There is one book that should be kept nearby for reference, so that we may use it when we need help with words. This book, as you have guessed, is a dictionary. The use of a dictionary which you will think of first, is for correct spelling. To find out how to spell a word correctly is a good use to which to put a dictionary. But it is by no means the only help that a dictionary can give us. Perhaps you are fond of words, which may be beautiful, amusing, curious, interesting, startling, exquisitely appropriate, and by means of which we are able to express the finest shades of meaning. If you do care for words, then in a little spare time, let us turn to a dictionary; any page of a dictionary will do. Read what is printed on the page concerning four or five English words. Notice carefully the different meanings for the same word. Above all, read with attention the quotations which illustrate how these words may be used. Standard and classic writers are the most helpful teachers when we wish to learn how to use words. The English tongue is a noble language; it is one of our greatest possessions. To use it correctly, skilfully, and with grace, is something that we can learn. Other books which will {221} help us, besides a well-chosen dictionary of the English language, are dictionaries of synonyms, and such a book as Mr. H. W. Fowler's _Dictionary of Modern English Usage_, a recent publication by a scholar whose work is not only learned, but delightfully interesting and helpful because of its keen wit and enthusiasm. {223} PART VIII POETRY {225} CHAPTER XXXII POETRY AND BEAUTY Let us gather in this chapter a few of the most beautiful lines in poetry. The youngest of the great English poets is John Keats. When he was little more than a boy, early in the nineteenth century, he wrote poetry. One of his poems is called "Ode to a Nightingale". Keats had been listening to the voice of the bird, which sings at night a song considered more beautiful than that of any other bird, and he began to imagine how often the nightingale had sung to people who lived long ago, and how often in far away, beautiful lands. As he thought, he could see these other lands, where people lived in faery palaces, with open windows looking on the sea. Keats' words, which we can read to-day, keep the song of the bird, and the picture of the countries where it sang, in perfect beauty. Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. {226}