Elson Grammer School Literature, Book Four.

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Sometimes a distant sail, gliding along the edge of the ocean, would be
another theme of idle speculation. How interesting this fragment of a
world, hastening to rejoin the great mass of existence! What a glorious
monument of human invention; which has in a manner triumphed over wind and
wave; has brought the ends of the world into communion; has established an
interchange of blessings, pouring into the sterile regions of the north all
the luxuries of the south; has diffused the light of knowledge and the
charities of cultivated life; and has thus bound together those scattered
portions of the human race, between which nature seemed to have thrown an
insurmountable barrier.

We one day descried some shapeless object drifting at a distance. At sea,
everything that breaks the monotony of the surrounding expanse attracts
attention. It proved to be the mast of a ship that must have been
completely wrecked; for there were the remains of handkerchiefs, by which
some of the crew had fastened themselves to this spar, to prevent their
being washed off by the waves. There was no trace by which the name of the
ship could be ascertained. The wreck had evidently drifted about for many
months; clusters of shell-fish had fastened about it, and long sea-weeds
flaunted at its sides! But where, thought I, is the crew? Their struggle
has long been over--they have gone down amidst the roar of the
tempest--their bones lie whitening among the caverns of the deep. Silence,
oblivion, like the waves, have closed over them, and no one can tell the
story of their end. What sighs have been wafted after that ship! what
prayers offered up at the deserted fireside of home! How often has the
mistress, the wife, the mother, pored over the daily news, to catch some
casual intelligence of this rover of the deep! How has expectation darkened
into anxiety--anxiety into dread--and dread into despair! Alas! not one
memento may ever return for love to cherish. All that may ever be known,
is, that she sailed from her port, "and was never heard of more!"

The sight of this wreck, as usual, gave rise to many dismal anecdotes. This
was particularly the case in the evening, when the weather, which had
hitherto been fair, began to look wild and threatening, and gave
indications of one of those sudden storms which will sometimes break in
upon the serenity of a summer voyage. As we sat round the dull light of a
lamp in the cabin, that made the gloom more ghastly, every one had his tale
of shipwreck and disaster. I was particularly struck with a short one
related by the captain.

"As I was once sailing," said he, "in a fine stout ship across the banks of
Newfoundland, one of those heavy fogs which prevail in those parts rendered
it impossible for us to see far ahead even in the daytime; but at night the
weather was so thick that we could not distinguish any object at twice the
length of the ship. I kept lights at the mast-head, and a constant watch
forward to look out for fishing smacks, which are accustomed to lie at
anchor on the banks. The wind was blowing a smacking breeze, and we were
going at a great fate through the water. Suddenly the watch gave the alarm
of 'a sail ahead!'--it was scarcely uttered before we were upon her. She
was a small schooner, at anchor, with her broadside towards us. The crew
were all asleep, and had neglected to hoist a light. We struck her just
amidships. The force, the size, the weight of our vessel bore her down
below the waves; we passed over her and were hurried on our course. As the
crashing wreck was sinking beneath us, I had a glimpse of two or three
half-naked wretches rushing from her cabin; they just started from their
beds to be swallowed shrieking by the waves. I heard their drowning cry
mingling with the wind. The blast that bore it to our ears swept us out of
all farther hearing. I shall never forget that cry! It was some time before
we could put the ship about, she was under such headway. We returned, as
nearly as we could guess, to the place where the smack had anchored. We
cruised about for several hours in the dense fog. We fired signal guns, and
listened if we might hear the halloo of any survivors: but all was
silent--we never saw or heard anything of them more."

I confess these stories, for a time, put an end to all my fine fancies. The
storm increased with the night. The sea was lashed into tremendous
confusion. There was a fearful, sullen sound of rushing waves, and broken
surges. Deep called unto deep. At times the black column of clouds overhead
seemed rent asunder by flashes of lightning which quivered along the
foaming billows, and made the succeeding darkness doubly terrible. The
thunders bellowed over the wild waste of waters, and were echoed and
prolonged by the mountain waves. As I saw the ship staggering and plunging
among these roaring caverns, it seemed miraculous that she regained her
balance, or preserved her buoyancy. Her yards would dip into the water: her
bow was almost buried beneath the waves. Sometimes an impending surge
appeared ready to overwhelm her, and nothing but a dexterous movement of
the helm preserved her from the shock.

When I retired to my cabin, the awful scene still followed me. The
whistling of the wind through the rigging sounded like funereal wailings.
The creaking of the masts, the straining and groaning of bulk-heads, as the
ship labored in the weltering sea, were frightful. As I heard the waves
rushing along the sides of the ship, and roaring in my very ear, it seemed
as if Death were raging round this floating prison, seeking for his prey:
the mere starting of a nail, the yawning of a seam, might give him
entrance.

A fine day, however, with a tranquil sea and favoring breeze, soon put all
these dismal reflections to flight. It is impossible to resist the
gladdening influence of fine weather and fair wind at sea. When the ship is
decked out in all her canvas, every sail swelled, and careering gayly over
the curling waves, how lofty, how gallant she appears--how she seems to
lord it over the deep!

I might fill a volume with the reveries of a sea voyage, for with me it is
almost a continual reverie--but it is time to get to shore.

It was a fine sunny morning when the thrilling cry of "land!" was given
from the mast-head. None but those who have experienced it can form an idea
of the delicious throng of sensations which rush into an American's bosom,
when he first comes in sight of Europe. There is a volume of associations
with the very name. It is the land of promise, teeming with every thing of
which his childhood has heard, or on which his studious years have
pondered.

From that time until the moment of arrival, it was all feverish excitement.
The ships of war, that prowled like guardian giants along the coast; the
headlands of Ireland, stretching out into the channel; the Welsh mountains,
towering into the clouds; all were objects of intense interest. As we
sailed up the Mersey I reconnoitred the shores with a telescope. My eye
dwelt with delight on neat cottages, with their trim shrubberies and green
grass plots. I saw the mouldering ruin of an abbey overrun with ivy, and
the taper spire of a village church rising from the brow of a neighboring
hill--all were characteristic of England.

The tide and wind were so favorable that the ship was enabled to come at
once to the pier. It was thronged with people; some, idle lookers-on,
others, eager expectants of friends or relatives. I could distinguish the
merchant to whom the ship was consigned. I knew him by his calculating brow
and restless air. His hands were thrust into his pockets; he was whistling
thoughtfully, and walking to and fro, a small space having been accorded
him by the crowd, in deference to his temporary importance. There were
repeated cheerings and salutations interchanged between the shore and the
ship, as friends happened to recognize each other. I particularly noticed
one young woman of humble dress, but interesting demeanor. She was leaning
forward from among the crowd; her eye hurried over the ship as it neared
the shore, to catch some wished-for countenance. She seemed disappointed
and agitated; when I heard a faint voice call her name. It was from a poor
sailor who had been ill all the voyage, and had excited the sympathy of
every one on board. When the weather was fine, his messmates had spread a
mattress for him on deck in the shade, but of late his illness had so
increased that he had taken to his hammock, and only breathed a wish that
he might see his wife before he died. He had been helped on deck as we came
up the river, and was now leaning against the shrouds, with a countenance
so wasted, so pale, so ghastly, that it was no wonder even the eye of
affection did not recognize him. But at the sound of his voice, her eye
darted on his features; it read, at once, a whole volume of sorrow; she
clasped her hands, uttered a faint shriek, and stood wringing them in
silent agony.

All now was hurry and bustle. The meetings of acquaintances--the greetings
of friends--the consultations of men of business. I alone was solitary and
idle. I had no friend to meet, no cheering to receive. I stepped upon the
land of my forefathers--but felt that I was a stranger in the land.

HELPS TO STUDY.

Notes and Questions.

Why did the author realize so clearly the extent of the journey he had
undertaken?

How many days do you think Irving was on the ocean?

What change has taken place in the method of ocean travel since he made
this voyage?

Find words and lines which tell you the kind of vessel in which he crossed
the ocean.

Had Irving greater opportunity for observing "the monsters of the deep"
than is afforded people crossing the ocean at the present day? Why do you
think so?

What does Irving say is a "glorious monument of human invention"?

Name some inventions which seem to you more worthy of this designation.

Find the paragraph which describes the mast of a ship that was wrecked.

How does this description compare with his description of the "monsters of
the deep"?

Which description in this selection do you like best? Why?

What do you think of Irving's powers of description?

What does this sketch tell you of Irving's own character?

Words and Phrases for Discussion.

"undulating billows"
"idle speculation"
"reconnoitred"
"delicious sensation"
"dread"
"abbey"
"wild phantasms"
"despair"
"anxiety"
"monument of human invention"
"prowled like guardian giants"
"light of knowledge"
"insurmountable barrier"
"dismal anecdotes"

* * * * *

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE

The ancestors of Hawthorne, unlike those of most of the New England
writers, were not of the clergy, but were seamen, soldiers, and
magistrates. Concerning one of these, a judge who dealt harshly with the
Salem witches, Hawthorne writes: "I take shame upon myself for their sakes
and yet strong traits of their nature have intertwined themselves with
mine." Hawthorne was born in Salem, Massachusetts, July 4, 1804, and when
only four years old lost his father, a sea captain.

The happiest years of his boyhood were spent at his uncle's home in the
forests of Maine. Here he loved to wander through the woods, afterwards
recording carefully his observations. His early education was rather
irregular; however, for a time he had for schoolmaster, Worcester, the
author of the dictionary. At Bowdoin college his studies were largely
literary. His life at college is chiefly remarkable for the friendships
formed there. Both Franklin Pierce, who later became president of the
United States, and Longfellow, the poet, were members of his class.

After graduation in 1825, while Longfellow was traveling in many lands and
yielding himself to the charm of mediaeval history and legend, Hawthorne
drifted into a strange mode of life, virtually disappearing from the world
for a dozen years and living in actual solitude. "I have made a captive of
myself," he wrote to Longfellow, "and put me into a dungeon; and now I
cannot find the key to let myself out." But the key was found. The
appreciation of Elizabeth and Sophia Peabody and the deep affection for the
latter acted as a spur to get him into active life. At thirty-eight he
married Sophia Peabody and took up courageously enough a life of poverty
and hard literary work at Concord in the Old Manse, which had formerly been
Emerson's home. There he came to know and value the friendship of Emerson,
who we may well believe was the inspiration of the allegory of the Great
Stone Face.

In curious contradiction with his natural love for solitude, Hawthorne
became interested in the experiment of communal life and spent the year
before his marriage at Brook Farm, where a number of literary men tried to
live simply and happily by combining intellectual and manual work.

During the years of his solitude he wrote incessantly and composed many of
those sketches of the fancy which won for him his peculiar place in
literature. Many of these sketches appeared in the collection "Twice Told
Tales." For children he has written the little stories and biographies of
"Grandfather's Chair" and the story of Greek and Roman Myths in his
"Wonder-Book" and "Tanglewood Tales." Sin and the effect of guilt upon
human conduct are the problems in his great romances.

Many of our literary men have held public positions, sometimes to help out
the meager financial returns of literary work, but more often because they
would bring honor to these positions. Hawthorne successively filled the
offices of weigher and gauger in the Boston Custom House, collector of
customs at Salem, and American consul at Liverpool, having been appointed
as consul by his old friend President Pierce. After four years' residence
in England he resigned his consulship and spent several years in travel on
the continent, spending two winters in Rome. Here he conceived his "Marble
Faun," which, though given an Italian setting, embodies the same problem of
conscience that we find in his earlier "Scarlet Letter."

In June, 1860, he returned to America. He was deeply agitated by the Civil
War, the more so because his sympathies were not entirely with his Northern
friends. In May, 1864, his old friend General Pierce suggested that they
make a journey to the scenes of their college days. On their way they
stopped at Plymouth, New Hampshire, and there, early on the morning of the
nineteenth, he passed quietly away.

* * * * *

THE GREAT STONE FACE

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE

One afternoon, when the sun was going down, a mother and her little boy sat
at the door of their cottage, talking about the Great Stone Face. They had
but to lift their eyes, and there it was plainly to be seen, though miles
away, with the sunshine brightening all its features.

And what was the Great Stone Face?

Embosomed amongst a family of lofty mountains, there was a valley so
spacious that it contained many thousand inhabitants. Some of these good
people dwelt in log-huts, with the black forest all around them, on the
steep and difficult hillsides. Others had their homes in comfortable
farm-houses, and cultivated the rich soil on the gentle slopes or level
surfaces of the valley. Others, again, were congregated into populous
villages, where some wild, highland rivulet, tumbling down from its
birthplace in the upper mountain region, had been caught and tamed by human
cunning, and compelled to turn the machinery of cotton-factories. The
inhabitants of this valley, in short, were numerous, and of many modes of
life. But all of them, grown people and children, had a kind of familiarity
with the Great Stone Face, although some possessed the gift of
distinguishing this grand natural phenomenon more perfectly than many of
their neighbors.

The Great Stone Face, then, was a work of Nature in her mood of majestic
playfulness, formed on the perpendicular side of a mountain by some immense
rocks, which had been thrown together in such a position as, when viewed at
a proper distance, precisely to resemble the features of the human
countenance. It seemed as if an enormous giant, or a Titan, had sculptured
his own likeness on the precipice. There was the broad arch of the
forehead, a hundred feet in height; the nose, with its long bridge; and the
vast lips, which, if they could have spoken, would have rolled their
thunder accents from one end of the valley to the other. True it is, that
if the spectator approached too near, he lost the outline of the gigantic
visage, and could discern only a heap of ponderous and gigantic rocks,
piled in chaotic ruin one upon another. Retracing his steps, however, the
wondrous features would again be seen; and the farther he withdrew from
them, the more like a human face, with all its original divinity intact,
did they appear; until, as it grew dim in the distance, with the clouds and
glorified vapor of the mountains clustering about it, the Great Stone Face
seemed positively to be alive.

It was a happy lot for children to grow up to manhood or womanhood with the
Great Stone Face before their eyes, for all the features were noble, and
the expression was at once grand and sweet, as if it were the glow of a
vast, warm heart, that embraced all mankind in its affections, and had room
for more. It was an education only to look at it. According to the belief
of many people, the valley owed much of its fertility to this benign aspect
that was continually beaming over it, illuminating the clouds, and infusing
its tenderness into the sunshine.

As we began with saying, a mother and her little boy sat at their
cottage-door, gazing at the Great Stone Face, and talking about it. The
child's name was Ernest.

"Mother," said he, while the Titanic visage smiled on him, "I wish that it
could speak, for it looks so very kindly that its voice must needs be
pleasant. If I were to see a man with such a face, I should love him
dearly."

"If an old prophecy should come to pass," answered his mother, "we may see
a man, some time or other, with exactly such a face as that."

"What prophecy do you mean, dear mother?" eagerly inquired Ernest. "Pray
tell me all about it!"

So his mother told him a story that her own mother had told to her, when
she herself was younger than little Ernest; a story, not of things that
were past, but of what was yet to come; a story, nevertheless, so very old,
that even the Indians, who formerly inhabited this valley, had heard it
from their forefathers, to whom, as they affirmed, it had been murmured by
the mountain streams, and whispered by the wind among the tree-tops. The
purport was, that, at some future day, a child should be born hereabouts,
who was destined to become the greatest and noblest personage of his time,
and whose countenance, in manhood, should bear an exact resemblance to the
Great Stone Face. Not a few old-fashioned people, and young ones likewise,
in the ardor of their hopes, still cherished an enduring faith in this old
prophecy. But others, who had seen more of the world, had watched and
waited till they were weary, and had beheld no man with such a face, nor
any man that proved to be much greater or nobler than his neighbors,
concluded it to be nothing but an idle tale. At all events, the great man
of the prophecy had not yet appeared.

"O mother, dear mother!" cried Ernest, clapping his hands above his head,
"I do hope that I shall live to see him!"

His mother was an affectionate and thoughtful woman, and felt that it was
wisest not to discourage the generous hopes of her little boy. So she only
said to him, "Perhaps you may."

And Ernest never forgot the story that his mother told him. It was always
in his mind, whenever he looked upon the Great Stone Face. He spent his
childhood in the log-cottage where he was born, and was dutiful to his
mother, and helpful to her in many things, assisting her much with his
little hands, and more with his loving heart. In this manner, from a happy
yet often pensive child, he grew up to be a mild, quiet, unobtrusive boy,
and sun-browned with labor in the fields, but with more intelligence
brightening his aspect than is seen in many lads who have been taught at
famous schools. Yet Ernest had had no teacher, save only that the Great
Stone Face became one to him. When the toil of the day was over, he would
gaze at it for hours, until he began to imagine that those vast features
recognized him, and gave him a smile of kindness and encouragement,
responsive to his own look of veneration. We must not take upon us to
affirm that this was a mistake, although the Face may have looked no more
kindly at Ernest than at all the world besides. But the secret was that the
boy's tender and confiding simplicity discerned what other people could not
see; and thus the love, which was meant for all, became his peculiar
portion.

About this time there went a rumor throughout the valley, that the great
man, foretold from ages long ago, who was to bear a resemblance to the
Great Stone Face, had appeared at last. It seems that, many years before, a
young man had migrated from the valley and settled at a distant seaport,
where, after getting together a little money, he had set up as a
shopkeeper. His name--but I could never learn whether it was his real one,
or a nickname that had grown out of his habits and success in life--was
Gathergold. Being shrewd and active, and endowed by Providence with that
inscrutable faculty which develops itself in what the world calls luck, he
became an exceedingly rich merchant, and owner of a whole fleet of
bulky-bottomed ships. All the countries of the globe appeared to join hands
for the mere purpose of adding heap after heap to the mountainous
accumulation of this one man's wealth. The cold regions of the north,
almost within the gloom and shadow of the Arctic Circle, sent him their
tribute in the shape of furs; hot Africa sifted for him the golden sands of
her rivers, and gathered up the ivory tusks of her great elephants out of
the forests; the East came bringing him the rich shawls, and spices, and
teas, and the effulgence of diamonds, and the gleaming purity of large
pearls. The ocean, not to be behindhand with the earth, yielded up her
mighty whales, that Mr. Gathergold might sell their oil, and make a profit
on it. Be the original commodity what it might, it was gold within his
grasp. It might be said of him, as of Midas in the fable, that whatever he
touched with his finger immediately glistened, and grew yellow, and was
changed at once into sterling metal, or, which suited him still better,
into piles of coin. And, when Mr. Gathergold had become so very rich that
it would have taken him a hundred years only to count his wealth, he
bethought himself of his native valley, and resolved to go back thither,
and end his days where he was born. With this purpose in view, he sent a
skilful architect to build him such a palace as should be fit for a man of
his vast wealth to live in.

As I have said above, it had already been rumored in the valley that Mr.
Gathergold had turned out to be the prophetic personage so long and vainly
looked for, and that his visage was the perfect and undeniable similitude
of the Great Stone Face. People were the more ready to believe that this
must needs be the fact, when they beheld the splendid edifice that rose, as
if by enchantment, on the site of his father's old weather-beaten
farm-house. The exterior was of marble, so dazzlingly white that it seemed
as though the whole structure might melt away in the sunshine, like those
humbler ones which Mr. Gathergold, in his young play-days, before his
fingers were gifted with the touch of transmutation, had been accustomed to
build of snow. It had a richly ornamented portico, supported by tall
pillars, beneath which was a lofty door, studded with silver knobs, and
made of a kind of variegated wood that had been brought from beyond the
sea. The windows, from the floor to the ceiling of each stately apartment,
were composed, respectively, of but one enormous pane of glass, so
transparently pure that it was said to be a finer medium than even the
vacant atmosphere. Hardly anybody had been permitted to see the interior of
this palace; but it was reported, and with good semblance of truth, to be
far more gorgeous than the outside, insomuch that whatever was iron or
brass in other houses was silver or gold in this; and Mr. Gathergold's
bedchamber, especially, made such a glittering appearance that no ordinary
man would have been able to close his eyes there. But, on the other hand,
Mr. Gathergold was now so inured to wealth, that perhaps he could not have
closed his eyes unless where the gleam of it was certain to find its way
beneath his eyelids.

In due time, the mansion was finished; next came the upholsterers, with
magnificent furniture; then, a whole troop of black and white servants, the
harbingers of Mr. Gathergold, who, in his own majestic person, was expected
to arrive at sunset. Our friend Ernest, meanwhile, had been deeply stirred
by the idea that the great man, the noble man, the man of prophecy, after
so many ages of delay, was at length to be made manifest to his native
valley. He knew, boy as he was, that there were a thousand ways in which
Mr. Gathergold, with his vast wealth, might transform himself into an angel
of beneficence, and assume a control over human affairs as wide and
benignant as the smile of the Great Stone Face. Full of faith and hope,
Ernest doubted not that what the people said was true, and that now he was
to behold the living likeness of those wondrous features on the
mountain-side. While the boy was still gazing up the valley, and fancying,
as he always did, that the Great Stone Face returned his gaze and looked
kindly at him, the rumbling of wheels was heard, approaching swiftly along
the winding road.

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