Suddenly something tugged at my line and swept off with it into deep water. Jerking it up, I saw a fine pickerel. "Uncle," I cried, "I've got a fish!" "Not yet," said my uncle. As he spoke there was a splash in the water. I had lost my prize. -JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER: The Fish I Didn't Catch [abridged]. 21 DEAR LITTLE MARIE: COPENHAGEN, June 14, 1850. I am in the country now as you are. It is so nice, and I have had some strawberries — large, red strawberries with cream. Have you had any? Yesterday I went down to the sea and sat on a rock by the shore. Presently a large white bird that they call a gull came flying along. It flew toward me, so that I fancied it would have slapped me with its wings; but, mercy on us, it said, "Mamaree!" "Why, what's the matter?" I asked. "Mama-ree!" it said again, and then of course I understood that "Ma-ma-ree" meant Marie. "Oh," said I, "then you bring me a greeting from Marie, that's what it is, eh?" "Ya-ya! Ma-ma-ree," it said. It couldn't say it any better than that, for it only knew the gull language, and that is not very much like ours. "Thanks for the greeting," said I, and off flew the gull. After that, as I was walking in the garden, a little sparrow came flying up. "I suppose you now have flown a long way?" said I. "Vit, vit" (far, far), it said. "Did you see Marie?" I asked. "Tit, tit, tit" (often, often, often), it said. "Then give my greeting to Marie, for I suppose you are going back," I said. "Lit, lit" (a little, little), it replied. If it has not come yet, it will come later on, but first I'll send you this letter. You may feed the little bird, if you like, but you must not squeeze it. Now greet all good people, all sensible beasts, and all the pretty flowers that wither before I see them. Isn't it nice to be in the country, to paddle in the water, to eat lots of nice things, and to get a letter from Your sweetheart, HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. Imagine you are Marie and answer this letter. A hurry of hoofs in a village street, A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet: That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light, - HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW: Paul Revere's Ride. NOTE: Read the Preface and the Suggestions to Teachers. Describe the last spelling match in your schoolroom, using from memory not fewer than six of the words above. Still sits the school-house by the road, A ragged beggar sunning: And blackberry vines are running. -JOHN GREEN LEAF WHITTIER: In School-Days. filled; for let us go away ever so full, we always come back 66 Dear me ! How to look at it in that way," said the other Add ed, ing, and er to the words in the last column. |