School Reading By Grades: Fifth Year. Baldwin James
These are all at your choice; and life is short. You have heard as much before; yet have you measured and mapped out this short life and its possibilities? Do you know, if you read this, that you can not read that – that what you lose to-day you can not gain to-morrow?
Will you go and gossip with the housemaid, or the stableboy, when you may talk with queens and kings? Do you ask to be the companion of nobles? Make yourself noble, and you shall be. Do you long for the conversation of the wise? Learn to understand it, and you shall hear it.
Very ready we are to say of a book, “How good this is – that is just what I think!” But the right feeling is, “How strange that is! I never thought of that before, and yet I see it is true; or if I do not now, I hope I shall, some day.”
But whether you feel thus or not, at least be sure that you go to the author to get at his meaning, not to find yours. And be sure also, if the author is worth anything, that you will not get at his meaning all at once; nay, that at his whole meaning you may not for a long time arrive in any wise. Not that he does not say what he means, and in strong words too; but he can not say it all, and, what is more strange, will not, but in a hidden way in order that he may be sure you want it.
When, therefore, you come to a good book, you must ask yourself, “Am I ready to work as an Australian miner would? Are my pickaxes in good order, and am I in good trim myself, my sleeves well up to the elbow, and my breath good, and my temper?” For your pickaxes are your own care, wit, and learning; your smelting furnace is your own thoughtful soul. Do not hope to get at any good author’s meaning without these tools and that fire; often you will need sharpest, finest carving, and the most careful melting, before you can gather one grain of the precious gold.
I can not, of course, tell you what to choose for your library, for every several mind needs different books; but there are some books which we all need, and which if you read as much as you ought, you will not need to have your shelves enlarged to right and left for purposes of study.
If you want to understand any subject whatever, read the best book upon it you can hear of. A common book will often give you amusement, but it is only a noble book that will give you dear friends.
Avoid that class of literature which has a knowing tone; it is the most poisonous of all. Every good book, or piece of book, is full of admiration and awe; and it always leads you to reverence or love something with your whole heart.
OLD CHIRON’S SCHOOL
Æson was king of Iolcus by the sea; but for all that, he was an unhappy man. For he had a stepbrother named Pelias, a fierce and lawless man who was the doer of many a fearful deed, and about whom many dark and sad tales were told. And at last Pelias drove out Æson, his stepbrother, and took the kingdom for himself, and ruled over the rich town of Iolcus by the sea.
And Æson, when he was driven out, went sadly away from the town, leading his little son by the hand; and he said to himself, “I must hide the child in the mountains, or Pelias will surely kill him, because he is the heir.” So he went up from the sea across the valley, through the vineyards and the olive groves, and across a foaming torrent toward Pelion, the ancient mountain, whose brows are white with snow.
He went up and up into the mountain, over marsh and crag, and down, till the boy was tired and foot-sore, and Æson had to bear him in his arms, till he came to the mouth of a lonely cave at the foot of a mighty cliff. Above the cliff the snow wreaths hung, dripping and cracking in the sun; but at its foot, around the cave’s mouth, grew all fair flowers and herbs, as if in a garden arranged in order, each sort by itself. There they grew gayly in the sunshine, and in the spray of the torrent from above; while from the cave came a sound of music, and a man’s voice singing to the harp.
Then Æson put down the lad, and whispered:
“Fear not, but go in, and whomsoever you shall find, lay your hands upon his knees, and say, ‘In the name of the Father of gods and men, I am your guest from this day forth.’ ”
Then the lad went in without trembling, for he too was a hero’s son; but when he was within, he stopped in wonder, to listen to that magic song.
And there he saw the singer lying upon bearskins and fragrant boughs; Chiron, the ancient Centaur, the wisest of all beings beneath the sky. Down to the waist he was a man; but below he was a noble horse; his white hair rolled down over his broad shoulders, and his white beard over his broad brown chest; and his eyes were wise and mild, and his forehead like a mountain wall.
And in his hands he held a harp of gold, and struck it with a golden key; and as he struck he sang till his eyes glittered, and filled all the cave with light.
And he sang of the birth of Time, and of the heavens and the dancing stars; and of the ocean, and the ether, and the fire, and the shaping of the wondrous earth. And he sang of the treasures of the hills, and the hidden jewels of the mine, and the veins of fire and metal, and the virtues of all healing herbs; and of the speech of birds, and of prophecy, and of hidden things to come.
Then he sang of health, and strength, and manhood, and a valiant heart; and of music and hunting, and wrestling, and all the games which heroes love; and of travel, and wars, and sieges, and a noble death in fight,; and then he sang of peace and plenty, and of equal justice in the land; and as he sang, the boy listened wide-eyed, and forgot his errand in the song.
And at last Chiron was silent, and called the lad with a soft voice. And the lad ran trembling to him, and would have laid his hands upon his knees; but Chiron smiled, and said, “Call hither your father Æson; for I know you and all that has befallen you.”
Then Æson came in sadly, and Chiron asked him, “Why came you not yourself to me, Æson?”
And Æson said: “I thought, Chiron will pity the lad if he sees him come alone; and I wished to try whether he was fearless, and dare venture like a hero’s son. But now I entreat you, let the boy be your guest till better times, and train him among the sons of the heroes that he may become like them, strong and brave.”
And Chiron answered: “Go back in peace and bend before the storm like a prudent man. This boy shall not leave me till he has become a glory to you and to your house.”
And Æson wept over his son and went away; but the boy did not weep, so full was his fancy of that strange cave, and the Centaur, and his song, and the playfellows whom he was to see. Then Chiron put the lyre into his hands, and taught him how to play it, till the sun sank low behind the cliff, and a shout was heard outside. And then in came the sons of the heroes, – Æneas, and Hercules, and Peleus, and many another mighty name.
And great Chiron leaped up joyfully, and his hoofs made the cave resound, as they shouted, “Come out, Father Chiron; come out and see our game.” And one cried, “I have killed two deer,” and another, “I took a wild cat among the crags.” And Hercules dragged a wild goat after him by its horns; and Cæneus carried a bear cub under each arm, and laughed when they scratched and bit; for neither tooth nor steel could wound him. And Chiron praised them all, each according to his deserts.
Only one walked apart and silent, Æsculapius, the too wise child, with his bosom full of herbs and flowers, and round his wrist a spotted snake; he came with downcast eyes to Chiron, and whispered how he had watched the snake cast his old skin, and grow young again before his eyes, and how he had gone down into a village in the vale, and cured a dying man with a herb which he had seen a sick goat eat. And Chiron smiled and said:
“To each there has been given his own gift, and each is worthy in his place. But to this child there has been given an honor beyond all honors, – to cure while others kill.”
Then some of the lads brought in wood, and split it, and lighted a blazing fire; and others skinned the deer and quartered them, and set them to roast before the fire; and while the venison was cooking they bathed in the snow torrent, and washed away the dust and sweat. And then all ate till they could eat no more – for they had tasted nothing since the dawn – and drank of the clear spring water, for wine is not fit for growing lads. And when the remnants were put away, they all lay down upon the skins and leaves about the fire, and each took the lyre in turn, and sang and played with all his heart.
And