1

The Pilgrim’s Progress

So Emily had curled herself up in the ragged, comfortable old wing-chair and read The Pilgrim’s Progress all the afternoon. Emily loved The Pilgrim’s Progress. Many a time had she walked the straight and narrow path with Christian and Christiana–although she never liked Christiana’s adventures half as well as Christian’s. For one thing, there was always such a crowd with Christiana. She had not half the fascination of that solitary, intrepid figure who faced all alone the shadows of the Dark Valley and the encounter with Apollyon. Darkness and hobgoblins were nothing when you had plenty of company. But to be ALONE–ah, Emily shivered with the delicious horror of it!

Holy Holy Holy

This moment came rarely–went swiftly, leaving her breathless with the inexpressible delight of it….To-night the dark boughs against that far-off sky had given it. It had come with a high, wild note of wind in the night, with a shadow wave over a ripe field, with a greybird lighting on her window-sill in a storm, with the singing of “Holy, holy, holy” in church…

6

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

Here and there the young maple branches interlaced as if to make a screen for dryad faces–Emily knew all about dryads, thanks to her father–and the great sheets of moss under the trees were meet for Titania’s couch.

9

The Bugle Song

She had never heard the Bugle Song before–but now she heard it–and SAW it–the rose-red splendour falling on those storied, snowy summits and ruined castles–the lights that never were on land or sea streaming over the lakes–she heard the wild echoes flying through the purple valleys and the misty passes–the mere sound of the words seemed to make an exquisite echo in her soul–and when Miss Brownell came to “Horns of elf-land faintly blowing” Emily trembled with delight.

The Seasons

There is a little curly black-covered book in Aunt Elizabeth’s bookcase called Thompson’s Seasons and I decided I would write a poem on a season…

Rob Roy

Rob Roy, a novel, but I only read a little of it when Aunt Elizabeth said I must stop because I must not read novels. Aunt Laura says to read it on the sly.

Little Katy and Jolly Jim

Reuben and Grace, a story but not a novel, because Reuben and Grace are brother and sister and there is no getting married. Little Katy and Jolly Jim, same as above but not so exciting and traggic.

Alice in Wonderland

Alice in Wonderland, which is perfectly lovely

Memoirs of Anzonetta B. Peters

…the Memoirs of Anzonetta B. Peters who was converted at seven and died at twelve. When anybody asked for a question she answered with a hym verse. That is after she was converted. Before that she spoke English.

Jesus, Thy Blood and Righteousness

Jesus Thy blood and rightchusness My beauty are, my glorious dress.

12

Lady Clara Vere de Vere

Smoke and Buttercup were the Tansy Patch cats. Buttercup was a chubby, yellow, delightful creature hardly out of kitten-hood. Smoke was a big Maltese and an aristocrat from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail. There was no doubt whatever that he belonged to the cat caste of Vere de Vere.

14

The Bugle Song

Emily always knew when Teddy was coming, for when he reached the old orchard he whistled his “call”–the one he used just for her–a funny, dear little call, like three clear bird notes, the first just medium pitch, the second higher, the third dropping away into lowness and sweetness long-drawn out–like the echoes in the Bugle Song that went clearer and further in their dying.

15

The Alhambra

I am reading The Alhambra. It belongs to our book case. Aunt Elizabeth does not like to say it isnt fit for me to read because it was one of her fathers books, but I dont believe she aproves because she knits very furiously and looks black at me over her glasses.

The Ice Maiden

“Teddy lent me Hans Andersons stories. I love them–only I always think of a different end for the Ice Maiden and save Rudy.

16

The Lay of the Last Minstrel

It suddenly occurred to her that she would write an epic poem in imitation of The Lay of the Last Minstrel. Cousin Jimmy had read The Lay to her last Saturday. She would begin the first canto right off.

18

Inferno

Look here–see what I’ve made. This is a picture of Lofty John in purgatory, with three little devils sticking red-hot pitchforks into him. I copied some of it out of one of Mother’s books– Dante’s Infernal, I think it was–but I put Lofty John in place of the man in the book.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

“She’s got pointed ears,” said Father Cassidy, in a thrilling whisper. “Pointed ears! I KNEW she came straight from fairyland the minute I saw her. Sit down, Elf–if elves do sit–sit down and give me the latest news av Titania’s court.”

Matthew 16:19

“I’m afraid I can hardly invoke the power av the keys to prevent Lofty John from disposing as he wishes av his own lawful property, you know, elf.”

Esther 7:10

Why the man who cuts down such a tree except when it is really necessary should be hanged as high as Haman on a gallows made from the wood av it.

Romeo and Juliet

This feud has rent the kingdom in twain and can only be healed by an alliance between Capulet and Montague.

20

Sir Walter Raleigh

The other day in history class Miss Brownell read that Sir Walter Raleigh had to lie in the Tower for fourteen years. Perry said, ‘Wouldn’t they let him get up sometimes?’

Revelation 21:21

Aunt Ruth gave me a New Testament and said ‘Em’ly, I hope you will read a portion of that every day until you have read it through,’ and I said, ‘Why, Aunt Ruth, I’ve read the whole New Testament a dozen times (and so I have.) I LOVE Revelations.’ (And I DO. When I read the verse ‘and the twelve gates were twelve pearls,’ I just SAW them and the flash came.) ‘The Bible is not to be read as a story-book,’ Aunt Ruth said coldly.

21

The History of Henry Esmond

Aunt Elizabeth, you remember that book I found in Dr Burnley’s bookcase and brought home and asked you if I could read it? It was called The History of Henry Esmond. You looked at it and said you had no objections to my reading history.

323

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

And then she and Ilse and Teddy and Perry were absorbed heart and soul in “playing out” the Midsummer Night’s Dream in Lofty John’s bush.

The Mysteries of Udolpho The Romance of the Forest

Emily felt like one of the heroines in Gothic romance, wandering at midnight through a subterranean dungeon, with some unholy guide. She had read The Mysteries of Udolpho and The Romance of the Forest before the taboo had fallen on Dr Burnley’s bookcase.

25

The Scottish Chiefs

Emily was curled up on the sofa in the back parlour, reading The Scottish Chiefs because it was a breathlessly hot July afternoon– too hot to haunt the bay shore..

26

Jane Eyre

He stooped and picked up the broken aster. Emily’s heel had met it squarely and it was badly crushed. But he put it away that night between the leaves of an old volume of Jane Eyre, where he had marked a verse, All glorious rose upon my sight That child of shower and gleam.

27

The Trossachs

They roamed wonderlands of fancy together in the magic August days that followed upon Emily’s adventure on the bay shore, talked together of exquisite, immortal things, and were at home with “nature’s old felicities” of which Wordsworth so happily speaks.

Leonidas

I told you the story of Leonidas and his Spartans the other day. They had mothers, sisters and sweethearts. If they could have fought a bloodless battle at the polls wouldn’t it have been better–if not so dramatic.

Thermopylae

She was not old enough to think or say, as she would say ten years later, “The heroes of Thermopylae have been an inspiration to humanity for centuries. What squabble around a ballot-box will ever be that?”

Pasht

Cats.. have never got over the Bubastis habit of godship. If you had been born on the banks of the Nile five thousand years ago, Emily, you would have been a priestess of Pasht–an adorable, slim, brown creature with a fillet of gold around your black hair and bands of silver on those ankles Aunt Nancy admires, with dozens of sacred little godlings frisking around you under the palms of the temple court.

Good-bye

“‘Good-bye, proud world, I’m going home,’” she declaimed feelingly, standing at the top of the long, dark, shining staircase and apostrophizing the row of grim Priest photographs hanging on the wall.

The Fringed Gentian

Then whisper, blossom, in thy sleep How I may upward climb The Alpine Path, so hard, so steep, That leads to heights sublime. How I may reach that far-off goal Of true and honoured fame And write upon its shining scroll A woman’s humble name.

Mary, Queen of Scots

If, as Mary Queen of Scots, you were beheaded by the school axe, kneeling blindfolded at the doorstep, with Perry Miller, wearing a mask made out of a piece of Aunt Laura’s old black silk, for executioner, wondering what would happen if he brought the axe down TOO hard, you did not forget the year it happened

Battle of Waterloo

if you fought the battle of Waterloo all over the school playground, and heard Teddy Kent shouting, “Up, Guards and at ‘em!” as he led the last furious charge you remembered 1815 without half trying to

Unknown

Then whisper, blossom, in thy sleep Emily had the heartbreaking moments of the true artist who discovers that Never on painter’s canvas lives The charm of his fancy’s dream.

Pitt’s reply to Walpole

Then whisper, blossom, in thy sleep Emily’s favourite dream scene was where she rose to make her first speech–a wonderfully thrilling event. As Emily found it difficult to do justice to the scene in any ideas of her own, she always fell back on “Pitt’s reply to Walpole,” which she had found in her Royal Reader, and declaimed it, with suitable variations.