Oliver Herford, “The Yak.” Original print accompanying the poem.
This is the Yak, so neg-li-gée:[1]
His coif-fure’s like a stack of hay;
He lives so far from Any-where,
I fear the Yak neg-lects his hair,
And thing, since there is none to see,
What mat-ter how un-kempt he be.
How would he feel if he but know
That in this Pic-ture-book I drew
His Phys-i-go-no-my un-shorn,
For chil-dren to de-ride and scorn?
Herford, Oliver. “The Yak.” A Child’s Primer of Natural History. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1899.xt goes here.
[1] The yak is a type of large ox native to the Tibetan plateau. Himalayan people rely on domesticated yaks for carrying loads.
Contexts
When Herford published his book, natural history was an obsessive subject for children’s writers. Popular magazines like St. Nicholas led the way, creating study groups like the St. Nicholas League and advocacy for bird protection through its Bird Defenders. Exotic animals seemed to particularly fascinate American children. Contributors to St. Nick included prominent scientists like William T. Hornaday, who became the director of the New York Zoological Park (commonly known as the Bronx Zoo), and who founded the National Zoo in Washington, DC; famous naturalist John Burroughs; and Ernest Thompson Seton, founder of the Boy Scouts of America.
Herford’s poems, as well as their accompanying images, presented more fanciful accounts of animals but sometimes offered short natural history lessons. In this case, Herford emphasizes sloths’ upside-down lifestyle. All the poems in this book hyphenate some words, presumably to instruct children—and their parents—how to read.
Definitions from Oxford English Dictionary:
coiffure: style or fashion of dressing the hair
deride: to laugh at in contempt or scorn; to mock
negligée (in this context): dressed informally, dressed as if in a nightgown
physiognomy: The study of features of the face . . . or the body generally . . . the art of judging character from such study
unkempt: of hair, a beard: not combed, well-maintained; untidy, scruffy
Oliver Herford, “An Arctic Hare.” Original print accompanying the poem.
An Arc-tic Hare we now be-hold.
The hair, you will ob-serve, is white;[1]
But if you think the Hare is old,
You will be ver-y far from right.
The Hare is young, and yet the hair
Grew white in but a sin-gle night.
When, then it must have been a scare
That turned this Hare. No; ’twas not fright
(Al-though such cases are well known);
I fear that once a-gain you’re wrong.
Know then, that in the Arc-tic Zone
A sin-gle night is six months long.[2]
Herford, Oliver. “An Arctic Hare.” A Child’s Primer of Natural History. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1899.
[1] Arctic hares live in Alaska, northern Canada, and parts of Greenland. They have large rear feet like snowshoes, and their coats turn white in the winter to help them evade predators. Those animals that live in the northernmost part of the species’ range remain white all year.
[2] In the Arctic the sun disappears beneath the horizon for several months, but most places in the zone have a twilight that lasts for many hours. See Rao in Resources.
Contexts
When Herford published his book, natural history was an obsessive subject for children’s writers. Popular magazines like St. Nicholas led the way, creating study groups like the St. Nicholas League and advocacy for bird protection through its Bird Defenders. Exotic or unfamiliar animals seemed to particularly fascinate American children. Contributors to St. Nick included prominent scientists like William T. Hornaday, who became the director of the New York Zoological Park (commonly known as the Bronx Zoo), and who founded the National Zoo in Washington, DC; famous naturalist John Burroughs; and Ernest Thompson Seton, founder of the Boy Scouts of America.
Herford’s poems, as well as their accompanying images, presented more fanciful accounts of animals but sometimes offered short natural history lessons. In this case, Herford foregrounds the hares’ native habitat, with its very short winter nights (although he exaggerates the duration of darkness). All the poems in this book hyphenate some words, presumably to instruct children—and their parents—how to read.
The video “Arctic Hare” (by Wildlife All About) shows the hares in their natural habitat and gives information about the animals’ characteristics, behaviors, and challenges.
The WWF (World Wildlife Fund) has a symbolic adoption program that helps raise funds to protect the arctic hare.
Oliver Herford, “The Sloth.” Original print accompanying the poem.
The Sloth en-joys a life of Ease;[1]
He hangs in-vert-ed from the trees,
And views life up-side down.
If you, my child, are noth-ing loath
To live in In-dol-ence and Sloth,
Un-heed-ing the World’s frown,
You, too, un-vexed by Toil and Strife,
May take a hu-mor-ous view of life.
Herford, Oliver. “The Sloth.” A Child’s Primer of Natural History. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1899.
[1] Sloths are tree-dwelling animals from Central and South America. They are the slowest moving animals on Earth.
Contexts
When Herford published his book, natural history was an obsessive subject for children’s writers. Popular magazines like St. Nicholas led the way, creating study groups like the St. Nicholas League and advocacy for bird protection through its Bird Defenders. Exotic animals seemed to particularly fascinate American children. Contributors to St. Nick included prominent scientists like William T. Hornaday, who became the director of the New York Zoological Park (commonly known as the Bronx Zoo), and who founded the National Zoo in Washington, DC; famous naturalist John Burroughs; and Ernest Thompson Seton, founder of the Boy Scouts of America.
Herford’s poems, as well as their accompanying images, presented more fanciful accounts of animals but sometimes offered short natural history lessons. In this case, Herford emphasizes sloths’ upside-down lifestyle. All the poems in this book hyphenate some words, presumably to instruct children—and their parents—how to read.
“The Extreme Life of a Sloth.” Science Insider. This short video has fascinating facts about the animal, including why it travels from trees to the ground only once a week.
Oliver Herford, “The Giraffe.” Original print accompanying the poem.
See the Gi-raffe; he is so tall
There is not room to get him all
U-pon the page. His head is high-er—
The pic-ture proves it—than the Spire.[1]
That’s why the na-tives,[2] when they race
To catch him, call it stee-ple-chase.[3]
His chief de-light it is to set
A good example: shine or wet
He rises ere the break of day,
And starts his break-fast right away.
His food has such a way to go,—
His throat’s so very long,—and so
An early break-fast he must munch
To get it down ere time for lunch.
Herford, Oliver. “The Giraffe.” A Child’s Primer of Natural History. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1899.
[1] Their steeples made churches the tallest buildings in most U.S. towns and many cities.
[2] Giraffes are native to the grasslands and open woodlands of Africa. See Contexts and Resources below for more detail.
[3] A steeplechase is a horse race across country with jumps and other obstacles, but Herford imagines the giraffe as a steeple.
Contexts
The late nineteenth century began the period known as The New Imperialism, in which Western European nations took control, and used the resources, of nearly the whole continent. This poem’s speaker distinguishes his European perspective by using the word “native.”
When Herford published his book, natural history was an obsessive subject for children’s writers. Popular magazines like St. Nicholas led the way, creating study groups like the St. Nicholas League and advocacy for bird protection through its Bird Defenders. Exotic animals seemed to particularly fascinate American children. Contributors to St. Nick included prominent scientists like William T. Hornaday, who became the director of the New York Zoological Park (commonly known as the Bronx Zoo), and who founded the National Zoo in Washington, DC; famous naturalist John Burroughs; and Ernest Thompson Seton, founder of the Boy Scouts of America.
Herford’s poems, as well as their accompanying images, presented more fanciful accounts of animals but sometimes offered small natural history lessons. In this case, Herford underscores the time it takes giraffes to swallow and digest food and water. All the poems in this book hyphenate some words, presumably to instruct children—and their parents—how to read.
Kilcup, Karen L. Stronger, Truer, Bolder: American Children’s Writing, Nature, and the Environment. Athens: University of Georgia Press, 2021. See chapter 4, esp. 271-74, for information about the St. Nicolas contributors mentioned above.
Original 1940 woodcut for “Sky Pictures,” by Lois Mailou Jones. Public Domain.
Sometimes a great white mountain
Or snowy polar bear
Or lazy little flocks of sheep
Move on in the blue air.
The mountains tear themselves like floss,[1]
The bears all melt away,
The little sheep will drift apart
As though they’d finished play.
And then new sheep and mountains come,
New polar bears appear,
And roll and tumble on again
Up in the skies, blue-clear.
The polar bears would like to get
Where polar bears belong.
The mountains try so hard to stand
In one place, firm and strong.
The little sheep all want to stop
And pasture in the sky.
But never can these things be done,
Although they try and try.
Newsome, Effie Lee. “Sky Pictures.” Gladiola Garden: Poems of Outdoors and Indoors for Second Grade Readers. Washington, DC: Associated Publishers, 1940, 143.
[1] Today many readers might think of dental floss, but here floss refers to a soft thread of silk or cotton used for embroidery.
Contexts
Newsome worked among the many celebrated writers of the Harlem Renaissance, who included Langston Hughes, Countee Cullen, James Weldon Johnson, Zora Neale Hurston, and Anne Spencer, many of them poets. Among her noteworthy contributions to that movement was her writing and editing for W. E. B. Du Bois’s magazine, The Crisis, the official publication of the NAACP (National Association for the Advancement of Colored People). As John Claborn points out, Du Bois’s political goals embraced the idea of access to natural spaces, and the magazine featured environmental writing by such notable authors as Arna Bontemps, Claude McKay, and Hughes. Newsome contributed to and edited “The Little Page” (“Whimsies for the Younger Folk”), where much of her work emphasized nature. This poem, like many others in The Envious Lobster, focuses on nature’s power to spark children’s imagination.
Anonymous. Reading of Newsome’s poem, “The Bronze Legacy.” The illustrations for Gladiola Garden were done by prominent Black artist Loïs Mailou Jones (1905-1998).
Grasshopper, colored pring, late 17th-early 18th century. Attributed to Maria Sybilla Merian (1647-1717). Public Domain.
Johnny Greenjacket, a grasshopper, gay,
Gave a great banquet one midsummer day.
The geese were all present, some quail and a pheasant—
This part is unpleasant—
While waiting for dinner, just after the toast,
The guests became hungry,
And ate up their host.
Newsome, Effie Lee. “Johnny Greenjacket.” Gladiola Garden: Poems of Outdoors and Indoors for Second Grade Readers. Washington, DC: Associated Publishers, 1940, 10.
Contexts
Newsome worked among the many celebrated writers of the Harlem Renaissance, who included Langston Hughes, Countee Cullen, James Weldon Johnson, Zora Neale Hurston, and Anne Spencer, many of them poets. Among her noteworthy contributions to that movement was her writing and editing for W. E. B. Du Bois’s magazine, The Crisis, the official publication of the NAACP (National Association for the Advancement of Colored People). As John Claborn points out, Du Bois’s political goals embraced the idea of access to natural spaces, and the magazine featured environmental writing by such notable authors as Arna Bontemps, Claude McKay, and Hughes. Newsome contributed to and edited “The Little Page” (“Whimsies for the Younger Folk”), where much of her work emphasized nature. This poem, like many others in The Envious Lobster, whimsically enacts a natural history lesson.
Anonymous. Reading of Newsome’s poem, “The Bronze Legacy.” The illustrations for Gladiola Garden were done by prominent Black artist Loïs Mailou Jones (1905-1998).
Albert Lubaki. Untitled. Watercolor, c. 1929, Fabrice Gousset/Cornette de Saint Cyr, Paris. Public Domain.
At daybreak Monday morning we had finished our breakfast by candle light and with staff in hand we marched northeast for Lukunga. [1]
In two days we sighted the Mission Compound. Word had reached the missionaries (A. B. M. U.) that foreigners were approaching, and they came out to meet and greet us. [2] We were soon hurried into their cool and comfortable mud houses. Our faithful cook was dismissed, for we were to take our meals with the missionaries.
Mr. Hoste, who is at the head of this station, came into our room and mentioned that the numerous spiders, half the size of your hand, on the walls were harmless. “But,” said he, as he raised his hand and pointed to a hole over the door, “there is a nest of scorpions; you must be careful in moving in or out, for they will spring upon you.”
Well, you ought to have seen us dodging in and out that door. After supper, not discrediting the veracity of the gentleman, we set to work, and for an hour we spoiled the walls by smashing spiders with slippers.
The next morning the mission station was excited over the loss of their only donkey. The donkey had been feeding in the field and a boa-constrictor had captured him, squeezed him into pulp, dragged him a hundred yards down to the river bank, and was preparing to swallow him.[3] The missionaries, all with guns, took aim and fired, killing the twenty-five-foot boa-constrictor. The boa was turned over to the natives and they had a great feast. The missionaries told us many tales about how the boa-constrictor would come by night and steal away their goats, hogs, and dogs.
The sand around Lukunga is a hot-bed for miniature fleas, or “jiggers.” [4] The second day of our stay at Lukunga our feet had swollen and itched terribly, and on examination we found that these “jiggers” had entered under our toe nails and had grown to the size of a pea. A native was called and with a small sharpened stick they were cut out. We saw natives with toes and fingers eaten entirely off by these pests. Mr. Hoste told us to keep our toes well greased with palm oil. We followed his instructions, but grease with sand and sun made our socks rather “heavy.”
The native church here is very strong spiritually.
The church bell, a real big brass bell, begins to ring at 8 A. M. and continues for an hour. The natives in the neighborhood come teeming by every trail, take their seats quietly, and listen attentively to the preaching of God’s word. No excitement, no shouting, but an intelligent interest shown by looking and listening from start to finish.
In the evening you can hear from every quarter our hymns sung by the natives in their own language. They are having their family devotions before retiring.
Our second day’s march brought us to a large river. Our loads and men were ferried over in canoes. Mr. Lapsley and I decided to swim it, and so we jumped in and struck out for the opposite shore. On landing we were told by a native watchman that we had done a very daring thing. He explained with much excitement and many gestures that the river was filled with crocodiles, and that he did not expect to see us land alive on his side. We camped on the top of the hill overlooking N’Kissy and the wild rushing Congo Rapids. It was in one of these whirlpools that young Pocock, Stanley’s last survivor, perished.
In the “Pool” we saw many hippopotami, and longed to go out in a canoe and shoot one, but being warned of the danger from the hippopotami and also of the treacherous current of the Congo River, which might take us over the rapids and to death, we were afraid to venture. A native Bateke fisherman,[5] just a few days before our arrival, had been crushed in his canoe by a bull-hippopotamus.[6] Many stories of hippopotami horrors were told us.
One day Chief N’Galiama with his attendant came to the mission and told Dr. Simms that the people in the village were very hungry and to see if it were possible for him to get some meat to eat.
Dr. Simms called me and explained how the people were on the verge of a famine and if I could kill them a hippopotamus it would help greatly. He continued to explain that the meat and hide would be dried by the people and, using but a little at each meal, would last them a long time. Dr. Simms mentioned that he had never hunted, but he knew where the game was. He said, “I will give you a native guide, you go with him around the first cataract about two miles from here and you will find the hippopotami.” I was delighted at the idea, and being anxious to use my “Martini Henry” rifle and to help the hungry people, I consented to go.[7] In an hour and a half we had walked around the rapids, across the big boulders, and right before us were at least a dozen big hippopotami. Some were frightened, ducked their heads and made off; others showed signs of fight and defiance.
At about fifty yards distant I raised my rife and let fly at one of the exposed heads. My guide told me that the hippopotamus was shot and killed. In a few minutes another head appeared above the surface of the water and again taking aim I fired with the same result. The guide, who was a subject of the Chief N’Galiama, sprang upon a big boulder and cried to me to look at the big bubbles which were appearing on the water; then explained in detail that the hippopotami had drowned and would rise to the top of the water within an hour.
The guide asked to go to a fishing camp nearby and call some men to secure the hippopotami when they rose, or else they would go out with the current and over the rapids. In a very short time about fifty men, bringing native rope with them, were on the scene and truly, as the guide had said, up came the first hippopotamus, his big back showing first. A number of the men were off swimming with the long rope which was tied to the hippopotamus’ foot. A signal was given and every man did his best. No sooner had we secured the one near shore than there was a wild shout to untie and hasten for the other. These two were securely tied by their feet and big boulders were rolled on the rope to keep them from drifting out into the current.
The short tails of both of them were cut off and we started home. We reported to Dr. Simms that we had about four or five tons of meat down on the river bank. The native town ran wild with delight. Many natives came to examine my gun which had sent the big bullets crashing through the brain of the hippopotami. Early the next morning N’Galiama sent his son Nzelie with a long caravan of men to complete the work. They leaped upon the backs of the hippopotami, wrestled with each other for a while, and then with knives and axes fell to work. The missionaries enjoyed a hippopotamus steak that day also.
Before the chickens began to crow for dawn I was alarmed by a band of big, broad-headed, determined driver ants.[8] They filled the cabin, the bed, the yard. There were millions. They were in my head, my eyes, my nose, and pulling at my toes. When I found it was not a dream, I didn’t tarry long.
Some of our native boys came with torches of fire to my rescue. They are the largest and the most ferocious ant we know anything about. In an incredibly short space of time they can kill any goat, chicken, duck, hog or dog on the place. In a few hours there is not a rat, mouse, snake, centipede, spider, or scorpion in your house, as they are chased, killed and carried away. We built a fire and slept inside of the circle until day.
We scraped the acquaintance of these soldier ants by being severely bitten and stung. They are near the size of a wasp and use both ends with splendid effect. They live deep down in the ground and come out of a smoothly cut hole, following each other single file, and when they reach a damp spot in the forest and hear the white ants cutting away on the fallen leaves, the leader stops until all the soldiers have caught up. A circle is formed, a peculiar hissing is the order to raid, and down under the leaves they dart, and in a few minutes they come out with their pinchers filled with white ants. The line, without the least excitement, is again formed and they march back home stepping high with their prey.
The small White Ants have a blue head and a white, soft body and are everywhere in the ground and on the surface. They live by eating dead wood and leaves.[9]
We got rid of the driver ants by keeping up a big fire in their cave for a week. We dug up the homes of the big black ants and they moved off. But there was no way possible to rid the place of the billions of white ants. They ate our dry goods boxes, our books, our trunks, our beds, shoes, hats and clothing. The natives make holes in the ground, entrapping the ants, and use them for food.[10]
The dogs look like ordinary curs, with but little hair on them, and they never bark or bite. I asked the people to explain why their dogs didn’t bark. So they told me that once they did bark, but long ago the dogs and leopards had a big fight, the dogs whipped the leopards, and after that the leopards were very mad, so the mothers of the little dogs told them not to bark any more, and they hadn’t barked since.[11]
The natives tie wooden bells around their dogs to know where they are. Every man knows the sound of his bell just as we would know the bark of our dog.
There are many, many kinds of birds of the air, all known and called by name, and the food they eat, their mode of building nests, etc., were familiar to the people. They knew the customs and habits of the elephant, hippopotamus, buffalo, leopard, hyena, jackal, wildcat, monkey, mouse, and every animal which roams the great forest and plain, – from the thirty-foot boa-constrictor to a tiny tulu their names and nature were well known.
The little children could tell you the native names of all insects, such as caterpillars, crickets, cockroaches, grasshoppers, locusts, mantis, honey bees, bumble bees, wasps, hornets, yellow jackets, goliath beetles, stage beetles, ants, etc.
The many species of fish, eels and terrapins were on the end of their tongues, and these were all gathered and used for food. All the trees of the forest and plain, the flowers, fruits, nuts and berries were known and named. Roots which are good for all maladies were not only known to the medicine man, but the common people knew them also.
SHEPPARD, WILLIAM HENRY. “ANIMAL LIFE IN THE CONGO,” IN THE UPWARD PATH: A READER FOR COLORED CHILDREN, ED. MYRON T. PRITCHARD AND MARY WHITE OVINGTON, 135-42. NEW YORK: HARCOURT, BRACE AND HOWE, 1920.
[1] Lukunga is a district of Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo’s capital.
[2] ABMU is the acronym for the American Baptist Missionary Union, an international missionary society founded in 1814.
[3] Boa constrictors are endemic to the Americas, not Africa. The biggest snake in Africa is the African Rock Python, which can reach a length of 20 to 30 feet.
[4] The chigoe flea, commonly known as jigger, causes a painful infestation that included borrowing under the host’s skin. Originally from the South America and the Caribbean, jiggers spread to Africa at the end of the 19th century.
[5] The Teke or Bateke people are a Bantu Central African ethnic group mainly located in the Democratic Republic of Congo. The word “teke” means “to buy.”
[6] Male hippopotami are called bulls and female hippopotami are called cows. They are very territorial.
[7] The British Empire adopted the Martini-Henry rifle in 1871 and kept it in service for 47 years. This firearm is sometimes referred to as a weapon of Empire.
[8] Driver ants, which belong to the genus Dorylus, hunt together for prey in massive swarm raids. Due to their ferocity, they effectively “drive” many animals before them.
[9] White ants are not ants at all, but termites, social insects that build large nests and, due to the damage the cause to wooden structures, are widely classified as pests.
Clusters. 1884-85, Popular Science Unknown. Single Termite Mounds or in Clusters. 1884-85, Popular Science Monthly. Public Domain.
[10] Yes, termites are edible! A good source of protein, fat and minerals, they probably figured in our ancestors’ diet and many people eat them today.
[11] The Basenji is a very old breed of dog hound native to central Africa. Although known as “the barkless dog,” they do produce yodel-like vocalizations.
Contexts
Sheppard’s essay was included in The Upward Path: A Reader for Colored Children, published in 1920 and compiled by Myron T. Pritchard and Mary White Ovington. The volume’s foreword states that, “to the present time, there has been no collection of stories and poems by Negro writers, which colored children could read with interest and pleasure and in which they could find a mirror of the traditions and aspirations of their race.”
Definitions from Oxford English Dictionary:
cur: A dog: now always depreciative or contemptuous; a worthless, low-bred, or snappish dog. Formerly (and still sometimes dialectally) applied without depreciation, especiallyto a watchdog or shepherd’s dog.
Visit the collection of William Henry Sheppard’s papers a the Presbyterian Historical Society’s website.
Texts written by and about Sheppard at the Log College Press’s website, which collects writings from American presbyterians from the 18th and 19th centuries.
Students at Chilocco Indian School. Date unknown. Courtesy Oklahoma Historical Society.
Travelers tell us that the wolves of Mexico have a strange way of catching the wild horses. These horses have a great speed. It is almost impossible for a single cowboy to catch one. The cowboys, when they wish to run them down, have relays of pursuers. First one set of cowboys will chase the horses, then another, and another, until at last the horses are caught by the lasso. But it is only when they are completely tired that they are caught; therefore it would be impossible for the wolves to catch them unless they used strategy, for the flight of the wolves is no so swift as that of the horses.
This is the way the wolves kill the wild horses of the Mexican plains. First, two wolves come out of the woods and begin to play together like two kittens. They gambol about each other and run backward and forward. Then the herd of horses lift their startled heads and gets ready to stampede. But the wolves seem to be so playful that the horses, after watching them for awhile, forget their fears, and continue to graze. Then the wolves in their play come nearer and nearer while other wolves slowly and stealthily creep after them. Then suddenly the enemies surround the herd and make one plunge, and the horses are struggling with the fangs of the relentless foes gripped in their throats.
Anonymous. “How Wolves Catch Wild Horses.” Indian School Journal 6, no. 10 (April 1910): 30.
[1] Here is some commentary. Turn this text red in the color settings if it isn’t already. You will need to name your anchor blocks in the block settings by clicking on it and assigning an ID. I like using the format note-x where x is the number of the note you’re on. Then, add the note number in brackets to your text where you want it to go, highlight the number, and link to #note-x.
[2] Here is some commentary. Turn this text red in the color settings if it isn’t already. You will need to name your anchor blocks in the block settings by clicking on it and assigning an ID. I like using the format note-# where # is the number of the note you’re on.
Contexts
Located in north-central Oklahoma near the Kansas border, the Chilocco Indian Agricultural School (also known as the Haworth Institute, the Chilocco Indian Agricultural School, and the Chilocco Indian School) began taking students in 1884, enrolling 150 from seventeen tribes that first year. Enrollment had more than doubled by 1895, with students coming from various tribes, including the Cherokee, Cheyenne, Arapaho, and Pawnee tribes. The Oklahoma Historical Society notes that “significant enrollment from the so-called ‘Five Civilized Tribes’ did not occur until after 1910 but by 1925, Cherokee constituted the largest single tribal affiliation at the school (26 percent of approximately nine hundred students).” Following World War II and the expansion of public education, the school enrolled mostly students who lacked access to such education.
Like most federally funded Indian schools, Chilocco sought to assimilate Native children into white society. Also like other schools, it stressed “industrial” education—manual and domestic labor—over academic pursuits, aiming to train them as workers for white families. Education at Chilocco was notably militaristic; students attended weekly Christian religious services, also intended to weaken their ties to family and tribe. In the 1950s, student numbers peaked at around 1300, and the school closed in 1980. This sketch highlights animals’ intelligence, a popular topic for American writers of all ages and ethnicities throughout the time period The Envious Lobster encompasses.
Resources for Further Study
Archuleta, Margaret L., Brenda J. Child, and K. Tsianina Lomawaima (Mvskoke/Creek Nation of Eastern Oklahoma, not enrolled), eds. Away from Home: American Indian Boarding School Experiences, 1879-2000.
Lomawaima, K. Tsianina (Mvskoke/Creek Nation of Eastern Oklahoma, not enrolled). “Chilocco Indian Agricultural School.” The Encyclopedia of Oklahoma History and Culture. Oklahoma Historical Society.
Lomawaima, K. Tsianina. (Mvskoke/Creek Nation of Eastern Oklahoma, not enrolled). They Called It Prairie Light: The Story of Chilocco Indian School (1995).
Cover Page of the The Crisis magazine from October, 1912, the first Children’s Number and the one in which “Mr. Hare: A Story for Children” appeared. Public Domain.
Mr. Hare and Mr. Tortoise were, of course, great friends. Well, one nice warm day, when the sun was very hot in the thick African forest, they went out together a-hunting food, for they were very hungry. They walked and talked and talked and walked, when suddenly Mr. Tortoise stopped.
“Hello!” said Mr. Tortoise, pointing ahead. “Well, I never!”[2] answered Mr. Hare, beginning to scamper, for there right before them arose in the air, in one tall, slim column, a nice tall white-ant hill.[3] Now everybody in Africa knows what sweet morsels fat white ants are, and you can believe that Mr. Hare and Mr. Tortoise were overjoyed at the sight of the hill and lost little time getting to it. Carefully they dug a nice little hole at the bottom of the hill and then sat down patiently to await the coming out of the ants.
As Mr. Hare waited he got so hungry that he began to reckon that after all there would be just about enough ants on that hill for Mr. Hare himself, and it seemed a shame to give up any of this fine food to a great sleepy tortoise.
So greedy Mr. Hare began to look about with one eye, keeping the other on the ant hill. Pretty soon Mr. Tortoise fell sound asleep just as Mr. Hare, pricking up his ears, heard some of his friends going through the forest. He ran quickly to them and asked them to carry the sleepy tortoise into the tall grass, where Mr. Hare knew it would he hard for him to crawl out.
“But be careful not to hurt him,” said Mr. Hare.
When the tortoise was out of the way, Mr. Hare sat down and ate and ate until he could hardly waffle, and then crept off home. Poor Mr. Tortoise, awaking in the tall thick grass, had a long hard journey to get out. When at last, late and exhausted, he arrived at the ant hill, lo! there was nothing left and Mr. Hare was gone.
“So ho! my fine friend,” said Mr. Tortoise, angrily.
“I’ll be even with you yet,” and he crawled off home.
Mr. Hare met him and made a great fuss.
“My dear old fellow!” he cried, “how glad I am to see you safe! I feared you were dead. I myself escaped by the merest chance. Three spears grazed me!” and Mr. Hare pointed to a very small scratch on his soft side.
‘”Humph,” said Mr. Tortoise, busily making his bed.
“We must not go to that ant hill again.” said Mr. Hare, licking his chops.
“Humph,” said Mr. Tortoise as he went to sleep.
Now Mr. Tortoise knew full well that early in the morning Mr. Hare would make a beeline to the ant hill for breakfast. Sure enough, up jumped Mr. Hare at dawn and slipped away. No sooner was he out of sight, however, than up jumped Mr. Tortoise and also crept quickly away to his friends.
“Wait for him.” he told them,” and when he has his head deep in the hole pounce on him.”
But Mr. Tortoise was kind hearted, and he remembered that Mr. Hare had been careful not to let his friends injure him when they carried him to the jungle. So he added:
“But don’t kill him.” “Oh, but we like rabbit—we want to eat him!” cried the friends. “Very well,” said Mr. Tortoise, “but if you kill him quickly he will be tough. You must take him home and make a big pot ready, half filled with fine oil and salt and nice herbs. Put Mr. Hare in it, but leave a hole in the cover so that you may add cold water from time to time. For if you let the oil get hot it will spoil the meat. So be very careful and not let it boil.”
The friends of the tortoise did exactly as they were told. Just as Mr. Hare was finishing the nicest breakfast imaginable, and stopping between mouthfuls to chuckle over the outwitting of the tortoise, he was suddenly seized from behind, and despite his frantic struggles hurried through the forest and dropped, splash! into a big pot of oil and herbs. Salt was added and the pot raised on sticks. Soon the crackling of a fire struck the scared ears of Mr. Hare, while Mr. Tortoise’s friends sat around in a circle and discussed the coming meal.
Albrecht Durer. Young Hare. Watercolor, 1502. Public Domain.
“I certainly do like rabbit,” said one.
“Do you think it as good as elephant steak?” asked another.
“Oh, better—much better,” said a third.
Here Mr. Hare, faint with fear and heat, was just about to give up, when, splash! and through a hole in the cover of the pot came a nice dash of cold water. Mr. Hare revived and looked about cautiously. This program was kept up for some hours, making poor Mr. Hare very nervous, indeed, until at last the patient cooks decided that their meal was ready; and indeed, the oil and herbs were giving off a most tempting smell.
All the feasters washed their hands, laid out the dishes, and, seating themselves in a circle, ran their tongues expectantly over their lips. The pot was placed in the middle and the cover removed, when, presto! out popped the very scared and bedraggled Mr. Hare and leaped into the jungle like a flash leaving a thin trail of oil.
“Dear me!” said Mr. Tortoise, as Mr. Hare rushed gasping into the house, “wherever have you been?”
“Whew!” cried Mr. Hare, “but I surely had a narrow escape. I was nearly murdered. I’ve been caught and cooked, and only by a miracle did I escape,” and he began hastily licking his oily sides.
Mr. Tortoise with difficulty kept back his laughter and watched Mr. Hare lick himself. Mr. Hare kept on licking and Mr. Tortoise crept nearer. Mr. Hare took no notice and Mr. Tortoise perceived that bit by bit the fright on Mr. Hare’s oily face was being replaced by the most emphatic signs of pleasure as Mr. Hare continued to lick himself greedily. Mr. Tortoise was interested, and stepping over quickly he began to lick the other side.
“My! how delicious,” he exclaimed in rapture, tasting the fine oil and salt and the flavor of the herbs.
“Get away!” cried the greedy Mr. Hare. ” You have not been in the pot and boiled. Keep off!”
Mr. Tortoise, feeling that he had had a hand in that oil and salt, began to get angry.
“Let me have your left shoulder to lick,” he demanded. “I will not,” said Mr. Hare, who was now thoroughly enjoying himself. Mr. Tortoise stormed out of the house in a great fury and almost ran into the arms of his friends. They, too, were in a towering rage. “What did you mean?” they cried. “Through your advice we’ve lost our hare and all our beautiful oil and salt.” ”Dear me!” exclaimed Mr. Tortoise, losing in his indignation all thoughts of friendship. “This is very, very sad. Now I will tell you what to do. Arrange a dance and invite Mr. Hare. When he is dancing to your tom-toms seize him and kill him.”
And this should have been the end of Mr. Hare. But it wasn’t.
Jean-Charles Chenu. Grinning Tortoise. Drawing, 1856, Encyclopedie d’histoire naturelle, Reptiles et Poissons (1856). Public Domain.
ANONYMOUS. “Mr. Hare: A Story for Children.” the crisis, Vol. 4, No. 6 (October 1912): 292-94
[1] “Mr. Hare: A Story for Children” appeared in the October, 1912 edition of The Crisis under the following byline: “Adapted from the folk tales of the Banyoro Negroes in Uganda, Central Africa, as reported by George Wilson in Sir Harry Johnston’s Uganda Protectorate.”
[2] British colloquial expression used to express surprise or indignation.
[2] White ants are not ants at all, but termites, social insects that build large nests and, due to the damage the cause to wooden structures, are widely classified as pests. Termites are actually edible. A good source of protein, fat and minerals, they probably figured in our ancestors’ diet. Many people eat them today.
Unknown. Single Termite Mounds or in Clusters. 1884-85, Popular Science Monthly. Public Domain.
Contexts
Starting in 1912, the October issues of The Crisis, the official magazine of the NAACP, were dedicated to children. A typical edition of these children’s numbers would contain a special editorial piece and two or three literary works specifically for children, while still including the serious pieces about contemporary issues with a focus on race that The Crisis was known for. These October numbers were sprinkled with children’s photographs sent in by the readers.
In his first editorial for the Children’s number in 1912, W. E. B. Du Bois wrote that “there is a sense in which all numbers and all words of a magazine of ideas myst point to the child—to that vast immortality and wide sweep and infinite possibility which the child represents.”
The success of The Crisis’ children’s number led to the standalone The Brownies’ Book, a monthly magazine for African American children that circulated from January 1920 to December 1921 under the editorship of Du Bois, Augustus Granville Dill, and Jessie Fauset.
John James Audubon. “White-Headed Eagle,” from Birds of America (1827-38), plate 31. Audubon.com.
In a distant field, stood a large tulip-tree, [1] apparently of a century’s growth, and one of the most gigantic. It looked like the father of the surrounding forest. [2] A single tree, of huge dimensions, standing all alone, is a sublime object.
On the top of this tree, an old eagle, commonly called the “Fishing-Eagle” had built her nest every year, for many years, and undisturbed had raised her young. What is remarkable, as she procured her food from the ocean, this tree stood full ten miles from the sea-shore. It had long been known as the “Old Eagle-Tree.”
On a warm, sunny day, the workmen were hoeing corn in an adjoining field. At a certain hour of the day, the old eagle was known to set off for the sea-side, to gather food for her young. As she this day returned with a large fish in her claws, the work-men surrounded the tree, and by yelling and hooting, and throwing stones, so scared the poor bird, that she dropped her fish, and they carried it off in triumph.
The men soon dispersed, but Joseph sat down under a bush near by, to watch and to bestow unavailing pity. The bird soon returned to her nest, without food. The eaglets at once set up a cry for food so shrill, so clear, and so clamorous, that the boy was greatly moved.
The parent-bird seemed to try to soothe them; but their appetites were too keen, and it was all in vain. She then perched herself on a limb near them and looked down into the nest with a look that seemed to say, “I know not what to do next.”
Her indecision was but momentary; again she poised herself, uttered one or two sharp notes, as if telling them to “lie still,” balanced her body, spread her wings, and was away again for the sea!
Joseph was determined to see the result. His eye followed her till she grew small, smaller, a mere speck in the sky, and then disappeared. What boy has not thus watched the flight of the bird of his country?
She was gone nearly two hours, about double her usual time for a voyage, when she again returned, on a slow, weary wing, flying uncommonly low, in order to have a heavier atmosphere to sustain her, with another fish in her talons.
On nearing the field, she made a circuit round it, to see if her enemies were again there. Finding the coast clear, she once more reached the tree, drooping, faint, and weary, and evidently nearly exhausted. Again the eaglets set up their cry, which was soon hushed by the distribution of a dinner, such as, save the cooking, a king might admire.
“Glorious bird!” cried the boy, “what a spirit! Other birds can fly more swiftly, others can sing more sweetly, others scream more loudly; but what other bird, when persecuted and robbed, when weary, when discouraged, when so far from the sea, would do this?
“Glorious bird! I will learn a lesson from thee to-day. I will never forget, hereafter, that when the spirit is determined, it can do almost any thing. Others would have drooped, and hung the head, and mourned over the cruelty of man, and sighed over the wants of the nestlings; but thou, by at once recovering the loss, hast forgotten all.
“I will learn of thee, noble bird! I will remember this. I will set my mark high. I will try to do something, and to be something in the world; I will never yield to discouragements.”
TODD, JOHN. “THE OLD EAGLE TREE.” IN MCGUFFEY’S NEW FOURTH ECLECTIC READER, ED. WILLIAM HOLMES MONTGOMERY, 86-88. NEW YORK: WILSON, HINKLE, & CO., 1857.
[1] Tulip trees, also called tulip poplars, are native to the Eastern United States. Their spring blooms are attractive to bees. They are fast growing, reaching up to 20 feet tall and almost as wide in less than 10 years, ultimately ending up around 70-80 feet tall and 50 feet wide.
School readers were an important tool in early America, especially in less settled regions where teachers were scarce. McGuffey published six readers, each advancing in level of difficulty, designed for students in kindergarten through high school. They provided a scripted tool to enable even untrained teachers to teach the basics in reading, writing, speaking and science, and to reinforce the predominant, mostly Christian values of American society. The pedagogical method was to have students memorize the materials and recite them in the classroom.
In his biography,John Todd: The Story of His Life Told Mainly by Himself, Todd relates an experience that led him to write the story of “The Old Eagle Tree.” He credits the lesson he learned from the eagle for his lifelong determination to do the right thing and to succeed.
“The Old Eagle Tree” is included in McGuffey’s Fourth Eclectic Reader, published in 1857. The McGuffey series of readers were used as instructional textbooks, primarily for reading, writing, articulation, and character building. The books include prose and poetry along with guidance for teachers. McGuffey’s Readers draw from a wide range of literary sources, including the Bible, and emphasize American writers and American values common between 1836 and 1920.
Resources for Further Study
Biography of W. H. McGuffey on the Miami University website, where he taught from 1826-36.
In The Old Eagle Tree a young boy learns the lesson of persistence and respect for nature. Today, many environmental educators emphasize that continuing exposure to nature, starting at an early age, is essential to raising environmentally responsible adults. Many schools now integrate environmental programs into their curriculums. The State of North Carolina has made a commitment to include environmental education in the curriculum for all K-12 students to capitalize on “children’s natural curiosity about animals, plants and other elements of nature.” The North Carolina Environmental Education Plan includes a quote from Dr. David Orr, who says, “We often forget that all education is environmental education — by what we include or exclude, we teach the young that they are part of or apart from the natural world. An economist, for example, who fails to connect our economic life with that of ecosystems and the biosphere has taught an environmental lesson all right, but one that is dead wrong. Our goal as educators ought to be to help students understand their implicatedness in the world and to honor mystery.”
