Long, long after this, my boyhood outgrown, a part of the parrot's prophecy was to be fulfilled.

In the part of the world where I lived there were, as everywhere, the rulers and the ruled, the oppressors and the oppressed: namely, the Magyars and the Slovaks. The latter have never been strong enough to gain national independence.1 I sensed their wrongs in my childhood and felt them keenly as I grew into manhood, especially after I came in touch with the revolutionary literature of that period. I think that most boys pass through some heroic stage, where the thought of martyrdom seems like wine in their blood. I was at that age and was guilty of many a senseless act.

One day, when I was at home during vacation after a severe examination period, a copyist from the judge's office came to my mother and told her that for a certain sum he would reveal to her an official secret, which would save me from falling into the hands of the vengeful government. I am fairly sure I was liable to a reprimand or a slight punishment, and that the shrewd copyist played on the fears of a mother who loved her boy and feared the law.

Before I knew it I was on my way to America, the copyist promising to hold the secret till I should be safe across the border. Within three days of my leaving home I was on the big yam, the ship did act like a nutshell on the pottock, and I wished many a time that I had left the parrot dreaming on his perch instead of waking him to prophesy for me so awful a fate.

When I went down for the first time into the steerage, no one said a word of cheer, no one waved farewell. I left strangers standing on the receding wharf and I was among eleven hundred strangers. I was going to a land full of strangers, and when I reached my bunk in a dark, deep corner of the hold, something which felt like a cold, icy hand gripped my heart.

'The Slovaks gained independence as a result of the World War; their country is now called Czechoslovakia (chek'ō-slō-va'kĭ-a).

During the voyage there were strange, awful hours when the waves came thundering over the deck and the wind played among the rigging, when the ship twisted and groaned in agony and we thought every moment was our last. After the storm there came calm and sunny days when gulls circled the ship and rested upon the quiet deep, and a tiny shore bird, driven by the wind, sought shelter on the deck. In the distance sails glided into view and disappeared; a long line of smoke betrayed the presence of many boats whose routes were to meet at the great port. The pilot came on board and we passed the Fire Ship, which guards the channel. Then the hours grew heavy and the morrow loomed with its uncertainty.

Day dawned, with an azure sky, and in the far distance that which looked like a cloud grew clear and remained immovable - land! Then the rapture of it struggled with the care and burden and rose triumphantly over them.

America! We were in the magic, holy land — America! I have seen this rapture and felt it. I should like the entrance into the United States to be a poem to all who come and not the horrible tragedy into which it often resolves itself when the first ecstasy is over. All the way across the sea I would make of every ship a school, with such fair comforts as men are entitled to for their money.

I have suffered much here, I have gone the whole scale of hunger, sorrow, and despair; yet I say it again and again, "Holy America! Holy America!" And I want all men to be able to say it, as they said it with me under the lee of the . land where free men live.

In those days, when I first landed in the United States, medical examination was not so thorough as now, and I do not believe there were more than half a dozen inspectors who searched into the secrets of my pocketbook and other deeper mysteries. I know that it was all over very soon and that I stood on the threshold of the United States, the bitter taste

of banana peeling upon my lips and around me a surging mass of evil-looking gentry, each one anxious to get hold of me and carry me bodily, if need be, to the lodging-house which he represented. A dozen voices shouted at me, "Hey, landsman!" By the law of chance, I fell into the hands of a landsman, who led me triumphantly to a lodging-house.

It was the dinner hour, and for the first time I put my feet under an American table. I was hungry, and whatever I paid for the meal I think it was fifty cents it was worth the money; not because I ate enough food, but because I learned an important lesson.

The dinner was served in a second-class American boardinghouse. Everything came on at once and disappeared at once, while I meekly awaited my turn.

A German barber, who had a shop next door, said to me after we left the table:

"Young man, in this country you must remember that God helps those who help themselves."

After dinner I went up and down Broadway looking for something to do. I did not venture far, for I knew no English and had but little money. On returning to the boardinghouse and paying for my supper and a night's lodging in advance, I did not have a single cent left. The next morning I woke in the great city without money and without friends.

That day I had nothing to eat. I knew I was in a free country, but the only thing which was free, and that made no little impression upon me, was ice water. I helped myself to it, not so much to quench my thirst, as in the vain hope that I would disarrange my digestive apparatus and thus stop its call for food; but the more water I drank the hungrier I grew.

When evening came and the stores were being closed, I remembered that my mother had given me the address of a distant relative who many years before had gone to New York. The place was not hard to find, but as it was over eighty blocks away and I had to walk the entire distance, I was more dead than alive when I reached the place. Upon

making myself known I was very cordially received, and I remember most vividly how delicious were the foods which were served me and how I went to sleep in my chair while trying to answer all the questions about the people left behind. Thus closed my first full day in the United States.

I have since frequently walked over that same route, and I always recall the entire strangeness of it; the loneliness, the hunger, the weariness, and at last night under the roof of unknown relatives who shared their home with me. The things I remember best, however, are that ice water was free in the United States, that there were no soldiers in the streets, that policemen were scarce, that bananas might be relished by Americans but that to a civilized European they were tough on the outside and mushy within; but above all else—that this is a country in which "God helps those who help themselves."

-Adapted.

CLASS ACTIVITIES

1. Point out the main parts of this narrative. Tell the story of the part which was most interesting to you.

2. Give the reason for Steiner's coming to America. Why does he call this country "Holy America"?

3. Describe Steiner's first hours in New York City. What experience made the deepest impression upon him?

4. Volunteer work:

a. Find out from some immigrant the reasons which brought him to America and the early experience which impressed him

most.

b. Find a selection similar to this in M. E. Ravage's An American in the Making, A. M. Rihbany's A Far Journey, J. A. Riis's The Making of An American, or some other book by an immigrant, which the librarian may suggest to you, or which you may select from the book list on pp. 313-314.

ADDITIONAL READINGS. 1. "The Roosian: the Story of a New Citizen, ," M. Ashmun, in Craftsman, 30:470-474. 2. "Brothers," A. Yezierska, in Harper's Magazine, 142: 512–524. 3. "How I Found America," A. Yezierska, Hungry Hearts, 250-298.

2. FINDING WORK IN AMERICA

CONSTANTINE M. PANUNZIO

This is the story of an Italian boy, who at the age of thirteen became a sailor, left his native land, and after strange adventures became by his own choice an American citizen.

"It recounts the struggles of an average immigrant. It is not the life story of a Jacob Riis, an Andrew Carnegie, or an Edward Bok that is told here, but that of an immigrant lad who has been neither too successful nor too unsuccessful. The stories of great and successful immigrants have led some Americans to say: 'See what great people immigrants are! We need more of them'; while others, equally as superficially, have said: 'If these immigrants have been able to make such a mark for themselves in our world, all immigrants could do the same if they wanted to.' Both of these statements are beautiful, but what they imply is not true."

See how many minutes it takes you to read this story.

Late in the evening, when the noise of the street traffic was subsiding, and the silence of the night was slowly creeping over Boston, I took my sea chest, my sailor bag, and all I had, and set foot on American soil. I was in America. Of immigration laws I had no knowledge; of the English language I knew not a word; of friends I had none in Boston or elsewhere in America to whom I might turn for counsel or help. I had exactly fifty cents remaining out of a dollar which the captain had finally seen fit to give me. But as I was soon to earn money and return to Italy, I felt no concern.

A Charlestown barber took me in his home that first night with the distinct understanding that I could stay only one night. So the next morning bright and early, leaving all my belongings with the barber, I started out in search of a job. I roamed about the streets, not knowing where or to whom to turn. That day and the next four days I had one loaf of bread each day for food, and at night, not having money with which to purchase shelter, I stayed on the recreation pier.

One night, very weary and lonely, I lay upon a bench and soon dozed off into a light sleep. The next thing I knew I