“Patience,” went on Sensee. "There
is plenty of time to consider great
books. Great books take care of
themselves through the ages. In a
marvelously capable manner.
“Take 'Pilgrim's Progress.’ Honest,
I don’t remember a thing on earth
about that book except the name
‘Christian.’ and the term ‘slough of
despond.’ ”
"I recall a picture of an old party
In a hunting hat with a feather in It,
and carrying a gun on his shoulder,”
grinned Melody.
“You are thinking of Rip Van
Winkle, Mel,” said Sensee. "As for
‘The Divine Comedy,’ I can’t recall
a thing about it, to be quite frank, ex
cept some horrible pictures of Italians
with curious pames being boiled in
pitch. I have more than a suspicion
that Dante consigned all his particu
lar aversions among friends and
enemies to the most uncomfortable
berths he could imagine for them.
“Say the title ‘Robinson Crusoe,’
what comes to mind? Nothing but a
picture of the man Friday, bending
in homage at the feet of Crusoe. What
do we actually remember of 'Black
Beauty,’ friend of youthful days?
Something about a black horse, wasn’t
it? Great story; I -want my boy to
read it, but I have forgotten it com
pletely. Yet it makes no difference
what we remember of great books.
