CHAPTER III

Pictures and Their Use

I. What Should We Notice in a Picture?

a. Line. We define the boundaries of objects and limit space by means of lines, and the use of lines constitutes drawing in pictures. These lines so used may be narrow or broad, straight or curved, perfect or broken, and definite or vague and undetermined. Upon their proper use, however, depends the beauty of proportion, the strength of personality and the impressions of truthfulness and reality. There are few rigid lines in nature. What we see is an impression of line, not sharp lines. If you look at a book you may see the sharp lines that bound its edges but if you move it away a little or put it in shadow its boundaries are a little hazy and gradually you lose the impression of the lines that bound it and see only a book. A tree has no sharp outline except when it stands on a horizon and looks like a silhouette against the light. Ordinarily it is a mass of moving light and shade, of color. The leaves are not separately limited by lines and yet we know that leaves are there. If the artist drew each leaf separately and accurately the general effect would be extremely unnatural and instead of a tree we should see only the minute carefulness of a painter who had failed. Perfect lines, then, are rare in good pictures. The artist does not intend to make exact representations of reality but to convey the appearance of reality, and just in so far as he succeeds in conveying that appearance of reality is he successful. This does not mean that good drawing is not necessary in a picture; it merely tells you what constitutes good drawing. If the lines of the human figure are perfect it is almost certain that the figure will be strained, unnatural and without the appearance of life or motion. In a good picture the lines of good drawing are present but they are broken, subdued and lead into one another as do the lines we see in nature.

b. Light and Shade. It is the distribution of light and shadows in a picture that gives it the appearance of reality. A mere outline drawing is flat and has no semblance of life. The paintings of the ancient Egyptians are good examples of pictures that have no light and shade, and we all know how flat, stiff and unreal they appear. In pen and ink, and charcoal drawings, light is indicated by white and shadow by black, but between the two extremes are introduced various shades and tints of gray that make the variety of tone in shadows. This varying of the strength of shadows is everywhere in nature, though most of us are blind to it. In looking at any object for the purpose of distinguishing the lights and shades upon it we should half close our eyes and look intently at all parts of it. Under an inspection of this sort the building which we thought to be all of even light is seen to be dotted with patches of shadow of different intensity, showing that there are projections where the light from the sun strikes clearly or depressions into which it cannot enter so freely. A picture should give the same effect, and it is this effect, which includes also the distance from the eye as well as the shades from the light source, that we call “values.” If we look at a tree in the way described we see that it is covered with patches of green in light or dark tints and that these color values are the lights and shades of which we are speaking. There will be one point of highest light and an opposing point of deepest shadow, and upon the proper arrangement of these as well as upon the patches of minor importance depends the lifelike appearance of the objects in the picture. Van Dyke says there are three things concerning light and shade that should be looked for in every picture, viz.: that everything, no matter how small it be, has its due proportion of light and shade; that there be one point of compass from which the light comes; that there be a center of light in the picture itself, from which all other lights radiate and decrease until they are lost in the color or shadow.

c. Tone and Color. The first thing that seizes the eye in a painting is color, and the brightest, gayest colors are the ones that are most likely to attract. In fact they are the only colors that the inexperienced may see, for many a person is blind to the subdued tints and shades that are really the most attractive to the trained eye. Good coloring, then, does not mean brightness alone. It is the relationship, the qualities and the suitableness of colors one to another, whether they be in shadow, half-tint or light, that constitute good coloring. Brilliant dresses and inharmonious ornaments strike the refined eye with displeasure, the wearer is “loud” in her dress. Subdued colors relieved here and there with a harmonious dash of brightness show correct taste. So in pictures those that have the low or deep tones, that are rich and harmonious, are the ones that are most appreciated by the experts, and are the ones usually found to have been painted by the masters. Nevertheless if high color combines richness and harmony it shows a fine skill. Tone has to do with the quantity of color used in the painting, and harmony with the qualities of colors. Tone and harmony must combine to make perfect coloring.

d. Composition. If we study any great poem, drama or novel, one that is constructed with a due regard for unity, we find there is one central character or idea and that all other persons, all incidents, scenes and all the little devices that go to give reality to the conception are subordinated to the central person or idea. Unless this is done the creation lacks unity and therefore lacks force, beauty and coherence. The same facts hold true of a picture. Every good picture is so arranged and drawn that the important idea is centralized and the parts are unified and harmonized until the whole is single in its effect. This is accomplished by what is called in the language of the painter, “composition.” Important things are recognized and lesser things subordinated to give beauty, clearness and brilliancy to the central idea. While these facts are most obvious in pictures that contain figures, it is no less true in landscapes or other pictures which contain no figures. For instance, a moonlight scene on the Hudson would have as its central idea the beauty of the light on the water and the mountains. To secure this the artist would keep down the lines of the mountains, subordinate the details in the foreground and place as the central idea in the picture the pale shimmering light from the moon whether that body be itself visible or not. Oftentimes in looking at a picture it is difficult to tell wherein its excellent composition lies, but the absence of strength and unity is unerringly felt.

e. Atmosphere and Perspective. We are all familiar with the diminished size of objects seen at a distance and realize that the apparent coming together of two parallel lines, as those of a railway track, is owing to the same cause. We know, too, that this diminishing must be shown in a picture or there is no sense of distance for the spectator. What is not so clear to us usually, is that there is as great a difference in color and the appearance of objects. The diminution of size is linear perspective and the change of color due to distance and atmospheric conditions is commonly called aerial perspective. The tendency among amateurs is to paint a tree green no matter how far away from the spectator it is, while a little observation and study would show the veriest tyro that the green of a distant tree has faded till to the eye it looks a bluish gray. Moreover, outlines have faded and seem to flow into those of other objects, and all combine to give to the picture the true appearance of distance, which is what the artist seeks and the one who looks at the picture has a right to expect.

f. An Application of the Foregoing Principles. What has been said on this subject of judging a picture may be made clearer by an application to one of the pictures in Journeys. Let us take, for instance, the color plate facing page 304, in Volume VI. It is a reproduction in color of the painting in water colors, Bob and Tiny Tim, and will show what is meant by the comments above almost as well as the original painting would have done.

Are the shades of blue and purple and lighter colors in the clothing of the various persons glaring or subdued? Do you observe any inharmony which offends the eye, or are you pleased with contrasting colors and tones? The harmony in color is due to the choice of colors that do not contrast too strongly. The artist knew which were complementary colors; that is, which, united, form white. Which colors in the picture do you think show warmth, and which show cold, as suitable to out-of-door scenes? What effect on the rest of the picture does the olive green of the interior of the room have? What effect does the gray green of the open door have?

2. Light and Shade. Is the picture flat and without appearance of life, or do the persons and objects stand out in a life-like manner? Are parts of the picture in shade, so that outlines are lost? The artist has shown the left of the building in the foreground as in shadow; how is this effect produced? Do you observe gradations of tone in the shawl on Tiny Tim, which indicate relative light and shadow? Where is the highest light in the picture, and where the darkest shadow? Are the lights strong as if the sun were shining, or soft and diffused, as is noticeable on a snowy winter’s day?

3. Line. Although you cannot see Bob’s feet in the picture, do you feel that his body is well supported? Is his position natural, as of one carrying a burden on one shoulder? Are the lines of the figures in the foreground clear and distinct? How do they compare with the lines of the figures and building across the street? In both cases the artist gives us all that is necessary to convey the impression of reality. In the use of oils and water colors, sharp lines are avoided. Colors are used so that different surfaces and effects flow into one another; the lines are concealed and we have the very counterfeit of reality. This constitutes good drawing.

4. Composition. What is the central idea of the picture? The artist has brought the principal figures into the immediate foreground; do the arrangement of color, contrasts of tone values, and the smaller figures in the background give life and significance to the figures of Bob and Tiny Tim? Would the effectiveness of the picture be greater or less if the artist had failed to show the snowy outdoor scene, with its holiday spirit? Do you recall the incident in the story portrayed by the picture? Are the characteristics of Bob and Tiny Tim, as described by Dickens, faithfully followed by the artist? Do their faces show the spirit of Christmas? If you had not read the story, would you not feel a glow of sympathy for the little boy, and a wish that you could join in making a happy holiday for him? Has not the artist succeeded in bringing the scene described by the author more vividly and beautifully to us?

5. Atmosphere and Perspective. How far from the figures of Bob and the little boy are the people on the sidewalk? How does the artist express the idea of relative distance? Are there any lines in the picture which help us to determine distance? If the eye follows the lines of the cross pieces on the door, will they not come together if extended far enough to the left? Of course the buildings across the street are not very far away, but their outlines are a little hazy. Does this haziness help to give the effect of distance? Do you think the door was really a gray-green? Has the artist used this tone to show the effect of the outdoor light on a gray, or possibly a white door? The building across the street, at the left, has yellow and red and purple tones; do you think these were the actual colors? If not, why has the artist selected these particular shades? Do parts of buildings or other objects in shadow take on different shades from parts in bright lights? What colors appear most frequently in the picture? Has the artist succeeded in giving the picture the atmosphere of Dickens’s story?

II. Pictures and Their Value in Literature

By giving him simple, clear, realistic conceptions through pictures, we influence the child to read eagerly the text, to discover the whole story, of which such a fascinating hint is given in the portion illustrated. These first pictures must satisfy the child’s love of action and movement, and portray only the most dramatic scenes, the big important facts with all superfluous happenings omitted.

In fables, where the primary purpose is to convey an abstract truth, a something bigger and broader than the mere interesting events described, the illustrations add much to the meaning and purpose of the text. Here the artist shows not only the physical attributes of the real animal, but in a subtle way goes a step further and through the features or the attitude suggests the characteristics attributed in the fable. Thus unconsciously the little reader gets from the picture an increased conception of the sly, clever, crafty ways of the fox or the slow, plodding, steadfast patience of the tortoise.

As literature develops from the simple nursery rhyme and the brief, abrupt fable to the fairy tale with its illusive beauty, so the pictures should advance in a parallel and a closely related manner. The illustrations now take on a mysterious, unreal, esthetic quality, in harmony with the world of fairy lore, and train the imagination as much as the direct words of the author. The child realizes that the forest scenes which furnish the background for so many of his favorite fairy tales have a subtle beauty which has never been seen by him. Gradually through such pictures he is led to seek an ideal beauty in the real world. He also becomes able not only to appreciate the poetic rendering of this expression of the ideal but is capable of forming more varied mental images of things about which he reads; to put more of his own individuality, his own conceptions, into his mental picture.

The passing ages have so completely revolutionized the customs and ways of life that the child of today finds comparatively little in his familiar surroundings which he can link with the world of history and legend. Literature should be supplemented by pictures to bridge this chasm and to bring legendary and historical heroes into the child’s own world and enable him to follow their thoughts, interpret their emotions and appreciate their actions.

The child who sees a picture of court life where the cavalier is attired in richly colored velvet, silk, lace, and jewels, and surrounded by the luxuries of the court, and compares it with another of the same period which portrays a Puritan in his somber-hued, severe suit, stiff linen collar and cuffs, broad-brimmed, plain hat and not a single jewel or ornament used for mere decorative or esthetic value, realizes the vast difference in the types and character of the two men. He is furnished with an appropriate mental atmosphere in which to follow their history and in which to comprehend the inevitable clash that came between the Cavaliers and the Roundheads. He will then eagerly and sympathetically follow the Pilgrims in their lonely stay in Holland and in their brave struggle in the new country. Here, again, the various pictures portray a land and climate as vigorous, uncompromising and stern as the characters of the Pilgrims themselves. Then the great forests, the felling of the trees, the erection of the log houses and forts, the meeting of Puritans with the neighboring Indians, with their curious costumes, homes, customs and occupations, introduce other phases of life that put the child in a receptive mood for the reading of colonial history, Indian legends and stories of pioneer life.

Familiarity with the author’s portrait, with pictures of his home or his favorite scenes, brings a something of the writer’s personality to the child. He feels the story is told more directly to him. A sympathetic bond is established that leads him to a more intimate and a more intelligent acquaintance with the author’s emotions, thoughts, style and purposes as expressed in his works. He reads Thoreau’s Journal, and notes uncomprehendingly, the potent sway of nature over the heart and life of the man. It requires the keen vision and the genius of the artist to give him a realization of the mesmeric influence nature frequently exerts.

If this author’s portrait is the work of a great artist it will perform a double service. For example, the reproduction of the Aesop of Velasquez not only gives the child an idea of the appearance of that creator of the wonderful fables, but it also introduces the great Spanish artist who has depicted marvelous interpretations of life on canvas and has so wonderfully influenced the style and method of the work of many of the artists who succeeded him.

The world of literature is filled with poems and stories which emphasize abstract truths, teach needed lessons or give universal principles of beauty. Many of these have been the subject and the inspiration of pictures. And, in the re-telling of the poem or story with brush or pen, the artists have added a something of their own individuality and character which serves not only to emphasize and perpetuate themselves through their pictured translation of these noble thoughts, but also makes the principles inculcated by the author become a part of the child’s moral creed.

All have long realized the value of pictures in connection with stories involving scientific knowledge, but the co-operation of the artist with the author in presenting literature to children is of equal importance. The picture arrests the interest of the child and wins his love for books long before he can read; it arouses his desire to master the meaning of the printed forms, that he may discover the story for himself; it gives him facts regarding unfamiliar things without which knowledge the printed symbol means little; it leads him to the discovery of unseen beauties in his environment; it develops his imagination; it arouses his creative faculties; it aids him to grasp the deepest, highest meaning of the world’s literature; it opens up the undreamed beauties of the vast world of art; it interprets abstract thoughts until they become a part of his character, and CHARACTER is the true end of all READING and of all EDUCATION.

III. On the Use of the Pictures in “Journeys”

Children love pictures, and they love to make them. We of riper years are inclined to forget how very strong was our pictorial instinct when we were young. A little girl may make on a sheet of paper a few irregular lines not very well connected, wholly meaningless to us, and see in them very plainly every lineament of her favorite doll. She sees no lines, no paper, only her own precious doll. A little later she will draw pictures to illustrate a story, and while we may see nothing in her work, she sees enough to make the story more real, and is in this way preparing herself to read more intelligently and with greater appreciation as she grows older. We should not laugh at these crude drawings, nor try to make them better. They express her ideas in her way, and that is enough. On the other hand, we should encourage her to try other pictures for other stories till she learns herself to distrust her drawings, or finds a way to express herself so that others may understand what she thinks and feels.

Pictures mean something, always. In the first place they show to him who can read them what some one else has thought and felt. If they are meant to illustrate something in literature, they may fail because the artist has not caught the spirit of what he is trying to depict, or because he lacks in execution. On our side, they may fail because we cannot interpret his work, either from lack of understanding or from the dullness of our sensibilities. Again, we may object to the artist’s interpretation of the literature, and his pictures may merely excite our opposition. Usually, however, we see through the artist’s eyes from a new point of view, so that, even if we do not altogether approve what we see, we are led to question and find for ourselves something new, pleasing and helpful.

Children are harsh critics, not only of pictures but of literature itself, and the critical spirit is a good one to cultivate, if it is not allowed to fall into captious fault-finding. On the whole, however, it is far better to point out the good things in a picture than to call attention to poor execution or poor conception. Leave criticism generally to those infrequent cases in which the artist has actually blundered because he has not read the selection closely or accurately, or has been careless in the things he ought to know. For instance, it would be absurd to show King Arthur in a modern dress suit, or to put fire-arms in the hands of the Indians who met Columbus for the first time. But such faults occur infrequently. Usually the pictures are careful studies, and give many a hint on costuming, manners and customs, as well as on the proper surroundings of the characters.

Some selections are so universal in their nature, so freely applicable to all times and places, that the artist may be allowed to delineate any people, anywhere, at any time. Nursery rhymes, so often alluded to, lend themselves to an endless variety of imaginary people and places. The old woman might be living still in her shoe and whipping her children soundly, in a twentieth-century wrapper, or clothed in skins she might send them supperless to bed in pre-historic ages. Whether Jack and Jill wore wooden shoes or patent-leather pumps we shall never really know; perhaps their little feet were encased in moccasins, or they may have been bare and ornamented with rings: what we do know is that Jack broke his crown and Jill came tumbling after.

So we will give the artists all the latitude they wish, as long as they keep the facts straight, and we will try to help the children to see what the artist saw, and so get clearer visions for themselves.

The pictures in these books are from many artists, all of whom have given an interpretation of the selection they were working upon, and have given it in such a way as to be helpful and inspiring to their youthful readers. Every time the artists have tried to get a child’s view of things and to draw so that a child will like their work. Their enthusiasm has been boundless, and their execution remarkably good. Some of their pictures are gay, some are grave, a few sad; some are highly imaginative and others very realistic. Not a few are wonderfully beautiful. Among so many designs, so many kinds, everyone will find something to admire.

Among the many, let us take a few for a brief study to show that they may be used with children to make literature clear, to give interest and keener appreciation.

The very first picture in Volume One (sub-title, Nursery Rhymes, page 1) is frankly intended as an introduction to the rhymes which follow, and is also a good illustration of many of the principles stated in this chapter.

The little boy is fond of his playthings and especially of his toy cat, but you see he is giving his chief thought just now to the rhymes and jingles which his mother is repeating, while the baby is absorbed and happy in looking at the pictures. Do you see the sewing-basket with the knitting which the mother has laid aside while she devotes an hour to play? Do the other books on the table suggest that she sets a value on good reading as an important element in the training of children even as young as these in the picture? The idea is carried out further in the decorations of the draperies around the window. You see there in simple outline characters which appear in fuller detail with the rhymes which follow in this volume. The color tones are subdued and restful, not loud and glaring, but they are so happily blended, or contrasted, that both persons and objects are clear and distinct. It tells without words the story of happy childhood.

Jack and the Beanstalk (Volume One, page 159) is a picture which will repay study. A child’s imagination reaches out more or less vaguely, though often to his satisfaction, for a visualization of the exaggerations of nature which appear in almost all fables and fairy tales. Our artist has given this subject a realistic touch, which makes Jack’s adventure seem almost possible.

Nurse helps me when I embark (Volume One page 127) is a fine picture for study. Ask questions like the following: What toys do you see in the picture? Do boys like toys which suggest adventure? Do you think he likes his small boat? Why? Did it suggest to his mind that he would call his bed a boat, and sail away in it to dreamland? Is he saying his prayer? Will the small candle give light enough? Why does it smoke? What kind of a bed is it? What is the canopy over the bed made of? Interesting questions may be asked about the poem: What is a prudent sailor? What do prudent sailors have to take on board? What is a pier? What is the pier beside which the boy finds his vessel fast?

On page 262 of Volume One is printed Wynken, Blynken, and Nod, Eugene Field’s musical lyric for little ones. The attractive picture may be looked at before the poem is read. Questions help the children more than explanations and comments, particularly where they are logically asked. The natural order is to ask about the prominent things first, and then about minor details, thus: How many children are there? Where are they? What does their boat look like? What is the child nearest the toe of the shoes doing? Where are the other two standing? What have they in their hands? What are they doing with the net? Are they catching any fish? Where is the moon? What can you see in the moon? Is the face laughing? Now let us read the poem, and when we have done so, let us see what lines in particular the artist was thinking about. Who are the three children? “Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.” What did they do? “Sailed off in a wooden shoe ... into a sea of dew.” What did the moon say? “‘Where are you going and what do you wish?’” What did the children answer? “‘We have come to fish for the herring fish.’” What kind of nets have they? “Nets of silver and gold.” What did the old moon do? “The old moon laughed and sang a song.” What were the herring fish? “The herring fish were the little stars.” How long did they fish? “All night long their nets they threw.” Where did they throw their nets? “To the stars in the twinkling foam.” * * * * Were there really three little children? No. How many were there? Only one. Who, then, were Wynken and Blynken? The little child’s eyes. And who was Nod? His head. What was the wooden shoe that sailed the skies? Only a trundle-bed. What then was all this story about fishing from a wooden shoe for herring fish with nets of silver and gold? Only a wee one’s dream. How can you see the “wonderful sights that be”? By shutting our eyes while mother sings. Don’t you suppose the artist shut her eyes when she thought of the picture, and perhaps dreamed of the time when she lay in her little bed and her mother sang of the wonderful sights that be? Wasn’t that just why she made such a beautiful picture, and thought even of putting wings to the shoe, so it could sail through the sky? After such a talk as that with a little child, do you not think, dear parent, that he would come nearer to you, and while you read the poem softly and smoothly to him he would learn to like its music, and through its refining influence learn to love you a little better? When he has grown to manhood, do you not think there will come times when his heart will be touched, when he will long for the loving arms around him and the sweet mother voice to sing once more of the wonderful sights that be? There are holier things to be done for children than to feed and clothe them.

In Volume Two, on page 121 may be found the picture Shuffle-Shoon and Amber Locks. How many persons are shown in the picture? How is the old man dressed? In what is he sitting? How is the boy dressed? Where is he sitting? Can you sit comfortably that way? What does he hold in his left hand? What is the little boy doing? How many blocks are there in his building? How many blocks are on the floor? What is the old man placing on top of the blocks? What is on the wall back of the chair? Of what is the curtain made? Which is Shuffle-Shoon? Why is he called Shuffle-Shoon? Why is the boy called Amber-Locks? What is the color of amber? Do you think the old man has a kind face? How old do you suppose he is? How old is Amber-Locks? Do you like his face?

From Volume Two, page 264, Tom and The Dragon Fly: What is the first thing you notice when you look at this picture? What is the second thing? Where is Tom standing? Where is the dragon-fly? How many wings has it? How many legs can you see on the dragon-fly? Does Tom’s hair look as though he had just come from the water? What is he looking at? Does he seem to be afraid, or happy? Can you tell where the surface of the water is? Is any part of Tom in the water? Can you see sky or clouds in the picture? Does any land show?

From Volume Two, page 69, The Swallow and the Stork Came: After a picture has been examined, as has been explained, it is sometimes a good thing to study the way in which the artist has produced his effects. The effects in this picture are remarkably fine and Mr. Rudeen has accomplished his purposes very skilfully. What effect is given by the mass of white in the center of the picture? Does it help to give emphasis to the principal figures? Does the artist use his colors in proper tones and shadings? Does he succeed in making the birds seem really to fly? Do you see the face in the fir tree? How are the eyes indicated? Are the lines and patches that make the face any different from those that indicate other leaves on the tree? Why then does it look like a face? Does the face have an expression of surprise? If the branches and leaves on the left side of the tree were curved downward instead of upward, would the expression be changed? Is there any indication of feathers on the swallows? How are feathers indicated on the stork? The artist drew the original of this picture with pen and black ink. The engraver made one plate for this drawing in black, then another plate for those portions of the picture which have any shade or tone of orange, and still another for the blue tones. The green is produced by printing from the orange and the blue inks over the same surface. Facing page 82, Volume Two is the portrait of Hans Christian Andersen. This was taken from a photograph, and under a microscope it can be seen that the ink is put on in fine dots. The border was drawn with pen and ink. The original photograph of Andersen was photographed through a screen and reduced to the size you see it. The pictures in the book are printed from the metal plates which put the ink on the paper in little dots. These prints are called halftones: the pen and ink drawings in the texts are called zinc etchings. The original of the colored frontispiece of the same volume was a water-color painting by Mr. Henderson. This was reduced in size by photography and four plates were made, one showing all the black, and another all the red, a third all the blue and a fourth all the yellow in the original. Then the paper was run through the press four times, each time with the color of ink for which each plate was etched. By printing one color over another this way, the different shades were made. No better way is known for reproducing colored pictures. The border was drawn with pen and ink. The title page was drawn with pen and ink and a zinc etching made by photographic process, from which an electrotype plate was made. The end sheets are decorated by a zinc etching reduced from a large drawing made by Mr. Mitchell. The title and ornaments on the back of the books are made from strong brass dies that were engraved from drawings made by special artists. Gold leaf is laid over the section to be lettered and the dies are pressed upon it with such force as to fasten the gold upon the cover. Then the parts of the gold leaf that have not been pressed into the cover are brushed away and the design is perfect.

To learn what a picture really contains, to appreciate its purpose and merit, we should study it systematically. The following topics suggest themselves:

1. 1. The general view.
2. 2. The details.
3. 3. The center of interest.
4. 4. The purpose.
5. 5. The artists’ conception and its appropriateness.
6. 6. Elements of beauty.

As in other cases, the best way to explain a method is to apply it. Accordingly, let us study by this method the picture Down Tumbled Wheelbarrow, on page 46 of Volume One.

1. The general view. Here is a picture of a man wheeling his wife through a London street, and the breaking down of his wheelbarrow.

2. The details. The man, and his wife sitting in the wheelbarrow; the cobbled street, the sidewalk, the houses on one side of the street, the arch-way with the house above it, and the street showing through the arch-way; the man in the distance. A shop in the middle ground, with fruit and vegetables displayed outside the window. The man with the wheelbarrow is dressed in the fashion of the past, with tall hat, blue cut-a-way long-tailed coat, black breeches and blue stockings, white vest and white gloves. His neckerchief and shoes are orange color. His wife is also fashionably gowned. Her bonnet has blue and orange feathers, she has an embroidered shawl of orange color, with a blue overdress and a gray skirt; her blue parasol is in the air, dropped in the shock of the breaking of the wheelbarrow. Her arms are extended in effort to save herself. The wheel is bent under the barrow.

3. The center of interest. The center of interest of most pictures is found near the center of the picture. It is plainly so in this picture; the man with the wheelbarrow, and his bride engage our attention, while secondarily we note the rough cobbled pavement and the narrow street.

4. The purpose. The artist’s intention is to show the dramatic moment when the wheelbarrow broke, and the bride got the fall.

5. The artist’s conception and its appropriateness. In choosing the line “Down Tumbled Wheelbarrow,” the artist selected the moment which was the climax of the adventure, and in so doing he shows the shock of surprise and alarm in the attitude and expression of both bride and groom as contrasted with their very fine holiday costumes, which show how much care they had given to their preparation for their wedding journey. The artist has not overlooked the opportunity to show us a typical London street of the olden time, narrow and paved with cobble stones. The arch-way gives us the assurance that the street was very narrow, so that the wheelbarrow had to go over the rough cobbles. The conception seems appropriate and true to the story in the simple rhyme.

6. Elements of beauty. There are two main elements in this picture, which contribute to the pleasure it gives us, aside from the story it tells. In the composition of the picture, the artist has placed the main figures in the foreground and drawn them in full detail. Note the contrast of the masses of black with the open spaces of white and light shadings. The walls of the houses are indicated by few lines which are sufficient but which do not draw the eye from the center. The rough street is skillfully indicated by a few deftly drawn round cobbles, leaving the larger white space to give air and light to the central figures. The treatment of color is the second element of beauty to be noticed. Not all the picture is colored; in this class of illustration, the white spaces have the effect of giving background to the colors, and bringing out their best values.

Another profitable study can be made on the full-page illustration that appears on page 159, in Volume Five. Questions best induce interest in a picture, but the questions should be asked systematically. The following is a model on the picture named above, Geraint hears Enid singing.

1. General view. How many men are in the picture? What do they appear to be doing? What is the building at the right?

2. Details. Who is the man on horse-back? How is he dressed? What is hanging from a chain on his breast? What is he looking at? What is the expression on his face? What is the color of his horse? Have you ever seen a bridle and a harness like these in the picture? Do you think the man loved his horse and took good care of him? Who is the man standing beside the horse? How would you describe his garments? What has he in his right hand? What is its use, and what does it signify? What does the gesture with his left hand indicate? What do you think of the building on the right? Is it new or old? What seems to be growing on the walls? What does this mean? What seems to be growing up between the stones of the pavement?

3. The center of interest. Are the men talking together? If so, why are they not looking at each other? Does the attitude and expression of the man on the horse suggest an interesting topic? (Tell the story in part, and read the lines covering this episode, page 156. Is the center of interest now made clear?)

4. Purpose. What did the artist mean to do by means of this picture? Did he select an important and interesting event in the story?

5. Conception and appropriateness. Has the artist followed the text truthfully in his conception? Do you think there is a dramatic interest in this scene, which made it appropriate for illustration? Would it have been as effective without the old man in the picture? Why? Does the man on the horse show his character in his bearing? Has the artist succeeded in portraying the old man in the character described in the text? Does the picture please you? Do you think it is a success?

6. Elements of beauty. Do you like the soft, even tones of the picture, the heavy touches of the pen in the main figures and the light touches in the background? Is the day bright or gloomy? Is the effect of light on the wall, balcony and doorway pleasing? From what direction does the light come? How does the artist indicate surfaces in shadow? Does the outline of the castle through the arch add interest and beauty to the picture?

After the children have been taught to observe properly, you have in the pictures numberless interesting subjects for language exercises. A good, clear-cut description of a picture is worth reading, and to write one means thought and study. The exercise may be varied by asking the child to describe the picture before he has any knowledge of the subject and then asking him to call his imagination into play and write a story to fit the picture. Later you may read him the story the artist meant to illustrate.

Besides the color plates and halftones which are found in their proper places in the several volumes, the following pen and ink drawings are good examples of the kind of pictures that best repay study:

CHAPTER IV

Telling Stories

Proper selection is highly important, for taste and appetite for certain kinds of literature may be created long before the child can read for himself. Strong-minded, courageous little boys will love to hear of giants and ogres, and will revel in adventures that may terrify their more delicate sisters. George hates the fierce foes that Jack the Giant-Killer meets, and dreams of the time when he can overpower and slay his own ogres. Alice listens tremblingly, and when she goes to her little bed at night lies in fear and trembling, while hideous faces leer at her from out the shadowed recesses. George never wearies of our oldest poem, Beowulf, while Alice wants only Cinderella, or at most Bluebeard. It is nothing less than cruelty to fill the imaginations of sensitive children with deeds of violence and tales of sadness and woe. Yet it is no less true that some young folks are the better for their giants, their knights and their battles. On the whole, it is wiser to keep the giants, the ogres and the suffering people in the background, or to dwell upon them only when there seems a demand for them; later, lead the young imaginations into the realms of history and real life where giants are very real and ogres yet remain to be subdued. Do not tell sad or exciting stories in the evening. Keep the quiet, peaceful things for bed-time stories.

Here, then, is the great opportunity for the parent. The teacher has thirty or more children of as many different temperaments from homes as varied in culture as the children are different in appearance, and to them she must tell her story as to one. The parent has but his own little flock, whom he has known every day of their lives, and whose souls are as transparent as glass to his watchful and sympathetic eye. How certain may he feel in his selection of material, how powerful in his recital!

Perhaps, however, he may find the pleasant task an unaccustomed one, may have forgotten what he knew as a boy, and may not know where to turn for material. Here these books come to his assistance with material for every taste and suited to every occasion. In the beginning of the first volume are the nursery rhymes which children have enjoyed for ages, which are read, or far better told, to infants who rejoice in the pictures. Between the nursery rhymes and the literature that follows is quite a gap, intentionally left by the editor. There are no pretty little tales in words of one syllable for beginners to read, but there are good fables and stories to be told while the children are learning to read, and later, to be read by the young people themselves. No parent can go astray in selection if he knows his own children.

Do not be afraid to tell the story—reading it aloud will not be half so effective. Select a fable or a short story first. Read it carefully, and then shut the book and think about it. Be sure you have the plot in your mind, make the hero and the other characters seem very real to yourself, picture the scenes vividly in your mind’s eye, and you are ready to begin.

1. Use Your Own Words. Simple words, graphic, commonplace words, are the best. The older children will be just as much entertained, and the younger ones can understand better. On the other hand, do not talk down to their level; they will resent the idea and laugh at you. Keep on their level. That means that you must be sure you know your audience before you begin to talk.

2. Talk Naturally. Forget that you are telling a story for the effect it will produce. Forget yourself. Tell the story as you would tell them an incident you have just seen.

3. Look Your Children in the Eyes. Find the responsive eyes and get your inspiration from them; seek out the dull and uninterested eyes and talk to them till they brighten up and respond to your enthusiasm. Let every child know that many times you have looked him square in the face and make everyone feel you are talking straight at him.

4. Supply Many Details. Children love them; their lives are made up of little things. Don’t think you are ignoring the real story by your additions. The details you give are probably the very ones the author of the original story intended you to supply from your own imagination as you read. Under this head comes the giving of names to characters; descriptions of clothes, of facts, of feelings; the addition of new incidents.

The recital of a bare plot is not an interesting story. For instance: “A boy on his way to school found a yellowbird’s nest with four little birds in it,” is the recitation of a bare plot. Is it interesting? Would the story appeal to children? What do you think of the form following?

“John told me an interesting story this morning. As he was coming to school today he saw a little yellowbird fly from the bushes by the big tree at the corner of Mr. Brown’s yard. He parted the leaves and looked into the bush, but for quite a while he could see nothing. At last, however, he spied a pretty little nest in the fork of a limb and so low that he could look right down into it. John must have made some noise, because when he looked in he saw four little, wide-open red mouths, and that was about all. Of course, there were little half-naked bodies under the gaping mouths, but he couldn’t see them, for each little bird was shaking his head about, stretching it up higher and higher and opening his mouth wider and wider. You see, to each little bird a rustling sound meant that the mother bird had come back with a bit of tasty breakfast in her mouth. When the wee babies found that they had made a mistake they closed their mouths, drew down their heads and packed themselves away so tightly that I’m sure they can’t be cold while their mother is away.”

5. Be Intimate and Personal with Your Audience. Express your opinion now and then as your own; interrupt the story occasionally (not often enough to spoil the interest) by asking for the ideas of the children. Let them guess, sometimes, at the outcome of the story. Make them feel that they are an important part of the exercise. Sometimes they will help you wonderfully.

6. Use Direct Discourse Wherever Possible. Make your characters speak in their own words. Say, “John said, ‘I saw the nest,’” rather than, “John said that he saw the nest.”

7. Keep the Climax Out of Sight as Long as Possible. Curiosity is a large factor in interest, and if the children know “how the story is coming out” you are liable to lose their attention. However, you will find that some stories will prove such favorites to young children that they will call for the tales again and again. Occasionally small children are very particular about the way in which a story is repeated—there must be no deviations from the way in which it was first told. You may congratulate yourself on having told the story well, if the children ask for its repetition; and if they criticise your second telling you may know you did very well in your first attempt.

8. Be Enthusiastic; Be Dramatic. Throw yourself into the tale; see what you are describing; feel what your characters feel, and enjoy the story itself. Speak distinctly; use clear, sympathetic tones; speak slowly or rapidly as the action demands, and use pauses effectively. Don’t be in a hurry. See that your face expresses your feelings, that your attitudes are easy and your gestures appropriate and graceful. Act your part.

9. Do not Preach. Tell the story so the moral, if there is any, may be seen and felt without your striving to point it out.

10. Talk the Story Over Freely with Your Children. Try to get their ideas, rather than to give your own. You can tell whether you have succeeded and what your faults in narration have been.

The Fairies of the Caldon-Low

“What did you hear?”

“I heard the water-drops made and the ears of corn fill.”

“Tell me everything, Mary, for you must have seen the fairies.”

“Then take me on your knee, mother, and listen. Last night a hundred fairies danced on lively feet to the merry music of nine harpers, but the merriest thing was the sound of the fairy talk.”

“What did you hear them say?”

“I’ll tell you, but let me do it in my own way. Some rolled water down the hill and said, ‘this will turn the poor old miller’s wheel, and a busy man he will be by morning. There has been no rain since the first of May, and how the jolly old miller will laugh till the tears fill his eyes when he sees the water rise in the milldam.’ And some seized the winds and put horns to their mouths and blew sharply. ‘And there!’ said they shrilly, ‘the merry winds go from every horn to clear the damp mildew from the blind old widow’s corn. Though she has been blind for a long time she’ll be merry enough when the corn stands up stiff and strong without any mildew!’ Then some brought flax seed and flung it down, saying, ‘by sunrise this will be growing in the weaver’s field, and how the poor lame fellow will laugh when he sees his vacant field filled with blue flax flowers in a single day.’ Then a brownie with a long beard spoke, ‘I have spun all the tow and I want more. I have spun a linen sheet for Mary’s bed and an apron for her mother.’ I couldn’t help but laugh out loud, and then I was alone. On the top of Caldon-Low, the mists were cold and gray and I could see nothing but mossy stones lying about me. But as I came down I heard the jolly miller laughing and his wheel going merrily. I peeped into the widow’s cornfield and, sure enough, the golden corn was free from mildew, and at the gate of the croft stood the weaver, whose eye told the good news about his flax field. Now that’s all I heard and all I saw, so please make my bed, mother, for I’m as tired as I can be.”

Rather a pretty story, even in plain prose, is it not? It is re-written just about as it would be told to a little child for the first time, a child interested in the good fairies who do good things for the poor and the suffering. Then a little later, when the child reads for himself he can see how much better Mary Howitt tells the story in verse. Nevertheless, some children will prefer it in prose and often may ask to have other poems “told in prose.” There is no reason for refusing. Story first, poem afterward, is a good rule to follow if you want to create a taste for poetry. Sometimes just a remark, “Let us see how this sounds in poetry,” will create enough interest to enable the parent to begin reading aloud to an attentive audience. Most children will not learn to like poetry if left to their own devices. It must be read aloud to them and its beauties pointed out occasionally to create a love for so artificial a thing as metrical composition.

Parents will find in the General Index at the end of this volume not only reference to the contents of Journeys by title and author, but also a classification of subject matter, so that it will be easy to find different examples of poetry,—lyric, ballad, sonnet,—and of prose,—fiction, adventure, history, etc., offering a wide range of selection for story-telling purposes.

Little Giffin of Tennessee

There they laid his mangled body among the hundreds of others who had met with a fate as hard as his own. It was hours before the surgeons could come to him, and then so hurried were they by other calls upon them that only a hasty dressing of his poisoned wound was possible.

Some kindly visitors found him there, his fair young face flushed with the deadly fever, and begged the surgeons to do something for him.

“We can do nothing,” they said. “Our hands are full. His case is hopeless. We must help where it will do some good.”

“But may we take him with us? May we see what we can do for him? Perhaps we can find a doctor who can cure him.”

“Take him and welcome,” the surgeon replied. “But you can find no doctor who can save the dead. Little Giffin can never get well.”

But the good people lifted the broken form and carried it out from the hospital’s deadly air, into the golden sunshine and away to a clean little cot in a humble home where a good doctor treated him and a kind motherly nurse hung over him and soothed his feverish brain for many a weary hour. For days it seemed that every breath would be his last and for months his sufferings wrung the hearts of his friends.

But at last there came a day when he could sit up a little, and then for weeks he hobbled about, an almost helpless cripple with a rude crutch for his only support.

But his new friends had known that he would get well, for even during the days of burning fever and the weeks of weary recovery his heart had been filled with courage and his steel blue eye had glinted with a dauntless spirit that would not die.

The crippled right arm and mangled fingers were slow in healing and nearly useless when the wounds were closed and only ugly scars remained. In spite of all, though, he learned again to write, and you can imagine that the first letter, in its scraggly writing, began, “My Dearest Mother,” and the next, “Dear Captain.”

Mother’s answer came first and brought warmth and love to the heart of the brave little cripple who dreamed now only of home—home, which he had not dared hope to see again. But then the Captain’s letter came:

“Dear Giffin:

“Your letter reached me tonight. God bless you, my boy. I thought you were gone with the others. Of the eighty-five who made that fatal charge only you and I are now alive. They say that Johnston is hard pressed and needs every man——”

Little Giffin never finished reading the letter. He was up and ready to start away to the front, to his Captain and to Johnston.

“Johnston needs every man,” he said, as the first tears he had shed came to his brave blue eyes. “He needs every man and I’ll be some help. I’ll write to you, if I’m spared. Good bye. God bless you, kindest of friends.”

He was gone. Long his friends waited for word from Giffin, little Giffin of Tennessee. But there came only the news of a terrible battle with Johnston, where indeed every man was needed.

And little Giffin? Little Giffin never wrote.

But I’d rather have one loyal Giffin, in a nameless grave on a southern battle field, than all the cowardly men who would fawn around me if I were a king.

Now I’ll read you a little poem which tells better than I can the story of brave little Giffin of Tennessee.

The Ballad of Agincourt

It is natural that in verses written about three hundred years ago there should be found some crudities in style, some lapses in syntax, and not a few words strange to us or having a meaning somewhat different from their present significance. Among such lapses in syntax we find the slight confusion of tenses in the first stanza, caused in the poet’s mind by the necessity of making a rhyme for France, though this might have been obviated by writing “stands” for “stood” and using the present tense throughout. The necessities of rhyme troubled Drayton not a little: he must pronounce “Agincourt” as it is written to rhyme with “sort,” which, by the way, is not a perfect rhyme for “fort” in the sixth stanza, and “great” does not rhyme with “seat” nor “feat”; in the seventh, “rear,” “there” and “were” do not rhyme; other instances are easily found. Of words not now familiar, or used in an unfamiliar sense, the following are examples: We do not frequently speak of the wind “standing” in a certain direction; we do not often “advance” our sails nor “prove” our chance; “vaward” and “bilboes” are old words; “ding” in the sense used here has long been forgotten; of “archery” except as a sport we know nothing; “Spanish yew” is no longer valuable for bows, and few can tell how long a “clothyard” (the English ell, 45 inches long) is, or whether it differs from any other “yard” as a measure of length.

If the things just mentioned are defects they are of little moment and add to the quaintness of the verses without detracting from their force. Anyone who reads for inspiration and for his own betterment puts aside the critical spirit, places himself in the position of the writer, harmonizes thoughts and reads for the message without much concern for the medium. But there are force, action, rhythm, clearness and beauty in this old ballad. Let us see what we can find without carrying analysis to the point where it destroys the spirit. All we need is an understanding of the meaning of the sentences and an expressive reading aloud. The former, we can supply here, the latter the reader must contribute. Poetry must be read aloud to be appreciated by any but those who can listen to their thoughts and hear the words their eyes garner from the printed page. Such readers are few.

Here is the paraphrase that makes the meaning clear.

With a wind blowing straight for France the English soldiery spread their sails to try one more campaign against their ancient enemies. Crossing the open sea they landed at the mouth of the Seine river, following King Henry and his noble courtiers.

There was fighting all the way, and many a strongly garrisoned fort was taken, to the joy of all the English. Every day had its skirmish with the French, who stoutly defended the way to Agincourt where lay their commander with all his great army of fifty thousand men. Here the Frenchman sent to King Henry the sarcastic message: “You are going to your doom. Better get your ransom ready before you advance further.” To this insult the English king made no answer, but an angry smile that foreshadowed the fall of his vile opponents flashed from his eyes.

Turning to his men, however, the brave king spoke: “Don’t be alarmed if they do outnumber us ten to one. We have begun nobly. Battles so bravely won as these we have fought, have always been lauded to the skies. Your fame shall never die. And as for myself, this is my task. I shall not ask England to mourn for me nor to praise me. If I am not victor here, or if I am slain, never shall she be asked for one penny to redeem me. From the great battles of Poitiers and Cressy we learn that when the French were the most swollen with pride they fell beneath our swords. Our skill is none the less than that of those who fought under our great grandsire when he defeated the French and cut their national emblems to the ground.”

What a battle array it was! The vanguard was led by the dread Duke of York; the king himself in the midst of his brave guards sped in the center with the main body of the troops, while the valiant rearguard was captained by Excester, courageous as any man in the great army.

And now the fight begins! Armour on armour shines; drum now to drum does groan,—to hear is wonder; that, with the cries they make, shakes the very earth; trumpet to trumpet speaks, thunder to thunder.

From the ambuscade of our hidden forces the noble Erpingham gives the signal for the English archers to fire. Now like a storm the cloth-yard-long arrows sped by the strong bows of Spanish yew strike the French horses, stinging them like serpents through the withers. Every bowman stands to his place, not one deserting; every true English heart rejoices in the slaughter.

Down go the bows when the arrows are shot, out spring the great swords, as the English fly on the French, not one laggard in the company; straight from their shoulders spring the blows that cleave the heads of the French peasants and drop them in the dust of trampling feet.

Meantime the noble king, brandishing his broad-sword, dashes along the French line as though to overwhelm it with his mighty blows, while many a wound sheds blood on his arms and many a cruel dint sinks into his helmet.

The good duke Glo’ster, next of the royal blood, fights side by side with his brave brother, and the youthful Clarence in this almost the first of his battles fights as furiously as any experienced knight; Warwick wades in blood, and Oxford adds to the cruel slaughter of the foe. Suffolk plies his axe manfully while Beaumont, Willoughby, Ferrers and Fanhope, names for the English to conjure with, bear themselves as bravely.