Journeys through Bookland : a new and original plan for reading applied to the world's best literature for children . g to try to determine just how a greatpoet makes us feel so strongly the thing that lie tells this case Tennyson thinks of a mother in England and afather who is somewhere in the West, out on the broadAtlantic, but is coming home to his little one. The motherdreams only of the home-coming of lier husband, and shewishes the baby to learn to love its father as much as shedoes, so as she sings the little one to sleep, she pours outher love for both in beautiful melody. To ex
Journeys through Bookland : a new and original plan for reading applied to the world's best literature for children . g to try to determine just how a greatpoet makes us feel so strongly the thing that lie tells this case Tennyson thinks of a mother in England and afather who is somewhere in the West, out on the broadAtlantic, but is coming home to his little one. The motherdreams only of the home-coming of lier husband, and shewishes the baby to learn to love its father as much as shedoes, so as she sings the little one to sleep, she pours outher love for both in beautiful melody. To express tliis mother-love and anxious care the poethas chosen simple words that have rich, musical sounds,that can be spoken easily and smoothly and that lingeron the tongue. He speaks of the sea, the gentle wind, therolling waters, the dying moon and the silver sails, all ofwhich call up ideas that rest us and make us happy, andthen with rare skill he arranges the words so that whenwe read the lines we can feel the gentle rocking movementthat lulls the little one, the pretty one into its gentleslumbers. CHILDHOOD. By Donald G. ^Mitchell ^^SABEL and I—she is my cousin, andis seven j^ears old, and I am ten—aresitting together on the bank of astream, under an oak tree that leanshalf way over to the water. I ammuch stronger than she, and taller bya head. I hold in my hands a littlealder rod, with which I am fishing for the roach andminnows, that play in the pool below us. She is watching the cork tossing on the water, orplaying with the captured fish that lie upon thebank. She has auburn ringlets that fall down uponher shoulders; and her straw hat lies back uponthem, held only by the strip of ribbon, that passesunder her chin. But the sun does not shine uponher head; for the oak tree above us is full of leaves;and only here and there, a dimple of the sunlightplays upon the pool, where I am fishing. Her eye is hazel, and bright; and now and thenshe turns it on me with a look of g
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1920, bookidjourneysthro, bookyear1922
