THE GLADNESS OF NATURE BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT IS THIS a time to be cloudy and sad, When our mother Nature laughs around; When even the deep blue heavens look glad, And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground? 5 There are notes of joy from the hangbird and wren, 10 15 20 The clouds are at play in the azure space, And their shadows at play on the bright green vale, There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower, There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree, There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower, And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles I. What season of the year is described? Pick out the words that express happiness. I DIG A DITCH BY DAVID GRAYSON This is an extract from a book called Adventures in Contentment. The author and his sister Harriet leave the city, go to the country, and purchase a farm. There they find real contentment. The author herein relates his adventure in ditch digging and describes the joy of it. TAKE off my coat and hang it over a limb of the little hawthorn tree. I put my bag near it. I roll up the sleeves of my flannel shirt. I give my hat a twirl; I'm ready for work. So I dug. There is something fine in hard physical s labor, straight ahead; no brain used, just muscles. I stood ankle-deep in the cool water; every spadeful came out with a smack, and as I turned it over at the edge of the ditch small turgid rivulets coursed back again. I did not think of anything in particular. I dug. IC A peculiar joy attends the very pull of the muscles. I drove the spade home with one foot, then I bent and lifted and turned with a sort of physical satisfaction difficult to describe. At first I had the cool of the morning, but by seven o'clock the day was hot enough! I opened the 15 breast of my shirt, gave my sleeves another roll, and went at it again for half an hour, until I dripped with perspiration. "I will knock off," I said, so I used my spade as a ladder and climbed out of the ditch. Being very thirsty, I walked down through the marshy valley to the clump of 20 alders which grows along the creek. I followed a cow path through the thicket and came to the creek side, where I knelt on a log and took a good long drink. Then I soused my head in the cool stream, dashed the water upon my arms, and came up dripping and gasping. Oh, but sit was fine! So I came back to the hawthorn tree, where I sat down comfortably and stretched my legs. There is a poem in stretched legs — after hard digging — but I can't write it, though I can feel it! I got my bag and took out a half loaf 10 of Harriet's bread. Breaking off big crude pieces, I ate it there in the shade. How rarely we taste the real taste of bread! We disguise it with butter, we toast it, we eat it with milk or fruit. We even soak it with gravy (here in the country, Is where we aren't at all polite - but very comfortable), so that we never get the downright delicious taste of the bread itself. I was hungry this morning and I ate my half loaf to the last crumb and wanted more. Then I lay down for a 20 moment in the shade and looked up into the sky through the thin outer branches of the hawthorn. A turkey buzzard was lazily circling cloud-high above me. A frog boomed intermittently from the little marsh, and there were bees at work in the blossoms. 25 I had another drink at the creek and went back somewhat reluctantly, I confess, to the work. I was hot, and the first joy of effort had worn off. But the ditch was to be dug and I went at it again. Down toward the town there is a little factory for barrel 3hoops and staves. It has one of the most musical whistles I ever heard in my life. It toots at exactly twelve o'clock: blessed sound! The last half hour at ditch digging is a S. H. R. SIXTH 3 hard, slow pull. I'm warm and tired, but I stick down to it and wait with straining ear for the music. At the very first note of that whistle I drop my spade. I will even empty out a load of dirt halfway up rather than expend another ounce of energy; and I spring out of the ditch s and start for home with a single desire in my heart or possibly lower down. And Harriet, standing in the doorway, seems to me a sort of angel - a culinary angel! Talk of joy! There may be things better than beef stew and baked potatoes and homemade bread — there 10 may be - Adventures in Contentment. 1. How did the author make ready to dig? How did he rest? What pleasure did he get from each? 2. What did he expect to have for dinner? Why was the food so appetizing to him? hard? Tell your ex- 3. Have you ever worked out of doors perience. Is there a thrill in hard work? Explain. people miss it? (Used by permission of Doubleday, Page & Company, publishers of Adventures in Contentment, Copyright, 1907.) I I KNOW A BANK BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE KNOW a bank where the wild thyme blows, -A Midsummer Night's Dream. 5 ΤΟ 15 20 TH THREE SUMMER STUDIES BY JAMES BARRON HOPE I HE cock hath crowed. I hear the doors unbarred; And hear, beside the well within the yard, Full many an ancient, quacking, splashing drake, The dew is thick upon the velvet grass The porch rails hold it in translucent drops, Each one, alternate, slowly halts and crops A lustrous polish is on all the leaves The birds flit in and out with varied notes A partridge whistle through the garden floats, As red and gold flush all the eastern skies. Up comes the sun through the dense leaves a spot Of splendid light drinks up the dew; the breeze The burnished river like a sword blade shines, |