me before. It had ever been my own will, my own way, upon which I insisted.

In the shadow of Grace Church I bowed my head against the granite wall of the gray tower and prayed for strength to do the work which I had so long and arduously sought and which had now come to me; the while Bob sat and looked on, saying clearly enough with his wagging tail that he did not know what was going on, but that he was sure it was all right. Then we resumed our wanderings. When the sun rose, I washed my face and hands in a dog's drinking-trough, pulled my clothes into such shape as I could, and went with Bob to his new home. That parting over, I walked down to 23 Park Row and delivered my letter to the desk editor in the New York News Association, up on the top floor.

He looked me over a little doubtfully but, evidently impressed with the early hours I kept, told me that I might try. He waved me to a desk, bidding me wait until he had made out his morning book of assignments; with such scant ceremony was I finally introduced to Newspaper Row, that had been to me like an enchanted land. After twenty-seven years of hard work in Newspaper Row, during which I have been behind the scenes of most of the plays that go to make up the sum of the life of the metropolis, it exercises the old spell over me yet. If my sympathies need quickening, my point of view adjusting, I have only to go down to Park Row at eventide, when the crowds are hurrying homeward and the City Hall clock is lighted, particularly when the snow lies on the grass in the park, and stand watching them awhile, to find all things coming right. Bob stands by and watches with me, as on that night.

The assignment that fell to my lot when the book was made out, the first against which my name was written in a New York editor's book, was a lunch of some sort at the Astor House. I had forgotten what was the special occasion. I remember the bearskin hats of the Old Guard at the luncheon, but little else. In a kind of haze, I beheld half the savory viands of earth spread under the eyes and nostrils of a man who had not tasted food for the third day. I did not ask for any. I had reached that stage of starvation that is like the still center of a cyclone, when no

hunger is felt. A touch of that hunger may have crept into my report; for when the editor had read it, he said briefly: "You will do. Take that desk, and report at ten every morning, sharp."

That night, when I was dismissed from the office, I went up the Bowery to No. 185, where a Danish family kept a boardinghouse up under the roof. I had work and wages now, and could pay. On the stairs I fell in a swoon and lay there till some one stumbled over me in the dark and carried me in. My strength had at last given out.

So began my life as a newspaper man.

CLASS ACTIVITIES

1. Does this narrative stress events, scenes, a moral, or character?

2. Find all the humorous places; use these to prove Charles Lamb's statement: "A laugh is worth a hundred groans in any market." Can you find a pathetic place near every humorous reference? Read a passage aloud to prove the point.

3. What is added to the story by the episode of the tables sold after Riis received the last ten dollars? What is the value of the episode of "seventy-five cents"?

Name three qualities
What additions did

4. Was Riis really at fault in selling the tables? of successful salesmanship that he showed. you make to your "Application List"? What other traits of character does Riis unconsciously reveal in himself? Was his experience as a salesman a complete failure? Explain.

5. If this story were put in a motion picture, at what three parts would the audience be most affected? Tell what would be shown on the

screen at each place you select.

What would you throw on the

screen for the audience to read at these places?

6. Volunteer work: Prepare to tell the class more about Jacob Riis:

a. His friendship with Roosevelt.

b. The books he wrote.

c. The service he rendered New York.

7. Volunteer compositions:

a. Write a letter Riis might have sent when sending for the sample flat-iron.

b. Write a letter of thanks Riis might have sent the man who gave

Bob a home.

c. Write a story telling how Bob begged a dinner.

A GROUP OF SELECTIONS ON WORK

1. First read the selections to discover in what respects they are similar. 2. Then read each thoughtfully to see what particular message it has. 3. Read each aloud; then practise the one you think best for oral reading to the class.

2. GIVE YOUR ALL

ELBERT HUBBARD

If you work for a man, in heaven's name work for him. If he pays wages that supply you your bread and butter, work for him, speak well of him, think well of him, stand by him, and stand by the institution he represents. I think if I worked for a man I would work for him. I would not work for him a part of his time, but all of his time. I would give an undivided service or none. If put to a pinch, an ounce of loyalty is worth a pound of cleverness.

If you must vilify, condemn and eternally disparage, why, resign your position, and when you are outside, complain to your heart's content. But, I pray you, so long as you are a part of the institution, do not condemn it. Not that you will injure the institution not that but when you disparage the concern of which you are a part, you disparage yourself.

3. WORK

HENRY VAN DYKE

Let me but do my work from day to day,
In field, or forest, at the desk or loom,
In roaring market place or tranquil room;
Let me but find it in my heart to say,
When vagrant wishes beckon me astray,

"This is my work; my blessing, not my doom;
Of all who live, I am the one by whom

This work can best be done in the right way."

Then shall I see it not too great, nor small,
To suit my spirit and to prove my powers;
Then shall I cheerful greet the laboring hours,
And cheerful turn, when the long shadows fall
At eventide, to play and love and rest,
Because I know for me my work is best.

4. WHAT OF THAT?

ANONYMOUS

Tired? Well, what of that?

Didst fancy life was spent on beds of ease, Fluttering the rose leaves scattered by the breeze? Come, rouse thee! Work while it is called day! Coward, arise! Go forth upon thy way.

Lonely? And what of that?

Some must be lonely; 'tis not given to all
To feel a heart responsive rise and fall,
To blend another life into its own;

Work may be done in loneliness. Work on!

Dark? Well, what of that?

Didst fondly dream the sun would never set?
Dost fear to lose thy way? Take courage yet;
Learn thou to walk by faith, and not by sight;
Thy steps will guided be, and guided right.

Hard? Well, what of that?

Didst fancy life one summer holiday,

With lessons none to learn, and naught but play?

Go, get thee to thy task! Conquer or die!

It must be learned; learn it, then, patiently.

5. JUST A JOB

EDGAR ALBERT GUEST

Is it just a job that is yours to hold,
A task that offers you so much gold,
Just so much work that is yours to do,
With never a greater goal in view?
What do you see, at your desk or loom,
Or the spot you fill in life's busy room,
Merely a flickering lamp that burns
With a sickly light as the mill-wheel turns,
And the same old grind in the same old ways
With all the to-morrows like yesterdays?

Is it just a job, just a task to do,
So many pieces to build anew?
So many figures to add, and then
Home for a while and back again?
Are you just a clerk in a gaudy shop,
Pleased when a customer fails to stop,
Finding no joy in the things you sell,
Sullenly waiting the quitting-bell?

Are your thoughts confined to the narrow space
And the dreariness of your present place?

Is it just a job, or a golden chance?
The first grim post of a fine advance,
The starting place on the road which leads
To the better joys and the bigger deeds?
Do your thoughts go out to the days to be,
Can your eyes look over the drudgery
And see in the distance the splendid flow
Of the broader life that you, too, may know?
What is your view of your circumstance:
Is it just a job or a golden chance?