Longfellow was very kind to young men and young women who wanted to become writers, but did not know how to begin. Sometimes they brought him very poor work for criticism. He was patient with them all, and always sent them away encouraged and happy. Some people have criticised this kind-heartedness, saying that he should not have encouraged the young writers when there was no real worth in what they had written, but should have told them at once that the poems or stories were poor, and that they could not expect to write such things well without more practice. But Longfellow was too gentle and kindly to deal with them in that way. When the poet's seventy-fifth birthday came, the school-children of Cambridge had a great celebration. A short time before, the "spreading chestnut tree," about which he wrote in "The Village Blacksmith," had been cut down. Longfellow had tried to prevent its destruction, but all in vain; the old tree fell. The suggestion was made that the school-children should raise money by small subscriptions to pay for making a great arm-chair for the poet's study out of this chestnut wood. The money was raised, the chair built, and presented to him. The gift gave him great pleasure. He afterward gave orders that no child who wished to see the chair should ever be turned away. So the tramp of little feet, perhaps in muddy shoes, came and went through the house for a long time after, to the despair of the house-maids. Many of Longfellow's poems are as popular among the boys and girls as among the grown people, for they are often very simple and easy to understand. Their simplicity and beauty have brought him a world-wide fame. His poems have been translated into more different languages than those of any other American poet. He has been called "the universal poet," for he seems to be the poet of all countries, and all ages and classes of people. Longfellow lived to a green and sunny old age, seeing grandchildren growing up about him, and his books constantly increasing in fame and popularity. He died on March 24, 1882, universally beloved and mourned. stu'di ous, fond of study. a city in Germany. soph'o more, one belonging to the second of the four classes in college. tra di'tions, the unwritten stories and beliefs of any people, which are handed down from father to son. Manabozho, pronounced Ma nab'o zho. pop u lar'i ty, favor among a large number of people. aut'o graph, a person's name written in his own hand. Fin'land ers. Finland is a part of the Russian empire, lying northwest u ni ver'sal, belonging to all places of Russia proper, in Europe. and all people. THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON was born in Cambridge, Mass., on December 22, 1823. He has written history and biography, as well as many stories and poems. He was the friend of Longfellow, Whittier, Lowell, Emerson, and Hawthorne, about all of whom he has written especially for this series of Readers. THE BUILDING OF THE CANOE HENRY W. LONGFELLOW "GIVE me of your bark, O Birch-Tree! Of your yellow bark, O Birch-Tree! Growing by the rushing river, Tall and stately in the valley! I a light canoe will build me, Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing, That shall float upon the river, Like a yellow leaf in autumn, Like a yellow water-lily! "Lay aside your cloak, O Birch-Tree! Lay aside your white-skin wrapper, For the Summer-time is coming, And the sun is warm in heaven, And you need no white-skin wrapper! Thus aloud cried Hiawatha In the solitary forest, By the rushing Taquamenaw, When the birds were singing gayly, And the tree with all its branches Saying, with a sigh of patience, "Give me of your boughs, O Cedar! Make more strong and firm beneath me!" Through the summit of the Cedar Down he hewed the boughs of cedar, Shaped them straightway to a framework, Like two bows he formed and shaped them, Like two bended bows together. "Give me of your roots, O Tamarack! Of your fibrous roots, O Larch-Tree! My canoe to bind together, So to bind the ends together That the water may not enter, And the Larch, with all its fibres, From the earth he tore the fibres, "Give me of your balm, O Fir-Tree! Of your balsam and your resin, So to close the seams together That the water may not enter, And the Fir Tree, tall and sombre, And he took the tears of balsam, Took the resin of the Fir Tree, Smeared therewith each seam and fissure, Made each crevice safe from water. "Give me of your quills, O Hedgehog! All your quills, O Kagh, the Hedgehog! |