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THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS

(Many boys and girls think that poetry deals almost solely with unusual things and events, such as deeds of love and daring. While poetry does deal with heroism and romance, it deals also with things that seem very commonplace to most people. A blacksmith at work in his shop seems a very ordinary sight. Longfellow passes by, and the sight moves him to write a beautiful poem. A broken seashell is of slight interest to most people. But Oliver Wendell Holmes views it, and then writes a poem which Whittier declared is "booked for immortality." Thus we see that poetry is quite as much in the mind and heart of the observer, as it is in the thing or deed itself.

To understand this wonderful poem, which was Holmes's favorite among his own writings, study the drawing of a nautilus in Webster's New International Dictionary. It will be seen that as this peculiar shellfish grows, it builds one chamber after another, each a little larger than the last. When the nautilus, moves into a new chamber, it builds a wall across the opening into the smaller chamber, thereby sealing it. The shell of the nautilus is rough on the outside, but very pearly and beautifully colored on the inside.

Now read the poem to learn what the dead nautilus in its broken shell spoke to the heart of the poet.)

HIS is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,

ΤΗ

Sails the unshadowed main,

The venturous bark that flings

On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings

In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings,

And coral reefs lie bare,

Where the cold sea maids rise to sun their streaming hair.

Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl;
Wrecked is the ship of pearl!

And every chambered cell,

Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,
Before thee lies revealed,—

Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed!

Year after year beheld the silent toil

That spread his lustrous coil;

Still, as the spiral grew,

He left the past year's dwelling for the new
Stole with soft step its shining archway through,

Built up its idle door,

Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.

Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,

Child of the wandering sea,

Cast from her lap, forlorn!

From thy dead lips a clearer note is born
Than even Triton* blew from wreathéd horn!

While on my ear it rings,

Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,

As the swift seasons roll!

Leave thy low-vaulted past!

Let each new temple, nobler than the last,
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,

Till thou at length art free,

Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!

-Oliver Wendell Holmes

Questions: Why does the poet call the nautilus a ship of pearl with purpled wings? (It was a poetic fancy that this shellfish could spread on its tentacles a sail of "living gauze," which led to its name; for nautilus means a ship.) Do you recall the story of the Sirens in Kingsley's The Argonauts? What is the poet showing you in the second stanza? Explain the last line of this stanza. Why "idle door" in the third stanza? Who was Triton? (He was the trumpeter of Neptune, the god of the sea. The old Greeks believed that the roaring of the sea was Triton blowing his conch-shell horn.) What direct relation has the entire last stanza to the first line of the fourth stanza? Is this truly "a heavenly message"? Put this message into one simple sentence of your own. Memorize the last stanza-it is one of the finest gems in the English language.

THE BELL OF LIBERTY

(Perhaps no other scenes in our history have proved more interesting than the signing of the Declaration of Independence, and the ringing of the Liberty Bell as a signal to the people that a new nation had been born, and that a new flag would float upon the breeze. These scenes have inspired the historian, the poet, and the artist to their best efforts.)

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HE representatives of the people assembled in solemn conclave, and long and anxiously surveyed the perilous ground on which they were treading. To recede was now impossible; to go on seemed fraught with terrible consequences. The result of the long and fearful conflict that must follow was more than doubtful. For twenty days Congress was tossed on a sea of perplexity.

At length, Richard Henry Lee, shaking off the fetters that galled his noble spirit, arose on the seventh of June, and in a clear, deliberate tone, every accent of which rang to the farthest extremity of the silent hall, proposed the following resolution: "Resolved, That these United Colonies are, and ought to be, free and independent States, and all political connection between us and the State of Great Britain is, and ought to be, totally dissolved. "

John Adams, in whose soul glowed the burning future, seconded the resolution in a speech so full of impassioned fervor, thrilling eloquence, and prophetic power that Congress was carried away before it, as by a resistless wave.

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die was cast, and every man was now compelled to meet the issue. The resolution was finally deferred° till the first of July, to allow a committee, appointed for that purpose, to draft a Declaration of Independence.

When the day arrived, the Declaration was taken up and debated, article by article. The discussion continued for three days, and was characterized by great excitement. At length, the various sections having been gone through with, the next day, July fourth, was appointed for action.

It was soon known throughout the city; and in the morning, before Congress assembled, the streets were filled with excited men, some gathered in groups, engaged in eager discussion, and others moving toward the State House. All business was forgotten in the momentous crisis which the country had now reached.

No sooner had the members taken their seats than the multitude gathered in a. dense mass around the entrance. The bellman mounted to the belfry, to be ready to proclaim the joyful tidings of freedom as soon as the final vote was passed. A bright-eyed boy was stationed below to give the signal. Around the bell, brought from England, had been cast more than twenty years before the prophetic motto:

"PROCLAIM LIBERTY THROUGHOUT ALL THE LAND
UNTO ALL THE INHABITANTS THEREOF."

Although its loud clang had often sounded over the city, the proclamation engraved on its iron lip had never yet been spoken aloud.

It was expected that the final vote would be taken without delay; but hour after hour wore on, and no report came from that mysterious hall where the fate of a continent was in suspense. The multitude grew impatient; the old man leaned over the railing, straining his eyes downward, till his heart misgave him and hope yielded to fear.

But at length, at about two o'clock, the door of the hall opened, and a voice exclaimed, "It has passed." The word leapt like lightning from lip to lip, followed by huzzas that shook the building. The boy-sentinel turned to the belfry, clapped his hands, and shouted, "Ring! ring!"

The desponding° bellman, electrified into life by the joyful news, seized the iron tongue, and hurled it backward and forward with a clang that startled every heart in Philadelphia like a bugle blast. "Clang! clang!" the bell of Liberty resounded on, higher and clearer, and more joyous, blending

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