American Literature

2017 JUNIOR ENGLISH SUMMER READING CHAPTER 1

Early American Literature

Written by the first immigrants coming to America to settle a new land, this lit- erature is characterized by letters, diaries, journals, and historical accounts. The historical accuracy of these writings is often up for debate, as accounts of their journeys and adventures can not be debated. Authors include Christopher Colum- bus, John Smith, and William Bradford. The Puritan literature was written by the immigrants who left Europe to find religious freedom. This literature consists of sermons, poetry, diaries, and stories that teach a moral. Authors include Anne Bradstreet, Edward Taylor, and Jona- than Edwards.

1 SOAPSTone Graphic Organizer Title of Piece: Author: SOAPStone Components: Response (Include Text Support)

The general topic: • Consider the title • What is the text mainly Subject about? • Summarize key events/details here…

Context: • The time and place of the piece Occasion • What is the historical context? • What’s the genre? (speech, poem, sermon…)

WHO is it for? • Who is hearing or reading or seeing the text? Audience • Is it one person, a small group, or a large group? • What qualities, beliefs, or values might the audience members have in common?

So WHAT? • WHY is the author presenting these ideas? Purpose • What does he or she want the audience to do, feel, say or choose?

WHO is speaking? • Whose voice tells the story? Speaker • What do we know about the writer’s life and views that shape this text?

Emotional Mood or Effect: • What emotions describe the attitude of the speaker? • Which words or details let you know? Tone • Which persuasive techniques or appeals are used to enhance the tone or mood? Examples: angry, threatening, light-hearted, cheerful…

Critically analyzing a text means that you can identify all of the ele- ments of a SOAPSTone. When reading, always complete a SOAPSTone analysis. SOAPSTONE VIDEO

CLICK ON THE PURPLE ASSIGNMENT BUTTONS TO TURN IN YOUR ONLINE ASSIGNMENTS from The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano

Throughout the summer reading packet, double click on the American Literature image for help with rhetorical analysis

At last when the ship we were in, had got in all her cargo, they made ready with many fearful noises, and we were all put under deck, so that we could not see how they managed the vessel. But this disappointment was the least of my sorrow. The stench of the hold while we were on the coast was so intolerably loathsome, that it was dangerous to remain there for any time, and some of us had been permitted to stay on the deck for Background: In the first several chapters of his the fresh air; but now that the whole ship’s cargo were confined together, narrative, Olaudah Equiano describes how he it became absolutely pestilential. The closeness of the place, and the heat and his sister were kidnapped by slave traders of the climate, added to the number in the ship, which was so crowded from their home in West Africa and transported that each had scarcely room to turn himself, almost suffocated us. This produced copious perspirations, so that the air soon became unfit for respi- to the African coast. During this six- or seven- ration, from a variety of loathsome smells, and brought on a sickness month journey, Equiano was separated from among the slaves, of which many died—thus falling victims to the im- his sister and held at a series of way stations. provident avarice, as I may call it, of their purchasers. This wretched situa- After reaching the coast, Equiano was shipped tion was again aggravated by the galling of the chains, now become insup- with other slaves to North America. The follow- portable, and the filth of the necessary tubs, into which the children often ing account describes this horrifying journey. fell, and were almost suffocated. The shrieks of the women, and the groans of the dying, rendered the whole a scene of horror almost incon- ceivable. Happily perhaps, for myself, I was soon reduced so low here that it was thought necessary to keep me almost always on deck; and from my extreme youth I was not put in fetters. In this situation I expected every hour to share the fate of my compan- ions, some of whom were almost daily brought upon deck at the point of death, which I began to hope would soon put an end to my miseries. Often did I think many of the inhabitants of the deep much more happy than myself. I envied them the freedom they enjoyed, and as often wished I could change my condition for theirs. Every circumstance I met with, served only to render my state more painful, and heightened my apprehensions, and my opinion of the cruelty of the whites.

One day they had taken a number of fishes; and when they had killed and satisfied themselves with as many as they thought fit, to our astonishment who were on deck, rather than give any of them to us to eat, as we expected, they tossed the remaining fish into the sea again, although we begged and prayed for some as well as we could, but in vain; and some of my countrymen, being pressed by hunger, took an opportunity, when they thought no one saw them, of trying to get a little privately; but they were dis- covered, and the attempt procured them some very severe floggings. One day, when we had a smooth sea and moderate wind, two of my wearied countrymen who were chained together (I was near them at the time), preferring death to such a life of misery, somehow made through the nettings and jumped into the sea; immediately, another quite dejected fellow, who, on account of his illness, was suffered to be out of irons, also followed their example; and I believe many more would very soon have done the same, if they had not been prevented by the ship’s crew, who were instantly alarmed. Those of us that were the most active, were in a moment put down under the deck; and there was such a noise and confusion amongst the people of the ship as I never heard before, to stop her, and get the boat out to go after the slaves. However, two of the wretches were drowned, but they got the other, and afterwards flogged him unmercifully, for thus attempting to prefer death to slavery. In this manner we con- tinued to undergo more hardships than I can now relate, hardships which are inseparable from this accursed trade. Many a time we

4 were near suffocation from the want of fresh air, which we were often without for whole days together. This, and the stench of the necessary tubs, carried off many. During our passage, I first saw flying fishes, which surprised me very much; they used frequently to fly across the ship, and many of them fell on the deck. I also now first saw the use of the quadrant; I had often with astonishment seen the mariners make obser- vations with it, and I could not think what it meant. They at last took notice of my surprise; and one of them, willing to increase it, as well as to gratify my curiosity, made me one day look through it. The clouds appeared to me to be land, which disappeared as they passed along. This heightened my wonder; and I was now more persuaded than ever, that I was in another world, and that every thing about me was magic. At last, we came in sight of the island of Barbados, at which the whites on board gave a great shout, and made many signs of joy to us. We did not know what to think of this; but as the vessel drew nearer, we plainly saw the harbor, and other ships of different kinds and sizes, and we soon anchored amongst them, off Bridgetown. Many merchants and planters now came on board, though it was in the evening. They put us in separate parcels, and examined us attentively. They also made us jump, and pointed to the land, signifying we were to go there. We thought by this, we should be eaten by these ugly men, as they appeared to us; and, when soon after we were all put down under the deck again, there was much dread and trembling among us, and nothing but bitter cries to be heard all the night from these apprehensions, insomuch, that at last the white people got some old slaves from the land to pacify us. They told us we were not to be eaten, but to work, and were soon to go on land, where we should see many of our country people. This report eased us much. And sure enough, soon after we were landed, there came to us Africans of all languages. We were conducted immediately to the merchant’s yard, where we were all pent up together, like so many sheep in a fold, without regard to sex or age …. We were not many days in the merchant’s cus- tody, before we were sold after their usual manner, which is this: On a signal given (as the beat of a drum), the buyers rush at once into the yard where the slaves are confined, and make choice of that parcel they like best ….

Study Quesons: offered for your help and understanding (study quesons will appear as Mulple Choice test quesons) 1. Oen the sailors would throw fish into the sea. Why does Equiano menon this? 2. They make land in Barbados. Several “merchants and planters” come on board. The slaves fear that these white men plan on....

5 from The General History of Virginia by John Smith

What Happened Till the First Supply Being thus left to our fortunes, it fortuned that within ten days, scarce ten amongst us could either go or well stand, such extreme weakness and sickness oppressed us. And thereat none need marvel if they con- sider the cause and reason, which was this: While the ships stayed, our allowance was somewhat bettered by a daily proportion of biscuit which the sailors would pilfer to sell, give, or exchange with us for money, sassafras, or furs. But when they departed, there remained nei- ther tavern, beer house, nor place of relief but the common kettle. Had we been as free from all sins as gluttony and drunkenness we might have been canonized for saints, but our President would never have been admitted for engrossing to his private, oatmeal, sack, oil, aqua vitae, beef, eggs, or what not but the kettle; that indeed he allowed equally to be distributed, and that was half a pint of wheat and as much barley boiled with water for a man a day, and this, having fried some twenty-six weeks in the ship’s hold, contained as many worms as grains so that we might truly call it rather so much bran than corn; our drink was water, our lodgings castles in the air. With this lodging and diet, our extreme toil in bearing and planting palisades so strained and bruised us and our continual labor in the extremity of the heat had so weakened us, as were cause sufficient to have made us as miserable in our native country or any other place in the world. From May to September, those that escaped lived upon sturgeon and sea crabs. Fifty in this time we bur- ied; the rest seeing the President’s projects to escape these miseries in our pinnace by flight (who all this time had neither felt want nor sickness) so moved our dead spirits as we deposed him and established Ratcliffe in his place … But now was all our provision spent, the sturgeon gone, all helps abandoned, each hour expecting the fury of the savages; when God, the patron of all good endeavors, in that desperate extremity so changed the hearts of the savages that they brought such plenty of their fruits and provision as no man wanted. And now where some affirmed it was ill done of the Council to send forth men so badly provided, this incontradictable reason will show them plainly they are too ill advised to nourish such ill conceits: First, the fault of our going was our own; what could be thought fitting or necessary we had, but what we should find, or want, or where we should be, we were all ignorant and supposing to make our passage in two months, with victual to live and the advantage of the spring to work; we were at sea five months where we both spent our victual and lost the opportunity of the time and season to plant, by the unskillful presumption of our ignorant transporters that understood not at all what they undertook. Such actions have ever since the world’s beginning been subject to such accidents, and everything of worth is found full of difficulties, but nothing so difficult as to establish a commonwealth so far remote from men and means and where men’s minds are so untoward as neither do well themselves nor suffer others. But to proceed. The new President and Martin, being little beloved, of weak judgment in dangers, and less industry in peace, committed the man- aging of all things abroad to Captain Smith, who, by his own example, good words, and fair promises, set some to mow, others to bind thatch, some to build houses, others to thatch them, himself always bearing the greatest task for his own share, so that in short time he provided most of them lodgings, neglecting any for himself ….

6 [Leading an expedition on the Chickahominy River, Captain Smith and his men are attacked by Indians, and Smith is taken pris- oner.] When this news came to Jamestown, much was their sorrow for his loss, few expecting what ensued. Six or seven weeks those barbarians kept him prisoner, many strange triumphs and conjurations they made of him, yet he so de- meaned himself amongst them, as he not only diverted them from surprising the fort, but procured his own liberty, and got himself and his company such estimation amongst them, that those savages admired him. The manner how they used and delivered him is as followeth: The savages having drawn from George Cassen whither Captain Smith was gone, prosecuting that opportunity they followed him with three hundred bowmen, conducted by the King of Pamunkee, who in divisions searching the turnings of the river found Rob- inson and Emry by the fireside; those they shot full of arrows and slew. Then finding the Captain, as is said, that used the savage that was his guide as his shield (three of them being slain and divers others so galled), all the rest would not come near him. Think- ing thus to have returned to his boat, regarding them, as he marched, more than his way, slipped up to the middle in an oozy creek and his savage with him; yet dared they not come to him till being near dead with cold he threw away his arms. Then according to their compositions they drew him forth and led him to the fire where his men were slain. Diligently they chafed his benumbed limbs. He demanding for their captain, they showed him Opechancanough, King of Pamunkee, to whom he gave a round ivory double compass dial. Much they marveled at the playing of the fly and needle, which they could see so plainly and yet not touch it be- cause of the glass that covered them. But when he demonstrated by that globe-like jewel the roundness of the earth and skies, the sphere of the sun, moon, and stars, and how the sun did chase the night round about the world continually, the greatness of the land and sea, the diversity of nations, variety of complexions, and how we were to them antipodes and many other such like mat- ters, they all stood as amazed with admiration. Nothwithstanding, within an hour after, they tied him to a tree, and as many as could stand about him prepared to shoot him, but the King holding up the compass in his hand, they all laid down their bows and arrows and in a triumphant manner led him to Ora- paks where he was after their manner kindly feasted and well used …. At last they brought him to Werowocomoco, where was Powhatan, their Emperor. Here more than two hundred of those grim courtiers stood wondering at him, as he had been a monster, till Powhatan and his train had put themselves in their greatest braver- ies. Before a fire upon a seat like a bedstead, he sat covered with a great robe made of raccoon skins and all the tails hanging by. On either hand did sit a young wench of sixteen or eighteen years and along on each side the house, two rows of men and behind them as many women, with all their heads and shoulders painted red, many of their heads bedecked with the white down of birds, but every one with something, and a great chain of white beads about their necks. At his entrance before the King, all the people gave a great shout. The queen of Appomattoc was appointed to bring him water to wash his hands, and another brought him a bunch of feathers, instead of a towel, to dry them; having feasted him after their best barbarous manner they could, a long consultation was held, but the conclusion was, two great stones were brought before Pow- hatan: then as many as could, laid hands on him, dragged him to them, and thereon laid his head and being ready with their clubs to beat out his brains, Pocahontas the King’s dearest daughter, when no entreaty could prevail, got his head in her arms and laid her own upon his to save him from death; whereat the Emperor was contented he should live to make him hatchets, and her bells, beads, and copper, for they thought him as well of all occupations as themselves. For the King himself will make his own robes, shoes, bows, arrows, pots; plant, hunt, or do anything so well as the rest. Two days after, Powhatan, having disguised himself in the most fearfulest manner he could, caused Captain Smith to be brought forth to a great house in the woods and there upon a mat by the fire to be left alone. Not long after, from behind a mat that divided the house, was made the most dolefulest noise he ever heard; then Powhatan more like a devil than a man, with some two hundred more as black as himself, came unto him and told him now they were friends, and presently he should go to Jamestown to send him two great guns and a grindstone for which he would give him the country of Capahowasic and forever esteem him as his son Nantaquond. So to Jamestown with twelve guides Powhatan sent him. That night they quartered in the woods, he still expecting (as he had done all this long time of his imprisonment) every hour to be put to one death or other, for all their feasting. But almighty God (by His divine providence) had mollified the hearts of those stern barbarians with compassion. The next morning betimes they came to the fort, where Smith having used the savages with what kindness he could, he showed Rawhunt, Powhatan’s trusty servant, two de- miculverins and a millstone to carry Powhatan; they found them somewhat too heavy, but when they did see him discharge them, being loaded with stones, among the boughs of a great tree loaded with icicles, the ice and branches came so tumbling down that the poor savages ran away half dead with fear. But at last we regained some conference with them and gave them such toys and sent to Powhatan, his women, and children such presents as gave them in general full content. Now in Jamestown they were all in combustion, the strongest preparing once more to run away with the pinnace; which, with the hazard of his life, with saker falcon and musket shot, Smith forced now the third time to stay or sink.

7 Some, no better than they should be, had plotted with the President the next day to have him put to death by the Levitical law, for the lives of Robinson and Emry; pretending the fault was his that had led them to their ends: but he quickly took such order with such lawyers that he laid them by their heels till he sent some of them prisoners for England. Now every once in four or five days, Pocahontas with her attendants brought him so much provision that saved many of their lives, that else for all this had starved with hunger. His relation of the plenty he had seen, especially at Werowocomoco, and of the state and bounty of Powhatan (which till that time was unknown), so revived their dead spirits (especially the love of Pocahontas) as all men’s fear was abandoned. Thus you may see what difficulties still crossed any good endeavor; and the good success of the business being thus oft brought to the very period of destruction; yet you see by what strange means God hath still delivered it.

Study Questions 1. On one occasion John Smith saves his life by giving the “King of Pamunkee” a gift. What gift? 2. On another occasion “the poor savages ran away half with fear” because of “ice and “branches” falling from the trees. What caused the ice and branches to fall from the trees?

8 CHAPTER 2

The Age of Reason 1750-1800

The Age of Reason is also known as Rationalism, Classicism, and the Enlight- enment. This era consists of political and philosophical writings about reason and common sense. Authors include Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, Thomas Paine, Patrick Henry, and Phillis Wheatley.

9 from The Autobiography and Poor Richard’s Almanac by Benjamin Franklin

from The Autobiography by Benjamin Franklin

It was about this time I conceived the bold and arduous project of arriv- ing at moral perfection. I wished to live without committing any fault at any time; I would conquer all that either natural inclination, custom, or company might lead me into. As I knew, or thought I knew, what was right and wrong, I did not see why I might not always do the one and avoid the other. But I soon found I had undertaken a task of more diffi- culty than I had imagined. While my care was employed in guarding against one fault, I was often surprised by another; habit took the advan- Background: Benjamin Franklin arrived in the city tage of inattention; inclination was sometimes too strong for reason. I con- of Philadelphia in 1723 at the age of 17. He knew no cluded, at length, that the mere speculative conviction that it was our inter- one, and he had little money and fewer possessions. est to be completely virtuous was not sufficient to prevent our slipping; However, his accomplishments shaped the city in and that the contrary habits must be broken, and good ones acquired and ways that are still visible today. He helped establish established, before we can have any dependence on a steady, uniform recti- Philadelphia’s public library and fire department, as tude of conduct. For this purpose I therefore contrived the following well as its first college. In addition, through his ef- method. forts, Philadelphia became the first city in the colo- In the various enumerations of the moral virtues I had met with in my read- nies to have street lights. While Franklin was a bril- ing, I found the catalog more or less numerous, as different writers in- liant man, some of his success can be attributed to cluded more or fewer ideas under the same name. Temperance, for exam- sheer self-discipline, which is evident in this excerpt ple, was by some confined to eating and drinking, while by others it was from his Autobiography. extended to mean the moderating every other pleasure, appetite, inclina- tion, or passion, bodily or mental, even to our avarice and ambition. I pro- posed to myself, for the sake of clearness, to use rather more names, with fewer ideas annexed to each, than a few names with more ideas; and I included under thirteen names of virtues all that at that time occurred to me as necessary or desirable, and an- nexed to each a short precept, which fully expressed the extent I gave to its meaning. These names of virtues, with their precepts, were: 1. TEMPERANCE Eat not to dullness; drink not to elevation. 2. SILENCE Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself; avoid trifling conversation. 3. ORDER Let all your things have their places; let each part of your business have its time. 4. RESOLUTION Resolve to perform what you ought; perform without fail what you resolve. 5. FRUGALITY Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself; i.e., waste nothing. 6. INDUSTRY Lose no time; be always employed in something useful; cut off all unnecessary actions. 7. SINCERITY Use no hurtful deceit; think innocently and justly, and, if you speak, speak accordingly. 8. JUSTICE Wrong none by doing injuries, or omitting the benefits that are your duty. 9. MODERATION Avoid extremes; forebear resenting injuries so much as you think they deserve. 10. CLEANLINESS Tolerate no uncleanliness in body, clothes, or habitation. 11. TRANQUILLITY Be not disturbed at trifles, or at accidents common or unavoidable. 12. CHASTITY 13. HUMILITY Imitate Jesus and Socrates. My intention being to acquire the habitude of all these virtues, I judged it would be well not to distract my attention by attempting the whole at once but to fix it on one of them at a time; and, when I should be master of that, then to proceed to another, and so on, till I should have gone through the thirteen; and, as the previous acquisition of some might facilitate the acquisition of certain oth- ers, I arranged them with that view, as they stand above. Temperance first, as it tends to procure that coolness and clearness of

10 head, which is so necessary where constant vigilance was to be kept up, and guard maintained against the unremitting attraction of ancient habits and the force of perpetual temptations. This being acquired and established, Silence would be more easy; and my desire being to gain knowledge at the same time that I improved in virtue, and considering that in conversation it was obtained rather by the use of the ears than of the tongue, and therefore wishing to break a habit I was getting into of prattling, punning, and joking, which only made me acceptable to trifling company, I gave Silence the second place. This and the next, Order, I expected would allow me more time for attending to my project and my studies. Resolution, once become habitual, would keep me firm in my endeavors to obtain all the subsequent virtues; Frugality and Industry freeing me from my remaining debt and producing afflu- ence and independence, would make more easy the practice of Sincerity and Justice, etc., etc. Conceiving then, that, agreeably to the advice of Pythagoras in his Golden Verses, daily examination would be necessary, I contrived the following method for con- ducting that examination. I made a little book, in which I allotted a page for each of the virtues. I ruled each page with red ink, so as to have seven columns, one for each day of the week, marking each column with a letter for the day. I crossed these columns with thirteen red lines, mark- ing the beginning of each line with the first letter of one of the virtues, on which line and in its proper column I might mark, by a little black spot, every fault I found upon examination to have been committed respecting that virtue upon that day. I determined to give a week’s strict attention to each of the virtues successively. Thus, in the first week, my great guard was to avoid every the least offense against Temperance, leaving the other virtues to their ordinary chance, only marking every evening the faults of the day. Thus, if in the first week I could keep my first line, marked T. clear of spots, I supposed the habit of that vir- tue so much strengthened, and its opposite weakened, that I might venture extending my attention to include the next, and for the following week keep both lines clear of spots. Proceeding thus to the last, I could go through a course complete in thirteen weeks, and four courses in a year. And like him who, having a garden to weed, does not attempt to eradicate all the bad herbs at once, which would exceed his reach and his strength, but works on one of the beds at a time, and, having accomplished the first, pro- ceeds to a second, so I should have, I hoped, the encouraging pleasure of seeing on my pages the progress I made in virtue, by clearing successively my lines of their spots, till in the end, by a number of courses, I should be happy in viewing a clean book, after a thirteen weeks’ daily examination…. The precept of Order requiring that every part of my business should have its allotted time, one page in my little book contained the following scheme of employment for the twenty-four hours of a natural day. The Morning. Question. What good 5 Rise, wash, and shall I do this day? 6 address Powerful Goodness! Contrive day’s business, and take the resolution of the day; 7 prosecute the present study, and breakfast. 8 9 Work. 10 11 Noon. 12 Read, or overlook 1 my accounts, and dine. 2 3 4 Work. 5 Evening. 6 Put things in their places. Supper. Question. What 7 Music or diversion, or conversation. good have I done 8 Conversation. Examination of today ? 9 the day. 10 11 12 Night. 1 Sleep. 2 3 4 I entered upon the execution of this plan for self-examination, and continued it with occasional intermissions for some time, I was surprised to find myself so much fuller of faults than I had imagined; but I had the satisfaction of seeing them diminish. To avoid the trouble of renewing now and then my little book, which, by scraping out the marks on the paper of old faults to make room for new ones in a new course, became full of holes, I transferred my tables and precepts to the ivory leaves of a memorandum book, on which the lines were drawn with red ink that made a durable stain, and on those lines I marked my faults with a black-lead pen- cil, which marks I could easily wipe out with a wet sponge. After a while I went through one course only in a year, and afterward only one in several years, till at length I omitted them entirely, being employed in voyages and business abroad, with a multiplicity of affairs that interfered; but I always carried my little book with me.

11 My scheme of Order gave me the most trouble; and I found that, though it might be practicable where a man’s business was such as to leave him the disposition of his time, that of a journeyman printer, for instance, it was not possible to be exactly observed by a master, who must mix with the world and often receive people of business at their own hours. Order, too, with regard to places for things, papers, etc., I found extremely difficult to acquire. I had not been early accustomed to it, and, having an exceeding good memory, I was not so sensible of the inconvenience attending want of method. This article, therefore, cost me so much pain- ful attention, and my faults in it vexed me so much, and I made so little progress in amendment, and had such frequent relapses, that I was almost ready to give up the attempt, and content myself with a faulty character in that respect, like the man who, in buy- ing an ax of a smith, my neighbor, desired to have the whole of its surface as bright as the edge. The smith consented to grind it bright for him if he would turn the wheel; he turned, while the smith pressed the broad face of the ax hard and heavily on the stone, which made the turning of it very fatiguing. The man came every now and then from the wheel to see how the work went on, and at length would take his ax as it was, without farther grinding. “No,” said the smith, “turn on, turn on; we shall have it bright by and by; as yet, it is only speckled.” “Yes,” says the man, “but I think I like a speckled ax best.” And I believe this may have been the case with many, who, having, for want of some such means as I employed, found the difficulty of obtaining good and breaking bad habits in other points of vice and virtue, have given up the struggle, and concluded that “a speckled ax was best”; for something, that pretended to be reason, was every now and then suggesting to me that such extreme nicety as I exacted of myself might be a kind of foppery in morals, which, if it were known, would make me ridiculous; that a perfect character might be attended with the inconvenience of being envied and hated; and that a benevolent man should allow a few faults in him- self, to keep his friends in countenance.

In truth, I found myself incorrigible with respect to Order; and now I am grown old, and my memory bad, I feel very sensibly the want of it. But, on the whole, though I never arrived at the perfection I had been so ambitious of obtaining, but fell far short of it, yet I was, by the endeavor, a better and a happier man than I otherwise should have been if I had not attempted it; as those who aim at perfect writing by imitating the engraved copies, though they never reached the wished-for excellence of those copies, their hand is mended by the endeavor, and is tolerable while it continues fair and legible. It may be well my posterity should be informed that to this little artifice, with the blessing of God, their ancestor owed the con- stant felicity of his life, down to his seventy-ninth year in which this is written. What reverses may attend the remainder is in the hand of Providence; but, if they arrive, the reflection on past happiness enjoyed ought to help his bearing them with more resigna- tion. To Temperance he ascribes his long-continued health, and what is still left to him of a good constitution; to Industry and Fru- gality, the early easiness of his circumstances and acquisition of his fortune, with all that knowledge that enabled him to be a use- ful citizen, and obtained for him some degree of reputation among the learned; to Sincerity and Justice, the confidence of his coun- try, and the honorable employs it conferred upon him; and to the joint influence of the whole mass of the virtues, even in the imper- fect state he was able to acquire them, all that evenness of temper, and that cheerfulness in conversation, which makes his com- pany still sought for, and agreeable even to his younger acquaintance. I hope, therefore, that some of my descendants may follow the example and reap the benefit. from Poor Richard’s Almanack by Benjamin Franklin • Fools make feasts, and wise men eat them. • Be slow in choosing a friend, slower in changing. • Keep thy shop, and thy shop will keep thee. • Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise. • Three may keep a secret if two of them are dead. • God helps them that help themselves. • The rotten apple spoils his companions. • An open foe may prove a curse; but a pretended friend is worse. • Have you somewhat to do tomorrow, do it today. • A true friend is the best possession.

12 • A small leak will sink a great ship. • No gains without pains. • ’Tis easier to prevent bad habits than to break them. • Well done is better than well said. • Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time; for that’s the stuff life is made of. • Write injuries in dust, benefits in marble. • A slip of the foot you may soon recover, but a slip of the tongue you may never get over. • If your head is wax, don’t walk in the sun. • A good example is the best sermon. • Hunger is the best pickle. • Genius without education is like silver in the mine. • For want of a nail the shoe is lost; for want of a shoe the horse is lost; for want of a horse the rider is lost. • Haste makes waste. • The doors of wisdom are never shut. • Love your neighbor; yet don’t pull down your hedge. • He that lives upon hope will die fasting.

Study Questions

1. Franklin carried with him a lile book. In this book he had made seven columns for the seven days of the week. Across the seven vercal columns he made thirteen horizontal rows. Each of these thirteen rows represented what? 2. In this same grid (the one described in #1), Franklin would make lile black dots. What did the black dots represent? 3. Poor Richard’s Almanack contains a series of aphorisms. What is an aphorism? For numbers 1-13, match each of the following descriptions to Franklin’s 13 virtues. Use the same 13 numbers that Franklin used. Then do numbers 14-20. being fair being sober being thrifty hygiene meaning what you say not being proud not having sex not overdoing things not quitting remaining calm sticking to a schedule talking little working hard 14. Franklin chose certain virtues to pursue first, while saving others for later. What would make Franklin place a virtue near the beginning of his list? 15. How would Franklin indicate when he was not able to fulfill a virtue on a certain day? 16. What reason does Franklin give for having trouble fulfilling the virtue of Order? 17. Why does the man say that he likes his speckled axe best? 18. Poor Richard’s Almanack is where many famous aphorisms first appeared. What is an aphorism?

13 19. Choose five of Franklin’s aphorisms. For each, write the aphorism and an explanation of what the aphorism means. 20. For Order, Franklin claims that “every part of [his] business should have its allotted time.” He then writes a vertical schedule accounting for each of the 24 hours in the day. Using Franklin’s schedule as a model, write your own 24-hour schedule show- ing how you can use your 24 hours to their best advantage.

COMPLETE ASSIGNMENT 3 AND SAVE IT TO TURN IN WHEN SCHOOL BEGINS. SAVE IT TO YOUR DESKTOP OR GOOGLE DRIVE!

14 Speech in the Virginia Convention by Patrick Henry

Mr. President: No man thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism, as well as abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who have just addressed the house. But different men often see the same subject in different lights; and, therefore, I hope it will not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen, if, entertaining, as I do, opinions of a character very opposite to theirs, I shall speak forth my sentiments freely and without reserve. This is no time for ceremony. The question before the house is one of awful moment to this country. For my own part, I consider it as nothing less than a question of freedom or slavery. And in proportion to the mag- nitude of the subject ought to be the freedom of the debate. It is only in this way that we can hope to arrive at truth, and fulfill the great responsibility which we hold to God and our country. Should I keep back my opinions at such a time, through fear of giving offense, I should consider myself as guilty of treason to- ward my country, and of an act of disloyalty toward the Majesty of Heaven, which I revere above all earthly kings.

Background: In this speech, delivered in 1775, Patrick Henry publicly denounces the British king and urges the colonists to fight for independence. Making such a decla- ration took tremendous bravery. England was the world’s most powerful country at the time, and the odds against the colonists were overwhelming. If the colonies had failed to win independence, Henry could have been exe- cuted for treason. Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those who having eyes see not, and having ears hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth; to know the worst and to provide for it. I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the house? Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation—the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British minis- try have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposi- tion to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned with contempt from the foot of the throne! In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconcilia- tion. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free, if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending, if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained-we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of Hosts is all that is left us! . They tell us, sir, that we are weak—unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs and hugging the delusive phan- tom of hope until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we

15 possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election; if we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanging may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable—and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come! It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, “Peace, peace”—but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slav- ery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!

Study Quesons

1. From the first few sentences, we learn that several other speakers have preceded Patrick Henry. In a sentence or two, summa- rize what these men must have been saying. 2. Paragraph two contains two allusions. The first is an allusion to … 3. The second is an allusion to … 4. A metaphor is a comparison of two things. Explain the metaphor that begins paragraph three. 5. Paragraph three contains an allusion to … 6. Paragraph five contains four good examples of anaphora. One example is … 7. Another example is … 8. Another example is … 9. “Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on.” Explain the metaphor in the previous quotaon. 10. “The bale, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the acve, the brave.” The normal paern for items in a series is “1, 2, and 3.” Using a device known as asyndeton, Henry breaks the tradional items in a series paern by doing what? 11. “The bale, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the acve, the brave.” Which words in this quotaon are an ex- ample of parallel structure, and what makes these words parallel structure? 12. The rhetorical queson is a common device, but Henry goes a step further and, at mes, answers his rhetorical quesons. Find one example anywhere in the speech. Copy the rhetorical queson and the answer to the rhetorical queson. 13. Copy Henry’s famous closing quotaon. 14. Patrick Henry begins his speech by referring to the “worthy gentlemen” who spoke before him. Henry claims that he holds “opinions of a character very opposite to theirs.” Judging from Henry’s speech, what must the previous speakers have been saying?

16 RHETORICAL TRIANGLE VIDEO

LOGICAL FALLACIES VIDEO

CHAPTER 3

Romanticism & Gothic Literature 1800-1870

The Romantic movement in America coincided with the European Romantic movement. Romantics rebelled against classicism and focused on individualism, idealism, imagination, and nature.

19 FIGURES OF SPEECH VIDEO The Devil and Tom Walker by Washington Irving

Footnotes and Vocabulary: • Kidd the Pirate: Captain William Kidd (1645-1701) • termagant: quarrelsome woman • clapperclawing: clawing or scratching • Quakers and Anabaptists: two religious groups that were persecuted for their beliefs • A … Israel: a reference to II Samuel 3:38 in the Bible. The Puritans often called New England “Israel.” • avarice: greed • peculiar: particular; special • rhino: slang term for money • Governor Belcher: Jonathan Belcher, the governor of Massachusetts Bay Colony from 1730 through 1741. • Land Bank: a bank that financed transactions in real estate. • land jobbers: people who bought and sold undeveloped land • El Dorados: places rich in gold or opportunity. El Dorado was a legendary country in South America sought by early Spanish explorers for its gold and precious stones. • usurers: moneylenders who charge very high interest • extort: to obtain by threat or violence • ’Change: exchange where bankers and merchants did business • Zionward: toward heaven • ostentation: boastful display • parsimony: stinginess

21 A few miles from Boston in Massachusetts, there is a deep inlet, winding several miles into the interior of the country from Char- les Bay, and terminating in a thickly wooded swamp or morass. On one side of this inlet is a beautiful dark grove; on the opposite side the land rises abruptly from the water’s edge into a high ridge, on which grow a few scattered oaks of great age and immense size. Under one of these gigantic trees, according to old stories, there was a great amount of treasure buried by Kidd the pirate. The inlet allowed a facility to bring the money in a boat secretly and at night to the very foot of the hill; the elevation of the place permitted a good look-out to be kept that no one was at hand; while the remarkable trees formed good landmarks by which the place might easily be found again. The old stories add, moreover, that the Devil presided at the hiding of the money, and took it under his guardian- ship; but this it is well known he always does with buried treasure, particularly when it has been ill-gotten. Be that as it may, Kidd never returned to recover his wealth; being shortly after seized at Boston, sent out to England, and there hanged for a pirate. About the year 1727, just at the time that earthquakes were prevalent in New England, and shook many tall sinners down upon their knees, there lived near this place a meager, miserly fellow, of the name of Tom Walker. He had a wife as miserly as himself: they were so miserly that they even conspired to cheat each other. Whatever the woman could lay hands on, she hid away; a hen could not cackle but she was on the alert to secure the new-laid egg. Her husband was continually prying about to detect her secret hoards, and many and fierce were the conflicts that took place about what ought to have been common property. They lived in a forlorn-looking house that stood alone, and had an air of starvation. A few straggling savin trees, emblems of sterility, grew near it; no smoke ever curled from its chimney; no traveler stopped at its door. A miserable horse, whose ribs were as articulate as the bars of a gridiron, stalked about a field, where a thin carpet of moss, scarcely covering the ragged beds of puddingstone, tantalized and balked his hunger; and sometimes he would lean his head over the fence, look piteously at the passerby, and seem to petition deliverance from this land of famine. The house and its inmates had altogether a bad name. Tom’s wife was a tall termagant, fierce of temper, loud of tongue, and strong of arm. Her voice was often heard in wordy warfare with her husband; and his face sometimes showed signs that their conflicts were not confined to words. No one ventured, however, to interfere between them. The lonely wayfarer shrunk within himself at the horrid clamor and clapperclaw- ing, eyed the den of discord askance; and hurried on his way, rejoicing, if a bachelor, in his celibacy. One day that Tom Walker had been to a distant part of the neighborhood, he took what he considered a shortcut homeward, through the swamp. Like most shortcuts, it was an ill-chosen route. The swamp was thickly grown with great gloomy pines and hemlocks, some of them ninety feet high, which made it dark at noonday, and a retreat for all the owls of the neighborhood. It was full of pits and quagmires, partly covered with weeds and mosses, where the green surface often betrayed the traveler into a gulf of black, smothering mud; there were also dark and stagnant pools, the abodes of the tadpole, the bullfrog, and the watersnake; where the trunks of pines and hemlocks lay half-drowned, half-rotting, looking like alligators sleeping in the mire. Tom had long been picking his way cautiously through this treacherous forest; stepping from tuft to tuft of rushes and roots, which afforded precarious footholds among deep sloughs; or pacing carefully, like a cat, along the prostrate trunks of trees; startled now and then by the sudden screaming of the bittern, or the quacking of a wild duck, rising on the wing from some solitary pool. At length he arrived at a piece of firm ground, which ran out like a peninsula into the deep bosom of the swamp. It had been one of the strongholds of the Indians during their wars with the first colonists. Here they had thrown up a kind of fort, which they had looked upon as almost impregnable, and had used as a place of refuge for their squaws and children. Nothing remained of the old Indian fort but a few embankments, gradually sinking to the level of the surrounding earth, and already overgrown in part by oaks and other forest trees, the foliage of which formed a contrast to the dark pines and hemlocks of the swamp. It was late in the dusk of evening when Tom Walker reached the old fort, and he paused there awhile to rest himself. Anyone but he would have felt unwilling to linger in this lonely, melancholy place, for the common people had a bad opinion of it, from the stories handed down from the time of the Indian wars; when it was asserted that the savages held incantations here, and made sacrifices to the evil spirit. Tom Walker, however, was not a man to be troubled with any fears of the kind. He reposed himself for some time on the trunk of a fallen hemlock, listening to the boding cry of the tree toad, and delving with his walking staff into a mound of black mold at his feet. As he turned up the soil unconsciously, his staff struck against something hard. He raked it out of the vegetable mold, and lo! a cloven skull, with an Indian tomahawk buried deep in it, lay before him. The rust on the weapon showed the time that had elapsed since this deathblow had been given. It was a dreary memento of the fierce struggle that had taken place in this last foot- hold of the Indian warriors. “Humph!” said Tom Walker, as he gave it a kick to shake the dirt from it.

22 “Let that skull alone!” said a gruff voice. Tom lifted up his eyes, and beheld a great black man seated di- rectly opposite him, on the stump of a tree. He was exceedingly surprised, having neither heard nor seen anyone approach; and he was still more perplexed on observing, as well as the gathering gloom would permit, that the stranger was neither Negro nor Indian. It is true he was dressed in a rude half-Indian garb, and had a red belt or sash swathed round his body; but his face was neither black nor copper color, but swarthy and dingy, and begrimed with soot, as if he had been accustomed to toil among fires and forges. He had a shock of coarse black hair, that stood out from his head in all directions, and bore an ax on his shoulder. He scowled for a moment at Tom with a pair of great red eyes. “What are you doing on my grounds?” said the black man, with a hoarse growling voice. “Your grounds!” said Tom with a sneer, “no more your grounds than mine; they belong to Deacon Peabody.” “Deacon Peabody be d—d,” said the stranger, “as I flatter myself he will be, if he does not look more to his own sins and less to those of his neighbors. Look yonder, and see how Deacon Peabody is faring.” Tom looked in the direction that the stranger pointed, and beheld one of the great trees, fair and flourishing without, but rotten at the core, and saw that it had been nearly hewn through, so that the first high wind was likely to blow it down. On the bark of the tree was scored the name of Deacon Peabody, an eminent man, who had waxed wealthy by driving shrewd bargains with the Indi- ans. He now looked round, and found most of the tall trees marked with the name of some great man of the colony, and all more or less scored by the ax. The one on which he had been seated, and which had evidently just been hewn down, bore the name of Crowninshield: and he recollected a mighty rich man of that name, who made a vulgar display of wealth, which it was whispered he had acquired by buccaneering. “He’s just ready for burning!” said the black man, with a growl of triumph. “You see I am likely to have a good stock of firewood for winter.” “But what right have you,” said Tom, “to cut down Deacon Peabody’s timber?” “The right of a prior claim,” said the other. “This woodland belonged to me long before one of your white-faced race put foot upon the soil.” “And pray, who are you, if I may be so bold?” said Tom. “Oh, I go by various names. I am the wild huntsman in some countries; the black miner in others. In this neighborhood I am known by the name of the black woodsman. I am he to whom the red men consecrated this spot, and in honor of whom they now and then roasted a white man, by way of sweet-smelling sacrifice. Since the red men have been exterminated by you white sav- ages, I amuse myself by presiding at the persecutions of Quakers and Anabaptists; I am the great patron and prompter of slave dealers, and the grandmaster of the Salem witches.” “The upshot of all which is, that, if I mistake not,” said Tom, sturdily, “you are he commonly called Old Scratch.” “The same, at your service!” replied the black man, with a half-civil nod. Such was the opening of this interview, according to the old story; though it has almost too familiar an air to be credited. One would think that to meet with such a singular personage, in this wild, lonely place, would have shaken any man’s nerves; but Tom was a hard-minded fellow, not easily daunted, and he had lived so long with a termagant wife, that he did not even fear the Devil. It is said that after this commencement they had a long and earnest conversation together, as Tom returned homeward. The black man told him of great sums of money buried by Kidd the pirate, under the oak trees on the high ridge, not far from the morass. All these were under his command, and protected by his power, so that none could find them but such as propitiated his favor. These he offered to place within Tom Walker’s reach, having conceived an especial kindness for him; but they were to be had only on certain conditions. What these conditions were may easily be surmised, though Tom never disclosed them publicly. They must have been very hard, for he required time to think of them, and he was not a man to stick at trifles where money was in view. When they had reached the edge of the swamp, the stranger paused— “What proof have I that all you have been telling me is true?” said Tom. “There is my signature,” said the black man, pressing his finger on Tom’s forehead. So saying, he turned off among the thickets of the swamp, and seemed, as Tom said, to go down, down, down, into the earth, until nothing but his head and shoulders could be seen, and so on, until he totally disappeared. When Tom reached home, he found the black print of a finger, burnt, as it were, into his forehead, which nothing could obliterate. The first news his wife had to tell him was the sudden death of Absalom Crowninshield, the rich buccaneer. It was announced in the papers with the usual flourish, that “A great man had fallen in Israel.” Tom recollected the tree which his black friend had just hewn down, and which was ready for burning, “Let the freebooter roast,” said Tom, “who cares!” He now felt convinced that all he had heard and seen was no illusion. He was not prone to let his wife

23 into his confidence; but as this was an uneasy secret, he willingly shared it with her. All her avarice was awakened at the mention of hidden gold, and she urged her husband to comply with the black man’s terms and secure what would make them wealthy for life. However Tom might have felt disposed to sell himself to the Devil, he was determined not to do so to oblige his wife; so he flatly refused, out of the mere spirit of contradiction. Many and bitter were the quarrels they had on the subject, but the more she talked, the more resolute was Tom not to be damned to please her. At length she determined to drive the bargain on her own account, and if she succeeded, to keep all the gain to herself. Being of the same fearless temper as her husband, she set off for the old Indian fort to- wards the close of a summer’s day. She was many hours absent. When she came back, she was re- served and sullen in her replies. She spoke something of a black man, whom she had met about twi- light, hewing at the root of a tall tree. He was sulky, however, and would not come to terms: she was to go again with a propitiatory offering, but what it was she forbore to say. The next evening she set off again for the swamp, with her apron heavily laden. Tom waited and waited for her, but in vain; mid- night came, but she did not make her appearance: morning, noon, night returned, but still she did not come. Tom now grew uneasy for her safety, especially as he found she had carried off in her apron the silver teapot and spoons, and every portable article of value. Another night elapsed, another morning came; but no wife. In a word, she was never heard of more. What was her real fate nobody knows, in consequence of so many pretending to know. It is one of those facts which have become confounded by a variety of historians. Some asserted that she lost her way among the tangled mazes of the swamp, and sank into some pit or slough; others, more uncharitable, hinted that she had eloped with the household booty, and made off to some other province; while others surmised that the tempter had decoyed her into a dismal quagmire, on the top of which her hat was found lying. In confirmation of this, it was said a great black man, with an ax on his shoulder, was seen late that very evening coming out of the swamp, carrying a bundle tied in a checked apron, with an air of surly triumph. The most current and probable story, however, observes that Tom Walker grew so anxious about the fate of his wife and his prop- erty, that he set out at length to seek them both at the Indian fort. During a long summer’s afternoon he searched about the gloomy place, but no wife was to be seen. He called her name repeatedly, but she was nowhere to be heard. The bittern alone responded to his voice, as he flew screaming by; or the bullfrog croaked dolefully from a neighboring pool. At length, it is said, just in the brown hour of twilight, when the owls began to hoot, and the bats to flit about, his attention was attracted by the clamor of carrion crows hovering about a cypress tree. He looked up, and beheld a bundle tied in a checked apron, and hanging in the branches of the tree, with a great vulture perched hard by, as if keeping watch upon it. He leaped with joy; for he recognized his wife’s apron, and supposed it to contain the household valuables. “Let us get hold of the property,” said he, consolingly to himself, “and we will endeavor to do without the woman.” As he scrambled up the tree, the vulture spread its wide wings, and sailed off screaming into the deep shadows of the forest. Tom seized the checked apron, but woeful sight! found nothing but a heart and liver tied up in it! Such, according to the most authentic old story, was all that was to be found of Tom’s wife. She had probably attempted to deal with the black man as she had been accustomed to deal with her husband; but though a female scold is generally considered a match for the Devil, yet in this instance she appears to have had the worst of it. She must have died game, however; for it is said Tom noticed many prints of cloven feet deeply stamped about the tree, and found handfuls of hair, that looked as if they had been plucked from the coarse black shock of the woodsman. Tom knew his wife’s prowess by experience. He shrugged his shoulders, as he looked at the signs of a fierce clapperclawing. “Egad,” said he to himself, “Old Scratch must have had a tough time of it!” Tom consoled himself for the loss of his property, with the loss of his wife, for he was a man of fortitude. He even felt something like gratitude towards the black woodsman, who, he considered, had done him a kindness. He sought, therefore, to cultivate a fur- ther acquaintance with him, but for some time without success; the old blacklegs played shy, for whatever people may think, he is not always to be had for calling for: he knows how to play his cards when pretty sure of his game. At length, it is said, when de- lay had whetted Tom’s eagerness to the quick, and prepared him to agree to anything rather than not gain the promised treasure, he met the black man one evening in his usual woodsman’s dress, with his ax on his shoulder, sauntering along the swamp, and hum- ming a tune. He affected to receive Tom’s advances with great indifference, made brief replies, and went on humming his tune. By degrees, however, Tom brought him to business, and they began to haggle about the terms on which the former was to have the pirate’s treasure. There was one condition which need not be mentioned, being generally understood in all cases where the Devil grants favors; but there were others about which, though of less importance, he was inflexibly obstinate. He insisted that the money found through his means should be employed in his service. He proposed, therefore, that Tom should employ it in the black traffic; that is to say, that he should fit out a slave ship. This, however, Tom resolutely refused: he was bad enough in all con- science, but the Devil himself could not tempt him to turn slave-trader. Finding Tom so squeamish on this point, he did not insist upon it, but proposed, instead, that he should turn usurer; the Devil be- ing extremely anxious for the increase of usurers, looking upon them as his peculiar people. To this no objections were made, for it was just to Tom’s taste.

24 “You shall open a broker’s shop in Boston next month,” said the black man. “I’ll do it tomorrow, if you wish,” said Tom Walker. “You shall lend money at two per cent a month.” “Egad, I’ll charge four!” replied Tom Walker. “You shall extort bonds, foreclose mortgages, drive the merchant to bankruptcy—” “I’ll drive him to the D—l,” cried Tom Walker. “You are the usurer for my money!” said the blacklegs with delight. “When will you want the rhino?” “This very night.” “Done!” said the Devil. “Done!” said Tom Walker. So they shook hands and struck a bargain. A few days’ time saw Tom Walker seated behind his desk in a countinghouse in Boston. His reputation for a ready-moneyed man, who would lend money out for a good consideration, soon spread abroad. Everybody remembers the time of Governor Belcher, when money was particularly scarce. It was a time of paper credit. The country had been deluged with government bills; the famous Land Bank had been established; there had been a rage for speculating; the peo- ple had run mad with schemes for new settlements, for building cities in the wilderness; land jobbers went about with maps of grants, and townships, and El Dorados, lying nobody knew where, but which everybody was ready to purchase. In a word, the great speculating fever which breaks out every now and then in the country, had raged to an alarming degree, and everybody was dreaming of making sudden fortunes from nothing. As usual the fever had subsided; the dream had gone off, and the imaginary fortunes with it; the patients were left in doleful plight, and the whole country resounded with the consequent cry of “hard times.” At this propitious time of public distress did Tom Walker set up as usurer in Boston. His door was soon thronged by customers. The needy and adventurous, the gambling speculator, the dreaming land jobber, the thriftless tradesman, the merchant with cracked credit, in short, everyone driven to raise money by desperate means and desperate sacrifices, hurried to Tom Walker. Thus Tom was the universal friend of the needy, and acted like a “friend in need”; that is to say, he always exacted good pay and good security. In proportion to the distress of the applicant was the hardness of his terms. He accumulated bonds and mortgages; gradually squeezed his customers closer and closer, and sent them at length, dry as a sponge, from his door. In this way he made money hand over hand, became a rich and mighty man, and exalted his cocked hat upon ’Change. He built himself, as usual, a vast house, out of ostentation; but left the greater part of it unfinished and unfurnished, out of parsimony. He even set up a carriage in the fullness of his vainglory, though he nearly starved the horses which drew it; and as the ungreased wheels groaned and screeched on the axletrees, you would have thought you heard the souls of the poor debtors he was squeezing. As Tom waxed old, however, he grew thoughtful. Having secured the good things of this world, he began to feel anxious about those of the next. He thought with regret on the bargain he had made with his black friend, and set his wits to work to cheat him out of the conditions. He became, therefore, all of a sudden, a violent churchgoer. He prayed loudly and strenuously, as if heaven were to be taken by force of lungs. Indeed, one might always tell when he had sinned most during the week, by the clamor of his Sunday devotion. The quiet Christians who had been modestly and steadfastly traveling Zionward, were struck with self-reproach at seeing themselves so suddenly outstripped in their career by this new-made convert. Tom was as rigid in religious as in money matters; he was a stern supervisor and censurer of his neighbors, and seemed to think every sin entered up to their account became a credit on his own side of the page. He even talked of the expediency of reviving the persecution of Quakers and Anabaptists. In a word, Tom’s zeal became as notorious as his riches. Still, in spite of all this strenuous attention to forms, Tom had a lurking dread that the Devil, after all, would have his due. That he might not be taken unawares, therefore, it is said he always carried a small Bible in his coat pocket. He had also a great folio Bible on his countinghouse desk, and would frequently be found reading it when people called on business; on such occasions he would lay his green spectacles in the book, to mark the place, while he turned round to drive some usurious bargain. Some say that Tom grew a little crackbrained in his old days, and that fancying his end approaching, he had his horse newly shod, saddled and bridled, and buried with his feet uppermost; because he supposed that at the last day the world would be turned upside down, in which case he should find his horse standing ready for mounting, and he was determined at the worst to give his old friend a run for it. This, however, is probably a mere old wives’ fable. If he really did take such a precaution, it was totally super- fluous; at least so says the authentic old legend, which closes his story in the following manner. One hot summer afternoon in the dog days, just as a terrible black thunder-gust was coming up, Tom sat in his countinghouse in his white linen cap and India silk morning gown. He was on the point of foreclosing a mortgage, by which he would complete the ruin of an unlucky land speculator for whom he had professed the greatest friendship. The poor land jobber begged him to grant a few months’ indulgence. Tom had grown testy and irritated, and refused another day.

25 “My family will be ruined and brought upon the parish,” said the land jobber. “Charity begins at home,” replied Tom; “I must take care of myself in these hard times.” “You have made so much money out of me,” said the speculator. Tom lost his patience and his piety—“The Devil take me,” said he, “if I have made a farthing!” Just then there were three loud knocks at the street door. He stepped out to see who was there. A black man was holding a black horse, which neighed and stamped with impatience. “Tom, you’re come for,” said the black fellow, gruffly. Tom shrunk back, but too late. He had left his little Bible at the bottom of his coat pocket, and his big Bible on the desk buried under the mortgage he was about to foreclose: never was sinner taken more unawares. The black man whisked him like a child into the saddle, gave the horse the lash, and away he galloped, with Tom on his back, in the midst of the thunderstorm. The clerks stuck their pens behind their ears, and stared after him from the windows. Away went Tom Walker, dashing down the streets, his white cap bobbing up and down, his morning gown fluttering in the wind, and his steed striking fire out of the pavement at every bound. When the clerks turned to look for the black man he had disappeared. Tom Walker never returned to foreclose the mortgage. A countryman who lived on the border of the swamp, reported that in the height of the thunder-gust he had heard a great clattering of hoofs and a howling along the road, and running to the window caught sight of a figure, such as I have described, on a horse that galloped like mad across the fields, over the hills and down into the black hemlock swamp towards the old Indian fort; and that shortly after a thunderbolt falling in that direction seemed to set the whole forest in a blaze. The good people of Boston shook their heads and shrugged their shoulders, but had been so much accustomed to witches and gob- lins and tricks of the Devil, in all kind of shapes from the first settlement of the colony, that they were not so much horror struck as might have been expected. Trustees were appointed to take charge of Tom’s effects. There was nothing, however, to administer upon. On searching his coffers all his bonds and mortgages were found reduced to cinders. In place of gold and silver his iron chest was filled with chips and shavings; two skeletons lay in his stable instead of his half-starved horses, and the very next day his great house took fire and was burned to the ground. Such was the end of Tom Walker and his ill-gotten wealth. Let all griping money brokers lay this story to heart. The truth of it is not to be doubted. The very hole under the oak trees, whence he dug Kidd’s money, is to be seen to this day; and the neighboring swamp and old Indian fort are often haunted in stormy nights by a figure on horseback, in morning gown and white cap, which is doubtless the troubled spirit of the usurer. In fact, the story has resolved itself into a proverb, and is the origin of that popular say- ing, so prevalent throughout New England, of “The Devil and Tom Walker.”

Study Quesons

1. At the beginning of the story, Captain Kidd is menoned. Why? 2. Tom and his wife would argue a lot. Why? 3. When Tom first meets the devil, he had just dug something out of the ground. What? 4. Why were names wrien on the trees? 5. As proof that all he is saying is true, the devil gives Tom his signature. How does the devil give his signature? 6. Why does Tom climb up a tree to get the apron he sees? 7. In return for his soul, Tom is not willing to go into the slave trade, but he is willing to go into what kind of business? 8. So that he won’t be caught off guard, Tom keeps a small ____ in his coat pocket and a large ____ on his counnghouse desk. What word can be placed in both blanks? 9. Aer Tom’s disappearance, no one else could benefit from his wealth. Why?

26

The Minister’s Black Veil by Nathaniel Hawthorne

The sexton stood in the porch of Milford meetinghouse, pulling busily at the bell rope. The old people of the village came stooping along the street. Children, with bright faces, tripped merrily beside their parents, or mim- icked a graver gait, in the conscious dignity of their Sunday clothes. Spruce bachelors looked sidelong at the pretty maidens, and fancied that the Sabbath sunshine made them prettier than on weekdays. When the throng had mostly streamed into the porch, the sexton began to toll the bell, keeping his eye on the Reverend Mr. Hooper’s door. The first glimpse of the clergyman’s figure was the signal for the bell to cease its summons.

“But what has good Parson Hooper got upon his face?” cried the sexton in astonishment. All within hearing immediately turned about, and beheld the semblance of Mr. Hooper, pacing slowly his meditative way towards the meetinghouse. With one accord they started, expressing more wonder than if some strange minister were coming to dust the cushions of Mr. Hooper’s pulpit. “Are you sure it is our parson?” inquired Goodman Gray of the sexton. “Of a certainty it is good Mr. Hooper,” replied the sexton. “He was to have exchanged pulpits with Parson Shute, of Westbury; but Parson Shute sent to excuse himself yesterday, being to preach a funeral sermon.” The cause of so much amazement may appear sufficiently slight. Mr. Hooper, a gentlemanly person, of about thirty, though still a bachelor, was dressed with due clerical neatness, as if a careful wife had starched his band, and brushed the weekly dust from his Sunday’s garb. There was but one thing remarkable in his appearance. Swathed about his forehead, and hanging down over his face, so low as to be shaken by his breath, Mr. Hooper had on a black veil. On a nearer view it seemed to consist of two folds of crape, which entirely concealed his features, except the mouth and chin, but probably did not intercept his sight, further than to give a darkened aspect to all living and inanimate things. With this gloomy shade before him, good Mr. Hooper walked onward, at a slow and quiet pace, stooping somewhat, and looking on the ground, as is customary with abstracted men, yet nodding kindly to those of his parishioners who still waited on the meetinghouse steps. But so wonderstruck were they that his greeting hardly met with a return.

“I can’t really feel as if good Mr. Hooper’s face was behind that piece of crape,” said the sexton. “I don’t like it,” muttered an old woman, as she hobbled into the meetinghouse. “He has changed himself into something awful, only by hiding his face.” “Our parson has gone mad!” cried Goodman Gray, following him across the threshold. A rumor of some unaccountable phenomenon had preceded Mr. Hooper into the meetinghouse, and set all the congregation astir. Few could refrain from twisting their heads towards the door; many stood upright, and turned directly about; while several little boys clambered upon the seats, and came down again with a terrible racket. There was a general bustle, a rustling of the women’s

28 gowns and shuffling of the men’s feet, greatly at variance with that hushed repose which should attend the entrance of the minis- ter. But Mr. Hooper appeared not to notice the perturbation of his people. He entered with an almost noiseless step, bent his head mildly to the pews on each side, and bowed as he passed his oldest parishioner, a white-haired great-grandsire, who occupied an armchair in the center of the aisle. It was strange to observe how slowly this venerable man became conscious of something singu- lar in the appearance of his pastor. He seemed not fully to partake of the prevailing wonder, till Mr. Hooper had ascended the stairs, and showed himself in the pulpit, face to face with his congregation, except for the black veil. That mysterious emblem was never once withdrawn. It shook with his measured breath, as he gave out the psalm; it threw its obscurity between him and the holy page, as he read the Scriptures; and while he prayed, the veil lay heavily on his uplifted counte- nance. Did he seek to hide it from the dread Being whom he was addressing?

Such was the effect of this simple piece of crape, that more than one woman of delicate nerves was forced to leave the meetinghouse. Yet perhaps the palefaced congregation was almost as fearful a sight to the minister, as his black veil to them. Mr. Hooper had the reputation of a good preacher, but not an energetic one: he strove to win his people heavenward by mild, per- suasive influences, rather than to drive them thither by the thunders of the Word. The sermon which he now delivered was marked by the same characteristics of style and manner as the general series of his pulpit oratory. But there was something, either in the sentiment of the discourse itself, or in the imagination of the auditors, which made it greatly the most powerful effort that they had ever heard from their pastor’s lips. It was tinged, rather more darkly than usual, with the gentle gloom of Mr. Hooper’s tempera- ment. The subject had reference to secret sin, and those sad mysteries which we hide from our nearest and dearest, and would fain conceal from our own consciousness, even forgetting that the Omniscient can detect them. A subtle power was breathed into his words. Each member of the congregation, the most innocent girl, and the man of hardened breast, felt as if the preacher had crept upon them, behind his awful veil, and discovered their hoarded iniquity of deed or thought. Many spread their clasped hands on their bosoms. There was nothing terrible in what Mr. Hooper said, at least, no violence; and yet, with every tremor of his melan- choly voice, the hearers quaked. An unsought pathos came hand in hand with awe. So sensible were the audience of some un- wonted attribute in their minister, that they longed for a breath of wind to blow aside the veil, almost believing that a stranger’s visage would be discovered, though the form, gesture, and voice were those of Mr. Hooper. At the close of the services, the people hurried out with indecorous confusion, eager to communicate their pent-up amazement, and conscious of lighter spirits the moment they lost sight of the black veil. Some gathered in little circles, huddled closely to- gether, with their mouths all whispering in the center; some went homeward alone, wrapt in silent meditation; some talked loudly, and profaned the Sabbath day with ostentatious laughter. A few shook their sagacious heads, intimating that they could penetrate the mystery; while one or two affirmed that there was no mystery at all, but only that Mr. Hooper’s eyes were so weakened by the midnight lamp, as to require a shade. After a brief interval, forth came good Mr. Hooper also, in the rear of his flock. Turning his veiled face from one group to another, he paid due reverence to the hoary heads, saluted the middle-aged with kind dignity as their friend and spiritual guide, greeted the young with mingled authority and love, and laid his hands on the little children’s heads to bless them. Such was always his custom on the Sabbath day. Strange and bewildered looks repaid him for his courtesy. None, as on former occasions, aspired to the honor of walking by their pastor’s side. Old Squire Saunders, doubtless by an accidental lapse of memory, neglected to invite Mr. Hooper to his table, where the good clergyman had been wont to bless the food, almost every Sunday since his settlement. He returned, therefore, to the parsonage, and, at the moment of closing the door, was observed to look back upon the people, all of whom had their eyes fixed upon the minister. A sad smile gleamed faintly from beneath the black veil, and flickered about his mouth, glimmering as he disappeared.

“How strange,” said a lady, “that a simple black veil, such as any woman might wear on her bonnet, should become such a terrible thing on Mr. Hooper’s face!” “Something must surely be amiss with Mr. Hooper’s intellects,” observed her husband, the physician of the village. “But the strangest part of the affair is the effect of this vagary, even on a sober-minded man like myself. The black veil, though it covers only our pastor’s face, throws its influence over his whole person, and makes him ghostlike from head to foot. Do you not feel it so?”

29 “Truly do I,” replied the lady; “and I would not be alone with him for the world. I wonder he is not afraid to be alone with him- self!” “Men sometimes are so,” said her husband. The afternoon service was attended with similar circumstances. At its conclusion, the bell tolled for the funeral of a young lady. The relatives and friends were assembled in the house, and the more distant acquaintances stood about the door, speaking of the good qualities of the deceased, when their talk was interrupted by the appearance of Mr. Hooper, still covered with his black veil. It was now an appropriate emblem. The clergyman stepped into the room where the corpse was laid, and bent over the coffin, to take a last farewell of his deceased parishioner. As he stooped, the veil hung straight down from his forehead, so that, if her eye- lids had not been closed forever, the dead maiden might have seen his face. Could Mr. Hooper be fearful of her glance, that he so hastily caught back the black veil? A person who watched the interview between the dead and living, scrupled not to affirm, that, at the instant when the clergyman’s features were disclosed, the corpse had slightly shuddered, rustling the shroud and muslin cap, though the countenance retained the composure of death. A superstitious old woman was the only witness of this prodigy. From the coffin Mr. Hooper passed into the chamber of the mourners, and thence to the head of the staircase; to make the funeral prayer. It was a tender and heart-dissolving prayer, full of sorrow, yet so imbued with celestial hopes, that the music of a heavenly harp, swept by the fingers of the dead, seemed faintly to be heard among the saddest accents of the minister. The people trembled, though they but darkly understood him when he prayed that they, and himself, and all of mortal race, might be ready, as he trusted this young maiden had been, for the dreadful hour that should snatch the veil from their faces. The bearers went heavily forth, and the mourners followed, saddening all the street, with the dead before them, and Mr. Hooper in his black veil behind. “Why do you look back?” said one in the procession to his partner. “I had a fancy,” replied she, “that the minister and the maiden’s spirit were walking hand in hand.” “And so had I, at the same moment,” said the other. That night, the handsomest couple in Milford village were to be joined in wedlock. Though reckoned a melancholy man, Mr. Hooper had a placid cheerfulness for such occasions, which often excited a sympathetic smile where livelier merriment would have been thrown away. There was no quality of his disposition which made him more beloved than this. The company at the wed- ding awaited his arrival with impatience, trusting that the strange awe, which had gathered over him throughout the day, would now be dispelled. But such was not the result. When Mr. Hooper came, the first thing that their eyes rested on was the same horri- ble black veil, which had added deeper gloom to the funeral, and could portend nothing but evil to the wedding. Such was its im- mediate effect on the guests that a cloud seemed to have rolled duskily from beneath the black crape, and dimmed the light of the candles. The bridal pair stood up before the minister. But the bride’s cold fingers quivered in the tremulous hand of the bride- groom, and her deathlike paleness caused a whisper that the maiden who had been buried a few hours before was come from her grave to be married. If ever another wedding were so dismal, it was that famous one where they tolled the wedding knell. After performing the ceremony, Mr. Hooper raised a glass of wine to his lips, wishing happiness to the new-married couple in a strain of mild pleasantry that ought to have brightened the features of the guests, like a cheerful gleam from the hearth. At that instant, catching a glimpse of his figure in the looking glass, the black veil involved his own spirit in the horror with which it over- whelmed all others. His frame shuddered, his lips grew white, he spilt the untasted wine upon the carpet, and rushed forth into the darkness. For the Earth, too, had on her Black Veil. The next day, the whole village of Milford talked of little else than Parson Hooper’s black veil. That, and the mystery concealed behind it, supplied a topic for discussion between acquaintances meeting in the street, and good women gossiping at their open windows. It was the first item of news that the tavernkeeper told to his guests. The children babbled of it on their way to school. One imitative little imp covered his face with an old black handkerchief, thereby so affrighting his playmates that the panic seized himself, and he well nigh lost his wits by his own waggery. It was remarkable that of all the busybodies and impertinent people in the parish, not one ventured to put the plain question to Mr. Hooper, wherefore he did this thing. Hitherto, whenever there appeared the slightest call for such interference, he had never lacked advisers, nor shown himself averse to be guided by their judgment. If he erred at all, it was by so painful a degree of self-distrust that even the mildest censure would lead him to consider an indifferent action as a crime. Yet, though so well acquainted with this amiable weakness, no individual among his parishioners chose to make the black veil a subject of friendly remonstrance. There was a feeling of dread, neither plainly confessed nor carefully concealed, which caused each to shift the responsibility upon an- other, till at length it was found expedient to send a deputation of the church, in order to deal with Mr. Hooper about the mystery, before it should grow into a scandal. Never did an embassy so ill discharge its duties. The minister received them with friendly courtesy, but became silent, after they were seated, leaving to his visitors the whole burden of introducing their important busi- ness. The topic, it might be supposed, was obvious enough. There was the black veil swathed round Mr. Hooper’s forehead, and concealing every feature above his placid mouth, on which, at times, they could perceive the glimmering of a melancholy smile. But that piece of crape, to their imagination, seemed to hang down before his heart, the symbol of a fearful secret between him and them. Were the veil but cast aside, they might speak freely of it, but not till then. Thus they sat a considerable time, speech- less, confused, and shrinking uneasily from Mr. Hooper’s eye, which they felt to be fixed upon them with an invisible glance. Fi-

30 nally, the deputies returned abashed to their constituents, pronouncing the matter too weighty to be handled, except by a council of the churches, if, indeed, it might not require a general synod. But there was one person in the village unappalled by the awe with which the black veil had impressed all beside herself. When the deputies returned without an explanation, or even venturing to demand one, she, with the calm energy of her character, deter- mined to chase away the strange cloud that appeared to be settling round Mr. Hooper, every moment more darkly than before. As his plighted wife, it should be her privilege to know what the black veil concealed. At the minister’s first visit, therefore, she en- tered upon the subject with a direct simplicity, which made the task easier both for him and her. After he had seated himself, she fixed her eyes steadfastly upon the veil, but could discern nothing of the dreadful gloom that had so overawed the multitude: it was but a double fold of crape, hanging down from his forehead to his mouth, and slightly stirring with his breath.

“No,” said she aloud, and smiling, “there is nothing terrible in this piece of crape, except that it hides a face which I am always glad to look upon. Come, good sir, let the sun shine from behind the cloud. First lay aside your black veil; then tell me why you put it on.” Mr. Hooper’s smile glimmered faintly. “There is an hour to come,” said he, “when all of us shall cast aside our veils. Take it not amiss, beloved friend, if I wear this piece of crape till then.” “Your words are a mystery, too,” returned the young lady. “Take away the veil from them, at least.” “Elizabeth, I will,” said he, “so far as my vow may suffer me. Know, then, this veil is a type and a symbol, and I am bound to wear it ever, both in light and darkness, in solitude and before the gaze of multitudes, and as with strangers, so with my familiar friends. No mortal eye will see it withdrawn. This dismal shade must separate me from the world: even you, Elizabeth, can never come behind it!” “What grievous affliction hath befallen you,” she earnestly inquired, “that you should thus darken your eyes forever?” “If it be a sign of mourning,” replied Mr. Hooper, “I, perhaps, like most other mortals, have sorrows dark enough to be typified by a black veil.” “But what if the world will not believe that it is the type of an innocent sorrow?” urged Elizabeth. “Beloved and respected as you are, there may be whispers that you hide your face under the consciousness of secret sin. For the sake of your holy office, do away this scandal!” The color rose into her cheeks as she intimated the nature of the rumors that were already abroad in the village. But Mr. Hooper’s mildness did not forsake him. He even smiled again-that same sad smile, which always appeared like a faint glimmering of light, proceeding from the obscurity beneath the veil. “If I hide my face for sorrow, there is cause enough,” he merely replied; “and if I cover it for secret sin, what mortal might not do the same?” And with this gentle, but unconquerable obstinacy did he resist all her entreaties. At length Elizabeth sat silent. For a few moments she appeared lost in thought, considering, probably, what new methods might be tried to withdraw her lover from so dark a fan- tasy, which, if it had no other meaning, was perhaps a symptom of mental disease. Though of a firmer character than his own, the tears rolled down her cheeks. But in an instant, as it were, a new feeling took the place of sorrow: her eyes were fixed insensibly on the black veil, when, like a sudden twilight in the air, its terrors fell around her. She arose, and stood trembling before him. “And do you feel it then, at last?” said he mournfully. She made no reply, but covered her eyes with her hand, and turned to leave the room. He rushed forward and caught her arm. “Have patience with me, Elizabeth!” cried he, passionately. “Do not desert me, though this veil must be between us here on earth. Be mine, and hereafter there shall be no veil over my face, no darkness between our souls! It is but a mortal veil—it is not for eter- nity! O! you know not how lonely I am, and how frightened, to be alone behind my black veil. Do not leave me in this miserable obscurity forever!” “Lift the veil but once, and look me in the face,” said she. “Never! It cannot be!” replied Mr. Hooper.

31 “Then farewell!” said Elizabeth. She withdrew her arm from his grasp, and slowly departed, pausing at the door, to give one long shuddering gaze, that seemed al- most to penetrate the mystery of the black veil. But, even amid his grief, Mr. Hooper smiled to think that only a material emblem had separated him from happiness, though the horrors, which it shadowed forth, must be drawn darkly between the fondest of lov- ers. From that time no attempts were made to remove Mr. Hooper’s black veil, or, by a direct appeal, to discover the secret which it was supposed to hide. By persons who claimed a superiority to popular prejudice, it was reckoned merely an eccentric whim, such as often mingles with the sober actions of men otherwise rational, and tinges them all with its own semblance of insanity. But with the multitude, good Mr. Hooper was irreparably a bugbear. He could not walk the street with any peace of mind, so conscious was he that the gentle and timid would turn aside to avoid him, and that others would make it a point of hardihood to throw them- selves in his way. The impertinence of the latter class compelled him to give up his customary walk at sunset to the burial ground; for when he leaned pensively over the gate, there would always be faces behind the gravestones, peeping at his black veil. A fable went the rounds that the stare of the dead people drove him thence. It grieved him, to the very depth of his kind heart, to observe how the children fled from his approach, breaking up their merriest sports, while his melancholy figure was yet afar off. Their in- stinctive dread caused him to feel more strongly than aught else, that a preternatural horror was interwoven with the threads of the black crape. In truth, his own antipathy to the veil was known to be so great that he never willingly passed before a mirror, nor stooped to drink at a still fountain, lest, in its peaceful bosom, he should be affrighted by himself. This was what gave plausibility to the whispers, that Mr. Hooper’s conscience tortured him for some great crime too horrible to be entirely concealed, or otherwise than so obscurely intimated. Thus, from beneath the black veil, there rolled a cloud into the sunshine, an ambiguity of sin or sor- row, which enveloped the poor minister, so that love or sympathy could never reach him. It was said that ghost and fiend con- sorted with him there. With self-shudderings and outward terrors, he walked continually in its shadow, groping darkly within his own soul or gazing through a medium that saddened the whole world. Even the lawless wind, it was believed, respected his dread- ful secret, and never blew aside the veil. But still good Mr. Hooper sadly smiled at the pale visages of the worldly throng as he passed by. Among all its bad influences, the black veil had the one desirable effect, of making its wearer a very efficient clergyman. By the aid of his mysterious emblem—for there was no other apparent cause—he became a man of awful power over souls that were in agony for sin. His converts always regarded him with a dread peculiar to themselves, affirming, though but figuratively, that, be- fore he brought them to celestial light, they had been with him behind the black veil. Its gloom, indeed, enabled him to sympathize with all dark affections. Dying sinners cried aloud for Mr. Hooper, and would not yield their breath till he appeared; though ever, as he stooped to whisper consolation, they shuddered at the veiled face so near their own. Such were the terrors of the black veil, even when Death had bared his visage! Strangers came long distances to attend service at his church, with the mere idle purpose of gazing at his figure, because it was forbidden them to behold his face. But many were made to quake ere they departed! Once, during Governor Belcher’s administration, Mr. Hooper was appointed to preach the election sermon. Covered with his black veil, he stood before the chief magistrate, the council, and the representatives, and wrought so deep an impression that the legislative measures of that year were characterized by all the gloom and piety of our earliest ancestral sway. In this manner Mr. Hooper spent a long life, irreproachable in outward act, yet shrouded in dismal suspicions; kind and loving, though unloved, and dimly feared; a man apart from men, shunned in their health and joy, but ever summoned to their aid in mor- tal anguish. As years wore on, shedding their snows above his sable veil, he acquired a name throughout the New England churches, and they called him Father Hooper. Nearly all his parishioners, who were of mature age when he was settled, had been borne away by many a funeral: he had one congregation in the church, and a more crowded one in the churchyard; and having wrought so late into the evening, and done his work so well, it was now good Father Hooper’s turn to rest. Several persons were visible by the shaded candlelight, in the death chamber of the old clergyman. Natural connections he had none. But there was the decorously grave, though unmoved physician, seeking only to mitigate the last pangs of the patient whom he could not save. There were the deacons, and other eminently pious members of his church. There, also, was the Reverend Mr. Clark, of Westbury, a young and zealous divine, who had ridden in haste to pray by the bedside of the expiring minister. There was the nurse, no hired handmaiden of death, but one whose calm affection had endured thus long in secrecy, in solitude, amid the chill of age, and would not perish, even at the dying hour. Who, but Elizabeth! And there lay the hoary head of good Father Hooper upon the death pillow, with the black veil still swathed about his brow, and reaching down over his face, so that each more difficult gasp of his faint breath caused it to stir. All through life that piece of crape had hung between him and the world: it had separated him from cheerful brotherhood and woman’s love, and kept him in that saddest of all prisons, his own heart; and still it lay upon his face, as if to deepen the gloom of his darksome chamber, and shade him from the sunshine of eternity. For some time previous, his mind had been confused, wavering doubtfully between the past and the present, and hovering for- ward, as it were, at intervals, into the indistinctness of the world to come. There had been feverish turns, which tossed him from side to side, and wore away what little strength he had. But in his most convulsive struggles, and in the wildest vagaries of his in- tellect, when no other thought retained its sober influence, he still showed an awful solicitude lest the black veil should slip aside. Even if his bewildered soul could have forgotten, there was a faithful woman at his pillow, who, with averted eyes, would have covered that aged face, which she had last beheld in the comeliness of manhood. At length the death-stricken old man lay quietly

32 in the torpor of mental and bodily exhaustion, with an imperceptible pulse, and breath that grew fainter and fainter, except when a long, deep, and irregular inspiration seemed to prelude the flight of his spirit. The minister of Westbury approached the bedside. “Venerable Father Hooper,” said he, “the moment of your release is at hand. Are you ready for the lifting of the veil that shuts in time from eternity?” Father Hooper at first replied merely by a feeble motion of his head; then, apprehensive, perhaps, that his meaning might be doubt- ful, he exerted himself to speak. “Yea,” said he, in faint accents, “my soul hath a patient weariness until that veil be lifted.” “And is it fitting,” resumed the Reverend Mr. Clark, “that a man so given to prayer, of such a blameless example, holy in deed and thought, so far as mortal judgment may pronounce; is it fitting that a father in the church should leave a shadow on his memory, that may seem to blacken a life so pure? I pray you, my venerable brother, let not this thing be! Suffer us to be gladdened by your triumphant aspect as you go to your reward. Before the veil of eternity be lifted, let me cast aside this black veil from your face!” And thus speaking, tile Reverend Mr. Clark bent forward to reveal the mystery of so many years. But, exerting a sudden energy, that made all the beholders stand aghast, Father Hooper snatched both his hands from beneath the bedclothes, and pressed them strongly on the black veil, resolute to struggle, if the minister of Westbury would contend with a dying man. “Never!” cried the veiled clergyman. “On earth, never!” “Dark old man!” exclaimed the affrighted minister, “with what horrible crime upon your soul are you now passing to the judg- ment?” Father Hooper’s breath heaved; it rattled in his throat; but, with a mighty effort, grasping forward with his hands, he caught hold of life, and held it back till he should speak. He even raised himself in bed; and there he sat, shivering with the arms of death around him, while the black veil hung down, awful, at that last mo- ment, in the gathered terrors of a lifetime. And yet the faint, sad smile, so often there, now seemed to glimmer from its obscurity, and linger on Father Hooper’s lips. “Why do you tremble at me alone?” cried he, turning his veiled face round the circle of pale spectators. “Tremble also at each other! Have men avoided me, and women shown no pity, and children screamed and fled, only for my black veil? What, but the mystery which it obscurely typifies, has made this piece of crape so awful? When the friend shows his inmost heart to his friend; the lover to his best beloved; when man does not vainly shrink from the eye of his Creator, loathsomely treasur- ing up the secret of his sin; then deem me a monster, for the symbol beneath which I have lived, and die! I look around me, and, lo! on every visage a Black Veil!” While his auditors shrank from one another, in mutual affright, Father Hooper fell back upon his pillow, a veiled corpse, with a faint smile lingering on the lips. Still veiled, they laid him in his coffin, and a veiled corpse they bore him to the grave. The grass of many years has sprung up and withered on that grave, the burial stone is mossgrown, and good Mr. Hooper’s face is dust; but awful is still the thought that it moldered beneath the Black Veil!

33 Identifying Themes and Literary Analysis

Literary works are used to entertain, to teach a moral lesson, to convey meaning, or more importantly, to make the reader aware of some aspect of the human condition. Through their work, writers creatively share their ideas and express themes that are timeless and universal.

For example: A fifteen year old boy in an American suburban high school, who has not made the basketball team, knows the experience of disappointment, but so does a seventy year old Chinese grandmother whose family does not come home to the mainland to celebrate the new year. Each character’s story might detail the events of how they move from disappointment to contentment. These stories have a similar theme. Even though the details of the story are expressed differently, either scenario could express the theme of overcoming disappointment and hurt – yet, each in a unique way. Could you connect with either of these characters? Why? Get into the habit of asking how and why questions as you move through the details of a literary selection.

Furthermore, certain themes can be understood by people regardless of age, gender, geography, or culture. This commonality makes them universal. Universal themes developed in a story, poem, or play ultimately expand the reader’s knowledge of being human by the expression of experiences through different perspectives.

Common themes can include: Loneliness, oppression, repression, transformation, good versus evil, struggle and accomplishment, death, rebirth, initiation, redemption, and free will.

With a specific purpose in mind, the author carefully crafts his themes using literary tools. By employing literary tools the author embeds the theme or meaning into separate elements that make up the totality of the literary piece.

• Some of the more common tools of the author’s craft are: character development, setting, mood, plot, point of view, figurative language, allegory, symbolism, and irony. • A poet might additionally use: alliteration, metaphor, simile, onomatopoeia, personification, rhyme, and repetition.

The careful examination of these tools is a part of literary analysis. By observing how the tools are being used individually, and by critically thinking about how they interrelate to construct the expression of theme, the reader pushes beneath the surface details to discover the literature’s deeper meaning.

• Too many students make the mistake of never moving past the surface details. • Focusing only on the surface details results in summary, not literary analysis.

Just as a scientist examines a specimen to prove a hypothesis, the literary analyst has a thesis to prove. Like a scientist who methodically examines separate aspects of a specimen such as its appearance, movements, and responses to environmental factors, the student is expected to make careful observations of the individual parts of a literary piece. This examination takes time and concentrated effort.

To uncover themes and meanings, begin the analysis by making verifiable observations, like a scientist, through careful reading. Observations that are verifiable are those that can be pointed out and agreed upon by others. These observations are the raw data of literary analysis; they are objective facts. Objective facts are the third person accounts that indicate who is doing what in the story or poem. They establish the when; they confirm the where. They recognize interesting key words and repetitions. They record character dialogue, and they note specific devices used by the poet. Keep in mind that the author made a decision about each of these objective elements. Your role as a reader/analyst is to determine why these creative decisions were specifically made. Study Questions

1. At a funeral, the corpse of the deceased shivers just at the same moment that something else happens. What? 2. At a wedding, there are those who whisper that the bride is actually the maiden who had been buried a few hours before. Explain. 3. “His [Mr. Hooper’s] frame shuddered, his lips grew white, he spilt the untasted wine upon the carpet, and rushed forth into the darkness.” What caused the foregoing to happen to Parson Hooper? 4. A group of church members is elected to visit Parson Hooper and ask him about the veil. Describe what happens during this visit. 5. Parson Hooper will not remove his veil, even for his wife Elizabeth. Elizabeth says “Then farewell!” But we know she has not le him for good. How do we know? 6. Parson Hooper was in the habit of taking walks to the burial ground, but he had to give up this habit. Why? 7. Though Parson Hooper is about to die, he shows that he sll has some physical strength le. Explain. 8. Pastor Hooper was trying to make what point by wearing the black veil?

COMPLETE ASSIGNMENT 6 AND SAVE IT TO TURN IN WHEN SCHOOL BEGINS

35 The Fireside Poets

A Psalm of Life by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Background Longfellow wrote “A Psalm of Life” in 1838 after suffering through the tragic death of his first wife, Mary, coupled with the loss of the baby they were happily expecting. Longfellow intended the poem as an inspiration to himself and others to overcome the misfortunes of the past and to live productively in the present. In contrast, “The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls” was penned when Longfellow was in his early seventies. That poem reveals the poet’s acceptance of the inevitability of death.

Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal: Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each tomorrow Find us farther than today. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world’s broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife! Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!

36 Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act—act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o’erhead! Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o’er life’s solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.

37 The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow The tide rises, the tide falls. The twilight darkens, the curlew calls; Along the sea sands damp and brown The traveler hastens toward the town, And the tide rises, the tide falls. Darkness settles on roofs and walls, But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls: The little waves, with their soft, white hands, Efface the footprints in the sands, And the tide rises, the tide falls. The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls: The day returns, but nevermore Returns the traveler to the shore, And the tide rises, the tide falls.

38 Old Ironsides by Oliver Wendell Holmes Ay, tear her tattered ensign down! Long has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see That banner in the sky; Beneath it rung the battle shout, And burst the cannons roar;— The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more.

Her deck, once red with heroes’ blood, Where knelt the vanquished foe, When winds were hurrying o’er the flood, And waves were white below, No more shall feel the victor’s tread, Or know the conquered knee;— The harpies of the shore shall pluck The eagle of the sea!

Oh, better that her shattered hulk Should sink beneath the wave; Her thunders shook the mighty deep, And there should be her grave; Nail to the mast her holy flag. Set every threadbare sail, And give her to the god of storms, The lightning and the gale!

39 from Snowbound by John Greenleaf Whittier

A Winter Idyll The sun that brief December day Rose cheerless over hills of gray, And, darkly circled, gave at noon A sadder light than waning moon. 5 Slow tracing down the thickening sky Its mute and ominous prophecy,

A portent seeming less than threat, It sank from sight before it set. A chill no coat, however stout, 10 Of homespun stuff could quite shut out, A hard, dull bitterness of cold, That checked, mid-vein, the circling race Of lifeblood in the sharpened face, The coming of the snowstorm told. 15 The wind blew east; we heard the roar Of Ocean on his wintry shore, And felt the strong pulse throbbing there Beat with low rhythm our inland air.

Meanwhile we did our nightly chores— 20 Brought in the wood from out of doors, Littered the stalls, and from the mows Raked down the herd’s-grass for the cows: Heard the horse whinnying for his corn; And, sharply clashing horn on horn, 25 Impatient down the stanchion rows The cattle shake their walnut bows; While, peering from his early perch Upon the scaffold’s pole of birch, The cock his crested helmet bent 30 And down his querulous challenge sent.

Unwarmed by any sunset light The gray day darkened into night, A night made hoary with the swarm And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, 35 As zigzag, wavering to and fro, Crossed and recrossed the winged snow: And ere the early bedtime came The white drift piled the window frame, And through the glass the clothesline posts 40 Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts.

So all night long the storm roared on: The morning broke without a sun; In tiny spherule traced with lines Of Nature’s geometric signs, 46 In starry flake, and pellicle, All day the hoary meteor fell;

And, when the second morning shone, We looked upon a world unknown, On nothing we could call our own. 50 Around the glistening wonder bent The blue walls of the firmament, No cloud above, no earth below— A universe of sky and snow! The old familiar sights of ours 55 Took marvelous shapes; strange domes and towers Rose up where sty or corncrib stood, Or garden wall, or belt of wood; A smooth white mound the brush pile showed, A fenceless drift what once was road; 60 The bridle post an old man sat With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat;

40 The wellcurb had a Chinese roof; And even the long sweep, high aloof, In its slant splendor, seemed to tell 65 Of Pisa’s leaning miracle.

A prompt, decisive man, no breath Our father wasted: “Boys, a path!” Well pleased (for when did farmer boy Count such a summons less than joy?) 70 Our buskins on our feet we drew; With mittened hands, and caps drawn low, To guard our necks and ears from snow, We cut the solid whiteness through. And, where the drift was deepest, made 75 A tunnel walled and overlaid With dazzling crystal: we had read Of rare Aladdin’s wondrous cave, And to our own his name we gave, With many a wish the luck were ours 80 To test his lamp’s supernal powers. We reached the barn with merry din, And roused the prisoned brutes within, The old horse thrust his long head out, And grave with wonder gazed about; 85 The cock his lusty greeting said, And forth his speckled harem led; The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked, And mild reproach of hunger looked; The horned patriarch of the sheep, 90 Like Egypt’s Amun roused from sleep, Shook his sage head with gesture mute, And emphasized with stamp of foot.

All day the gusty north wind bore The loosening drift its breath before: 95 Low circling round its southern zone, The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone. No church bell lent its Christian tone To the savage air, no social smoke Curled over woods of snow-hung oak 100 A solitude made more intense By dreary-voiced elements, The shrieking of the mindless wind, The moaning tree boughs swaying blind, And on the glass the unmeaning beat 105 Of ghostly fingertips of sleet. Beyond the circle of our hearth No welcome sound of toil or mirth Unbound the spell, and testified Of human life and thought outside. 110 We minded that the sharpest ear The buried brooklet could not hear, The music of whose liquid lip Had been to us companionship, And, in our lonely life, had grown 115 To have an almost human tone.

As night drew on, and, from the crest Of wooded knolls that ridged the west, The sun, a snow-blown traveler, sank From sight beneath the smothering bank, 120 We piled, with care, our nightly stack Of wood against the chimney back— The oaken log, green, huge, and thick, And on its top the stout backstick; The knotty forestick laid apart, 125 And filled between with curious art The ragged brush; then, hovering near, We watched the first red blaze appear, Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam On whitewashed wall and sagging beam, 130 Until the old, rude-furnished room

41 Burst, flowerlike, into rosy bloom; While radiant with a mimic flame Outside the sparkling drift became, And through the bare-boughed lilac tree 135 Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free. The crane and pendent trammels showed, The Turks’ heads on the andirons glowed; While childish fancy, prompt to tell The meaning of the miracle, 140 Whispered the old rhyme: “Under the tree, When fire outdoors burns merrily, There the witches are making tea.”

The moon above the eastern wood Shone at its full; the hill range stood 145 Transfigured in the silver flood, Its blown snows flashing cold and keen, Dead white, save where some sharp ravine Took shadow, or the somber green Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black 150 Against the whiteness at their back. For such a world and such a night Most fitting that unwarming light, Which only seemed where’er it fell To make the coldness visible.

155 Shut in from all the world without, We sat the clean-winged hearth about, Content to let the north wind roar In baffled rage at pane and door, While the red logs before us beat 160 The frost line back with tropic heat; And ever, when a louder blast Shook beam and rafter as it passed, The merrier up its roaring draft The great throat of the chimney laughed; 165 The house dog on his paws outspread Laid to the fire his drowsy head. The cat’s dark silhouette on the wall A couchant tiger’s seemed to fall: And, for the winter fireside meet, 170 Between the andirons’ straddling feet. The mug of cider simmered slow. The apples sputtered in a row. And, close at hand, the basket stood With nuts from brown October’s wood.

42 Study Quesons

A Psalm of Life 1. In stanza four, three lines are regular; one is irregular. In that irregular line, which word, by itself, makes the line irregu- lar? 2. What is one of the poem’s metaphors? 3. What is the one example of slant rhyme in this poem? 4. Stanza six contains figurave language. Name the figurave language you find there (use the correct literary term) and explain your answer.

The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls 1. In this poem, a person known as “the traveler” goes on a journey.” Describe the traveler’s journey. Where does he begin, where does he go to? 2. What is the personificaon? 3. What term applies to lines 5, 10, and 15? 4. Lines 8-9 contain figurave language. Name the figurave language you find there (use the correct literary term) and ex- plain your answer.

Old Ironsides 1. What is the rhyme scheme of stanza one? 2. What is the metaphor in stanza one? 3. Explain the allusion in the poem. 4. Lines 9-16. Only one line in this stanza is irregular. Which line is irregular, and which word in the line makes the line ir- regular?

Snowbound 1. lines 1-6: Two of the six lines are irregular. Copy and scan those two lines. 2. lines 93-115: give one example of personificaon 3. lines 93-115: give another 4. lines 66-92: what is the metaphor? 5. In line 120, who is “we”? 6. Lines 116-126 contain figurave language. Name the figurave language you find there (use the correct literary term) and explain your answer. 7. Explain the word “where’er in line 153. Title What do the words of the title suggest to you? What denotations are presented in the title? What connotations or associations do the words posses? T Paraphrase Translate the poem in your own words. What is the poem about? P Connotation What meaning does the poem have beyond the literal meaning? Fill in the chart C below. Form Diction Imagery

Point of View Details Allusions

Symbolism Figurative Language Other Devices (antithesis, apostrophe, sound devices, irony, oxymoron, paradox, pun, sarcasm, understatement) Attitude What is the speaker’s attitude? How does the speaker feel about himself, about others, and about the subject? What is the author’s attitude? How does the author feel about the speaker, about other characters, about the subject, and the reader? A Shifts Where do the shifts in tone, setting, voice, etc. occur? Look for time and place, keywords, punctuation, stanza divisions, changes in length or rhyme, and sentence structure. What is the purpose of each shift? How do they contribute to effect and S meaning? Title Reanalyze the title on an interpretive level. What part does the title play in the overall interpretation of the poem? T Theme List the subjects and the abstract ideas in the poem. Then determine the overall theme. The theme must be written in a complete sentence. T

CHAPTER 4

Tr a n s c e n d e n t a l i s m

Transcendentalists shared similar beliefs about the natural and spiritual world, in- cluding the following: Nothing in nature is insignificant; the basic truths of the uni- verse transcend the physical world; every individual can experience God through their own intuition; God, humanity, and nature share a universal soul; everything in nature is meaningful, symbolic, and important; every human being is born in- herently good. Authors include Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Tho- reau.

45 from Nature by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Nature is a setting that fits equally well a comic or a mourning piece. In good health, the air is a cordial of incredible virtue. Cross- ing a bare common, in snow puddles, at twilight, under a clouded sky, without having in my thoughts any occurrence of special good fortune, I have enjoyed a perfect exhilaration. I am glad to the brink of fear. In the woods, too, a man casts off his years, as the snake his slough, and at what period soever of life is always a child. In the woods is perpetual youth. Within these plantations of God, a deco- rum and sanctity reign, a perennial festival is dressed, and the guest sees not how he should tire of them in a thousand years. In the woods, we return to reason and faith. There I feel that nothing can befall me in life—no disgrace, no calamity (leaving me my eyes), which nature cannot repair. Standing on the bare ground—my head bathed by the blithe air and uplifted into infinite space—all mean Background egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eyeball; I am nothing; I see all; the currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I During the 1830s and 1840s, Emerson and a small group am part or parcel of God. The name of the near- of like-minded friends gathered regularly in his study to est friend sounds then foreign and accidental: to discuss philosophy, religion, and literature. Among them be brothers, to be acquaintances, master or ser- were Emerson’s protégé, Henry David Thoreau, as well as vant, is then a trifle and a disturbance. I am the educator Bronson Alcott, feminist writer Margaret Fuller, lover of uncontained and immortal beauty. In and ex-clergyman and author George Ripley. The intimate the wilderness, I find something more dear and group, known as the Transcendental Club, developed a connate than in the streets or villages. In the tran- philosophical system that stressed intuition, individuality, quil landscape, and especially in the distant line of the horizon, man and self-reliance. In 1836, Emerson published Nature, the beholds somewhat as beautiful as his own nature. lengthy essay (excerpted here) that became the Transcen- dental Club’s unofficial statement of belief. The greatest delight which the fields and woods minister is the sug- gestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable. I am not alone and unacknowledged. They nod to me, and I to them. The waving of the boughs in the storm is new to me and old. It takes me by surprise, and yet is not unknown. Its effect is like that of a higher thought or a better emotion coming over me, when I deemed I was thinking justly or doing right. Yet it is certain that the power to produce this delight does not reside in nature, but in man, or in a harmony of both. It is necessary to use these pleasures with great temperance. For nature is not always tricked in holiday attire, but the same scene which yesterday breathed perfume and glittered as for the frolic of the nymphs is overspread with melancholy today. Nature always wears the colors of the spirit. To a man laboring under calamity, the heat of his own fire hath sadness in it. Then there is a kind of contempt of the landscape felt by him who has just lost by death a dear friend. The sky is less grand as it shuts down over less worth in the popu- lation.

Study Queson

While in nature, we become a transparent _____ (name of body part).

46 SOAPSTone Graphic Organizer Title of Piece: Author: SOAPStone Components: Response (Include Text Support)

The general topic: • Consider the title • What is the text mainly Subject about? • Summarize key events/details here…

Context: • The time and place of the piece Occasion • What is the historical context? • What’s the genre? (speech, poem, sermon…)

WHO is it for? • Who is hearing or reading or seeing the text? Audience • Is it one person, a small group, or a large group? • What qualities, beliefs, or values might the audience members have in common?

So WHAT? • WHY is the author presenting these ideas? Purpose • What does he or she want the audience to do, feel, say or choose?

WHO is speaking? • Whose voice tells the story? Speaker • What do we know about the writer’s life and views that shape this text?

Emotional Mood or Effect: • What emotions describe the attitude of the speaker? • Which words or details let you know? Tone • Which persuasive techniques or appeals are used to enhance the tone or mood? Examples: angry, threatening, light-hearted, cheerful…

COMPLETE ASSIGNMENT 9 AND SAVE IT TO TURN IN WHEN SCHOOL BEGINS Concord Hymn

Sung at the Completion of the Battle Monument, April 19, 1836

By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world.

The foe long since in silence slept; Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; And Time the ruined bridge has swept Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.

On this green bank, by this soft stream, We set today a votive stone; That memory may their deed redeem, When, like our sires, our sons are gone.

Spirit, that made those heroes dare To die, and leave their children free, Bid Time and Nature gently spare The shaft we raise to them and thee.

Study Quesons

1. Each of the four stanzas has the same rhyme scheme, which is _____. 2. Give two examples of slant rhyme. 3. Give one example of personificaon.

48 Poetry by Emily Dickinson and Walt Whitman

Emily Dickinson Because I could not stop for Death— Because I could not stop for Death He kindly stopped for me— The Carriage held but just Ourselves— And Immortality.

We slowly drove—He knew no haste And I had put away My labor and my leisure too, For his Civility—

We passed the School, where Children strove At Recess—in the Ring— We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain— We passed the Setting Sun—

Or rather—He passed Us— The Dews drew quivering and chill— For only Gossamer, my Gown My Tippet—only Tulle—

We paused before a House that seemed A Swelling of the Ground— The Roof was scarcely visible— The Cornice—in the Ground—

Since then—’tis Centuries—and yet Feels shorter than the Day I first surmised the Horses Heads Were toward Eternity—

49 I Heard a Fly buzz—when I died I heard a Fly buzz—when I died— The Stillness in the Room Was like the Stillness in the Air— Between the Heaves of Storm—

The Eyes around—had wrung them dry— And Breaths were gathering firm For that last Onset—when the King Be witnessed—in the Room—

I willed my Keepsakes—Signed away What portion of me be Assignable—and then it was There interposed a Fly—

With Blue—uncertain stumbling Buzz— Between the light—and me— And then the Windows failed—and then I could not see to see—

There’s a certain Slant of light, There’s a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons— That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes—

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us— We can find no scar, But internal difference, Where the Meanings, are—

None may teach it—Any— ’Tis the Seal Despair— An imperial affliction Sent us of the Air—

When it comes, the Landscape listens— Shadows—hold their breath— When it goes, ’tis like the Distance On the look of Death—

50 Study Questions

Because I Could Not Stop For Death

1. In stanza one, what two abstract concepts are personified? 2. In stanza three, Dickinson is actually saying “we passed by scenes of my enre life.” How does she accomplish this? 3. In stanza four, why is Dickinson so cold? 4. In stanza five, what is the metaphor? 5. What is it Dickinson now realizes that, apparently, she did not realize at first? 6. What is the rhyme scheme of each stanza? 7. Which stanzas contain slant rhyme? I Heard a Fly buzz—when I died 8. In stanza one, what is the simile? 9. Who is the speaker in the poem? 10. In stanza two, who are the people in the room? 10. In stanza two, who is the King? 12. Stanzas 3 and 4: Literally, what happens? 13. Stanzas 3 and 4: Symbolically, what happens? There’s a Certain Slant of Light 14. This poem is an aempt to explain what? 15. Stanza 1: What is the simile? 16. Explain stanza 3, line 1. 18. Give two examples of personificaon. 19. Give two examples of alliteraon.

51 Walt Whitman from Song of Myself

1 I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loaf and invite my soul, I lean and loaf at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, formed from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same, I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin, Hoping to cease not till death.

Creeds and schools in abeyance, Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten, I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard, Nature without check with original energy.

6 A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands, How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped,

Bearing the owner’s name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose? . . .

What do you think has become of the young and old men? And what do you think has become of the women and children?

They are alive and well somewhere, The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it, And ceas’d the moment life appear’d. All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, And to die is different from what anyone supposed, and luckier.

9 The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready, The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon. The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged, The armfuls are pack’d to the sagging mow.

I am there, I help, I came stretch’d atop of the load, I felt its soft jolts, one leg reclined on the other, I jump from the crossbeams and seize the clover and timothy, And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps.

14 The wild gander leads his flock through the cool night, Ya-honk he says, and sounds it down to me like an invitation, The pert may suppose it meaningless, but I listening close, Find its purpose and place up there toward the wintry sky.

The sharp-hoof’d moose of the north, the cat on the house-sill, the chickadee, the prairie dog, The litter of the grunting sow as they tug at her teats, The brood of the turkey hen and she with her half-spread wings, I see in them and myself the same old law.

The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections, They scorn the best I can do to relate them.

52 I am enamor’d of growing outdoors, Of men that live among cattle or taste of the ocean or woods, Of the builders and steerers of ships and the wielders of axes and mauls, and the drivers of horses, I can eat and sleep with them week in and week out.

What is commonest, cheapest, nearest, easiest, is Me, Me going in for my chances, spending for vast returns, Adorning myself to bestow myself on the first that will take me, Not asking the sky to come down to my good will, Scattering it freely forever.

17 These are really the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, If they are not yours as much as mine they are nothing, or next to nothing, If they are not the riddle and the untying of the riddle they are nothing, If they are not just as close as they are distant they are nothing. This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is, This is the common air that bathes the globe.

51 The past and present wilt—I have fill’d them, emptied them, And proceed to fill my next fold of the future.

Listener up there! what have you to confide to me? Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening, (Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a minute longer.)

Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.) I concentrate toward them that are nigh, I wait on the door-slab.

Who has done his day’s work? who will soonest be through with his supper? Who wishes to walk with me?

Will you speak before I am gone? will you prove already too late?

52 The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering.

I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

The last scud of day holds back for me, It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d wilds, It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.

I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot soles.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good health to you nevertheless, And filter and fiber your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you.

53 Study Quesons from Song of Myself About line counng: When a line of poetry is too long to fit in the column it appears in, the “leover” words from the end of the line are placed beneath the first part of the line and indented (called “hanging indent). Thus, what may appear to be two lines is actually one long line. 1. (secon 1) The first five lines are famous and o-quoted. Copy them. 2. (secon 6) God, as a reminder that he is there, has given us what? 3. If we were to consider _____, we would realize there was really no death. 4. (secon 14) Whitman is somemes referred to as the Bard of Democracy. What kind of people does Whitman like? 5. (secon 17) We have seen that we can recognize an Emily Dickinson poem from a few key characteriscs. The same is true of Whitman. One characterisc of a Whitman poem is the long lines of free verse, kind of like Old Testament poetry. The other is an extensive use of parallelism (also known as “parallel structure”). Whitman likes to begin several consecuve lines with the same word or phrase. In this secon, which lines give us an example of parallelism? 6. (secon 51) Lines 6-8 are famous and o-quoted. Copy them. 7. (secon 52) Lines 2-3 are famous and o-quoted. Copy them. 8. If you want to find Walt Whitman, where can you look for him? Explain.

54 Title What do the words of the title suggest to you? What denotations are presented in the title? What connotations or associations do the words posses? T Paraphrase Translate the poem in your own words. What is the poem about? P Connotation What meaning does the poem have beyond the literal meaning? Fill in the chart C below. Form Diction Imagery

Point of View Details Allusions

Symbolism Figurative Language Other Devices (antithesis, apostrophe, sound devices, irony, oxymoron, paradox, pun, sarcasm, understatement) Attitude What is the speaker’s attitude? How does the speaker feel about himself, about others, and about the subject? What is the author’s attitude? How does the author feel about the speaker, about other characters, about the subject, and the reader? A Shifts Where do the shifts in tone, setting, voice, etc. occur? Look for time and place, keywords, punctuation, stanza divisions, changes in length or rhyme, and sentence structure. What is the purpose of each shift? How do they contribute to effect and S meaning? Title Reanalyze the title on an interpretive level. What part does the title play in the overall interpretation of the poem? T Theme List the subjects and the abstract ideas in the poem. Then determine the overall theme. The theme must be written in a complete sentence. T

SAVE ASSIGNMENT 10 TO TURN IN WHEN SCHOOL BEGINS. CHAPTER 5

Literature of the Realists, Naturalists, & Regionalists

Authors rebelled against Romanticism and Neoclassicism and promoted facts over intellectual or emotional reasoning. Realists and Regionalists included stories of everyday people and in written in natural language. They used detailed descrip- tions, which became more important than the overall plot. Authors include Mark Twain, Willa Cather, and Kate Chopin. Naturalism is related to realism but it fo- cuses specifically on social issues caused by industrialization. It includes dark, tragic stories of the struggles of human beings in the natural world. Characters un- successfully adapt to their environment and their environment causes them to bake bad choices. Authors include Stephen Crane, Edith Wharton, Sinclair Lewis, Jack London, and John Steinbeck.

56 Poetry

Lucinda Matlock Edward Arlington Robinson I went to the dances at Chandlerville, And played snap-out at Winchester. One time we changed partners, Driving home in the moonlight of middle June, 5 And then I found Davis. We were married and lived together for seventy years, Enjoying, working, raising the twelve children, Eight of whom we lost Ere I had reached the age of sixty. 10 I spun, I wove, I kept the house, I nursed the sick. I made the garden, and for holiday Rambled over the fields where sang the larks. And by Spoon River gathering many a shell, And many a flower and medicinal weed— 15 Shouting to the wooded hills, singing to the green valleys. At ninety-six I had lived enough, that is all, And passed to a sweet repose. What is this I hear of sorrow and weariness, Anger, discontent and drooping hopes? 20 Degenerate sons and daughters, Life is too strong for you— It takes life to love Life.

Richard Cory Edward Arlington Robinson Whenever Richard Cory went down town, We people on the pavement looked at him: He was a gentleman from sole to crown, Clean favored, and imperially slim.

5 And he was always quietly arrayed, And he was always human when he talked; But still he fluttered pulses when he said, “Good-morning,” and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich—yes, richer than a king— 10 And admirably schooled in every grace: In fine, we thought that he was everything To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light, And went without the meat, and cursed the bread; 15 And Richard Cory, one calm summer night, Went home and put a bullet through his head.

57 Richard Bone Edgar Lee Masters When I first came to Spoon River I did not know whether what they told me Was true or false. They would bring me the epitaph 5 And stand around the shop while I worked And say “He was so kind,” “He was wonderful,” “She was the sweetest woman,” “He was a consistent Christian.” And I chiseled for them whatever they wished, All in ignorance of its truth. 10 But later, as I lived among the people here, I knew how near to the life Were the epitaphs that were ordered for them as they died.

But still I chiseled whatever they paid me to chisel and made myself party to the false chronicles 15 Of the stones, Even as the historian does who writes Without knowing the truth, Or because he is influenced to hide it.

But still I chiseled whatever they paid me to chisel And made myself party to the false chronicles

58 Luke Havergal Edgar Lee Masters Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal, There where the vines cling crimson on the wall. And in the twilight wait for what will come. The leaves will whisper there of her, and some, 5 Like flying words, will strike you as they fall; But go, and if you listen she will call. Go to the western gate. Luke Havergal— Luke Havergal.

No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies 10 To rift the fiery night that’s in your eyes; But there, where western glooms are gathering, The dark will end the dark, if anything: God slays Himself with every leaf that flies, And hell is more than half of paradise. 15 No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies— In eastern skies.

Out of a grave I come to tell you this, Out of a grave I come to quench the kiss That flames upon your forehead with a glow 20 That blinds you to the way that you must go. Yes, there is yet one way to where she is, Bitter, but one that faith may never miss. Out of a grave I come to tell you this— To tell you this.

25 There is the western gate, Luke Havergal. There are the crimson leaves upon the wall. Go, for the winds are tearing them away, Nor think to riddle the dead words they say, Nor any more to feel them as they fall; 30 But go, and if you trust her she will call. There is the western gate, Luke Havergal— Luke Havergal.

59 Lucinda Matlock 1. This poem is written in what poetic form? 2. Define the term (from the previous answer). 3. The two Edgar Lee Masters poems—“Lucinda Matlock” and “Richard Bone”—are from the book Spoon River Anthology. In this book, Masters created a fictional town known as Spoon River. Each poem represents a resident of Spoon River who tells us his or her story while speaking to us from the grave. In what line do we learn that Lucinda Matlock is actually dead? 4. Who is Davis? 5. Lucinda has known her share of tragedy. How do we know? 6. Describe or summarize the life Lucinda lived. 7. She is annoyed by whom? 8. Why is she annoyed with them? Why would Lucinda feel this way?

Richard Cory 1. Copy and scan the first two lines of the poem. 2. What is the meter and line length of this poem? 3. What is the rhyme scheme of each stanza of this poem? 4. Who is the speaker in this poem? 5. What is the attitude of the people in the town toward Richard Cory? 6. Explain the poem’s (situational) irony.

Richard Bone 1. Richard did not know whether people were telling him the truth or not. Why is this? 2. What did Richard do for a living? 3. As Richard would carve, what would he not know? 4. “Chronicles” are accounts of past events. What are the “false chronicles of the stones”? 5. In lines 11 and 12, Richard tells us that later, after having lived several years in Spoon River, he learned “how near to the life / Were the epitaphs.” Judging from what we read in stanza two, how “near to life” are the epitaphs? 6. Richard compares himself to whom?

Luke Havergal 1. What is the rhyme scheme of stanza one? 2. Slant rhyme is rhyme that is close but not exact. What is the slant rhyme in stanza one? 3. In stanza two? 4. In stanza three? 5. The first three lines are all interrelated. What observation can we make about the difference between east and west? 6. If the vines are “crimson,” what time of year must this be? 7. What time of the day is it? 8. So, what is the common thread that runs through lines 1 – 3 (west, crimson vines, and twilight)? 9. Luke Havergal is supposed to go to the western gate. Judging from the first three lines, the “western gate” must be a symbol for ___. 10. Who is it that Luke Havergal seeks? 11. What is the paradox in stanza two? 12. How can it be that “God slays Himself with every leaf that flies”? 13. We don’t exactly know who the speaker in the poem is, but we do know one important detail. What is that? 14. So, in summary, if Luke Havergal really wants to be reunited with his dead lover, he must ___.

60 The Notorious Jumping Frog of Calaveras County

1. In compliance with the request of a friend of mine, who wrote me from the East, I called on good-natured, garrulous old Simon Wheeler, and inquired after my friend’s friend, Leonidas W. Smiley, as requested to do, and I hereunto append the result. I have a lurking suspicion that Leonidas W. Smiley is a myth; that my friend never knew such a personage: and that he only conjectured that if I asked old Wheeler about him, it would remind him of his infamous Jim Smiley, and he would go to work and bore me to death with some exasperating reminis- cence of him as long and as tedious as it should be useless to me. If that was the design, it succeeded. 2. I found Simon Wheeler dozing comfortably by the barroom stove of the dilapidated tavern in the decayed mining camp of Angel’s, and I noticed that he was fat and baldheaded, and had an expression of winning gentleness and sim- plicity upon his tranquil countenance. He roused up, and gave me good day. I told him a friend of mine had commissioned me to make some inquiries about a cherished companion of his boyhood named Leonidas W. Smiley—Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, a young minister of the Gospel, who he had heard was at one time a resident of Angel’s Camp. I added that if Mr. Wheeler could tell me anything about this Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, I would feel under many obligations to him. 3. Simon Wheeler backed me into a corner and blockaded me there with his chair, and then sat down and reeled off the monotonous narra- tive which follows this paragraph. He never smiled, he never frowned, he never changed his voice from the gentle-flowing key to which he tuned his initial sentence, he never betrayed the slightest suspicion of enthusiasm; but all through the interminable narrative there ran a vein of impressive earnestness and sincerity, which showed me plainly that, so far from his imagining that there was anything ridiculous or funny about his story, he regarded it as a really important matter, and admired its two heroes as men of transcendent genius in finesse. I let him go on in his own way, and never interrupted him once. 4. “Rev. Leonidas W. H’m, Reverend Le—well, there was a feller here once by the name of Jim Smiley, in the winter of ’49—or maybe it was the spring of ’50—I don’t recollect exactly, somehow, though what makes me think it was one or the other is because I remember the big flume warn’t finished when he first come to the camp; but anyway, he was the curiousest man about always betting on anything that turned up you ever see, if he could get anybody to bet on the other side; and if he couldn’t he’d change sides. Any way that suited the other man would suit him—any way just so’s he got a bet, he was satisfied. But still he was lucky, uncommon lucky; he most always come out winner. He was always ready and laying for a chance; there couldn’t be no solit’ry thing mentioned but that feller’d offer to bet on it, and take ary side you please, as I was just telling you. If there was a horse race, you’d find him flush or you’d find him busted at the end of it; if there was a dogfight, he’d bet on it; if there was a cat fight, he’d bet on it; if there was a chicken fight, he’d bet on it; why, if there was two birds setting on a fence, he would bet you which one would fly first; or if there was a camp meeting, he would be there reg’lar to bet on Parson Walker, which he judged to be the best exhorter about here and so he was too, and a good man. If he even see a straddle bug start to go anywheres, he would bet you how long it would take him to get to—to wherever he was going to, and if you took him up, he would foller that straddle bug to Mexico but what he would find out where he was bound for and how long he was on the road. Lots of the boys here has seen that Smiley, and can tell you about him. Why, it never made no difference to him—he’d bet on any thing—the dangdest feller. Parson Walker’s wife laid very sick once, for a good while, and it seemed as if they warn’t going to save her; but one morning he come in, and Smiley up and asked him how she was, and he said she was considable better—thank the Lord for his inf’nite mercy—and coming on so smart that with the blessing of Prov’dence she’d get well yet; and Smiley, before he thought, says, ‘Well, I’ll resk two-and- a-half she don’t anyway.’ 5. Thish-yer Smiley had a mare—the boys called her the fifteen-minute nag, but that was only in fun, you know, because of course she was faster than that—and he used to win money on that horse, for all she was so slow and always had the asthma, or the distemper, or the con- sumption, or something of that kind. They used to give her two or three hundred yards start, and then pass her under way; but always at the fag end of the race she’d get excited and desperate like, and come cavorting and straddling up, and scattering her legs around limber, sometimes in the air, and sometimes out to one side among the fences, and kicking up m-o-r-e dust and raising m-o-r-e racket with her coughing and sneezing and blowing her nose—and always fetch up at the stand just about a neck ahead, as near as you could cipher it down. 6. And he had a little small bull-pup, that to look at him you’d think he warn’t worth a cent but to set around and look ornery and lay for a chance to steal something. But as soon as money was up on him he was a different dog; his under-jaw’d begin to stick out like the fo’ cas- tle of a steamboat, and his teeth would uncover and shine like the furnaces. And a dog might tackle him and bullyrag him, and bite him, and throw him over his shoulder two or three times, and Andrew Jackson—which was the name of the pup—Andrew Jackson would never let on but what he was satisfied, and hadn’t expected nothing else—and the bets being doubled and doubled on the other side all the time, till the money was all up; and then all of a sudden he would grab that other dog jest by the j’int of his hind leg and freeze to it—not chaw, you understand, but only just grip and hang on till they throwed up the sponge, if it was a year. Smiley always come out winner on that pup, till he harnessed a dog once that didn’t have no hind legs, because they’d been sawed off in a circular saw, and when the thing had gone along far enough, and the money was all up, and he come to make a snatch for his pet holt, he see in a minute how he’d been

61 imposed on, and how the other dog had him in the door, so to speak, and he ’peared surprised, and then he looked sorter discouraged-like, and didn’t try no more to win the fight, and so he got shucked out bad. He give Smiley a look, as much as to say his heart was broke, and it was his fault, for putting up a dog that hadn’t no hind legs for him to take holt of, which was his main dependence in a fight, and then he limped off a piece and laid down and died. It was a good pup, was that Andrew Jackson, and would have made a name for hisself if he’d lived, for the stuff was in him and he had genius—I know it, because he hadn’t no opportunities to speak of, and it don’t stand to reason that a dog could make such a fight as he could under them circumstances if he hadn’t no talent. It always makes me feel sorry when I think of that last fight of his’n, and the way it turned out. 7. Well, thish-yer Smiley had rat terriers, and chicken cocks, and tomcats and all them kind of things, till you couldn’t rest, and you couldn’t fetch nothing for him to bet on but he’d match you. He ketched a frog one day, and took him home, and said he cal’lated to educate him; and so he never done nothing for three months but set in his back yard and learn that frog to jump. And you bet you he did learn him, too. He’d give him a little punch behind, and the next minute you’d see that frog whirling in the air like a doughnut—see him turn one summer- set, or maybe a couple, if he got a good start, and come down flatfooted and all right, like a cat. He got him up so in the matter of ketching flies, and kep’ him in practice so constant, that he’d nail a fly every time as fur as he could see him. Smiley said all a frog wanted was edu- cation, and he could do ’most anything—and I believe him. Why, I’ve seen him set Dan’l Webster down here on this floor—Dan’l Web- ster was the name of the frog—and sing out, “Flies, Dan’l, flies!” and quicker’n you could wink he’d spring straight up and snake a fly off’n the counter there, and flop down on the floor ag’in as solid as a gob of mud, and fall to scratching the side of his head with his hind foot as indifferent as if he hadn’t no idea he’d been doin’ any more’n any frog might do. You never see a frog so modest and straight- for’ard as he was, for all he was so gifted. And when it come to fair and square jumping on a dead level, he could get over more ground at one straddle than any animal of his breed you ever see. Jumping on a dead level was his strong suit, you understand; and when it come to that, Smiley would ante up money on him as long as he had a red. Smiley was monstrous proud of his frog, and well he might be, for fel- lers that had traveled and been everywheres all said he laid over any frog that ever they see. 8. Well, Smiley kep’ the beast in a little lattice box, and he used to fetch him downtown sometimes and lay for a bet. One day a feller—a stranger in the camp, he was—come acrost him with his box, and says: 9. ‘What might it be that you’ve got in the box?’ 10. And Smiley says, sorter indifferent-like, ‘It might be a parrot, or it might be a canary, maybe, but it ain’t—it’s only just a frog.’ 11. And the feller took it, and looked at it careful, and turned it round this way and that, and says, ‘H’m—so ’tis. Well, what’s he good for?’ 12. ‘Well,’ Smiley says, easy and careless, ‘he’s good enough for one thing, I should judge—he can outjump any frog in Calaveras county.’ 13. The feller took the box again, and took another long, particular look, and give it back to Smiley, and says, very deliberate, ‘Well,’ he says, ‘I don’t see no p’ints about that frog that’s any better’n any other frog.’ 14. ‘Maybe you don’t,’ Smiley says. ‘Maybe you understand frogs and maybe you don’t understand ’em; maybe you’ve had experience, and maybe you ain’t only a amature, as it were. Anyways, I’ve got my opinion, and I’ll resk forty dollars that he can outjump any frog in Ca- laveras county.’ 15. And the feller studied a minute, and then says, kinder sad like, ‘Well, I’m only a stranger here, and I ain’t got no frog; but if I had a frog, I’d bet you.’ 16. And then Smiley says, ‘That’s all right—that’s all right—if you’ll hold my box a minute, I’ll go and get you a frog.’ And so the feller took the box, and put up his forty dollars along with Smiley’s, and set down to wait. 17. So he set there a good while thinking and thinking to hisself, and then he got the frog out and prized his mouth open and took a teaspoon and filled him full of quailshot—filled him pretty near up to his chin—and set him on the floor. Smiley he went to the swamp and slopped around in the mud for a long time, and finally he ketched a frog, and fetched him in, and give him to this feller, and says: 18. ‘Now, if you’re ready, set him alongside of Dan’l, with his forepaws just even with Danl’s, and I’ll give the word.’ Then he says, ‘One—t- wo—three—git!’ and him and the feller touched up the frogs from behind, and the new frog hopped off lively, but Dan’l give a heave, and hysted up his shoulders—so—like a Frenchman, but it warn’t no use—he couldn’t budge; he was planted as solid as a church, and he couldn’t no more stir than if he was anchored out. Smiley was a good deal surprised, and he was disgusted too, but he didn’t have no idea what the matter was, of course. 19. The feller took the money and started away; and when he was going out at the door, he sorter jerked his thumb over his shoulder—so—at Dan’l, and says again, very deliberate, ‘Well,’ he says, ‘I don’t see no p’ints about that frog that’s any better’n any other frog.’ 20. Smiley he stood scratching his head and looking down at Dan’l a long time, and at last he says, ‘I do wonder what in the nation that frog throw’d off for—I wonder if there ain’t something the matter with him—he ‘pears to look mighty baggy, somehow.’ And he ketched Dan’l by the nap of the neck, and hefted him, and says, ‘Why blame my cats if he don’t weigh five pound!’ and turned him upside down and he belched out a double handful of shot. And then he see how it was, and he was the maddest man—he set the frog down and took out after that feller, but he never ketched him. And—” 21. Here Simon Wheeler heard his name called from the front yard, and got up to see what was wanted. And turning to me as he moved away, he said: “Just set where you are, stranger, and rest easy—I ain’t going to be gone a second.” 22. But, by your leave, I did not think that a continuation of the history of the enterprising vagabond Jim Smiley would be likely to afford me much information concerning the Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, and so I started away. 23. At the door I met the sociable Wheeler returning, and he buttonholed me and recommenced: 24. “Well, thish-yer Smiley had a yaller one-eyed cow that didn’t have no tail, only just a short stump like a bannanner, and—” 25. However, lacking both time and inclination, I did not wait to hear about the afflicted cow, but took my leave.

62 The Notorious Jumping Frog of Calaveras County - Study Questions 1. The narrator suspects that his friend from the East was only playing a joke on him. Explain the joke. 2. Much of the humor of this story comes from the contrast between the educated but humorless first narrator and the uneducated but talka- tive Simon Wheeler. List three words used by the first narrator that would indicate that he is educated. (any 3 will do) 3. Throughout the entire story about the jumping frog, one must remember the position of the first narrator and Simon Wheeler. Even though the first narrator didn’t want to hear the whole story, he was unable to leave. Why? 4. This story could be called “a story within a story” with “a narrator within a narrator.” The “inner” story begins in paragraph number ___. 5. The speech of a character speaking nonstandard English is known as “dialect.” Give two examples of Simon Wheeler’s dialect. (any 2 will do) 6. In the story about the straddle bug, Simon Wheeler uses what hyperbole? 7. Why would Jim Smiley attend camp meetings? 8. What was the cause of Andrew Jackson’s defeat? 9. Dan’l Webster was quite skillful at catching ___. 10. Both Angels Camp and Calaveras County are actual places in the gold rush country of the Sierra Nevada foothills in northern California. This story takes place in what state? 11. Why does Smiley leave the room? 12. While Smiley is gone, the stranger sabotages Dan’l Webster by doing what? 13. The original narrator resumes the story’s narration duties for the last ___ paragraphs of the story? (how many) 14. The narrator leaves just as Simon Wheeler is trying to tell him about what other animal that Smiley owned?

63 CHAPTER 6

Modernist Literature

The Modern Period consists of a noticeable shift in expression and writing style from previous movements. Written by individuals disillusioned by WWI, the Great Depression, and WWII, there is a greater use of symbolism and themes of aliena- tion, isolation, individual perception, and human consciousness. Authors include F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, William Faulkner, Henry Miller, and T.S. Eliot. The imagist movement in poetry was devoted to “clarity of expression through the use of precise visual images.” Ezra Pound, an imagist poet, defined the tenets of imagist poetry as: I. Direct treatment of the “thing," whether subjective or objective. II. To use absolutely no word that does not contribute to the presentation. III. As regarding rhythm: to compose in sequence of the musical phrase, not in sequence of the metronome.

64 Imagist Poets

In a Station of the Metro by Ezra pound The apparition of these faces in the crowd; Petals on a wet, black bough.

The River-Merchant’s Wife: A Letter by Ezra Pound While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead I played about the front gate, pulling flowers. You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse, You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums. 5 And we went on living in the village of Chokan: Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.

At fourteen I married My Lord you. I never laughed, being bashful. Lowering my head, I looked at the wall. 10 Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.

At fifteen I stopped scowling, I desired my dust to be mingled with yours Forever and forever and forever. Why should I climb the lookout?

15 At sixteen you departed, You went into far Ku-to-yen, by the river of swirling eddies, And you have been gone five months. The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.

You dragged your feet when you went out. 20 By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses, Too deep to clear them away! The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind. The paired butterflies are already yellow with August Over the grass in the West garden; 25 They hurt me. I grow older. If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,

Please let me know beforehand, And I will come out to meet you As far as Cho-fu-Sa.

65 Pear Tree H.D Silver dust lifted from the earth, higher than my arms reach, you have mounted, O silver, higher than my arms reach you front us with great mass; no flower ever opened so staunch a white leaf, no flower ever parted silver from such rare silver;

O white pear, your flower-tufts thick on the branch bring summer and ripe fruits in their purple hearts.

Heat H.D. O wind, rend open the heat, cut apart the heat, rend it to tatters.

Fruit cannot drop through this thick air— fruit cannot fall into heat that presses up and blunts the points of pears and rounds the grapes.

Cut the heat— plow through it, turning it on either side of your path.

66 Study Questions

In a Staon of the Metro 1. Define “metaphor.” 2. This poem is actually nothing more than a single metaphor, because it compares …

The River-Merchant’s Wife: A Leer 1. Who is the speaker in the poem? 2. By the me the speaker was fieen, she must have loved her husband most deeply. We know this because … 3. The speaker is hurt by the sight of the paired buerflies. Why? 4. At the end of the poem we see the words “By Rihaku.” Yet at the beginning we see the words “by Ezra Pound.” Therefore, Pound is not the writer of this poem, but the _____. Apparently Pound liked this poem because, instead of overly explaining the idea of the poem, it uses images to get the idea across. List the five most vivid images from the poem

Pear Tree 1. “Apostrophe” is a poec device in which the poet places a capital “O” in front of the name of some inanimate object while wring about that object, usually in praise of it. Copy the two lines from this poem that use apostrophe. 2. Line one is a metaphor. Explain. 3. The poem ends with personificaon. Explain. Heat 4. The speaker asks _____ to do something about the heat. 5. Hyperbole is a literary device involving the use of exaggeraon. What is the hyperbole in this poem?

67 CHAPTER 7

The Harlem Renaissance

The Harlem Renaissance is also referred to as the Lost Generation, the Jazz Age, and the Roaring 20’s. After years of creative and social repression, many African- Americans migrated north. The Harlem Renaissance is a concentrated outburst of African-American art, writing, and music from Harlem. It attacks racial inequal- ity and stereotypes while voicing racial pride. Authors include Langston Hughes, Zora Neale Hurston, Countee Cullen, and Ralph Ellison.

68 from Dust Tracks on the Road by Zora Neale Hurston

I used to take a seat on top of the gatepost and watch the world go by. One way to Orlando ran past my house, so the carriages and cars would pass before me. The movement made me glad to see it. Often the white travelers would hail me, but more often I hailed them, and asked, “Don’t you want me to go a piece of the way with you?” They always did. I know now that I must have caused a great deal of amusement among them, but my self-assurance must have carried the point, for I was always invited to come along. I’d ride up the road for perhaps a half-mile, then walk back. I did not do this with the permission of my parents, nor with their foreknowledge. When they found out about it later, I usually got a whipping. My grand- mother worried about my forward ways a great deal. She had known slavery and to her my brazenness was unthinkable. In this excerpt from Zora Neale Hurston’s autobiogra- phy, the young Zora experiences an event that opens “Git down offa dat gate-post! You li’l sow, you! Git down! her eyes to the world of literature and sets the stage for Setting up dere looking dem white folks right in de face! They’s gowine to lynch you, yet. And don’t stand in dat her career as a writer. Hurston would go on to compile doorway gazing out at ’em neither. Youse too brazen to African American folklore-traditional stories—and to live long.” write her own critically acclaimed fiction. Nevertheless, I kept right on gazing at them, and “going a piece of the way” whenever I could make it. The village seemed dull to me most of the time. If the village was singing a chorus, I must have missed the tune. Perhaps a year before the old man died, I came to know two other white people for myself. They were women. It came about this way. The whites who came down from the North were often brought by their friends to visit the village school. A Negro school was something strange to them, and while they were always sympathetic and kind, curiosity must have been present, also. They came and went, came and went. Always, the room was hurriedly put in order, and we were threatened with a prompt and bloody death if we cut one caper while the visitors were present. We always sang a spiritual, led by Mr. Calhoun himself. Mrs. Calhoun always stood in the back, with a palmetto switch in her hand as a squelcher. We were all little angels for the duration, because we’d better be. She would cut her eyes and give us a glare that meant trouble, then turn her face towards the visitors and beam as much as to say it was a great privilege and pleasure to teach lovely children like us. They couldn’t see that palmetto hickory in her hand behind all those benches, but we knew where our angelic behavior was coming from. Usually, the visitors gave warning a day ahead and we would be cautioned to put on shoes, comb our heads, and see to ears and fingernails. There was a close inspection of every one of us before we marched in that morning. Knotty heads, dirty ears and fingernails got hauled out of line, strapped and sent home to lick the calf over again. This particular afternoon, the two young ladies just popped in. Mr. Calhoun was flustered, but he put on the best show he could. He dismissed the class that he was teaching up at the front of the room, then called the fifth grade in reading. That was my class. So we took our readers and went up front. We stood up in the usual line, and opened to the lesson. It was the story of Pluto and Persephone. It was new and hard to the class in general, and Mr. Calhoun was very uncomfortable as the readers stumbled along, spelling out words with their lips, and in mumbling undertones before they exposed them experimentally to the teacher’s ears. Then it came to me. I was fifth or sixth down the line. The story was not new to me, because I had read my reader through from lid to lid, the first week that Papa had bought it for me. That is how it was that my eyes were not in the book, working out the paragraph which I knew would be mine by counting the children ahead of me. I was observing our visitors, who held a book between them, following the lesson. They had shiny hair, mostly brownish. One had a looping gold chain around her neck. The other one was dressed all over in black and white with a pretty finger ring on her left hand. But the thing that held my eyes were their fingers. They were long and thin, and very white, except up near the tips. There they were baby pink. I had never seen such hands. It was a fascinating discovery for me. I wondered how they felt. I would have given those hands more attention, but the child before me was almost through. My turn next, so I got on my mark, bringing my eyes back to the book and made sure of my place. Some of the stories I had reread several times, and this Greco-Roman myth was one of my favorites. I was exalted by it, and that is the way I read my paragraph. “Yes, Jupiter had seen her (Persephone). He had seen the maiden picking flowers in the field. He had seen the chariot of the dark monarch pause by the maiden’s side. He had seen him when he seized Persephone. He had seen the black horses leap down Mount Aetna’s fiery throat. Persephone was now in Pluto’s dark realm and he had made her his wife.” The two women looked at each other and then back to me.

69 Mr. Calhoun broke out with a proud smile beneath his bristly moustache, and instead of the next child taking up where I had ended, he nodded to me to go on. So I read the story to the end, where flying Mercury, the messenger of the Gods, brought Persephone back to the sunlit earth and restored her to the arms of Dame Ceres, her mother, that the world might have springtime and summer flowers, autumn and harvest. But because she had bitten the pomegranate while in Pluto’s kingdom, she must return to him for three months of each year, and be his queen. Then the world had winter, until she returned to earth. The class was dismissed, and the visitors smiled us away and went into a low-voiced conversation with Mr. Calhoun for a few minutes. They glanced my way once or twice and I began to worry. Not only was I barefooted, but my feet and legs were dusty. My hair was more uncombed than usual, and my nails were not shiny clean. Oh, I’m going to catch it now. Those ladies saw me, too. Mr. Cal- houn is promising to ’tend to me. So I thought. Then Mr. Calhoun called me. I went up thinking how awful it was to get a whipping before company. Furthermore, I heard a snicker run over the room. Hennie Clark and Stell Brazzle did it out loud, so I would be sure to hear them. The smart-aleck was going to get it. I slipped one hand behind me and switched my dress tail at them, indi- cating scorn. “Come here, Zora Neale,” Mr. Calhoun cooed as I reached the desk. He put his hand on my shoulder and gave me little pats. The ladies smiled and held out those flower-looking fingers towards me. I seized the opportunity for a good look. “Shake hands with the ladies, Zora Neale,” Mr. Calhoun prompted and they took my hand one after the other and smiled. They asked if I loved school, and I lied that I did. There was some truth in it, because I liked geography and reading, and I liked to play at recess time. Who ever it was invented writing and arithmetic got no thanks from me. Neither did I like the arrangement where the teacher could sit up there with a palmetto stem and lick me whenever he saw fit. I hated things I couldn’t do anything about. But I knew better than to bring that up right there, so I said yes, I loved school. “I can tell you do,” Brown Taffeta gleamed. She patted my head, and was lucky enough not to get sand spurs in her hand. Children who roll and tumble in the grass in Florida are apt to get sandspurs in their hair. They shook hands with me again and I went back to my seat. When school let out at three o’clock, Mr. Calhoun told me to wait. When everybody had gone, he told me I was to go to the Park House, that was the hotel in Maitland, the next afternoon to call upon Mrs. Johnstone and Miss Hurd. I must tell Mama to see that I was clean and brushed from head to feet, and I must wear shoes and stockings. The ladies liked me, he said, and I must be on my best be- havior. The next day I was let out of school an hour early, and went home to be stood up in a tub full of suds and be scrubbed and have my ears dug into. My sandy hair sported a red ribbon to match my red and white checked ging- ham dress, starched until it could stand alone. Mama saw to it that my shoes were on the right feet, since I was careless about left and right. Last thing, I was given a handkerchief to carry, warned again about my behavior, and sent off, with my big brother John to go as far as the hotel gate with me. First thing, the ladies gave me strange things, like stuffed dates and preserved ginger, and encouraged me to eat all that I wanted. Then they showed me their Japanese dolls and just talked. I was then handed a copy of Scribner’s Magazine, and asked to read a place that was pointed out to me. After a paragraph or two, I was told with smiles, that that would do. I was led out on the grounds and they took my picture under a palm tree. They handed me what was to me then a heavy cylinder done up in fancy paper, tied with a ribbon, and they told me goodbye, asking me not to open it until I got home. My brother was waiting for me down by the lake, and we hurried home, eager to see what was in the thing. It was too heavy to be candy or anything like that. John insisted on toting it for me. My mother made John give it back to me and let me open it. Perhaps, I shall never experience such joy again. The nearest thing to that mo- ment was the telegram accepting my first book. One hundred goldy-new pennies rolled out of the cylinder. Their gleam lit up the world. It was not avarice that moved me. It was the beauty of the thing. I stood on the mountain. Mama let me play with my pennies for a while, then put them away for me to keep. That was only the beginning. The next day I received an Episcopal hymn-book bound in white leather with a golden cross stamped into the front cover, a copy of The Swiss Family Robinson, and a book of fairy tales. I set about to commit the song words to memory. There was no music written there, just the words. But there was to my consciousness music in between them just the same. “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross” seemed the most beautiful to me, so I committed that to memory first of all. Some of them seemed dull and without life, and I pretended they were not there. If white people liked trashy singing like that, there must be something funny about them that I had not noticed before. I stuck to the pretty ones where the words marched to a throb I could feel. A month or so after the young ladies returned to Minnesota, they sent me a huge box packed with clothes and books. The red coat with a wide circular collar and the red tam pleased me more than any of the other things. My chums pretended not to like anything that I had, but even then I knew that they were jealous. Old Smarty had gotten by them again. The clothes were not new, but they were very good. I shone like the morning sun. But the books gave me more pleasure than the clothes. I had never been too keen on dressing up. It called for hard scrubbings with Octagon soap suds getting in my eyes, and none too gentle fingers scrubbing my neck and gouging in my ears. In that box were Gulliver’s Travels, Grimm’s Fairy Tales, Dick Whittington, Greek and Roman Myths, and best of all, Norse Tales. Why did the Norse tales strike so deeply into my soul? I do not know, but they did. I seemed to remember seeing Thor swing his mighty short-handled hammer as he sped across the sky in rumbling thunder, lightning flashing from the tread of his steeds and the wheels of his chariot. The great and good Odin, who went down to the well of knowledge to drink, and was told that the price of a drink from that fountain was an eye. Odin drank deeply, then plucked out one eye without a murmur and handed it to the grizzly keeper, and walked away. That held majesty for me. Of the Greeks, Hercules moved me most. I followed him eagerly on his tasks. The story of the choice of Hercules as a boy when he met Pleas- ure and Duty, and put his hand in that of Duty and followed her steep way to the blue hills of fame and glory, which she pointed out at the end, moved me profoundly. I resolved to be like him. The tricks and turns of the other Gods and Goddesses left me cold. There were other thin books about this and that sweet and gentle little girl who gave up her heart to Christ and good works. Almost always they died from it, preach-

70 ing as they passed. I was utterly indifferent to their deaths. In the first place I could not conceive of death, and in the next place they never had any funerals that amounted to a hill of beans, so I didn’t care how soon they rolled up their big, soulful, blue eyes and kicked the bucket. They had no meat on their bones. But I also met Hans Andersen and Robert Louis Stevenson. They seemed to know what I wanted to hear and said it in a way that tingled me. Just a little below these friends was Rudyard Kipling in his Jungle Books. I loved his talking snakes as much as I did the hero. I came to start reading the Bible through my mother. She gave me a licking one afternoon for repeating something I had overheard a neighbor telling her. She locked me in her room after the whipping, and the Bible was the only thing in there for me to read. I happened to open to the place where David was doing some mighty smiting, and I got interested. David went here and he went there, and no matter where he went, he smote ’em hip and thigh. Then he sung songs to his harp awhile, and went out and smote some more. Not one time did David stop and preach about sins and other things. All David wanted to know from God was who to kill and when. He took care of the other details himself. Never a quiet moment. I liked him a lot. So I read a great deal more in the Bible, hunting for some more active people like David. Except for the beau- tiful language of Luke and Paul, the New Testament still plays a poor second to the Old Testament for me. The Jews had a God who laid about Him when they needed Him. I could see no use waiting until Judgment Day to see a man who was just crying for a good killing, to be told to go and roast. My idea was to give him a good killing first, and then if he got roasted later on, so much the better.

Study Questions: 1. Hurston (the narrator) would often sit on the gatepost in front of her house. She would speak to many of the white people passing by. Why? 2. Who are Mr. and Mrs. Calhoun? 3. Two white women from Minnesota take a liking to Hurston. What was it about Hurston they liked? 4. Before returning to Minnesota, the two women leave Hurston a box full of gifts. What did Hurston like best about the box of gifts?

71 Poetry of the Harlem Renaissance

The Negro Speaks of Rivers by Langston Hughes I’ve known rivers: I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young. 5 I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep. I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it. I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset. I’ve known rivers: Ancient, dusky rivers.

10 My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

Ardella by Langston Hughes

I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you 5 To a sleep without dreams Were it not for your songs.

72 Dream Variations by Langston Hughes

To fling my arms wide In some place of the sun, To whirl and to dance Till the white day is done. 5 Then rest at cool evening Beneath a tall tree While night comes on gently, Dark like me— That is my dream!

10 To fling my arms wide In the face of the sun, Dance! Whirl! Whirl! Till the quick day is done. Rest at pale evening … 15 A tall, slim tree … Night coming tenderly Black like me.

Refugee in America by Langston Hughes

There are words like Freedom Sweet and wonderful to say. On my heart-strings freedom sings All day everyday.

5 There are words like Liberty That almost make me cry. If you had known what I knew You would know why.

The Tropics in New York by Claude McKay

Bananas ripe and green, and ginger-root, Cocoa in pods and alligator pears, And tangerines and mangoes and grape fruit, Fit for the highest prize at parish fairs,

5 Set in window, bringing memories Of fruit-trees laden by low-singing rills, And dewy dawns, and mystical blue skies In benediction over nun-like hills.

My eyes grew dim, and I could no more gaze; 10 A wave of longing through my body swept, And, hungry for the old, familiar ways I turned aside and bowed my head and wept.

73 From the Dark Tower by Countee Cullen

We shall not always plant while others reap The golden increment of bursting fruit, Not always countenance, abject and mute, That lesser men should hold their brothers cheap; 5 Not everlastingly while others sleep Shall we beguile their limbs with mellow flute, Not always bend to some more subtle brute; We were not made eternally to weep.

The night whose sable breast relieves the stark, 10 White stars is no less lovely being dark, And there are buds that cannot bloom at all In light, but crumple, piteous, and fall; So in the dark we hide the heart that bleeds, And wait, and tend our agonizing seeds.

Storm Ending by Jean Toomer

Thunder blossoms gorgeously above our heads, Great, hollow, bell-like flowers, Rumbling in the wind, Stretching clappers to strike our ears … 5 Full-lipped flowers Bitten by the sun Bleeding rain Dripping rain like golden honey— And the sweet earth flying from the thunder.

74 The Negro Speaks of Rivers 1. Which word in the poem means “somewhat dark in color; specifically, having dark skin”? 2. Which word in the poem means “the human chest, and especially the front part of the chest”? 3. The speaker in the poem is a black man. How do you know? 4. In addion, the speaker is speaking for his enre race, from the beginning of me up to the present. Give one piece of evidence from the poem to support this statement. 5. Give another piece of evidence from the poem to support the same statement. The speaker is saying that the collecve soul of his race is like what?

Ardella 1. In order to make sense of the first three lines, we must assume that ___ are like ___. 2. In order to make sense of the second three lines, we must assume that ___ are like ___.

Dream Variaons 1. In this poem, lines ___ and ___ are idencal to each other. 2. Lines ___ through ___ are similar (only slightly altered) to lines ___ through ___. 3. Hughes might be saying that he is waing for the period of dominaon by whites to end. Quote the line that seems to indicate this. 4. Judging from lines 5 and 14, the historical period referred to in the previous queson is a me of ___ for the speaker and his race. 5. Lines 4 and 13 can be interpreted as providing a symbol for a historical period that the speaker hopes is fading away. If so, what is the symbol for the new historical period that will follow this older one?

Refugee in America 1. What word from the poem is defined as “a person who flees to a foreign country to escape danger or persecuon”? 2. What is the metaphor in stanza one? (___ is compared to ___) 3. What is the irony (situaonal irony) in stanza two? 4. What is the irony in the poem’s tle? Explain lines 7 and 8. What is it the speaker knows?

The Tropics in New York 1. Which word in the poem means “very small brooks”? 2. Which word in the poem means “having a spiritual meaning or reality that cannot be perceived by the senses or the intelligence”? 3. Which word in the poem means “the recing of a blessing; especially the short blessing with which public worship is concluded”? 4. Explain the poem’s tle. In what way are “the tropics” in New York? 5. In stanza two, the ___ are personified as a priest giving a blessing. 6. What is the simile in stanza two? 7. Explain the device used to create the simile in the previous queson. 8. The poet, Claude McKay, would rather be in his nave Jamaica than in New York. How do we know? 9. Explain how, in this poem, the word “hungry” has a two-fold meaning. From the Dark Tower 1. Which word in the poem means “the acon or process of increasing, especially in quanty or value”? 2. Which word in the poem means “to extend approval or toleraon to; to allow”? 3. Which word in the poem means “sunk to or exisng in a low state or condion; cast down in spirit”? 4. Which word in the poem means “to lead by decepon, to while away especially by some agreeable occupaon”? 5. Which word in the poem means “delicate and elusive, percepve and refined, or arul and cray”? 6. Which word in the poem means “of or relang to beasts, characterisc of an animal, or cruel and savage”? 7. Which word in the poem means “the color black”? 8. Which word in the poem means “uer and sheer or barren and desolate”? 9. Which word in the poem means “able to move to pity or compassion”? 10. This poem is a sonnet (14 lines of rhymed iambic pentameter). One common form of the sonnet divides the poem into an octave and a sestet, as in this poem. What is an octave and what is a sestet? 11. In “The Negro Speaks of Rivers,” the poem’s speaker was speaking for the members of his race; we have a similar situaon in this poem. What key word tells us this? 12. In one single sentence, summarize the octave (lines 1-8). 13. An oxymoron is a pair of contradictory words, like “sorrowful joy.” What two words found in lines 5-8 are an example of an oxymoron? 14. In what line does the speaker state that white people are not superior to black people? 15. In what two lines does the speaker state that the people of his race have spent too much me just trying to make life seem more pleasant for others? 16. In what two lines does the speaker state that people of his race do all the work while others receive the benefit of that work? 17. The sestet contains several metaphors. In one metaphor, ___ is compared to a woman. 18. In another metaphor, the African-Americans keep hidden their hope for a beer day is compared to ___. 19. And the way the present can be painful, yet sll contain hope for the future is compared to

Storm Ending 1. Which word in the poem means “noise especially from the banging of one part against another”? 2. The metaphor in line one compares ___ to ___. 3. The sun is personified as doing what? 4. In what way are the flowers personified? 5. What is the poem’s simile? PICK TWO POEMS FROM THE HARLEM RENAISSANCE TO COMPARE.

COMPLETE ASSIGNMENT 13 AND SAVE TO TURN IN WHEN SCHOOL BEGINS.