+133. Classes of Objects Frequently Described.+--There is no limit to the
things that we may wish to describe, but there are certain general classes
of objects that are described more frequently than others. We have greater
occasion to describe men or places than we have to describe pictures or
trees. A person may be an accurate observer having a large vocabulary
applicable to one class of objects, and thus be able to describe objects
of that class clearly and effectively; though at the same time, on account
of limited experience and small vocabulary, he cannot well describe
objects belonging to some other class. The ability to observe accurately
the classes of objects named below, and to appreciate descriptions of such
objects when made by others, is a desirable acquisition. Every effort
should be made to master as many as possible of the words applicable to
each class of objects. A slight investigation will show how great is the
number of such words with which we are unfamiliar.
1. _Descriptions of buildings or portions of buildings._
In most buildings the basement story is heaviest, and each succeeding
story increases in lightness; in the Ducal palace this is reversed, making
it unique amongst buildings. The outer walls rest upon the pillars of open
colonnades, which have a more stumpy appearance than was intended, owing
to the raising of the pavement in the piazza. They had, however, no base,
but were supported by a continuous stylobate. The chief decorations of the
palace were employed upon the capitals of these thirty-six pillars, and it
was felt that the peculiar prominence and importance given to its angles
rendered it necessary that they should be enriched and softened by
sculpture, which is interesting and often most beautiful. The throned
figure of Venice above bears a scroll inscribed: _Fortis, justa, trono
furias, mare sub pede, pono_. (Strong and just, I put the furies beneath
my throne, and the sea beneath my foot.) One of the corners of the palace
joined the irregular buildings connected with St. Mark's, and is not
generally seen. There remained, therefore, only three angles to be
decorated. The first main sculpture may be called the "Fig-tree angle,"
and its subject is the "Fall of Man." The second is "the Vine angle," and
represents the "Drunkenness of Noah." The third sculpture is "the Judgment
angle," and portrays the "Judgment of Solomon."
--Hare: _Venice_.
+Theme LIX.+--_Write a description of the exterior of some building._
+Theme LX.+--_Write a description of some room._
+Theme LXI.+--_Write a description of some portion of a building, such as
an entrance, spire, window, or stairway._
(Consider each description with reference to--
_a._ Point of view.
_b._ Fundamental image.
_c._ Selection of essential details.
_d._ Selection and subordination of minor details.
_e._ Arrangement of details with reference to their natural positions in
space.
_f._ Effective choice of words and comparisons.)
2. _Natural features: valleys, rivers, mountains, etc._
Beyond the great prairies and in the shadow of the Rockies lie
the Foothills. For nine hundred miles the prairies spread themselves
out in vast level reaches, and then begin to climb over softly
rounded mounds that ever grow higher and sharper, till here and
there, they break into jagged points and at last rest upon the great
bases of the mighty mountains. These rounded hills that join the
prairies to the mountains form the Foothill Country. They extend
for about a hundred miles only, but no other hundred miles of the
great West are so full of interest and romance. The natural features
of the country combine the beauties of prairie and of mountain
scenery. There are valleys so wide that the farther side melts into
the horizon, and uplands so vast as to suggest the unbroken prairie.
Nearer the mountains the valleys dip deep and ever deeper till they
narrow into canyons through which mountain torrents pour their
blue-gray waters from glaciers that lie glistening between the white
peaks far away.
--Connor: _The Sky Pilot_.
Long lines of cliff breaking have left a chasm;
And in the chasm are foam and yellow sands;
Beyond, red roofs about a narrow wharf
In cluster; then a molder'd church; and higher
A long street climbs to one tall tower'd mill;
And high in heaven behind it a gray down
With Danish barrows, and a hazelwood,
By autumn nutters haunted, flourishes
Green in a cuplike hollow of the down.
--Tennyson: _Enoch Arden_.
+Theme LXII.+--_Write a description of some valley, mountain, field,
woods, or prairie._
+Theme LXIII.+--_Write a description of some stream, pond, lake, dam, or
waterfall._
(Consider especially your choice of words.)
3. _Sounds or the use of sounds._
And the noise of Niagara? Alarming things have been said about it, but
they are not true. It is a great and mighty noise, but it is not, as
Hennepin thought, an "outrageous noise." It is not a roar. It does not
drown the voice or stun the ear. Even at the actual foot of the falls it
is not oppressive. It is much less rough than the sound of heavy surf--
steadier, more homogeneous, less metallic, very deep and strong, yet
mellow and soft; soft, I mean, in its quality. As to the noise of the
rapids, there is none more musical. It is neither rumbling nor sharp. It
is clear, plangent, silvery. It is so like the voice of a steep brook--
much magnified, but not made coarser or more harsh--that, after we have
known it, each liquid call from a forest hillside will seem, like the odor
of grapevines, a greeting from Niagara. It is an inspiriting, an
exhilarating sound, like freshness, coolness, vitality itself made
audible. And yet it is a lulling sound. When we have looked out upon the
American rapids for many days, it is hard to remember contented life amid
motionless surroundings; and so, when we have slept beside them for many
nights, it is hard to think of happy sleep in an empty silence.
--Mrs. Van Rensselaer: _Niagara_ ("Century").
Yell'd on the view the opening pack;
Rock, glen, and cavern, paid them back;
To many a mingled sound at once
The awaken'd mountain gave response.
A hundred dogs bay'd deep and strong,
Clatter'd a hundred steeds along,
Their peal the merry horns rung out,
A hundred voices join'd the shout;
With hark, and whoop, and wild halloo,
No rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew.
Far from the tumult fled the roe,
Close in her covert cower'd the doe;
The falcon, from her cairn on high,
Cast on the rout a wondering eye,
Till far beyond her piercing ken
The hurricane had swept the glen.
Faint, and more faint, its failing din
Return'd from cavern, cliff, and linn,
And silence settled, wide and still,
On the lone wood and mighty hill.
--SCOTT: _Lady of the Lake_.
+Theme LXIV.+--_Describe some sound or combination of sounds, or write a
description introducing sounds._
Suggested subjects:--
1. Alone in the house.
2. In the woods at night.
3. Beside the brook.
4. In the factory.
5. A day at the beach.
6. Before the Fourth.
7. On the seashore.
(Notice especially the words that indicate sound.)
4. _Color or the use of color._
A gray day! soft gray sky, like the breast of a dove; sheeny gray sea with
gleams of steel running across; trailing skirts of mist shutting off the
mainland, leaving Light Island alone with the ocean; the white tower
gleaming spectral among the folding mists; the dark pine tree pointing a
somber finger to heaven; the wet, black rocks, from which the tide had
gone down, huddling together in fantastic groups as if to hide their
nakedness.
--Laura E. Richards: _Captain January_.
The large branch of the Po we crossed came down from the mountains which
we were approaching. As we reached the post road again they were glowing
in the last rays of the sun, and the evening vapors that settled over the
plain concealed the distant Alps, although the snowy top of the Jungfrau
and her companions the Wetterhorn and Schreckhorn rose above it like the
hills of another world. A castle or church of brilliant white marble
glittered on the summit of one of the mountains near us, and, as the sun
went down without a cloud, the distant summits changed in hue to a glowing
purple, mounting almost to crimson, which afterwards darkened into a deep
violet. The western half of the sky was of a pale orange and the eastern a
dark red, which blended together in the blue of the zenith, that deepened
as twilight came on.
--Taylor: _Views Afoot_.
+Theme LXV.+--_Write a description in which the color element enters
largely._
5. _Animals, birds, fishes, etc._
The Tailless Tyke had now grown into an immense dog, heavy of muscle and
huge of bone. A great bull head; undershot jaw, square and lengthy and
terrible; vicious yellow gleaming eyes; cropped ears; and an expression
incomparably savage. His coat was a tawny lionlike yellow, short, harsh,
dense; and his back running up from shoulder to loins ended abruptly in a
knoblike tail. He looked like the devil of a dog's hell, and his
reputation was as bad as his looks. He never attacked unprovoked; but a
challenge was never ignored and he was greedy of insults.
--Alfred Ollivant: _Bob, Son of Battle_.
(Copyright, Doubleday and McClure.)
Read the description of the kingbird (page 224), and of the mongoose (page
242).
+Theme LXVI.+--_Write a description of some animal, bird, or fish._
(What questions should you ask yourself about each description you write?)
6. _Trees and plants._
How shall kinnikinnick be told to them who know it not? To a New Englander
it might be said that a whortleberry bush changed its mind one day and
decided to be a vine, with leaves as glossy as laurel, bells pink-striped
and sweet like the arbutus, and berries in clusters and of scarlet instead
of black. The Indians call it kinnikinnick, and smoke it in their pipes.
White men call it bearberry, I believe; and there is a Latin name for it,
no doubt, in the books. But kinnikinnick is the best,--dainty, sturdy,
indefatigable kinnikinnick, green and glossy all the year round, lovely at
Christmas and lovely among flowers at midsummer, as content and thrifty on
bare, rocky hillsides as in grassy nooks, growing in long, trailing
wreaths, five feet long, or in tangled mats, five feet across, as the rock
or the valley may need, and living bravely many weeks without water, to
make a house beautiful. I doubt if there be in the world a vine I should
hold so precious, indoors and out.
--Helen Hunt Jackson: _Bits of Travel at Home_.
A mango tree is beautiful and attractive. It grows as large as the oak,
and has a rich and glossy foliage. The fruit is shaped something like a
short, thick cucumber, and is as large as a large pear. It has a thick,
tough skin, and a delicious, juicy pulp. When ripe it is a golden color. A
tree often bears a hundred bushels of mangoes.
--Marian M. George.
+Theme LXVII.+--_Write a description of some tree that you have seen._
(Consider your theme with reference to the general principles of
composition treated in Chapter V.)
+134. Description of Persons: Character Sketches.+--The general principles
of description are applicable to the description of a person, and should
be followed for the purpose of presenting a clear and vivid image. Our
interest, however, so naturally runs beyond the appearance and is
concerned with the character, that most descriptions of persons become
character sketches. Even the commonest terms of description, such as _keen
gray eyes, square chin, rugged countenance_, are interpreted as showing
character, and depart to some degree from pure description. Often the sole
purpose of description is to show character, and only those details are
introduced which accomplish this purpose.
In life we judge a man's character by his actions, and so in the character
sketch we are led to infer his character from what he does. The character
indicated by his appearance is corroborated by a statement of his actions
and especially by showing how he acts. (See Section 10.) Sometimes no
descriptive matter is given, but we are left to make our own picture to
fit the character indicated by the actions. In many books the descriptive
elements which would enable us to form an image of some person are
distributed over several pages, each being introduced where it supplements
and emphasizes the character shown by the actions.
Notice the following examples:--
The Rev. Daniel True stood beside the holy table. For such a scene,
perhaps for any scene, he was a memorable figure. He had the dignity of
early middle life, but none of its signs of advancing age. His hair was
quite black, and curled on his temples boyishly; his mustache, not without
a worldly cut, was as dark as his hair, and concealed a mouth so clean and
fine that it was an ethical mistake to cover it. He had sturdy shoulders,
although not quite straight; they had the scholar's stoop; his hands were
thin, with long fingers; his gestures were sparing and significant; his
expression was so sincere that its evident devoutness commanded respect;
so did his voice, which was authoritative enough to be a little priestly
and lacking somewhat in elocutionary finish as the voices of ministers are
apt to be, but genuine, musical, persuasive, at moments vibrant with
oratorical power. He had a warm eye and a lovable smile. He was every inch
a minister, but he was every nerve a man.
--Elizabeth Stuart Phelps: _A Sacrament_ ("Harper's").
She was not more than fifteen. Her form, voice, and manner belonged to the
period of transition from girlhood. Her face was perfectly oval, her
complexion more pale than fair. The nose was faultless; the lips, slightly
parted, were full and ripe, giving to the lines of the mouth warmth,
tenderness, and trust; the eyes were blue and large, and shaded by
drooping lids and long lashes; and, in harmony with all, a flood of golden
hair, in the style permitted to Jewish brides, fell unconfined down her
back to the pillion on which she sat. The throat and neck had the downy
softness sometimes seen which leaves the artist in doubt whether it is an
effect of contour or color. To these charms of feature and person were
added others more--an indefinable air of purity which only the soul can
impart, and of abstraction natural to such as think much of things
impalpable. Often, with trembling lips, she raised her eyes to heaven,
itself not more deeply blue; often she crossed her hands upon her breast,
as in adoration and prayer; often she raised her head like one listening
eagerly for a calling voice. Now and then midst his slow utterance, Joseph
turned to look at her, and, catching the expression kindling her face as
with light, forgot his theme, and with bowed head, wondering, plodded on.
--Lew Wallace: _Ben-Hur_.
(Copyright, 1880, Harper and Bros.)
When Washington was elected general of the army he was forty-three years
of age. In stature he a little exceeded six feet; his limbs were sinewy
and well proportioned; his chest broad, his figure stately, blending
dignity of presence with ease of manner. His robust constitution had been
tried and invigorated by his early life in the wilderness, his habit of
occupation out of doors, and his rigid temperance, so that few equalled
him in strength of arm or power of endurance. His complexion was florid,
his hair dark brown, his head in shape perfectly round. His broad nostrils
seemed formed to give expression and escape to scornful anger. His dark
blue eyes, which were deeply set, had an expression of resignation and an
earnestness that was almost sad.
--Bancroft.
There were many Englishmen of great distinction there, and Tennyson was
the most conspicuous among the guests. Tennyson's appearance was very
striking and his figure might have been taken as a living illustration of
romantic poetry. He was tall and stately, wore a great mass of thick, long
hair--long hair was then still worn even by men who did not affect
originality; his frame was slightly stooping, his shoulders were bent as
if with the weight of thought; there was something entirely out of the
common and very commanding in his whole presence, and a stranger meeting
him in whatever crowd would probably have assumed at once that he must be
a literary king.
--Justin McCarthy: _Literary Portraits from the Sixties_ ("Harper's").
The door opened and there appeared to these two a visitor. He was a young
man, and tall,--so tall that, even with his hat off, his head barely
cleared the ceiling of the low-studded room. He was slim and fair-haired
and round-shouldered. He had the pink and white complexion of a girl;
soft, fair hair; dark, serious eyes; the high, white brow of a thinker;
the nose of an aristocrat; and he was in clerical garb.
--Sewall Ford: _The Renunciation of Petruo_ ("Harper's").
EXERCISE
Notice the pictures on page 253. Can you determine from the picture
anything about the character of the person? Just what feature in each
helps you in this?
+Theme LXVIII.+--_Describe some person known to most of the class._
(Do not name the person, but combine description and character sketching
so that the class may be able to tell whom you mean.)
[Illustrations]
+135. Impression of a Description.+--Often the effectiveness of a
description is determined more by the impression which it makes upon our
feelings than by the vividness of the picture which it presents. Read the
following description of the Battery in New York by Howells. Notice how
the details which have been selected emphasize the "impression of
forlornness." The sickly trees, the decrepit shade, the mangy grass plots,
hungry-eyed and hollow children, the jaded women, silent and hopeless, the
shameless houses, the hard-looking men, unite to give the one impression.
Even the fresh blue water of the bay, which laughs and dances beyond, by
its very contrast gives greater emphasis to the melancholy and forlorn
appearance of the Battery.
All places that fashion has once loved and abandoned are very melancholy;
but of all such places, I think the Battery is the most forlorn. Are there
some sickly locust trees there that cast a tremulous and decrepit shade
upon the mangy grass plots? I believe so, but I do not make sure; I am
certain only of the mangy grass plots, or rather the spaces between the
paths, thinly overgrown with some kind of refuse and opprobrious weed, a
stunted and pauper vegetation proper solely to the New York Battery. At
that hour of the summer morning when our friends, with the aimlessness of
strangers who are waiting to do something else, saw the ancient promenade,
a few scant and hungry-eyed little boys and girls were wandering over this
weedy growth, not playing, but moving listlessly to and fro, fantastic in
the wild inaptness of their costumes. One of these little creatures wore,
with an odd, involuntary jauntiness, the cast-off best dress of some
happier child, a gay little garment cut low in the neck and short in the
sleeves, which gave her the grotesque effect of having been at a party the
night before. Presently came two jaded women, a mother and a grandmother,
that appeared, when they crawled out of their beds, to have put on only so
much clothing as the law compelled. They abandoned themselves upon the
green stuff, whatever it was, and, with their lean hands clasped outside
their knees, sat and stared, silent and hopeless, at the eastern sky, at
the heart of the terrible furnace, into which in those days the world
seemed cast to be burnt up, while the child which the younger woman had
brought with her feebly wailed unheeded at her side. On one side of the
women were the shameless houses out of which they might have crept, and
which somehow suggested riotous maritime dissipation; on the other side
were those houses in which had once dwelt rich and famous folk, but which
were now dropping down to the boarding-house scale through various
unhomelike occupations to final dishonor and despair. Down nearer the
water, and not far from the castle that was once a playhouse and is now
the depot of emigration, stood certain express wagons, and about these
lounged a few hard-looking men. Beyond laughed and danced the fresh blue
water of the bay, dotted with sails and smokestacks.
--Howells: _Their Wedding Journey_.
The successive images of the preceding selection are clear enough, but
they are bound together by a common purpose, which is the creation of a
single impression. Often, however, a description may present, not a single
impression, but a series of such impressions, to which a unity is given by
the fact that they are all connected with one event, or occur at the same
time, or in the same place. Such a series of impressions is illustrated in
the following:--
It is a phenomenon whose commonness alone prevents it from being most
impressive, that departure of the night-express. The two hundred miles it
is to travel stretch before it, traced by those slender clews, to lose
which is ruin, and about which hang so many dangers. The drawbridges that
gape upon the way, the trains that stand smoking and steaming on the
track, the rail that has borne the wear so long that it must soon snap
under it, the deep cut where the overhanging mass of rocks trembles to its
fall, the obstruction that a pitiless malice may have placed in your path,
you think of these after the journey is done, but they seldom haunt
your fancy while it lasts. The knowledge of your helplessness in any
circumstances is so perfect that it begets a sense of irresponsibility,
almost of security; and as you drowse upon the pallet of the sleeping car
and feel yourself hurled forward through the obscurity, you are almost
thankful that you can do nothing, for it is upon this condition only that
you can endure it; and some such condition as this, I suppose, accounts
for many heroic acts in the world. To the fantastic mood which possesses
you equally, sleeping or waking, the stoppages of the train have a weird
character, and Worcester, Springfield, New Haven, and Stamford are rather
points in dreamland than well-known towns of New England. As the train
stops you drowse if you have been waking, and wake if you have been in a
doze; but in any case you are aware of the locomotive hissing and coughing
beyond the station, of flaring gas-jets, of clattering feet of passengers
getting on and off; then of some one, conductor or station master, walking
the whole length of the train; and then you are aware of an insane
satisfaction in renewed flight through the darkness. You think hazily of
the folk in their beds in the town left behind, who stir uneasily at the
sound of your train's departing whistle; and so all is blank vigil or a
blank slumber.
--Howells: _Their Wedding Journey_.
+136. Impression as the Purpose of Description.+--The impression that it
gives may become the central purpose of a description. It is evident in
Howells's description of the Battery that the purpose was the creating of
an impression of forlornness, and that the author kept this purpose in
mind when choosing the details. If his aim had been to enable us to form a
clear picture of the Battery in its physical outlines, he would have
chosen different details and would have presented them in different
language.
The same scene or object may present a different appearance to two
different observers because each may discover a different set of
likenesses or resemblances and so select different essential
characteristics. An artist will paint a picture that centers around some
one feature. Each added detail seems but to set forth and increase the
effect of this central element of the picture. Similarly the observer will
in his description lay emphasis on the central point and will select
details that bear a helpful relation to it. If he wishes to present the
picture of a valley, he will lay emphasis on its fundamental image and
essential details with reference to its appearance; but if his desire is
to present the impression of fertility or of rural simplicity and quiet,
the elements that are important for the producing of the desired
impression may not be at all the ones essential to his former picture.
When the presentation of a picture is our central purpose, we attempt to
present it as it appears to us, and select details that will enable others
to form the desired image; but if we desire to set forth how a scene
affected us, we must choose details that will make our reader feel as we
felt.
+137. Necessity of Observing our Impressions.+--In order to write a
description which shall give our impression of an object or scene, we must
know definitely what that impression is. Just as clear seeing is necessary
for the reproduction of definite images, so is the clear perception of our
impressions necessary to their reproduction. Furthermore, we may know what
our impressions are without being able to select those elements in a scene
that have produced them; but in order to write a description that shall
affect others as the scene itself affected us, we must know what these
elements are and emphasize them in the description. Thus it becomes
necessary to pay attention both to our impression and to the selection of
those details which create that impression. One glance at a room may cause
us to believe that the housekeeper is untidy. If we wish to convey this
impression to our reader, our description must include the details that
give that impression of untidiness to us.
Nor are we limited to sight alone, for our impressions may be made
stronger by the aid of the other senses. Sound and smell and taste may
supplement the sight, and though they add little to the clearness, yet
they add much to the impression which we get.
Within the cabin, through which Basil and Isabel now slowly moved, there
were numbers of people lounging about on the sofas, in various attitudes
of talk or vacancy; and at the tables there were others reading _Lothair_,
a new book in the remote epoch of which I write, and a very fashionable
book indeed. There was in the air that odor of paint and carpet which
prevails on steamboats; the glass drops of the chandeliers ticked softly
against each other, as the vessel shook with her respiration, like a
comfortable sleeper, and imparted a delicious feeling of coziness and
security to our travelers.
--Howells: _Their Wedding Journey_.
+138. Impression Limited to Experience.+--If we attempt to write a
description for the sake of giving an impression, it must be an impression
that we have ourselves experienced. If the sight of the gorge of Niagara
has filled us with a feeling of sublimity and awe, we shall find it hard
to write a humorous account of it. If we see the humorous elements of a
situation, we cannot easily make our description give the impression of
grief. Neither can we successfully imitate the impressions of others. No
two persons are affected in the same way by the same thing. Our age, our
temperament, our emotional attitude, and all of our past experiences
affect our way of looking at things and modify the impressions which we
get. The successful presentation of our impression will depend largely
upon the definite perception of our feelings.
+139. Impression Affected by Mood.+--Not only is our impression affected
by details in the scene observed, but it is even more largely influenced
by our mood at the time of the observation. The same landscape may cheer
at one time and dishearten at another. To-day we see the ridiculous;
to-morrow, the sad and sorrowful. A thousand things may change our mood,
but under certain general conditions, certain impressions are likely to
arise. There is something in the air of spring, or the heat of summer,
which affects us all. The weather, too, has its effect. Sunshine and
shadow find answering attitudes in our feelings, and the skillful writer
takes advantage of these emotional tendencies.
Not far we fared--
The river left behind--when, looking back,
I saw the mountain in the searching light
Of the low sun. Surcharged with youthful pride
In my adventure, I can ne'er forget
The disappointment and chagrin which fell
Upon me; for a change had passed. The steep
Which in the morning sprang to kiss the sun,
Had left the scene; and in its place I saw
A shrunken pile, whose paths my steps had climbed,
Whose proudest height my humble feet had trod.
Its grand impossibilities and all
Its store of marvels and of mysteries
Were flown away, and would not be recalled.
--Holland: _Katrina_.
+140. Union of Image and Impression.+--Because we have discussed image
making and impression giving separately, it must not be judged that they
necessarily occur separately. They are in fact always united. No image,
however clear, can fail to make some impression, and no description,
however strong the impression it gives, fails to create some image. It is
rather the placing of the emphasis that counts. Some descriptions have for
their purpose the giving of an image, and the impression is of little
moment. Other descriptions aim at producing impressions, and the images
are of less importance. In the description of the Battery (page 254) the
images are clear enough, but they are subordinate to the impression. This
subordination may even go farther. Often the impression is made prominent
and we are led by suggestion to form images which fit it, while in reality
few definite images have been set. Notice in the following selection that
the impression of desolation is given without attempting to picture
exactly what was seen:--
The country at the foot of Vesuvius is the most fertile and best
cultivated of the kingdom, most favored by Heaven in all Europe. The
celebrated _Lacrymæ Christi_ vine flourishes beside land totally
devastated by lava, as if nature here made a last effort, and resolved to
perish in her richest array. As you ascend, you turn to gaze on Naples,
and on the fair laud around it--the sea sparkles in the sun as if strewn
with jewels; but all the splendors of creation are extinguished by
degrees, as you enter the region of ashes and smoke, that announces your
approach to the volcano. The iron waves of other years have traced their
large black furrows in the soil. At a certain height birds are no longer
seen; further on, plants become very scarce; then even insects find no
nourishment. At last all life disappears. You enter the realm of death and
the slain earth's dust alone sleeps beneath your unassured feet.
--Madame De Staël: _Corinne: Italy_.
EXERCISES
Discuss the following selections with reference to the impression given by
each:--
The third of the flower vines is Wood-Magic. It bears neither flowers nor
fruit. Its leaves are hardly to be distinguished from the leaves of the
other vines. Perhaps they are a little rounder than the Snowberry's, a
little more pointed than the Partridge-berry's; sometimes you might
mistake them for the one, sometimes for the other. No marks of warning
have been written upon them. If you find them, it is your fortune; if you
taste them, it is your fate. For as you browse your way through the
forest, nipping here and there a rosy leaf of young wintergreen, a
fragrant emerald tip of balsam fir, a twig of spicy birch, if by chance
you pluck the leaves of Wood-Magic and eat them, you will not know what
you have done, but the enchantment of the treeland will enter your heart
and the charm of the wildwood will flow through your veins. You will never
get away from it. The sighing of the wind through the pine trees and the
laughter of the stream in its rapids will sound through all your dreams.
On beds of silken softness you will long for the sleep-song of whispering
leaves above your head, and the smell of a couch of balsam boughs. At
tables spread with dainty fare you will be hungry for the joy of the hunt,
and for the angler's sylvan feast. In proud cities you will weary for the
sight of a mountain trail; in great cathedrals you will think of the long,
arching aisles of the woodland: and in the noisy solitude of crowded
streets you will hone after the friendly forest.
--Henry Van Dyke: _The Blue Flower_.
(Copyright, 1902, Charles Scribner's Sons.)
Running your eye across the map of the State, you see two slowly
converging lines of railroad writhing out between the hills to the
sea-coast. Three other lines come down from north to south by the river
valleys and the jagged shore. Along these, huddled in the corners of the
hills and the sea line, lie the cities and the larger towns. A great
majority of mankind, swarming in these little spots, or scuttling to and
fro along the valleys on those slender lines, fondly dream they are
acquainted with the land in which they live. But beyond and around all
this rises the wide, bare face of the country, which they will never know--
the great patches of second-growth woods, the mountain pastures sown
thick with stones, the barren acres of the hillside farmer--a desolate
land, latticed with gray New England roads, dotted with commonplace or
neglected houses, and pitted with the staring cellars of the abandoned
homes of disheartened and defeated men.
Out here in this semi-obscurity, where the regulating forces of society
grow tardy and weak, strange and dangerous beings move to and fro,
avoiding the apprehension of the law. Occasionally we hear of them--of
some shrewd and desperate city fugitives brought to bay in a corner of the
woods, or some brutal farmhouse murderer still lurking uncaptured among
the hills. Often they pass through the country and out beyond, where they
are never seen again.
In the extreme southwestern corner of the State the railroads do not come;
the vacant spaces grow between the country roads, and the cities dwindle
down to half-deserted crossroads hamlets. Here the surface of the map is
covered up with the tortuous wrinkles of the hills. It is a beautiful but
useless place. As far as you can see, low, unformed lumps of mountains lie
jumbled aimlessly together between the ragged sky lines, or little silent
cups of valleys stare up between them at their solitary patch of sky. It
seems a sort of waste yard of creation, flung full of the remnants of the
making of the earth.
--George Kibbe Turner: _Across the State_ ("McClure's").
When once the shrinking dizzy spell was gone,
I saw below me, like a jeweled cup,
The valley hollowed to its heaven-kissed lip--
The serrate green against the serrate blue--
Brimming with beauty's essence; palpitant
With a divine elixir--lucent floods
Poured from the golden chalice of the sun,
At which my spirit drank with conscious growth,
And drank again with still expanding scope
Of comprehension and of faculty.
I felt the bud of being in me burst
With full, unfolding petals to a rose,
And fragrant breath that flooded all the scene.
By sudden insight of myself I knew
That I was greater than the scene,--that deep
Within my nature was a wondrous world,
Broader than that I gazed on, and informed
With a diviner beauty,--that the things
I saw were but the types of those I held,
And that above them both, High Priest and King,
I stood supreme, to choose and to combine,
And build from that within me and without
New forms of life, with meaning of my own,
And then alone upon the mountain top,
Kneeling beside the lamb, I bowed my head
Beneath the chrismal light and felt my soul
Baptized and set apart for poetry.
--Holland: _Katrina_.
+Theme LXIX.+--_Write a description the purpose of which is to give an
impression that you have experienced._
SUMMARY
1. Description is that form of discourse which has for its
purpose the creation of an image.
2. The essential characteristics of a description are:--
_a._ A point of view,
(1) It may be fixed or changing.
(2) It may be expressed or implied.
(3) Only those details should be included that can be seen
from the point of view chosen.
_b._ A correct fundamental image.
_c._ A few characteristic and essential details
(1) Close observation on the part of the writer is necessary
in order to select the essential details.
_d._ A proper selection and subordination of minor details.
_e._ A suitable arrangement of details with reference to their
natural position in space.
_f._ That additional effectiveness which comes from
(1) Proper choice of words.
(2) Suitable comparisons and figures.
(3) Variety of sentence structures.
3. The foregoing principles of description apply in the describing of many
classes of objects. A description of a person usually gives some
indication of his character and so becomes to some extent a character
sketch.
4. A description may also have for its purpose the giving of an
impression.
_a._ The writer must select details which will aid in conveying
the impression he desires his readers to receive.
_b._ The writer must observe his own impressions accurately,
because he cannot convey to others that which he has not
himself experienced.
_c._ The impression received is affected by the mood of the person.
_d._ Impression and image are never entirely separated.
IX. NARRATION
+141. Kinds of Narration.+--Narration consists of an account of
happenings, and, for this reason, it is, without doubt, the most
interesting of all forms of discourse. It is natural for us all to be
interested in life, movement, action; hence we enjoy reading and talking
about them. To be convinced that there is everywhere a great interest in
narration we need only to listen to conversations, notice what constitutes
the subject-matter of letters of friendship, read newspapers and
magazines, and observe what classes of books are most frequently drawn
from our libraries.
Narration assumes a variety of forms. Since it relates happenings, it must
include anecdotes, incidents, short stories, letters, novels, dramas,
histories, biographies, and stories of travel and exploration. It also
includes many newspaper articles such as those that give accounts of
accidents and games and reports of various kinds of meetings. Evidently
the field of narration is a broad one, for wherever life or action may be
found or imagined, a subject for a narrative exists.
EXERCISES
1. Name four different events that have actually taken place in your
school in which you think your classmates are interested.
2. Name three events that have taken place in other schools that may be of
interest to members of your school.
3. Name four events of general interest that have occurred in your city
during the last two or three years.
4. From a daily paper, pick out a narrative that is interesting to you.
5. Select one that you think ought to interest the most of your
classmates.
6. Name three national events of recent occurrence.
7. Name three or four strange or mysterious events of which you have
heard.
8. Name an actual occurrence that interested you because you wanted to see
how it turned out.
9. Would an ordinary account of a bicycle or automobile trip be
interesting? If not, why not?
+Theme LXX.+--._Write a letter to a pupil in a neighboring high school,
telling about something interesting that has happened in your own school_.
(Review forms of letter writing. Consider your use of paragraphs.)
+142. Plot.+--By plot we mean the outline of the story told in a few
words. All narratives consist of accounts of connected happenings, in
which action on the part of the characters is naturally implied. The
principal action briefly told constitutes the plot. The simple plot of
Tennyson's _Princess_ is as follows:--
A prince of the North, after being affianced as a child to a princess of
the South, has fallen in love with her portrait and a lock of her hair.
When, however, the embassy appears to fetch home the bride, she sends back
the message that she is not disposed to be married. Upon receipt of this
word the Prince and two friends, Florian and Cyril, steal away to seek
the Princess, and learn on reaching her father's court that she has
established a Woman's College on a distant estate. Having got letters
authorizing them to visit the Princess, they ride into her domain, where
they determine to go dressed like girls and apply for admission as
students in the College. They arrive in disguise, and are admitted. On the
first day the young men enroll themselves as students of Lady Psyche, who
recognizes Florian as her brother and agrees not to expose them, since--by
a law of the College inscribed above the gates, which darkness has kept
them from seeing--the penalty of their discovery would be death. Melissa,
a student, overhears them, and is bound over to keep the secret. Lady
Blanche, mother of Melissa and rival to Lady Psyche, also learns of the
alarming invasion, and remains silent for sinister reasons of her own. On
the second day the principal personages picnic in a wood. At dinner Cyril
sings a song that is better fit for the smoking room than for the ears of
ladies; the Prince, in his anger, betrays his sex by a too masculine
reproof; and dire confusion is the result. The Princess in her flight
falls into the river, from which she is rescued by the Prince. Cyril and
Lady Psyche escape together, but the Prince and Florian are brought before
the Princess. At this important moment despatches are brought from her
father saying that the Prince's father has surrounded her palace with
soldiers, taken him prisoner, and holds him as a hostage. The Prince,
after pleading to deaf ears, is sent away at dawn with Florian, and goes
with him to the camp. Meantime during the night, the Princess's three
brothers have come to her aid with an army. An agreement is reached to
decide the case and end the war by a tournament between the brothers, with
fifty men, on one side; the Prince and his two friends, with fifty men, on
the other. This happens on the third day. The Prince and his men are
vanquished, and he himself is badly wounded.
But the Princess is now gradually to discover that she has "overthrown
more than her enemy,"--that she has defeated yet saved herself. She has
said of Lady Psyche's little child:--
"I took it for an hour in mine own bed
This morning: there the tender orphan hands
Felt at my heart, and seem'd to charm from thence
The wrath I nursed against the world."
When Cyril pleads with her to give the child back to its mother, she
kisses it and feels that "her heart is barren." When she passes near the
wounded Prince, and is shown by his father--his beard wet with his son's
blood--her hair and picture on her lover's heart,
Her iron will was broken in her mind,
Her noble heart was broken in her breast.
From the Princess's cry then, "Grant me your son to nurse," it is but a
natural result that she should bring the Prince's wounded men with him
into the College, now a hospital. Through ministering to her lover, she
comes to love him; and theories yield to "the lord of all."
--Copeland-Rideout: _Introduction to Tennyson's Princess_.
+Theme LXXI.+--_Write the plot of one of the following_:--
1. _Lochinvar_, Scott.
2. _Rip Van Winkle_, Irving.
3. One story from _A Tale of Two Cities_, Dickens.
4. _Silas Marner_, George Eliot.
5. The last magazine story you have read.
6. Some story assigned by the teacher.
+Theme LXXII.+--_Write three brief plots. Have the class choose the one
that will make the most interesting story._
+Theme LXXIII.+--_Write a story, using the plot selected by the class in
the preceding theme._
(Are the events related in your story probable or improbable?)
+143. The Introduction.+--Our pleasure in a story depends upon our clear
understanding of the various situations, and this understanding may often
be best given by an introduction that states something of the time, place,
characters, and circumstances as shown in Section 6. The purpose of the
introduction is to make the story more effective, and what it shall
contain is determined by the needs of the story itself. The last half of a
well-written story will not be interesting to one who has not read the
first half, because the first half will contain much that is essential to
the complete understanding of the main point of the story. A story begun
with conversation at once arouses interest, but care must be taken to see
that the reader gets sufficient descriptive and explanatory matter to
enable him to understand the story as the plot develops, or the interest
will begin to lag.
+Theme LXXIV.+--_Write a narrative._
Suggested subjects:--
1. The Christmas surprise.
2. How the mortgage was paid.
3. The race between the steam roller and the traction engine.
4. The new girl in the boarding school.
5. The Boss, and how he won his title.
(Be sure that your introduction is such that the entire situation is
understood. Name different points in the story that led you to say what
you have in the introduction. Have you mentioned any unnecessary points?)
+144. The Incentive Moment.+--The chief business of a story-teller is to
arouse the interest of his readers, and the sooner he succeeds, the
better. Usually he tries to arouse interest from the very beginning of his
story. He therefore places in the introduction or near it a statement
designed to stimulate the curiosity of his readers. The point at which
interest begins has been termed the incentive moment. In the following
selection notice that the first sentence tells who, when, and where.
(Section 6.) The second sentence causes us to ask, what was it? and by the
time that is answered we are curious to know what happened and how the
adventure ended.
On a mellow moonlight evening a cyclist was riding along a lonely road in
the northern part of Mashonaland. As he rode, enjoying the somber beauty
of the African evening, he suddenly became conscious of a soft, stealthy,
heavy tread on the road behind him. It seemed like the jog trot of some
heavy, cushion-footed animal following him. Turning round, he was scared
very badly to find himself looking into the glaring eyes of a large lion.
The puzzled animal acted very strangely, now raising his head, now
lowering it, and all the time sniffling the air in a most perplexed
manner. Here was a surprise for the lion. He could not make out what kind
of animal it was that could roll, walk, and sit still all at the same
time; an animal with a red eye on each side, and a brighter one in front.
He hesitated to pounce upon such an outlandish being--a being whose blood
smelled so oily.
I believe no cyclist ever "scorched" with more honesty and
single-mindedness of purpose. But although he pedaled and pedaled,
although he perspired and panted, his effort to get away did not seem to
place any more space between him and the lion; the animal kept up his
annoyingly calm jog trot, and never seemed to tire.
The poor rider was finally so exhausted from terror and exertion that he
decided to have the matter settled right away. Suddenly slowing down, he
jumped from his wheel, and, facing abruptly about, thrust the brilliant
headlight full into the face of the lion. This was too much for the beast.
The sudden glare destroyed the lion's nerve, for at this fresh evidence of
mystery on the part of the strange rider-animal, who broke himself into
halves and then cast his big eye in any direction he pleased, the monarch
of the forest turned tail, and with a wild rush retreated in a very
hyena-like manner into the jungle, evidently thanking his stars for his
miraculous escape from that awful being. Thereupon the bicyclist, with new
strength returning and devoutly blessing his acetylene lamp, pedaled his
way back to civilization.
--P.L. Wessels.
+Theme LXXV.+--_Write a short imaginative story._
Suggested subjects:--
1. A bicycle race with an unfriendly dog.
2. An unpleasant experience.
3. A story told by the school clock.
4. Disturbing a hornet's nest.
5. The fate of an Easter bonnet.
6. Chased by a wolf.
(Where is the incentive moment? Is it introduced naturally?)
+145. Climax.+--You have already noticed in your reading that usually
somewhere near the close of the story, there is a turning point. That
turning point is called the climax. At this point, the suspense of mind is
greatest, for the fate of the principal character is being decided. If the
story is well written as regards the plot, our interest will continually
increase from the incentive moment to the climax.
In the novel and the drama, both of which may have a complicated plot,
several minor climaxes or crises may be found. There may be a crisis to
each single event or episode, yet they should all be a part of and lead up
to the principal or final climax. Instead of detracting from, they add to
the interest of a carefully woven plot. For example, in the _Merchant of
Venice_, we have a crisis in both the casket story and the Lorenzo and
Jessica episode; but so skillfully are the stories interwoven that the
minor climaxes do not lessen our interest in the principal one.
In short stories, the turning point should come near the close. There
should be but little said after that point is reached. In novels, and
especially in dramas, we find that the climax is not right at the close,
and considerable action sometimes takes place after the climax has been
reached.
EXERCISES
_A._ Point out the climax in each of five stories that you have read.
_B._ Where is the climax in the following selection?
We spoke, and Sohrab kindled at his taunts,
And he too drew his sword; at once they rushed
Together, as two eagles on one prey
Come rushing down together from the clouds,
One from the east, one from the west; their shields
Dashed with a clang together, and a din
Rose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters
Make often in the forest's heart at morn,
Of hewing axes, crashing trees--such blows
Rustum and Sohrab on each other hailed.
And you would say that sun and stars took part
In that unnatural conflict; for a cloud
Grew suddenly in heaven, and darked the sun
Over the fighters' heads; and a wind rose
Under their feet, and moaning swept the plain,
And in a sandy whirlwind wrapped the pair.
In gloom they twain were wrapped, and they alone;
For both the onlooking hosts on either hand
Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was pure,
And the sun sparkled on the Oxus stream.
But in the gloom they fought, with bloodshot eyes
And laboring breath; first Rustum struck the shield
Which Sohrab held stiff out; the steel-spiked spear
Rent the tough plates, but failed to reach the skin,
And Rustum plucked it back with angry groan.
Then Sohrab with his sword smote Rustum's helm,
Nor clove its steel quite through; but all the crest
He shore away, and that proud horsehair plume,
Never till now denied, sank to the dust;
And Rustum bowed his head; but then the gloom
Grew blacker, thunder rumbled in the air,
And lightnings rent the cloud; and Ruksh, the horse,
Who stood at hand, uttered a dreadful cry;--
No horse's cry was that, most like the roar
Of some pained desert lion, who all day
Hath trailed the hunter's javelin in his side,
And comes at night to die upon the sand.
The two hosts heard that cry, and quaked for fear,
And Oxus curdled as it crossed his stream.
But Sohrab heard, and quailed not, but rushed on,
And struck again; and again Rustum bowed
His head; but this time all the blade, like glass,
Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm,
And in the hand the hilt remained alone.
Then Rustum raised his head; his dreadful eyes
Glared, and he shook on high his menacing spear,
And shouted: "Rustum!"--Sohrab heard that shout,
And shrank amazed: back he recoiled one step,
And scanned with blinking eyes the advancing form;
And then he stood bewildered; and he dropped
His covering shield, and the spear pierced his side.
He reeled, and, staggering back, sank to the ground,
And then the gloom dispersed, and the wind fell,
And the bright sun broke forth, and melted all
The cloud; and the two armies saw the pair--
Saw Rustum standing, safe upon his feet,
And Sohrab wounded, on the bloody sand.
--Matthew Arnold: _Sohrab and Rustum_.
+Theme LXXVI.+--_Write a story and give special attention to the climax._
Suggested subjects:--
1. The immigrant's error.
2. A critical moment.
3. An intelligent dog.
4. The lost key.
5. Catching a burglar.
6. A hard test.
7. Won by the last hit.
8. A story suggested by a picture you have seen.
(Name the incidents leading up to the climax. Is the mind held in suspense
until the climax is reached? Are any unnecessary details introduced?)
+146. Conversation in Narration.+--When introduced into narration, a
conversation is briefer than when actually spoken. It is necessary to have
the conversation move quickly, for we read with less patience than we
listen. The sentences must be for the most part short, and the changes
from one speaker to another frequent, or the dialogue will have a "made to
order" effect. Notice the conversation in as many different stories as
possible. Observe how variation is secured in indicating the speaker. How
many substitutes for "He said" can you name? In relating conversation
orally, we are less likely to secure such variety. Notice in your own
speech and that of others how often "I said" and "He said" occur.
EXERCISES
_A_. Notice the indentation and sentence length in the following
selection:--
Louden looked up calmly at the big figure towering above him.
"It won't do, Judge," he said; that was all, but there was a significance
in his manner and a certainty in his voice which caused the uplifted hand
to drop limply.
"Have you any business to set foot upon my property?" he demanded.
"Yes," answered Joe. "That's why I came.
"What business have you got with me?"
"Enough to satisfy you, I think. But there's one thing I don't want to
do"--Joe glanced at the open door--"and that is to talk about it here--for
your own sake and because I think Miss Tabor should be present. I called
to ask you to come to her house at eight o'clock to-night."
"You did!" Martin Pike spoke angrily, but not in the bull bass of yore.
"My accounts with her estate are closed," he said harshly. "If she wants
anything let her come here."
Joe shook his head. "No. You must be there at eight o'clock."
--Booth Tarkington: _The Conquest of Canaan_ ("Harper's").
_B_. Notice the conversation in the following narrative. Consider also the
incentive moment and the climax. Suggest improvements.
When Widow Perkins saw Widower Parsons coming down the road she looked as
mad as a hornet and stepped to the back door.
"William Henry," she called to the lank youth chopping wood, "you've
worked hard enough for one day. Come in and rest."
"Guess that's the first time you ever thought I needed a rest since I was
born. I'll keep right on chopping till you get through acceptin' old
Hull," he replied, whereupon the widow slammed the door and looked twice
as mad as before.
"Mornin', widdy," remarked the widower, stalking into the room, taking a
chair without an invitation, and hanging his hat on his knee. "Cold day,"
he added cheerfully.
The widow nodded shortly, at the same time inwardly prophesying a still
colder day for him before he struck the weather again.
"Been buyin' a new cow," resumed the caller, impressively.
"Have, eh?" returned the widow, with a jerk, bringing out the ironing
board and slamming it down on the table.
"An' two hogs," went on the widower, wishing the widow would glance at him
just once and see how affectionate he looked. "They'll make pork enough
for all next winter and spring."
"Will, eh?" responded the widow, with a bang of the iron that nearly
wrecked the table.
"An' a--a--lot o' odd things 'round the house; an' the fact is, widdy, you
see--that is, you know--was going to say if you'll agree"--the widower
lost his words, and in his desperation hung his hat on the other knee and
hitched a trifle nearer the ironing board.
"No, Hull Parsons, I don't see a single mite, nor I don't know a particle,
an' I ain't agreein' the least bit," snapped the widow, pounding the
creases out of the tablecloth.
"But say, widdy, don't get riled so soon," again ventured Parsons. "I was
jest goin' to tell you that I've been proposing to Carpenter Brown to
build a new--"
By this time the widow was glancing at him in a way he wished she
wouldn't.
"Is that all the proposin' you've done in the last five mouths, Hull
Parsons?" she demanded stormily. "You ain't asked every old maid for miles
around to marry you, have you, Hull Parsons? An' you didn't tell the last
one you proposed to that if she didn't take you there would be only one
more chance left--that old pepper-box of a Widow Perkins? You didn't say
that, now, did you, Hull Parsons?" and the widow's eyes and voice snapped
fire all at once.
The caller turned several different shades of red and realized that he had
struck the biggest snag he'd ever struck in any courting career, past or
present. He laughed violently for a second or two, tried to hang his
hat on both knees at the same time, and finally sank his voice to a
confidential undertone:--
"Now, widdy, that's the woman's way o' puttin' it. They've been jealous o'
you all 'long, fur they knew where my mind was sot. I wouldn't married one
o' them women for nothing," added the widower, with another hitch toward
the ironing board.
"Huh!" responded the widow, losing a trifle of her warlike cast of
countenance. "S'pose all them women hadn't refused you, Hull Parsons, what
then?"
"They didn't refuse me, widdy," returned the widower, trying to look
sheepish, and dropping his voice an octave lower. "S'pose I hadn't oughter
tell on 'em, but--er--can you keep a secret, widdy?"
"I ain't like the woman who can't," remarked the widow, shortly.
"Well, then, I was the one who did the refusin'--the hull gang went fer me
right heavy, guess 'cause 'twas leap year, or they was tryin' on some o'
them new women's ways, or somethin' like that. But my mind was sot all
along, d'ye see, widdy?"
And the Widow Perkins invited Widower Parsons to stay to dinner, because
she thought she saw.
+Theme LXXVII.+--_Complete the story on pages 79-80,
or one of the following:_--
THE AUDACIOUS REPORTER
Soon after Fenimore Dayton became a reporter his city editor sent him to
interview James Mountain. That famous financier was then approaching the
zenith of his power over Wall Street and Lombard Street. It had just been
announced that he had "absorbed" the Great Eastern and Western Railway
System--of course, by the methods which have made some men and some
newspapers habitually speak of him as "the Royal Bandit." The city editor
had two reasons for sending Dayton--first because he did not like him;
second, because any other man on the staff would walk about for an hour
and come back with the report that Mountain had refused to receive him,
while Dayton would make an honest effort.
Seeing Dayton saunter down Nassau Street--tall, slender, calm, and
cheerful--you would never have thought that he was on his way to interview
one of the worst-tempered men in New York, for a newspaper which that man
peculiarly detested, and on a subject which he did not care to discuss
with the public. Dayton turned in at the Equitable Building and went up to
the floor occupied by Mountain, Ranger, & Blakehill. He nodded to the
attendant at the door of Mountain's own suite of offices, strolled
tranquilly down the aisle between the several rows of desks at which sat
Mountain's personal clerks, and knocked at the glass door on which was
printed "Mr. Mountain" in small gilt letters.
"Come!" It was an angry voice--Mountain's at its worst.
Dayton opened the door. Mountain glanced up from a mass of papers before
him. His red forehead became a network of wrinkles and his scant white
eyebrows bristled. "And who are you?" he snarled.
"My name is Dayton--Fenimore Dayton," replied the reporter, with a
gracefully polite bow. "Mr. Mountain, I believe?"
It was impossible for Mr. Mountain altogether to resist the impulse to bow
in return. Dayton's manner was compelling.
"And what the dev--what can I do for you?"
"I'm a reporter from the ----"
"What!" roared Mountain, leaping to his feet in a purple, swollen veined
fury....
--David Graham Philips ("McClure's").
CAUGHT MASQUERADING
When I took my aunt and sister to the Pequot hotel, the night before the
Yale-Harvard boat race, I found a gang of Harvard boys there. They
celebrated a good deal that night, in the usual Harvard way.
Some of the Harvard men had a room next to mine. About three a.m. things
quieted down. When I woke up next morning, it was broad daylight, and I
was utterly alone. The race was to be at eleven o'clock. I jumped out of
bed and looked at my watch--it was nearly ten! I looked for my clothes. My
valise was gone! I rang the bell, but in the excitement downstairs, I
suppose, no one answered it.
What was I to do? Those Harvard friends of mine thought it a good joke on
me to steal my clothes and take themselves off to the race without waking
me up. I don't know what I should have done in my anguish, when, thank
goodness, I heard a tap at my door, and went to it.
"Well, do hurry!" (It was my sister's voice.) "Aunt won't go to the race;
we'll have to go without her."
"They've stolen my clothes, Mollie--those Harvard fellows."
"Haven't you anything?" she asked through the keyhole.
"Not a thing, dear."
"Oh, well! it's a just punishment to you after last night! That ---- noise
was dreadful!"
"Perhaps it is," I said, "but don't preach now, sister dear--get me
something to put on. I want to see the race."
"I haven't anything except some dresses and one of aunt's."
"Get me Aunt Sarah's black silk," I cried. "I will wear anything rather
than not see the race, and it's half-past ten nearly now."
(Correct your theme with reference to the points mentioned in Section
146.)
+147. Number and Choice of Details--Unity.+--In relating experiences the
choice of details will be determined by the purpose of the narrative and
by the person or persons for whom we are writing. A brief account of an
accident for a newspaper will need to include only a clear and concise
statement of a few important facts. A traveling experience may be made
interesting and vivid if we select several facts and treat each quite
fully. This is especially true if the experience took place in a country
or part of a country not familiar to our readers. If we are writing for
those with whom we are acquainted, we can easily decide what will interest
them. If we write to different persons an account of the same event, we
find that these accounts differ from one another. We know what each person
will enjoy, and we try to adapt our writing to each individual taste. Our
narrative will be improved by adapting it to an imaginary audience in case
we do not know exactly who our readers will be. In your high school work
you know your readers and can select your facts accordingly.
To summarize: a narration should possess unity, that is, it should say all
that should be said about the subject and not more than needs to be said.
The length of the theme, the character of the audience to which it is
addressed, and the purpose for which it is written, determine what facts
are necessary and how many to choose in order to give unity. (See Section
81.)
+148. Arrangement of Details--Coherence.+--We should use an arrangement of
our facts that will give coherence to our theme. In a coherent theme each
sentence or paragraph is naturally suggested by the preceding one. It has
been pointed out in Sections 82-85 that in narration we gain coherence by
relating our facts in the order of their occurrence. When a single series
of events is set forth, we can follow the real time-order, omitting such
details as are not essential to the unity of the story.
If, however, more than one series of events are given, we cannot follow
the exact time-order, for, though two events occur at the same time, one
must be told before the other. Here, the actual time relations must be
carefully indicated by the use of expressions; as, _at the same time,
meanwhile, already_, etc. (See Section 12.) Two or more series of events
belong in the same story only if they finally come together at some time,
usually at the point of the story. They should be carried along together
so that the reader shall have in mind all that is necessary for the
understanding of the point when it is reached. In short stories the
changes from one series to another are close together. In a long book one
or more chapters may give one series of incidents, while the following
chapters may be concerned with a parallel series of incidents. Notice the
introductory paragraph of each chapter in Scott's _Ivanhoe_ or Cooper's
_The Last of the Mohicans_. Many of these indicate that a new series of
events is to be related.
It will be of advantage in writing a narrative to construct an outline as
indicated in Section 84. Such an outline will assist us in making our
narrative clear by giving it unity, coherence, and emphasis.
EXERCISES
1. Name events that have occurred in your school or city which could be
related in their exact time-order. Relate one of them orally.
2. Name two accidents that could not be related in their exact time-order.
Relate one of them orally.
3. Name subjects for real narratives that would need to be written in the
first person; in the third person.
4. In telling about a runaway accident, what points would you mention if
you were writing a short account for a newspaper?
5. What points would you add if you were writing to some one who was
acquainted with the persons in the accident?
6. Consider the choice and arrangement of details in the next magazine
story that you read.
+Theme LXXVIII.+--_Write a personal narrative in which the time-order can
be carefully followed._
Suggested subjects:--
1. The irate conductor.
2. A personal adventure with a window.
3. An interrupted nap.
4. Lost in the woods.
5. In a runaway.
6. An amusing adventure.
7. A day at grandfather's.
(Consider the unity and coherence of the theme.)
+Theme LXXIX.+--_Write in the third person a true narrative in which
different events are going on at the same time._
Suggested subjects:--
1. A skating accident.
2. The hunters hunted.
3. Capsized on the river.
4. How he won the race.
5. An experience with a balky horse.
6. The search for a lost child.
7. How they missed each other.
8. A strange adventure.
9. A tip over in a bobsleigh.
(How many series of events have you in your narrative? Are they well
connected? What words have you used to show the time-order of the
different events?)
+149. Interrelation of Plot and Character.+--Though in narration the
interest centers primarily in the action, yet in the higher types of
narration interest in character is closely interwoven with interest in
plot. In reading, our attention is held by the plot; we follow its
development, noticing the addition of incidents, their relation to one
another and to the larger elements of action in the story, and their union
in the final disentanglement of the plot; but our complete appreciation of
the story runs far beyond the plot and depends to a large extent upon our
interpretation of the character of the individuals concerned. The mere
story may be exciting and interesting, but its effect will be of little
permanent value if it does not stir within us some appreciation of
character, which we shall find reflected in our own lives or in the lives
of those about us. We may read the _Merchant of Venice_ for its story, but
a deeper study of the play sets forth and reënforces the character of
Portia, Shylock, and the others. With many of the celebrated characters of
literature this interest has grown quite apart from interest in the plot,
and they stand to-day as the embodiment of phases of human nature. Thus by
means of action does the skillful author portray his conception of human
life and human character.
On the other hand, when we write we shall need to distinguish action that
indicates character from that which is merely incidental to the plot. In
order to develop a story to its climax we may need to have the persons
concerned perform certain actions. If by skillful wording we can show not
only what was done but also to some extent the way in which it was done,
we may give our readers some notion of the character of the individuals in
our story. (See Section 10.) This portrayal of character may be aided by
the use of description. (See Section 134.)
Notice that the purpose of the following selection is to indicate the
character of Pitkin rather than to relate the incident. If the author were
to relate other doings of Pitkin, he would need to make the actions of
Pitkin in each case consistent with the character indicated by this
sketch.
It was the day of our great football game with Harvard, and when I heard
my friend Pitkin returning to the room we shared in common, I knew that he
was mad. And when I say mad I mean it,--not angry, nor exasperated, nor
aggravated, nor provoked, but mad: not mad according to the dictionary,
that is, crazy, but mad as we common folk use the term. So I say my friend
Pitkin was mad. I thought so when I heard the angry click-clack of his
heels on the cement walk, and I carefully put all the chairs against the
wall; I was sure of it when the door slammed, and I set the coal scuttle
in the corner behind the stove. There was no doubt of it when he mounted
the stairs three steps at a time, and I hastily cleared his side of the
desk. You may wonder why I did all these things, but you have never seen
Pitkin mad.
Why was Pitkin mad? I did not then know. I had not seen him yet, for I was
so busy--so very, very busy--that I did not look up when he slammed his
books on the desk with a resounding whack which caused the ink bottle to
tremble and the lampshade to clatter as though chattering its teeth with
fear, while the pens and pencils, tumbling from the holder, scurried away
to hide themselves under the desk.
I was still busily engaged with my books while he threw his wet overcoat
and dripping hat on the white bedspread and kicked his rubbers under the
stove, the smell of which soon warned me to rescue them before they
melted. Pitkin must be very mad this time. He was taking off his collar
and even his shoes. Pitkin always took off his collar when very mad, and
if especially so, put on his slippers, even if he had to change them again
in fifteen minutes.
"What are you doing? Why don't you say something? You are a pretty fellow
not to speak or even look up." Such was Pitkin's first remark. Sometimes
he was talkative and would insist on giving his opinion of things in
general. At other times he preferred to be left alone to bury himself and
his wrath in his books. Since he had failed to poke the fire, though the
room was very warm, I had decided that he would dive into his books and be
heard no more until a half hour past his suppertime, but I had made a
mistake. Today he was in a talkative mood, and knowing that work was
impossible, I devoted the next half hour to listening to a dissertation on
the general perverseness of human nature, and to an elaborate description
of my friend Pitkin's scheme for endowing a rival institution with a
hundred million, and making things so cheap and attractive that our
university would have to go out of business. When Pitkin reached this
point, I knew that I could safely ask the special reason of his anger and
that, having answered, he would settle down to his regular work. I gently
insinuated that I was still ignorant of the matter, and received the reply
quite in keeping with Pitkin's nature, "I bet on Harvard and won."
EXERCISES
1. Read one of Dickens's books and bring to class selections that will
show how Dickens portrays character by use of action.
2. What kind of man is Silas Marner? What leads you to think as you do?
3. Select three persons from _Ivanhoe_ and state your opinion of their
character.
4. Notice the relative importance of plot and character in three magazine
stories.
5. Select some person from a magazine story. Tell the class what makes you
form the estimate of his character that you do. To what extent does the
descriptive matter help you determine his character?
+Theme LXXX.+--_Write a character sketch or a story which shows character
by means of action._
Suggested subjects:--
1. The girl from Texas.
2. The Chinese cook.
3. Taking care of the baby.
4. Nathan's temptation.
5. The small boy's triumph.
6. A village character.
7. The meanest man I ever knew.
(Consider the development of the plot. To what extent have you shown
character by action? Can you make the impression of character stronger by
adding some description?)
+150. History and Biography.+--Historical and biographical narratives may
be highly entertaining and at the same time furnish us with much valuable
information. Such writings often contain much that is not pure narration.
A historian may set forth merely the program of events, but most histories
contain besides a large amount of description and explanation. Frequently,
too, all of this is but the basis of either a direct or an implied
argument. Likewise a biographer may be chiefly concerned with the acts of
a man, but he usually finds that the introduction of description and
explanation aids him in making clear the life purpose of the man about
whom he writes. In shorter histories and biographies, the expository and
descriptive matter often displaces the narrative matter to such an extent
that the story ceases to be interesting.
The actual time-order of events need not be followed. It will often make
our account clearer to discuss the literary works of a man at one time,
his education at another, and his practical achievements at a third.
Certain portions of his life may need to be emphasized while others are
neglected. What we include in a biography and what we emphasize will be
determined by the purpose for which it is written. For pure information, a
short account is desirable, but a long account is of greater interest. If
a man is really great, the most insignificant events in his life will be
read with interest, but a good biographer will select such events with
good taste and then will present them so that they will have a bearing
upon the more important phases of the man's life and character. Hundreds
of the stories told about Lincoln would be trivial but for the fact that
they help us better to understand the real character of the man.
EXERCISE
1. Select some topic briefly mentioned in the history text you study. Look
up a more extended account of it and come to the class prepared to recite
the topic orally. Make your report clear, concise, and interesting. Decide
beforehand just what facts you will relate and in what order. (See
Sections 39, 52, 53.)
+Theme LXXXI.+--_Come to class prepared to write upon some topic assigned
by the teacher, or upon one of the following_:--
1. Pontiac's conspiracy.
2. The battle of Marathon.
3. The Boston tea party.
4. The battle of Bannockburn.
5. Sherman's march to the sea.
6. Passage of the Alps by Napoleon.
(Is your narrative told in an interesting way? Are any facts necessary to
the clear understanding of it omitted?)
EXERCISES
1. Name an English orator, an English statesman, and an English writer
about each of whom an interesting biography might be written.
2. With the same purpose in view name two American orators, two American
writers, and two American statesmen.
+Theme LXXXII.+--_Write a short biography of some prominent person.
Include only well-known and important facts, but do not give his name.
Read the biography before the class and have them tell whose biography it
is._
+151. Description in Narration.+--The descriptive elements, of narration
should always have for their purpose something more than the mere creating
of images. If a house is described, the description should enable us to
bring to mind more vividly the events that take place within or around it.
If the description aids us in understanding how or why the events occur,
it is helpful; but if it fails to do this, it has no place in the
narrative. Description when thus used serves as a background for the
actions told in the story, and has for its purpose the explanation of how
or why they occur.
Sometimes the descriptions are given before the incident and sometimes the
two are intermixed. In the following incident from the _Legend of Sleepy
Hollow_, notice how the description prepares the mind for the action that
follows. We are told that the brook which Ichabod must cross runs into a
marshy and thickly wooded glen; that the oaks and chestnuts matted with
grapevines throw a gloom over the place, and already we feel that it is a
dreadful spot after dark. The fact that André was captured here adds to
the feeling. We are prepared to have some exciting action take place, and
had Ichabod ridden quietly across the bridge, we should have been
disappointed.
About two hundred yards from the tree a small brook crossed the road, and
ran into a marshy and thickly wooded glen, known by the name of Wiley's
swamp. A few rough logs, laid side by side, served for a bridge over this
stream. On that side of the road where the brook entered the woods, a
group of oaks and chestnuts, matted thick with wild grapevines, threw a
cavernous gloom over it. To pass this bridge was the severest trial. It
was at this identical spot that the unfortunate André was captured, and
under covert of those vines were the sturdy yeomen concealed who surprised
him. This has ever since been considered a haunted stream, and fearful are
the feelings of the schoolboy who has to pass it alone after dark.
As he approached the stream his heart began to thump; he summoned up,
however, all his resolution, gave his horse half a score of kicks in the
ribs, and attempted to dash briskly across the bridge; but instead of
starting forward, the perverse old animal made a lateral movement, and ran
broadside against the fence. Ichabod, whose fears increased with the
delay, jerked the reins on the other side, and kicked lustily with the
contrary foot. It was all in vain; his steed started, it is true, but it
was only to plunge to the opposite side of the road into a thicket of
brambles and alder bushes. The schoolmaster now bestowed both whip and
heel upon the starveling ribs of old Gunpowder, who dashed forward,
snuffling and snorting, but came to a stand just by the bridge, with a
suddenness that had nearly sent his rider sprawling over his head. Just at
this moment a plashy tramp, by the side of the bridge caught the sensitive
ear of Ichabod. In the dark shadow of the grove, on the margin of the
brook, he beheld something huge, misshapen, black, and towering. It
stirred not, but seemed gathered up in the gloom like some gigantic
monster ready to spring upon the traveler.
--Irving: _Legend of Sleepy Hollow_.
The most important use of description in connection with narration is that
of portraying character. Though it is by their actions that the character
of persons is most strongly brought out, yet the descriptive matter may do
much to strengthen the impression of character which we form. (Section
134.) Much of the description found in literature is of this nature.
Stripped of its context such a description may fail to satisfy our ideals
as judged by the principles of description discussed in Chapter VIII.
Nevertheless, in its place it may be perfectly adapted to its purpose and
give just the impression the author wished to give. Such descriptions must
be judged in their settings, and the sole standard of judgment is not
their beauty or completeness as descriptions, but how well they give the
desired impressions.
+Theme LXXXIII.+--_Write a short personal narrative containing some
description which explains how or why events occur._
(Is there anything in the descriptive part that does not bear on the
narration?)
+Theme LXXXIV.+--_Write a narrative containing description that aids in
giving an impression of character._
Suggested subjects:--
1. Holding the fort.
2. A steamer trip.
3. How I played truant.
4. Kidnapped.
5. The misfortunes of our circus.
6. Account for the situation shown in a picture that you have seen.
(Will the reader form the impression of character which you wish him to
form? Consider your theme with reference to its introduction, incentive
moment, selection and arrangement of details, and climax.)
SUMMARY
1. Narration assumes a variety of forms,--incidents, anecdotes, stories,
letters, novels, histories, biographies, etc.,--all concerned with the
relation of events.
2. The essential characteristics of a narration are,--
_a._ An introduction which tells the characters, the time, the place,
and enough of the attendant circumstances to make clear the
point of the narrative.
_b._ The early introduction of an incentive moment.
_c._ A climax presented in such a way as to maintain the interest of
the reader.
_d._ The selection of details essential to the climax in accordance
with the principle of unity.
_e._ The arrangement of these details in a coherent order.
_f._ The skillful introduction of minor details which will assist in
the appreciation of the point.
_g._ The introduction of all necessary description and explanation.
_h._ That additional effectiveness which comes from
(1) Proper choice of words.
(2) Suitable comparisons and figures.
(3) Variety of sentence structure.
_i._ A brief conclusion.
X. EXPOSITION
+152. Purpose of Exposition.+--It is the purpose of exposition to make
clear to others that which we ourselves understand. Its primary object is
to give information. Herein lies one of the chief differences between the
two forms of discourse just studied and the one that we are about to
study. The primary object of most description and narration is to please,
while that of exposition is to inform. Exposition answers such questions
as how? why? what does it mean? what is it used for? and by these answers
attempts to satisfy demands for knowledge.
In the following selections notice that the first tells us _how_ to
burnish a photograph; the second, _how_ to split a sheet of paper:--
1. When the prints are almost dry they can be burnished. The burnishing
iron should be heated and kept hot during the burnishing, about the same
heat as a flatiron in ironing clothes. Care must be taken to keep the
polished surface of the burnisher bright and clean. When the iron is hot
enough the prints should be rubbed with a glacé polish, which is sold for
this purpose, and is applied with a small wad of flannel. Then the prints
should be passed through the burnisher two or three times, the burnisher
being so adjusted that the pressure on the prints is rather light; the
degree of pressure will be quickly learned by experience, more pressure
being required if the prints have been allowed to become dry before being
polished. White castile soap will do very well as a lubricator for the
prints before burnishing, and is applied in the same manner as above.
--_The Amateur Photographer's Handbook_.
2. Paper can be split into two or even three parts, however thin the
sheet. It may be convenient to know how to do this sometimes; as, for
instance, when one wishes to paste in a scrapbook an article printed on
both sides of the paper.
Get a piece of plate glass and place it on a sheet of paper. Then let the
paper be thoroughly soaked. With care and a little skill the sheet can be
split by the top surface being removed.
The best plan, however, is to paste a piece of cloth or strong paper to
each side of the sheet to be split. When dry, quickly, and without
hesitation, pull the two pieces asunder, when one part of the sheet will
be found to have adhered to one, and part to the other. Soften the paste
in water, and the two pieces can easily be removed from the cloth.
EXERCISES
A. Explain orally any two of the following:--
1. How to fly a kite.
2. How a robin builds her nest.
3. How oats are harvested.
4. How tacks are made.
5. How to make a popgun.
6. How fishes breathe.
7. How to swim.
8. How to hemstitch a handkerchief.
9. How to play golf.
10. How salt is obtained.
B. Name several subjects with the explanation of which you are unfamiliar.
+Theme LXXXV.+--_Select for a subject something that you know how to do.
Write a theme on the subject chosen._
(Have you made use of either general description or general narration? See
Sections 67 and 68.)
Very frequently explanations of _how_ and _why_ anything is done are
combined, as in the following:--
In cases of sunstroke, place the person attacked in a cool, airy place. Do
not allow a crowd to collect closely about him. Remove his clothing, and
lay him flat upon his back. Dash him all over with cold water--ice-water,
if it can be obtained--and rub the entire body with pieces of ice. This
treatment is used to reduce the heat of the body, for in all cases of
sunstroke the temperature of the body is greatly increased. When the body
has become cooler, wipe it dry and remove the person to a dry locality. If
respiration ceases, or becomes exceedingly slow, practice artificial
respiration. After the patient has apparently recovered, he should be kept
quiet in bed for some time.
--Baldwin: _Essential Lessons in Human Physiology and Hygiene_.
Notice that the following selection answers neither the question _how_?
nor _why_? but explains what journalism is:--
JOURNALISM
What is a journal? What is a journalist? What is journalism? Is it a
trade, a commercial business, or a profession? Our word _journal_ comes
from the French. It has different forms in the several Romantic languages,
and all go back to the Latin _diurnalis_, daily, from _dies_, a day.
Diurnal and diary are derived from the same source. The first journals
were in fact diaries, daily records of happenings, compiled often for the
pleasure and use of the compiler alone, sometimes for monarchs or
statesmen or friends; later to be circulated for the information of a
circle of readers, or distributed in copies to subscribers among the
public at large. These were the first newspapers. While we still in a
specific sense speak of daily newspapers as journals, the term is often
enlarged to comprise nearly all publications that are issued periodically
and distributed to subscribers.
A journalist is one whose business is publishing a journal (or more than
one), or editing a journal, or writing for journals, especially a person
who is regularly employed in some responsible directing or creative work
on a journal, as a publisher, editor, writer, reporter, critic, etc. This
use of the word is comparatively modern, and it is commonly restricted to
persons connected with daily or weekly newspapers. Many older newspaper
men scout it, preferring to be known as publishers, editors, writers, or
contributors. Journalism, however, is a word that is needed for its
comprehensiveness. It includes the theory, the business, and the art of
producing newspapers in all departments of the work. Hence, any school of
professional journalism must be presumed to comprise in its scope and
detail of instruction the knowledge that is essential to the making and
conduct of newspapers. It must have for its aim the ideal newspaper which
is ideally perfect in every department.
Journalism, so far as it is more than mere reporting and mere money
making, so far as it undertakes to frame and guide opinion, to educate the
thought and instruct the conscience of the community, by editorial
comment, interpretation and homily, based on the news, is under obligation
to the community to be truthful, sincere, and uncorrupted; to enlighten
the understanding, not to darken counsel; to uphold justice and honor with
unfailing resolution, to champion morality and the public welfare with
intelligent zeal, to expose wrong and antagonize it with unflinching
courage. If journalism has any mission in the world besides and beyond the
dissemination of news, it is a mission of maintaining a high standard of
thought and life in the community it serves, strengthening all its forces
that make for righteousness and beauty and fair growth.
This is not solely, nor peculiarly, the office of what is called the
editorial page. To be most influential, it must be a consistent expression
in all departments, giving the newspaper a totality of power in such aim.
This is the right ideal of journalism whenever it is considered as
more than a form of commercialism. No newspaper attains its ideal in
completeness. If it steadfastly works toward attainment, it gives proof of
its right to be. The advancing newspaper, going on from good to better in
the substance of its character and the ability of its endeavor, is the
type of journalism which affords hope for the future. And one strong
encouragement to fidelity in a high motive is public appreciation.
--_The Boston Herald._
EXERCISES
Give as complete an answer as possible to any two of the following
questions:--
1. Why do fish bite better on a cloudy day than on a bright one?
2. Why should we study history?
3. Why does a baseball curve?
4. Why did the American colonies revolt against England?
5. Why did the early settlers of New England persecute the Quakers?
6. Why should trees be planted either in early spring or late autumn?
7. Why do we lose a day in going from America to China?
8. In laying a railroad track, why is there a space left between the ends
of the rails?
+Theme LXXXVI.+--_Choose one of the above or a similar question as a
subject for a theme. Write out as complete and exact an explanation as
possible._
EXERCISE
Write out a list of subjects the explanation of which would not answer the
questions _why_? or _how_? How many of them can you explain?
+Theme LXXXVII.+--_Write out the explanation of one of the subjects in the
above list._
(Read what you have written and consider it with reference to clearness,
unity, and coherence.)
+153. Importance of Exposition.+--This form of discourse is important
because it deals so extensively with important subjects, such as questions
of government, facts in science, points in history, methods in education,
and processes of manufacture. It enters vitally into our lives, no matter
what our occupation may be. Business men make constant use of this kind of
discourse. In fact, it would be impossible for business to be transacted
with any degree of success without explanations. Loans of money would not
be made if men did not understand how they could have security for the
sums loaned. A manufacturer cannot expect to have good articles produced
if he is unable to give needful explanations concerning their manufacture.
In order that a merchant be successful he must be able to explain the
relative merits of his goods to his customers.
Very much of the work done in our schools is of an expository nature.
The text-books used are expositions. When they of themselves are not
sufficient for the clear understanding of the subject, it is necessary
to consult reference books. Then, if the subject is still lacking in
clearness, the teacher is called upon for additional explanation. On the
other hand, the greater part of the pupil's recitations consists simply in
explaining the subjects under discussion. Much of the class-room work in
our schools consists of either receiving or giving explanations.
EXERCISES
1. Name anything outside of school work that you have been called upon to
explain during the last week or two.
2. Name anything outside of school work that you have recently learned
through explanation.
3. Name three topics in each of your studies for to-day that call for
explanation.
4. Name some topic in which the text-book did not seem to make the
explanation clear.
+Theme LXXXVIII.+--_Write out one of the topics mentioned in number three
of the preceding exercise._
(Have you included everything that is necessary to make your explanation
clear? Can anything be omitted without affecting the clearness?)
+154. Clear Understanding.+--The first requisite of a good explanation
is a clear understanding on the part of the one who is giving the
explanation. It is evident that if we do not understand a subject
ourselves we cannot make our explanations clear to others. If the ideas in
our mind are in a confused state, our explanation will be equally
confused. If you do not understand a problem in algebra, your attempt to
explain it to others will prove a failure. If you attempt to explain how a
canal boat is taken through a lock without thoroughly understanding the
process yourself, you will give your listeners only a confused idea of how
it is done.
The principal reason why pupils fail in their recitations and examinations
is that in preparing their lessons, they do not make themselves thoroughly
acquainted with the topics that they are studying. They often go over the
lessons hurriedly and carelessly and come to class with confused ideas.
Consequently when the pupils attempt to recite, there is, if anything, an
additional confusion of ideas, and the recitation proves a failure.
Carelessness in the preparation of daily recitations, negligence in asking
for additional explanations, and inattention to the explanations that are
given, inevitably cause failure when tests or examinations are called for.
EXERCISES
1. Name five subjects about which you know so little that it would be
useless to attempt an explanation.