fine Arts,—the art of living, as in every other form of Art, to recognize that the inrush of discord is for the final issue of harmony; that only through our ability to recognize illusion shall we come to know reality; that only through sensitiveness to the incongruous shall we develop a true sense of the fitness of things; that only frank enjoyment can disarm imperfection and find satisfaction in the perfect. So let us not hesitate to do all we can to cultivate a quality which Thackeray defines as a mixture of love and wit; to which Erasmus ascribes such desirable characteristics as good temper and insight into human nature; and for one grade of which, in addition to all its other qualities, Mr. Crothers claims "that it can proceed only from a mind free from any taint of morbidness."If then we conclude that it is not only safe, but possible and desirable, to cultivate a sense of humor, how shall we set about it? Toanswer you, as to one way at least, and that a way of interpretation, Mr. Crothers "is left alive," not only to furnish new material for the exercise of the sense, but to point a gently reminding finger toward the immortal sources of good humor,—"Chaucer and Cervantes and Montaigne; Shakespeare and Bacon and Fielding and Addison; Goldsmith, Charles Lamb, and Walter Scott, and in our own country, Irving and Dr. Holmes and James Russell Lowell." Whatever period of time your schedule grants to this phase of the work should be dedicated to a closer acquaintance with the flavor and atmosphere of these great-hearted humorists in their most genial moments. Let us also heed Mr. Crothers' warning against the humor of the Dean Swifts which "would be so irresistible were it not bad humor." Let us avoid more intimate acquaintance with the broad variety furnished by the Mark Twains and Mr. Dooleys, which may be legitimately classed as "good humor," but which is so obvious as to be little conducive to that mental alertness and power of discrimination which weaim to acquire through this study. Instead, let us seek the gracious company of William Dean Howells in the whimsical mood he so often induces.Accepting, then, as a distinguishing characteristic of the humor we desire to cultivate, ability to enjoy the incongruous, the illusive, and the unexpected, let us look to a master maker of these conditions for class-room guidance in this effort. I suppose Mr. Lewis Carroll has done more to develop this distinguishing characteristic than any other contributor to our Letters. So we shall go on an excursion with hisAliceinto theWonderlandhe made for her. If her frank enjoyment and free acceptance of the incongruous and the unexpected does not prove infectious, we must be forever written down among those who could not understandPeter Pan. We shall read and enjoy a chapter or two ofAlicetogether in class, but for suggestive analysis along interpretative lines Heaven forbid that I should lay violent hands on her text. No one can teach you to interpret yourAlicesave Alice herself. You maywalk with her, talk with her, dwindle and grow with her, join her adventures in any way she will permit, but you may not analyze nor dissect her. You may learn to interpret her only by living with her and loving her.NowÆsopis another matter. However long you may live with him, however much you may love his fables, there is a trick of interpretation to be learned in voicing his philosophy which will develop the whimsical side of your sense of humor and counteract the insistent moral tone attached to every fable.SUGGESTIVE ANALYSISThe danger in handling a fable does not lie, as the interpreter seems so often to think, in adopting too serious a tone. All the literature of pure fancy, from the humorous essays of Bacon through theArabian Nightsto the nonsensical rhymes of Lear, must be treated with great gravity of tone and temper by the interpreter. It is not levity, but only whimsicality of temperament, I demand from one who would read from this particular lore to me. I want my whimsical friend to interpret my Chaucer and Crothers,Peter Panand thePied Piper, Hans Christian Andersen, Carroll, and Lear, and all the rest of the genial host who minister to my most precious sense of nonsense. And, perhaps, most of all, it is he (the whimsical friend) who must read fables to me, for a fable, the dictionary tells us, is "a story in which, by the imagined dealings of men with animals or mere things, or by the supposed doings of these alone, useful lessons are taught." Now a moral "rubbed in" is like an overdose of certain kinds of medicine, where a little cures, too much kills. It is the presence of thelessonwhich the whimsical tone alone can offset. The whimsical tone never falls into the monotone. Whimsicality always seeks variety of emphasis and movement. Let us apply this to the reading of the fable calledTHE CROW AND THE PITCHERA crow, half dead with thirst, came upon a pitcher which had once been full of water; butwhen the crow put his beak into the mouth of the pitcher he found that only very little water was left in it, and that he could not reach far enough down to get at it. He tried, and he tried, but at last had to give up in despair. Then a thought came to him, and he took a pebble and dropped it into the pitcher. Then he took another pebble and dropped it into the pitcher. Then he took another pebble and dropped that into the pitcher. Then he took another pebble and dropped that into the pitcher. Then he took another pebble and dropped that into the pitcher. Then he took another pebble and dropped that into the pitcher. At last, at last, he saw the water mount up near him; and after casting in a few more pebbles he was able to quench his thirst and save his life.Little by little does the trick.How shall we avoid the monotony of the lines beginning "Then he took another pebble and dropped it into the pitcher"? Note that this line is followed by one in which but two words are changed, and then by a line with but one change, and then by three lines with no change at all. Our only hope lies in a variation of emphasis and movement—a whimsical variation. Try it! Give "another" the particular stress in reading thefirst of these lines. Pause at the close of the line as if to study the effect of the pebble. In the next line "that," of course, takes the emphasis. Pause before the word and give it a salient stress. The movement of the voice through these two lines has been deliberate. On the next line hasten it a little, and make the pause at the close of the line shorter. With the fourth line let the tone settle down to work. Give each of the first five words equal stress. With the fifth and last line let us feel that you may "go on forever," and surprise us with a very short pause and a joyful stress upon "at last, at last," and don't fail to let the enthusiasm of your tone give us the full sense of the relief which comes with the mounting of the water, and the delight in the conclusion—"he was able to quench his thirst and save his life." And now, most whimsically, let us voice the moral, "Little by little does the trick."SELECTIONS FOR INTERPRETATIONTHE LION AND THE MOUSEOnce when a lion was asleep a little mouse began running up and down upon him; this soonwakened the lion, who placed his huge paw upon him, and opened his big jaws to swallow him. "Pardon, O King," cried the little mouse; "forgive me this time. I shall never forget it; who knows but what I may be able to do you a turn some of these days?" The lion was so tickled at the idea of the mouse being able to help him, that he lifted up his paw and let him go. Some time after the lion was caught in a trap, and the hunters, who desired to carry him alive to the king, tied him to a tree while they went in search of a wagon to carry him on. Just then the little mouse happened to pass by, and seeing the sad plight in which the lion was, went up to him and soon gnawed away the ropes that bound the king of the beasts. "Was I not right?" said the little mouse.Little friends may prove great friends.THE WIND AND THE SUNThe wind and the sun were disputing which was the stronger. Suddenly they saw a traveler coming down the road, and the sun said: "I see a way to decide our dispute. Whichever of us can cause that traveler to take off his cloak shall be regarded as the stronger. You begin." So the sun retired behind a cloud, and the wind began to blow as hard as he could upon the traveler. But the harder he blew the more closely did the traveler wrap his cloak round him, till at last the wind had to give up in despair. Then the sun came out and shone inall his glory upon the traveler, who soon found it too hot to walk with his cloak on.Kindness effects more than severity.And, now, here is Alice herself to play with a little. Go fearlessly into herWonderlandand let her teach you "how to meet the illusive, the incongruous, and the unexpected." Let her minister to your ability to enjoy the imperfect. Let her develop yoursense of humor. If she cannot do so no one can.DOWN THE RABBIT-HOLE[8]Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do; once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, "and what is the use of a book," thought Alice, "without pictures or conversations?"So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid) whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.There was nothing soveryremarkable in that; nor did Alice think it soverymuch out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, "Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!" (when she thought it over afterward, it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural); but when the Rabbit actuallytook a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket, and looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it, and, burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge.In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down—so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very steep well.Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her, and to wonder what was going to happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything; then she looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and bookshelves; here and there she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed; it was labeled "ORANGE MARMALADE," but to her great disappointment it was empty. She did not like to drop the jar for fear of killing somebody, so managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it."Well!" thought Alice to herself. "After such a fall as this, I shall think nothing of tumbling down-stairs! How brave they'll all think me at home! Why, I wouldn't say anything about it, even if I fell off the top of the house!" (Which was very likely true.)Down, down, down. Would the fallnevercome to an end? "I wonder how many miles I've fallen by this time?" she said, aloud. "I must be getting somewhere near the center of the earth. Let me see: that would be four thousand miles down, I think—" (for, you see, Alice had learned several things of this sort in her lessons in the school-room, and though this was not averygood opportunity for showing off her knowledge, as there was no one to listen to her, still it was good practice to say it over) "—yes, that's about the right distance—but then I wonder what Latitude or Longitude I've got to?" (Alice had no idea what Latitude was, or Longitude either, but thought they were nice, grand words to say.)Presently she began again. "I wonder if I shall fall rightthroughthe earth? How funny it'll seem to come out among the people that walk with their heads downward! The Antipathies, I think—" (she was rather glad therewasno one listening this time, as it didn't sound at all the right word) "—but I shall have to ask them what the name of the country is, you know. 'Please, ma'am, is this New Zealand or Australia?'" (and she tried to courtesy as she spoke—fancycourtesyingas you're falling through the air! Do you think you could manage it?) "And what an ignorant little girl she'll think me! No, it'll never do to ask; perhaps I shall see it written up somewhere."Down, down, down. There was nothing else to do, so Alice soon began talking again. "Dinah'll miss me very much to-night, I should think!" (Dinah was the cat.) "I hope they'll remember her saucer of milk at tea-time. Dinah, my dear, I wish you were down here with me! There are no mice in the air, I'm afraid, but you might catch a bat, and that's very like a mouse, you know. But do cats eat bats, I wonder?" And here Alice began to get rather sleepy, and went on saying to herself, in a dreamy sort of way, "Do cats eat bats? Do cats eat bats?" and sometimes, "Do bats eat cats?" for, you see, as she couldn't answer either question, it didn't much matter which way she put it. She felt that she was dozing off, and had just begun to dream that she was walking hand in hand with Dinah, and saying to her very earnestly, "Now, Dinah, tell me the truth: did you ever eat a bat?" when suddenly, thump! thump! down she came upon a heap of dry leaves, and the fall was over.Alice was not a bit hurt, and she jumped up on her feet in a moment. She looked up, but it was all dark overhead; before her was another long passage, and the White Rabbit was still in sight, hurrying down it. There was not a moment to be lost; away went Alice like the wind, and was just in time to hear it say, as it turned a corner, "Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it's getting!" She was close behind it when she turned the corner, but the Rabbit was no longer to be seen; she found herself in a long, low hall, which was lit up by a row of lamps hanging from the roof.There were doors all round the hall, but they were all locked; and when Alice had been all the way down one side and up the other, trying every door, she walked sadly down the middle, wondering how she was ever to get out again.Suddenly she came upon a little three-legged table, all made of solid glass; there was nothing on it except a tiny golden key, and Alice's first thought was that it might belong to one of the doors of the hall; but, alas! either the locks were too large or the key was too small, but at any rate it would not open any of them. However, the second time round she came upon a low curtain she had not noticed before, and behind it was a little door about fifteen inches high. She tried the little golden key in the lock, and to her great delight it fitted!Alice opened the door and found that it led into a small passage, not much larger than a rat-hole. She knelt down and looked along thepassage into the loveliest garden you ever saw. How she longed to get out of that dark hall, and wander about among those beds of bright flowers and those cool fountains, but she could not even get her head through the doorway! "And even if my head would go through," thought poor Alice, "it would be of very little use without my shoulders. Oh, how I wish I could shut up like a telescope! I think I could, if I only knew how to begin." For, you see, so many out-of-the-way things had happened lately that Alice had begun to think that very few things indeed were really impossible.There seemed to be no use in waiting by the little door, so she went back to the table, half hoping she might find another key on it, or, at any rate, a book of rules for shutting people up like telescopes. This time she found a little bottle on it ("which certainly was not here before," said Alice), and round its neck a paper label, with the words "DRINK ME" beautifully printed on it in large letters.It was all very well to say "Drink me," but the wise little Alice was not going to dothatin a hurry. "No, I'll look first," she said, "and see whether it's marked 'poison' or not"; for she had read several nice little histories about children who had got burned, and eaten up by wild beasts, and many other unpleasant things, all because theywouldnot remember the simple rules their friends had taught them: such as, that a red-hot poker will burn you if you hold it too long; and that, if you cut your fingerverydeeply with a knife, it usually bleeds; and she had never forgotten that, if you drink much from a bottle marked "poison," it is almost certain to disagree with you, sooner or later.However, this bottle wasnotmarked "poison," so Alice ventured to taste it, and, finding it very nice (it had, in fact, a sort of mixed flavor of cherry-tart, custard, pineapple, roast turkey, toffee, and hot buttered toast), she very soon finished it off."What a curious feeling!" said Alice. "I must be shutting up like a telescope."And so it was, indeed: she was now only ten inches high, and her face brightened up at the thought that she was now the right size for going through the little door into that lovely garden. First, however, she waited for a few minutes to see if she was going to shrink any further: she felt a little nervous about this, "for it might end, you know," said Alice, "in my going out altogether, like a candle. I wonder what I should be like then?" And she tried to fancy what the flame of a candle is like after it is blown out, for she could not remember ever having seen such a thing.After a while, finding that nothing more happened, she decided to go into the garden at once, but, alas for poor Alice! when she got to the door she found she had forgotten the littlegolden key, and when she went back to the table for it she found she could not possibly reach it. She could see it quite plainly through the glass, and she tried her best to climb up one of the table-legs, but it was too slippery; and when she had tired herself out with trying, the poor little thing sat down and cried."Come, there's no use in crying like that!" said Alice to herself, rather sharply. "I advise you to leave off this minute!" She generally gave herself very good advice (though she very seldom followed it), and sometimes she scolded herself so severely as to bring tears in her eyes; and once she remembered trying to box her own ears for having cheated herself in a game of croquet she was playing against herself, for this curious child was very fond of pretending to be two people. "But it's no use now," thought poor Alice, "to pretend to be two people! Why, there's hardly enough of me left to makeonerespectable person!"Soon her eye fell on a little glass box that was lying under the table. She opened it, and found in it a very small cake, on which the words "EAT ME" were beautifully marked in currants. "Well, I'll eat it," said Alice, "and if it makes me larger I can reach the key, and if it makes me smaller I can creep under the door; so, either way, I'll get into the garden, and I don't care which happens!"She ate a little bit and said anxiously to herself, "Which way? Which way?" holding her hand on the top of her head to feel which wayit was growing, and she was quite surprised to find that she remained the same size. To be sure, this generally happens when one eats cake, but Alice had got so much into the way of expecting nothing but out-of-the-way things to happen that it seemed quite dull and stupid for life to go on in the common way.So she set to work, and very soon finished off the cake.THE POOL OF TEARS"Curiouser and curiouser!" cried Alice (she was so much surprised that for the moment she quite forgot how to speak good English); "now I'm opening out like the largest telescope that ever was! Good-by, feet!" (for when she looked down at her feet they seemed to be almost out of sight, they were getting so far off). "Oh, my poor little feet, I wonder who will put on your shoes and stockings for you now, dears? I'm sureIsha'n't be able! I shall be a great deal too far off to trouble myself about you: you must manage the best way you can—but I must be kind to them," thought Alice, "or perhaps they won't walk the way I want to go! Let me see; I'll give them a new pair of boots every Christmas."And she went on planning to herself how she would manage it. "They must go by the carrier," she thought; "and how funny it'll seem, sending presents to one's own feet! And how odd the directions will look!—Alice's Right Foot, Esq.Hearthrug,near the Fender(with Alice's love).Oh dear, what nonsense I'm talking!"Just then her head struck against the roof of the hall—in fact she was now more than nine feet high—and she at once took up the little golden key and hurried off to the garden door.Poor Alice! It was as much as she could do, lying down on one side, to look through into the garden with one eye, but to get through was more hopeless than ever. She sat down and began to cry again."You ought to be ashamed of yourself," said Alice—"a great girl like you" (she might well say this), "to go on crying in this way! Stop this moment, I tell you!" But she went on all the same, shedding gallons of tears, until there was a large pool all round her, about four inches deep and reaching half down the hall.After a time she heard a little pattering of feet in the distance, and she hastily dried her eyes to see what was coming. It was the White Rabbit returning, splendidly dressed, with a pair of white kid gloves in one hand and a large fan in the other. He came trotting along in a great hurry, muttering to himself as he came,"Oh! the Duchess, the Duchess! Oh! won't she be savage if I've kept her waiting!" Alice felt so desperate that she was ready to ask help of any one; so, when the Rabbit came near her, she began, in a low, timid voice, "If you please, sir—" The Rabbit started violently, dropped the white kid gloves and the fan, and scurried away into the darkness as hard as he could go.Alice took up the fan and gloves, and, as the hall was very hot, she kept fanning herself all the time she went on talking: "Dear, dear! How queer everything is to-day! And yesterday things went on just as usual. I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is, Who in the world am I? Ah,that'sthe great puzzle!" And she began thinking over all the children she knew that were of the same age as herself, to see if she could have been changed for any of them."I'm sure I'm not Ada," she said, "for her hair goes in such long ringlets, and mine doesn't go in ringlets at all; and I'm sure I can't be Mabel, for I know all sorts of things, and she, oh! she knows such a very little! Besides,she'sshe andI'mI, and—oh dear, how puzzling it all is! I'll try if I know all the things I used to know. Let me see: four times five is twelve, and four times six is thirteen, and four times seven is—oh dear! I shall never get to twenty at that rate! However, the MultiplicationTable doesn't signify: let's try Geography. London is the capital of Paris, and Paris is the capital of Rome, and Rome—no,that'sall wrong, I'm certain! I must have been changed for Mabel! I'll try and say 'How doth the little—'" and she crossed her hands on her lap as if she were saying lessons, and began to repeat it, but her voice sounded hoarse and strange, and the words did not come the same as they used to do:How doth the little crocodileImprove his shining tail,And pour the waters of the NileOn every golden scale!How cheerfully he seems to grin,How neatly spread his claws,And welcomes little fishes inWith gently smiling jaws!"I'm sure those are not the right words," said poor Alice, and her eyes filled with tears again as she went on: "I must be Mabel, after all, and I shall have to go and live in that poky little house, and have next to no toys to play with, and oh! ever so many lessons to learn! No, I've made up my mind about it; if I'm Mabel, I'll stay down here! It'll be no use their putting their heads down and saying, 'Come up again, dear!' I shall only look up and say, 'Who am I, then? Tell me that first, and then, if I like being that person, I'll come up; if not, I'll stay down here till I'm somebody else.' But, oh dear!" cried Alice, with asudden burst of tears, "I do wish theywouldput their heads down! I am soverytired of being all alone here!"As she said this she looked down at her hands, and was surprised to see that she had put on one of the Rabbit's little white kid gloves while she was talking. "HowcanI have done that?" she thought. "I must be growing small again." She got up and went to the table to measure herself by it, and found that, as nearly as she could guess, she was now about two feet high, and was going on shrinking rapidly. She soon found out that the cause of this was the fan she was holding, and she dropped it hastily, just in time to avoid shrinking away altogether."Thatwasa narrow escape!" said Alice, a good deal frightened at the sudden change, but very glad to find herself still in existence; "and now for the garden!" and she ran with all speed back to the little door; but, alas! the little door was shut again, and the little golden key was lying on the glass table as before, "and things are worse than ever," thought the poor child, "for I never was so small as this before—never! And I declare it's too bad, that it is!"As she said these words her foot slipped, and in another moment, splash! she was up to her chin in salt water. Her first idea was that she had somehow fallen into the sea, "and in that case I can go back by railway," she said to herself. (Alice had been to the seaside once in her life, and had come to the general conclusion that wherever you go to on the Englishcoast you find a number of bathing-machines in the sea, some children digging in the sand with wooden spades, then a row of lodging-houses, and behind them a railway station.) However, she soon made out that she was in the pool of tears which she had wept when she was nine feet high."I wish I hadn't cried so much!" said Alice, as she swam about, trying to find her way out. "I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears! Thatwillbe a queer thing, to be sure! However, everything is queer to-day."Just then she heard something splashing about in the pool a little way off, and she swam nearer to make out what it was. At first she thought it must be a walrus or hippopotamus, but then she remembered how small she was now, and she soon made out that it was only a mouse that had slipped in like herself."Would it be of any use, now," thought Alice, "to speak to this mouse? Everything is so out-of-the-way down here that I should think very likely it can talk; at any rate, there's no harm in trying." So she began: "O Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool? I am very tired of swimming about here, O Mouse!" (Alice thought this must be the right way of speaking to a mouse. She had never done such a thing before, but she remembered having seen in her brother's Latin Grammar, "A mouse—of a mouse—to a mouse—a mouse—O mouse!") The Mouse looked at her rather inquisitively,and seemed to her to wink with one of its little eyes, but it said nothing."Perhaps it doesn't understand English," thought Alice; "I dare say it's a French mouse, come over with William the Conqueror." (For with all her knowledge of history, Alice had no very clear notion how long ago anything had happened.) So she began again: "Ou est ma chatte?" which was the first sentence in her French lesson-book. The Mouse gave a sudden leap out of the water, and seemed to quiver all over with fright. "Oh, I beg your pardon!" cried Alice, hastily, afraid that she had hurt the poor animal's feelings. "I quite forgot you didn't like cats.""Not like cats!" cried the Mouse, in a shrill, passionate voice. "Wouldyoulike cats if you were me?""Well, perhaps not," said Alice, in a soothing tone. "Don't be angry about it. And yet I wish I could show you our cat Dinah: I think you'd take a fancy to cats if you could only see her. She is such a dear, quiet thing," Alice went on, half to herself, as she swam lazily about in the pool, "and she sits purring so nicely by the fire, licking her paws and washing her face—and she is such a nice soft thing to nurse—and she's such a capital one for catching mice—oh, I beg your pardon!" cried Alice again, for this time the Mouse was bristling all over, and she felt certain it must be really offended. "We won't talk about her any more, if you'd rather not.""We, indeed!" cried the Mouse, who was trembling down to the end of his tail. "As ifIwould talk on such a subject! Our family alwayshatedcats—nasty, low, vulgar things! Don't let me hear the name again!""I won't, indeed!" said Alice, in a great hurry to change the subject of conversation. "Are you—are you fond—of—of dogs?" The Mouse did not answer, so Alice went on eagerly: "There is such a nice little dog near our house I should like to show you! A little bright-eyed terrier, you know, with oh, such long, curly brown hair! And it'll fetch things when you throw them, and it'll sit up and beg for its dinner, and all sorts of things—I can't remember half of them—and it belongs to a farmer, you know, and he says it's so useful it's worth a hundred pounds! He says it kills all the rats and—oh dear!" cried Alice in a sorrowful tone, "I'm afraid I've offended it again!" For the Mouse was swimming away from her as hard as it could go, and making quite a commotion in the pool as it went.So she called softly after it, "Mouse dear! Do come back again, and we won't talk about cats, or dogs either, if you don't like them!" When the Mouse heard this, it turned round and swam slowly back to her. Its face was quite pale (with passion, Alice thought), and it said in a low, trembling voice, "Let us get to the shore, and then I'll tell you my history, and you'll understand why it is I hate cats and dogs."It was high time to go, for the pool was getting quite crowded with the birds and animals that had fallen into it: there were a Duck and a Dodo, a Lory and an Eaglet, and several other curious creatures. Alice led the way, and the whole party swam to the shore.THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTERThe sun was shining on the sea,Shining with all his might;He did his very best to makeThe billows smooth and bright—And this was odd, because it wasThe middle of the night.The moon was shining sulkily,Because she thought the sunHad got no business to be thereAfter the day was done—"It's very rude of him," she said,"To come and spoil the fun!"The sea was wet as wet could be,The sands were dry as dry.You could not see a cloud, becauseNo cloud was in the sky;No birds were flying overhead—There were no birds to fly.The Walrus and the CarpenterWere walking close at hand;They wept like anything to seeSuch quantities of sand—"If this were only cleared away,"They said, "it would be grand!""If seven maids with seven mopsSwept it for half a year,Do you suppose," the Walrus said,"That they could get it clear?""I doubt it," said the Carpenter,And shed a bitter tear."O Oysters, come and walk with us!"The Walrus did beseech."A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,Along the briny beach;We cannot do with more than four,To give a hand to each."The eldest Oyster looked at him,But never a word he said;The eldest Oyster winked his eye,And shook his heavy head—Meaning to say he did not chooseTo leave the oyster-bed.But four young Oysters hurried up,All eager for the treat;Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,Their shoes were clean and neat—And this was odd, because, you know,They hadn't any feet.Four other Oysters followed them,And yet another four;And thick and fast they came at last,And more, and more, and more—All hopping through the frothy waves,And scrambling to the shore.The Walrus and the CarpenterWalked on a mile or so,And then they rested on a rockConveniently low—And all the little Oysters stoodAnd waited in a row."The time has come," the Walrus said,"To talk of many things:Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—Of cabbages—and kings—And why the sea is boiling hot—And whether pigs have wings.""But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,"Before we have our chat;For some of us are out of breath,And all of us are fat!""No hurry!" said the Carpenter.They thanked him much for that."A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,"Is what we chiefly need;Pepper and vinegar besidesAre very good indeed—Now, if you're ready, Oysters dear,We can begin to feed.""But not on us!" the Oysters cried,Turning a little blue."After such kindness, that would beA dismal thing to do!""The night is fine," the Walrus said."Do you admire the view?"It was so kind of you to come!And you are very nice!"The Carpenter said nothing but,"Cut us another slice.I wish you were not quite so deaf—I've had to ask you twice!""It seems a shame," the Walrus said,"To play them such a trick.After we've brought them out so far,And made them trot so quick!"The Carpenter said nothing but,"The butter's spread too thick!""I weep for you," the Walrus said;"I deeply sympathize."With sobs and tears he sorted outThose of the largest size,Holding his pocket-handkerchiefBefore his streaming eyes."O Oysters," said the Carpenter,"You've had a pleasant run!Shall we be trotting home again?"But answer came there none—And this was scarcely odd, becauseThey'd eaten every one.We must not deny to humor and fancy the opportunity for creative effort offered to other faculties in our previous studies. What form shall the effort take: fable, fairy tale, a whimsical play of fancy in essay, or merely a nonsense rhyme? I think we must bar thelimerickfrom our serious creative efforts in the study. You may engage as a class in an extemporaneous contest in the making of this infectious form of verse if you like.Meanwhile, there is still another class-room test of humor which should be made,—the test of the clever anecdote. There is nothing which so effectually discloses the quality of your sense of humor as your attitude toward so-called funny stories. Judgment in such a case will rest upon three points: What you think is "funny" enough to tell; when you judge it "apropos" to tell; and the manner of the telling. Three warnings are in order at this point. If you find that you must preface your anecdote with the question too often heard, "Do you think you can stand this story?—it reallyisclever," in the name of clean humor, don'ttell it! If you find you must introduce your anecdote with the remark, "Apropos of nothing," or "This is not apropos, but"—in the name of "sulphitic" humor, don't tell it; finally, if you don't knowhowto tell it, in the name of any and all humor,don't tell it.With these cautions in mind, I shall ask you to bring to class to-morrow your best three "funny stories." Conflicting choice is not likely to have appropriated all three of your favorite anecdotes. Should you find that it has done so, never mind. Your taste, though it coincides with another's, can be quite as well questioned or commended; and the manner of your telling will be subjected to trial by comparison, which, if not always comfortable, is always helpful (when met in the right spirit).Remember, the serious creative work you are to produce is to take the form of a fable, fairy story, or humorous essay.FOURTH STUDYTO DEVELOP IMAGINATIVE VIGORIn one of the great manufacturing towns of the Northwest there are some twenty-five thousand girls employed in factories. The city permits conditions of work hostile to the physical life of these girls. Civic reform is trying to control these conditions. In time it doubtless will succeed in doing so; meanwhile it makes efforts in other directions. It establishes working girls' clubs. A class in literature in one of these clubs enlisted the services of a comprehending young teacher, who kept the girls interested for more than two years. A little girl from a bag factory entered this class. She came to every meeting of the first year. She did not join in the discussions nor ask questions nor evince unusual intelligence or enjoyment, but shecameevery night. The class began its second year. The little girl from the bag factory was the first to enroll. The teacher could not cover the surprise in her question, "Are you coming into the class again?" The girl's breathless "Oh yes" sent her to investigate the case. She went to the factory. She found the child standing at a bench folding bags. Eight hours a day she folded bags. A swing back on her right foot with the stuff of which the bag was made grasped in her hands—a swing forward, and her hands brought the edges of the stuff together evenly. Over and over a thousand times the single motion repeated made up the girl's day. "It used to make me tired," she said, simply. "But it doesn't any more?" "No, because now I forget what I am doing sometimes. I have my book, you see. They let me fasten it here." There it was—a paper copy of Shelley's poems. The print was good; the teacher had seen to that. She had observed that factory girls' eyes are not always very strong. The book was fastened to the front of the desk. The child could catch a linefrom time to time without interrupting her bag-folding. "But I know most of the poems we have studied in class by heart." So she had to recall but a line, and then off she would go through the windows of the stifling factory into the open fields on the wings of herimagination. She was a swift, sure, little workman; her eye watched the stuff before her and measured it truly; her hands obeyed her eye, did her work efficiently, and "kept her job." But the eye of her imagination had been opened in the literature class and kept her soul alive in spite "of her job." This is a true story. It has significance for you and me.If through the use of her imagination a little factory girl can escape from the monotony of bag-folding, and find freedom and joy in the lyric world Shelley has created, what limit need be set to our emancipation through the development of this faculty?But emancipation is but one result of such development. Listen to David as he stands with his harp before the King in Browning's story ofSaul. Already his song has releasedthe monarch from the depths of his great despair, but now comes the boy's cry:

GARDEN FANCIESTHE FLOWER'S NAMEHere's the garden she walked across,Arm in my arm, such a short while since.Hark, now I push its wicket, the mossHinders the hinges and makes them wince!She must have reached this shrub ere she turned,As back with that murmur the wicket swung;For she laid the poor snail, my chance foot spurned,To feed and forget it the leaves among.Down this side of the gravel walkShe went while her robe's edge brushed the box:And here she paused in her gracious talkTo point me a moth on the milk-white phlox.Roses, ranged in valiant row,I will never think that she passed you by!She loves you, noble roses, I know;But yonder, see, where the rock-plants lie!This flower she stopped at, finger on lip,Stooped over, in doubt, as settling its claim;Till she gave me, with pride to make no slip,Its soft meandering Spanish name.What a name! Was it love or praise?Speech half-asleep or song half-awake?I must learn Spanish, one of these days,Only for that slow sweet name's sake.Roses, if I live and do well,I may bring her, one of these days,To fix you fast with as fine a spell,Fit you each with his Spanish phrase;But do not detain me now; for she lingersThere, like sunshine over the ground,And ever I see her soft white fingersSearching after the bud she found.Flower, you Spaniard, look that you grow not,Stay as you are and be loved forever!Bud, if I kiss you 'tis that you blow not:Mind, the shut pink mouth opens never!For while it pouts, her fingers wrestle,Twinkling the audacious leaves between,Till round they turn and down they nestle—Is not the dear mark still to be seen?Where I find her not, beauties vanish;Whither I follow her, beauties flee;Is there no method to tell her in SpanishJune's twice June since she breathed it with me?Come, bud, show me the least of her traces,Treasure my lady's lightest footfall!—Ah, you may flout and turn up your faces—Roses, you are not so fair after all!—Browning.

GARDEN FANCIES

Here's the garden she walked across,Arm in my arm, such a short while since.Hark, now I push its wicket, the mossHinders the hinges and makes them wince!She must have reached this shrub ere she turned,As back with that murmur the wicket swung;For she laid the poor snail, my chance foot spurned,To feed and forget it the leaves among.

Down this side of the gravel walkShe went while her robe's edge brushed the box:And here she paused in her gracious talkTo point me a moth on the milk-white phlox.Roses, ranged in valiant row,I will never think that she passed you by!She loves you, noble roses, I know;But yonder, see, where the rock-plants lie!

This flower she stopped at, finger on lip,Stooped over, in doubt, as settling its claim;Till she gave me, with pride to make no slip,Its soft meandering Spanish name.What a name! Was it love or praise?Speech half-asleep or song half-awake?I must learn Spanish, one of these days,Only for that slow sweet name's sake.

Roses, if I live and do well,I may bring her, one of these days,To fix you fast with as fine a spell,Fit you each with his Spanish phrase;But do not detain me now; for she lingersThere, like sunshine over the ground,And ever I see her soft white fingersSearching after the bud she found.

Flower, you Spaniard, look that you grow not,Stay as you are and be loved forever!Bud, if I kiss you 'tis that you blow not:Mind, the shut pink mouth opens never!For while it pouts, her fingers wrestle,Twinkling the audacious leaves between,Till round they turn and down they nestle—Is not the dear mark still to be seen?

Where I find her not, beauties vanish;Whither I follow her, beauties flee;Is there no method to tell her in SpanishJune's twice June since she breathed it with me?Come, bud, show me the least of her traces,Treasure my lady's lightest footfall!—Ah, you may flout and turn up your faces—Roses, you are not so fair after all!

—Browning.

—Browning.

That "the poet is born, not made," is more and more an undisputed fact in every literary age. But many a birthright of poetic power has been saved from sale for a mess of pottage by a wisely ordered meeting of the young bard, while his gift was still latent, with the masters of lyric expression.

Such an introduction is the object of this study, so far as it can embrace in its aim the ends of both forms of expression,—interpretation and composition. There is no thought of inducing even an aspirant to thepoetical purple, much less a Shelley or a Keats or an Alice Brown, through this brief dwelling with their immortal songs; but if this intensive interpretative study of the highest lyric expression does not result in a new sense of word values, a new sensitiveness to the music of the English language, out of which the songs of America must be made, then the study will have failed in its purpose toward you. If from this suggestive analysis of Shelley's "Skylark" you receive no impulse to use words with a new delight in thefitting of sound to sense, a new reverence for their harmonious arrangement to suggest and sustain an atmosphere; if, in short, your vocabulary is not enriched and your choice of words clarified through this study, then your new acquaintance with lyric expression will have been in vain. And, finally, if some one of you at least is not impelled by these excursions into the world of song to use his enriched vocabulary in an attempt to create a bit of lyric description in prose or verse, then the author of this study, and the teacher under whose direction it is made, must admit a failure to reach with the pupil the ultimate aim of such interpretative effort.

Let us make the test. As a final problem of this study I shall ask you to let your emotion find expression—lyric expression—in a bit of prose description. Don't be afraid! Use your vocabulary! Take as a subject: the bit of earth and sky you have secretly worshiped; the bird song or flight which has charmed your day; the memory of some illumined moment; the effect of anyone of these lyrics upon you. Don't be afraid! And remember it is to be literature offeelingrather than thought;description, not exposition.

Addressing theGentle Readerin deliciously whimsical vein on theMission of Humor, Mr. Samuel Arthur Crothers declares: "Were I appointed by the school board to consider the applicants for teachers' certificates, after they had passed the examinations in the arts and sciences, I should subject them to a more rigid test. I should hand each candidate Lamb's essays on 'The Old and New Schoolmaster' and on 'Imperfect Sympathies.' I should make him read them to himself, while I sat by and watched. If his countenance never relaxed, as if he were inwardly saying, 'That's so,' I should withhold the certificate. I should not consider him a fit person to have charge of innocent youth." We can readily see from this extract that we need not go back to the early part of the last century to find material for our test of this sovereign quality, a sense of humor. Mr. Crothers himself, the Charles Lamb of our American Letters to-day, shall furnish our subject-matter. Bring yourGentle Reader, orThe Pardoner's Wallet, or the essays collected with theChristmas Sermon, to class to-morrow. If these volumes are not in your personal library, your library is sadly lacking. Read "The Honorable Points of Ignorance," "How to Know the Fallacies," or "Conscience Concerning Witchcraft." If any one of these fails to disclose in you the mental alertness and power of discrimination which their author considers to be requisite characteristics of a true sense of humor, thenyouare sadly lacking in that coveted quality of mind and heart, and it behooves us to make an attempt to supply these deficiencies.

Can a sense of humor be cultivated, and if it can be cultivated, is it safe to do so? some one asks—some one who has suffered at the hands of a clever jester perhaps. By wayof arriving at an answer, let us examine a little further the category of qualities which Mr. Crothers considers requisite to true humor.

We have already noted mental alertness and power of discrimination. There can be no question as to the desirability or feasibility of developing these characteristics, since such development belongs to the fundamental effort of education. But these are but two characteristics of the quality we are considering, and not the distinguishing ones. "Humor," continues the category, "is the frank enjoyment of the imperfect." Now we scent a danger! For if, as Mr. Crothers admits, "artistic sensibility finds satisfaction only in the perfect," and since, as we all admit, artistic sensibility is an end in education devoutly to be desired, then is not a cultivation of the "frank enjoyment of the imperfect," oh dear and gentle humorist, a dangerous indulgence? The conclusive answer comes: "One may have learned to enjoy the sublime, the beautiful, the useful, the orderly, but he has missed something if he has not also learned to enjoy the incongruous, the illusive, and the unexpected." It is a conclusive reply, because we know that it is just as essential to achievement in the finest of the Fine Arts,—the art of living, as in every other form of Art, to recognize that the inrush of discord is for the final issue of harmony; that only through our ability to recognize illusion shall we come to know reality; that only through sensitiveness to the incongruous shall we develop a true sense of the fitness of things; that only frank enjoyment can disarm imperfection and find satisfaction in the perfect. So let us not hesitate to do all we can to cultivate a quality which Thackeray defines as a mixture of love and wit; to which Erasmus ascribes such desirable characteristics as good temper and insight into human nature; and for one grade of which, in addition to all its other qualities, Mr. Crothers claims "that it can proceed only from a mind free from any taint of morbidness."

If then we conclude that it is not only safe, but possible and desirable, to cultivate a sense of humor, how shall we set about it? Toanswer you, as to one way at least, and that a way of interpretation, Mr. Crothers "is left alive," not only to furnish new material for the exercise of the sense, but to point a gently reminding finger toward the immortal sources of good humor,—"Chaucer and Cervantes and Montaigne; Shakespeare and Bacon and Fielding and Addison; Goldsmith, Charles Lamb, and Walter Scott, and in our own country, Irving and Dr. Holmes and James Russell Lowell." Whatever period of time your schedule grants to this phase of the work should be dedicated to a closer acquaintance with the flavor and atmosphere of these great-hearted humorists in their most genial moments. Let us also heed Mr. Crothers' warning against the humor of the Dean Swifts which "would be so irresistible were it not bad humor." Let us avoid more intimate acquaintance with the broad variety furnished by the Mark Twains and Mr. Dooleys, which may be legitimately classed as "good humor," but which is so obvious as to be little conducive to that mental alertness and power of discrimination which weaim to acquire through this study. Instead, let us seek the gracious company of William Dean Howells in the whimsical mood he so often induces.

Accepting, then, as a distinguishing characteristic of the humor we desire to cultivate, ability to enjoy the incongruous, the illusive, and the unexpected, let us look to a master maker of these conditions for class-room guidance in this effort. I suppose Mr. Lewis Carroll has done more to develop this distinguishing characteristic than any other contributor to our Letters. So we shall go on an excursion with hisAliceinto theWonderlandhe made for her. If her frank enjoyment and free acceptance of the incongruous and the unexpected does not prove infectious, we must be forever written down among those who could not understandPeter Pan. We shall read and enjoy a chapter or two ofAlicetogether in class, but for suggestive analysis along interpretative lines Heaven forbid that I should lay violent hands on her text. No one can teach you to interpret yourAlicesave Alice herself. You maywalk with her, talk with her, dwindle and grow with her, join her adventures in any way she will permit, but you may not analyze nor dissect her. You may learn to interpret her only by living with her and loving her.

NowÆsopis another matter. However long you may live with him, however much you may love his fables, there is a trick of interpretation to be learned in voicing his philosophy which will develop the whimsical side of your sense of humor and counteract the insistent moral tone attached to every fable.

The danger in handling a fable does not lie, as the interpreter seems so often to think, in adopting too serious a tone. All the literature of pure fancy, from the humorous essays of Bacon through theArabian Nightsto the nonsensical rhymes of Lear, must be treated with great gravity of tone and temper by the interpreter. It is not levity, but only whimsicality of temperament, I demand from one who would read from this particular lore to me. I want my whimsical friend to interpret my Chaucer and Crothers,Peter Panand thePied Piper, Hans Christian Andersen, Carroll, and Lear, and all the rest of the genial host who minister to my most precious sense of nonsense. And, perhaps, most of all, it is he (the whimsical friend) who must read fables to me, for a fable, the dictionary tells us, is "a story in which, by the imagined dealings of men with animals or mere things, or by the supposed doings of these alone, useful lessons are taught." Now a moral "rubbed in" is like an overdose of certain kinds of medicine, where a little cures, too much kills. It is the presence of thelessonwhich the whimsical tone alone can offset. The whimsical tone never falls into the monotone. Whimsicality always seeks variety of emphasis and movement. Let us apply this to the reading of the fable called

THE CROW AND THE PITCHERA crow, half dead with thirst, came upon a pitcher which had once been full of water; butwhen the crow put his beak into the mouth of the pitcher he found that only very little water was left in it, and that he could not reach far enough down to get at it. He tried, and he tried, but at last had to give up in despair. Then a thought came to him, and he took a pebble and dropped it into the pitcher. Then he took another pebble and dropped it into the pitcher. Then he took another pebble and dropped that into the pitcher. Then he took another pebble and dropped that into the pitcher. Then he took another pebble and dropped that into the pitcher. Then he took another pebble and dropped that into the pitcher. At last, at last, he saw the water mount up near him; and after casting in a few more pebbles he was able to quench his thirst and save his life.Little by little does the trick.

THE CROW AND THE PITCHER

A crow, half dead with thirst, came upon a pitcher which had once been full of water; butwhen the crow put his beak into the mouth of the pitcher he found that only very little water was left in it, and that he could not reach far enough down to get at it. He tried, and he tried, but at last had to give up in despair. Then a thought came to him, and he took a pebble and dropped it into the pitcher. Then he took another pebble and dropped it into the pitcher. Then he took another pebble and dropped that into the pitcher. Then he took another pebble and dropped that into the pitcher. Then he took another pebble and dropped that into the pitcher. Then he took another pebble and dropped that into the pitcher. At last, at last, he saw the water mount up near him; and after casting in a few more pebbles he was able to quench his thirst and save his life.

Little by little does the trick.

How shall we avoid the monotony of the lines beginning "Then he took another pebble and dropped it into the pitcher"? Note that this line is followed by one in which but two words are changed, and then by a line with but one change, and then by three lines with no change at all. Our only hope lies in a variation of emphasis and movement—a whimsical variation. Try it! Give "another" the particular stress in reading thefirst of these lines. Pause at the close of the line as if to study the effect of the pebble. In the next line "that," of course, takes the emphasis. Pause before the word and give it a salient stress. The movement of the voice through these two lines has been deliberate. On the next line hasten it a little, and make the pause at the close of the line shorter. With the fourth line let the tone settle down to work. Give each of the first five words equal stress. With the fifth and last line let us feel that you may "go on forever," and surprise us with a very short pause and a joyful stress upon "at last, at last," and don't fail to let the enthusiasm of your tone give us the full sense of the relief which comes with the mounting of the water, and the delight in the conclusion—"he was able to quench his thirst and save his life." And now, most whimsically, let us voice the moral, "Little by little does the trick."

THE LION AND THE MOUSEOnce when a lion was asleep a little mouse began running up and down upon him; this soonwakened the lion, who placed his huge paw upon him, and opened his big jaws to swallow him. "Pardon, O King," cried the little mouse; "forgive me this time. I shall never forget it; who knows but what I may be able to do you a turn some of these days?" The lion was so tickled at the idea of the mouse being able to help him, that he lifted up his paw and let him go. Some time after the lion was caught in a trap, and the hunters, who desired to carry him alive to the king, tied him to a tree while they went in search of a wagon to carry him on. Just then the little mouse happened to pass by, and seeing the sad plight in which the lion was, went up to him and soon gnawed away the ropes that bound the king of the beasts. "Was I not right?" said the little mouse.Little friends may prove great friends.THE WIND AND THE SUNThe wind and the sun were disputing which was the stronger. Suddenly they saw a traveler coming down the road, and the sun said: "I see a way to decide our dispute. Whichever of us can cause that traveler to take off his cloak shall be regarded as the stronger. You begin." So the sun retired behind a cloud, and the wind began to blow as hard as he could upon the traveler. But the harder he blew the more closely did the traveler wrap his cloak round him, till at last the wind had to give up in despair. Then the sun came out and shone inall his glory upon the traveler, who soon found it too hot to walk with his cloak on.Kindness effects more than severity.

THE LION AND THE MOUSE

Once when a lion was asleep a little mouse began running up and down upon him; this soonwakened the lion, who placed his huge paw upon him, and opened his big jaws to swallow him. "Pardon, O King," cried the little mouse; "forgive me this time. I shall never forget it; who knows but what I may be able to do you a turn some of these days?" The lion was so tickled at the idea of the mouse being able to help him, that he lifted up his paw and let him go. Some time after the lion was caught in a trap, and the hunters, who desired to carry him alive to the king, tied him to a tree while they went in search of a wagon to carry him on. Just then the little mouse happened to pass by, and seeing the sad plight in which the lion was, went up to him and soon gnawed away the ropes that bound the king of the beasts. "Was I not right?" said the little mouse.

Little friends may prove great friends.

THE WIND AND THE SUN

The wind and the sun were disputing which was the stronger. Suddenly they saw a traveler coming down the road, and the sun said: "I see a way to decide our dispute. Whichever of us can cause that traveler to take off his cloak shall be regarded as the stronger. You begin." So the sun retired behind a cloud, and the wind began to blow as hard as he could upon the traveler. But the harder he blew the more closely did the traveler wrap his cloak round him, till at last the wind had to give up in despair. Then the sun came out and shone inall his glory upon the traveler, who soon found it too hot to walk with his cloak on.

Kindness effects more than severity.

And, now, here is Alice herself to play with a little. Go fearlessly into herWonderlandand let her teach you "how to meet the illusive, the incongruous, and the unexpected." Let her minister to your ability to enjoy the imperfect. Let her develop yoursense of humor. If she cannot do so no one can.

DOWN THE RABBIT-HOLE[8]Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do; once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, "and what is the use of a book," thought Alice, "without pictures or conversations?"So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid) whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.There was nothing soveryremarkable in that; nor did Alice think it soverymuch out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, "Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!" (when she thought it over afterward, it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural); but when the Rabbit actuallytook a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket, and looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it, and, burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge.In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down—so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very steep well.Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her, and to wonder what was going to happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything; then she looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and bookshelves; here and there she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed; it was labeled "ORANGE MARMALADE," but to her great disappointment it was empty. She did not like to drop the jar for fear of killing somebody, so managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it."Well!" thought Alice to herself. "After such a fall as this, I shall think nothing of tumbling down-stairs! How brave they'll all think me at home! Why, I wouldn't say anything about it, even if I fell off the top of the house!" (Which was very likely true.)Down, down, down. Would the fallnevercome to an end? "I wonder how many miles I've fallen by this time?" she said, aloud. "I must be getting somewhere near the center of the earth. Let me see: that would be four thousand miles down, I think—" (for, you see, Alice had learned several things of this sort in her lessons in the school-room, and though this was not averygood opportunity for showing off her knowledge, as there was no one to listen to her, still it was good practice to say it over) "—yes, that's about the right distance—but then I wonder what Latitude or Longitude I've got to?" (Alice had no idea what Latitude was, or Longitude either, but thought they were nice, grand words to say.)Presently she began again. "I wonder if I shall fall rightthroughthe earth? How funny it'll seem to come out among the people that walk with their heads downward! The Antipathies, I think—" (she was rather glad therewasno one listening this time, as it didn't sound at all the right word) "—but I shall have to ask them what the name of the country is, you know. 'Please, ma'am, is this New Zealand or Australia?'" (and she tried to courtesy as she spoke—fancycourtesyingas you're falling through the air! Do you think you could manage it?) "And what an ignorant little girl she'll think me! No, it'll never do to ask; perhaps I shall see it written up somewhere."Down, down, down. There was nothing else to do, so Alice soon began talking again. "Dinah'll miss me very much to-night, I should think!" (Dinah was the cat.) "I hope they'll remember her saucer of milk at tea-time. Dinah, my dear, I wish you were down here with me! There are no mice in the air, I'm afraid, but you might catch a bat, and that's very like a mouse, you know. But do cats eat bats, I wonder?" And here Alice began to get rather sleepy, and went on saying to herself, in a dreamy sort of way, "Do cats eat bats? Do cats eat bats?" and sometimes, "Do bats eat cats?" for, you see, as she couldn't answer either question, it didn't much matter which way she put it. She felt that she was dozing off, and had just begun to dream that she was walking hand in hand with Dinah, and saying to her very earnestly, "Now, Dinah, tell me the truth: did you ever eat a bat?" when suddenly, thump! thump! down she came upon a heap of dry leaves, and the fall was over.Alice was not a bit hurt, and she jumped up on her feet in a moment. She looked up, but it was all dark overhead; before her was another long passage, and the White Rabbit was still in sight, hurrying down it. There was not a moment to be lost; away went Alice like the wind, and was just in time to hear it say, as it turned a corner, "Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it's getting!" She was close behind it when she turned the corner, but the Rabbit was no longer to be seen; she found herself in a long, low hall, which was lit up by a row of lamps hanging from the roof.There were doors all round the hall, but they were all locked; and when Alice had been all the way down one side and up the other, trying every door, she walked sadly down the middle, wondering how she was ever to get out again.Suddenly she came upon a little three-legged table, all made of solid glass; there was nothing on it except a tiny golden key, and Alice's first thought was that it might belong to one of the doors of the hall; but, alas! either the locks were too large or the key was too small, but at any rate it would not open any of them. However, the second time round she came upon a low curtain she had not noticed before, and behind it was a little door about fifteen inches high. She tried the little golden key in the lock, and to her great delight it fitted!Alice opened the door and found that it led into a small passage, not much larger than a rat-hole. She knelt down and looked along thepassage into the loveliest garden you ever saw. How she longed to get out of that dark hall, and wander about among those beds of bright flowers and those cool fountains, but she could not even get her head through the doorway! "And even if my head would go through," thought poor Alice, "it would be of very little use without my shoulders. Oh, how I wish I could shut up like a telescope! I think I could, if I only knew how to begin." For, you see, so many out-of-the-way things had happened lately that Alice had begun to think that very few things indeed were really impossible.There seemed to be no use in waiting by the little door, so she went back to the table, half hoping she might find another key on it, or, at any rate, a book of rules for shutting people up like telescopes. This time she found a little bottle on it ("which certainly was not here before," said Alice), and round its neck a paper label, with the words "DRINK ME" beautifully printed on it in large letters.It was all very well to say "Drink me," but the wise little Alice was not going to dothatin a hurry. "No, I'll look first," she said, "and see whether it's marked 'poison' or not"; for she had read several nice little histories about children who had got burned, and eaten up by wild beasts, and many other unpleasant things, all because theywouldnot remember the simple rules their friends had taught them: such as, that a red-hot poker will burn you if you hold it too long; and that, if you cut your fingerverydeeply with a knife, it usually bleeds; and she had never forgotten that, if you drink much from a bottle marked "poison," it is almost certain to disagree with you, sooner or later.However, this bottle wasnotmarked "poison," so Alice ventured to taste it, and, finding it very nice (it had, in fact, a sort of mixed flavor of cherry-tart, custard, pineapple, roast turkey, toffee, and hot buttered toast), she very soon finished it off."What a curious feeling!" said Alice. "I must be shutting up like a telescope."And so it was, indeed: she was now only ten inches high, and her face brightened up at the thought that she was now the right size for going through the little door into that lovely garden. First, however, she waited for a few minutes to see if she was going to shrink any further: she felt a little nervous about this, "for it might end, you know," said Alice, "in my going out altogether, like a candle. I wonder what I should be like then?" And she tried to fancy what the flame of a candle is like after it is blown out, for she could not remember ever having seen such a thing.After a while, finding that nothing more happened, she decided to go into the garden at once, but, alas for poor Alice! when she got to the door she found she had forgotten the littlegolden key, and when she went back to the table for it she found she could not possibly reach it. She could see it quite plainly through the glass, and she tried her best to climb up one of the table-legs, but it was too slippery; and when she had tired herself out with trying, the poor little thing sat down and cried."Come, there's no use in crying like that!" said Alice to herself, rather sharply. "I advise you to leave off this minute!" She generally gave herself very good advice (though she very seldom followed it), and sometimes she scolded herself so severely as to bring tears in her eyes; and once she remembered trying to box her own ears for having cheated herself in a game of croquet she was playing against herself, for this curious child was very fond of pretending to be two people. "But it's no use now," thought poor Alice, "to pretend to be two people! Why, there's hardly enough of me left to makeonerespectable person!"Soon her eye fell on a little glass box that was lying under the table. She opened it, and found in it a very small cake, on which the words "EAT ME" were beautifully marked in currants. "Well, I'll eat it," said Alice, "and if it makes me larger I can reach the key, and if it makes me smaller I can creep under the door; so, either way, I'll get into the garden, and I don't care which happens!"She ate a little bit and said anxiously to herself, "Which way? Which way?" holding her hand on the top of her head to feel which wayit was growing, and she was quite surprised to find that she remained the same size. To be sure, this generally happens when one eats cake, but Alice had got so much into the way of expecting nothing but out-of-the-way things to happen that it seemed quite dull and stupid for life to go on in the common way.So she set to work, and very soon finished off the cake.THE POOL OF TEARS"Curiouser and curiouser!" cried Alice (she was so much surprised that for the moment she quite forgot how to speak good English); "now I'm opening out like the largest telescope that ever was! Good-by, feet!" (for when she looked down at her feet they seemed to be almost out of sight, they were getting so far off). "Oh, my poor little feet, I wonder who will put on your shoes and stockings for you now, dears? I'm sureIsha'n't be able! I shall be a great deal too far off to trouble myself about you: you must manage the best way you can—but I must be kind to them," thought Alice, "or perhaps they won't walk the way I want to go! Let me see; I'll give them a new pair of boots every Christmas."And she went on planning to herself how she would manage it. "They must go by the carrier," she thought; "and how funny it'll seem, sending presents to one's own feet! And how odd the directions will look!—Alice's Right Foot, Esq.Hearthrug,near the Fender(with Alice's love).Oh dear, what nonsense I'm talking!"Just then her head struck against the roof of the hall—in fact she was now more than nine feet high—and she at once took up the little golden key and hurried off to the garden door.Poor Alice! It was as much as she could do, lying down on one side, to look through into the garden with one eye, but to get through was more hopeless than ever. She sat down and began to cry again."You ought to be ashamed of yourself," said Alice—"a great girl like you" (she might well say this), "to go on crying in this way! Stop this moment, I tell you!" But she went on all the same, shedding gallons of tears, until there was a large pool all round her, about four inches deep and reaching half down the hall.After a time she heard a little pattering of feet in the distance, and she hastily dried her eyes to see what was coming. It was the White Rabbit returning, splendidly dressed, with a pair of white kid gloves in one hand and a large fan in the other. He came trotting along in a great hurry, muttering to himself as he came,"Oh! the Duchess, the Duchess! Oh! won't she be savage if I've kept her waiting!" Alice felt so desperate that she was ready to ask help of any one; so, when the Rabbit came near her, she began, in a low, timid voice, "If you please, sir—" The Rabbit started violently, dropped the white kid gloves and the fan, and scurried away into the darkness as hard as he could go.Alice took up the fan and gloves, and, as the hall was very hot, she kept fanning herself all the time she went on talking: "Dear, dear! How queer everything is to-day! And yesterday things went on just as usual. I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is, Who in the world am I? Ah,that'sthe great puzzle!" And she began thinking over all the children she knew that were of the same age as herself, to see if she could have been changed for any of them."I'm sure I'm not Ada," she said, "for her hair goes in such long ringlets, and mine doesn't go in ringlets at all; and I'm sure I can't be Mabel, for I know all sorts of things, and she, oh! she knows such a very little! Besides,she'sshe andI'mI, and—oh dear, how puzzling it all is! I'll try if I know all the things I used to know. Let me see: four times five is twelve, and four times six is thirteen, and four times seven is—oh dear! I shall never get to twenty at that rate! However, the MultiplicationTable doesn't signify: let's try Geography. London is the capital of Paris, and Paris is the capital of Rome, and Rome—no,that'sall wrong, I'm certain! I must have been changed for Mabel! I'll try and say 'How doth the little—'" and she crossed her hands on her lap as if she were saying lessons, and began to repeat it, but her voice sounded hoarse and strange, and the words did not come the same as they used to do:How doth the little crocodileImprove his shining tail,And pour the waters of the NileOn every golden scale!How cheerfully he seems to grin,How neatly spread his claws,And welcomes little fishes inWith gently smiling jaws!"I'm sure those are not the right words," said poor Alice, and her eyes filled with tears again as she went on: "I must be Mabel, after all, and I shall have to go and live in that poky little house, and have next to no toys to play with, and oh! ever so many lessons to learn! No, I've made up my mind about it; if I'm Mabel, I'll stay down here! It'll be no use their putting their heads down and saying, 'Come up again, dear!' I shall only look up and say, 'Who am I, then? Tell me that first, and then, if I like being that person, I'll come up; if not, I'll stay down here till I'm somebody else.' But, oh dear!" cried Alice, with asudden burst of tears, "I do wish theywouldput their heads down! I am soverytired of being all alone here!"As she said this she looked down at her hands, and was surprised to see that she had put on one of the Rabbit's little white kid gloves while she was talking. "HowcanI have done that?" she thought. "I must be growing small again." She got up and went to the table to measure herself by it, and found that, as nearly as she could guess, she was now about two feet high, and was going on shrinking rapidly. She soon found out that the cause of this was the fan she was holding, and she dropped it hastily, just in time to avoid shrinking away altogether."Thatwasa narrow escape!" said Alice, a good deal frightened at the sudden change, but very glad to find herself still in existence; "and now for the garden!" and she ran with all speed back to the little door; but, alas! the little door was shut again, and the little golden key was lying on the glass table as before, "and things are worse than ever," thought the poor child, "for I never was so small as this before—never! And I declare it's too bad, that it is!"As she said these words her foot slipped, and in another moment, splash! she was up to her chin in salt water. Her first idea was that she had somehow fallen into the sea, "and in that case I can go back by railway," she said to herself. (Alice had been to the seaside once in her life, and had come to the general conclusion that wherever you go to on the Englishcoast you find a number of bathing-machines in the sea, some children digging in the sand with wooden spades, then a row of lodging-houses, and behind them a railway station.) However, she soon made out that she was in the pool of tears which she had wept when she was nine feet high."I wish I hadn't cried so much!" said Alice, as she swam about, trying to find her way out. "I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears! Thatwillbe a queer thing, to be sure! However, everything is queer to-day."Just then she heard something splashing about in the pool a little way off, and she swam nearer to make out what it was. At first she thought it must be a walrus or hippopotamus, but then she remembered how small she was now, and she soon made out that it was only a mouse that had slipped in like herself."Would it be of any use, now," thought Alice, "to speak to this mouse? Everything is so out-of-the-way down here that I should think very likely it can talk; at any rate, there's no harm in trying." So she began: "O Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool? I am very tired of swimming about here, O Mouse!" (Alice thought this must be the right way of speaking to a mouse. She had never done such a thing before, but she remembered having seen in her brother's Latin Grammar, "A mouse—of a mouse—to a mouse—a mouse—O mouse!") The Mouse looked at her rather inquisitively,and seemed to her to wink with one of its little eyes, but it said nothing."Perhaps it doesn't understand English," thought Alice; "I dare say it's a French mouse, come over with William the Conqueror." (For with all her knowledge of history, Alice had no very clear notion how long ago anything had happened.) So she began again: "Ou est ma chatte?" which was the first sentence in her French lesson-book. The Mouse gave a sudden leap out of the water, and seemed to quiver all over with fright. "Oh, I beg your pardon!" cried Alice, hastily, afraid that she had hurt the poor animal's feelings. "I quite forgot you didn't like cats.""Not like cats!" cried the Mouse, in a shrill, passionate voice. "Wouldyoulike cats if you were me?""Well, perhaps not," said Alice, in a soothing tone. "Don't be angry about it. And yet I wish I could show you our cat Dinah: I think you'd take a fancy to cats if you could only see her. She is such a dear, quiet thing," Alice went on, half to herself, as she swam lazily about in the pool, "and she sits purring so nicely by the fire, licking her paws and washing her face—and she is such a nice soft thing to nurse—and she's such a capital one for catching mice—oh, I beg your pardon!" cried Alice again, for this time the Mouse was bristling all over, and she felt certain it must be really offended. "We won't talk about her any more, if you'd rather not.""We, indeed!" cried the Mouse, who was trembling down to the end of his tail. "As ifIwould talk on such a subject! Our family alwayshatedcats—nasty, low, vulgar things! Don't let me hear the name again!""I won't, indeed!" said Alice, in a great hurry to change the subject of conversation. "Are you—are you fond—of—of dogs?" The Mouse did not answer, so Alice went on eagerly: "There is such a nice little dog near our house I should like to show you! A little bright-eyed terrier, you know, with oh, such long, curly brown hair! And it'll fetch things when you throw them, and it'll sit up and beg for its dinner, and all sorts of things—I can't remember half of them—and it belongs to a farmer, you know, and he says it's so useful it's worth a hundred pounds! He says it kills all the rats and—oh dear!" cried Alice in a sorrowful tone, "I'm afraid I've offended it again!" For the Mouse was swimming away from her as hard as it could go, and making quite a commotion in the pool as it went.So she called softly after it, "Mouse dear! Do come back again, and we won't talk about cats, or dogs either, if you don't like them!" When the Mouse heard this, it turned round and swam slowly back to her. Its face was quite pale (with passion, Alice thought), and it said in a low, trembling voice, "Let us get to the shore, and then I'll tell you my history, and you'll understand why it is I hate cats and dogs."It was high time to go, for the pool was getting quite crowded with the birds and animals that had fallen into it: there were a Duck and a Dodo, a Lory and an Eaglet, and several other curious creatures. Alice led the way, and the whole party swam to the shore.THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTERThe sun was shining on the sea,Shining with all his might;He did his very best to makeThe billows smooth and bright—And this was odd, because it wasThe middle of the night.The moon was shining sulkily,Because she thought the sunHad got no business to be thereAfter the day was done—"It's very rude of him," she said,"To come and spoil the fun!"The sea was wet as wet could be,The sands were dry as dry.You could not see a cloud, becauseNo cloud was in the sky;No birds were flying overhead—There were no birds to fly.The Walrus and the CarpenterWere walking close at hand;They wept like anything to seeSuch quantities of sand—"If this were only cleared away,"They said, "it would be grand!""If seven maids with seven mopsSwept it for half a year,Do you suppose," the Walrus said,"That they could get it clear?""I doubt it," said the Carpenter,And shed a bitter tear."O Oysters, come and walk with us!"The Walrus did beseech."A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,Along the briny beach;We cannot do with more than four,To give a hand to each."The eldest Oyster looked at him,But never a word he said;The eldest Oyster winked his eye,And shook his heavy head—Meaning to say he did not chooseTo leave the oyster-bed.But four young Oysters hurried up,All eager for the treat;Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,Their shoes were clean and neat—And this was odd, because, you know,They hadn't any feet.Four other Oysters followed them,And yet another four;And thick and fast they came at last,And more, and more, and more—All hopping through the frothy waves,And scrambling to the shore.The Walrus and the CarpenterWalked on a mile or so,And then they rested on a rockConveniently low—And all the little Oysters stoodAnd waited in a row."The time has come," the Walrus said,"To talk of many things:Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—Of cabbages—and kings—And why the sea is boiling hot—And whether pigs have wings.""But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,"Before we have our chat;For some of us are out of breath,And all of us are fat!""No hurry!" said the Carpenter.They thanked him much for that."A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,"Is what we chiefly need;Pepper and vinegar besidesAre very good indeed—Now, if you're ready, Oysters dear,We can begin to feed.""But not on us!" the Oysters cried,Turning a little blue."After such kindness, that would beA dismal thing to do!""The night is fine," the Walrus said."Do you admire the view?"It was so kind of you to come!And you are very nice!"The Carpenter said nothing but,"Cut us another slice.I wish you were not quite so deaf—I've had to ask you twice!""It seems a shame," the Walrus said,"To play them such a trick.After we've brought them out so far,And made them trot so quick!"The Carpenter said nothing but,"The butter's spread too thick!""I weep for you," the Walrus said;"I deeply sympathize."With sobs and tears he sorted outThose of the largest size,Holding his pocket-handkerchiefBefore his streaming eyes."O Oysters," said the Carpenter,"You've had a pleasant run!Shall we be trotting home again?"But answer came there none—And this was scarcely odd, becauseThey'd eaten every one.

DOWN THE RABBIT-HOLE[8]

Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do; once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, "and what is the use of a book," thought Alice, "without pictures or conversations?"

So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid) whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.

There was nothing soveryremarkable in that; nor did Alice think it soverymuch out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, "Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!" (when she thought it over afterward, it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural); but when the Rabbit actuallytook a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket, and looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it, and, burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge.

In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.

The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down—so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very steep well.

Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her, and to wonder what was going to happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything; then she looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and bookshelves; here and there she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed; it was labeled "ORANGE MARMALADE," but to her great disappointment it was empty. She did not like to drop the jar for fear of killing somebody, so managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it.

"Well!" thought Alice to herself. "After such a fall as this, I shall think nothing of tumbling down-stairs! How brave they'll all think me at home! Why, I wouldn't say anything about it, even if I fell off the top of the house!" (Which was very likely true.)

Down, down, down. Would the fallnevercome to an end? "I wonder how many miles I've fallen by this time?" she said, aloud. "I must be getting somewhere near the center of the earth. Let me see: that would be four thousand miles down, I think—" (for, you see, Alice had learned several things of this sort in her lessons in the school-room, and though this was not averygood opportunity for showing off her knowledge, as there was no one to listen to her, still it was good practice to say it over) "—yes, that's about the right distance—but then I wonder what Latitude or Longitude I've got to?" (Alice had no idea what Latitude was, or Longitude either, but thought they were nice, grand words to say.)

Presently she began again. "I wonder if I shall fall rightthroughthe earth? How funny it'll seem to come out among the people that walk with their heads downward! The Antipathies, I think—" (she was rather glad therewasno one listening this time, as it didn't sound at all the right word) "—but I shall have to ask them what the name of the country is, you know. 'Please, ma'am, is this New Zealand or Australia?'" (and she tried to courtesy as she spoke—fancycourtesyingas you're falling through the air! Do you think you could manage it?) "And what an ignorant little girl she'll think me! No, it'll never do to ask; perhaps I shall see it written up somewhere."

Down, down, down. There was nothing else to do, so Alice soon began talking again. "Dinah'll miss me very much to-night, I should think!" (Dinah was the cat.) "I hope they'll remember her saucer of milk at tea-time. Dinah, my dear, I wish you were down here with me! There are no mice in the air, I'm afraid, but you might catch a bat, and that's very like a mouse, you know. But do cats eat bats, I wonder?" And here Alice began to get rather sleepy, and went on saying to herself, in a dreamy sort of way, "Do cats eat bats? Do cats eat bats?" and sometimes, "Do bats eat cats?" for, you see, as she couldn't answer either question, it didn't much matter which way she put it. She felt that she was dozing off, and had just begun to dream that she was walking hand in hand with Dinah, and saying to her very earnestly, "Now, Dinah, tell me the truth: did you ever eat a bat?" when suddenly, thump! thump! down she came upon a heap of dry leaves, and the fall was over.

Alice was not a bit hurt, and she jumped up on her feet in a moment. She looked up, but it was all dark overhead; before her was another long passage, and the White Rabbit was still in sight, hurrying down it. There was not a moment to be lost; away went Alice like the wind, and was just in time to hear it say, as it turned a corner, "Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it's getting!" She was close behind it when she turned the corner, but the Rabbit was no longer to be seen; she found herself in a long, low hall, which was lit up by a row of lamps hanging from the roof.

There were doors all round the hall, but they were all locked; and when Alice had been all the way down one side and up the other, trying every door, she walked sadly down the middle, wondering how she was ever to get out again.

Suddenly she came upon a little three-legged table, all made of solid glass; there was nothing on it except a tiny golden key, and Alice's first thought was that it might belong to one of the doors of the hall; but, alas! either the locks were too large or the key was too small, but at any rate it would not open any of them. However, the second time round she came upon a low curtain she had not noticed before, and behind it was a little door about fifteen inches high. She tried the little golden key in the lock, and to her great delight it fitted!

Alice opened the door and found that it led into a small passage, not much larger than a rat-hole. She knelt down and looked along thepassage into the loveliest garden you ever saw. How she longed to get out of that dark hall, and wander about among those beds of bright flowers and those cool fountains, but she could not even get her head through the doorway! "And even if my head would go through," thought poor Alice, "it would be of very little use without my shoulders. Oh, how I wish I could shut up like a telescope! I think I could, if I only knew how to begin." For, you see, so many out-of-the-way things had happened lately that Alice had begun to think that very few things indeed were really impossible.

There seemed to be no use in waiting by the little door, so she went back to the table, half hoping she might find another key on it, or, at any rate, a book of rules for shutting people up like telescopes. This time she found a little bottle on it ("which certainly was not here before," said Alice), and round its neck a paper label, with the words "DRINK ME" beautifully printed on it in large letters.

It was all very well to say "Drink me," but the wise little Alice was not going to dothatin a hurry. "No, I'll look first," she said, "and see whether it's marked 'poison' or not"; for she had read several nice little histories about children who had got burned, and eaten up by wild beasts, and many other unpleasant things, all because theywouldnot remember the simple rules their friends had taught them: such as, that a red-hot poker will burn you if you hold it too long; and that, if you cut your fingerverydeeply with a knife, it usually bleeds; and she had never forgotten that, if you drink much from a bottle marked "poison," it is almost certain to disagree with you, sooner or later.

However, this bottle wasnotmarked "poison," so Alice ventured to taste it, and, finding it very nice (it had, in fact, a sort of mixed flavor of cherry-tart, custard, pineapple, roast turkey, toffee, and hot buttered toast), she very soon finished it off.

"What a curious feeling!" said Alice. "I must be shutting up like a telescope."

And so it was, indeed: she was now only ten inches high, and her face brightened up at the thought that she was now the right size for going through the little door into that lovely garden. First, however, she waited for a few minutes to see if she was going to shrink any further: she felt a little nervous about this, "for it might end, you know," said Alice, "in my going out altogether, like a candle. I wonder what I should be like then?" And she tried to fancy what the flame of a candle is like after it is blown out, for she could not remember ever having seen such a thing.

After a while, finding that nothing more happened, she decided to go into the garden at once, but, alas for poor Alice! when she got to the door she found she had forgotten the littlegolden key, and when she went back to the table for it she found she could not possibly reach it. She could see it quite plainly through the glass, and she tried her best to climb up one of the table-legs, but it was too slippery; and when she had tired herself out with trying, the poor little thing sat down and cried.

"Come, there's no use in crying like that!" said Alice to herself, rather sharply. "I advise you to leave off this minute!" She generally gave herself very good advice (though she very seldom followed it), and sometimes she scolded herself so severely as to bring tears in her eyes; and once she remembered trying to box her own ears for having cheated herself in a game of croquet she was playing against herself, for this curious child was very fond of pretending to be two people. "But it's no use now," thought poor Alice, "to pretend to be two people! Why, there's hardly enough of me left to makeonerespectable person!"

Soon her eye fell on a little glass box that was lying under the table. She opened it, and found in it a very small cake, on which the words "EAT ME" were beautifully marked in currants. "Well, I'll eat it," said Alice, "and if it makes me larger I can reach the key, and if it makes me smaller I can creep under the door; so, either way, I'll get into the garden, and I don't care which happens!"

She ate a little bit and said anxiously to herself, "Which way? Which way?" holding her hand on the top of her head to feel which wayit was growing, and she was quite surprised to find that she remained the same size. To be sure, this generally happens when one eats cake, but Alice had got so much into the way of expecting nothing but out-of-the-way things to happen that it seemed quite dull and stupid for life to go on in the common way.

So she set to work, and very soon finished off the cake.

THE POOL OF TEARS

"Curiouser and curiouser!" cried Alice (she was so much surprised that for the moment she quite forgot how to speak good English); "now I'm opening out like the largest telescope that ever was! Good-by, feet!" (for when she looked down at her feet they seemed to be almost out of sight, they were getting so far off). "Oh, my poor little feet, I wonder who will put on your shoes and stockings for you now, dears? I'm sureIsha'n't be able! I shall be a great deal too far off to trouble myself about you: you must manage the best way you can—but I must be kind to them," thought Alice, "or perhaps they won't walk the way I want to go! Let me see; I'll give them a new pair of boots every Christmas."

And she went on planning to herself how she would manage it. "They must go by the carrier," she thought; "and how funny it'll seem, sending presents to one's own feet! And how odd the directions will look!—

Alice's Right Foot, Esq.Hearthrug,near the Fender(with Alice's love).

Alice's Right Foot, Esq.Hearthrug,near the Fender(with Alice's love).

Oh dear, what nonsense I'm talking!"

Just then her head struck against the roof of the hall—in fact she was now more than nine feet high—and she at once took up the little golden key and hurried off to the garden door.

Poor Alice! It was as much as she could do, lying down on one side, to look through into the garden with one eye, but to get through was more hopeless than ever. She sat down and began to cry again.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," said Alice—"a great girl like you" (she might well say this), "to go on crying in this way! Stop this moment, I tell you!" But she went on all the same, shedding gallons of tears, until there was a large pool all round her, about four inches deep and reaching half down the hall.

After a time she heard a little pattering of feet in the distance, and she hastily dried her eyes to see what was coming. It was the White Rabbit returning, splendidly dressed, with a pair of white kid gloves in one hand and a large fan in the other. He came trotting along in a great hurry, muttering to himself as he came,"Oh! the Duchess, the Duchess! Oh! won't she be savage if I've kept her waiting!" Alice felt so desperate that she was ready to ask help of any one; so, when the Rabbit came near her, she began, in a low, timid voice, "If you please, sir—" The Rabbit started violently, dropped the white kid gloves and the fan, and scurried away into the darkness as hard as he could go.

Alice took up the fan and gloves, and, as the hall was very hot, she kept fanning herself all the time she went on talking: "Dear, dear! How queer everything is to-day! And yesterday things went on just as usual. I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is, Who in the world am I? Ah,that'sthe great puzzle!" And she began thinking over all the children she knew that were of the same age as herself, to see if she could have been changed for any of them.

"I'm sure I'm not Ada," she said, "for her hair goes in such long ringlets, and mine doesn't go in ringlets at all; and I'm sure I can't be Mabel, for I know all sorts of things, and she, oh! she knows such a very little! Besides,she'sshe andI'mI, and—oh dear, how puzzling it all is! I'll try if I know all the things I used to know. Let me see: four times five is twelve, and four times six is thirteen, and four times seven is—oh dear! I shall never get to twenty at that rate! However, the MultiplicationTable doesn't signify: let's try Geography. London is the capital of Paris, and Paris is the capital of Rome, and Rome—no,that'sall wrong, I'm certain! I must have been changed for Mabel! I'll try and say 'How doth the little—'" and she crossed her hands on her lap as if she were saying lessons, and began to repeat it, but her voice sounded hoarse and strange, and the words did not come the same as they used to do:

How doth the little crocodileImprove his shining tail,And pour the waters of the NileOn every golden scale!How cheerfully he seems to grin,How neatly spread his claws,And welcomes little fishes inWith gently smiling jaws!

How doth the little crocodileImprove his shining tail,And pour the waters of the NileOn every golden scale!

How cheerfully he seems to grin,How neatly spread his claws,And welcomes little fishes inWith gently smiling jaws!

"I'm sure those are not the right words," said poor Alice, and her eyes filled with tears again as she went on: "I must be Mabel, after all, and I shall have to go and live in that poky little house, and have next to no toys to play with, and oh! ever so many lessons to learn! No, I've made up my mind about it; if I'm Mabel, I'll stay down here! It'll be no use their putting their heads down and saying, 'Come up again, dear!' I shall only look up and say, 'Who am I, then? Tell me that first, and then, if I like being that person, I'll come up; if not, I'll stay down here till I'm somebody else.' But, oh dear!" cried Alice, with asudden burst of tears, "I do wish theywouldput their heads down! I am soverytired of being all alone here!"

As she said this she looked down at her hands, and was surprised to see that she had put on one of the Rabbit's little white kid gloves while she was talking. "HowcanI have done that?" she thought. "I must be growing small again." She got up and went to the table to measure herself by it, and found that, as nearly as she could guess, she was now about two feet high, and was going on shrinking rapidly. She soon found out that the cause of this was the fan she was holding, and she dropped it hastily, just in time to avoid shrinking away altogether.

"Thatwasa narrow escape!" said Alice, a good deal frightened at the sudden change, but very glad to find herself still in existence; "and now for the garden!" and she ran with all speed back to the little door; but, alas! the little door was shut again, and the little golden key was lying on the glass table as before, "and things are worse than ever," thought the poor child, "for I never was so small as this before—never! And I declare it's too bad, that it is!"

As she said these words her foot slipped, and in another moment, splash! she was up to her chin in salt water. Her first idea was that she had somehow fallen into the sea, "and in that case I can go back by railway," she said to herself. (Alice had been to the seaside once in her life, and had come to the general conclusion that wherever you go to on the Englishcoast you find a number of bathing-machines in the sea, some children digging in the sand with wooden spades, then a row of lodging-houses, and behind them a railway station.) However, she soon made out that she was in the pool of tears which she had wept when she was nine feet high.

"I wish I hadn't cried so much!" said Alice, as she swam about, trying to find her way out. "I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears! Thatwillbe a queer thing, to be sure! However, everything is queer to-day."

Just then she heard something splashing about in the pool a little way off, and she swam nearer to make out what it was. At first she thought it must be a walrus or hippopotamus, but then she remembered how small she was now, and she soon made out that it was only a mouse that had slipped in like herself.

"Would it be of any use, now," thought Alice, "to speak to this mouse? Everything is so out-of-the-way down here that I should think very likely it can talk; at any rate, there's no harm in trying." So she began: "O Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool? I am very tired of swimming about here, O Mouse!" (Alice thought this must be the right way of speaking to a mouse. She had never done such a thing before, but she remembered having seen in her brother's Latin Grammar, "A mouse—of a mouse—to a mouse—a mouse—O mouse!") The Mouse looked at her rather inquisitively,and seemed to her to wink with one of its little eyes, but it said nothing.

"Perhaps it doesn't understand English," thought Alice; "I dare say it's a French mouse, come over with William the Conqueror." (For with all her knowledge of history, Alice had no very clear notion how long ago anything had happened.) So she began again: "Ou est ma chatte?" which was the first sentence in her French lesson-book. The Mouse gave a sudden leap out of the water, and seemed to quiver all over with fright. "Oh, I beg your pardon!" cried Alice, hastily, afraid that she had hurt the poor animal's feelings. "I quite forgot you didn't like cats."

"Not like cats!" cried the Mouse, in a shrill, passionate voice. "Wouldyoulike cats if you were me?"

"Well, perhaps not," said Alice, in a soothing tone. "Don't be angry about it. And yet I wish I could show you our cat Dinah: I think you'd take a fancy to cats if you could only see her. She is such a dear, quiet thing," Alice went on, half to herself, as she swam lazily about in the pool, "and she sits purring so nicely by the fire, licking her paws and washing her face—and she is such a nice soft thing to nurse—and she's such a capital one for catching mice—oh, I beg your pardon!" cried Alice again, for this time the Mouse was bristling all over, and she felt certain it must be really offended. "We won't talk about her any more, if you'd rather not."

"We, indeed!" cried the Mouse, who was trembling down to the end of his tail. "As ifIwould talk on such a subject! Our family alwayshatedcats—nasty, low, vulgar things! Don't let me hear the name again!"

"I won't, indeed!" said Alice, in a great hurry to change the subject of conversation. "Are you—are you fond—of—of dogs?" The Mouse did not answer, so Alice went on eagerly: "There is such a nice little dog near our house I should like to show you! A little bright-eyed terrier, you know, with oh, such long, curly brown hair! And it'll fetch things when you throw them, and it'll sit up and beg for its dinner, and all sorts of things—I can't remember half of them—and it belongs to a farmer, you know, and he says it's so useful it's worth a hundred pounds! He says it kills all the rats and—oh dear!" cried Alice in a sorrowful tone, "I'm afraid I've offended it again!" For the Mouse was swimming away from her as hard as it could go, and making quite a commotion in the pool as it went.

So she called softly after it, "Mouse dear! Do come back again, and we won't talk about cats, or dogs either, if you don't like them!" When the Mouse heard this, it turned round and swam slowly back to her. Its face was quite pale (with passion, Alice thought), and it said in a low, trembling voice, "Let us get to the shore, and then I'll tell you my history, and you'll understand why it is I hate cats and dogs."

It was high time to go, for the pool was getting quite crowded with the birds and animals that had fallen into it: there were a Duck and a Dodo, a Lory and an Eaglet, and several other curious creatures. Alice led the way, and the whole party swam to the shore.

THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTERThe sun was shining on the sea,Shining with all his might;He did his very best to makeThe billows smooth and bright—And this was odd, because it wasThe middle of the night.The moon was shining sulkily,Because she thought the sunHad got no business to be thereAfter the day was done—"It's very rude of him," she said,"To come and spoil the fun!"The sea was wet as wet could be,The sands were dry as dry.You could not see a cloud, becauseNo cloud was in the sky;No birds were flying overhead—There were no birds to fly.The Walrus and the CarpenterWere walking close at hand;They wept like anything to seeSuch quantities of sand—"If this were only cleared away,"They said, "it would be grand!""If seven maids with seven mopsSwept it for half a year,Do you suppose," the Walrus said,"That they could get it clear?""I doubt it," said the Carpenter,And shed a bitter tear."O Oysters, come and walk with us!"The Walrus did beseech."A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,Along the briny beach;We cannot do with more than four,To give a hand to each."The eldest Oyster looked at him,But never a word he said;The eldest Oyster winked his eye,And shook his heavy head—Meaning to say he did not chooseTo leave the oyster-bed.But four young Oysters hurried up,All eager for the treat;Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,Their shoes were clean and neat—And this was odd, because, you know,They hadn't any feet.Four other Oysters followed them,And yet another four;And thick and fast they came at last,And more, and more, and more—All hopping through the frothy waves,And scrambling to the shore.The Walrus and the CarpenterWalked on a mile or so,And then they rested on a rockConveniently low—And all the little Oysters stoodAnd waited in a row."The time has come," the Walrus said,"To talk of many things:Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—Of cabbages—and kings—And why the sea is boiling hot—And whether pigs have wings.""But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,"Before we have our chat;For some of us are out of breath,And all of us are fat!""No hurry!" said the Carpenter.They thanked him much for that."A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,"Is what we chiefly need;Pepper and vinegar besidesAre very good indeed—Now, if you're ready, Oysters dear,We can begin to feed.""But not on us!" the Oysters cried,Turning a little blue."After such kindness, that would beA dismal thing to do!""The night is fine," the Walrus said."Do you admire the view?"It was so kind of you to come!And you are very nice!"The Carpenter said nothing but,"Cut us another slice.I wish you were not quite so deaf—I've had to ask you twice!""It seems a shame," the Walrus said,"To play them such a trick.After we've brought them out so far,And made them trot so quick!"The Carpenter said nothing but,"The butter's spread too thick!""I weep for you," the Walrus said;"I deeply sympathize."With sobs and tears he sorted outThose of the largest size,Holding his pocket-handkerchiefBefore his streaming eyes."O Oysters," said the Carpenter,"You've had a pleasant run!Shall we be trotting home again?"But answer came there none—And this was scarcely odd, becauseThey'd eaten every one.

The sun was shining on the sea,Shining with all his might;He did his very best to makeThe billows smooth and bright—And this was odd, because it wasThe middle of the night.

The moon was shining sulkily,Because she thought the sunHad got no business to be thereAfter the day was done—"It's very rude of him," she said,"To come and spoil the fun!"

The sea was wet as wet could be,The sands were dry as dry.You could not see a cloud, becauseNo cloud was in the sky;No birds were flying overhead—There were no birds to fly.

The Walrus and the CarpenterWere walking close at hand;They wept like anything to seeSuch quantities of sand—"If this were only cleared away,"They said, "it would be grand!"

"If seven maids with seven mopsSwept it for half a year,Do you suppose," the Walrus said,"That they could get it clear?""I doubt it," said the Carpenter,And shed a bitter tear.

"O Oysters, come and walk with us!"The Walrus did beseech."A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,Along the briny beach;We cannot do with more than four,To give a hand to each."

The eldest Oyster looked at him,But never a word he said;The eldest Oyster winked his eye,And shook his heavy head—Meaning to say he did not chooseTo leave the oyster-bed.

But four young Oysters hurried up,All eager for the treat;Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,Their shoes were clean and neat—And this was odd, because, you know,They hadn't any feet.

Four other Oysters followed them,And yet another four;And thick and fast they came at last,And more, and more, and more—All hopping through the frothy waves,And scrambling to the shore.

The Walrus and the CarpenterWalked on a mile or so,And then they rested on a rockConveniently low—And all the little Oysters stoodAnd waited in a row.

"The time has come," the Walrus said,"To talk of many things:Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—Of cabbages—and kings—And why the sea is boiling hot—And whether pigs have wings."

"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,"Before we have our chat;For some of us are out of breath,And all of us are fat!""No hurry!" said the Carpenter.They thanked him much for that.

"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,"Is what we chiefly need;Pepper and vinegar besidesAre very good indeed—Now, if you're ready, Oysters dear,We can begin to feed."

"But not on us!" the Oysters cried,Turning a little blue."After such kindness, that would beA dismal thing to do!""The night is fine," the Walrus said."Do you admire the view?

"It was so kind of you to come!And you are very nice!"The Carpenter said nothing but,"Cut us another slice.I wish you were not quite so deaf—I've had to ask you twice!"

"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,"To play them such a trick.After we've brought them out so far,And made them trot so quick!"The Carpenter said nothing but,"The butter's spread too thick!"

"I weep for you," the Walrus said;"I deeply sympathize."With sobs and tears he sorted outThose of the largest size,Holding his pocket-handkerchiefBefore his streaming eyes.

"O Oysters," said the Carpenter,"You've had a pleasant run!Shall we be trotting home again?"But answer came there none—And this was scarcely odd, becauseThey'd eaten every one.

We must not deny to humor and fancy the opportunity for creative effort offered to other faculties in our previous studies. What form shall the effort take: fable, fairy tale, a whimsical play of fancy in essay, or merely a nonsense rhyme? I think we must bar thelimerickfrom our serious creative efforts in the study. You may engage as a class in an extemporaneous contest in the making of this infectious form of verse if you like.

Meanwhile, there is still another class-room test of humor which should be made,—the test of the clever anecdote. There is nothing which so effectually discloses the quality of your sense of humor as your attitude toward so-called funny stories. Judgment in such a case will rest upon three points: What you think is "funny" enough to tell; when you judge it "apropos" to tell; and the manner of the telling. Three warnings are in order at this point. If you find that you must preface your anecdote with the question too often heard, "Do you think you can stand this story?—it reallyisclever," in the name of clean humor, don'ttell it! If you find you must introduce your anecdote with the remark, "Apropos of nothing," or "This is not apropos, but"—in the name of "sulphitic" humor, don't tell it; finally, if you don't knowhowto tell it, in the name of any and all humor,don't tell it.

With these cautions in mind, I shall ask you to bring to class to-morrow your best three "funny stories." Conflicting choice is not likely to have appropriated all three of your favorite anecdotes. Should you find that it has done so, never mind. Your taste, though it coincides with another's, can be quite as well questioned or commended; and the manner of your telling will be subjected to trial by comparison, which, if not always comfortable, is always helpful (when met in the right spirit).

Remember, the serious creative work you are to produce is to take the form of a fable, fairy story, or humorous essay.

In one of the great manufacturing towns of the Northwest there are some twenty-five thousand girls employed in factories. The city permits conditions of work hostile to the physical life of these girls. Civic reform is trying to control these conditions. In time it doubtless will succeed in doing so; meanwhile it makes efforts in other directions. It establishes working girls' clubs. A class in literature in one of these clubs enlisted the services of a comprehending young teacher, who kept the girls interested for more than two years. A little girl from a bag factory entered this class. She came to every meeting of the first year. She did not join in the discussions nor ask questions nor evince unusual intelligence or enjoyment, but shecameevery night. The class began its second year. The little girl from the bag factory was the first to enroll. The teacher could not cover the surprise in her question, "Are you coming into the class again?" The girl's breathless "Oh yes" sent her to investigate the case. She went to the factory. She found the child standing at a bench folding bags. Eight hours a day she folded bags. A swing back on her right foot with the stuff of which the bag was made grasped in her hands—a swing forward, and her hands brought the edges of the stuff together evenly. Over and over a thousand times the single motion repeated made up the girl's day. "It used to make me tired," she said, simply. "But it doesn't any more?" "No, because now I forget what I am doing sometimes. I have my book, you see. They let me fasten it here." There it was—a paper copy of Shelley's poems. The print was good; the teacher had seen to that. She had observed that factory girls' eyes are not always very strong. The book was fastened to the front of the desk. The child could catch a linefrom time to time without interrupting her bag-folding. "But I know most of the poems we have studied in class by heart." So she had to recall but a line, and then off she would go through the windows of the stifling factory into the open fields on the wings of herimagination. She was a swift, sure, little workman; her eye watched the stuff before her and measured it truly; her hands obeyed her eye, did her work efficiently, and "kept her job." But the eye of her imagination had been opened in the literature class and kept her soul alive in spite "of her job." This is a true story. It has significance for you and me.

If through the use of her imagination a little factory girl can escape from the monotony of bag-folding, and find freedom and joy in the lyric world Shelley has created, what limit need be set to our emancipation through the development of this faculty?

But emancipation is but one result of such development. Listen to David as he stands with his harp before the King in Browning's story ofSaul. Already his song has releasedthe monarch from the depths of his great despair, but now comes the boy's cry:

Back to IndexNext