I Meet Poseidon, a Greek God
by Glen Draeger
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When I was teaching I asked a class of mine if they would like to go to The World of Literature with me. They answered, "Yes!" What they did not know is that between the time I asked the question and the time they answered it my six students and I traveled to Iris's world.
"How can this be?" you may be asking. In The World of LiteratureTime does not pass in our world as it does there. Whenever I have had the good fortune to visit Iris I always come back at the exact time I left.
My former students are probably saying to themselves, "I don't remember going there! What's he talking about?" After our adventures and just before we came back to class Iris decided that the students should not be able to remember going to The World of Literature or anything that happened to them there. Caleb, Christian, George, John-Patrick, Marina and Olivia protested profusely when Iris told them they would forget everything.
"But why!" they yelled at the same time.
"I want to remember what happened here," Olivia said with frustration.
"We won't tell anyone," protested George.
Iris smiled. "It's best," she said. "Mr. Draeger will tell you about it and if you are fortunate, if you are willing to suspend your disbelief—you will go there once again."
"Come on, Mr. Draeger," John-Patrick said pleadingly, "don't let her erase our memory of this. That's not fair."
"I'm sorry," I said, "but Iris has her reasons even if we don't understand what they are and I couldn't stop her if I wanted to. Besides, I don't know if your parents would be too happy with me if they knew the dangers we faced while we were here."
"My Mom won't care," Marina said. "She'll just wish she could've come."
"My Mom, too," Christian said. "She's always up for a good adventure."
"My Dad will really be upset," Caleb commented. "He loves stuff like this."
"There are some things," Iris said, "that are necessary even though you may not think so." At that moment we arrived back in class and the students were yelling that they'd love to go to The World of Literature not knowing that they had just been there.
Here's what happened.
Right after I asked the students if they'd like to go to The World of Literature with me and before they could answer we suddenly found ourselves sitting at a large, round wooden table in Iris's tree. My students did not speak and every one of them looked scared. It's one thing to imagine going to another world, but it is completely different to actually go there.
"It's okay," I told them. "This is The World of Literature. This is Iris's tree." Slowly they began to look around. The immensity of the tree is hard to convey in words. Imagine a stadium for a professional football team with a roof on it and that will give you some idea of how big the inside of the base of the tree is. The students gazed in all directions, still, it seemed to me, afraid to speak. Then Iris entered.
She was barefoot as usual and strode toward the table across a wooden floor that looked as if it was centuries old. When she reached us she stood silently for a moment before saying, "Welcome. I've been expecting you." She smiled and nodded at each student as she said his or her name. Tentatively, they nodded back.
"Well, Glen," Iris said, "they certainly are a quiet group."
"Not in my class," I said.
"Do they know why they are here?"
"I didn't have a chance to tell them."
"Why do you think I brought you here?" Iris asked them.
George spoke first. "To meet someone?"
"That's part of it," she said. "You will do two things here. You will meet an author, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and you will venture into, or maybe I should say, through The Tanglewood Tales."
"They haven't read them yet," I said.
"Probably best," she said gravely. "We must prepare ourselves to leave. We have a long journey ahead of us."
"Where do we have to go?" John-Patrick asked.
She smiled slightly then replied, "You don't have to go anywhere if you realize that you're already there."
"What did she mean by that?" Christian whispered to me.
"I don't know," I replied.
We followed Iris out the front of the tree, down the stairs that took us to the base of the mountain upon which the tree stood and finally to a river. We followed it for three days hiking from dawn to dusk. The students, exhausted by our travels, slept soundly even without beds. It didn't bother me so much because the journey to see Frederick Douglass was far more difficult. It made this seem easy. I sensed, too, that many of the students wanted to go home and missed their parents, but they did not say anything for fear, I think, that they were the only ones who had these feelings.
On the morning of the fourth day we veered away from the river and hiked up a small mountain to its summit. Below us the emerald ocean stretched out as far we could see. Pulled up on the shore, as if it had been waiting for us all along, sat a boat. It looked like a large row boat, but it also had a tall mast for a sail.
"That's our transportation," Iris said staring at it.
"Where will it take us?" Marina asked.
"To the island of Crete," she said slowly, almost as if she were afraid. It was the first time Iris had exhibited fear and it unnerved me a bit, but I didn't say anything to my students. No one said anything more as we stood on the ridge of the mountain contemplating the liquid desert before us.
"Let's go," Iris finally said resolutely and we descended on a narrow, dirt trail to the boat.
The boat was probably 30 feet long and it made me think of the boats used in whaling during the 1800's. There were three oars on each side. The students sat amidships, or in the middle. Marina, George and Caleb took the left, or port side, while Olivia, John-Patrick and Christian took the right, or starboard side. Iris asked me to man the rudder in the stern of the boat and she sat in the bow surveying the horizon and checking her compass. The students seemed to be both excited and afraid which is precisely how I felt. The ocean slapped against the side of the boat and the salty smell of it reminded me of the beaches in Coronado and San Diego.
"Glen," Iris said to me. "Give us a push and then everyone start rowing." The students put the brass oarlocks in place as if they had done it a hundred times, placed the oars in them and made themselves ready. That was the first strange thing about this trip. We seemed, at times, to possess knowledge that we would not have had in our world. The other strange thing was that the longer we were in The World of Literature the less my students seemed like my students. Caleb was the youngest at 8 and Marina the oldest at 12, but I didn't think of them as students again until the very end of the trip, just before we came back to our world.
I stood on some rocks and gave the boat a heavy push as I jumped back into the stern. Everyone's oars hit and left the water at the exact same time while we glided up and over the small waves coming into shore.
We were about 200 yards out when Iris said, "Glen, keep us pointed toward that white cloud." There was only one and I had no trouble following it. Finally she came back to man the rudder and asked Marina, Christian and me to put up the sail. We hoisted the heavy mainsail and then the lighter jib. The wind quickly filled each of them and the other students stopped rowing. The boat glided through the water much faster than our rowing had propelled us.
While the boat cut through the water Christian asked me again what I thought Iris meant when she said, "You don't have to go anywhere if you realize that you're already there."
Before I could answer Marina said, "Maybe it's something like that Emily Dickinson poem. 'There's no frigate like a book/To take us lands away'?"
"Or maybe," John-Patrick said, "it's like Alice. She went to Wonderland, but really never even moved."
"Sherlock was like that too," George added. "He would just think about things in his room and figure them out."
"What about A Midsummer Night's Dream," Olivia thought out loud. "All around the humans there was this other world of fairies that only a few of them knew about. It was there all the time and they didn't even know it."
"Is that what you meant?" Christian asked Iris.
She sat in the bow of boat, raised her head and smiled knowingly, but she did not answer.
After an hour or so I noticed that Iris looked nervous. She listened intently to the silence and surveyed the ocean as if she were Captain Ahab looking for Moby Dick.
"Is something wrong?" Caleb asked her.
"Not exactly wrong," she said. "I just know where we are. This is the domain of Poseidon. I'd prefer not to meet him."
"Poseidon," George said slowly. "Wasn't he the god of the ocean?"
"Is the god of the ocean," Iris corrected. "Remember where you are. But he's not solely that. He's also the god of horses and earthquakes and," she paused, "he's prone to anger. He's the Greek god who so long prevented Odysseus' return to his home in the Odyssey."
Suddenly a huge figure burst out of the ocean ten yards from the starboard side. Water flew onto us in a huge wave while most of us screamed and the boat rocked violently. At first I thought it was a whale, but once it burst out of the water—-it stayed there, suspended, it seemed, maybe fifty feet above us. The sun was directly behind it so it was difficult to look at, but we had no trouble hearing it.
"Who brings these mortals from the other world!!" the voice bellowed.
Here, once again, I realized that Iris is so much more than she appears to be. "Who asks?" she yelled back.
"I am Poseidon and I do not ask, I demand," he screamed spraying water down upon us. He looked like a giant, grotesque seahorse. His leathery skin was a bluish green and all about him seaweed hung in long strands like dreadlocks. He dwarfed the boat and I knew he could destroy us whenever he wanted.
"I bring them. I am Iris Murdoch and though I now live in this world I once lived in the other one. I come from the Tree of Trajjus."
"I have heard of that tree. It is new in this world." He thought for a moment then said, "I do not want them here." He lowered his great head to within only a few feet of us scrutinizing us intensely and then he snorted loudly. "They are an irritation and an annoyance!"
"Why?" Iris asked. "They cannot harm you, nor will they harm anyone here."
"I know what happens in the other world. They don't believe in us anymore. They study us as if we were only words on a printed page, only stories—and nothing more."
"They are not like that, Poseidon."
"Silence!!! I know they are!!"
"Not all of them," Iris yelled back. "These people take you seriously."
"They do now," he thundered and again lowered his head close to us breathing in a growl so low that it made our bones vibrate. "So," he snarled, "where are you going?"
"To see the Minotaur."
"Ah, yes—-my creation. Minos, when I made him king of Crete, failed to sacrifice to me so I made his wife, Pasiphae, fall in love with a bull and she gave birth to the Minotaur—half bull, half man." He thought for what seemed like minutes though more likely it was only five or ten seconds. "I will not kill you," he said, "The Minotaur will see to that." With those words he plunged into the ocean and swam away leaving a huge wake behind him.
We all sighed loudly in relief. Our muscles had been so tense it was difficult to relax them.
"Could he kill us?" John-Patrick asked. "This isn't real—is it?"
"You can kill him in your world; he can kill you in his," Iris answered.
"I've never seen anything like that," Christian said leaning back against the side of the boat.
"I thought we were dead," added George breathing quickly as if he had just finished a long race.
All of us were scared; all of us felt our hearts pounding in our chests, but no one said they wanted to go home. No one complained; no one cried.
"Let's get this water out of the boat and get out of here," I said. With several buckets we began throwing the water out and within an hour were once again on our way. We sailed all night guiding ourselves by the north star and by the next morning Crete loomed in the distance. While we approached it we watched a huge creature lumber along the shore and then it looked as if it was going to smash a ship to bits. It stood as tall as a New York skyscraper and the morning sun glistened off its body as if it wore a shiny suit of armor.
"That's Talus," Iris said. "He is the guardian of Crete. Hephaestus made him of brass for Minos. He keeps strangers off the Island by throwing huge rocks at them or he can make himself red-hot and burn people to death. In his mind we have no good reason to be here so we must avoid him. He will not reason with us."
"How are we going to avoid him?" Marina asked.
"We will have to abandon the boat when we get within a kilometer of the shore. He's sure to see it. Then we'll have to swim in and hide until nightfall."
"What if he sees us?" John-Patrick asked.
"He has but one weakness. A single vein of blood runs from his head to his foot. In his foot there is nail that plugs up the vein. If you can pull the nail out or charm it out using magic—he will bleed to death."
"The problem," Caleb said, "is that he would probably kill us before he bled to death."
"That's exactly right," Iris said. "so we must make sure he doesn't see us."
About a mile from shore Iris rigged the rudder so the boat would approach land at a 45 degree angle. We swam at a 45 degree angle the other way. The water was cold and all of us began shivering uncontrollably. It took us about an hour to reach shore. The ground was shaking when we arrived on the rocky beach and not far off we heard the boat being smashed to smithereens. None of us could stop shaking.
"Over here," George said as loudly as he dared, his teeth chattering. "John-Patrick and I found a cave."
"Where is John-Patrick?" I asked.
"In here," came a voice from in the rocks. We moved toward it and sure enough it was cave. It had a short tunnel, about eight feet long, that opened up on a small room where the eight of us tightly fit. That was just as well. Iris said we could not start a fire and our closeness to each other warmed us up.
"Now," Iris said, "we must remain completely and utterly quiet."
We sat silent and listened. We could hear Talus stomping along the shore. He must have suspected someone was on the island after seeing that the boat was empty because he walked back and forth cursing loudly. At one point I thought the cave was going to collapse, but the most unnerving thing was to see his giant brass foot swing past the opening of the cave and then to hear him stop, to know that he stood within 25 feet of us and know that if he found us he would make us into food for all the fish around Crete. But after a few minutes we heard him lumber down the shore and eventually disappear. We didn't want to take any chances so we waited another three hours until nightfall.
"Okay," Iris said. "Time to go."
"Why do we have to see the Minotaur?" I asked.
"To see Nathaniel Hawthorne we must go through the Labyrinth. My intent is not to see the Minotaur, we simply have no other way to meet Hawthorne than through the Labyrinth. The Minotaur lives there, so, unfortunately, we will most likely see him."
"Have you seen him before," Olivia asked.
"Yes—just once. I won that battle, so he will not be happy to see me again."
After an hour of hiking we entered an opening between two rocks.
"This is the entrance," Iris said. She pulled a rope from her pack and we passed the end of it down the line. "Whatever happens," she said, "You must never let go of this rope." She paused. "Never!" she yelled in as mean a voice as I have ever heard her use. We stood behind her in this order: John-Patrick, George, Olivia, Caleb, Marina, Christian and myself.
It was night, but the labyrinth seemed to have a light all its own. We followed Iris as she led us down rock corridors, up stairs, through doorways, down stairs and through long winding passageways until finally we began hearing the snorts of the Minotaur.
"We must walk in the opposite direction of his sounds," Iris said.
"This way," said Marina, but his snorts only grew louder.
"That way," George said, but again, the sounds only grew louder.
"Up these stairs," Christian pleaded, sure it was the right way, but, nonetheless, the Minotaur's angry words only grew louder.
"Maybe," Olivia said, "if we walk toward his voice instead of away from it we will actually end up going away from him."
Everyone agreed this was an excellent idea, but it didn't work. No matter what we did his voice grew louder and louder until finally we found ourselves in the middle of the labyrinth in something like a small arena and by the far wall the Minotaur stood with his back to us. His human-like legs were huge and muscular, his bull-like upper body the same. But it was his face, which he showed when he slowly turned around, that was the most hideous. It clearly was a bull's face, but hidden somewhere in the deep wrinkles, the black egg-sized eyes, the long horns and the coarse, dirty, oily dark fur, as if it lurked under the skin, one could detect a human mouth of sorts, a nose the size of a bulls but human in shape and he had definite human ears. The ears seemed the most out of place.
His voice was raspy and sinister. "So, Iris, you return and with friends. Neither you or your friends will escape today. Daedalus built this labyrinth to hold me and it will hold you too."
"Asterius," Iris started.
"Do not use my name," he yelled. "I am the Minotaur."
"That may be, but you do not have long to live."
He laughed so loud at this that I had an almost irresistible urge to run, but I did not want to let go of the rope. Suddenly the Minotaur charged. Iris stood motionless until the last second and then it seemed like our hands were part of the rope, that we were the rope itself. We appeared, almost, to be flying in the air behind Iris as she jumped to a spot probably 30 feet from where we stood. We landed on our feet, perfectly balanced, yet somewhat dazed because it was difficult—no, it was impossible to figure out what had just happened. The Minotaur turned quickly and charged again. Iris waited then jumped to a spot probably fifty feet away and we followed as if we were kites on the end of a string.
Then I noticed the Minotaur, Asterius, looking in another direction and speaking, it seemed to me, to someone else. I heard him say,
"Ah, wretch of a human being! I'll stick my horns through you, and toss you fifty feet high, and eat you up the moment you come down."
Then I heard this thunderous, confident reply:
"Come on, then, and try it!"
With those words Iris whisked us through a secret door in the wall and we stood in a room, in a house, facing a man.
"Who's fighting the Minotaur?" George asked no one in particular.
"It is Theseus," the man responded. "He will prevail. He killed Sciron who used to force travelers into the sea only to be eaten by giant turtles and Procrustes with his torturous bed. He killed the Crommyonian sow and captured the Marathonian bull. The Minotaur will not succeed."
"Who are you?" Caleb asked.
"My name is Nathaniel Hawthorne."
"Mr. Hawthorne," I began a little nervous to be talking to one of America's greatest writers and relieved that we had just escaped death, "we're reading 'The Tanglewood Tales.' Did you write any other children's stories?"
"Many. I wrote six volumes of them. The 'Grandfather's Chair,' 'Famous Old People,' 'Liberty Tree,' 'Biographical Stories for Children,' 'A Wonder Book for Girls and Boys,' and the one you're reading now."
"Why did you write them?" I asked.
"Honestly, I wrote them when I needed to write something quickly that would make money. It took me a long time to make my living as a writer."
"Why don't you tell them about your childhood," Iris said.
He looked carefully at my students and me as if wondering which of us he could use as a model for a character in one of his books. "You're probably going to be disappointed when you hear about my life. It wasn't very exciting, not like my friend Herman Melville who sailed the ocean and who lived with cannibals and finally wrote 'Moby Dick.' My father was a ship's Captain, but he died at sea when I was 4 and I went to live with my uncle in Maine. I used to wander through the forest with my uncle's dog, Watch, and shoot partridges or fish for trout. 'It was there I first got my cursed habits of solitude.'"
"Why do you call them 'cursed'?" Olivia asked.
"I think I missed out on friendships. 'I doubt whether I have ever really talked with half a dozen persons in my life.'"
"So why did you become a writer?"
Mr. Hawthorne laughed then said, "I once wrote, 'I don't want to be a doctor, and live by men's diseases; nor a minister and live by their sins; nor a lawyer to live by their quarrels. So I don't see there's anything left for me but to be an author.' Please, please, let's all sit down," he said motioning to a large couch and several stuffed chairs. I've got a pot of tea brewing and, frankly, you all look worn out.
The tea was excellent and we also ate some bread, butter and jam.
"On the outside my life was dull," Mr. Hawthorne said.
"Like Emily Dickinson's?" George asked.
"Well, I didn't know her when I was alive, but I suppose compared to her life I lived a rather exciting one. I got married, I had children, I was somewhat famous and I traveled a lot toward the end of my life. I lived in Italy and England."
"You were famous for writing stories for children?" Christian asked.
"Oh no. I am most famous for my novels and tales—what you might call short stories. My most famous novel is The Scarlet Letter. Some people prefer to call my books 'Romances' not novels."
"Why is that?" Caleb asked.
"Because my books are highly symbolic and allegorical. That is, the stories represent something else."
"The Scarlet Letter is considered," I said to the students, "one of the greatest American novels ever written. Mr. Hawthorne is often considered to be the first great novelist of America."
Mr. Hawthorne continued, "I knew many great writers in America: Emerson, Thoreau, Melville and Tennyson. In fact, Tennyson went to the same college I did. I also knew and was a friend of Franklin Pierce, the 14th President of the United States. I wrote his biography."
"What else did you write?" Marina asked.
"Besides The Scarlet Letter, my novels include, The House of the Seven Gables, The Blithedale Romance, The Marble Faun and my earliest novel, though not one of my best(I tried to destroy all the copies of it)was Fanshawe."
"He is just as famous for his tales as his novels. You will find his stories in lots of literature textbooks. These include 'The Minister's Black Veil,' 'Young Goodman Brown,' 'Rappaccini's Daughter,' 'The Celestial Railroad,' and many, many more."
"Did you write essays?" John-Patrick asked.
"Not many," he said. "'I have always hated to give advice especially when there is a prospect of its being taken."
"I like laughter," he said. "It's a good thing. In The Scarlet Letter I wrote, 'We have yet to learn again the forgotten art of gayety.' So maybe I will give some advice to these young people." He looked at all of us—he died when he was 59(1804-1864)—so the advice included me too. "Learn to laugh and to be serious, but don't ever live with one and without the other. Well, I think that's about all we have time for. I understand that you will have to go back to your world via one of my tales: 'The Pygmies.'"
"Yes," Iris said. "We need to be on our way. Thank you, Nathaniel for speaking with us." All of us thanked him too. Mr. Hawthorne showed us to his front door and once we walked out of it we found ourselves in a jungle. We began hiking, following Iris through a dense foliage and not making much progress until we came to what looked like a giant path.
"You know what this looks like," Caleb said. "It looks like some giant walked through here."
"He'd have to be really, really big," George said.
We kept hiking on the path and about an hour later the ground began to shake at intervals.
"Everyone off the path," Iris said. Once we were about 50 from the path she spoke again. "You hear Antaeus, the wrestler, son of Ge and Poseidon. We have a difficult task ahead of us. We are now the size of Pygmies, about 6-8 inches. Antaeus will shortly meet Hercules in battle. We must be there when that happens. We have to hitch a ride on Hercules."
"What?" Olivia asked.
"Hitch a ride?" I said.
"Yes, plus avoid being captured by the Pygmies, killed by Antaeus or eaten by the cranes. And, to hitch the ride, we must not be noticed by Hercules. I'm not sure what he would do with us." The stomping grew louder and the earth shook harder.
"There are sure a lot giants in this place," John-Patrick said,
"Greek mythology is full of them," Iris said. "While we're waiting here let me tell you a little about Hercules so everyone knows who we are up against. He is incredibly strong and the son of Zeus and Alcmena. Even as a baby he exhibited extreme strength. Hera, a Greek goddess, never wanted Hercules to be born so she put two snakes in his crib, the other one to kill his twin, Iphicles. Hercules strangled both of them. He went on to perform His Labors. He killed the Nemean Lion, whose skin he wore after that. He killed Hydra, the many-headed snake. If you chopped one of the heads off Hydra it would simply grow another one. He captured the Erymanthian Boar, extremely strong and large. He also captured the Hind or deer of Artemis. It took him a year, but he did it and then he let it go. He killed the man-eating Stymphalian birds by shooting them one by one from the sky. He captured the Cretan Bull, most likely the father of the Minotuar, and released him. He captured the horses of Diomedes who were fed on human flesh. When Hercules fed Diomedes to them, they became tame. He defeated the Amazons led by their queen, Hippolyta and he killed Geryon, a monster with three bodies and three heads. Shall I go on?"
"Yeah," George said. "I love this stuff!"
"He captured Cerberus, the three-headed dog, who guards the gates in Hades, then returned him there. He also stole the apples of Hesperides, guarded by a ferocious dragon. Some say he killed the dragon, others say he just put it to sleep. There are many, many other feats attributed to Hercules. The one, that hopefully, we will witness today, is the killing of Antaeus. Take a look," Iris said.
We looked up and we could see this huge figure coming toward us, oblivious, it seemed, to anything as small as we were. It was Antaeus. Once he passed us we scrambled to the trail and followed him as fast as we could. Iris made us jog. It wasn't long until we were all breathing heavily and then, suddenly, we heard screams coming from the sky above us. When I looked up, because that's where the voices were coming from, I saw Marina and Christian each suspended by their clothing from the the beaks of two cranes flying swiftly away. We had to do something fast because these birds at the first chance they had would simply swallow my students whole and I had no insurance to cover that kind of thing(I can joke about it now because I know how it turns out, but then it was no joking matter).
I expected Iris to help, but she seemed as perplexed as we were. Sometimes she exhibits an incredible power and at other times she seems to have the same limitations we do. All she did was yell, "I can't help you!" This must have both inspired and scared Marina and Christian because they immediately began to struggle, as if they suddenly realized that their lives depended on themselves and not the help of Iris. Almost simultaneously, they grabbed on to the crane's necks and pulled themselves onto them like they were shimmying up a large tree trunk. The crane's heads were forced down because they did not want to release the clothes from their beaks, but eventually they had to because it was nearly impossible for them to fly that way. We didn't see Marina and Christian until later, but we learned that they choked the cranes until they had to land, then choked them further until they passed out and then they escaped.
For our part, Iris told us to keep moving or all us might suffer a similar fate. We were constantly ducking as the cranes dived toward us. Those that landed we had to elude, dodging their striking beaks and running in between their legs. It was not an option to hide because Iris said we had to make it to Hercules before he left. Luckily for us the Pygmies, mistaking us for their own people, attacked the cranes with arrows and spears and we were able to escape.
Far off we could hear Hercules and Antaeus speaking to one another.
"We must hurry!!" Iris yelled.
We ran as fast as we could, as fast our lungs would permit and by the time we reached the giants, Hercules had just raised Antaeus above his head.
"Follow me," she said. We ran toward a leg of Hercules. He wore sandals with leather straps that circled his giant calves almost up to his lion skin clothing. He was about as tall as a 40 story building. Just as we arrived at his leg so did Christian and Marina, who were not nearly as tired as we were because the cranes had flown them most of the way.
Quickly we climbed onto his foot, up to his ankle then used the straps of his sandal like a rope ladder to ascend to the lion skin. Each of us had to jump from the strap to the lion skin then climb all the way up his back to a pack he had where we jumped in. This was only accomplished because he stood perfectly still while he held Antaeus above his head. If he had been moving I'm fairly certain we would have fallen. Once in his pack, Hercules dropped the dead Antaeus and took his nap. The Pygmies never noticed us and when Hercules resumed his journey we were safely tucked away in his pack with his food, which we ate heartily. Iris kept track of where we were and when he took his second nap we disembarked.
It was a two day journey to the Tree of Trajjus. When we arrived there Iris informed my students that they would forget everything and we suddenly found ourselves back in class, however, only I knew of the adventures we had just completed. Now you know too.
Note: Quotes of Nathaniel Hawthorne appear in double quotation marks.
Benet's Readers Encyclopedia, Third Edition, Harper & Row, Publishers, New York, 1987.
Bragonier Jr., Reginald & Fisher, David, What's What: A Visual Glossary of the Physical World, Hammond Inc., Maplewood, New Jersey, 1981.
The Dictionary of Biographical Quotation, edited by Richard Kenin and Justin Wintle, Dorset Press, New York, 1978.
Hawthorne, Nathaniel, The Complete Novels and Selected Tales of Nathaniel Hawthorne, edited by Norman Holmes Pearson, The Modern Library, New York, 1965.
———, The Scarlet Letter, Bantam Books, New York, New York, 1981, p. 211.
———, Tanglewood Tales, Tor, a Tom Doherty Associates Book, New York, 1999.
The New Encyclopaedia Britannica, Encyclopaedia Britannica, Inc., Chicago, Ill., 1988, 15th edition, Vol. 5, pp. 765-766.
Waggoner, Hyatt H., The Presence of Hawthorne, Louisiana State University Press, Baton Rouge and London, 1979, p. 42.
©2005-2013 Glen Draeger (all rights reserved)
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