Childrens Literary Digest

Stories, poems, nature studies and other delights of childhood

Volume 1: Wings
About birds, their ways, and making friends with them

Childrens Literary Digest Page 2

Childrens Literary Digest

Volume 1: Wings
TABLE OF CONTENTS From the Editor .................................................................................................................. 3 The Last Word of a Bluebird as Told to a Child .................................................................. 4 Chick, D.D. ......................................................................................................................... 5 Little Half-Chick .................................................................................................................12 Learn Bird Songs! .............................................................................................................14 About Storks .....................................................................................................................15 The Stork and the Crane A Fable ......................................................................................17 Homemade Bird Feeders ..................................................................................................20 Birds and Their Families....................................................................................................21 The Latest from Living Books Curriculum ..........................................................................28

The Childrens Literary Digest Sheila Carroll, editor Living Books Curriculum 5497 S. Gilmore Road Mt. Pleasant, Michigan 48858 To contact us: lbcinfo@livingbookscurriculum.com Cover picture: From The Bird Book, Chester A. Reed, 1915. Copyright information: All of the materials included in this digest are a republication of public domain works. However, the arrangement and illustration placement are the property of Living Books Curriculum and Living Books Press. No reproduction without prior written permission is allowed.

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Childrens Literary Digest Page 3

From the Editor

Dear Reader, This issue of the digest is about birds in story, poetry and song (birdsong). We can learn so much from the birds. Jesus said that not even a sparrow falls to the ground, but our Heavenly Father knows it. God is interested in even small, brown sparrows; we should be too. When I was little I used to watch the chickadees in winter gobble the buds of trees and make their little chicka-dee-dee-dee-dee sound. The cheerful call made winter seem less cold and empty. When I was grown, I found a Grackle that had fallen from its nest. I couldnt return it because the nest was 20 feet up in a tall tree. I took it into our house and nursed it with meal worms. I used to laugh because every time I came near him he threw his beak wide open and screeched for more worms. I kept the bird next to my bed, just like a baby. In a few days he was able to perch on the edge of his box. It was time to let my baby fly. I took the box to the backyard and left it in a spot where I could see it from the kitchen window. In a few hours he had found his way out of the box and taught himself to fly. The next spring he came back and perched in the same spot, cocked his head, looked at me, then flew away. I was glad my bird story had a happy ending. Write and tell me what you think of this edition. You can also send me any ideas you have for future digests. You can write me at: lbcinfo@livingbookscurriculum.com

Have fun! Sheila Carroll Living Books Curriculum

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Childrens Literary Digest Page 4

The Last Word of a Bluebird as Told to a Child

As I went out a Crow In a low voice said, "Oh, I was looking for you. How do you do? I just came to tell you To tell Lesley (will you?) That her little Bluebird Wanted me to bring word That the north wind last night That made the stars bright And made ice on the trough Almost made him cough His tail feathers off. He just had to fly! But he sent her Good-by, And said to be good, And wear her red hood, And look for the skunk tracks In the snow with an axAnd do everything! And perhaps in the spring He would come back and sing.

~ Robert Frost, Mountain Interval, 1916

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Childrens Literary Digest Page 5

Chick, D.D.

Right in the very heart of Christmas-tree Land there was a forest of firs that pointed to the sky as straight as steeples. A hush lay over the forest, as if there were something very wonderful there, that might be meant for you if you were quiet and waited for it to come. Perhaps you have felt like that when you walked down the aisle of a church, with the sun shining through the lovely glass in the windows. Men have often called the woods "temples"; so there is, after all, nothing so very strange in having a preacher live in the midst of the fir forest that grew in Christmastree Land. And the sermon itself was not very strange, for it was about peace and good-will and love and helping the world and being happyall very proper things to hear about while the bells in the city churches, way, way off, were ringing their glad messages from the steeples. But the minister was a queer one, and his very first words would have made you smile. Not that you would have laughed at him, you know. You would have smiled just because he had a way of making you feel happy from the minute he began. He sat on a small branch, and looked down from his pulpit with a dear nod of his little head, which would have made you want to cuddle him in the hollow of your two hands.

His robe was of gray and white and buff-colored feathers, and he wore a black-feather cap and bib. He began by singing his name. "Chick, D.D.," he called. Now, when a person has "D.D." written after his name, we have a right to think that he is trying to live so wisely that he can teach us how to be happier, too. Of course Minister Chick had not earned those letters by studying in college, like most parsons; but he had learned the secret of a happy heart in his school in the woods.

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Childrens Literary Digest Page 6 Yes, he began his service by singing his name; but the real sermon he preached by the deeds he did and the life he lived. So, while we listen to his happy song, we can watch his busy hours, until we are acquainted with the little black-capped minister who called himself "Chick, D.D." Chick's Christmas-trees were decorated, and no house in the whole world had one lovelier that morning than the hundreds that were all about him as far as he Firs that pointed to the sky could see. The dark-green branches of the pines and cedars had held themselves out like arms waiting to be filled, and the snow had been dropped on them in fluffy masses, by a quiet, windless storm. It had been very soft and lovely that waya world all white and green below, with a sky of wonderful blue that the firs pointed to like steeples. Then, as if that were not decoration enough, another storm had come, and had put on the glitter that was brightest at the edge of the forest where the sun shone on it. The second storm had covered the soft white with dazzling ice. It had swept across the white-barked birch trees and their purple-brown branches, and had left them shining all over. It had dripped icicles from the tips of all the twigs that now shone in the sunlight brighter than candles, and tinkled like little bells, when the breezes clicked them together, in a tune that is called, "Woodland Music after an Ice-Storm."

"Woodland Music after an Ice-Storm" That is the tune that played all about the black-capped bird as he flitted out of the forest, singing, "Chick, D.D.," as he came. The clear cold air and the exercise of flying after his night's sleep had given Chick a good healthy appetite, and he had come out for his breakfast.

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Childrens Literary Digest Page 7 He liked eggs very well, and there were, as he knew, plenty of them on the birch trees, for many a time he had breakfasted there. Eggs with shiny black shells, not so big as the head of a pin; so wee, indeed, that it took a hundred of them or more to make a meal for even little Chick. But he wasn't lazy. He didn't have to have eggs cooked and brought to his table. He loved to hunt for them, and they were never too cold for him to relish; so out he came to the birch trees, with a cheery "Chick, D.D.," as if he were saying grace for the good food tucked here and there along the branches. When he alighted, though, it wasn't the bark he found, but a hard, thick coating of ice. The branches rattled together as he moved among them and the icicles that dangled down rang and clicked as they struck one another. The ice-storm had locked in Chick's breakfast eggs, and, try as he would with his little beak, he couldn't get through to find them. So Chick's Christmas Day began with hardship: for, though he sang gayly through the coldest weather, he needed food to keep him strong and warm. He was not foolish enough to spend his morning searching through the icy birch trees, for he had a wise little brain in his head and soon found out that it was no use to stay there. But he didn't go back to the forest and mope about it. Oh, no. Off he flew, down the short hill slope, seeking here and there as he went. Where the soil was rocky under the snow, some sumacs grew, and their branches of red berries looked like gay Christmas decorations. The snow that had settled heavily on them had partly melted, and the soaked berries had stained it so that it looked like delicious pink icecream. Some of the stain had dripped to the snow below, so there were places that looked like pink ice-cream there, too. Then the ice-storm had crusted it over, and now it was a beautiful bit of bright color in the midst of the white-and-green-and-blue Christmas. Chick stopped hopefully at the sumac bushes, not because he knew anything about icecream or cared a great deal about the berries; but sometimes there were plump little morsels hidden among them, that he liked to pull out and eat. If there was anything there that morning, though, it was locked in under the ice; and Chick flew on to the willows that showed where the brook ran in summer. Ah, the willow cones! Surely they would not fail him! He would put his bill in at the tip and down the very middle, and find a good tasty bit to start with, and then he would feel about in other parts of the cone for small insects, which often creep into such places for the winter. The flight to the willows was full of courage. Surely there would be a breakfast there for a hungry Chick! But the ice was so heavy on the willows that it had bent them down till the tips lay frozen into the crust below. So from pantry to pantry Chick flew that morning, and every single one of them had been locked tight with an icy key. The day was very cold. Soon after the ice-storm, the mercury in the thermometer over at the Farm-House had dropped way down below the zero mark, and the wind was in the north. But the cold did not matter if Chick could find food. His feet were bare; but that did not matter, either, if he could eat. Nothing mattered to the brave little black-capped

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Childrens Literary Digest Page 8 fellow, except that he was hungry, oh, so hungry! and he had heard no call from anywhere to tell him that any other bird had found a breakfast, either. No, the birds were all quiet, and the distant church-bells had stopped their chimes, and the world was still. Still, except for the click of the icicles on the twigs when Chick or the wind shook them. Then, suddenly, there was a sound so big and deep that it seemed to fill all the space from the white earth below to the blue sky above. A roaring BOOOOOOOM, which was something like the waves rushing against a rocky shore, and something like distant thunder, and something like the noise of a great tree crashing to the earth after it has been cut, and something like the sound that comes before an earthquake. It is not strange that Chick did not know that sound. No one ever hears anything just like it, unless he is out where the snow is very light and very deep and covered with a crust. Then, if the crust is broken suddenly in one place, it may settle like the top of a puffed-up pie that is pricked; and the air that has been prisoned under the crust is pushed out with a strange and mighty sound. So that big BOOOOOOOM meant that something had broken the icy crust which, a moment before, had lain over the soft snow, all whole, for a mile one way and a mile another way, and half a mile to the Farm-House. Yes, there was the Farmer Boy coming across the field, to the orchard that stood on the sandy hillside near the fir forest. He was walking on snowshoes, which cracked the crust now and then; and twice on the way to the orchard he heard a deep BOOOOOOOM, which he loved just as much as he loved the silence of the field when he stopped to listen now and then. For the winter sounds were so dear to the Farmer Boy who lived at the edge of Christmas-tree Land, that he would never forget them even when he should become a man. He would always remember the snowshoe tramps across the meadow; and in after years, when his shoulders held burdens he could not see, he would remember the bulky load he carried that morning without minding the weight a bit; for it was a big bag full of Christmas gifts, and the more heavily it pressed against his shoulder, the lighter his heart felt. When he reached the orchard, he dropped the bag on the snow and opened it. Part of the gifts he spilled in a heap near the foot of a tree, and the rest he tied here and there to the branches. Then he stood still and whistled a clear sweet note that sounded like "Fee-bee." Now, Chick, over by the willows had not known what BOOOOOOOM meant, for that was not in his language. But he understood "Fee-bee" in a minute, although it was not nearly so loud. For those were words he often used himself. They meant, perhaps, many things; but always something pleasant. "Fee-bee" was a call he recognized as surely as one boy recognizes the signal whistle of his chum. So, of course, Chick flew to the orchard as quickly as he could and found his present tied fast to a branch. The smell of it, the feel of it, the taste of it, set him wild with joy. He picked at it with his head up, and sang "Chick, D.D." He picked at it with his head down and called, "Chick,

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Childrens Literary Digest Page 9 D.D.D.D.D.D.D., Chick, D.D." He flew here and there, too gay with happiness to stay long anywhere, and found presents tied to other branches, too. At each one he sang "Chick, D.D., Chick, D.D.D. Dee Deee Deeee." It was, "indeed" the song of a hungry bird who had found good rich suet to nibble. The Farmer Boy smiled when he heard it, and waited, for he thought others would hear it, too. And they did. Two birds with black-feather cap and bib heard it and came; and before they had had time to go frantic with delight and song, three others just like them came, and then eight more, and by that time there was such a "Chick"-ing and "D.D."-ing and such a whisking to and fro of black caps and black bibs, that no one paid much attention when Minister Chick, D.D., himself, perched on a branch for a minute, and gave the sweetest little warble that was ever heard on a winter's day. Then he whistled "Fee-bee" very clearly, and went to eating again, heeding the Farmer Boy no more than if he were not there at all. And he wasn't there very long; for he was hungry, too; and that made him think about the good whiff he had smelled when he went through the kitchen with the snowshoes under his arm, just before he strapped them over his moccasins outside the door. Yes, that was the Farmer Boy going away with a clatter over the snow-crust; but who were these coming through the air, with jerky flight, and with a jerky note something like "Twittertytwit-twitterty-twit-twitterty-twitterty-twitterty-twit"? They flew like goldfinches, and they sounded like goldfinches, both in the twitterty song of their flight and their "Tweeet" as they called one another. But they were not goldfinches. Oh, my, no! For they were dressed in gray, with darker gray stripes at their sides; and when they scrambled twittering down low enough to show their heads in the sunlight, they could be seen to be wearing the loveliest of crimson caps, and some of them had rosy breasts. The redpolls had come! And they found on top of the snow a pile of dusty sweepings from the hay-mow, with grass-seeds in it and some cracked corn and crumbs. And there were squash-seeds, and sunflower-seeds, and seedy apple-cores that had been broken up in the grinder used to crunch bones for the chickens; and there were prune-pits that had been cracked with a hammer. The joy-songs of the birds over the suet and seeds seemed a signal through the countryside; and before long others came, too. Among them there was a black-and-white one, with a patch of scarlet on the back of his head, who called, "Ping," as if he were speaking through his nose. There was one with slender bill and bobbed-off tail, black cap and white breast, grunting, "Yank yank," softly, as he ate. But there was none to come who was braver or happier than Chick, D.D., and none who sang so gayly. After that good Christmas feast he and his flock returned each day; and when, in due time, the ice melted from the branches, it wasn't just suet they ate. It was other things, too. That is how it happened that when, early in the spring, the Farmer Boy examined the apple-twigs, to see whether he should put on a nicotine spray for the aphids and an arsenical spray for the tent caterpillars, he couldn't find enough aphids to spray or enough caterpillars, either. Chick, D.D. and his flock had eaten their eggs. Living Books Curriculum, all rights reserved. www.livingbookscurriculum.com

Childrens Literary Digest Page 10 Again, late in the summer, when it was time for the yellow-necked caterpillars, the redhumped caterpillars, the tiger caterpillars, and the rest of the hungry crew, to strip the leaves from the orchard, the Farmer Boy walked among the rows, to see how much poison he would need to buy for the August spray. And again he found that he needn't buy a single pound. Chick, D.D. and his family were tending his orchard! Yes, Minister Chick was a servant in the good world he lived in. He saved leaves for the trees, he saved rosy apples for city girls and boys to eat, and he saved many dollars in time and spray-money for the Farmer Boy. And all he charged was a living wage: enough suet in winter to tide him over the icy spells, and free house-rent in the old hollow post the Farmer Boy had nailed to the trunk of one of the apple trees. That old hollow post was a wonderful home. Chick, D.D. had crept into it for the first time Christmas afternoon, when he had eaten until dusk overtook him before he had time to fly back to the shelter of the fir forest. He found that he liked that post. Its walls were thick and they kept out the wind; and, besides, was it not handy by the suet? In the spring he liked it for another reason, toothe best reason in the world. It gave great happiness to Mrs. Chick. "Fee-bee?" he had asked her as he called her attention to it; and "Feebee," she had replied on looking it over. So he said, "Chick, D.D." in delight, and then perched nearby, while he warbled cozily a brief song jumbled full of joy. Chick and his mate had indeed chosen well, for it is a poor wall that will not work both ways. If the sides of the hollow post had been thick enough to keep out the coldest of the winter cold, they were also thick enough to keep out the hottest of the summer heat. If they kept out the wet of the driving storm, they held enough of the old-wood moisture within so that the room did not get too dry. Of course, it needed a little repair. But, then, what greater fun than putting improvements into a home? Especially when it can be done by the family, without expense! So Mr. and Mrs. Chick fell to work right cheerily, and dug the hole deeper with their beaks. They didn't leave the chips on the ground before their doorway, either. They took them off to some distance, and had no heap nearby, as a sign to say, "A bird lives here." For, sociable as they were all winter, they wanted quiet and seclusion within the walls of their own home. And such a home it was! After it had been hollowed to a suitable depth, Chick had brought in a tuft of white hair that a rabbit had left among the brambles. Mrs. Chick had found some last year's thistle-down and some this year's poplar cotton, and a horse-hair from the lane. Then Chick had picked up a gay feather that had floated down from a scarlet bird that sang in the tree-tops, and tore off silk from a cocoon. So, bit by bit, they gathered their treasures, until many a woodland and meadow creature and plant had had a share in the softness of a nest worthy of eight dear white eggs with reddish-brown spots upon them. It was such a soft nest, in fact, with such dear eggs in it, that Chick brooded there cosily himself part of the time, and was happy to bring food to his mate when she took her turn. In eleven or twelve days from the time the eggs were laid, there were ten birds in that home instead of two. The fortnight that followed was too busy for song. Chick and his mate Living Books Curriculum, all rights reserved. www.livingbookscurriculum.com

Childrens Literary Digest Page 11 looked the orchard over even more thoroughly than the Farmer Boy did; and before those eight hungry babies of theirs were ready to leave the nest, it began to seem as if Chick had eaten too many insect eggs in the spring, there were so few caterpillars hatching out. But the fewer there were, the harder they hunted; and the harder they hunted, the scarcer became the caterpillars. So when Dee, Chee, Fee, Wee, Lee, Bee, Mee, and Zee were two weeks old, and came out of the hollow post to seek their own living, the whole family had to take to the birches until a new crop of insect eggs had been laid in the orchard. This was no hardship. It only added the zest of travel and adventure to the pleasure of the days. Besides, it isn't just orchards that Chick, D.D. and his kind take care of. It is forests and shade-trees, too. Hither and yon they hopped and flitted, picking the weevils out of the dead tips of the growing pine trees, serving the beech trees such a good turn that the beechnut crop was the heavier for their visit, doing a bit for the maple-sugar trees, and so on through the woodland. Not only did they mount midget guard over the mighty trees, but they acted as pilots to hungry birds less skillful than themselves in finding the best feeding-places. "Chick, D.D.D.D.D.," they called in thanksgiving, as they found great plenty; and warblers and kinglets and creepers and many a bird beside knew the sound, and gathered there to share the bountiful feast that Chick, D.D. had discovered. The gorgeous autumn came, the brighter, by the way, for the leaves that Chick had saved. The Bob-o-links, in traveling suits, had already left for the prairies of Brazil and Paraguay, by way of Florida and Jamaica. The strange honk of geese floated down from V-shaped flocks, as if they were calling, "Southward Ho!" The red-winged blackbirds gave a wonderful farewell chorus. Flock by flock and kind by kind, the migrating birds departed. WHY? Well, never ask Chick, D.D. The north with its snows is good enough for him. Warblers may go and nuthatches may come. 'Tis all one to Chick. He is not a bird to follow fashions others set. This bird-of-the-happy-heart has courage to meet the coldest day with a joyous note of welcome. The winter is cheerier for his song. And, as you have guessed, it is not by word alone that he renders service. The trees of the north are the healthier for his presence. Because of him, the purse of man is fatter, and his larder better stocked. He has done no harm as harm is counted in the world he lives in. It is written in books that, in all the years, not one crime, not even one bad habit, is known of any bird who has called himself "Chick, D.D." Because the world is always better for his living in it; and because no one can watch the black-capped sprite without catching, for a moment at least, a message of cheer and courage and service, does he not name himself rightly a minister? Yes, surely, the little parson who dwells in the heart of Christmas-tree Land has a right to his "D.D.," even though he did not earn it in a college of men. From Bird Stories, Edith Patch Atlantic Press Monthly Press, 1921 Living Books Curriculum, all rights reserved. www.livingbookscurriculum.com

Childrens Literary Digest Page 12

Little Half-Chick
Adapted from a Spanish folktale, Medio Pollito, this whimsical story tells the origin of the weather vane. There was once upon a time a Spanish Hen, who hatched out some nice little chickens. She was much pleased with their looks as they came from the shell. One, two, three, came out plump and fluffy; but when the fourth shell broke, out came a little half-chick! It had only one leg and one wing and one eye! It was just half a chicken. The Hen-mother did not know what in the world to do with the queer little Half-Chick. She was afraid something would happen to it, and she tried hard to protect it and keep it from harm. But as soon as it could walk the little HalfChick showed a most headstrong spirit, worse than any of its brothers. It would not mind, and it would go wherever it wanted to; it walked with a funny little hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, and got along pretty fast. One day the little Half-Chick said, "Mother, I am off to Madrid, to see the King! Good-by." The poor Hen-mother did everything she could think of, to keep him from doing so foolish a thing, but the little Half-Chick laughed at her naughtily. "I'm for seeing the King," he said; "this life is too quiet for me." And away he went, hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, over the fields. When he had gone some distance the little Half-Chick came to a little brook that was caught in the weeds and in much trouble. "Little Half-Chick," whispered the Water, "I am so choked with these weeds that I cannot move; I am almost lost, for want of room; please push the sticks and weeds away with your bill and help me." "The idea!" said the little Half-Chick. "I cannot be bothered with you; I am off for Madrid, to see the King!" And in spite of the brook's begging he went away, hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick. A bit farther on, the Half-Chick came to a Fire, which was smothered in damp sticks and in great distress. "Oh, little Half-Chick," said the Fire, "you are just in time to save me. I am almost dead for want of air. Fan me a little with your wing, I beg." "The idea!" said the little Half-Chick. "I cannot be bothered with you; I am off to Madrid, to see the King!" And he went laughing off, hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick. When he had hoppity-kicked a good way, and was near Madrid, he came to a clump of bushes, where the Wind was caught fast. The Wind was whimpering, and begging to be set free. Living Books Curriculum, all rights reserved. www.livingbookscurriculum.com

Childrens Literary Digest Page 13 "Little Half-Chick," said the Wind, "you are just in time to help me; if you will brush aside these twigs and leaves, I can get my breath; help me, quickly!" "Ho! the idea!" said the little Half-Chick. "I have no time to bother with you. I am going to Madrid, to see the King." And he went off, hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, leaving the Wind to smother. After a while he came to Madrid and to the palace of the King. Hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, the little Half-Chick skipped past the sentry at the gate, and hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, he crossed the court. But as he was passing the windows of the kitchen the Cook looked out and saw him. "The very thing for the King's dinner!" she said. "I was needing a chicken!" And she seized the little Half-Chick by his one wing and threw him into a kettle of water on the fire. The Water came over the little Half-Chick's feathers, over his head, into his eye; It was terribly uncomfortable. The little Half-Chick cried out, "Water, don't drown me! Stay down, don't come so high!" But the Water said, "Little Half-Chick, little Half-Chick, when I was in trouble you would not help me," and came higher than ever. Now the Water grew warm, hot, hotter, frightfully hot; the little Half-Chick cried out, "Do not burn so hot, Fire! You are burning me to death! Stop!" But the Fire said, "Little Half-Chick, little Half-Chick, when I was in trouble you would not help me," and burned hotter than ever. Just as the little Half-Chick thought he must suffocate, the Cook took the cover off, to look at the dinner. "Dear me," she said, "this chicken is no good; it is burned to a cinder." And she picked the little Half-Chick up by one leg and threw him out of the window. In the air he was caught by a breeze and taken up higher than the trees. Round and round he was twirled till he was so dizzy he thought he must perish. "Don't blow me so? Wind," he cried, "let me down!" "Little Half-Chick, little Half-Chick," said the Wind, "when I was in trouble you would not help me!" And the Wind blew him straight up to the top of the church steeple, and stuck him there, fast! There he stands to this day, with his one eye, his one wing, and his one leg. He cannot hoppity-kick any more, but he turns slowly round when the wind blows, and keeps his head toward it, to hear what it says. From Stories to Tell to Children: Fifty-One Stories With Some Suggestions for Telling, Sara Cone Bryant (1908)

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Childrens Literary Digest Page 14

Learn Bird Songs!

Children, there is a wonderful website that will teach you the songs of all the common birds. I had such fun myself listening and looking. It is called Learn Bird Songs! with Lang Elliott. At Mr. Elliotts page you will hear the Cheerily, cheeriup, cheerio, cheeriup of the American Robin, the Chicka-dee-dee-dee-dee; feebeee of the Black-capped Chickadee (remember Chick D.D.?) and the Bublo-seeleeee of the Brown-headed Cowbird. Play a game. Pick three bird songs, listen to them only one time, then ask a parent to replay them without you looking and see if you can identify the bird. No peeking!

www.learnbirdsongs.com

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Childrens Literary Digest Page 15

About Storks
Many cultures have admired and revered storks, including ancient Greece, Egypt, China, and Israel. But, many say, the legend of the stork bringing babies seems to have originated in northern Germany, possibly in the Middle Ages. Some say the legend came about when people noticed that storks, migratory birds, arrived at their nesting places about 9 months after midsummer. Midsummer, or June 21, was a time of weddings. Nine months later, the storks showed up on their migratory route and perhaps people associated the two events . Storks happen to like to nest in very high-up places, like the tops of chimneys or roofs. So if a stork chose your chimney top or roof to build its nest, you would say that the stork had brought your baby. In Germany, the myth went that storks found newborns deep in rocky caves (also a preferred nesting place for storks), or "stork-stones," and carried the babes to their parents-to-be. In addition to pagan legends, the Bible includes several references to storks as signs of a turning away from sin and bearers of heavenly truth. Many Christian songs and paintings depict storks as present at the Annunciation, which presumably would have been in springtime, nine months before the birth of Christ. I found this poem, called The Stork Legend, which may be the origin of the legend, or the legend simply put into poem form and in a Christian context: When Christ was born on Christmas Day The birds and beasts knelt down to pray. In wonder all adoring kneeled-The ox in his stall, the fox in his field, While badger, bear and each wild thing Flocked round the manger where slept a King Housed in a stable at Bethlehem. And the long-legged stork was there with them, Her feathers white, her crest held high, And awe in her bright, compassionate eye.

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Childrens Literary Digest Page 16 "Alas," mourned she, "how poor His bed Who rules the universe o'erhead! Though cozily curled sleep all my breed, The Lord of the World lies hard, indeed. Unpillowed is He who should wear a crown." Then out of her bosom she plucked the down. The plumes from her breast she tugged and tore That the Child should rest like a beggar no more, But fine on a pallet fit for a prince. And blest has the stork been, ever since -For the gift she gave of her body's wear -Blest on chimneys, blest in air, And patron of babies everywhere. --Author unknown

While storks do not mate for life, individual storks do return to the same nest site. People assumed that the same pair of storks was returning and therefore decided that they were a symbol of fidelity as well as fertility. Also, adult storks continue to care for and feed their young until well after the young are able to fly. People again misinterpreted what they were seeing and thought that in fact the young were taking care of their elders. Thus a law in ancient Greece which requires one to take care of one's elderly parents is called Pelargonia, after the word pelargos, which means stork.

Adapted from The Daily Apple, used with permission.

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Childrens Literary Digest Page 17

The Stork and the Crane

A Fable
A Stork and a Crane once frequented the same marsh. The Stork was a quiet, dignified individual, with a philosophical countenance. One would never have thought, from his deeply reflective look, of the number of frogs and pollywogs, eels and small fish that had disappeared in his meditative mouth. For the Stork was like many another philosopher, and in spite of his supernaturally wise external appearance, inside he was just as selfish, and just as voracious, as all the rest of his kind. Although he never mentioned the subject, he was secretly very proud to recall the former grandeur of his ancestors, one of whom, in old Greek days, had been a famous king over the frogs, eels, and snakes, in a Spartan marsh. The Crane was a lively little fellow, and not at all philosophical. He ate his dinner without moralizing over it, and felt thankful when he had enough. He had not a particle of aristocratic blood in his veins, and, in consequence, rather ridiculed the possession of that indescribable material by the Stork. Ridicule as he would, however, he was really secretly proud of his acquaintance with the other, and used to say to his friends and relatives sometimes: "There is no one in the world that more despises pretentiousness than myself. One only too frequently hears an animal boast of its aristocratic acquaintances. I never do that. Now, there is John Stork, of one of our highest families, and although I am not only on friendly but intimate terms with him, and even have been invited to call upon his estimable family, and make the acquaintance of Miss Stork (I have never had an opportunity to do so yet), one never hears me boast of his friendship and intimacy." To tell the truth, the conversations he held with the philosophical Stork were frequently so deep, that he found himself floundering beyond his depth. For instance, "Do you always stand upon one leg?" said he, one day. The Stork reflected so long over this question that the Crane thought he had gone to sleep. Finally, however, the philosopher said: "No; I do not. I always stand upon the other." The Crane meditated for a space over this, but as it was completely beyond his comprehension, he gave the matter up and changed the subject. His respect for the Stork's wisdom was vastly increased by such conversations, for one often takes for wisdom what one cannot understand.

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Childrens Literary Digest Page 18 These two friends, however, did not always dwell together in perfect amity. The Stork was so proud that he frequently galled his humbler companion, and bitter disputes often arose. It was under the influence of such a feeling that the Crane burst forth one day: "And what are you that you should boast? You have blue blood in your veins, indeed! Perhaps it is that blue blood that makes you so sluggish and stupid." The Stork meditated a long while over this speech; finally, he said: "When you accuse me of sluggishness and stupidity you judge by external appearances, and, consequently, by deductive logic. Beside, you do not take collateral matter into the case from which you draw your inference. You have never seen me when my physical energies have been aroused, consequently, your conclusion is both hollow and baselessQ. E. D." The Crane was rather taken aback by this speech, and, not comprehending it, he felt somewhat humbled. At length he said: "I am no philosopher, but as they say 'the proof of the pudding is in the eating of it,' I am willing at any time to run a foot-race with you, and so prove who is the more agile." "I do not know," answered the Stork, meditatively, "whether my family would altogether approve of my entering into the lists with such a vulgar creature as yourself." Here he shut one eye, and looked reflectively with the other at a frog that sat on a tussock near by. "Still, I recollect that one of my ancestors proved his valor upon a turbulent duckling once, so I see no logical reason why I should not compete with you." And so the matter was settled. All was hubbub and excitement among the birds when the coming race was announced. The racecourse was so constructed that the larger birds stood upon one side, and the smaller birds and animals upon the other. This was so arranged, chiefly at the request of a deputy of frogs, because, at a mass meeting once, an albatross had eaten twenty-seven of these animals in a fit of absent-mindedness, as he said. Still the frogs desired to prevent the recurrence of so painful a scene.

"THE STORK WAS AHEAD!"

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Childrens Literary Digest Page 19

The Cassowary was chosen director of the race, chiefly because he was a famous traveler as well as a pedestrian himself, and so was a judge of such matters. He was the same of whom the Gander, the poet-laureate, had written the poem commencing "It was a noble cassowary, On the plains of Timbuctoo, That gobbled up a missionary Body, bones, and hymn-book too." All were assembled. The champions stood neck to neck, while the spectators looked on, breathless with excitement.[Pg 189] "Go!" cried the Cassowary, and they went. For a long time they continued neck and neck, and the excitement rose to fever heat. At this juncture a mouse attempted to cross the racecourse, and was instantly devoured by an owl, who acted as police of the course. At length the two racers re-appeared coming toward the grand stand,that is, the place where the Cassowary stood with the signal-gun or, rather, pistol. The shouts and cries became more agitated and violent; there was no doubt about it, the Stork was ahead! It was in vain that the gallant little Crane strained every sinew; the Stork came into the stand a good three lengths ahead of his adversary. Bang! went the pistol, and the Stork had won. His adherents crowded around him cheering vociferously, and raising him aloft upon their shoulders above the crowd. Even the Cassowary came forward and shook hands with him. "Recollect, hereafter," said the successful Stork to the poor Crane, who stood dejectedly to one side, "not to scorn and undervalue qualities in any one, because they are not flaunted in the eyes of the world." The Crane's adherents maintained that it was a foul start, while the Stork's friends answered that when two birds ran a race, it could not well be anything else. The frogs, the mice, and most of the small birds, were divided among the successful betters; and, altogether, it was a day of rejoicing, except to the frogs, the mice, and most of the small birds. Adapted by Howard Pyle From St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls, Vol. 5, January 1878

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Childrens Literary Digest Page 20

Homemade Bird Feeders

Birds arent picky and they sure dont require something fancy to eat out of. You do need to make sure the feeders you create are safe and sturdy. It is also important to keep feeding the birds that come to your yard, especially in winter. During the warm months of the year when natural food sources are abundant keeping your feeders stocked isnt as critical. However, for non-migratory birds winter feeders often times become a sole source of food making it very critical that food levels be maintained. The following tools are not required for every project, but will come in handy for most: pliers, wire cutters, and scissors. . Pine Cone Feeder: This project is so easy its a great one for kids of all ages. You will need a pinecone, peanut butter, bird seed, and lightweight wire. Wrap the wire securely around the top of the pinecone to create a hanger for your feeder. Spread peanut butter all over the pinecone, and then roll in bird seed and hang up for the birds! Its really that easy! Since the pinecone will be too heavy for large birds like cardinals and jays use a seed appropriate for smaller birds. Plastic Milk Jug Feeder: For this feeder you will need a plastic milk or juice jug. Any size and most shapes will work. Cut an opening on the side of the jug opposite the handle (you will want to preserve the handle of the jug for hanging the finished feeder) a couple inches up from the bottom. Wrap wire around the jugs handle to make a hanger, or hang directly by the handle. You can also drill a small hole in the front of the jug at the feeders opening and insert a small piece of doweling for birds to perch on as they eat. Fill the inside of the jug with seed and hang up! Ground Feeders: Several varieties of birds prefer to forage for food on the ground. To feed these birds, recycle a pie tin, an old frying pan, storage container lids that have lost their mate, or any shallow item. Place it on the ground and fill with seed! Strung on a Line Feeders: This is a fun, traditional way to feed the birds around the holidays. Using heavy weight upholstery thread or fine twine (so your line doesnt break) and a large eyed rug needle string popcorn (unsalted and unbuttered), dried fruit and nuts into long lines. Hang on trees, fences, etc for the wildlife to enjoy.
Reprinted with permission of Pagewise (www.pagewise.com )

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Childrens Literary Digest Page 21

Birds and Their Families

By Prof. W.K. Brooks. In this paper we will talk a little about the different ways in which birds bring up their children, and will say something, too, about the young birds themselves. There is almost as great a difference in the domestic habits and customs of birds as in those of human beings. You have all heard how the ostrich lays its eggs in the sand, where the sun can shine upon them, and keep them warm, while the parent birds are away in search of food during the middle of the day. SOUTH AMERICAN OSTRICH. The South American ostrich (an engraving of which is given on the next page) makes use of the warmth of the sun and sand in the same way. According to observations, mother does not show the least affection for her young, but leaves the labor of hatching the eggs entirely to the father, who attends to it very faithfully, but is, of course, compelled to leave the nest occasionally in search of food, selecting the middle of the day for this purpose, as the heat of the sun is then sufficient to keep the eggs from growing cold. I suppose most of you know that if a quantity of wet decaying leaves or straw is raked together into a large pile, and covered up with a thin layer of sand or earth, and then left exposed to the sun and rain, the heat given off by the decay of the vegetable matter forming the inside of the pile will be retained until, after a few weeks, the interior of the heap becomes so warm that, when the mound is broken open, a thick cloud of smoke and steam will rise from it. The mound-building "brush-turkey" of Australia, New Guinea, and the neighboring islands, has somehow learned this fact; and also, that the steady and equal heat generated is sufficient to hatch its eggs. So, instead of making a nest and sitting upon the eggs until they are hatched, this bird, which has very large and powerful feet, scratches up a huge pile of decaying twigs, leaves and grass, thus making a mound often six or eight feet high, and containing enough material to load several wagons, in which the eggs are buried. The young birds are not helpless when hatched, like the young of most of our singing birds, but are quite strong and active, and able to burrow their way out of the mound, and take care of themselves immediately. Some birds provide for their young in still another way. They neither sit and hatch their own eggs, nor provide an artificial incubator; but go quietly and drop an egg into the nest of another bird, and allow this bird to act as a nurse, hatching the egg and finding food for the young bird. The most notable example of this habit among birds is the case of the European cuckoo. This bird never builds a nest, or shows the least love or even recognition of its young. The cuckoo always selects the nest of a bird much smaller than itself, and as its eggs are much smaller than those usually laid by a bird of its size, they are no larger than those which properly belong in the Living Books Curriculum, all rights reserved. www.livingbookscurriculum.com

Childrens Literary Digest Page 22 nest; so that the owners do not appear to discover the deception put upon them, but treat all the eggs alike. As soon as the young cuckoo is hatched he begins to grow very fast, and as he is larger and stronger than the other nestlings, he manages to get the lion's share of the food which the old birds bring to the nest. It would seem as if robbing his foster brothers and sisters of part of their nest, of the attention and care of their parents, and of nearly all of their food, might be enough to satisfy the young cuckoo; but it is not. He wants not part, but, everythingthe whole nest, all the care of the old birds, and all of the foodfor himself; so, when the old birds are away, he pushes himself under one of the little nestlings, which is of course too small and weak to help itself, and throws it out of the nest to die. In this way he murders all his foster-brothers, and if any eggs are still unhatched he throws them out too. He now has all the attention of the old birds to himself, for they continue to treat him as affectionately as if he were really one of their own children, and go on bringing him food, and attending to all his wants, long after he has grown to be as large as themselves, or even larger.

THE CUCKOO. We have two species of cuckoo in the United States, but each of them builds a nest of its own, and rears its own young, although our yellow-billed cuckoo is a very bad nest-builder, and is said often to desert its young, leaving them to starve unless other birds take pity upon them and bring them food. Most of our smaller birds are very sympathetic during the breeding season, and are ready to give food and care to any young bird which needs it, even if it is not one of their own species. Although our American cuckoos have not, as a general thing, the bad habits of those of Europe, we have another very common bird which is hatched and brought up by strangers.

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Childrens Literary Digest Page 23 Every boy who lives in the country knows the cow-bird, cow-blackbird, or cow-bunting, for it is called by all these names. It is a small bird, a little larger than the bobolink and of much the same shape. The male has a dark-brown head and a bright greenish-black back and wings, but the female is so much lighter in color that you would hardly believe that they belong to the same species. These birds are very abundant in the spring and summer, and may be seen in flocks flying and feeding in company with the red-winged blackbirds. They are often found among the cattle and sheep in the pastures and barn-yards, and they derive all of their common names from this habit. Although nearly related to the orioles, which make such wonderful nests, the cow-birds make none at all, but lay their eggs in the nests of other birds, such as the blue-bird, chipping-bird, song-sparrow, yellow-bird, and some thrushes and fly-catchers. Like the cuckoo, this bird usually chooses the nest of a bird much smaller than itself, but as its egg is not small, the deception is at once discovered, and the birds whose nest has been selected for this purpose are very much disturbed. It is necessary for the female cow-bird to find a nest in which the owners have just begun laying, for if the owners have no eggs of their own they will desert the nest, and if their own eggs are somewhat advanced before the cow-bird's egg is laid, their own young will hatch first, and the parents will then leave the nest to hunt for food, thus allowing the cow-bird's egg to become cold and die. When the female cow-bird is ready to lay her egg, she often has great trouble in discovering a nest at just the right stage. She leaves the flock and perches upon some tree or bush, where she can have a good view of all that is going on. When she discovers a nest by watching the actions of its owners, she waits for an opportunity when both the owners are away, when she approaches it very stealthily, but quickly, keeping a very sharp watch, to be sure that she is not observed. If she finds that the nest is fit for her purpose,that is, if the birds have laid only a part of their regular number of eggs,she drops one of her own eggs into it, and then disappears as swiftly and quietly as she came. If she is unable to find a suitable nest in her own vicinity, she goes in search of one, examining every thicket and bushsometimes for a long distanceuntil she finds one. A gentleman once followed a cow-bird along the shore of a stream for two miles before she succeeded in finding a nest which satisfied her. Occasionally, two or more cow-birds' eggs are found in the same nest. It is not known whether both of these are laid by the same bird, but it is more probable that in such a case as this two cow-birds have visited the same nest. The egg of the cow-bird has one interesting and important peculiarity. It is necessary, as we have seen, that this should be hatched before the other eggs; for if it were not, the old birds would stop sitting and allow it to become cold as soon as their own young were hatched. This danger, however, has been provided against, since the egg of the cow-bird needs only eight or nine days of incubation, while the eggs of those birds in whose nests it is usually found require from twelve to fifteen days. A short time after the young cow-bird is hatched, all the other eggs disappear, and they may sometimes be found on the ground, broken, at a considerable distance from the nest,so far away that the young cow-bird could not possibly have thrown them there. The way in which they are removed from the nest is not known, as no one has yet watched closely enough to say whether the parents themselves destroy them, or whether the female

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Childrens Literary Digest Page 24 cow-bird returns to the nest and removes them, to give more room for her own young when hatched. I have already said that the smaller birds are very much disturbed and troubled when they find one of these eggs in their nest, and are very apt to desert it and go to another place if they have not yet any eggs of their own. Our common yellow-bird, however, is sometimes wise enough to find a better way out of its trouble. It values its neatly finished nest too highly to desert it, and it is not strong enough to lift the big egg and throw it over the edge, so it gathers a new supply of hay and hair, and makes a false bottom to cover up the egg. Then it makes a new lining to the nest, and lays its own eggs upon that, so that the cow-bird's egg does not receive any of the warmth from its body, and never hatches.

EGG OF COW-BIRD. I have given you several reasons for believing that birds are able to think for themselves; but I do not see how anything could prove this more clearly than this expedient of the yellowbird for saving its young from destruction by preventing the hatching of the cow-bird's egg. Before leaving the subject of birds'-nests, I must say a few words about the immense number of birds which sometimes gather in one place for the purpose of raising their young. The enormous flocks of wild pigeons, which from time to time visit certain parts of the United States, have a definite portion of the woods, often several miles in extent, where they gather every night. This is called the "roost," and here they build their nests and rear their young. There are so many at these roosts that it is not always safe to go under the trees, for large branches are often broken off by the weight of the birds and their nests. If you wish to know more about these pigeon-roosts, you will find long accounts of them in the books about birds, by those two celebrated men, Wilson and Audubon. Audubon's account of a roost which he visited in Kentucky is very interesting and well worth your reading. It is printed in the first volume of his "Ornithological Biography," and also, I believe, in the "Life of Audubon, the Naturalist." In these books, and in the other works of Audubon and Wilson, you will also find much instructive and entertaining information in regard to all of our common birds. Most of our seabirds are very wild, as they are much hunted by man, and on this account they build their nests and rear their young on inaccessible and uninhabited rocky islands, and the number of sea-

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Childrens Literary Digest Page 25 birds which gather upon these islands during the breeding season is almost beyond belief; but the following account of Ailsa Craig, by Nathaniel P. Rodgers (the "Craig" is a rocky island on the west of Scotland), will give some idea of their abundance at such places: It was a naked rock, rising nine hundred and eighty feet abruptly out of the sea. A little level space projected on one side, with a small house on it. We could not conjecture the use of a habitation there. The captain of the steamer said it was the governor's house. We asked him what a governor could do there. "Take care of the birds," he replied. "What sort of birds?" we asked him. "Sea-fowl of all sorts," he said. "They inhabit the Craig, and ye'll may be see numbers of them. They are quite numerous, and people have been in the habit of firing to alarm the birds, to see them fly." He ordered his boy to bring the musket. The boy returned, and said it had been left behind at Glasgow. "Load up the swivel, then," said the captain; "it will be all the better. It will make quite a flight, ye'll find. Load her up pretty well." The steamer meanwhile kept nearing the giant craig, which was a bare rock from summit to the sea. We saw caves in the sides of the mountain. We had got so near as to see the white birds flitting across the black entrances of the caverns like bees about a hive. With the spy-glass we could see them distinctly, and in very considerable numbers, and at length approached so that we could see them on the ledges all over the sides of the mountain. We had passed the skirt of the Craig, and were within half a mile, or less, of its base. With the glass we could now see the entire mountain-side peopled with the sea-fowl, and could hear their whimpering, household cry, as they moved about, or nestled in domestic snugness on the ten thousand ledges. The air, too, about the precipices seemed to be alive with them. Still we had not the slightest conception of their frightful multitude. We got about against the center of the mountain when the swivel was fired, with a reverberation like the discharge of a hundred cannon, and what a sight followed! They rose up from that mountainthe countless millions and millions of sea-birdsin a universal, overwhelming cloud, that covered the whole heavens, and their cry was like the cry of an alarmed nation. Up they went,millions upon millions, ascending like the smoke of a furnace,countless as the sands on the sea-shore,awful, dreadful for multitude, as if the whole mountain were dissolving into life and light; and, with an unearthly kind of lament, took up their lines of flight in every direction off to sea! The sight startled the people on board the steamer, who had often witnessed it before, and for some minutes there ensued a general silence. For our own part, we were quite amazed and overawed at the spectacle. We had seen nothing like it before. We had never witnessed sublimity to be compared to that rising of sea-birds from Ailsa Craig. They were of countless varieties in kind and size, from the largest goose to the small marsh-bird, and of every conceivable variety of dismal note. Off they moved, in wild and alarmed rout, like a people going

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Childrens Literary Digest Page 26 into exile; filling the air, far and wide, with their reproachful lament at the wanton cruelty which had driven them away. This is only one of these breeding-places, but most of the rocky, inaccessible cliffs and uninhabited islands of the northern and southern shores of both continents are visited, at certain seasons, by sea-birds in equally great numbers. No subject connected with the history of birds furnishes more interesting material for study than that of instinct. Young birds of different species show that they have very different degrees of instinctive knowledge. Some are able to take the entire care of themselves, and do not need a mother to watch over them; others, on the contrary, are perfectly helpless, and need teaching before they can do anything for themselves, except breathe, and swallow what is put into their mouths. The young chicken, a short time after it leaves the egg, knows how to take care of itself nearly as well as the young mound-bird. It can run after its mother, use its eyes, pick up food, and answer the call of the old hen; and it does all this without instruction.

ENGLISH PHEASANT AND YOUNG. How different it is in all these respects from the young barn-swallow! This is blind, and unable to run, or even to stand, knowing only enough to open its mouth when it hears the old bird return to the nest, and to swallow the food placed in its open bill. Far from knowing by instinct how to use its wings, as the young chick does its legs, it does not learn this until it is well grown, and has had several lessons in flying; and even then it flies badly, and improves only after long practice. After it has learned to fly, it is still very helpless and baby-like, and very different from the active, bright-eyed, independent little chick of the barn-yard; and, indeed, the young of all the Rasores, or scratching birds, such as the hen, the quail, the partridge, the pheasant and the turkey. In the admirable picture of an English pheasant and its brood,, you will see how very much like young chicks the young pheasants are. The scratching birds are not the only ones which can take care of themselves at an early age. This is true of the running birds, such as the ostrich; and the same is the case with many of the wading birds, such as the woodcock; and among the swimming birds, there are several kinds that take full care of themselves soon after leaving the shell.

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Childrens Literary Digest Page 27

MALLARD DUCKS. In the picture of mallard ducks, you have a pair of mallard ducks with three young ones, which are all able to swim and dive as well as their parents. You all know that, far from standing in need of instruction, young ducks take to the water by instinct, even when they have been brought up by a hen; and they know that they are perfectly safe upon it, although the anxious hen tries in every way to restrain them and to call them back. There are many ways in which some of our young birds show their really wonderful instincts, but there is nothing more curious in this respect than the habits of the little chickens, which most of us have opportunities of noticing,if we choose to take the trouble. These little creatures, almost as soon as they are born, understand what their mother "clucks" to them; they know that they must hide when a hawk is about; they often scratch the ground for food before they see their mother or any other chicken do so; they are careful not to catch bees instead of flies; and they show their early smartness in many ways which are well worth watching. From St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls, Vol. 5, July 1878

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Childrens Literary Digest Page 28

The Latest from Living Books Curriculum

We are always striving to create new and helpful products that enable you to enjoy a living books education in your homeschool. There is a special discount at the end. Check it out. Heres our latest offerings:

A Child's Garden of Verses Myrtle Sheldon's stunning illustrations are the backdrop to this edition of Robert Louis Stevenson's wonder-filled poetry for children. First published in 1885 and continuously in print since then, Stevenson's poems takes us sailing into the land of make-believe where a bed is a ship, a meadow a sea, and a swing can touch the clouds. This is an unabridged edition of the original work published in 1916 by M.A. Donohue and Company. Every care has been taken to create an edition faithful to Sheldons art deco illustrations and handlettered typeface. A perfect read aloud for young children and a keepsake for the family library. Jabberwocky: Poetry Studies for Junior High Students Jim and Sheila Carroll, of Living Books Curriculum, have compiled 32 poems for study. Each poem was selected for its appeal to students ages 12 and up and includes study and narration questions to enrich understanding and appreciation. The poetic works chosen are among the finest and wellknown of our culture, including W. B. Yeats, Walt Whitman, Lewis Carroll, Sara Teasdale, Rudyard Kipling, Emily Dickinson and Edgar Allan Poe. Primary Language Lessons By Emma Serl Primary Language Lessons is a a beginning guide to grammar and usage for the early elementary student. It is a lay-flat, write-in text. No need to have to rewrite the questions and assignments. It is all done for you. Within these pages you will find stories, poems, and pictures of fine art. Each lesson introduces principles of grammar and word use through question and answer, composition, memorization, oral presentation, and dictation. Serl recommended that Primary Language Lessons be used for the second half of grade 2 and grade 3, or ages 6 through 8.

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Childrens Literary Digest Page 29 Intermediate Language Lessons: Part One, Part Two and Part Three by Emma Serl Intermediate Language Lessons is a structured exploration into grammar usage and uses the writings of Louisa May Alcott, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Alfred Tennyson, Helen Hunt Jackson, Percy Bysshe Shelley, George MacDonald, Edward Everett Hale, William Shakespeare and other outstanding authors. It is a lay-flat, write-in text. No need to have to rewrite the questions and assignments. It is all done for you. Part 1 covers Lessons 1-100, Part 2, Lessons 101-195 and Part 3, Lessons 196-301. Each book can be used as a stand-alone text or as part of the series. English Literature for Young People H. E. Marshall English Literature for Young People is an introduction to the great works of English literature. H. E. Marshall's story of Englands literary heritage is rich and compelling---a masterly account of 1500 years of the literary arts in Great Britain, extending from early Irish legends through the Golden Age of English letters to the modern age. The Living Books Press edition is a republication of the 1909 edition, English Literature for Boys and Girls. It has been significantly revised and expanded to improve its use as a study text. Added are a biography of the author, an expanded Chronology of Writers, a bibliography of books recommended by the author, maps of the British Isles, an expanded index, and enhanced illustrations and images. Intended for students age 12 and up.

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