The preludings of Winter are as beautiful as those of Spring. In a gray December day, when, as the farmers say, it is too cold to snow, his numbed fingers will let fall doubtfully a few star-shaped flakes, the snowdrops and anemones that harbinger his more assured reign. Now, and now only, may be seen, heaped on the horizon's 10 eastern edge, those "blue clouds" from forth which Shakespeare says that Mars "doth pluck the masoned turrets." Sometimes also, when the sun is low, you will see a single cloud trailing a flurry of snow along the southern hills in a wavering fringe of purple. And when at last the real snowstorm comes, it leaves the earth with a virginal look on it that no other of the 20 seasons can rival-compared with which, indeed, they seem soiled and vulgar.

And what is there in Nature so beautiful as the next morning after such confusion of the elements? Night has no silence like this of busy day. All the batteries of noise are spiked. We see the movement of life as a deaf man sees it, a mere wraith of the clam30 orous existence that inflicts itself on Our ears when the ground is bare. The earth is clothed in innocence as a garment. Every wound of the landscape is healed; what was unsightly has been covered gently with a soft splendor, as if, Cowley would have said, Nature had cleverly let fall her handkerchief to hide it. If the Virgin (Nôtre Dame de la neige) were to come 40 back, here is an earth that would not bruise her foot nor stain it. It is

packed so hard sometimes on hillslopes that it will bear your weight. What grace is in all the curves, as if every one of them had been swept by that inspired thumb of Phidias's jour- 50 neyman!

Poets have fancied the footprints of the wind in those light ripples that sometimes scurry across smooth water with a sudden blur. But on this gleaming hush the aerial deluge has left plain marks of its course; and in gullies through which it rushed torrent-like, the eye finds its bed irregularly scooped like that of a brook in hard beach-sand, 60 or, in more sheltered spots, traced with outlines like those left by the sliding edges of the surf upon the shore. The air, after all, is only an infinitely thinner kind of water, such as I suppose we shall have to drink when the state does her whole duty as a moral reformer. Nor is the wind the only thing whose trail you will notice on this sensitive surface. You will find that 70 you have more neighbors and night visitors than you dreamed of. Here is the dainty footprint of a cat; here a dog has looked in on you like an amateur watchman to see if all is right, slumping clumsily about in the mealy treachery. And look! before you were up in the morning, though you were a punctual courtier at the sun's levee, here has been a squirrel zigzagging 80 to and fro like a hound gathering the scent, and some tiny bird searching for unimaginable food-perhaps for the tinier creature, whatever it is, that drew this slender continuous trail like those made on the wet beach by light borderers of the sea. The earliest autographs were as frail as these. Poseidon traced his lines, or giant birds made their mark, on preadamite 90 sea-margins; and the thunder-gust left

50. Phidias (500B.C.-430B.C.), most famous of Greek sculptors. 89. Poseidon, Greek god of the sea.

the tear-stains of its sudden passion there; nay, we have the signatures of delicatest fern-leaves on the soft ooze of æons that dozed away their dreamless leisure before consciousness came upon the earth with man. Some whim of Nature locked them fast in stone for us after-thoughts of creation. Which of us shall leave a footprint as 10 imperishable as that of the Ornithorhynchus, or much more so than that of these Bedouins of the snow-desert? Perhaps it was only because the ripple

12. Bedouins, nomadic desert tribes. Here, the squirrel and the tiny bird mentioned on page 536.

and the raindrop and the bird were not thinking of themselves, that they had such luck. The chances of immortality depend very much on that. How often have we not seen poor mortals, dupes of a season's notoriety, carving their names on seeming-solid rock of 20 merest beach-sand, whose feeble hold on memory shall be washed away by the next wave of fickle opinion! Well, well, honest Jaques, there are better things to be found in the snow than

sermons.

24. Jaques, the "melancholy Jaques," of As You Like It. But see As You Like It, II, i., page 375.

A Letter. 1. This and the two following selections are from The Biglow Papers. Does this kind of introduction arouse your interest in what is to follow?

2. For Lowell's use of dialect, and for the general plan and purpose of The Biglow Papers, see page 525.

What Mr. Robinson Thinks. 1. Governor Briggs was a Whig candidate for reëlection in 1847. General Cushing, his opponent, was a general in the Mexican War. John P. Robinson, a lawyer and Whig member of the Massachusetts legislature, went over to Cushing's side in the contest.

2. Who is the speaker? What sort of man is he? Does he really mean what he says, or is he speaking ironically? Look up irony in the dictionary and be prepared to give a clear definition, with illustrations. How does irony differ from satire? From sarcasm? From caricature?

The Courtin'. This poem is a New England pastoral idyl, written in a rustic dialect, as are some other pastoral poems. You should compare it with "The Cotter's Saturday Night," by Robert Burns, where the rustic lover is also characterized. You might also compare the Scottish dialect used by Burns with Lowell's Yankee dialect, and report on your findings.

Selections from A Fable for Critics. 1. For a discussion of this poem and its relation to Lowell's work, see page 525.

2. The title-page imitates the old-fashioned title-pages of early printed books, in which the contents of the book and various other matters were included instead of merely the title, the

name of the author and the publisher, and the date of publication. Compare the title-page of Mrs. Anne Bradstreet's poems, cited on page 419. If you will read Lowell's title-page aloud, you will discover something interesting about it. In what other form might it have been written?

3. What follows, though it is apparently a Preface in prose, continues the joke already found in the title-page. Why did Lowell print it in this form instead of in verse? What should the Preface of a book contain?

4. You will find it good practice in scanning verse, to mark the accents in this preface and to separate the lines by a vertical mark. What do you observe about some of Lowell's rimes?

5. Lowell's rimed criticisms of American writers should be compared with the discussion of these authors in the text of this chapter, and with your readings in the works of the authors named. Why did he include himself?

From A Good Word for Winter. This selection introduces Lowell as an essayist. The essay as a form of prose may seek to give information, such as a biographical essay or an essay on some scientific topic in an encyclopedia. It may be philosophical or present the author's reflections on life; Bacon's essays and the essays of Emerson are examples. Or it may be personal, the intimate, friendly chat of a man of delightful and rich personality; the extracts from The Autocrat on pages 517-523 are examples. In "A Good Word for Winter," Lowell talks about winter and the other seasons, half seriously, half humorously, as Holmes talks about conceit or punning. You feel the informal nature of it;

there is no rigid outline; the author does not try to instruct you or to dictate what you shall think; he chats delightfully about one of the commonest topics of conversation in the world, the weather. But how different is this talk from our ordinary comments on winter and summer ⚫or the temperature of the day! Some of it may puzzle you a bit; no matter about that. You are listening to the talk of a man who has read much and traveled much. Recall what Emerson said, in the essay on "Friendship," about rising higher than our natural abilities when we meet some traveled stranger, and apply it to your reading of this selection.

Theme Topics. 1. Why you think Lowell made a good diplomat (he was foreign minister to England). 2. Other literary men you know, or have known, through your reading, in the diplomatic service. 3. Look up a number of title-pages, old and new, that you may be able

to find in the library or at home, and make a report. Draw up a title-page for a book that you would like to write. Write a Preface for the book you have planned. 4. Write a little sketch on some common topie; try to make it as interesting as Lowell's chat on the weather. Previously Read. In Literature and Life, Book One, "The Vision of Sir Launfal,” “Washington," "Rhocus."

Library Reading. Increase your knowledge of Lowell by reading in the library the following poems. Prepare a report on the ones you liked best. The Biglow Papers (further reading from), "To the Spirit of Keats," "The Present Crisis," "An Indian Summer Reverie," "She Came and Went," "The First Snowfall," "Singing Leaves," "Commemoration Ode," "The Miner," "To Whittier," "To Holmes," "The Recall." You will enjoy Lowell's prose as well. Read "My Garden Acquaintance."

The period after 1830 produced all kinds of writing. While we are here mainly concerned with the authors of pure literature, at times we must recall other workers in the creation of books. Americans soon became keenly alive to the fascination of historical material. Our earliest colonial literature is mainly historical. Irving turned from the romance of New York, England, Italy, and Spain to authentic records of memorable deeds of the past. Historical writing has engrossed the attention and employed the pen of many of the best trained and most gifted minds of this land.

William H. Prescott (1796-1859). Earliest of these was William H. Prescott. While a student in college he was struck by a piece of bread jokingly thrown by another youth, and lost the sight of one eye. Total blindness was averted only by the utmost care. Despite his handicap he devoted himself to the history of Spanishspeaking peoples. Documents in all parts of the world he had copied for his use. With the aid of a secretary and a mechanical guide for his hand in writing he produced a large number of volumes. The romance of Spain attracted him as it had

Irving. His first book was The History of Ferdinand and Isabella. Six years of toil were necessary for the next bookThe Conquest of Mexico. The amazing adventures of the small bands of Spanish conquerors in the New World fascinated Prescott. He returned to their exploits in The Conquest of Peru. At his death he had almost completed all of the projected four volumes of The History of Philip IISpain's most famous monarch during the fifteen hundreds.

Prescott's chief popularity-he is still widely read-is due to two things. He was the first to see the appeal of the Spanish conquest of the tropical regions of this continent. The clash of races was a gigantic drama with its hair-raising climaxes, its spectacular processions, its surprising defeats and successes, the unbelievable wealth it brought to the con querors, its astounding effects upon the Empire of Spain. In addition to this abundance of picturesque material, Prescott put into his histories something else -his readable style. Portions are as engrossing as any novel. The two works dealing with monarchs are interesting to students of Spanish history and life; but

the two depicting the conquest of Mexico and Peru should be read by every American. The story of the ambitions, battles, and treasures of Pizarro and Cortez is as fascinating as romance.

George Bancroft (1800-1891). George Bancroft was educated at Harvard and abroad. During his long life he served in several public capacities, such as Secretary of the Navy and as Minister to England. In 1834 he published the first volume of his History of the United States, in 1882 the last, the tenth. Beginning with the discovery of this continent, he traces our development through the Revolution, then describes the forming of our constitutional government, and ends with the inauguration of Washington as President.

John Lothrop Motley (1814-1877). After taking up, in succession, law, diplomacy, and novel writing, John Lothrop Motley at length found his true calling in the writing of history. He planned to write the history of the struggle of the Dutch against Philip II of Spain. The same feelings that stirred American patriots before and during our War for Independence thrilled Motley as he contemplated this heroic attempt of a small nation of trading and sailing men to wrench their land and laws from an unsympathetic foreigner. Motley's picture of Spanish personality and history is a brilliant contrast to that by Prescott. Two works show this struggle The Rise of the Dutch Republic and The United Netherlands. Prescott showed the Spaniard successful over the Indians of Central and South America; Motley showed the Spaniards defeated by the sturdy dwellers of the lowlands beside the North Sea. Both writers dealt with momentous movements in which every detail was a thrilling event. The latter, however, was stirred by sympathetic feelings to show the valor of the weaker party. His disposition colors the treatment. This adds to the vivacity of the style, the dash of the movement, the distinctness of the portraits of the leaders.

Francis Parkman (1823-1893). The last and greatest of this group of historians was Francis Parkman. Even when he was

a boy he began his life work, for in college he decided to prepare a history of the French in America. A trip to Europe acquainted him with French religious habits, and gave him an understanding of much in their early settlements in this land. Life in the woods enabled him to comprehend pioneer conditions. He knew the peaceful Indians of New England, but he desired to know the savages who still roamed the western plains. To strengthen his constitution he exercised in the college gymnasium and under a circus manager. In 1846 he took his famous journey west along the Oregon Trail. On this, he saw and experienced all the realities of frontier life. He lived among warlike tribes. His escapes seem miraculous now-for weeks he rode over the Black Hills "reeling in the saddle with weakness and pain." This journey almost ruined his health, but it gave him knowledge which enabled him to reproduce the great West.

When he returned to the East he could hardly see; his body was almost a total wreck; for long periods he had to use a wheeled chair. On many days a halfhour's work was his maximum. Frequently a day's writing was only six lines. All his notes had to be read to him. But after this, he made five trips to Europe to gather material. In the end, he actually finished and published twelve volumes, an achievement that seems almost miraculous.

To Americans his subject-matter must always be of supreme importance, for it reflects the struggle between France and England in the New World. Before embarking on his theme, he published The Oregon Trail, which every high school student should read. A few titles indicate the contents of his strictly historical volumes: Pioneers of France in the New World, La Salle or the Discovery of the Great West, The Old Regime in Canada, Montcalm and Wolfe, The Conspiracy of Pontiac. All this material centers about the French and Indian Wars.

Parkman was equipped for his work as few historians are. He knew the woods, he knew the Indians, he knew all the places he described. His knowledge was seconded by accuracy. Then, finally, he could write in a remarkable style. Unless

you are careful to notice it, this style will seem merely natural. That is its greatness. It is at all times and for every purpose everything that is needed and no

more.

The events he details are more exciting than any in usual fiction dealing with the West; his Indians and all other characters are living individuals.

From THE OREGON TRAIL CHAPTER XIV

THE OGALLALA VILLAGE

Such a narrative as this is hardly the place for portraying the mental features of the Indians. The same picture, slightly changed in shade and coloring, would serve with very few exceptions for all the tribes that lie north of the Mexican territories. But with this striking similarity in their modes of thought, the tribes of the lake 10 and ocean shores, of the forests and of the plains, differ greatly in their manner of life. Having been domesticated for several weeks among one of the wildest of the wild hordes that roam over the remote prairies, I had extraordinary opportunities of observing them, and I flatter myself that a faithful picture of the scenes that passed daily before my eyes may not be de20 void of interest and value. These men were thorough savages. Neither their manners nor their ideas were in the slightest degree modified by contact with civilization. They knew nothing of the power and real character of the white man, and their children would scream in terror at the sight of me. Their religion, their superstitions, and their prejudices were the same that 30 had been handed down to them from immemorial time. They fought with the same weapons that their fathers fought with, and wore the same rude garments of skins.

Great changes are at hand in that region. With the stream of immigration to Oregon and California, the

buffalo will dwindle away, and the large wandering communities who depend on them for support must be 40 broken and scattered. The Indians will soon be corrupted by the example of the whites, abased by whisky, and overawed by military posts; so that within a few years the traveler may pass in tolerable security through their country. Its danger and its charm will have disappeared together.

As soon as Raymond and I discovered the village from the gap in the 50 hills, we were seen in our turn; keen eyes were constantly on the watch. As we rode down upon the plain, the side of the village nearest us was darkened with a crowd of naked figures gathering around the lodges. Several men came forward to meet us. I could distinguish among them the green blanket of the Frenchman Reynal. When we came up, the ceremony of 60 shaking hands had to be gone through with in due form, and then all were eager to know what had become of the rest of my party. I satisfied them on this point, and we all moved forward together toward the village.

"You've missed it," said Reynal; "if you'd been here day before yesterday, you'd have found the whole prairie over yonder black with buffalo 70 as far as you could see. There were no cows, though; nothing but bulls. We made a 'surround' every day till yesterday. See the village there; don't that look like good living?"

In fact I could see, even at that distance, that long cords were stretched from lodge to lodge, over which the