An American was making his first trip to Europe. On the way between the
Azores and Gibraltar the ship encountered a storm of great violence. For
an hour or more the traveler stood on the forward deck, watching the
titanic struggle, feeling the ship tremble at each impact of the waves,
and hearing the roar that only a storm at sea can produce. Upon returning
to his friends he said, "Never again can I speak flippantly of the ocean;
never again can I use the expression, 'crossing the pond.' The sea is too
vast and too sublime for that." He had achieved reverence. Many a child in
school can spell the name of the ocean and give a book definition rather
glibly, who, nevertheless, has not the faintest conception of what an
ocean really is. The tragedy of the matter is that the teacher gives him a
perfect mark for his parrot-like definition and spelling and leaves him in
crass ignorance of the reality. The boy deals only with the husk and
misses the kernel. When he can spell and define, the work has only just
begun, and not until the teacher has contrived to have him emotionalize
the ocean will he enter into the heart of its greatness, and power, and
utility in promoting life, and so come to experience a feeling of respect
for it. When it has won his respect he can read Victor Hugo's matchless
description of the sea with understanding, measurable appreciation, and,
certainly, a thrill of delight.

It is rare fun for children, and even for grown-ups, to locate the
constellations, planets, and stars. Of course, the North Star is
everybody's favorite because it is so steady, so reliable, so dependable.
We know just where to find it, and it never disappoints us. Two boys who
once were crossing from New York to Naples found great delight in a star
in the Southern sky that retained its relative position throughout the
journey. At the conclusion of dinner in the evening the boys were wont to
repair to the deck to find their star and receive its greetings. In their