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 FIRST STEPS IN'® 
 EiGUSi COMRb^liON 
 
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 /.
 
 THE FLANAGAN EDUCATIONAL SERIES 
 
 FIRST STEPS 
 
 IN 
 
 ENGLISH COMPOSITION 
 
 FOR 
 
 GRAMMAR AND HIGH SCHOOLS, 
 SEMINARIES AND COLLEGES 
 
 A New and Original Method Based on 
 Class-room Experience 
 
 By 
 
 H. C. PETERSON, Ph.D. 
 
 MAtiTEB IN THE DUPONT MANUAL TRADJINO 
 HIQH SCHOOL, LOUISVILLE, KT. 
 
 : CHICAGO : 
 
 A. FLANAGAN CO. 
 
 bee iyu6
 
 Copyright, 1902 
 A. Flanagan Compawt
 
 \'' ' " 
 Y'VT 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 It maj' be said— and probably with entire safety — that En- 
 glish composition is the most difficult subject which the gram- 
 mar or high school teacher, or the college professor, finds him- 
 self called upon to teach; compared with Algebra, Physics or 
 Latin, it is so lacking in system, so grievously without progres- 
 sive or inductive method. Many books have been put forth and 
 ^ many suggestions have been made to aid the teacher of English 
 v in his work. All have been of value; our work is improving from 
 year to year ; and within the last decade especially, much pro- 
 ) gress in our teaching has been made. 
 
 > The advance in our ideals is most apparent when we note 
 
 the inceasing clearness with which teachers see that composi- 
 
 ^ tion-writing is a practical matter, and that, consequently, their 
 
 N^ first duty is to have their pupils write. Indeed, it is coming 
 
 ( to be felt that considerable such practice should be preliminary 
 
 ^ even to the more formal study of grammar and rhetoric. 
 
 When I saj' that the present little book furnishes the mat- 
 ter and the method for such a course of work, I define at once 
 its scope and its limits. It is in no way intended to compete with 
 any of the numerous texts in grammar and rhetoric that are al- 
 ready in the field; it aims merely to precede them, or, at most, 
 to furnish material for practical work that shall go along 
 parallel with them. 
 
 But this is not the place to discuss methods of teaching 
 
 English. The introduction to this book is, in a sense, also its 
 
 preface. I content myself here with expressing the deep sense 
 
 ' of obligation I am under to tlie many teacliers of English who 
 
 have favored me with suggestions, or with criticisms of the 
 
 3
 
 4 FIRST STEPS IN ENCLISII COMPOSITION. 
 
 proof-slu'C'ts. And 1 fi'cl lliat T must specially thank Prof. C. 
 A. Smith of the Louisiana Slult' University; Trof. J. S. Snod- 
 d3% of the North Dakota State Normal School ; I'rof. V. P. 
 Claxton, of the North Carolina State Normal School; Prof. 
 Chas. M. Currv, of the Indiana State Normal School; Supt. 
 Geo. P. Glenn, Jacksonville, Florida; Mrs. Emma Mont. McRae, 
 of Purdue University, Lafayette, Ind. ; Miss Mary C. Moore, 
 of the State Normal School, Framingham, Mass. ; and Mrs. 
 Waldo Dennis of the Park Manor High School, Chicago. 
 
 AVith this, I leave the work to the consideration of my fel- 
 low-teachers. I shall be content if it aids, even in a small 
 way, to solve a troublesome problem. 
 
 H. C. P. 
 Louisville, Ky. . December, 1901.
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 INTRODUCTION— Preliminary Suggestions to the Teacher. 
 
 1. When to write. — Assign no subject 9, 
 
 2. Adapting the subject to the pupil's capacity unnoce?sary. 11 
 
 3. How to correct encouragingly 11 
 
 4. Elaborate correction a waste of energy 12 
 
 5. How drudgery may be disregarded 14 
 
 6. Form and method for the pupil 15 
 
 7. Correlation of Literature and Composition 16 
 
 8. How to use this book 17 
 
 CHAPTER I— The Visualization. 
 
 1. Seeing with the mind's eye 19 
 
 2. Making a pen picture of the mind picture 20 
 
 3. Picturingin words 20 
 
 4. Reviewing and correcting 21 
 
 5. Selecting a title 21 
 
 6. Suggestions for practice 22 
 
 7. Hints to the teacher 22 
 
 CHAPTER II— The Individualizing Touch. 
 
 1. Individualizing details , 24 
 
 2. Selecting a title 25 
 
 3. Forming the habit of writing correctly 25 
 
 4. Subjects for practice 25 
 
 CHAPTER III-IMoTioN Pictures. 
 
 1. Describing objects in moticm with their surroundings 27 
 
 2 Seeing what people in general do not see 27 
 
 3. Practice exercises. — Hints 28 
 
 CHAPTER IV— The Environment Sketch— (a). 
 
 1. How to setforth character by means of environment 30 
 
 2. Introduction.— The body of the composition.— Con- 
 
 clusion. — Selecting the title 31 
 
 3. Revievving and correcting. — Practice 32-33 
 
 5
 
 <) FIRST STEPS IN IlNliLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 CIlAl'Ti;U V— TiiK Enviuoxment Sketcu — (b). 
 
 1. Setting forth past happenings by means of environment. 85 
 
 '2. Keeping out old mistakes 3(i 
 
 0. How and why to avoid rambling 37 
 
 4. Suggestions for sketches 37-39 
 
 CHAPTER VI— Tmi: Dialocue Sketch. 
 
 1. How to set forth character by means of conversation 40 
 
 2. Inventing a situation 40 
 
 3. Tlie introductory paragraph 41 
 
 4. Points to be oljserved in the dialogue 42 
 
 f). Concluding steps 43 
 
 fi. Hints and cautions for practice 43-48 
 
 CHAPTER VII— The Desckiition. 
 
 1. What is a literary description?— How it differs from 
 
 visualization 49 
 
 2. (living individualizing touches to a description 50 
 
 (The railroad station.— What not U) see.) 
 
 3. Hints as to naturalness of details 51-54 
 
 4. Discrimination in selecting details 55 
 
 5. Overcoming difficulties in describing persons 56 
 
 (i. Suggestions for i)ractice 56-57 
 
 CHAPTER VIII— The Narr.\tion. 
 
 1. The introduction 58 
 
 2. Writing in the first person 58 
 
 3. Principles of the description apphcable 58 
 
 4. Omitting what.everybody sees.... 59 
 
 -— o. Using conversation and the environment sketch 59 
 
 6. Leading up to the striking features 60 
 
 7. Suggestions as to paragraphing Gl 
 
 8. Practice exercises 62 
 
 CHAPTER IX — ELEMEXT.M5Y Rhetoric. 
 
 1. How to correct eirors judiciously 63 
 
 2. Capitals 63
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS. 7 
 
 CHAPTER IX— Elementary Rhetoric— (Continued.) 
 
 3. Punctuation 64-68 
 
 A.— The simple sentence. 
 B. — The compound sentence. 
 C. — The complex sentence. 
 D.— Sentences in general. 
 
 4. The Most Common Faults of Expression 69-81 
 
 A. — In the use of verbs. 
 B. — In the use of nouns. 
 C— In the use of pronouns. 
 D. — In the use of conjunctions. 
 E. — In the use of adjectives. 
 F. — In the use of adverbs. 
 G. — In the use of prepositions. 
 H. — In the construction of sentences. 
 CHAPTER X— Some Prixciples Underlying the Art of Story- 
 telling. 
 
 1. Where to find material 82 
 
 2. First person versus third jierson 83 
 
 3. Avoid monologues and meditations 85 
 
 4. Premonitory allusions 85 
 
 THE EVENTS OF A STORY'. 
 
 1. Leading up to the important event 87 
 
 2. Overcoming the reader's incredulity 90 
 
 3. Atmosphere 91 
 
 the characters of a stohy. 
 
 1. Description 92 
 
 2. Environment • 93 
 
 8. Dialogue 93 
 
 4 . I nf erences 94 
 
 5. Inferences that reverse previous expectations 96 
 
 (>. Make inferences and description corresjiond 97 
 
 7. Sliielding the characters 98 
 
 S. Exercises for Practice 100 
 
 APPENDIX— Selections and Exercises Ii.mstu ating the 
 
 PltlNCIl'LES DeVELOI'KD I V THE T'ltKCKDl NG ( ' I [ AI'TEliS. 
 
 linn's FOR Study 107-141
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 PRELIMINARY DIRECTIONS FOR THE TEACHER. 
 
 ' 5 ^ ^ (^ 
 The pupils should be furnished with a composition pad of 
 
 good, unruled paper some 5x8 inches in size. This they should 
 be allowed to place on the desk before them in any natural 
 position. The}' should be permitted to sit in any easy attitude. 
 They should write with a lead pencil, on one side of the paper 
 only; should leave a margin of half an inch on the left side of 
 the page, and should begin about two inches from the top of the 
 first sheet. 
 
 This is how most of the writing in practical life is done. 
 But, more than this, if much preliminary fuss be made with 
 ruled paper, ink, blotters, and clean pens, the pupils will get 
 the idea that composition-writing is something of special so- 
 lemnity and importance, and will, as a consequence, become 
 more or less ill-at-ease and self-conscious. It is to this feeling, 
 most probably, that much of the ill-success experienced in 
 this work is traceable. Be it never so slight, this lack of ease 
 can not fail to hamper even the brightest minds. 
 
 WHEN TO WRITE— ASSIGN NO SUBJECT. 
 
 There should be a composition-exercise of from one-half to 
 three-quarters of an hour every day. If the daily program 
 will not permit this, the exercise should come at least as often 
 as possible. But the daily exercise should be the ideal. And, 
 in the beginning, there should l)e no such organization as a 
 class in composition. Tlie work should be carried on with 
 the school as a whole, —should be something in the nature of 
 a special exercise or recreation. 
 
 9
 
 10 FIKST STEPS IN EN(.1.IS11 COMPOSITION. 
 
 Riirely, iu such work as this, should a sultject l)e given out 
 beforehand — only at the moment the pupils are. leady to begin 
 should they know what they are to write al)out. The aim here 
 is to have the sul)ject '-strike" the pupils, and to have them 
 write while under the inspiration of Ihcir theme. Nobody can 
 write with any success or pleasure when not under such inspi- 
 ration. And, with immature minds, this naturally cannot last 
 lone. Yet, working without it is distasteful, injurious, and 
 always unsatisfactory. 
 
 Do we not remember from our childhood how the life and 
 sparkle vanished from our composition subjects the moment 
 we be<>-au to brood over them? What at first seemed to be a 
 pleasure suddenly became a task; and we surely have not for- 
 gotten how we, as a consequence, hated the very name of com- 
 position. In fact, there should be no such word as subject 
 mentioned to the pupils at all. They themselves select their 
 "subject" when they write the title at the head of their work. 
 
 For this same reason the pupils should be urged to write 
 as rapidly as they can make their pens go, and should not be 
 allowed to stop for thought at all. If they make a mistake, 
 let them cross it out and start afresh. They should strike 
 while the iron is hot, and get everything down before the en- 
 thusiasm fades from the mind. If they stop for two minutes 
 to rub out a line carefully, they will find the old lassitude, 
 forgetfulness, and self-consciousness come creeping in. 
 
 Composition- writing is not penmanship; nor is neatness a 
 prime requisite with this sort of daily work, at this stage in 
 their progress. The manuscript of many a favorite book— 
 Kenihcorth, Pope's Ill<id, A Christmas Carol— as we see it in 
 the British Museum, reveals pages made well-nigh illegible by 
 corrections, blottings, and interlinear additions.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 11 
 
 ADAPTING THE SUBJECT TO THE PUPIL'S CAPACITY UNNECESSARY. 
 
 The teacher need not concern himself much with bringing 
 his subject down to the level of his pupils' ability'. In imag- 
 inative writing their skill in finding enough to say is well-nigh 
 boundless. He need merely keep within their probable experi- 
 ences and direct their energies in some systematic way — as 
 this book, for instance, endeavors to point out. 
 
 Young people's minds are lively and skittish, like a young 
 horse; and teaching naturally consists less in urging them on 
 than in holding them down to a straight and orderly course. 
 The instructor would not, of course, ask a class in Maine to 
 visualize a sod-house, nor one in Nebraska to imagine a wooded 
 ravine with a spring in it. But as to mental processes, most 
 writers, old and young, do not differ so very materially from 
 each other. The imaginative power of Sarah, Jane, and Greorge 
 on the one hand, is not so inferior as we think to the ability 
 of Dickens and Stevenson on the other. The difference 
 between them is, to some extent at least, merely one of train- 
 ing in the actual work of composing artistically. 
 
 Nor should the teacher worrj' about the different degrees of 
 advancement among his pupils; the better ones will simply 
 treat the subject better, and from such handling the poorer 
 ones will learn. Remember that even Dickens spent time and 
 labor upon the death of Paul Dombey. Mary, Jane, and 
 George could very likely have visualized this just as clearly, 
 and would have written it down as well, at least, as they 
 knew how. 
 
 HOW TO CORRECT ENCOURAGINGLY. 
 
 The pupils should write at tluir scats; and while they are 
 thus engaged, the teacher should continually pass about among
 
 12 FIRST STKI'S IN EN(;LISII COMPOSITION. 
 
 them ovcrsi'cing their work and iiHordiiig them an opportunity 
 to ask hiiu for aid. And T can hardly help thinking that two 
 minutes' individual instruction at a pupils seat is, on the 
 whole, worth more to hiiu than several days' incidental atten- 
 tion in a class. The teacher himself will find this a refreshins: 
 break in his daily routine. 
 
 The great majority of the i)upils — and especially those that 
 have not enjoyed any preliminaiy theoretical instruction — 
 will start otF at once.* The backward pupils can be helped by 
 a few cjuiet questions, so framed as to focus their perhaps 
 rather hazy mental vision upon a salient point. The aim 
 should be to get them all well started within the first minute or 
 two of the exercise, when nine-tenths will of themselves carry 
 their work to a triumphant close. 
 
 While the teacher is thus moving about among his pupils, he 
 should continually offer such brief individual corrections and 
 suggestions as will help them to improve their work. But 
 these should be of an intensely practical sort. The pupil does 
 not possess the feeling for a smooth, logical sentence that the 
 teacher has; and a criticism to this end, which he does not 
 clearly see the force of, will bring back the old self-concious- 
 ness and the old discouragement. After a while the pupils 
 with an independent temperament will come to think that these 
 corrections are, anyway, merely arbitrary inventions of the 
 teacher; while those that have difficulties and troubles will trrow 
 more and more discouraged from their inability t(j understand 
 just what is wanted of them. Better no criticism at all. 
 
 ELABORATE CORRECTION A WASTE OF ENERGY. 
 
 For this same reason tlie teacher need not feel oppressed by 
 qualms of conscience if he fail to correct every fault he may 
 
 * This, at least, has been my experience.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 13 
 
 notice; — he will naturally see many more tlian his pupils. 
 Have we forgotten how it was with us in our school days? Do 
 we not remember our periodical discouragements — not unmixed 
 with rebelliousness of spirit— at the never-decreasing amount 
 of red ink upon our monthly themes? And how indefinite and 
 incomprehensible much of it was! 
 
 No, the elaborate correction of compositions is a waste of 
 energy. The pupils will write clearly, forcibly, and with a 
 fair degree of precision because — as we have assumed — they 
 are writing from inspiration; and this is, after all, the great 
 panacea for rhetorical ills. Have we ever noticed how well 
 they can talk? And as to '-elegauce," but few learners, in 
 attempting this quality of style, will be able to keep clear of 
 affectation and wordiness. 
 
 Let the teacher make only one or, at niosl. two criticisms or 
 suggestions each day. The construction of an artistic English 
 sentence depends, after all, upon taste. Some fluency in com- 
 position, correct spelling, capitalization and punctuation; free- 
 dom from the most glaring improprieties and solecisms, and re- 
 lief from the ambiguities so often met with in the position of 
 l^hrases and in the reference of pronouns, are about all we can 
 expect from young people below the college sophomore. But 
 we should be able to secure this much. 
 
 If the teacher could each day bring about the abandon- 
 ment of but a single minor fault— such as those given in the 
 back of this book— his class would master the entire subject of 
 elementary rhetoric in three months. Composition writing is a 
 practical matter, and the first duty of the instructor is to have 
 his pupils write compositions. When they can do that with 
 some fluency, it will ])0 time enough for him to set about im- 
 proving their language or their "Style."
 
 14 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 HOW DRUDGERY MAY WITH SAFETY BE DISREGARDED. 
 
 The halt'-liour or more devoted to each exercise should be so 
 portioned off that two-thirds of it will be consumed in the act- 
 ual writing, and the remainder in general discussions and in the 
 reading of selections from the work produced. The composi- 
 tions will not, as a general thing, be long; and when all, or 
 nearly all, of the pupils have finished, the teacher should ask 
 for the attention of the school. Then he should request them 
 to read over very carefully what they have written, and to 
 make it as correct and as good as they can. 
 
 While working with the class, he should have made it a 
 point to notice one or two mistakes common to a good many 
 of the compositions. These he should now bring before them 
 definitely, at the same time stating what tlie proper form would 
 be. He should ask who made that mistake, and who did not ; 
 a.n.'d should give them a minute to correct their work accord- 
 ingly- 
 
 If the pupils thus correct their own sentences, the matter 
 will touch them more closely, and they will understand the 
 force and value of the correction more clearly, than if they be set 
 to alter a miscellaneous collection of isolated passages— usually 
 with a vocabulary and a subject matter beyond their reach, and 
 often culled from writers that, for the most part, they are un- 
 acquainted with. 
 
 Next, the teacher should state one or two points of his own 
 concerning proper modes of expression — such as better gram- 
 mar, improved phraseology, punctuation, the avoidance of ambi- 
 guity, and what not, and should give them time to change their 
 sentences ascordingly. And above all, as has been said, let 
 him give his class but a morsel at a tinje fronj tlje huge rhe- 
 torical larder.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 15 
 
 In this way the teacher may, with entire peace of mind, spai'e 
 himself the enervating drudgery of theme-correcting. His direc- 
 tions in red ink to expand, condense, omit, and recast would, 
 in the great majorit}- of cases, pi'obably not be fully under- 
 stood by his class, any way. And if he devote only a fraction 
 of his euerg}' to studying his pupils, to planning his work, to 
 keeping his own school-boy experiences well in mind, and to 
 thinking up interesting subjects for his class to write about, 
 he will find not only that he himself is growing in teaching- 
 ability but that his pupils are, from day to day, acquiring new 
 self-confidence and increased fluency of expression. 
 
 FORM AND METHOD FOR THE PUPIL. 
 
 Last in point of time, but not least in importance, will be the 
 reading by the pupils themselves of some half-dozen composi- 
 tions. Here, again, the teacher should proceed with disce- 
 tion. Some poorer ones and some better ones should be reaa 
 each time, but let him ask the more backward pupils to read 
 first. Not onlj' will this spare them the mortification of being 
 compelled to inflict their inferior work upon the school after a 
 good piece has been read, but it will, furthermore, permit them 
 to institute comparisons in quiet and to draw much profit from 
 the superior work of their fellows. 
 
 Each pupil should carefully preserve his compositions, and 
 to this end should fold them lengthwise and write his name 
 across the upper end. If two or more sheets have been used, 
 each page should be numbered and the pages should be fas- 
 tened together at the right-hand corner with a pin or fastener. 
 
 After Christmas, at the beginning of the second term, the 
 teacher should commence to select some specimens of the 
 best work, to be carefully copied in ink and read as part of the
 
 Hi FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 special Friday afternoon exercises. And he should see to it 
 that each pupil participate at least once in this feature of the 
 school work. 
 
 When the spring term has opened, the pupils should be 
 urged to plan and write a complete story along the lines 
 given in this book ; — the best of these might then be chosen for 
 the graduating exercises. A well-written story would, in gen- 
 eral, be much more highly appreciated by a commencement 
 audience than the somewhat abnormal life-philosophy that we 
 are accustomed to hear on such occasions. 
 
 In conclusion, let it be said once again that composition-writ- 
 ing, like constructing a machine or cutting a diamond, is a 
 practical matter. As such, no amount of theoretical instruction 
 can ever, of itself, bring about proficiency. If the teacher 
 of composition would do as the instructor of the young mechanic 
 does — furnish his pupils willi materials for work, set them to 
 practicing at some elementary processes, oversee their efforts, 
 and, when necessary, give such bits of direct advice as would 
 be helpful — he might in all reason expect to be as well rewarded 
 for his labors. 
 
 THE CORRELATION OF LITERATURE AND COMPOSITION. 
 
 But, in a general way, and apart from considerations of de- 
 tail, the reading of good literature is, after all, the best help 
 in composition-writing. These two divisions of English study 
 are kept apart altogether too much. 
 
 This is not the place to discuss methods of teaching litera- 
 ture. But the teacher could do his composition class much 
 good if he would urge them to bring in little selections from 
 their story-papers or their fiction that should illustrate 
 how environment sketches, dialogues, visualiijations, descrip-
 
 INTRODUCTION. 17 
 
 tions, and so forth are made b}- writers that are pleasing. 
 Tliese could be considered in a recitation; the teacher could 
 ask questions of an analytic character about them; and the 
 pupils could be made to see that they are not doing something 
 impractical, or merely pedagogical, in following the sugges- 
 tions of this book ; but are, instead, doing what thousands of 
 people in real life do. A few such selections I have added at 
 the close of the several chapters. 
 
 HOW TO USE THIS BOOK. 
 
 This book should be in the hands of the pupil while at 
 work, and should be used continually for reference. Indeed, 
 the value of the following pages will be directly proportioned 
 to the use thus made of them. 
 
 After one or two compositions of each sort shall have been 
 written, the subject-matter of the chapter in question may be gone 
 over in a recitation. But the study of the chapter should neoer 
 precede the writing of the compositions ; each new variety should 
 he introduced by the teacher orally and icithout waniin;/. And, 
 as he walks about supervising the work, the teacher should 
 continually refer to points in the book that the pupil seems to 
 have overlooked or forgotten, and that bear on the matter in 
 hand. When pupils acquire the habit of thus searching the 
 book themselves for the help the}'' need, tliey will l)e fairly on 
 the way to success. 
 
 If the directions given above, and the suggestions appended 
 to the chapters that follow, be heeded by both teacher and 
 pupil, it will be found that composition-writing is a pleasure, 
 and not something to be dreaded.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE VISUALIZATION. 
 
 I. Seeing with the mind's eye. — Close your eyes, rest 
 your head on your hand, try to forget your surroundings, and 
 then notice what you see in your mind for the following sen- 
 tence: — 
 
 "Aunt Polly sat in her little back parlor paring a pan- 
 ful of red apples before the fire." 
 
 You should try to see clearly : — 
 
 (a) Where all the articles of furniture are locuted; 
 where the doors and windows are; whether the latter 
 have curtains, for instance; whether the floor is bare or 
 carpeted; how the walls look, and so forth. 
 
 (b) AVhat sort of person Aunt Polly is; whether she, for 
 example, is tall or short, fat or thin, a negro woman or 
 white; how she is dressed; how old she is, and so forth. 
 
 (c) Where you imagine yourself to stand ; whether you 
 seem to be looking into the room through a door or a 
 window, or are inside; whether Aunt Polly has her back 
 toward you, and where the'articles of furniture and the 
 doors and windows are located with reference to your 
 point of view. 
 
 The more of such details you can see, the better the visual- 
 ization will be done. 
 
 You must not think that you ought all to have the same 
 picture of Aunt Polly and her back parlor in your mind. On 
 the contrary, no two of you will have evolved the same mental 
 arrangement of the room with its contents. Many of you will 
 see Aunt Polly as a tall, gray-haired woman; — that is how she 
 
 19
 
 20 
 
 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH ( OMToSITK )N', 
 
 appears to me. Otliers may find her to l)e a jolly colored 
 woman. Some of you will have the scene in the fall; others, 
 in the winter. But the greater the variety in your visualiza- 
 tions, the better. 
 
 Some details nobody will have in his picture — such as 
 Brussels carpet, oil paintings, or a piano. There will always be 
 a certain consistency in the visualization. 
 
 II. Making a pen picture of the mind picture.^ When 
 you have seen all you can, 3'ou should sit up and try to remem- 
 ber the details carefully. When all have finished, you will be 
 ready for the next step, —viz., to make a diagram * of what 
 you saw, 2 being careful to locate yourself in the diagram. I, 
 for instance, always see Aunt Polly and the back parlor, thus: 
 
 1 — Sewing-machine. 
 
 2 — Chairs. 
 
 3— Aunt Polly. 
 
 4_Stove. 
 
 5— Stand. 
 
 6 — China Cupboard. 
 
 7 — Windows. 
 
 8 — Doors. 
 
 s 
 
 
 
 
 
 n 
 
 k 
 
 
 
 z 
 
 
 r. 
 
 7 ( 
 
 
 
 
 3 
 
 D 
 
 SO 
 
 
 
 i. 
 
 7. 
 
 •A 
 
 
 f 
 
 6 
 
 +Myself (point of view). 
 
 III. Picturing in words. — Next tell how you saw Aunt 
 
 1 Writers of books always have such pictures In mind. Sometimes they 
 make careful drawings to have at hand while they work— I have seen Henrik 
 Ibsen doing this. Sometimes they even have them printed, as in Treasure Island 
 and The Prisoner of Zenda. 
 
 \ Tbe teacher should ask questions to bring out the details.
 
 THE VISUALIZATION. 21 
 
 Polly and mention all the things in the parlor. Write just 
 as you would talk. 
 
 Try to have as many simple sentences as possible in your 
 composition and endeavor not to use too many ands. Do not 
 say th€7-e teas or the7-e were too often. 
 
 The sentence given on page 19, ^^Aunt Polly sat,'' etc., 
 should occur somewhere in what you write. 
 
 IV. Reviewing and correcting. — When you have finished, 
 you should read over carefully what you have written and 
 should see to it: — 
 
 (1). That all words are spelled correctly. And here you 
 should look up in the dictionary any and every word that you 
 may not be sure of. 
 
 (2). That every sentence begins with a capital letter and 
 ends with a period, exclamation mark or interrogation mark. 
 
 (3). That you say there were when you have several items 
 to mention, as in " There were a chair, two tables, and a stand 
 at one side;" and were when you have a plural subject, as 
 in 'The peelings were dropping." 
 
 V. Selecting a title. — Then you should give your com- 
 position a title and should write this in the middle of the page 
 a little above your first line. Tliis title may consist of any 
 short expression that describes the composition, such as: "Aunt 
 Polly," simply; or, "My Aunt's Back Parlor;" or, "A Glimpse 
 into my Aunt's Sitting-Ptoom." Each important word should 
 begin with a capital letter. Finally, write your name at the 
 bottom on the right-hand side of tiie page. 
 
 When finished the composition should sound somewhat as 
 follows: —
 
 22 FIRST STI-:PS IN ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 AUNT POLLY. 
 
 Aunt Polly sat in the little back parlor peeling apples before 
 the fire. She had her feet on the fender of the stove. Her back 
 was turned toward me. Her sleeves were rolled up, and the 
 parings from her apples were dropping into a pan in her lap. 
 She was a tall, gray-haired old lady, with a white cap on her 
 head and a l)lack shawl about her shoulders. There were two 
 windows in the farther side of the room. Through them I 
 could see a garden full of phlox, asters, and zinnias, and beyond 
 it a dusty village street. In one corner of the parlor stood a 
 cupboard filled with china dishes and tin cooking utensils ; in 
 the other was around table with a red cloth over it and a cactus 
 in a pot on it. On the left of the room was a sewing-machine 
 with some work, which looked like an apron, still under the 
 needle and hanging down towai'd the floor. Harry Smith. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR OTHER VISUALIZATIONS. 
 
 1. Carl was flying his kite along the dusty road. 
 
 2. He rowed across to where the cabin stood. 
 
 3. There was a high gravel slope down to the river. 
 
 4. A single tall pine stood by the corner of their tent. 
 
 5. Grace lay sick in her bed. 
 
 0. Harry threw out his hook for another bite. 
 
 7. Ethel sat reading " Eight Cousins" by the lamplight. 
 
 8. In the woods there were great, black patches where 
 brush piles had been burned. 
 
 9. Two little boys were fishing a nickle out of a crack. 
 
 10. Mr. Hansen's children had put up a swing against the 
 barn. 
 
 [To THE Teacher.— The above list of suggestions is given more to indicate 
 how suc'.i sentences for visiir.lizntion shonld be foTmulated. than to prescribe
 
 THE VISUALIZATION. 23 
 
 any set subjects. It would be better if the teacher should give out sentences of 
 his own, and thus cause the work of the class lo be fully spontaneous each day. 
 
 Pupils should be cautioned against bringing in outside matters. They will 
 have a desire to tell— in connection with Aunt Polly, for instance— that Uncle 
 George came in, that he and Aunt Polly tallced, that he had gathered the apples 
 the day before, that he was going to market with some tomorrow, and so forth. 
 The teacher should make it clear that the pupils must confine themselves to 
 what is in their minds— must not make things up. This can be accomplished if 
 suflBcient time be devoted to diagramming the visualizations. 
 
 There should be some ten esercises on simple visualization before the work 
 given in Chapter II. be taken up. In his correct ons the teacher should confine 
 himself stnctly to such faults in spelling, capitalization, and the use of the 
 period as he may notice. He should point out the most evident grammatical 
 errors, such as the very elementary ones mentioned on page 21. The teacher 
 should also urge conformity to the points of style given on page CO. He should 
 teach the use of the semi-colon and comma as the division marks of the com- 
 pound sentence (rules 9 and 10, page 66). 
 
 Other mistakes may be mentally noted but should be reserved for correction 
 till later. Let the instructor beware of overwhelming his pupils with a multi- 
 tude of criticisms, thus discouraging them. After all, the chief object in these 
 ten exercises is to get the class accustomed somewhat to the work, especially to 
 the mechanical process of composing.] 
 
 SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS POU THE TEACHER. 
 
 Chapter I— 1. What do you see in your mind for "horse"? Of what color is 
 he? In which direction does he face? How much of him do you see? 
 
 2. What, similarly, do you see in your mind for "table", "stove"? 
 
 3. How do you see your home in your mind— from what side, in what kind 
 of weather, etc.? 
 
 4. What do you see in your mind for abstract nouns like "l)eauty", "cour- 
 age", "glory", "truth", "heigiif, "thickness", "whiteness"? 
 
 5. For proper nouns like 'Shakespeare", "Kurope", "Chicago"? 
 
 6. Can abstract nouns, in fact, be visualized? Or, are they always rep- 
 resented in the mind by the picture of some ordinary concrete noun? Do they 
 tbemselvesrcpresent anything actually In the mind? (See, further, on this point. 
 James- Psychology, Vol. I, p. 480: or llotWiug's I'aychology V. B. '.). The truth of 
 this was discovered by Bishop Berkeley in the year ITIO.) 
 
 7. Why will a boy In Maine hardly be able to visualize a sod-house? 
 
 8. Where does the difflculty in visualizing seem to lie mainly— in making 
 the mind work, or in watching it as it works?
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE INDIVIDUALIZING TOUCH. 
 
 Suppose that, in writing tlie composition on page 22, I had 
 put in some details like these : — 
 
 Aunt Polly, an old negro woman with a ivart on her 
 nose, a tom-cat beside her with his back arclied and hia 
 tail sflckinf; straight up, blue dishes in the cupboard with 
 pictures of windiniUs on them, on the floor a pan with a 
 large, three-coniered nick in it, etc. 
 
 Notice how you find yourself smiling a little, perhaps, the 
 moment you read the words in italics ; how your imagination 
 is kindled ; how you feel more interested. 
 
 Details such as these may be added to any composition so 
 as to increase the interest. All the compositions which were 
 written about Aunt Polly no doubt made mention of the fur- 
 niture, and so forth. But it is not likely that a single one of 
 you thought of putting in anything like thy above. And yet 
 the important thing is to insert something like this that is 
 original, out of the ordinary, and that will arouse the interest 
 of the people who hear it. 
 
 But you must beware of introducing anything that is fool- 
 ish, absurd, or improbable. 
 
 These little odd details are called individualizing touches, 
 because they will, if you are bright enough to see them in 
 your mental picture, make your composition different from the 
 compositions of the other pupils. 
 
 I. Individualizing details.— Now close your eyes as be- 
 fore, notice carefully what you see in 5x)ur mind's eye for the 
 
 24
 
 THE INDIVIDUALIZIXG TOUCH. 25 
 
 following sentence, and then tell it with as many individualiz- 
 ing touches as possible : — 
 
 Up in grandmother's garret stood an old spinning- 
 wheel with spider-webs on it. 
 
 The individualizing details should deal with the floor, the 
 walls, the roof, and the contents of the garret. 
 
 II. Selecting a title. — When 3'ou have finished, give the 
 composition a title as before, remembering that all words, ex- 
 cept the unimportant ones, should begin with a capital. Then 
 read over what you have written, bearing carefully in mind 
 all that 5'ou learned in Chapter I. 
 
 III. Forming the habit of writing correctly. — From this 
 time on, try to get yourself into the habit of putting in 3^our 
 punctuation marks, your capitals, and your correct grammar 
 as you go along. Some day you will be writing for a news- 
 paper, dictating a business letter, writing one, or composing 
 it on a t\'pewriting machine ; and you will then not have time 
 to go back and correct what yon write 
 
 ADDITIONAL SUGGESTIONS FOR PRACTICE. 
 
 1. A dried-up wooden pump, with a broken handle, stood 
 by the back door. 
 
 2. Mr. Jenkins remained talking a moment with the 
 teacher, at her desk. 
 
 3. Old Charlie in the barn was busy fighting flies with his 
 tail. 
 
 4 Mr. Townsend had allowed the boys to fit up a general 
 workshop in the basement.
 
 26 FIRST STEPS IN ENCI-I^^II COMPOSITION. 
 
 5. On tlir i)ruK'ii)al cunicr in tlic city a new ten-story 
 oflice-l)uiUling wiis going up. 
 
 [To TUE TEACHER. — Tliisiuattcr of individualizing touches is of sucti great 
 importance in all the writinjjof ]>ractical life that not less than ten exercises 
 should he devoted to it. As liefoic, the teacher may i)referably substitute 
 sentences of his own for those given above. 
 
 Concerning the corrections and suggestions evolved during the work of 
 Chapter II., he should be as unrelaxingly vigilant as before. 
 
 In addition, let him by degrees throughout this chapter, introduce (a) under 
 Punctuation (page 61) rules 4, 5 and Ifi and (li) under Elementary Rhetoric 
 (page 6.3) rules 18, 19, 44, 45, and 46.] 
 
 BUGOESTIVE QUESTIONS. 
 
 1. One walks down the street and takes a look at a store-window. How 
 many of the objects does one, even a half minute afterwards, remember? 
 
 2. Are the things remembered the smaller, more iflteresting objects, or, 
 usually, only the large, ordinary ones? 
 
 3. Does one, on the whole, ever see details ?■ 
 
 4. 'Which is the more interesting object— a tin pan withadent inii, or an un- 
 injured one? 
 
 5. Which liegins to suggest the human element? 
 
 6. Which begins to suggest character — "dishes" or "dishes wit li blue wind 
 mills on them"' ? 
 
 7. Which are the more suggestive— descriptive adjectives or individualizing, 
 touches? 
 
 8. Why, now, is it that individualizing details make a composition inter- 
 esting? 
 
 (For illlustrations of Individualizing Touches, see the Kxercises at the close 
 of the volume.)
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MOVING PICTURES. 
 
 These are simply visualizations in which there is as much 
 movement as possible. In the visualization of Aunt Polly's 
 back parlor, everything except the insignificant apple-parings 
 was stationary. Here the object is to have everything that 
 can move in motion. 
 
 I. Visualizing objects in motion. —Thus, if I, for instance, 
 visualize the sentence, "The train moved slowly out over the 
 bridge,'' I see in my mind a river current with boats upon it, 
 smoke from factory chimne^^s, swaying trees on the bank, and 
 so forth. When written down, this would appear, in part, as 
 follows : — 
 
 We sat on the bank gazing off to where t he bluffs on the 
 farther shore looked purple in the evening glow. The 
 thick smoke from the factory chimneys streamed out in 
 black stripes across the redness of the sky. A man was 
 slowly rowing a boat up stream: we could see the regular 
 dip of his oars and the glitter of the blades. The oaks 
 swayed gently in the breeze and a long shimmering cob- 
 web fluttered out past us into the water. Up above, a 
 steam-boat was pufling its way slowly arotuid the bend, 
 shooting off its two tidal waves diagonally toward the 
 shore. The train moved out upon the long bridge. 
 The brownish-black river-water swirled for a moment 
 among the ))iers and flowed on again placidly forever. 
 
 II. Seeing the thingsof interest. In these visualizations 
 of movement, it will often be necessaiy for you to force your- 
 self into seeing the details in motion, '{'he individualizing 
 
 27
 
 28 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 touches would consist here, as in chapter T.. of ilie small, odd 
 items of movement that ])eople in <ren<'ral do not notice. 
 
 ADDITIONAL SUGGESTIONS FOR PRACTICE. 
 
 1. The tickets to the main tent were beino- sold from a 
 wagon near the entrance. 
 
 2. The Fast Mail stood pufTing by the station platform. 
 
 3. At the corner of the city market-place, several men were 
 sampling melons. 
 
 4. In the river-bluflf park, among the great trees, the pic- 
 nic was in full swing. 
 
 ;■). Some of the smaller boys always spent the recess play- 
 ing marbles by the north wall o\' the school-house. 
 
 [To THE Teacher. — Here, and indeed in all this work, the four steps— visual- 
 ization, composition, correcting, and reading— should be strictly followed. It 
 will be best not to introduce any new elements of style in these five exercises. 
 In fact, if the pupils be urged to write in simple sentences as much as possible, 
 many of the common mistakes vvill of themselves fail to appear 
 
 1. Determine the average length of the sentences iu the Introduction to this 
 book. This can, of course, be done by counting the number of words in each 
 sentence, adding them together, and dividing the sum by the numbor of sentences. 
 Also note the per cent, of simple sentences. 
 
 2. In the same way determine your own average sentence-length; and, to 
 do this, use not less than two hundred sentences selected from some rather ex- 
 tended and connected pieces you may have written. Notice also your percentage 
 of simple sentences. 
 
 :i. Determine the same two facts for Kipling's Plain Tales from t fie Ilill/t, 
 Stevenson's Treasure Island, Ford's Janice Meredith, Doyle's Advenfurfs of Sher- 
 lock Jlolmes, or any other of the late popular novels. 
 
 4. Now go to some of the older pieces of fiction; as. T/if Lanf of the Mohicans, 
 Vanity Fair, David Copperfield, Kenilivorth. 
 
 5. Next investigate some general prose literature; as, Macaulay's Essays, 
 UeQuincey's Confessions of an English Opium Eater, or Webster's Reply to 
 Iluyne.
 
 MOVING PICTURES. 29 
 
 6. Lastly, examine some old writers: as, Milton in Paradise Lost, Sir Thomas 
 Browne in Religio Medici, Chaucer in The Canterbury Tales. 
 
 When the pupils have a dozen or more compositions ready, they will be inter- 
 ested in finding their own average sentence-length and percentage of simple 
 sentences. A little of this work, given from time to time, will be stimulating 
 and -will prove a revelation In working with stories, the dialogue portions 
 should be omitted, and only the solid paragraphs used. The average length of a 
 sentence for good modern prose will be about 2J words, and the percentage of 
 simple sentences about 3.3. Many authors, in all departments of literature, have 
 been investigated with respect to these tw-o particulars by Prof. L. A. Sherman: 
 and the results may be found, for the purpose of comjiarison, in his Analytics of 
 Literature. See also Halleck's English Literature, pp. 219-320.
 
 chaptp:r IV. 
 
 THE ENVIRONMENT SKETCH~A. 
 
 If, in walking down Ihe street, I should see a house with 
 the yard surrounding it full of ludkcii luicks, with tlie gate 
 dtl' ils liinges, aiul with an old sock stullcd info a broken wiii- 
 tlow-pane, [ should know tiie character of tlie inhal)ltant as 
 well as if I had been ac<inaiated with him for years. These 
 surroundings tell me that he is shiftless and good-for-nothing. 
 
 If this were a composition instead of a real occurrence, I 
 might insei't some additional items, such as cow-tracks and 
 weeds in the yard, every se(!ond board in the sidewalk loose, 
 door-step broken down. — and these would still more clearly 
 show the man's character, his worldly circumstances, and per- 
 haps even his business. 
 
 Such a composition would l)e an environment sketch. Ft 
 would be putting together a set of surroundings in such a way 
 as to make them reveal the character, appearance, business, or 
 worldly circumstances of the person living in their midst. 
 
 I. Character shown by the surroundings.— Now write a 
 description of a boy s room so as to sIkjw that he is a student, 
 is religious, is slovenly in his habits, and has weak e3'es and 
 red hair. And in doing this, you must conliae yourself strictly 
 to describing the room with the furniture and other objects in 
 it. You must not say a woixl about the boy himself; he is not 
 there.' But you must describe his surroundings in the room 
 
 mere the teacher should be on his guard. The impils tire almost sure, at 
 first, to describe the person instead of his environment. lUit this defeats the 
 purpose of the composition; they do not exercise their faculty of invention, but 
 merely repeat the items of description given. 
 
 30
 
 THE ENVIRONMENT SKETCH.— A. 31 
 
 in such a way that we shall kuow, without your telling us, that 
 he has weak eyes and red hair, is religious, studious, and slov- 
 enly in his habits. 
 
 You should make use of the individualizing touch here, to 
 add strength. Notice how effective it was above to say an old 
 sock was stuffed into the broken window. Use plain, striking 
 words. Say the boy had dauhs of ink on his books ; say he 
 had a pair of grrasy spectacles ; say his carpet was splotched 
 with mud, and so forth. 
 
 This will form the central and important paragraph of your 
 composition. But, in addition, you should write an introduc- 
 torj' paragraph, explaining how you came to be where the boy 
 lived, and how it happened that you looked into his room. 
 
 You might, for instance, make 3'ourself out to be visiting 
 your aunt, who keeps a boarder, into whose room for some rea- 
 son you happen to peep Or, you might be a traveling-man 
 staying at a country hotel, or a book-agent, or a visitor at a 
 summer resort. Any one of a dozen such little inventions 
 would do. 
 
 And it holds true here, as everywhere, that the more unusual 
 these circumstances are, the better the}' will be liked by your 
 hearers. The principle is, that in compositions written in the 
 first person, every movement of the writer should be carefully 
 accounted for. 
 
 The composition should close with a short third paragraph, 
 in whicli you explain, in the same way, how 3'ou get away 
 about your regular business. The beginning of a paragraph is 
 marked by writing the first word about a half inch farther in from 
 the left edge of the page than the body of the composition. 
 
 II. Selecting a title. — Next give j-our composition a title. 
 In this case you might use. Mrs. Croion's Sf(tr. Boarder,
 
 32 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 A Fellow Stuihnt, or Jim, A Social Light in Cloy Center. 
 Anj-tliing that might fit the composition would be proper. 
 Your name should be signed as before. 
 
 TIT. Reviewing and correcting. — Tn correcting your work, 
 carefully observe the points already given and in addition 
 these: — 
 
 (1). You should see to it that everything you have stand- 
 ing as a sentence really is a sentence. One often finds con- 
 structions like the following: " "While my aunt busied herself 
 at the table. A young man who sat near by spoke up and 
 said." A moment's thought will show that the first part is not 
 a sentence by itself at all, but is merely a part of the whole, 
 going together with "spoke up " in that it shows the time of 
 the young man's speaking. 
 
 In other cases it is a final clause that is dropped off the sen- 
 tence it belongs with, and made to stand by itself ; as, — 
 
 "Enclosed find one set of shadow-effect, half-tone designs, 
 showing the correct modeling of several flowers, indicating 
 where the light and shadows fall. Illustrating the degrees of 
 shading in the tones. " Here the period should be a comma, 
 which should be followed by the connective "and." 
 
 (2). On the other hand, everything that is a sentence 
 should stand as one. Constructions like the following are met 
 with in almost every variety of composition: "The door of my 
 neighbor's room stood open and I looked in, several pairs of 
 old shoes stood about on the floor." Such writing is exceed- 
 ingly careless ; the latter half of this sentence is evidently a 
 sentence by itself and should, as such, have begun with a 
 capital and been preceded by a period.
 
 THE ENVIRONMENT SKETCH.— A. 33 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR PRACTICE. 
 
 1. Write the description of a room so as to show that the 
 occupant is a young lady who is rich, who is given to style, 
 who is rather frivolous, and who has recently lost her parents. * 
 
 2. Write the description of a farm-yard so as to show that 
 the farmer is negligent, shiftless, and worthless generally. 
 
 3. Write the description of a school room so as to show 
 that the teacher is a man, that he has poor discipline, that 
 the scholars are all girls, and that the school lies in a region 
 where there are large stretches of oak and hickory woods. 
 
 4. Write the description of a sitting room and a kitchen so 
 as to show that the lady of the house is negligent in her habits 
 while the servant girl is very neat. J 
 
 5. Write the description of a railway-car so as to show that 
 it had recently been occupied liy a millionaire. 
 
 6. Describe a sitting-room so as to show that the family 
 using it is large and rather poor, but refined and well educated; 
 and that the father is a clergyman. 
 
 7. Describe a boy's room so as to show that it is occupied 
 by two chums, one of whom is a great student while the other 
 is very fond of out-door sports. 
 
 8. Describe a village street so as to show that the town is 
 poor, given to drink, rather free in its moral beliefs, and 
 that the chief occupation of the people is coal-mining. 
 
 9. Describe a house so as to show that it lies in the woods. 
 
 * It is absolutely necessary that the teacher preserve this form in formulating 
 the subjects. Always put it thus: Write the description of a, &, c, so as to show 
 X, y, z. If this be not done, the pupils will fall into the fault of direct descrip- 
 tion mentioned p. 30, and thus the object of the work will be defeated, 
 
 iln this composition you might have four paragraphs:— the introduction, the 
 conclusion, and one each for a description of the sitting-room and the kitchen.
 
 34 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH COMPOSrnO>^. 
 
 distant from civilization, and that the occupant is a man who 
 lives by hunting and fishing. 
 
 10. Describe a room so as to show that it is the reception 
 oltice of a dentist. 
 
 [To TiiK 'I'EAciiKR.— Insistence 117)011 conformity to the points of style given 
 on pages 'Jl and 3- will in all probability consume most of the teacher's energy 
 In addition, he might introduce the matter embodied in rules 6,9, 10, 11, pages 
 t)5-e, and perhaps 2, 10, 20, 22 iind 23, or a few others that may occur more com- 
 monly in the work. 
 
 SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS. 
 
 1. What were some of the individualizing touches In the composition about 
 Aunt Polly that tended to show character? 
 
 2. How, then, might a visualization be transformed into an environment 
 sketch ? 
 
 3. Do you remember any instance, within your own observation, in which 
 you judged character by environment ? 
 
 4. What is the logical principle at the bottom of this ? 
 
 5. Which is better : " The man wore a coat that was somewhat the worse for 
 wear," or, " The man wore a coat that had been ripped up the back" ? Which 
 gives the better character-hint? 
 
 6. Comparing the expressions of the last ([uestion, and the suggestions given 
 in the fifth paragraph of this chapter, with their less vigorous synonyms, which 
 do you find causes you to see the act that produced the effect ? 
 
 7 What may be the reason for the greater force of these plain words ? 
 8. Which are the more effective, specific terms or general terms?
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 THE ENVIRONMENT SICETCH— B. 
 
 If I should accidentally enter a room and find upon the floor 
 two upturned chairs, a revolver with a blackened muzzle, three 
 poker chips, half a pack of cards, and a man's hat with a hole 
 through it, I should at once divine the whole tragedy of gamb- 
 ling and its consequences. 
 
 And conversely, if -I wished to indicate that gambling with 
 a quarrel and subsequent murder had taken place in a certain 
 room, I should only need to put together an environment simi- 
 lar to the above, and that would show it with all the plainness 
 that could be desired. 
 
 The environment sketch, then, may just as well l)e made to 
 show past happenings as character. 
 
 I. Showing past events by present environment. — Now 
 write the description of a school-house and ^'■ard in this way so 
 as to show that teacher and pupils have just been frightened 
 away by the sudden arrival of a party of Indians. 
 
 Here, as in the Environment Sketch — A, you should write 
 an introductory paragraph explaining how you came to see this 
 school-house and its surroundings. You might be a counti'y 
 book-agent, a visitor to friends in the country with whom you 
 went to see the school, the county superintendent making 
 his customary rounds, or any other character that you may pre- 
 fer. And here, as in all other compositions, the more un- 
 usual tliis character is, the better will your story be liked. 
 
 To close with, do not forget to write a short paragraph tell- 
 ing how you left the school-house and weat about your regular
 
 36 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLLSII COMPOSITIOX. 
 
 business. And, in the body of your conijjosition, you may, if 
 you choose, have two paragraphs — one devoted to the yard, and 
 the other to the school-room. 
 
 You must not s((j/ (I won/ about the hulians themselves nor 
 about the children and the teacher.* Merely descril)e the school 
 and yard in such a way that those who hear you read will know 
 that the Indians were there and that the teacher and the child- 
 ren were frightened away. This is the same direction as the 
 one given on page 30. 
 
 II. Keeping out old mistakes. — In reading over and im- 
 proving this composition, you should first see to it that the 
 faults which you have overcome already do not creep in again. 
 Then observe the following suggestions: — 
 
 (1) Do not use participial constructions if you can readily 
 avoid them. Instead, emplo}' a regular subject and predicate. 
 Thus, many object to saying, "Finding the door to my 
 neighbor's room open, I stepped up and peeped in"; or, 
 "While visiting my aunt in the country, I once called on the 
 school-teacher." Instead, you can say: "I found the door 
 open and peeped in;" or, '-While I was visiting, " and so 
 forth. This participial construction is, in its origin, foreign to 
 our language. It is particularly vicious when used at the be- 
 ginning of a sentence. But more than this, it often leads the 
 writer into the most remarkable absurdities — as witness those 
 given on page 80. 
 
 (2) Do not jiiinble li)j,\'tliL'r in the same sentence a mass of 
 statements that natuniliy will not mix. Such a mixture would 
 li.' Ih ' following: — 
 
 The teacher .should be on his guard licre also.
 
 THE ENVIRONMENT SKETCH.— B. 37 
 
 "My Aunt Pully was a gray-haired old woman who- kept 
 boarders and taught a Sunday-school class, and kept two 
 pigs in the back-yard, which she fattened for Christmas, 
 when she always invited her nieces and nephews, and 
 then we had fresh sausages." 
 
 In this way you might have your whole composition in a 
 single sentence. Only little children talk thus; and it does 
 not show much skill or taste in arrangement to write like this. 
 Make a sentence for each statement, or at least for each group 
 of two or three statements that belong together. If the ad- 
 vice to write simple sentences given on page 21 be heeded, this 
 fault will not often creep in. 
 
 II. Avoid rambling. — When you are writing a composition 
 with a special object in view, do not put in details that do no 
 good. Stick to your text. 
 
 Thus, when you were describing the school-room so as to 
 show that Indians had been there, it would have been a waste 
 of time to have said that the school-house had a chimney made 
 of red brick, that there was a picture of Washington or Lincoln 
 on the wall, or that the teacher's table had ink-spots on it. 
 These points do not show that Indians had been there. And 
 to make that apparent was your special business. 
 
 To show this you, of course, use as many details as you can 
 possibly invent; but you should omit everything that does not 
 contril)ute to this end. If you had said, however, that the por- 
 trait of Washington had an arrow sticking in it, it would have 
 been very good. 
 
 ADDITIONAL SUGGESTIONS FOR ENVIRONMENT SKETCHES. 
 
 1. Write the descriptiim of a lawn so as to show that a 
 children's party has just l)eeu In Id there.
 
 38 FIR^^T STKPS IN ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 2. l)rscnl)e tlie interior of ji house so as to show that the 
 in-d\veller is a millionaire, that tlie house has been enlerod Ity 
 burglars, and that thoy have ])een frightened away suddenly. 
 
 3. Write the description of a country schoolhouse so as to 
 sliow that a tramp has broken in and spent the night thei'e. 
 
 4. Describe a street corner so as to sliow that a very liud 
 riniaway has just occurred there. 
 
 5. Descrilx' a farm so as to sliow that a heavy rain-storm 
 has just passed over it. 
 
 (). Write the description of a large barn so as to show that 
 a country dance will lie held shortl}' in the loft of the same. 
 
 7. Describe a room so as to show tliat a little child lies 
 seriously- sick there. 
 
 8. Describe the school-room so as to show that it is the 
 first day of school. 
 
 9. Describe a spot of ground liy a pond in tlic woods so as 
 to show that a murder has been committed there, that the 
 murdered person was a woman, and that the murderer was an 
 Indian, who had had a gun. and had lieen accompaniccl by a 
 dog with a stub tail. 
 
 [To THE Teacher.— From now on it will hardly be wortli while togivediree 
 tions how new points of st.vle should be introduced. Only let the points always 
 be advanced gradually, one by one, as in arithmetic or geography 
 
 With very small children subjects like the following may be tried; Write the 
 description of a spot of ground so as to show that the cut has killed a bird there. 
 
 SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS. 
 
 1. What popular writer of stories relies for success almost entirely tijjon 
 skillful management of environment? 
 
 2. Do you ever infer past happenings from the way things look? 
 
 3. What is the artistic use of the introduction and the conclusion? 
 
 4. What principles should be followed in teaching pupils how to paragraph? 
 .^. Is it necessary to "keep within a pupiTs e.vperiences " at this |)oint?
 
 THE ENVm()N:\IEXr SKETCH.— B. 39 
 
 As an example of what environment maybe made to accomplish in setting 
 forth character, note the following from ^■ictor Hugo's Les Miserables: 
 
 " The garret, into which Marius was now peering, was abject, dirty, fetid, in- 
 fectious, dark, and sordid. The furniture consisted of a straw-bottomed chair, a 
 rickety table, a few old earthenware dishes, and two indescribable beds. The 
 only light that entered filtered through a skylight, with but four panes of glass, 
 and festooned with spiders' webs. The walls had a leprous look, and were cov- 
 ered with gashes and scars like a face disfigured by some horrible disease, while 
 down them oozed a blear-eyed dampness. Obscene designs, clumsily drawn in 
 charcoal, were distinguishable here and there on them. 
 
 " Marius' room had abroken brick flooring; but here the inhabitants walked 
 on the old plastering which had fallen from tha ceiling and grow-n black 
 under their feet. Here were grouped capriciously constellations of old shoes, 
 boots, and frightful rags. At one side of the room was the chimney, and in the 
 fireplace was something of everything — a chafing-dish, a pot, some broken planks, 
 rags hanging from nails, a bird-cage, ashes, and even a little fire, for two logs 
 were sadly smoking there. A circumstance which increased the horror of this 
 garret was its great size — it had angles, nooks, bays, promontories, black holes 
 under the roof, frightful, inscrutable corners, where spiders as large as a list 
 might lurk, or whence wood-lice a foot long might crawl forth." 
 
 1. How many inhabitants had this room ? 
 
 2. What do the earthenware dishes show was done here daily 1 
 
 3. What utensil in paragraph two points to the same 'i 
 
 4. What character is indicated by the staie of the windows ? 
 
 5. What points farther on indicate the same '' 
 
 6. How did the gashes gel on the walls ? 
 
 7. What does the clumsiness of the designs on the walls show ? 
 
 8. What is shown by the fact that the tire had not gone out ? 
 
 9. What were the rags hung in the fire-place for ? 
 
 10. What is shown by the bird-cage ? 
 
 11. What do the ashes in the fire-place show ; 
 
 12. Why were the walls damp ?
 
 CHAPTKll VI. 
 THE DIALOGUE SKETCH. 
 
 I once knew a man who had a son some six years old. He 
 thought a great deal of this boy, and one time came up to me 
 in the street with much enthusiasm, saying, " I tell you that 
 youngster of mine is the greatest little follow! You just 
 ought to hoar him swoar at his mother once.' 
 
 Now, evon if I had not boon well acquainted with this man 
 and his family, I should have known his character from tho 
 above speech alone. More than this, I should have known 
 the boy's character, the mother's character, and the character 
 of the family life, in general, which these pooplo 1(mI. 
 
 Here it is as with the environment sketch. There we de- 
 tected character in the surroundings of an individual; here we 
 see it in his talk. 
 
 Now, conversely, if I had wished to write a composition 
 which should represent a man with the character of the person 
 above mentioned, I should only have needed to make him 
 utter the words given, and his weak, foolish nature would 
 have been apparent. 
 
 The composition would have been a dialogue sketch of ono 
 speech, written so as to show that the speaker was weak, 
 characterless and absurd in his ideals. 
 
 I. Inventing a situation.— Suppose it is required to write 
 a dialogue sketch so as to show that the speakers are two 
 boys, — one of them rich, health}-, and overbearing; the other 
 poor, sickly, and sad in his disposition. It will read some- 
 what as follows: — 
 
 40
 
 THE DIALOGUE SKETCH. 41 
 
 " Here, you ! Give me a worm, my bait is gone." 
 
 "Yea, George, in just a minute; let me fasten my pole 
 fir.t." 
 
 "Pole! Yon don't call an old switch like that a pole, 
 do you? What do I care for your old pole, anywa)M 
 Hurry up." 
 
 "All right." Then after a few seconds, Ted walked over 
 to where George sat on the bank holding his hook 
 in one hand, and said, " Here George, and it's the last 
 worm in the can, too." 
 
 " Well, go dig some more !" 
 
 "Why, I can't dig with my lame foot, George." 
 
 " Well, they've got to be dug." 
 
 " Can't you do it yourself just this once, George, see- 
 ing there's nobody else?" 
 
 "I? No, Sir ! What's my father a banker for, I'd 
 like ta know?" 
 
 Now, the first thing I had to do, in order to get the boys to 
 talking naturally, was to invent a situation, and thus give them 
 something to talk about. I chose fishing. I could just as well 
 have made them be out skating together (in which case the 
 poor boy could not, however, have been lame), playing ball or 
 marbles, or stud3ing together (when the poor boy could easily 
 have been made the l)righter of the two). 
 
 To invent some situation for your speakers to Ite in, is the 
 first thing to lie done in writing a dialogue sketch. And here, 
 as everywhere, the more uncommon this is, the better. 
 
 II. The introductory paragraph. — When that has been de- 
 cided upon. 3-oush(Kiid write your introductory paragraph ex- 
 plaining how 3'ou came to overhear the conversation. Tiiere is 
 notiiing new in this; it is what 5'ou did in connection with the 
 environment sketch. You can have yourself driving in the coun- 
 try, along by a river; can stop to enjoy a view, and then hear the
 
 42 FIRST STEPS IN i:.\( il.lSl 1 COMPOSITION. 
 
 conversation. Or, 3'ou may ho a school-teacher and hear it 
 through an open window in tlie warm autumn. Or, you can 
 be skating, your skate may break, and while you are fixing it 
 along can come the boys. You may even be digging pota- 
 toes in your garden and overhear a conversation in a neigh- 
 bor's yard. 
 
 III. Points to be observed. — In writing your dialogue 
 sketch you sliould observe carefully the following points: — 
 
 (a) See to it that your characters talk in a natural way — 
 just as people like them do in real life. Thus it would 
 have been absurd in the above conversation, to have made 
 George say, "I do not hold a very high opinion of your fish- 
 ing-rod. " No boy ever talked like that; if he should, he would 
 be laughed at. Instead, ' ' What do I care for your old pole, 
 anyway," is natural. 
 
 But this does not mean that your composition shall be 
 slangy or full of bad grammar. It is true that most of the 
 points given in Chapter IX. may be ignored in the actual 
 speeches, but the quotation marks will show that you make use 
 of this inferior English because you wish to, and not because 
 you do not know anj^ better. But, even then, everything should 
 be within reason. 
 
 (1)) Throughout the sketch should be inserted little remarks, 
 telling what the speakers do as they converse. One such was 
 inserted in the composition above, and several may be thrown 
 into any conversation that is at all long. AVhile writing the 
 speeches, you should form a moving picture to yourself and 
 notice what your characters do as they talk. 
 
 (c) Your characters are to be set forth by means of their 
 language. You must, consequently, neither describe them di-
 
 THE DIALOGUE SKETCH. 43 
 
 rectly * nor use euviroument. — that would defeat the purpose 
 of this work. It wouhl, of course, do just as well; but, in 
 studying decimals, for instance, 3"ou use decimals and not com- 
 mon fractions, even though the latter would get you the an- 
 s^wer just as quickly. 
 
 (d). Each speech, together with the explanation, the de- 
 scription of the speakers, the accompanying acts or movements, 
 if any such are thrown in, should stand in a paragraph by it- 
 self. The words composing the actual speech, but no others, 
 should stand in quotation marks. If the words thus enclosed 
 form a sentence, this should begin with a capital letter. The 
 entire quotation should be separated from the other words of 
 the paragraph by commas, thus: — 
 
 "Hurry up!" said George, "I have nu time to lose." 
 
 The words actually spoken are in quotation marks; commas 
 separate the quotations from the other words of the paragraph ; 
 each quotation is a complete sentence and l)egins with a capi- 
 tal, and the former has an exclamation point. 
 
 IV. Concluding steps.- When you have finished the compo- 
 sition write your concluding paragraph, explaining how you went 
 about your usual business. Then give your story a title. 
 This might be ILirry and George, Two Boys, Extremes, My 
 Neifjlihor a Boy, or anything else that occurs to you. I'inally, 
 sign your name. , 
 
 OTHER SUGGESTIONS FOR A DIALOGUE. 
 
 1. Construct a conversation between a teacher and a pupil 
 so as to show that the former is kind and good; the latter, 
 sulky and ignorant. 
 
 • Here ibe teacher should be on his guard again.
 
 44 FIR^^T STKPS IX KXCJLISII COMPOSITION. 
 
 2. Wiitc ;i conversation between n fnimci- .-ind his liircrl 
 man so as t.) sli()\v that tlic hitter knows more about larniinsi 
 than the foiincr. 
 
 3. Write a conversation between two sisters so as to show 
 that one is a spoiled cliiki ; the other, quiet and kind. 
 
 4. Give a conversation between two young ladies so as to 
 show that one of them is very ignorant of country life. 
 
 5. 'J' lie same, showing the young lady to l)e very ignorant 
 of city life. 
 
 6. A conversation i)etween a lady and her servant-girl so as 
 to show that the former is very unskilled in domestic affairs. 
 
 7. A conversation between two strangers, who meet some- 
 where, so as to show that one of them has been doing some- 
 thing unlawful, is afraid of pursuit, yet is very careful not to 
 reveal anything to the other. 
 
 8. Write a conversation among three persons so as to show 
 that one is the proprietor of a country store ; the second, a clerk 
 in the store who is partially deaf; and the third, a farmer who 
 is prosperous, and whose chief branch of farming is the raising 
 of hogs. 
 
 [To THE Teacher.— Here, as everywliere, subjects constructed on the sjiiir of 
 the moment are preferable to these set ones. For very small cliihiren subject 
 like tliese may be given out: a conversation between two piys so as to show what 
 kind of man the farmer who owns them is; between a cat and her kittens so as 
 to show how the baby is«being brought up; between our dog and the neighbor's 
 dog so as to show what the boys living in the large house around the corner do. 
 
 At this point the teacher might be on his guard in respect to the inevitable 
 misuse of shall and will, may and cin, lay and lie, sit and set, and so forth. 
 
 The effectiveness of dialogue in literature mny be seen from a study of the 
 following extract: — 
 
 Scott had taken the banjo and was turning it over and looking at it.' Alf and 
 I saw him take out his knife and cut the strings with a twang.
 
 THE DIALOGUE SKETCH. 45 
 
 ••Good Lawdl" exclaimed the negro, aud his wife turned from the fire with a 
 look of sorrow and reproach. 
 
 " It's a shame, sah, dat's what it is. It's a plum shame, I doan kere ef yo is 
 white an' me black." 
 
 Scott tossed the banjo into the corner and laughed. 
 
 "Sounds a blamed sight better in death than in life," he said. 
 
 •• But who's gwine to pay for dat death music?" the negro asked. 
 
 '•Pay for it!" Scott turned fiercely upon the negro and Alf caught up his 
 gun. '• Wait I" I whispered. 
 
 ■• Pay for it I" Scott raved. " You infernal old scoundrel, do we have to pay 
 every time we turn round?" "But we'll make it all right with you," he added 
 Alf lowered his gun. 
 
 '■ I hopes to de Lawd yo will," said the w-oman, " fur wo needs it bad enough." 
 
 "You do?" Scott replied. " Well, j'ou'd better be thankful we don't blow on 
 you for selling whiskey without a license." 
 
 "Oar ain't no proof o' de fack dat I has sol' uone ter-night," said the old 
 negro, shaking his head. 
 
 " What's that!" Scott demanded, wheeling round. 
 
 " Skuze me, sah, nothing er tall. Just i)assiu de time o' de day, sah." 
 
 " Oldn't I tell j'ou we would pay for everything we got?" 
 
 " Yas, sah, an' j'ou's er generman, sah; yas, I thanks you fur gwinter pay 
 me." — From Opie Read's The JuckUns. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 
 
 1. Whose was this banjo, evidently? 
 
 2. How did its owners feel towards it?— Where is this shown? 
 
 3. What does Scott's act tell us of his character? 
 
 4. What glimpse of the negro character do we also get here? 
 
 .5. What does "I doan kere ef yo is white" tell us of the old uegress' 
 character? 
 
 6. \Vhi'!li — the negro or his wife— .seems to have more spirit? 
 
 7. What two acts of Scott's corroborate the inference indicated in (jues 
 
 tioti :i? 
 
 8. What does Scott seem to mean v/hen he says " It sounds better, etc."? 
 
 9. What further characterization of Scott at this point? 
 
 10. Why do you suppose Alf raised his gun? \Vhat did he seem to fear Scott 
 was about to do? 
 
 11. Are our sympathies with Scott or with the negroes? 
 Vl. Where were .Vlf's sympathies? 
 
 13. Where and In wliat particulars is the character of the person telling the 
 story seen to be different from Alf's? 
 
 14. In \vh;it tone of voice does Scott say, " 15ul we'll mulie it all-right," etc?
 
 46 
 
 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 15. Why did Alt" lower his b'un? 
 
 16 Did Scott mean what he said? What makes you think so? 
 
 17. What corroboration to the answer to question C do we lind at this point? 
 
 18. What accusation does Scott now make? 
 
 19. The negro's reply, " Uar ain't no proof," etc.. is a polite way of saying 
 what? 
 
 'ZO. How does Scott take that? 
 
 21. What does the negro's abjectness in " Skuze me," etc., show us In regard 
 to Scott's manner? 
 
 22. And in regard to the negro's character? 
 •23. Do we believe Scott means lo pay? 
 
 24. Does the negro believe it? 
 
 But the real value of dialogue is best seen where it is made to portray a 
 variety of Qne shades and tones of feeling as In the following from Hamlet: — 
 iFruncisco at his jwst. Enter to him Bernardo.] 
 
 Who's there? 
 
 Nay, answer me; !<tand. and unfold yourself. 
 Long live the king! 
 
 Bernardo? 
 He. 6 
 
 Vou come most carefully upon your hour. 
 'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed. Francisco. 
 
 I'or this relief much thanks; 't is bitter cold, 
 .\nd I am sick at heart . 
 Have you had a quiet guard? 10 
 
 Xot a mouse stirring. 
 Well, good night. 
 
 If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, 
 The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. 
 
 I think I hear them.— Stand ho: Who is there? In 
 
 [Enter Horatio and Marcellus.'\ 
 Friends to this ground. 
 
 -Vnd liegemen to the Dane. 
 Give you good night. 
 
 O, farewell, honest soldier; 
 Who hath reliev'd j-ou? 20 
 
 Bernardo has ray place. 
 Give you good night. 
 
 Holla! Bernardo! 
 Say,— 
 
 What, is Horatio there? 25 
 
 Hor. A piece of him. 
 
 her. 
 
 Fran. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Fran. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Fran. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Frail. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Fran. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Fran. 
 
 Hor. 
 .Mar. 
 Fran. 
 Mar. 
 
 Fran. 
 
 Mar. 
 Ber.
 
 THE DIALOGUE SKETCH. 47 
 
 Ber. Welcome, Horatio; welcome, good Marcellus. 
 
 Mar. What, has this thing appeared again to-night? 
 
 Ber. I have seen nothing. 
 
 Mar. Horatio says "tis but our fantasy, 30 
 
 And will not let belief talie hold of him 
 
 Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us; 
 
 Therefore I have entreated him along 
 
 With us to watch the minutes of this night. 
 
 That if again this apparition come, 35 
 
 He may approve our eyes and speak to it. 
 Hor. Tush, tush, 't will not appear. 
 Ber. Sit down awhile; 
 
 And let lis once again assail your ears. 
 
 That are so fortified against our story, 40 
 
 What we two nights have seen, 
 Hor. \Vell. sit we down. 
 
 And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. 
 Ber. Last night of all. 
 
 When yond same star that's westward from the pole, 4b 
 
 Had made his course to illume that part of heaven 
 
 Where now it burns, Marcellus and myseif. 
 
 The bell then beating one. — 
 
 [Enter Ghost.] 
 
 QUESTIONS. 
 
 1. How many men are on the scene as the curtain rises? 
 
 2. What is each doing? 
 
 3. Which, then, should luoperly be tlie one to challenge? 
 
 4. But which does challenge? 
 
 5. What has been seen about the castle lately that these men know? (L. 23 
 and following.) 
 
 6. Then what is tlie cause of the odd procedure indicated in question num- 
 ber four? 
 
 7. What word in Francisco's reply to the cliuUenge should have si)ocial 
 emphasis? 
 
 8. What does he want this new arrival to tell liim. since he says "unfold 
 yourself"? Compare also his second speech. 
 
 9. What may he hav(- feared ihis was that was aiipruaciiing? 
 
 10. What stale of mind is lie tlun in? 
 
 11. Does; Francisco ask for any countersign? 
 
 12. What state of mind is Bernardo in that he gives it anyway? 
 
 13. Where does Francisco compliment liernardo? 
 
 n. How do you suppose it comes that Francisco knows Bernardo is punctual 
 to the minute?
 
 48 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 15. Do yoii tukc it these men aro stra:ii;ers, and have been goini^ jn the cye- 
 for-an-eye and t03th-for-a-tooth principle in relieving each other? 
 
 16. What has madj Uernardo so punctual? 
 
 17. llow docs Fr.::ioisco feel at beinj^ relieved? 
 
 18. What is h 3 •■.sK'k at heart" over? 
 
 10. What accoii i!-; f )rat least a port ion of his shivers? 
 
 20. Why docs IJc.iia.do ask if the guard has been quiet? 
 
 21. What must Fran.'iseo have been doin^ intently, that he can know not 
 even a sound so sli^jht as the stirrin;.? of a mouse has bee i heard? 
 
 22. Suppose Francisco had said itie apparition luul already made its visit, 
 bow would Uernardo have felt? 
 
 23. Why docs Bernardo want Horatio and Marcellus to make haste? 
 
 24. What state of mind is a mati in wiio says '"WeH"' the way Bernardo does? 
 2.). How definite is the information on the strength of which Franci.sco 
 
 challenges? 
 
 26. Why does he not (juietly wait until he sees who it is? 
 
 27. Which of the two arrivals is it that does not give much credence to this 
 vision? 
 
 28. Then why does Marcellus come in second? 
 
 29. How often does Francisco bid good night before going? 
 
 30. Why does he not go at once? 
 
 31. Which of the two arrivals does Bernardo seem most pleased to see? 
 Why? 
 
 32. What state of mind does line 27 reveal? 
 
 33. Then what does Marcellus think when he asks line 28? 
 3-1. What is now seen to be the reason these men have come ? 
 
 3."). What is Horatio's attitude of mind toward the story of the apparition, 
 as shown by line 30? 
 
 36. What does Bernardo expect, that he should ask them to sit down? 
 
 37. In what spirit does Horatio comply? 
 
 38. What makes Bernardo so solemn, as he begins his account?
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE DESCRIPTION. 
 
 By a description we do not mean an exact, detailed, scien- 
 tific account of some object, place, or person, sucli as cyclo- 
 paedias and text-books give for purposes of information. You 
 would need to study the subject you wished to describe long 
 and thoroughly before j'ou could make such a description of 
 it. Instead we mean a literary description, for purposes of 
 entertainment, such as you find in stories, books of travel, 
 magazines, or general literature. 
 
 A description is a kind of visualization. The only differ- 
 ence between the two is that the former deals with somethinjr 
 actually existing, while the latter is wholly of the imagina- 
 tion. Yet, practically, this difference is not very gi'eat. You 
 must picture to yourself clearly what you are to describe be- 
 fore 3'ou l^egin to write. 
 
 If Aunt Polly's back parlor had been a real room, your vis- 
 ualization would have been a description. Both depend for 
 their effectiveness upon clear vision, plenty of individualizing 
 touches, and a well-placed point of view. In the one, the 
 mind is just as free to embellish and build up as in the other. 
 The best description would not result if you should actually go 
 and look at the place or structure to be described, and should 
 then write while examining it. 
 
 I. A description differs from a visualization.— There are, 
 however, two particulars in which a description differs from a 
 visualization. In the latter you are given several points from 
 which to start your thinking. The sentence, "Aunt Polly sat 
 in her little back parlor peeling a panful of red apples before 
 the fire," contains four such liints. Aunt Polly, the back 
 
 4i)
 
 50 
 
 FIRST STKIV IX ENGLISH ('0:\IPOSITI()N. 
 
 parlor, paring apples, the fire. But, in wriling a description, 
 you will be furnished no such suai^estions with whicli to l)e(rin. 
 You will simply be told to describe a railway station, a vil- 
 lage post-oflice, and so forth, and wi!! have to find for yourself 
 the points to start from. This makes a description somewhat 
 more difficult to write than a visualization. 
 
 1 1 . How to give individualizing touches to a description. — 
 In the second place, it is less easy to get individualizing 
 touches into a description than into 
 a visualization — they are harder to 
 find in real life than in the imagin- 
 ation. 
 
 1. Let us suppose that you are 
 asked to descri))e the country railway 
 station mentioned above (see cut). 
 You should proceed — as with the 
 visualization — first of all to visualize 
 your subject. And, in doing this, 
 you should endeavor to notice especi- 
 ally as many individualizing touches 
 as possible, and should clearly locate 
 yourself and j'our point of view. In 
 my mind the station takes shape as 
 in the accompanying design.* I see 
 myself at x . 
 
 2. Next you simply tell what you 
 see. You should strive to make the 
 individualizing touches prominent, 
 f<;r the excellence of a description depends solely on tliis. You 
 
 *To THE Teacher.— It might be well to have a special exercise on dia!,'raniming 
 visiuUizatioiis of places suitable for ilescriptioiis. It is very Iriterestin.^ to have 
 a number of the same place put on the board for comparison.
 
 THE DESCRIPTION. 51 
 
 would niiturally mention the platform of gra}", weatlier-l)eaten 
 boards. And. if your mental vision has been clear enough, you 
 will have noticed the many three-cornered dints in it where 
 heavy trunks have been dropped on their corners out of bag- 
 gage cars, and will mention them. 
 
 You will also have noticed the cracked and broken ends of 
 the planks where drays and omnibuses have been backed up 
 asjaiust them. And the trucks standing alongside the build- 
 ing, with their black, greasy hubs, and with most of the paint 
 knocked otT. 
 
 Then, as to the building itself, there is the semaphore 
 sticking out over the platform from the side, and the brass 
 telegraph instruments on a shelf in the bay-window. On the 
 edge of the door about the handle is an irregular blotch, where 
 hundreds of coal-blackened hands have been placed to push it 
 open. And near by, on the side of the building, are the scat- 
 tered heads of tacks and the minute fragments of paper, where 
 notices have been fastened up and torn down again. 
 
 3. Many more touches of this sort might be added; and, 
 if it is near train time, a number of moving details could be 
 introduced with advantage, — the expressmen and omnibus 
 drivers leaning up against their vehicles smoking or occasion- 
 ally squaring off at each other, tlie drummers with their tan 
 overcoats and yellow, rectangular sample-cases, etc. And 
 upon suc'h details all, as was said, depends. You cannot 
 bring in too many of them; nor can you, on the other hand, 
 too carefully avoid all descriptive adjectives or general re- 
 marks about the station as a whole, 
 
 4. And, for the same reason, you sliould, as far as possible, 
 avoid menlioning the particulars that are plain to cvei-yliody. 
 What would 1)0 gained in the al)ove description by saying that
 
 52 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 the building w:is a frame one, willi doors, windows, and a 
 chimney, and that the platform was long and narrow, and was 
 in front of the building, between it and the track? Everybod}' 
 sees all this himself; and, moreover, a railway station is not 
 the only l)uilding that is of wood, and that has doors, windows, 
 and a chimney. 
 
 But what people will not see are the indivitlualizing details; — 
 nobody ever sees them. And it seems to be a fact that these 
 more general points of description are attached in some way to 
 the individualizing touches, so that any mention of the latter 
 brings the former into mind also. If yf)u were making a 
 scientific description for some special use in Ijusiness, you 
 would, of course, proceed differently, — would for instance give 
 the exact size of everything in feet, give the technical varieties 
 of lumber employed in building, and so forth. But this j^ou 
 will learn to do when you get out of school and into business. 
 
 5. Furthermore, you should mention those details only 
 which you can naturally see fi-om the place where you imagine 
 yourself to stand. Thus, in the above instance, nothing was 
 mentioned which was inside the station or around behind it. 
 Nor could I properly have stated what was in the road back of 
 my position. 
 
 If, for any reason, it should be desirable to descril)e these 
 invisible parts of j'our subject, you should begin a new para- 
 graph, and first of all, as in the environment sketch, get your- 
 self, in some natural way, to the new place. Thus, assuming 
 you are describing the station above, it would be easy for you 
 to make your friend, Joe Harris, appear suddenly inside the 
 waiting-room, when you would have a good excuse for going in. 
 Or, your hat might blow off around behind the building, when 
 you would naturally go around there, too.
 
 THE DESCRIPTIOX. 53 
 
 Of course, these events may not, in reality, have happened 
 at all ; but that makes no difference. Your business anj^way 
 is not to tell what happened, but to describe the station; and 
 these imaginary happenings are employed merely to make 
 your description move along smoothly and artistically. Then, 
 when 3'ou are in this new situation, notice where you imagine 
 your new point of view to be, and begin again as before. 
 
 6. You should enumerate the individualizing details about 
 in the order of their distance from you, as you imagine yourself 
 to stand at your point of view. And it is not at all necessary 
 to say that you thus arrange them, by using expressions like ' 'at 
 my feet, " "farther on, "' '-in the distance," and so forth. It 
 does not matter whether your reader notices that they are thus 
 arranged or not. He will get the unconscious pleasure any- 
 way that comes from artistic work. 
 
 7. In the enumeration of your details, you should try, if 
 possilile, to work up to the climax. Such a climax would nat- 
 urally be found in the most prominent or striking detail of 
 all ; and with this, in order to make a satisfying conclusion, 
 you should end. 
 
 Thus, if you were describing a village street that had a 
 court-house or prominent church at the farther end, you 
 should mention the items, in a general way, according to their 
 distance from you, and end with the prominent Iniilding. If 
 the reverse were the case, and j'ou found your point of view to 
 be at the prominent building, you should follow the street out 
 to where it ends at a river, a wood, a cliff, or even at the 
 horizon itself. 
 
 8. You should carefully keep out of your work all details 
 that do not have anything to do with what you are describing. 
 It would not have helped the description of the railway statioa
 
 54 FIRST STEPS IX KX(;LISII COMPOSITION. 
 
 if I li;i>l iiu'uUoihhI a mail ridiiiii; l)y on a imilr, or a woman 
 feeding cliiokens in a neighboring yard. Tlit'sc details might 
 in themselves have been interesting, and striking, and all that; 
 but by inserting tliv'in I should have been wandering from 
 my text. 
 
 0. It is often well to have short introductory and conclud- 
 ing paragraphs, in which you inv(Mit an easy way of getting to 
 the place described and away again. This method will always 
 insure a smooth beginning and end. 
 
 Many descriptions are written in the third person ; but, in 
 this case, it is usually very dilficult to l)egin ami close nicely, 
 since the above method can not, of course, be followed. 
 Then, again, in describing the invisible portions of your sub- 
 ject, you would not be able to employ the fiction of seeing 
 your friend and so forth, to get started with, but would simply 
 begin a new paragraph and trust to your general style for ease 
 in the transition. 
 
 10. If you ))ear these seven points: —clear visualization, 
 individualizing details, definite point of view, restriction in the 
 mention of details each time to what can actually be seen, 
 arrangement of the items according to their distance from you, 
 climax, and unity— in mind as well as possible during the 
 correcting and improving of your work, you can hardly fail 
 to produce an interesting and well-written description. 
 
 SUGGESTED SUBJECTS FOR DESCRIPTIONS, 
 
 1. The Railway Station. 
 
 2. The Village Street. 
 
 3. Mr. Williams' General Store. 
 
 4. The Blacksmith Shop. 
 
 5. The Village Postollice.
 
 THE DESCRIPTION. 65 
 
 6. The Flo^ir-Mill of the Waterford Co. 
 
 7. The View from the Rivei- Bank. 
 
 8. In the Forest. 
 
 9. The Round-House. 
 
 10. T'.ie Skating Pond. 
 
 11. The Countrj^ School-House. 
 
 12. Mr. Ackermans Farm-Yard. 
 
 To THE TEACHER. — Any special subjects which may lie closer to the experi- 
 ences of the class should be substituted for the above selections. 
 
 III. Discrimination in the selection of details. — These 
 descriptions are ordinar}^ straightforward compositions. The 
 only object is to get down, in the ordei'ly ways indicated, as 
 many indi^'idualizing details as possible. Xo reason seems to 
 exist why one item is not just as worthy of consideration as 
 any other. 
 
 Yet it often happens that you will find yourself exercising a 
 choice upon this point. Suppose, for some reason, j'ou wished 
 to describe a Chinese laundry. You would visualize as you 
 always do; but, instead of putting down any and all individ- 
 ualizing details that offered themselves, you would select 
 those that bring out the special Chinese appearance of your 
 subject. These j^ou would make prominent, and would omit 
 man}-, in themselves perhaps excellent, which are common to 
 laundries. 
 
 You would particularly mention the figure of Buddha squat- 
 ting with folded hands on the shelf; the strips of paper with 
 vertical rows of grotesque characters; the Chinese lilies growing 
 on stones in Ijowls of well-water; the long, straight-stemmed, 
 round-bowled pipes, and the small ivory hand on a stick that 
 Chinamen scratch their back with. 
 
 The same problem would present itself if 3'ou should wish
 
 5(5 FIR>T STEPS IX l-'.NGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 to niako a (lescription with a purpose, — Mr. Ackerinan's farm- 
 yard, for instance, so as to show his character. But this 
 woukl be a simple environment sketch. 
 
 IV Overcoming difficulties in describing persons. —'De- 
 scriptions of persons are the most dilliiuilt of all to make, — 
 they are naturally so limited in extent of material, and indi- 
 vidualizing details are less easily detected. They sliould 
 always l)e made with the purpose of clearly showing the char- 
 acter, occupation, or worldly circumstances of tlie person de- 
 scribed. The appearance of the hat, coat, trousers, collar, and 
 neck-tie, of the hair and finger-nails, of the face and heard, 
 llu' look in the eye, the walk and carriage, the tone of the 
 voice, any habits, such as continual spitting, rubbing the chin, 
 twirlino; the mustache, — all should be made to furnish iudivid- 
 ualizing touches setting off the above points. 
 
 Moreover, here of all places, must the general and the ob- 
 vious be omitted. Can anything be more absurd and vague 
 than to say a man wears a black coat, a felt hat, has brown 
 hair, and is five feet ten inches tall? 
 
 SUGGESTED SUBJECTS. 
 
 1. The Chinese Laundry. 
 
 2. The College Laboratory. 
 
 3. The Tramp. 
 
 4. The Ice-Man. 
 
 5. The Jew who Bought the Old Clothes. 
 
 6. The Pawn-Broker's Shop at No. U Vine Street. * 
 
 7. Tlie Old Man with the Fish. 
 
 8. The Negro Colony on the Bottoms, 
 
   Here both placeand person may be described.
 
 THE DESCRIPTION. 67 
 
 9. The Gypsy Camp. 
 10. The German Washer- Woman. 
 
 SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS. 
 
 1. Wliiit individualizing toucties would you employ to describe a man who is 
 vain and empty-headed? 
 
 2. What, to describe a man v^fho is a "ward heeler" for some political party'r 
 
 3. How should a subject be staled that would call for the sense of feeling 
 exclusively in writing a description? 
 
 4. How might the "Environment Slietch — A" be transformed into the de- 
 scription of a person?
 
 \ 
 
 CO APT Ell VIII. 
 
 THE NARRATIVE. 
 
 I. The introduction. -If your narrative is to be an ac- 
 count of a little journey, for instance, the best way to begin is 
 to state wliere you went and how it came :il)out that you wciil. 
 If it is to tell about some pleasure trip, such as a picnic, a 
 skating party, or a sleigh-ride, a similar introduction, telling 
 how, where, and when it took place, should be written. 
 
 If j'our composition is to be a record of some happening 
 years ago, it should begin somewhat in this way: — 
 
 [The two men] and myself sat on the back porch one 
 evening. They were telling of adventures they had had, 
 and that brought to my mind a strange exi:)erience I 
 once met with in northern Wiscon>iii." 
 
 This, as will be noticed, tells both the nature of the narra- 
 tive that is to come and the reason for telling it. This intro- 
 duction should constitute the first paragraph. 
 
 II. Write in the first person. — Write in the first person, 
 either singular or plural. If you should make yourself one 
 of a party who take the journey, or have the experience, and 
 should consequently use uw instead of /, the account would 
 sound more modest. If it should be necessary or desirable to 
 bring in anything which you did not see or could not yourself 
 have observed, let it be reported to you by someone else. 
 
 III. Principles of the description applicable. —Several of 
 the principles that make a descriplion elfective are just as ap- 
 plicable to the composition of a narrative. Here also does 
 the success depend on bringing in as many little details as 
 possible of the kind that are alvuiijs overloohcJ, — such as the 
 
 58
 
 THE NARRATIVE. 59 
 
 puffs of dust kicked up bj the horses as they trot, the snipe 
 wading in the edge of a pond, the mud-turtles phimping off 
 their log as you rumble over the bridge, the sun-flowers turn- 
 ing their faces always toward the sun, or, in a train, the 
 heads wagging in unison to match the lurching of the cars. 
 Space forbids to mention more. 
 
 And do not think that these are "too ordinary;" do not 
 turn up your nose at them ; it is they, and they alone, that 
 make interesting reading. To find them, you should continu- 
 ally and careful!}' visualize. A narrative, to be good, must be 
 written some time after the events recorded. As with the 
 description, good work could not result if you should write the 
 narrative piece by piece while 3'ou were actually making the 
 journey. 
 
 IV. Omit what everybody sees. — Conversely, and for the 
 same reason, (you should omit all those details that everybody 
 naturally notices.) We may take these for granted. How 
 Ijan-en an account is that consists only of remarks to the effect 
 that you rode in a wagon, that the horses trotted, that the 
 driver cracked his whip, and so forth! Contrast this set of 
 details with the set given aljove. If you mention the items 
 that are not generally noticed, your reader will, for some 
 strange reason, alwaj^s think of the obvious ones himself.^ 
 
 V. Use conversation and the environment sketch. — The 
 conversation and the environment sketch may 1)0 introiluced 
 into the narrative with advantage, The former will have two 
 distinct uses. In the first place, it may be employed to re- 
 lieve the flow of the narrative itself, if it should become at all 
 monotonous. In that case it should consist of occasional de- 
 tached remarks among the members of the party, between the
 
 1 
 
 (iO FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 writiT and tin- tliivcr, the miidc. the fonduclor or the leader 
 concerning objecls of interest, the progress of the journey, the 
 phvns of the part}*, the state of the weather, and so forth- 
 These remarks should not stand as separate paragraphs, but 
 should be written into the body of the composition itself. 
 
 But the real, effective use of tlie conversation is to charac 
 terize some personage met wiili in the course of the journey, — 
 some beggar, tramp, hunti-r, fisherm:in, old settler, country 
 store-keeper, school-teacher, cattle-driver. Such a conversa- 
 tion should be worked up exactly as the dialogue sketches 
 were, in chapter VI. You should carefully make up your 
 mind what traits of character you wish to set forth, and then 
 write to that end. 
 
 The environment sketch ma}' also be introduced with the 
 same object of showing the character of some person who 
 plays a part in your narrative, — your uncle, whose farm you 
 are visiting; the landlord, at whose rather poor tavern you are 
 forced to put up, and so forth. 
 
 VI. Lead up to the striking features. — As important a 
 Vj matter, perhaps, as an}' in writing a narrative is that you lead 
 *■' up to the striking features which you intend to introduce. Thus, 
 if you plan to have a storm come up in the latter part of your 
 account, which, for instance, foi'ces you to seek shelter some- 
 where, do not mention this suddenly as if it had risen in the 
 space of half a minute. You should, have put into the first part 
 of your composition two or three incidental remarks to the 
 effect that the weather was threatening, or that you feared a 
 storm, and so forth. 
 
 Or, if your narrative is to culminate in a run- away, insert 
 beforehand, at random, a few observations about the horses, —
 
 THE NARRATIVE. 61 
 
 say that they were unrul}-, that one reared, that the other tried 
 to take the bit iu his teeth, or something similar. 
 
 Or. if you are describing a railway journey, in the course of 
 which you are delayed by a wash-out, mention the heav}^ rains 
 at some convenient place in the earlier part of your work. Do 
 not, in general, make it seem that you wrote at one moment 
 without knowing what j'ou were going to say in the next, or 
 that everything happened suddenly without any apparent rea- 
 son, merely to fit 3'our narrative. 
 
 Do not think that this plan will prevent the striking occur- 
 rence from coming as a surprise and a climax. If it should, 
 it would be bad. But, as a matter of fact, such preliminary 
 hints never do weaken the climax, because they are thrown in 
 80 incidentally, or obscurely that the reader only half notices 
 them; and the surprise, when it does come, is artistic and agree- 
 able. Hence, when you have finished describing some impor- 
 tant event, go back and put iu some preliminary allusions of this 
 sort at convenient places in the first part of your narrative. 
 
 VII. Suggestions as to paragraphing. —As to paragraphs, 
 your introduction shouldj as was said, c<)nstitute the first. Any 
 special description of a person or place, any sustained conver- 
 sation, any environment sketch, should liuve a paragraph to 
 itself. Any change in the course of the narrative, such as com- 
 ing out of the woods into a valley, or the reverse, should be 
 marked by a paragraph division. 
 
 If any further divisions are necessary, in order to avoid going 
 too long without a break in the page, make them at any con- 
 venient point. 
 
 A narrative will naturally not need any conclusion, because 
 the introduction indicates how ioag it is to be. When you 
 have reached the end of what you set out to say, stop. If
 
 62 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH COiMPOSITION. 
 
 you should change your mind in the course of the writing, and 
 should wish to stjp before this, or to continue a liLtle farther, 
 go I)ack and alter your introduction accordingly. 
 SUGGESTED SUBJECTS FOR NARRATIVES. 
 
 1. A Skating Party. 
 
 2. A Bicycle Trip. 
 
 3. A Journey by Rail. 
 
 -4. A Visit to Uncle Jake's. 
 
 5. Climbing Old Bald Top. 
 
 G. Gathering Hickory Nuts. 
 
 7. Oar Picnic in the AVoods. 
 
 8. Wading the Trout Stream. 
 
 9. How 1 Built my Hen- House. 
 
 10. The First Day of School. 
 
 11. While I Was a Book Agent. 
 
 12. What Happened While Father Was Away. 
 
 13. How we Arranged our Camp. 
 
 SrOGESTIVK QUESTIONS. 
 
 1. How much scope should be allowed to pure imagination in a narrative' 
 
 2. If a narrative should be wholly imjiginary, what would it be, in form? 
 
 3. In story-writing, how may the probability of the happenings be strength- 
 ened?
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ELEMENTARY RHETORIC. 
 
 There are gathered together in this chapter, with some am- 
 plification, the various suggestions, warnings, and points of 
 instruction scattered through the preceding pages. Thej' 
 cover the rather vaguely defined middle ground between 
 simple grammar and rhetoric. 
 
 The hints given touch upon grammar in such elementary 
 points of instruction as the direction to say / saw for T .srcn. 
 Rhetoric is reached in the few principles of sentence structure 
 that are introduced, in an elementary way, to close with. 
 
 If the teacher can, in the course of a year, secure a general 
 freedom from these faults and a virtual adherence to these 
 principles, he may feel himself amply repaid for his eflforts; 
 his pivpils will be writing better English than the great major- 
 ity of Americans. 
 
 I. CAPITALS. 
 
 Begin with a capital: — 
 
 1 . The first word of a sentence. 
 
 2. Titles of office, honor and respect, such as Prof., 
 Col., Mr., Mrs., Miss, Major, General, Admiral, Vice-Pres., 
 King, Senator, Superintendent, Judge, Doctor, Principal, etc. 
 
 3. Names of the days of the week, of months, and of 
 holidays. 
 
 4. Nouns and pronouns referring to God.* 
 
 5. Proper nouns and the adjectives formed from them. 
 
 6. The more important words of titles and headings. 
 
 ♦Some writers be^^in pronouns rel'errin;^ to the Duitj witli a caiiiiul only wtiyn 
 used without an antecedent, or for special emphasis 
 
 03
 
 64 FIRST STEPS IN EN(iLISlI COMPOSITION. 
 
 7. The first word of a direct (luotation or a direct ques- 
 tion, if it forms a sentence. 
 
 8. The first word of every line of poetry. 
 
 !•. Tlie names of objects vividly personified. 
 1<(. In addition, the pronoun "I" and the interjection "0' 
 should be capitals. 
 
 n. PUNCTUATION, 
 
 A— The Simple Sentence. 
 
 1. Tlu' simple sentence should end with a period in most 
 cases. But. — 
 
 o. If it is a (pu'stion, it should I'ud with a question- 
 mark. 
 
 I'. If it expresses a sharp command, a cry of surprise, 
 fright, grief, joy, and the like, the simple sentence should end 
 with an exclamation point ; as, — 
 
 Help ! help ! or I shall die. 
 Oh, how glad I am ! 
 
 2. The simple sentence should end with a colon if it 
 merely calls attention to something that is to follow in the 
 next sentence ; as, — 
 
 These are the two most important tliiii'jsto remember: 
 First, you should drink less coffee; secondly, you ehould 
 go early to bed. 
 
 3. It should end with a colon and dash if the statements 
 mti'oduced do not come immediately after it, but begin on the 
 next line without an introductory word. See rule 4 below. 
 
 4. If the subject, predicate, object, or any other word 
 have three or more words or expressions modifying it, these 
 should be separated by a comma, in this way: —
 
 ELEMENTARY RHETORIC. 65 
 
 Aunt Polly had a panful of large, red, juicy apples in 
 her lap. 
 
 Notice the commas separating the modifiers of apx>les. 
 
 She pared them carefully, quickly, and with skill. 
 
 Notice how the commas separate the modifiers oi jmred. 
 
 Where three or more modifiers are present, the last two of 
 wJiich are joined by and, there should be a comma even before 
 the connective, unless the last two words or phrases are 
 united as one element.* 
 
 If there are only tico modifiers joined by a .connective, no 
 comma is used. 
 
 5. In fact, if three or more expressions of any sort, that 
 belong together, follow each other, commas should be inserted 
 according to the same principle as in sentences containing 
 three or more simple subjects or simple predicates: — 
 
 1. Charlie, Jim, and Harr\- were brothers. 
 
 2. George could row a boat, play marbles, and skate. 
 
 6. If the sentence contains an expression thrown in to 
 describe the subject or object, without being actually connected 
 with it, such expression should be enclosed by commas: — 
 
 Aunt Polly, a gray-haired old lady, sat in her little 
 parlor. 
 
 Notice the expression between commas; it was thrown in to 
 describe Aunt Polly. 
 
 7. A direct quotation may be separated from the rest of 
 the sentence by a commtJF, as, — 
 
 "Give me a worm for my hook," said the first boy. 
 
 ♦If an adjective is used to qualify only tlie first of three nouns in a series, and 
 the last two are joined by a connective, tlie comma is placed alter tlie first no'in 
 only.
 
 66 FIRST STEPS IN P:NGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 B. The Compound Sentence.— 
 
 8. The compound sentence should end like the simple sen- 
 tence. 
 
 9. It consists of two or more simple sentences, connected 
 by some co-ordinate conjunction; such as and^ hut, still, how- 
 ever, yet, or, nor, and others. These parts should be separated 
 by semi-colons if one or more of them is long and has com- 
 mas; and the semi-colons should stand before the conjunc- 
 tion. 
 
 10. If the parts of a compound sentence be all short and 
 have no punctuation marks, they should be separated by com- 
 mas. ( This is virtually rules 4 and 5 over again. ) 
 
 11. If the connective joining any two parts should not 
 stand between them, but inside the second part, it must have a 
 comma before and after. Notice the following sentences: 
 
 "He may be honest; however, we must not depend on it." 
 
 This is punctuated according to rule 9. Now observe :— 
 
 "He may be honest; we must not, however, depend on it." 
 
 Here the conjunction, hoioever, stands inside the second part 
 of the sentence. Still, nevertheless, however, noticithstfindiny. 
 though, although, and expressions like of course, indeed, it is 
 true, aro the conjunctions most generally used within the 
 clause itself. 
 
 12. The foregoing rule would hold even though the sec- 
 ond part should stand by itself as a simple sentence. Thus: — 
 
 He may be honest. We must not, however, depend on it. 
 
 13. If the predicate of the second or the third part should 
 be omitted, a comma must stand in its place: —
 
 ELEMENTARY RHETORIC. 07 
 
 "Mo5t of the scholars rode out to the grounds in wag- 
 ony; but some, on liorse back." 
 
 Here the predicate rode is omitted where the comma stands. 
 
 C. The Complex Sentence. — 
 
 14. The complex sentence should end like a simple sen- 
 tence. 
 
 15. All the other rules for the punctuation of the simple 
 sentence apply. 
 
 16. The complex sentence contains subordinate clauses at- 
 tached to a main clause. These modify the subject, the pred- 
 icate, the object, or some other part of the principal clause, 
 and should, in general, have a comma before or after them: — 
 
 I had a quarrel with Will, wlio has always been my 
 friend. 
 
 Here the second clause modifies Will. 
 
 In spite of the fact that "Will was my friend, I quar- 
 reled with him. 
 
 Here the first clause modifies (juarrelecl. 
 
 The house, in wbicli we had lived so many years, was 
 now deserted. 
 
 Here the clause between commas modifies house. 
 
 *17. But a clause which stands as the object of the verb 
 in indirect discourse, or which is used to complete the mean- 
 ing of an intransitive verb, is not thus separated; as, — 
 
 We expected that our friends would arrive by noon. 
 He said that he did not believe me. 
 He sat where he was told. 
 
 * The use of the comma in complex sentences is sub.ject to miicli vaiiulioii 
 among writer.'- After all, the correct emiiloyment of this iiunctuation-mark do- 
 pends chielly upon a sensitive and accurate percei)tion of the thought to be con- 
 veyed
 
 68 FIRST STEPS IN ENCiLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 18. In general, whateviT pivceilcs tlic subjt^ct, except its 
 ordinary, single-word modifiers, should he separated from tlie 
 remainder of the sentence hy a comma; as. — 
 
 If you fail nie in thi-:, I shall never trust yon more. 
 "Where he was told to sit, he sat. 
 
 D. Sentences in general. — 
 
 10. If the flow ( F a sentence suddenly breaks oH' and takes 
 another turn, the brrak should he marked hy a dash; thus. — 
 
 I miglit say that liberty is our l)irthright; I might say — 
 but what is to b;; giiincd l)y words? 
 
 20. If a writer puts into his composition any words, sen- 
 tences, or expressions that were first written or uttered by some- 
 one else; and if he gives ihem cxdcfhj as t/irj/ ircrc t/iiis irn'ttni or 
 vitererl, he should set them oft' by quotation mai'ks. This applies 
 both to the words which he puts into the mouths of his own char- 
 acters in a conversation, and to the use of slang expressions or 
 curious remarks, which he does not wish to l)e held responsible 
 for. If the words in quotation marks form a sentence, this 
 should be preceded by a comma, should begin with a capital, 
 and should be punctuated by itself; otherwise, not. 
 
 21. The apostrophe should always be used to form the 
 possessive case of nouns. To plurals ending in ,s and to sin- 
 gulars followed by a word beginning with the sound of s, the 
 apostrophe alone is added. Otherwise, the apostrophe should 
 be followed by s when indicating possession. 
 
 22. The apostrophe is also used to form the plural in ex- 
 pressions like (he 6's, hacJc in (Jic'J^O's, mind ijuur /is and q's, 
 not enough q's in the font, too many x's. However, in the case 
 of numbers, it is better to write the word. 
 
 23. Every abbreviation proper should close with a period.
 
 ELEMENTARY RHETORIC. 69 
 
 But it should !)(' noted that names like Tom, Sam, Beu, Jim, 
 that are actually used in speech, are no longer real abbrevia- 
 tions. 
 
 The shortening of a word, accomplished by cutting a por- 
 tion out of the interior instead of from the end, forms a con- 
 traction, which is usually marked by the apostrophe; as, Saml, 
 don't. n>'(/o. 
 
 III. THE MOST COMMON FAULTS OF EXPRESSION. 
 
 A. In the use of Verbs. — 
 
 1. You should never say '-burglarize" for '-break into a 
 house;" "poetize" for '-write poetry;" '•! suspicion" for '-I 
 suspect;" "evidenced" for "proved; -'enthuse" for "make 
 or become enthusiastic;" "oi'ate" for '-deliver an oration " 
 "Progresses" for "makes progress," and "aggregates" for 
 "amounts to," are also of doubtful use. These words are sim- 
 ply nouns turned into verbs, and persons with good literary 
 taste should avoid them as perversions of speech. You might 
 as well say you were going to geograjjtize, when you mean that 
 you intended to study 3-our geography lesson ; or that you were 
 black-boarding an example in fractions, when you put it on the 
 board. 
 
 2. Do not use stop when you mean sfai/. You should say 
 you have a friend staying at your house, not stopping there ; or 
 that you are going to stay a week with your aunt, instead of 
 stop a week. Stopping means the coming to a stand-still of 
 something in motion; as in, "The train stopped at the station;" 
 or, "The l)oys stopped a moment in their play;" or, "I stopped 
 at the house to get a drink." 
 
 3. Do not use calculate when you mean intend, or expect. ' 'My 
 father ca/c«^a^-s to send me away to school, ' ' is wrong ; ' 'My f atlier
 
 70 FIRST STEPS IX i:X(;LISlI COMPOSITIOX. 
 
 iiitnnl.-t U) send iiif away lo school,"' is riglit. ('ti/ci>/iilr moans to 
 ivckon or lioiiro; as, ''The storo-kcepcr calcuhitcd the cost of 
 eighteen Ijoxes. "' 
 
 4. Do not use claim when you mean insist or maintain. 
 '•Tlie speaker r/a //>?'■'/ that the county commissioners had no 
 right to appoint a slierilT," is wrong. It should be, "The 
 speaker j'».s-/.s7o/, " etc. Claim means to ask or seek by virtue 
 of right or authority ; as, '-The county commissioners chnmnl 
 the right," "The boy claimed the seat b}- the stove."' 
 
 5. Do no sa}^ bust for liarst. There \?. no sneh verb as Imsf. 
 G. Say trij to instead of try and. 
 
 7. "It has been proved," is preferred to "It, has been 
 jiroven.'' The vei'b "prove" has become regular within the 
 last ten years. 
 
 8. Say "fail to remember, " not "disremember. " 
 
 9. 1 sprang, sang, shraiiL-, drank, hegan, and so forth, are 
 preferable to I sprung, sung, and so forth. The f(n'ms with 
 the w are in reality participles, and it is best to use them only 
 in I have sprung and similar compound tenses. 
 
 10. Always sa}' simply "ought," and not "had ought." 
 The. past is formed thus: I ought to have gone, done it, seen to 
 it, etc. 
 
 11. Allow is often wrongly used when believe, admit, think, 
 or grant is meant. You should not say, "I allom that AVill 
 Armstrong is the best arithmetic scholar in our class," l)ut "I 
 believe that he is." Allow is a transitive verb and means to 
 permit; as, "I allowed "Will Armstrong to talie my book." 
 
 12. In expressions like /?// uj), emptij nut. and so forth, the 
 preposition is unnecessary. 
 
 13. Don't and Doesn't. — Don't is a combination of do and 
 not; doesn't, of does and not. Consecpiently it is wrong to
 
 ELEMENTARY RHETORIC. 71 
 
 say He. don't, for the simple reason that it is wrong to say He 
 do not. He doesn't is good English, because He does not is. 
 The same principle will decide the remainiag five cases. 
 
 14. You should alwaj's say you loere, and never you was. 
 And, in asking questions, j'ou should use irere you and not 
 was you. 
 
 15. You will not need to be told i\xQ.i There is six of us, and 
 There was a chair and a. table in the room, are very bad Euglish. 
 Fortunately for our self-respect, this mistake, at least, is due 
 to carelessness and not to ignorance. 
 
 16. Shall and Will. — In / will or ?oe will {i. e. the first person), 
 the verb usualh' conve3's a promise, an intention, or a determina- 
 tion. On the other hand, shdl, in the first person, expresses 
 simpl}' the idea of futurity without any such additional mean- 
 ing. In the first person, shall is also used in asking questions. 
 
 Hence you could sa}-, "I shall forget Case IV in percent- 
 age," and it would be good English; — we should simply feel 
 sorry for j-ou. But if you should say, ' 'I will forget Case lY 
 in percentage,'' we should think you were a ver}^ unwise pupil. 
 The English of the latter is good enough; but it says what you 
 do not mean, because it expresses a purpose to forget this case. 
 
 In the second and third persons, shall conveys a pi'omise, a 
 determination, or a command. Wilt, in the second and third 
 persons, expresses futurity. If you say, "Gecn-ge will sleep in 
 tl)e attic;" or, "You will sleep in the attic," the English is 
 good; you are simply stating what G-eorge or the other person 
 intends to do. If j'ou sa}', however, "(xeorge siiall sleep in 
 the attic; or. '-You shall sleep in tlie attic," the English is 
 srood, also, Imt tlie meaning is different. These sentences 
 read as though you were the head of the family and were di- 
 recting G-eorge and llic oilier person where lo sleep.
 
 72 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 Would and s/mn/,/ are used similarly to wi/l and shnfl. 
 With these two verl)S it is not a question of right and wrong 
 form, — the form will, in either case, l»e correct — but of saying 
 /what you wish to sav, and of avoidiuij absurdities. 
 
 17. ^^1(11/ and can. — Cdii conveys the idea of actual mental 
 or physical ability to do something; maij expresses permission 
 or possibility. Hence the question, "Can I go out?" is incor- 
 rect;, because, if you are not a cripple and the door is not 
 locked, you nm, of course, go. But whether the teacher will 
 permit you to go is uncertain; hence, '-May I go out?" is the 
 proper form for the (juestion. 
 
 Similarly, in a declarative sentence, you would say, "the boys 
 mai/ catch a string of fish.'' because you cannot be sure of it. 
 If you say they can catch one, you are too certain of their 
 ability. 
 
 "You mai/ see m}' book," indicates permission; "You can 
 see ui}' book," indicates ability on your part to see it.* 
 
 With these two verbs, as with sh(t// and loill above, it is not 
 so much a question of correct usage as of saying what you 
 wish to say. 
 
 18. The following three pairs of verl)s are very often incor- 
 rectly used: — 
 
 Lie and lay. 
 (Sit and set. 
 Jiise and 7-atse. 
 
 Now it will be seen that the latter verb of each pair is tran- 
 sitive, and can, therefore, never be used unless it have an ob- 
 ject. You can, evidently, not Jai/. .se/, or raise, unless you 
 
 * It may be interesting to note that, in the German language, this verb can 
 (kann) lias succeeded in accomplishing what it is trying to do in English, 
 viz: to get itself established as the proper auxiliary in expressions of per" 
 mission anil nnccrtaintj'.
 
 ELEMENTARY RHETORIC. 73 
 
 have something which 3-011 lay, set, or raise. On the other hand, 
 the former verb of each couple can never have an object. 
 
 The hen lays an egg; but the egg does not lay — it lies — in 
 the nest. And the hen, when she has laid a number of eggs, 
 does not set — she sits — on them. Hence, she is also a sitting 
 and not a setting hen.-}- "The sun sets," however, is, curiously 
 enough, an exception to this principle. 
 
 But it is in the use of the past tense and the perfect participle 
 that most confusion prevails, yet it is eas}' to remember the 
 distinctions between them. 
 
 lie, lay, lain, 
 sit, sat, sat. 
 rise, rose, risen. 
 
 lay, laid, laid. 
 
 set, set, set. 
 
 raise, raised, raised. 
 
 19. Do not say done away with for removed, abolished, over- 
 come, or set aside. 
 
 20. Mistakes like the following are frequently found in the 
 work of 3'ouug writers: — 
 
 The boy ask to be taken along. 
 The tramp threaten to shoot. 
 
 The verbs should, of course, be aske^ and threatenec?; but 
 
 in speech the ed on the end flows into the '• t " of to and is not 
 
 heard. Hence the careless writer forgets their existence and 
 
 leaves them off in writing. 
 
 21. It is incorrect to say would of^ etc., for would have, 
 etc. The reason for this mistake is also one of sound. In 
 rapid speech the have sounds like of, and careless writers forget 
 that they are different wox'ds. 
 
 B. In the use of Nouns. — 
 
 22. Say station instead of depot. The latter word means a 
 warehouse or headquarters, as in the words milk-depot, coal-depot, 
 
 T I'opular teachings to the contrary, notwithstanding.
 
 74 FIRST .STHPS IX JOXCIl.lSll ('( ).Ml'(>SlTlOX. 
 
 23. Never say y)a«/.N-. There is no such no iiii ; ^ny trousers. 
 
 24. Call the place yoii live in your house and not your rrs- 
 itlcuce. Why is the old Anglo-Saxon word not good enough? 
 And in the same way say: — 
 
 fire and not couflngration, 
 city and not ijxiropolis, 
 crowd and not concourse, 
 wagon and not vehicle, 
 school-teacher and not pedagogue. 
 
 This fault, and the one mentioned on page 69, usually go to- 
 gether. Do not "show ofT" in composilion-wriLing. 
 
 25. ^ay phofofjr((j>Ii and uot pliofa. 
 
 26. Do not say onr folks for ouv/ftuiilj/. 
 
 27. And, similarly, do ncit use relations when you mean rel- 
 atives.* 
 
 28. When you mean remainJer do not say halance. The 
 latter word is used in this sense only 1)y l»ook-keepers. 
 
 C. In the use of Pronouns. — 
 
 29. Mistakes in the use of pronouns usually come about 
 whenever the writer does not stop to think whether the given 
 instance is to be in the nominative or in the objective case. 
 
 Thus, "Us boys can do it," is evidently wrong; because ».s- 
 is the objective form. It should be the nominative foim. u-e, 
 since the word is the sul)ject of the sentence. But, "He let 
 us boys play in the l)arn.'' is right, because us is here the 
 objective subject of the m^wntixe play. 
 
 30. After tlian and as u:rl1 as, the pronoun should have the 
 same case as the pronoun which precedes it and corresponds to 
 It in sentence use. These expressions sound like prepositions, 
 
 *In England relations seerns to be preferred.
 
 ELEMENTARY RHETORIC. 75 
 
 and people consequently feel inclined to use the objective case 
 after them. But they are connectives, and the pronoun should 
 have the case which it would take if the second part of the 
 sentence were complete. Thus, "They liked him better than 
 Hie," and, "They liked him better than Z" convej' entirely 
 different ideas. If the second half of each sentence be written 
 out in full, this difference will liecome clear. Thus: — 
 
 "Jhey liked him better than (they liked) me." "They 
 liked him better than I (liked him)." 
 
 Here, as on pages 71 and 72. it is not so much a question 
 of using these words correctly as of avoiding al)surdities. 
 Thus, "He can do it as well as me, '" is slangy and ridiculous 
 because, as it stands, it means that he can do it as well as he 
 can do me. 
 
 31. Always use the nominative case in the predicate with 
 25, was, have been, shall he, will he, might he, ought to he, and so 
 forth; as in "It is Z" "It was they who ran," "It will be tee 
 who shall have to suffer for it," "It ought iohe lie this time," 
 and so forth, t 
 
 32. Who and irhom. — Here also correct use depends merely 
 on closely observing whether the nominative or the objective case 
 is required. ' 'I saw a man on the street corner who, I thought, 
 resembled the escaped prisoner," is correct, because tcho is the 
 subject of rescmhled. Manj' people would say "whom I 
 thought," etc., because they would think whom to lie the ob- 
 ject of thought. But it is not, since I thought is merely thrown 
 
 + It may be interesting to note here that, in the Swedish and Danish lanirnages, 
 this objective case of the pronoun has succeeded in effecting what i t is trying to 
 do In English, viz: to get itself established as the proper form in predicate con- 
 Btruclions. Compare also the French C'est moi. It i.i me may ultimately become 
 standard with us also.
 
 70 FIRST STKl'S L\ KXdLLSll CO.Mi'OSlTiU.X. 
 
 in parentbelii-ally. ll would lie the olijccl in such a coustruc- 
 tiou us, "whom I thought lo he llic fscupcd prisoiu'r. " 
 
 "It is not at all certain vIk, I shall ('onrKlc this matter to" 
 cannot be correct, because the pronoun is the oljjcct of to and 
 should therefore be in the objective case. 
 
 33. Do not use the expressions he or shi\, his or her. In 
 cases where both men and women are meant, the masculine 
 pronoun alone is used in referring to them. 
 
 34. '-Between j'ou and T.' is an error which evidently owes 
 its origin to the frequent use of "you and l" as the subject of 
 a sentence, coupled with the fad that ijon has no separate form 
 for the objective case. 
 
 D. In the use of Conjunctions. — 
 
 If the parts of a compound subject, joined by neither, nor, etc. , 
 are singular, the predicate verb and pronoun should also be 
 singular. Thus: — 
 
 "Neither George nor Alfred was able to get his spelling 
 lesson." 
 
 And if you use neither, always use nor; or goes with either. 
 
 36. The same rule holds ior either — or; as in, "Either Mr. 
 Williams or Mr. Allen is sure to obtain the best reward for his 
 services. " 
 
 37. Do not use hut that for that in expressions indicating 
 doubt; as in, "I do not doul>t but that he will l)ecome my 
 friend." This sentence really states the opposite of what it is 
 supposed to state. As it stands, it says that I do not doubt 
 at all except that he will become ni}' friend, and this I doubt. 
 
 E. In the use of Adjectives. — 
 
 38. Each and every demand that the sentences begun by 
 them be constructed throughout in the singular; as, —
 
 ELEMENTARY RHETORIC. 77 
 
 Every man is tlie architect of Jn's own fortune. 
 Every person present ;'.? expected to contribute /us share, 
 even if he can give only a mite. 
 
 39. The same rule holds good for )io one, everyone, nobody, 
 everybody; as in,— 
 
 "Everybody will receive his reward if /(c is conscientious 
 in what he does." 
 
 Everybody is in reality two words, every body, and bady is 
 
 singular. This accounts for the rule. It is particularly iu the 
 
 use of subsequent pronouns that mistakes are made. 
 
 40. Either should be used only when the writer has one of 
 two persons or objects in mind; if one of more than two is re- 
 ferred to, any is the proper word. But both words, in such 
 constructions, demand singular predicates and pronouns. 
 
 "The principal mentioned two pupils a.s candidates 
 for promotion, but I did not think citlicr of them vu>< fit." 
 
 "Mr. Lynch has three brothers, but he does not think 
 any one of them is very proficient in his business." 
 
 41. Latter aniX last, former .and first. — hotter and former 
 are comparatives; lost and first, superlatives. Hence, the 
 first two words should be used if only two ol)jects are referred 
 to, and the last two when more than that number are in mind; 
 as,— 
 
 "Of the two boys mentioned for pioniotion, I think 
 ihQ former (or latter) only is fit." 
 
 "Of the class, I think only tha first (or last). pupil men- 
 tioned is fit for promotion." 
 
 42. Occasionally a double comparative slips into a compo- 
 sition, as, viore worthic/-. This should be avoided. 
 
 43. It is a common fault to say "the two last," "the three 
 last," "the two following; ' yet plainly enough only one can 
 l)e last in a row of objects, ami only op.c can immediately fol-
 
 78 FIRST STEPS IN ENCJLISII COMPOSITION. 
 
 low another in a row. Hence, you should say, "the last two," 
 "the last three," "the following two," and so forth. 
 
 F. In the use of Adverbs. — 
 
 4 I. Do not use most for almost; most is an adjective. Say, 
 "It is almost time," or, "The train is almost here;" not most 
 (line and most here. 
 
 45. Very often adjectives are used where adverbs should 
 stand, as in the following common mistakes: — 
 
 I did not need his assistance very bad. 
 Lucky, I do not need his help. 
 I see it plain. 
 
 G. In the use of Prepositions.— 
 
 46. Between is used when two objects are in question; 
 among, when more than two are spoken of; as, — 
 
 They pitched their tent between the bluff and the creek 
 (two objects). 
 
 They pitched their tent among the trees. (More than 
 two objects.) 
 
 There was always much quarreling among ih.Q members 
 of the party. 
 
 47. In denotes presence inside of; into, entrance from the 
 outside to the inside, as in the following: — 
 
 "He walked into the house." 
 'Pie walked in the house." 
 
 The former sentence means that the person in question was 
 
 outside and went inside; the latter, that he was inside all the 
 
 time, even while he walked. 
 
 H. In the Construction of Sentences.— 
 
 48. Do not sa}^ "the house's roofs, " "the city's churches, " 
 "our country's future," etc. These nouns are all lifeless and
 
 ELEMENTARY RHETORIC. 79 
 
 vjan, consequently, not possess anything. Instead, say "the 
 roof of the house," ''the chiu'ches of the city." It is better to 
 avoid this possessive construction with common or abstract 
 nouns. The expressions "a week's pay," "a day's work,'' 
 seem to be permissible. 
 
 49. '-The judge and sheriff brought the prisoner to town," 
 seems to indicate that only two persons were concerned — the 
 prisoner and another, who was judge and sheriff at the same 
 time. This is not, of course, what is meant, and here the 
 sentence should begin, "The sheriff and the judge." 
 
 The same absurdity is seen in the sentence, "My father and 
 uncle met me at the train."' The sentence should read: — 
 
 "My father and my uncle met me at the train." 
 
 As it stands, it seems to mean that only one person, who 
 was both father and uncle, met 3^ou. 
 
 50. Often, through carelessness, a personal or relative pro- 
 noun is not put in agreement with its antecedent, as in the fol- 
 lowing: — 
 
 "We ought not to give the Filipino self-government, 
 unless we are sure that they cun govern themselves." 
 
 Here thei/ and thcmselces refer to Filipino^ and yet do not 
 agree with it in number. Either make Fili'piiw plural, or use 
 hi' and himself instead of tluy and themselves. 
 
 51. The adverb onlt/ is nearly always wrongly placed in a 
 sentence, thereby giving a meaning not intended; as in, — 
 
 "The teacher only intended to tell us about Milton's 
 marriage." 
 
 This, as it stuntls, means that the teacher got no further 
 than intending; she only intended and accomplished nothing- 
 more. What the writer of this sentence really meant was, that
 
 80 FIRST STEPS IN" KXCLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 the teiU'luT iiitcMnU'd of .Milton's inarria<j;t' "«///, .ind of nolliing 
 else. OnJji is in the wrong plaeo. 
 
 52. Souiotimes curious absurdities are found in composi- 
 tions. Witness the following tvvo:— 
 
 "While sitting on the seat smoking liia pipe, the liorse 
 bolted and ran." 
 
 This horse, from his varied accomplishments, should have 
 been in a circus ! 
 
 "Entering the schoolroom, hig nose was assailed by a 
 suspicious odor." 
 
 The owner of this nose should take measures to prevent its 
 running about by itself. 
 
 These mistakes arise from the employment of loose parti- 
 cipial constructions, which should, if possible, be avoided. 
 
 53. The following sentence is an inextricable muddle be- 
 cause the reference of pronouns is not clear: — 
 
 "And so Mr. Brown told bis sou that if he spent as 
 much money that year as be had in the past, he 
 would be forced to look for anotlKT job." 
 
 Who had spent money in the past? Who might spend as 
 much that j'ear? Who would have to look for another jo')? 
 
 Such cases of ambiguity, violent as many of them are, can 
 generally be cured by transfoi'ming part of the sentence in 
 question into a direct quotation: Thus, "And so Mr. Brown 
 said to his son, 'If you spend,'" etc. 
 
 54. In the following sentence, the trouble lies in the ante- 
 cedent to the pronoun: — 
 
 "That Sunday (leorge took a sleigh-ride, but managed 
 to keep the paint on it briglit and new, so that no one 
 suspected him." 
 
 Kept the paint on the sleigh-ride bright? That is what the
 
 ELEMENTARY RHETORIC. 81 
 
 sentence, as it stands, says. The writer, of course, meant 
 oti the sleigh; but, while he had that word in his mind clearly 
 enough, he forgot to get it into his sentence. 
 
 55. Often the plan on which a sentence is constructed is 
 changed carelessly and unnecessarily in the course of the writ- 
 ing; as in the following, — 
 
 "The boys put in mosfc of their time fishing under the 
 bridge, but going after bait now and then." 
 
 The former half of this sentence is constructed with a 
 
 regular subject and predicate; but the latter half with a 
 
 participle. Such a change should not be made; both halves 
 
 should be similai'. ''Went aiter bait" would correspond with 
 
 ' ^put in time. ' ' 
 
 Again, the change may be from the active to the passive 
 
 voice, or the reverse; as in this sentence, — 
 
 "In their luirry to get out, the children liad thrown 
 their books and wraps on the floor; even the hinges of 
 the door had been broken by them in their excitement." 
 
 The former half of this compound sentence is in the active 
 voice; the latter, in the passive. It is better to keep them 
 alike. In this case say, "and they had even broken the hinges 
 off the door," etc. 
 
 Still another instance of change in plan is seen in the fol- 
 lowing : — 
 
 "I did not remember to tell mys^islerof tlie picnic we 
 had planned, nor that she should biing a lunch." 
 
 Here the first statement made to the sister is in the form of 
 a phrase and the second in the foKin of a clause. The con- 
 structions should be alike. Either change the latter thus: "nor 
 of the lunch she shouhl biing;" or the former thus: "that we 
 had planned a picnic, ' '
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 SOME PRINCIPLES UNDERLYING THE ART OF STORY-TELLING. 
 
 I. Where to Find Materials. — IL is assumed, to Ix-gin 
 willi, t!i:iL you have :i story to tell. And you probably have. 
 Stories are continually suggesting themselves to us, so tospeak. 
 Some brief newspaper item, seen by chance, may cause a long 
 and interesting tale — full of quaint characters, pathetic experi- 
 ences, interesting adventures, to flash through the mind. In- 
 deed, there is probabl}' no field so full of suggestions for sto- 
 ries as the public prints. 
 
 Again, some occurrence in the schooho'^m or on the play- 
 ground, in the street or about the railway station or the hotel, 
 will often si;ggest a chain of circumstances leading up to it or 
 following from it. Some quaint individual, some bit of trag- 
 edy or corned}', accidentally witnessed, will be found to carry 
 with it into the mind a mass of material that need oidy be ar- 
 ranged propei'ly to form a story. 
 
 Do not think that you need to search for these suggestions. 
 They are continually coming up. lu fact, their very fre- 
 quency is what causes them to be overlooked. And, further- 
 more, do not feel that you need to force yourself into evolv- 
 ing a story from them. These matters always take care of 
 themselves. You need merely watch your mind at work, and 
 try to remember some portion of what 3'ou see it do. This 
 ought to be clear to you from your work with the preceding 
 chapters. 
 
 When the material has been seized upon and fixed, so to 
 ''peak, in the rough, the following principles may be of assist- 
 
 82
 
 rRINCIPLES UNDERLYING ART OF STORY-TELLING. 83 
 
 ance in helping you make a readable story out of it. It would 
 be well to examine some of the novels referred to in the sub- 
 sequent pages, and to observe how the story has been worked 
 up in accoi'dance with the plans set forth below. 
 
 II. First Person versus Third Person.— In many novels 
 the author makes one of the characters tell the story; it is 
 written in the first person. In the majority, however, he tells 
 it himself— writes in the third person. This difference you 
 will have observed often enough. David (hpperfieJd, Treas- 
 ure Island, The Prisoner of Zenda, Under the Red Robe, The 
 Strange Ride of Morrowhie Jukes, are well-known instances of 
 the first-person story. Each method has its advantages and 
 its drawbacks. 
 
 The first person undoubtedly makes a story seem more real, 
 and is, consequently, to be preferred. The mind accepts the 
 illusion more readily. The tale becomes more vivid; it gets 
 closer to us. It sounds more like some real occurrence, and 
 we forget more easily that it is only a story after all. 
 
 But this plan involves two distinct disadvantages: 
 
 (a) In the first place the teller of the story must nol^be the 
 "hero." In that case, if he be himself made to tell of the 
 great things he has done, and of the mental superiority and 
 physical pre-eminence he enjoys (and these qualities a '-hero" 
 must of necessity be endowed with), he will seem boastful and 
 egoistic. A disposition to brag and to talk about himself is 
 a trait of character no '-hero" dare for a moment be furnished 
 with. This fault seems to be present more or less in Under 
 the Red Ruhr. I. at least, have never wholly been able to 
 overcome a latent distaste for the boastfulness that seems to
 
 84 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 pervade this book. But this difficulty may be avoided l)y 
 employing the device mentioned on page 9I». 
 
 In David Coppt'rJii'Jd, David can hardly be called the 
 '•hero;"' he is subordinated continuously to Micawber, Steer- 
 forth, and Betsy Trotwood. Neither is the boy teller of the 
 story in Treasure hland the chief character. True, he ac- 
 complishes great things; but the opportunities come to him ac- 
 cidentally, as it were, and, throughout, his account of him- 
 self is very modest. 
 
 (b) Secondly, if you employ the fust person, you will be 
 compelled to keep your reader where your narrator is; you 
 will never be able to turn asid(^ and take up what other char- 
 acters somewhere else are doing. How can your story-teller 
 know what is happening elsewhere? 
 
 This is manifestly a handicap, and it is doubtful if a first- 
 person story can ever be as broad, stately, and rich in charac- 
 terization as the third-person novel or tale often is. AVhat it 
 gains in verisimilitude, it loses in breadth and flexibility. It 
 is best adapted to tales of adventure. 
 
 In The blaster of Ballantrw, Stevenson very skillfully avoids 
 this difficulty by having two sections of the story consist of 
 journats, kept by the characters while they are on expeditions 
 that take them away from the narrator. 
 
 A very common expedient for bringing distant matter into 
 a first-person story is to have it recounted, for our benefit, by 
 the character who has played his part in it, and at a time when 
 the personage who tells the story itself is present. You can 
 doulitless think of instances enough. But this device always 
 breaks into the continuity of the tale — makes it seem dis- 
 jointed and episodical. 
 
 It will, no doubt, be best for you, in the l)eginniug, to em-
 
 PRINCIPLES UNDERLYING ART OF STORY-TELLING. 85 
 
 plo}' the first person iu your stories, just as you did in your en- 
 vironment sketches and your dialogues, and to have but the 
 single thread that the narrator spins. Tliis will insure unity, 
 ease, and naturalness. Later, you will be read}' to attempt 
 the third-person method. 
 
 III. Avoid Monologues and Meditations. — ]NLany of the 
 older story-writers, and some of our modern authors, have a 
 way of chronicling more or less fully the thoughts or solitary 
 mutterings of some character whenever they think the reader 
 stands in need of information concerning the progress of 
 events. That this is clumsy would seem plain. 
 
 In the first place, the writer should make his events follow 
 each other so naturall}' that the reader will not need to haA^e 
 them explained. Secondl}', how can the author know what the 
 character says if he is utterl}' alone? And how is another to 
 know a character's unspoken thoughts.' The reader should have 
 the sources of a writer's information artisticall}' plain. 
 Thirdly, who ever heard a sane man talk aloud to himself the 
 wa}' many personages in fiction are made to do? 
 
 If an author cannot set forth a characters personality b}' 
 means of acts, environment, and dialogue, he employs but a 
 flimsy device when he makes him analyze and explain his 
 state of mind himself. 
 
 If you find you cannot get on without having your hero ex- 
 plain things, at least have some other figure present to be 
 talked to. 
 
 IV. Premonitory Allusions. — In a broad sense, the mate- 
 rials of a story group themselves about two centers —the events 
 and tlie characters.
 
 so FIRST ST EPS IX I:N(;I>1SII (XBrPOSITION. 
 
 THE EVENTS OF A STORY. 
 
 Keep the cud of the story in view from the ])egiuning, ariu 
 let your reader have a glimpse, now and then, of what is com- 
 ing. Both these objects may be accomplished if you insert, 
 from time to time, in the early part of your tale, certain 
 mysteriou.s hints or allusions bearing on the matter to come. 
 Tliis is virtually the same principle that you became familiar 
 with in writino- narratives. 
 
 Thus, in the opening chapter of The Crisis, after the author 
 has gotten the homeless and rather unprincipled Eliphalet 
 Hopper into tlie employ of Colonel Carvel, he inserts the fol- 
 lowing vague, premonitory paragraph: — 
 
 (a) Many a tiine in after Hft?had the Colonel reason to 
 think over (his scene. The one and sufficient reason 
 for giving work to a homeless boy, from the hated !-ta'e 
 of the Liberator, was charity. Tlie Colonel iiad liis 
 moods, like many anotlaer worthy man. The suuiH 
 specks on the Imrizon sometimes grow into the hugest 
 of thunder clouds. And an act of cliarity, out of the 
 wisdom of God, may produce on this earth either good 
 or evil. — Cn. I, Book 1. 
 
 Thus we see how the author is looking ahead himself, and 
 how he is keeping alive his reader's expectancy. 
 
 Notice how the following extracts likewise produce a feeling 
 of vague dread in our mind: — 
 
 (b) They were prophetic words, but tins we knew not. 
 Yet you shall hear.— Besant, The World WmI Very Well 
 Then. Cn. viii. 
 
 (c) I liave laid away so many that I loved in the howe of 
 tb.e Glen since then, and seen so many places of this Scot- 
 land rod with a crimson the bell-heather never made.
 
 PRINnPLES I"NDP:RLYING art of ST0RY-TELLTN(;. 87 
 
 Ay nie! for the times that \vere, and for all that is come 
 and gone, whereof it shall be mine to tell.*— Crock i:tt, 
 The Men of The Moss Haas. Cn. i. 
 
 But such hints, to be of vahte, must really refer forward 
 and not back. 
 
 As an instance of how the mind is turned back and delayed, 
 I know of nothing better than the conversation between George 
 Harris and Eliza in Uncle Tom's Cabin. On page 20 of the 
 book he is made to say, "Yes, Ijut who knows? He may die, 
 and then he may be sold to nobody knows who." This, of 
 course, is preparatory to the selling, later on, of Harris' boy 
 and of Uncle Tom. But we know of this whole transaction 
 from the first page ; the hint does not hurry our imagination 
 on at all. Indeed, the book abounds in such retrospective al- 
 lusions to what we know perfectly well. 
 
 V. Leading up to the Important Event. — The writer of a 
 story should make his chief event grow naturally out of some 
 insignificant incident which the reader, at the time, does not at 
 all suspect will have important consequences. This is, iu a 
 sense, the reverse of Principle IV. Following that principle, 
 the writer hinted at great things to come. Here he brings his 
 reader unsuspectingly into the presence of these important 
 matters, while he is already fully interested iu the minor inci- 
 dents. 
 
 ♦questions. 
 
 (a). 1. Fromthesound of this, do we think it is "good" or "evil" that willensue? 
 
 2. What comparison suggests your inference? 
 
 3. What word in the third sentence from the end suggests that the Colonel's 
 act was unadvised? 
 
 4. Wiiat clause in the first sentence points the same way? 
 
 (c) 1. Uo we susjieet that the t'lle to come will be pleasant or gloomy? 
 2. Can you find two expressions in the lirst sentence that suggest this?
 
 88 FIRST STEPS IN' I'A'CF.ISir ("( )M1^0SITI0!f. 
 
 Tluis, ill Turn Sdiri/rr, the pi'incipal ovcnt, ])r()l)a))ly, is 
 reached where Tom and Huokle!)erry witness ihc mnrder in 
 the graveyard. Yet they had stolen out tlieie in the night 
 merely to get rid of some warts, according to a boyish super- 
 stition, liy the aid of a dead cat and a new-made grave. We 
 arc fully taken up witli watching Tom creep out of the win- 
 dow, wander away with Huckleberry, and hide near the grave. 
 But suddenly w-e find that we have been brought into the 
 presence of the climax, and so easily has this been done that 
 the occurrence seems real instead of fictitious. The worst 
 fault a writer can be guilty of, is to let his reader suspect that 
 a climax is being prepared. 
 
 Similarly, in Treasure Jsland, the whole story turns upon 
 the cabin-boy's discovery of the plot, while hidden in the 
 famous apple-l)arrel. He goes up on deck quite naturally, 
 one night, to get himself a couple of apples. The barrel is 
 nearly empty, and he is compelled to get up into it bodily. 
 While he is crouched there, the conspirators come up and he 
 hears them discuss their plans. 
 
 This apple-barrel episode is one of the best bits of art in fic- 
 tion. We do not suspect, even at the very last, that it has 
 been brought in for any special purpose. Indeed, Stevenson 
 is so careful to disguise his intention, that he has the bai'rel 
 set out on the forecastle early in the book, and he still further 
 disguises his object by making the leader of the expedition say 
 that he is anxious to cultivate the good will of the men by 
 opening the barrel of apples for their enjoyment. 
 
 The foundations of a structure should be laid out of sight. 
 
 One of the most important events in The Crisis is the attack 
 on Camp Jackson. This, according to the story, is precipi- 
 tated by Jack Brinsmade, who fires a pistol at a Union soldier.
 
 rRTX( "I PLE8 UNDE HLYTNG ART OF fiTORY-TELLTiNN J. 80 
 
 An unskillful writei- would not buvc di^voted any thought to 
 preparing for this. Jack would ha\c been conveniently pres- 
 ent; the pistol would have ])eeu conveniently in his pocket. 
 In fact, everything in second-rate fiction is so remarkably con- 
 venient to the author's purpose. Whenever he needs anything, 
 lo and behold ! there it is. 
 
 Not so Churchill. Ten pages back, he gives the following 
 paragraph: — 
 
 Three persons came out of the big house next door. 
 One was Anne Brinsmade; and the other was her father, 
 his white hairs uncovered. The third was Jack. His 
 sister was clinging to him appealiiigly, and he struggling 
 in her grasp. Out of his coat pocket hung the curved 
 butt of a big pepper-box revolver. 
 
 When the reader peruses this paragraph, he does not, of 
 course, suspect what is coming. But farther on, where the 
 clirnax to which this was preliminary has been reached, he be- 
 comes aware, in a sub-conscious way, that the author has been 
 doing something — has, so to speak, been covering his tracks, 
 laying his wires, long before. It is this skillful interweaving 
 of the threads in a story that produces much of the artistic 
 contentment, and fullness of satisfaction, which we get out of 
 good fiction. 
 
 On the contrary, how crude is the work of writers who 
 do not thus prepare beforehand! Their heroes always find a 
 rope ready when they need to escape, or a horse saddled when 
 they have some one to pursue, or a closet convenient when it 
 is necessaiy for them to overhear something. Everything is 
 so fit that no special efl'ort is required to be a hero. Nor is 
 any great demand made upon a writer's skill, if he need do no 
 more than calmly construct horses, carriages, axes, files.
 
 i»0 FIIIST STFJS IX ICX(ii.ISII CO.MI'USITION. 
 
 ropes, or l):UTfls of gun powder, oul of iioiliinn-, whenever his 
 hero needs them. What autlior cauiiot <it'fc his hero out of 
 scrapes l)v such easy means? 
 
 Uncle Tonis C<ihia sins in this matter also. One of the 
 chief events in tlie story occurs near the bepjinning, where 
 Eliza overliears Mr. Shelby relate how he had sold her boy. 
 It is necessary she should hear this, and so a convenient closet 
 is suddenly constructed for her to slip into. How easily Mrs. 
 Stowe miiiht have mentioned this closet incidentally before- 
 hand, while describing the room, and thus have gotten her 
 foundations laid! 
 
 VI. Overcoming the Reader's Incredulity. — It often hap- 
 pens, when a story is being told orally, that some auditor in- 
 terrupts with vigorous expressions of unbelief. That is be- 
 cause his credulity is overtaxed. 
 
 But a v/riter who is sensitive in such matters, and whose 
 feelings are intuitively in accord with the attitude of his pro- 
 spective reader, will often succeed in telling extraordinary and 
 improbable events, without causing the reader, for a moment, 
 to doubt their actuality. The best examples, probably, of 
 such skill are to be found in Quo Vadis and I'n'lby. 
 
 In the former story, the climax comes with the famous 
 struggle between Ursus and the aurochs in the Arena. This 
 is extremely powerful and extraordinary. Had it not been 
 prepared for, we should not have given credence for a mo- 
 ment. "Nonsense, how could he do that?" would probably 
 have been our unspoken comment. But, long before this, 
 Ursus is made to break the back of Nero's prize wrestler, 
 Croton; and even still farther towards the beginning, the 
 latter is made to give an exhibition of his great strength.
 
 PRINCIPLED r.\DERLYIN( \ A KT OF STORY-TELLING. 91 
 
 lu TrUhi/, the story turns upon the remarkable hypnotic 
 influence which Svengali acquired over the heroine. Had this 
 been set forth without preparation, it never for a moment 
 could have escaped doing violence to our sense of probability. 
 Hence, long before this, the author, in a purely incidental 
 way, makes Svengali, among other unimportant matters, cure 
 Trilby, by hypnotic suggestion, of an attack of tooth-ache from 
 which she happened to be suffering. 
 
 By getting us to take, without objection, that which, 
 though extraordinary, is at any rate within the realm of prob- 
 aljility— the author disarms us, so to speak, and succeeds in 
 administering that which is utterly improbable and impossible 
 and which, had it l)een presented to begin with, would never 
 have gone down. 
 
 VI. Atmosphere. — By the atmosphere of a story, is meant 
 the general air of sadness, gaiety, horror, or cheerfulness that 
 seems to pervade it. This frequently results, as a matter of 
 course, from the dialogue or the events themselves. Yet often 
 a writer delilierately spends time upon producing it, and in so 
 doing, actually makes use of the weather itself . 
 Consider the following: — 
 
 In a little while I got her to lie down; but the most 
 simple may understand bow much more sleep there was 
 in Earlstoun that night. Yet, though we listened with 
 all our ears, we heard no other sound than jn.st tliat 
 blind and unkindly wind riestling and soughing about 
 the house, groping at the doors, and trying the lattices. 
 Not a footstep went across the courtyard, not a cry of a 
 bird came over the moors, till behind the barren ridges 
 of the east the morning broke.— Uuockett, The Men of the 
 Mos^ Iliif/x, Ch. III.
 
 92 I MiS'P STEPS IN EN(;J.JS1I COAH'OSITION. 
 
 This seems to be inserted here for no oilier purpose than to 
 produce a feeling of desolate melancholy. It really contrib- 
 utes nothing to the movement of the story. 
 
 Some of the best examples of "atmosphere" to i)e found in 
 recent fiction are seen in Stevenson's The Menu M< n and 117// 
 d the Mill 
 
 The '-atmosphere" should always be subordinate to the 
 other elements of a story. When developed to the virtual ex- 
 clusion of character and events, it gives rise to what is called 
 Ivipressioniam — a form of writing with many exterior charms, 
 but without the substance that gives permanent value. 
 
 THE CHARACTERS OF A STORY. 
 
 There are at least five distinct ways of setting forth char- 
 acter in stories. 
 
 I. Description. — In Chapter Vtl you were made acquainted 
 with the proper way to describe persons — were taught to omit 
 the obvious and to insert the individualizing traits. Many 
 writers sin greatly in this matter. First they give us the 
 character's age, sex, color of hair, shape of nose, form of 
 mouth, and so forth. Then they touch upon his ancestry a 
 little, and tell us about his l)ringing-up. Next they detail his 
 mental and moral traits — he is cheerful, intelligent, morose, or 
 stupid, has high ideals or is a villain, until we turn over two 
 leaves at a time. Compai-e with such work the fresh, visualiz- 
 ing effect of the following: — 
 
 Bill Jenks was Captain Brent's senior pilot. His skin 
 hung on his face in folds, like that of a rhinoceros. It 
 was very much the same color. His grizzled hair was 
 all lengths, like a worn-out mop; liia hand reminded
 
 PRINCIPLES UNDERLYING ART OF STORY-TELLING. 93 
 
 on« of an eagle's claw, and his teeth were a pine yellow. 
 He greeted only such as he deemed worthy of notice. 
 — Ciii-RcniLL, TJie Crisis, Cu. XXII, Bk. II. 
 
 Presently a man with a gnawed yellow mustache 
 and a shifty eye walks out of one of the offices and per- 
 ceives our friend. —Ibid. 
 
 The secret of such description lies in the writer's power of 
 visualizing, and in nothing else. If you must describe your 
 characters, do it by means of individualizing touches. 
 
 II. Environment. —The value of environment in setting 
 forth character should be clear from chapters IV and V. It 
 is a favorite method with many writers. Examples may be 
 found in any good novel. 
 
 III. Dialogue. — If you have mastered the substance of 
 Chapter VI. you are fully able, without any further instruc- 
 tion, to handle this device for portraying character. Two 
 cautions are, however, necessary: — 
 
 1.- Make the personages of your story talk only in char- 
 acter, so to speak — only when you intend to have their char- 
 acter show forth. Do not use them as a means of giving the 
 reader information about the events of the story — do that 
 3'ourself directly. If your characters be made to converse 
 with no other object, they will fade out, become neutral, un- 
 differentiated ; you will be tearing down what your environ- 
 ment, dialogue, and description built up. 
 
 2. Do not add words of your own after the speeches in a 
 dialogue, to explain them. Trust to your reader's under- 
 standing. If tlie peculiarity of character 3'ou have in mind 
 stands out clearly in the speech, the explanatory remark is 
 not necessary. If you have not made it plain, you should work
 
 04 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 over the dialogue till you succeed iu doing so. And, moreover, 
 such explanations deprive conversation of its effectiveness. 
 Notice the following: — 
 
 "Cruel devils, ai-en't they, Allie," said one, a tall, fair 
 man. "Why, you've turned pale, despite the rouge." 
 His tone was full of not over-respectful raillery. 
 
 "Don't he a fool, Kilt"ii," she replied promptly; and 
 the even, somewhat hard, pitch of her voice did not 
 match the extreme softness of her small, childish face. 
 — Steei.i:, On the Face of the ]V(iters. 
 
 Surely we do not need to he told that the former speech is 
 lacking in respectfulness, or that it is one of raillery. And if 
 the latter remark fails to sound hard, cold, and even, the ex- 
 planation appended is in itself a confession of weakness. The 
 author should have changed it, or added to it, until it were 
 satisfactory in itself. 
 
 It is wearisome to have things pointed out to us that we 
 either can see for ourselves, or already know. 
 
 IV. Inferences. — If I look out of the window on a rainy 
 day, and see the people walking past with their umhrellas 
 down, I at once make an inference — the rain has ceased. The 
 stopping of the rain is the cause ; the closing of umbrellas, the 
 effect. 
 
 If I should see them a little later with their umbrellas up, I 
 should know that the rain had begun again. Here the begin- 
 ning of the rain is the cause ; and the opening of umbrellas, 
 the effect. 
 
 Now, it will be noticed that, in both these instances, the 
 effect is observed first and the cause later. The time between 
 the two may be so short that it will seem they coincide.
 
 PRINCIPLES UNDERLYING ART OF STORY-TELLING. 95 
 
 But a little reflection will tell us that there must intervene a 
 mental process. This mental process is an inference. 
 
 And — what is most important for our purpose — it is not 
 necessary that we deliberately set about making it; it is made 
 by our natural mental vigor, whether we wish or no. 
 
 It will have been noted already, that this matter of infer- 
 ence from eflfect to cause is nothing more than what lies at the 
 bottom of the environment sketch and the dialogue. The 
 man's shiftlessness in Chapter IV was the cause; the weeds in 
 his door-yard and the sock in the window-pane of his house 
 were effects. The boy's overbearing disposition in Chapter VI 
 was the cause; the command, "Hurry up with those worms, 
 will you!" was an effect.* 
 
 Hence, if I see a farmer come to town in the winter, tic 
 up his horses in a howling blizzard, and let them stand uu 
 covei-ed all day, I know his character — he is thoughtless, 
 cruel, and without regard for dumb animals. I "size him up" 
 as the saying goes ; and it is through inferences that I do it. 
 
 The circumstances inferred from the effects mentioned at the 
 head of this section were events; those inferred here are traits 
 of chur((cter. 
 
 In regard to the former of these varieties, suffice it to say 
 that they are much to be preferred to the direct narrative. 
 How much more graphic it is to say "a stream of omnibuses, 
 hacks, express wagons, and pedestrians moved up from the 
 station" than to say '-the train arrived." 
 
 As to inferences of character, note the following two spe<;- 
 imens: — 
 
 ♦Compare Suersian, Analytics of Literature.
 
 % FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 Tlie overseer laughed coarsely. "What, skeered on 
 'em" (the negro shives), said lie. And, seizing the girl 
 by tiie cheek, he gave it a cruel twinge that brought a 
 cry out of her.*— Churchill, Tlie Crisis, Ch. I. 
 
 Still she thought she heard the trader make an offer 
 for her boy;— could she be mistaken? Her heart swelled 
 and throbbed, and she involuntarily strained him so 
 tight that the little fellow looked up into her face in as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 "Eliza girl, what ails you today ? " said her mistress, 
 when Eliza had upset the wash-pitcher, knocked down 
 the workstand, and final ly was abstractedly offering her 
 mistress a long nightgown in place of the silk dress she 
 had ordered her to bring from the wardrobe. t—C//*cZe 
 Tom's Cabin, Ch. I. 
 
 In Chapters IV, V, and VI, yon mastered the art of con- 
 structing environment and dialogue so as to make the reader 
 infer eitlier events or character. Here you are to invent acts 
 for the personages of your story that will accomplish the same 
 result. 
 
 V. Inferences that Reverse Previous Expectations. — 
 
 Suppose a pretty little girl has fallen into a stream. Suppose, 
 further, that a young man of athletic build and dressed in a 
 working suit comes by, jumps in, and rescues her. This act 
 would bring about a character inference in our mind, and we 
 should praise him for the deed. 
 
 But suppose it is a little boy, weak, ragged, and unable to 
 swim, who effects a rescue b}^ paddling out to her on a board 
 
 QtfESTIONS. 
 
 * What is the character you infer here, and from what words do you infer it? 
 t 1. What was the cause of Eliza's upsetting the wash-pitcher? 
 
 2. Where are there two more circumstances that point to the same cause? 
 
 3. What is the state of mind inferred?
 
 PRINCIPLES UNDERLYING ART OF STORY-TELLING. 97 
 
 at the risk of his life. We raise him on our shoulders, bring 
 him to the little girl's house, and make up a purse for him. 
 
 Now the effect or result of the act was the same in both 
 cases, — the little girl was saved. But, in the latter instance, 
 the trait of character inferred was so unexpected — so entirely 
 opposed to what we, in view of the boy's appearance, had a 
 right to look for, that it overturned our previous expectations 
 entirely. This is why we go so much farther in our admira- 
 tion of his deed. Having expected nothing of him, we credit 
 him with so much more. Action and reaction are equal and in 
 opposite directions. 
 
 This is the most powerful means of porti'aying character. 
 It is also the easiest. Excellent examples may be found in 
 The Crisis, particularly in the treatment of Lincoln. Kipling's 
 A Secoiid-Iiate Woinan is built entirely upon this principle of 
 reversed inference. OtlnlJo also is constructed on this plan.* 
 
 In writing a story on these lines, the climax of course comes 
 with the unexpected act itself. But, before this, there should 
 Ije inserted two or three hints of a derogatory sort to insure 
 that the reader have a proper preliminary contempt for the 
 character to be sketched. And, to make it fully artistic, 
 there should further be inserted, very guardedly, according to 
 the principles given on page 86, one or two other hints prepar- 
 ing us for the reversal when it comes. Otherwise our credulity 
 might be overtaxed, and the whole scheme spoiled. 
 
 VI. Make Inferences and Description Correspond.— It 
 often happens in stories that, after a certain character has 
 been built up in our mind by inferences, it is dashed to pieces 
 again by a paragraph of adverse direct description. This is, 
 
 *See Sherman's Analytics of Literature.
 
 98 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 of course, the writer's fault; he should have been more care- 
 ful. 
 
 Thus, in Howell's A Foregone Conclusion^ we are at first in- 
 cliued, through inferences, to figure Don Ippolito to ourselves 
 as a porth', middle-aged Spaniard, and are surprised later 
 when informed that he is a somewhat thin Italian, thirty years 
 of age. 
 
 In Barrie's Sentimental Tommy, the direct description, page 
 30, — "he was a thin, pale boy — " comes as asui'prise; pre- 
 vious inferences have led us to think otherwise. 
 
 The most remarkable instance of carelessness in this matter 
 is found in Paradise Lost. Milton certainly could not have in- 
 tended Satan to be the "hero" of his poem. Yet this he un- 
 doubtedly is. It is impossible to keep a character from being 
 a hero, who gives utterance to sentiments like: — 
 
 "The mind is its own place, and in itself 
 
 Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven." 
 
 * * "To be weak is miserable. 
 
 Awake, arise, or be forever fallen! 
 
 Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven!" 
 
 • The superior effectiveness of inferences over description is a 
 principle which Milton does not seem to have grasped. 
 
 VII. Shielding the Characters. — Now and then, in the 
 course of constructing a story, the author may find himself 
 compelled to let his hero do things that trench closely upon 
 what is not permissible, and thus endanger our regard for him. 
 But if the writer's mind is sensitive to what the reader will 
 feel, he need merely put into words the very objection the 
 reader will have in mind, and it will vanish. 
 
 Thus, in .l.s You Like It, Shakespeare finds it unavoidable to
 
 PRINCIPLES UNDERLYING ART OF SIOPY-TELLING. DO 
 
 have his heroine, Rosaliud, present at what was, virtually, a 
 prize-fight. This we all feel is certainly dangerous; it risks 
 ruining her as a heroine. Yet how completely we are dis- 
 armed when Touchstone is made to utter our very sentiments 
 and to say: — 
 
 "It is the first time that ever I heard breaking of bones 
 was sport for ladies." 1,2,121. 
 
 In TiccJ/th Niglit the mixture of plots, counterplots, prac- 
 tical jokes, and misunderstandings reaches its climax about 
 the middle of Act III. Shakespeare fears it is l)eginning to be 
 rather overdone and unnatural. But when Fal)ian is made to 
 say: — 
 
 "If this were played upon a stage now, I could con- 
 demn it as an improbable fiction,"— III, 4, 121, N. B. 
 
 our latent objection passes and we feel it it all very proper. 
 
 Merely forestalling the reader or hcorei- in expressing clisap- 
 j)roval banishes it. Or, in other words: //" you admit freely 
 and incidentedly beforehand the pnints that you know to be unten- 
 able, and that are inimafericd, you dis/t)')n your opprjnent. 
 
 In The Exploits of Brigadier Gerard, Doyle chooses to have 
 the adventures told by the hero himself. The inevitable 
 egoism of first-person stories, thus recounted, appears. But 
 the author is alive to the presence of this feeling of distaste, 
 and merely makes the hero himself apologize from time to 
 time for it, on the ground that he is an old man and that his 
 youth really has been very stirring. We smile indulgently at 
 his weakness and love him all the more. 
 
 Another skillful way of shielding the character is seen in 
 Mrs. Ward's Marcella. About the middle of the book the 
 author finds it necessary to have the heroine leave her chamber
 
 KK) FIKST STEPS IN ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 at midnight and go down into the ]il)rary to meet a man, by 
 whom she is kissed and ollieiwisr disrespectfully treated. 
 
 This certainly endangers our regard for her in the extreme. 
 Vet the author has. from the lirst, kept dimly before us the 
 fact that there are rumors (»f a ghost in the house. This 
 Marcella thinks of when she hears mullled steps in the hall- 
 way; and it is to test the truth of this rumor and not to seek a 
 midnight interview that she descends to the library where the 
 d( iioiKini lit follows. Hence she is kept within our sympathies, 
 despite the questionable procedure. The ghost in Marcella is 
 a very skillful bit of art. 
 
 In conclusion, let it be said that the mental processes so 
 often referred to above are not those of logic. Tn discussions 
 about literature, logic is of no account. Instead, it is our 
 feelings we must l)e guided by. A close analysis of our 
 moods and impressions is the only way there is to understand 
 the informing spirit of literature. 
 
 EXERCISES FOR PRACTICE. 
 
 The principles that we have now discussed may all be seen 
 in the construction of any good novel. The short story, how- 
 ever, is episodical and fragmentary ; it deals with a portion 
 only of what a novel treating the same material would contain. 
 It employs, therefore, but one or two of the above devices. 
 
 In writing stories, make large use of dialogue, description, 
 individualizing touches and environment. Remember how 
 tne many stories you have read were constructed. Do not 
 make your tale concise and dry like a newspaper account; 
 make it varied and interesting. Have some sort of mystery 
 in it th:il gets cleared up in the climax. Make real "heroes" 
 of your characters. Be ingeniwu^ in inventing plots. Pro-
 
 PRINCIPLES UNDERLYING ART OF STORY-TELLING. 101 
 
 ceed veiT much as you would if 3'ou were telling your story 
 orally. 
 
 Above all, do not be silly; keep within the bounds of proba- 
 bility, and do not think that the funny story is the only 
 variety worth telling. How large a proportion of the stories 
 you have read within the past j-ear were humorous? 
 
 1. Inferences.* — 1. Write a short story about a young 
 man who goes to the city to visit his cousin. Invent six ac- 
 tions to show that he comes from the country. 
 
 2. Write a story about a young man and show, by means 
 of six acts, that he is from the city and is making his first 
 visit to the country. 
 
 3. Write a story about a newsboy and invent occurrences 
 for him which will show that he is courageous, honest, and 
 kind-hearted. 
 
 4r. Write a story about two boys so as to show that one is 
 overbearing, rich, and in good health, while the other is poor, 
 sickly, and melancholy. Slwto this hy actions. 
 
 5. Write a story about a lady and her cook and invent 
 acts to show that the latter is worthless. 
 
 6. Write a story about a young lady stenographer, and in- 
 vent as many actions as you can to show that she is a failure 
 in her profession. 
 
 7. Write a story about a group of men in a store and 
 show by acts that they are loafers. 
 
 8. Write a stor}^ about an old woman in a little town and 
 show by acts that she is a widow, is very poor, and has a 
 worthless son whom she loves very much. 
 
 *The teacher should be on his guard here, as with the environment sketch 
 and the dialogue, lest the pupils describe t.iese personages instead of setting 
 forth their character by acts.
 
 102 Fll;sT STEP> IX i;XGLL^TT COMPOSITION. 
 
 !). Write :i story uhout :i mysterious house, a group of 
 men, aucl a police officer, so as to show by acts that the men 
 are engaged in some secret, unUawful pursuit, and that the 
 police officer is shrewd. (Let the mysterious occupation be 
 countorfeiting.'but do not U't the cat out of the bag to start 
 with ))y saying so. Make much use of the indivi(Uializiiig 
 touch licre). 
 
 II. Atmosphere. — Suppose it be desired to produce in tlie 
 reader of your story a feeling of gloom. This may he done 
 by means of a paragraph like the following: 
 
 •'Neither on that luurning did the t^un rise. The same 
 dull, leaden sky shut down over U3. The fire in the 
 grate smoked as always. Outside, the ceaseless rain fell 
 softly and silently in perpendicular slripos, seen against 
 the murky background of tlie trees. From time to time, 
 a leaf dropped heavily upon the grass. The houses op- 
 posite loomed indistinct in the mist. The smoke col- 
 umns from their chimneys drooped disciaisolately 
 earthward." 
 
 Notice: first, how the details are drawn from the sky, the 
 air, the ground, the houses, and so forth; secondly, how every- 
 thing that does not help out the special object of producing a 
 feeling of melancholy is omitted. 
 
 1. In the same way, describe a bit of landscape so as to 
 produce a feeling of contentment and peace in the reader. 
 (See the opening lines of Gray's Elegu). 
 
 2. Describe a landscape in such a way that the reader 
 shall, if possible, be made to shiver with cold. 
 
 3. Desci'ibe another bit of landscape so that the reader 
 shall be impressed with the great heat that prevails there.
 
 PRIN^CIPLES UNDERLYING ART OF STORY-TELLING. 103 
 
 4. Describe a bit of street so as to convey as strong an im- 
 pression as possible of deep darkness. 
 
 Ill, Premonitory Allusions. — 1. Suppose you were writ- 
 ing a story about a number of mysterious burglaries that had 
 been made possible by means of a great chimney, through 
 which the thief had gained entrance. Early in the story you 
 would insert a sentence or two like the following;: 
 
 But the most striking feature about this colonial dining- 
 rooiu was the great ancient fire-place, where large 
 logs crackled in the winter nights, and from which a 
 huge chimney led upward to the roof. If there were a 
 real Santa Clans in the world, he would certainly find 
 no difllculty in gaining entrance to this house. 
 
 This would be inserted near the opening — preferably where 
 the rooms and the people were described. Notice how the 
 fireplace is mentioned as one only in a list of items and how its 
 subsequent importance is further disguised by the reference to 
 Santa Claus. Now write the stoiy. 
 
 2. Think up a stor}' in which 3'our hero is chased by a 
 bear and escapes in the nick of time over a gully on a board 
 which breaks under the pursuer; and, in the opening, bring 
 in a carefully disguised hint at the presence of bears in the 
 neighborhood. You might have the scene laid in the woods 
 during the winter. 
 
 3. Think up a story about a s-mall. party of hunters out in 
 New Mexico, who go on a trip and discover an old trail leading 
 to a deserted gold mine, where they find a treasure. Bring 
 into the opening a hint at the presence of such trails and 
 mines. You might do this by making the men talk after they 
 have gotten started and then turning their dialogue upon old 
 rumors and legends of Mexican days. Be careful to disguise
 
 104 FIRST STEPS IN ENCiLISII ('( )MP; )srn( )X. 
 
 your purposf properly I)}', lor iiistuucc, having lUv loader rid- 
 icule it all. 
 
 4. IMan a story about a bit of difficult railroad construction 
 through a rough, hilly region, in connection with which dyna- 
 mite is used. Have a dreadful explosion occur, caused by a 
 negro's thawing out some of {he dynamite before a fire. In 
 the opening, make extensive use of the individualizing touch 
 and environment. In the dialogue, have the catastrophe 
 hinted at by causing some one to remark, while seeing the 
 negro at work: "It's lucky the cartridge-caps are kept locked 
 up in the chief engineer's cabin; that nigger would be sure to 
 blow us to atoms if he had a chance.'' 
 
 IV. Inferences that Reverse Previous Expectations. — 1. 
 Write out the story suggested, page 96, al)out the little boy 
 who saved the little girl from drowning. Yon might have the 
 situation a school picnic. Two things you will remember are 
 necessar}' in this sort of story, before the climax is reached: 
 First, you must make the boy out to be rather stupid, inactive, 
 and cowardly. Do this as soon as you have gotten started, by 
 means of description, dialogue, and inference. Secondly, you 
 must insert a carefully disguised hint that he, in spite of all, 
 has a warm spot in his heart for the little girl. This might be 
 accomplished in the dialogue. If any other means occurs to 
 you, use it. But be very guarded. 
 
 2. Write the story about the explosion, suggested above 
 (4), and employ this plan of reversed inferences. This might 
 be done if your hero were a young engineer just out of school, 
 whom everybody ridicules because of his inexperience. Have 
 him do some foolish things, and have the men poke fun at 
 him. Do not forget to let him do something rather quick-
 
 PRINCIPLES UNDERLYING ART OF STORY-TELLINO. lOo 
 
 wilted as a preliminary. Then, one dark night, cause him to 
 see the neofro slink out from under one of the construction cars 
 in which the men are all gathered. Have him investigate and 
 come upon a fuse attached to a can of dynamite and sputter- 
 ing within an inch of the explosive. Have him hurl it over 
 the hank, where it explodes terrifically. Work this up care- 
 fully to the best of your ability, and a good story ought to re- 
 sult. 
 
 3. Construct a story on the same plan about a dirty, dis- 
 agreeable little news-boy and his dog. Remember the two 
 preliminaries. 
 
 V. Stories in which it is Necessary to Overcome the 
 Reader's Natural Incredulity.— 1. Write a story about a 
 hunter who saved his comrade from the very jaws of a moun- 
 tain lion by :i timely and incredibly accurate shot. To do 
 this, merely have him give an incidental exhibition of his re- 
 markable marksmanship early in the tale. (You ought here 
 to make much of the mental agony he is under as he shoots 
 the brute). 
 
 2. Write a story about how little Nell saved the passenger 
 train by running out across a long, swaying trestle over a rag- 
 ing river in a snow-storm at nisiht, with a red lantern. And. 
 to make it credible, have her give an unimportant exhibition 
 of her sure-footedness beforehand. (Be sui-e to explain how- 
 she came to be alone, and in what way the train was in 
 danger).
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 1. Selections supplementing and illustrating the prin- 
 ciples developed in the preceding chapters. 
 
 2. Analytic study, with questions. 
 
 3. Suggestions and exercises for class work. 
 
 These selections are to he studied in connection with the 
 chapters and subdivisions wliich they iUustrate. It will be 
 noted that the work here is, in many cases, exactly the reverse 
 of what it was in the preceding part of the book. There it 
 was constructive; here it is largely analytic. Though the 
 work is reversed, the same principles prevail in both develop- 
 ment and practice. 
 
 The pupil should be on the lookout, whenever reading a short 
 literary production or a book, for further illustrations of these 
 literary devices. It will be found profitable to examine the 
 most popular books in the school lil^rary and in the public 
 library, in the light of the principles and the practice herein 
 suggested. 
 
 EXERCISES— CHAPTER II. 
 
 As an instance of what the Individualizing Details may be 
 made to accomplish in the hands of a master, consider the fol- 
 lowing. (The men are convicts being brought to the galleys). 
 
 The men i)iled upon the drays allowed themselves to be jolted in 
 silence, and were Uvid with the morning chill. They wore canvas 
 trousers, and their naked feet were thrust into wooden shoes. The 
 rest of their attire was left to the mercy of wretchedness. Their 
 clothing was hideously discordant, for nothing is more mournful 
 than the harlequin garb of rags. There were crushed hats, oil-skin 
 
 107
 
 108 FIRST STKPS IX EN(iI.lSll COMPOSITION. 
 
 Ixinnets, friu'lilful woolen night-caps, and, side by side, the l)louae 
 and the black coat out at ell)o\vs. Some wore women's hat-, and 
 others used baskets for head-covering. Hairy chests were visible 
 through the rentn in the clothing, where tattooed cupids, temples of 
 Venuf^, ami Imrning hearts, mingled in j)rofiisiun with unhealthy red 
 spots. 
 
 Two or three had passed a straw rope through the siile-rail of the 
 dray, which hung down like a stirrup, and supported their feet. 
 One of them hel<l in his hand something that looked like a stone, 
 which he raised, from time to time, to his month— it was bread he 
 was gnawing. Their eyes were either dry and dull, or luminous 
 with a wicked light. The escort cursed, but the chained men 
 breathed no syllable. From time to time a blow resounded, dealt 
 on heads or shoulder-blades with a stick. Some of the men yawned; 
 their rags were terrible; tlu'ir l\'et hung down; their shoulders oscil- 
 lated; their chains rattled; their eyeballs flashed ferociously; their 
 fists opened and shut like the hands of death; their heads knocked 
 against each other; in their rear a group of little children burst into a 
 laugh. — \'i(ToK llido, /v.v Miscralilcs. 
 
 QUERIKS. 
 
 1. Where are tlieie three very homely uems mentioned with strong effect? 
 
 2. Where is there a strikingly hideous contrast given? 
 
 3. Where is there an inference from an act? 
 
 4. Find three or four circumstances that sliow the inward hatred and malice 
 of the convicts. 
 
 5. Which of theshori clauses near the end seems to you most vivid? 
 
 6. Which is the most pathetic touch of iill? 
 
 The room was not unlike a stable. The low ceiling, smoke-blacked 
 and dingy, w^as pierced by several square trap-doors with rough-hewn 
 ladders leading up to them. The walls of bare, unpainted jilanks 
 were studded here and there with great wooden pins, placed at irreg- 
 ular intervals and heights, from which hung over-tunics, wallets, 
 whips, bridles and saddles. Over the fireplace were suspended six or 
 seven shields of wood, with coats of arms rudely daubed upon them, 
 which showed by their varying degrees of smokiness and dirt that 
 they had been placed there at different periods. There was no furni- 
 ture, save a single long dresser covered with coarse crockery, and a
 
 APPENDIX. 109 
 
 number of wooden benches and trestles, the legs of which sank deeply 
 into the soft clay floor; while the only light, save that of the fire, was 
 furnished by three torches stuck in sockets on the wall, which flickered 
 and crackled, giving forth a strong resinous odor. —Doyle, T/tf White 
 Coii'painj. 
 
 DIRECTIONS AND QUESTIONS. 
 
 1. Make a diagram of the room described above. 
 
 2. Find two strong, homely verbs that illustrate the suggestion on page 31. 
 
 3. Which seem to you to be the three most individualizing features about 
 this room ? 
 
 A dome of smoke like a mushrooiu hung over the city, visible from 
 afar down the river, motionless in the summer air. A long line of 
 steamboats — white, patient animals — was tethered along the levee, 
 and the Louisiana presently swung in her l)ow toward a gap in this 
 line, where a mass of people was awaiting her arrival. -Churchill, 
 The Crisis, Ch. i. 
 
 The black mud was thick imder his feet and already steaming in 
 the sun. The brick jjavement was lumjiy from much travel and near 
 as dirty as the street. Here, too, were drays blocking the way, and 
 sweaty negro teamsters swinging cowhides over mules. The smell of 
 many wares poured through the open doors, mingling with the per- 
 spiration of the porters. On every side of him were busy clerks, with 
 their suspenders much in evidence, and he paused once or twice to 
 listen to their talk.— //<., Ch. i. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 
 
 1. Find ten individuaiizing details- in the last selection. 
 
 2. What specially picturesque comparison in the next to the last extract? 
 
 In the combined army two thousand have only bowie-knives or 
 clubs. Some have long rifles, of Daniel Boone's time, not fired for 
 thirty years. And the impediments are a sight. Open wagons and 
 conestogas and carryalls and liuggies and even barouches, weighted 
 down with frying-jians and cliairs and feather-beds.— Chl'hchill, The 
 Q'isis, Ch. II., Bii. III. 
 
 (^lESTION. 
 
 What is the most striking of the individualizing touches in t he above?
 
 no FIRST STKPS IN ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 An elilerly huly in black was kneeling beside a man groaning in 
 mortal agony, famiing away the flics already gatliering al)out his face. 
 He wore the uniform of a Union sergeant— dusty and splotched and 
 torn. A small Testament was clasped convulsively in the fingers of 
 his right hand. The left sleeve was empty. — 76., Ch. in., Bk. ii. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 
 
 1. What touch makes us feel most plainly the horror of this hospital? 
 
 2. Quote five instances of individnalizinj^ details from books or magazines. 
 
 EXERCISES-CHAPTER III. 
 
 1. Motion Pictures. 
 
 Equipages of all sorts are passing— private carriages and public, and 
 corner-stand hacks. The black drivers are cracking whips over gal- 
 loping Horses. Pedestrians are hurrying by with bundles under their 
 arms, some running east, and some west, and some stopping to dis- 
 cuss excitedly the chances of each direction. From the river comes 
 the hoarse whistle of the boats breaking the Sabbath stillness there. 
 It is a panic to be remembered. — Churchill, Tlie Crisis, Ch. xxj., 
 Book III. 
 
 Mr. Hopper has boarded a Fifth Street car, whiih jangles on with 
 many halts until it comes to Bremen, a German settlement in the 
 north of the city. At Bremen great droves of mules fill the street 
 and crowd the entrances of the stables there. Whips are cracking 
 like pistol shots. Gentlemen with the yellow cavalry stripe of the 
 United States Army are pushing to and fro among the drivers, and 
 fingering the frightened animals. A herd breaks from the confusion, 
 and is driven like a whirlwind down the street, dividing at the 
 market home.— Ih., Ch. ii., Bk. iii. 
 
 2. Environment Setting Forth Character. 
 
 Athos dwelt in the Rue F(5rou, within two steps of the Luxem- 
 bourg; his apartments consisted of two small chambers. * * * Some 
 fragments of a great past splendor appeared here and there upon the 
 walls of this modest lodging; a sword, for example, rii-hly damascened, 
 which belonged by its make to the time of Francis I., the hilt of 
 which alone, encrusted with precious stones, might be worth two 
 hundred pistoles, and v.-hich nevertheless, in his moments of greatest
 
 APPENDIX. Ill 
 
 distress, Athos had never pledged nor offered for sale. This sword 
 had long been an object of ambition for Porthos. Porthos would 
 have given ten years of his life to possess it. 
 
 One day, when he had an appointment with a duchess, he at- 
 tempted even to borrow it of Athos. Athos, without saying anything, 
 emptied his pockets, got together all his jewels, purseo, and gold 
 chains,- and offered them to Porthos; but as to the sword, he said, it 
 was sealed to its place and should never quit it until its master should 
 himself quit his lodgings. 
 
 In addition to the sword there was a portrait representing a noble- 
 man of the time of Henry III., dressed with the greatest elegance, 
 and who wore the order of the Holy Ghost; and this jiortrait had 
 with Athos certain resemblances * * * which indicated that this great 
 noble, a knight of the orders of the king, was his ancestor. 
 
 Besides these, a casket of magnificent goldsmith's work, with the 
 same arms as the sword and the portrait, formed a middle ornament 
 to the mantel-piece. * * * Athos always carried the key to this coffer 
 about him, but he one day opened it before Porthos, and Porthos was 
 convinced that it contained nothing Ijut letters and papers — love let- 
 ters and family papers no doubt.— Dr. m.\s. The Three Guardsmen, Ch. 
 
 VII. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 
 
 1. What are ihe three remarkable objects that Athos has in his room? 
 
 2. Where did he keep tlie sword? 
 
 3. How valuable do you suppose it \v:is, merelj' in money? ^Vhat two points 
 of description stiow this? 
 
 4. Find, from a history or encyclopedia, the length of time Intervening be- 
 tween the reign of Francis I. and Louis XIV. (Ihe period of the story). 
 
 5. How old, then, was the sword? 
 
 6. Whom had it belonged to before Atlios gained jjossession-of it? 
 
 7. AVhat do you infer as to Athos' ancestry and parentage? 
 
 8. What circumstance shows tlie great value he placed on it? 
 
 9. What did I'orthos have on hand the time he wished to borrow it? 
 
 10. Why do you suppose he wished to borrow it on th, it paiticuUr occasion, 
 he was not going to tight anyone? 
 
 II What trait of character does this reveal in Porthos? 
 la. What did Athos do?
 
 112 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 y.i. What does tills s!io\v us as to the ffelinj; existing between the two men? 
 
 14. Find out the time between Henry III. iind Louis XIV. 
 
 l.=S. IIow long thru was Athos' line of anccsiry? ( It should be remembered 
 the Frenchmen know the time intervening between their various rulers just as 
 we know the time bet, voea our presedeiils). 
 
 16. To whom hail the casket originally belonged? 
 
 17. Why do you suppose .Vthos always kept It locked? 
 
 18. In what way do you suppose Porthos had been bothering, that .Vthos 
 should open it before him? 
 
 19. Whattrait of character does this show in Portlios? 
 
 20. What did I'orthos see in the casket? * 
 
 21. Do you suppose he bothered .Vtho.s any more about it? 
 
 22. Why do you suppose Athos kept the casket locked, if it contained only 
 old family letters? 
 
 23. What trait of character does this reveal in Athos? 
 
 24. Select from books you have read, three examples of motion pictures, and 
 three of environment setting forth character. 
 
 EXERCISES-CHAPTER V. 
 
 Descriptions that Show Past Events. 
 
 Later on, down a side street, he pauses before a house with its face 
 blown away. On the verge of one of its jagged floors is an old four- 
 posted bed, and be.-?ide it a child's cot is standing pitifully, the tiny 
 l)illow still at the head, the little sheets thrown across the foot. So 
 much for one of the navy's shells. — Churchill, I'he Crisis, CIl vh., 
 Bk. III. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 
 
 1. What had happened to the house? 
 
 2. What was the room that became exposed used for? 
 
 3. How many individuals had used it? 
 
 4. Was the room in use at the time the catastrophe occurred? How do you 
 know? 
 
 5. Was it occupied? Why do you think so? 
 
 6. What two things make the whole especially jiathetic? 
 
 7. Quote three similar descriptions from books you have read.
 
 APPENDIX. 113 
 
 EXERCISES— CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The Dialogue. 
 
 Two good illustrative extracts have already been given 
 (p. 44). Consider, however, the following: — 
 
 "Max," said she, all at once, "why don't you settle down to some- 
 thing? Why don't you work?" 
 
 Young Mr. Colfax' y arm swept around in a circle. 
 
 "There are twelve hundred acres to look after here, and a few nig- 
 gers. That's enough for a gentleman." 
 
 "Pooh!" exclaimed his cousin. "This isn't a cotton plantation. 
 Aunt Lillian doesn't farm for money. If she did, you would have to 
 check your extravagances mighty quick, sir." 
 
 "I look after Pompey's reports; I do as much work as my ances- 
 tors," answered Clarence, hotly. 
 
 "Ah, that is the trouble," said Virginia, 
 
 "What do you mean?" her cousin demanded. 
 
 "We have been gentlemen too long," said Virginia. — Churchill, 
 The Crisis, Ch. viii., Bk. i. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 
 
 1. What do we see from the first speech that Maxs habits have been? 
 
 2. How has he felt about working? 
 
 3. What do we see later is his social position? 
 
 4. How is Virginia related to him ? 
 
 5. Whatdoes Max seem especially proud of being? 
 
 6. How do you suppose he felt as he swept his arm around in a circle? 
 
 7. How well do you suppose he "looked after" the twelve hundred acres? 
 
 8. What do we find is all the work he really does? 
 
 9. How arduous do you think this is? 
 
 10. What does Virginia's "Pooh!" indicate about her feelings? 
 
 11. What excuse does he fall back on? 
 
 12. What does the fact of his seeking the excuse show that he knows about 
 himself ? 
 
 13. Why should Clarence (Max) answer "holly"? 
 
 14. What does Virginia think about being a "gentleman"? 
 
 15. Which of these two has the greater amount of character?
 
 114 FIRST STEPS IX ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 16. Give ihree Instances of dialogues, from books or magazines that you have 
 read, and sliow what they are intended to bring out. 
 
 17. Construct two dialogues, and in them show certain traits in the iiersons 
 speaking. 
 
 EXERCISES CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Descriptions. 
 
 The Enviionmeut Sketch of the second variety is in reality 
 a description written to show past events. See the example 
 above, page 112. Two other varieties have been discussed in 
 Chapter V. 
 
 (a). Desci'iptions written with a special purpose. 
 
 The clients of the "Rue Touchet" found the astrologer's room 
 divided into two by scarlet hangings, so arranged as to afford but a 
 partial view of the further half, where the .sullen glow of a furnace 
 disclosed alembics and crucibles, mortars and retorts, a multitude of 
 uncouth vessels and vials, and all the mysterious apparatus of the 
 alchemi.st. A dead hand hung over each door, a skeleton peeped 
 from a closet. A .stuffed alligator sprawled on the floor, and, by the 
 wavering, uncertain light of the furnace, seemed each moment to be 
 awaking into life. Cabali-stic signs and strange instruments and skull- 
 headed staves were everywhere, with parchment scrolls and monstrous 
 mandrakes, and a farrago of such things as might impo.se on the igno- 
 rant, who, if he pleased, might sit on a coffm, and, when he would 
 amuse himself, might find a living toad under his feet. 
 
 From this room a little staircase, closed at the top by a strong dfior, 
 led to the chander in which the astrologer received his real clients. 
 Here all was changed. The room was hung, canopied, and carpeted 
 with lilack ; was vast, death-like, empty. It contained two stools, 
 and in the middle of the floor a large crystal ball on a bronze stand. 
 That was all, except the silver hanging-lamp, which burned blue, and 
 added to the funereal gloo;n of the room. — Wev.m.v.v, Tlie Man in 
 Black. 
 
 Notice how all the ordinary furniture of tiie room, such as 
 chairs, tables, carpets, pictures, together with doors and win
 
 APPENDIX. 115 
 
 flows, are disregarded, and how everythiag is made to help in 
 bringing out tlie special situation desired. 
 
 (b.) In liis power to describe pirsons^ Tolstoi is, perbaps, 
 the gi-eatest of living writers. Notice how carefully, and with 
 what detail, the following bits of description are constructed, 
 and how the uninteresting and obvious are ignored throughout. 
 Though in works of fiction, they are, no doubt, actual descrip- 
 tions. 
 
 (1.) In the small, <lirty room where the body wag taken, stood four 
 beds. On two of them sat a couple of sick men i n dressing-gowns, one with 
 a crooked mouth; whose neck was bandaged; the other in consump- 
 tion. Two of the beds were empty; the convict was laid on one of 
 them. A little man, with gUstening eyes and continually moving 
 browa, with only his underclothes and stockings on, came up with 
 quick, soft steps, looked at the convict, and burst into loud laughter. 
 He was a madman, who was being kept in tlie police hospital. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 
 
 1. Can you find three individuaHzing touches that deal with the sick 
 men ? 
 
 2. Can you tind five xioints from which you may infer that the man is 
 mad ? 
 
 (2. ) The inspector was a little, fat fellow, with a red face, round as 
 a l)all, which be made still broader by a habit be had of filling his 
 cheeks with air, and slowly letting it out again. 
 
 (3.) By the stove, a soldier in a coarse shirt, with a necktie and 
 black trousers, and one top-boot on, stood blowing the charcoal in a 
 samovar, using the other boot as a bellows. In the next room an ofii- 
 cer, with fair moustache and a very red face, dressed in an Austrian 
 jacket that closely fitted his broad chest and muscular shoulders, sat at 
 a covered table, on which were the remains of his dinner and two 
 bottles. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 
 
 1. In Xumber 3 what is the individual habit the man had ? 
 
 2. In Number 3, what is the most, striking point about the soldier's attire?
 
 1 16 FIRST STEPS IN ENCtLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 3. -ire there any iiidivicUializing details aliout ttie officer? 
 
 4. Give examples of or write three descriptions of places and three of per- 
 sons for the special purpose of bringing out certain facts. 
 
 EXERCISES-CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The narrative is, in its nature, so long that no examples can 
 lie given liere. Pupils, however, may be required to bring 
 from the home or from the library books containing narratives, 
 which may be analyzed in the class-room. Or classics, such as 
 Evangeline or Miles Standish, * may be purchased in cheap form 
 for class-room use. 
 
 EXERCISES-CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The following exercises have been constructed from work 
 actually produced ])y pupils in the first high school year. 
 They should not be worked through rn masse here, but should 
 be introduced one or two at a time along with the composition 
 work itself. • 
 
 I. Application of Rules 1, 2, 3, 5, G, page 63; 1, lb, 4, 
 page 64; 5, page 66; 23, page 68. ,^' 
 
 The fi'ontiersmau's dog. 
 
 Joe was a large black shaggy dog of tlie Newfoundland kind 
 he had been trained to do many useful tricks by his master, a ken- 
 tucky frontiersman. He could hold a horse carry a bundle leave 
 it or bring it back he would guard anything given him in the most 
 zealous manner, and was capable of many other things 
 
 One Sunday it happened that he and his master, mr. Tliompson 
 were captured by the Cherokee tribe of Indians who were out on the 
 war path they took him off and at evening tied hiui to a tree 
 
 Thompson had about given up hope but about sundown a happy idea 
 struck him he waited till dark when all the savages were asleep 
 except a sentry a hundred feet off, he called the dog to him and 
 began to gnaw at the ropes as well as he could. The dog seemed to 
 understand and began a silent but vigorous attack on the ropes. 
 
 ♦See Little Classic Series, published b\- X. Flanagan Co., Chicago.
 
 APPENDIX. 117 
 
 Soon the scout was free he moved towards the scmtinel who 
 thought the victim was so securely tied that there was no need to 
 watch closely and who was amazed to find the white man loose. 
 Thompson had no rope to tie the savage with, he could not kill him 
 in cold blood and was about to give up just then Joe came up and 
 growled at the foe. "Here pup," called Thompson "watch him, 
 watch him when I whistle come." Joe growled a reply als^j a 
 warning to the savage who was too terrorized to move 
 
 Thompson jumped up on one of the Indian ponies standing near and 
 made his way to the nearest road that led to the fort. "When he had 
 gone a quarter of a mile he gave a short sharp whistle it was then and 
 not before that the frightened warrior gave an unearthly yell it awak- 
 ened the whole camp and brought them in pursuit many a shot wag 
 fired, but never a one found a softer resting place than Mother Earth. 
 Then the man and the dog reached the fort in safety. 
 
 [Beginning sentences with a capital and ending them with a 
 period seem to be the most difficult tasks for pupils to master. 
 Begin to read very carefully, ' 'Joe was a large, black, shaggy 
 dog," etc., and notice, by the sound, where the sentence ends. 
 Then put in a period and begin next the word with a capital. 
 Commence to read again and notice where the second sentence 
 ends, and so on]. 
 
 II. Applications of Rules 1, page 63, and 1, page 64. 
 Also change or strike out words to get rid of the many repeti- 
 tions. 
 
 Close to death's door. 
 
 When I was quite a little boy I was close to death's door many 
 times. 
 
 We lived in an old fashioned house the rooms were very large and 
 had those old fashioned mantels about six feet high These mantels 
 were out of my reach and I had to get on a chair if anything of mine 
 was on them one day one of my toys was propped upon one of them 
 which I wanted to play with I ran to get a chair I ran and got a
 
 lis FIRST STEPS IN I'.Xi I LlSl 1 COMPOSITION'. 
 
 rocking' I'liair and placed it before llie mantel and jumped upon it 
 and wanted to get what I wanted the chair began to rock and I fell 
 into the fire with a jerk I was pulled out of the fire by my big sister 
 and given a good sound thrashing. 
 
 III. Punctuation. Insert the proper punctuation marks 
 and refer each to its rule. 
 
 Mr. John Jones was a rich old aristocratic gentleman who lived in 
 a large old English house. On the first floor were several halls a 
 kitchen dining room parlor library sitting room and one s[)are room 
 A back stairs went up into one of these halls there was also a stairs 
 going up alongside the library up there were places in the walls for 
 statues. 
 
 IV. Application of Rules 1, page 63; 1, la, page 64; 5, 
 6, 7, page 65; 18, page 67; 20, page 68; and 14, page 71. 
 
 One day when Jones entered his library he found his desk broken 
 open his papers scattered about and many valuable documents in- 
 cluding his win gone. This could not be accounted for one of the 
 old servants was called in have you done this demanded Jones. The 
 servant replied no sir I don't know anything about it. Were you in 
 here last night asked Jones again 
 
 Several days later Mrs. Jones went into the library only to 
 find Jones dead in his chair with a knife wound over his heart. 
 Detectives were notified the house was searched the old servant w^as 
 questioned but all to no avail. Finally after months of the most 
 careful search a little plaster was found in the hall in which the 
 library stairs ascended and this led to still more careful search. 
 One day the girl asked mother, don't that picture on the wall need 
 fixing 
 
 QUESTIONS . 
 
 1. What is the subject of the first sentence? Can yon there apply rule 18? 
 
 2. Can you find another instance for the same rule? 
 
 3. Can you apply rule 13, pai;e 70? 
 
 4. Can you find the rules for quotations and apply them? 
 
 5. Can you also apply rules 9 and 10? 
 
 6. Can yon remodel a repetition?
 
 API'KXDIX. 119 
 
 V» Violations of Rules. — The following contains viola- 
 tions of rules 1, 6, page 63; 7, page 64; 5, 6, page 65; 10, 
 11, 12, page 66; 18, page 67; 15, page 71; 47, page 78. It 
 also contains a number of bad repetitions. Can you find these 
 mistakes? 
 
 A bold negro robber. 
 
 A8 Mr. Jacob Walker a suburban grocer was counting the money 
 in his cash drawer a negro walked in the store bought some steak 
 and handed the grocer a twenty dollar bill. The grocer made the 
 change and the negro walked out of the store eyeing everything 
 carefully. The grocer locked the door after him and went to put his 
 money in the safe As he put it in however he heard a voice with- 
 out saying "see how everything is arranged He of coarse thought 
 nothing of it closed up the store ])ut out the light and went to bed. 
 When he got up in the morning he dressed went down in the store 
 and was greatly surprised to find that his best goods was gone. 
 
 VI. The following sentences, selected here and there, 
 contain violations of rules 1, 4, page 63; la, 2, page 64; 9, 
 13, page 66; 18. page 67; 21, 23. page 68; 47, page 78. 
 
 1. From the looks of things on the bank, two things must have 
 hap])ened first the boy must have gone in swimming there because 
 we found his necktie and hat second he could not have come out 
 there because why would he have forgotten them there. And if he 
 did not come out what had become of the clothes, and why had not 
 the hat and necktie disappeared too. 
 
 2. But the scout had lots of confidence in the lord and did not 
 despair. 
 
 3. Here we separated; I went on up the hill to the left and ]Mr. 
 Robinson down in the ravine. 
 
 4. The monkeys whicli have a great deal of intellect are interest- 
 ing to watch and study 
 
 5. There had l)een a heavy snow during the night which made it 
 difficult to walk
 
 120 FIRST STEPS IX ENGLISH COINI POSITION. 
 
 6. When lla- Imutur tliouj^ht lie was near enough he stopjicd and 
 rested his rifle across a rock 
 
 7. The cook looked in and asked us, what we would like for 
 dinner 
 
 8. We liked to wade, and always walked, where the water was 
 deepest 
 
 It. The boys tents were situated farther back toward the rivn- 
 than the girls 
 
 10. The man who was not prepared for the l)l(i\\ fell flat on h's 
 back 
 
 VII. Verb Forms. — Remember that if tlwre precedes the 
 predicate, the subject follows it. Remember also that if the 
 subject is compound, the predicate must be plural. See rule 
 15, page 71. This exti'act also violates rules 2, page 69; 20. 
 21, page 73. 
 
 In one end of the town, where I was stopping one summer, stood 
 an old time dwelling. In this house there was a dining-room, a 
 l)arlor, three bed-rooms, and a kitchen An independent farmer 
 lived there. He had two daughters and three sons. One of these 
 sons seem to be very wise while the other seem to be a blockhead. 
 One Sunday this farmer ask me to go and dine with him. I would 
 of liked to, but couldn't that day; and I was very glad afterwards I 
 didn't. That is what I am going to tell about. 
 
 VIII. — Determine whether .s7; a//, v:iU, shmhJ, and iconld are 
 correctly used in the following sentences. If they are not. 
 rectify. 
 
 1. AVhile on a visit to the country, I met with a peculiar accident 
 which I will never forget. 
 
 2. Don't be afraid; you will have all the money you need for the 
 outfit. 
 
 3. We shall not submit to this nonsense any longer; we are tired 
 of it. 
 
 4. I remember standing and wondering whether I would see any 
 of the animals after all.
 
 APPENDIX. 121 
 
 5. He was afraid he would miss his train. 
 
 (). lam disgusted with his extravagance; he shall not have an- 
 other dollar. 
 
 7. The guide answered that if we would only be patient a little 
 longer we would soon be out of the dangerous valley. 
 
 8. How we shall manage without any light is the question. 
 
 9. If anything like that happened to me, I would he dreadfully 
 ashamed. 
 
 10. Under no circumstances whatever will I do it. 
 
 11. I wi luld like a little more gravy if you please. 
 
 12. I know this road is rough, but we will no doubt get to the 
 end of it before long. 
 
 13. I shall not let him have my book, said Arthur angrily. 
 
 14. That James Harris shall not be permitted to play with my 
 brother any more. 
 
 15. "Thou Shalt not steal." 
 
 16. Jennie and Madge Robinson will visit us for the holidays, 
 and then next summer we will visit them on the farm in return. 
 
 IX. — Determine whether .?/>, set; lie, Jay; rise, raise are cor- 
 rectly used in the following. If they are not, rectify. 
 
 1. Sit the bread sponge by the fire and let it raise. 
 
 2. They laid down on the gi-ass. 
 
 3. The house sets on top of a hill. 
 
 4. A house set on a hill cannot be hid. 
 
 5. The robber raised up and looked over the wall. 
 
 6. They lay in hiding behind the hedge for three hours. 
 
 7. A hat, a necktie, and an old coat were laying on the floor. 
 
 8. A chair had been set out for the speaker, and, when he ar- 
 rived, he sat down and w^aited. 
 
 9. When 1 v\as a boy I laid awake many nights with sleepless- 
 ness. 
 
 10. It was an old, brown book which had lain in grandmother's 
 trunk since she was a girl. 
 
 1 1 . Set down awhile and let us talk. 
 
 12. The men were attacked as they were in the act of la\ing out 
 their cam p.
 
 122 FIRST STEPS IN EX(;LISiT COMPOSITION. 
 
 ]". The ft'i-ry l)oat lays to at the Uiot of Fulton street. 
 
 14. The coat doe.s not set well about the shoulders. 
 
 15. "I have often lain on my back in the <rras9 of summer even- 
 ings and watched the stars ami ihe moon rise in tlie lilue above me." 
 
 X. — Determine whether tuat/ and cdii. might and cnnh/ are 
 used correctly in the following; if they are not, rectify. 
 
 1. Can I see your book? 
 
 2. When my little brother was sick he would not let me come 
 near him, so that I could not do anything for him. 
 
 3. That night it froze, and I washed very much to go skating the 
 next day; but it Avas Sunday and I might not. 
 
 4. The prisoner was seen skulking about the neighborhood the 
 night that the murder was conunitted, therefore it could easily have 
 been he who did it. 
 
 5. He said, however, that he could prove he had been out of 
 town that day and night; hence it could not have l)een he. 
 
 (>. It cannot be said of us that we are barbarous; we are as up- 
 right as any in the land. 
 
 7. It cannot be truthfully said that there is one kind of justice 
 for the poor and another for the rich in America. 
 
 XI. — With the help of a dictionary and of rules 1, page 
 Gf), and 24, page 14, reduce tiie following to plain English: — 
 
 The magnificent residence of our esteemed fellow townsman, John 
 Smith, became a prey to the fiery element last night. A great con- 
 course of people witnes.sed the conflagration. It was suspicioned 
 that several of the owner's servants perished in the flames. The 
 holoacust was not without its accompaniment of exterior accidents. 
 A fragment of wall was i)recipitated upon a pedestrian in the thor- 
 oughfare below. The regard which ]\Ir. Smith enjoys throughout 
 the Metropolis was evidenced by the multitudinous messages of con- 
 dolence of which he was the recipient. It is suspicioned that the 
 calamity was of incendiary origin. How the matter will eventuate 
 can not be prognosticated.
 
 APPENDIX. 12?. 
 
 XII. — Case of Pronouns:- Kules29— 34. page 74. 
 
 THE WATERMELONS. 
 
 One night three other boj's ami nie were going by a farm where 
 there was a field of watermelons. "Let us have one," said one of 
 the boj's. But, though I liked melons as well as them, I did not 
 think us boys ought to stop and bother; so I urged them to go on. 
 
 AVe walked on about a hundred yards when we heard a noise up 
 near the farmer's house. The back door opened and some one came 
 tramping and swearing down the road. We thought it was the 
 farmer and, when he got up, we found it was him sure enough. He 
 had heard a noise in his melon patch and had rushed out to see who 
 he could catch. 
 
 He grabbed me by "he collar while the other fellows ran. Then he 
 swore it was them who he was looking for and began shaking me. I 
 tried to tell him we were innocent and didn't know anything about 
 his melons. "You think you know more than me?" he shouted; 
 "I'll show you." 
 
 He begaii dragging me towards the house; but just then the other 
 fellows, whom I thought had gone for good, came up again. They 
 had got clubs down the road and now made an attack on the farmer 
 so that lie let me loose. 
 
 I am glad it was not us who he could bring charges against; and it 
 might easily have been us too. 
 
 XIII. — The following sentences have been selected from the 
 work found in high school publications and essays. They in- 
 volve faults covered by rules 3, 13, page 69; 19, page 73; 36, 
 46. page 76. A few faults already considered are also present. 
 
 1. The game last Saturday was continually delayed by disputes 
 between the men. 
 
 2. Everybod}' who had not presented their credentials were at 
 once disbarred from taking part in the ratification. 
 
 :;. The last of these two sentences was the only correct one. 
 4. Bills payed on either of the above three days will be granted a 
 discount of ten per cent.
 
 124 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 5. The two following days it yiiowed heavily so that the train? 
 were delayed and nobody from out of town could get hf)me to their 
 folks for Christmas. 
 
 6. There must have been treachery of some sort at work for 
 when the first half was most over the quarter-back threw down his 
 helmet and refused to go ahead. Lucky we had a good substitute 
 who we put in; and won after all. 
 
 7. Neither our coach nor the visitors doubted but that they had 
 a jierfect right to advise their teams. But the s])ectators would not 
 have them on the field. So after some bickering they agreed to stay 
 on the side-lines for the balance of the game. 
 
 8. A good deal of scandal was caused at the depot when the vis- 
 itors' train pulled out by a chorus of hoots and cat-calls and insulting 
 remarks. Such practices are a disgrace to our school and should in 
 the future be done away with. 
 
 9. Everyone provided themselves with watch dogs and had bur- 
 glar alarms put on their windows and doors. 
 
 10. Among other matters INIr. Davis urged the team to try and 
 come out more regularly for practice, claiming that if they did not, 
 we would stand but little chance of winning the coming game. 
 Surely it had not ought to be necessary to urge such a matter as 
 this; if we calculate to win this game without hard work we will be 
 doomed to disappointment. 
 
 11. Hunter allowed that his team outweighed us but did not 
 think that alone explained their victory. 
 
 XIV. Application of Rules 48—55. One or two of the 
 faults already considered are also present. 
 
 1. Three students from the Valley High School were only ad- 
 mitted to two of the Freshman subjects; they will have to bring up 
 their English work outside their regular hours. 
 
 2. Our school's success in the debates is very gratifying to all 
 concerned. 
 
 3. The man and woman were last seen together in the street-car 
 going out to Havelock. 
 
 4. I expect my wife and daughter back next week.
 
 APPENDIX. 125 
 
 5. Rushing into the room a man was found sprawling on the 
 floor entangled in a long rope [Rule 52]. 
 
 6. One morning some silver was missing and yet we had locked 
 the doors and windows to the dining room the night before [Rule 55]. 
 
 7. I looked down the chimney but nothing could be seen [Rule 
 55]. 
 
 8. The spy made a slip-knot around a stone on top of the wall 
 and slid down; but then he was no better off because he could not 
 pull it down after him [Rule 54]. 
 
 9. In trying to walk too close to the barb-wire fence his coat got 
 caught on one of the barbs. A small piece was torn off and this 
 finally led to his arrest [Rule 52]. 
 
 10. The neighbors were all aroused by the noise of the fire-engine 
 and they cheerfully spent much labor helping to save Mrs. Irvine's 
 household goods [Rule 55]. 
 
 11. Knowing he had been on the roof he wondered where he had 
 gone. 
 
 12. He did not have to wait long for soon a man was seen climb- 
 ing a tree near the house. 
 
 13. But the professor did not use any hat -string so that when the 
 next puff of wind came it was blown overboard and he was forced to 
 go bare-headed for the remainder of the trip [Rule 54]. 
 
 14. The speaker only touclied upon one question. 
 
 15. The negro will always be badly treated in communities where 
 they attempt to exercise political power over the whites. 
 
 EXERCISES— CHAPTER X. 
 
 I. Devices Used in Story Writing. 
 
 Following are a few newspaper items that will show how- 
 good subiects for stories may be found daily in the public 
 prints. 
 
 A HOUSE CAT ivILLED 
 
 FOR A BURGLAR. 
 
 Mr. .Tohn Birk, of 10:54 Kast St. Cath- 
 erine str et, was aroused early this morii-
 
 126 FIRST STKrs IN KNdl.lsiI ('OMl\)SITION. 
 
 in>X l)y a Huspicious iiDisr in his kitchen, 
 lie lireil uml killeil the house cat. 
 
 This is a good l>:isis for a humorous story. 
 
 TTKAK3 OF'^ A FOKTTTXR FROM 
 
 LONG 8 ILK. NT JiKOTHKK. 
 
 Newark Boy Went West; Di(hi't 
 
 Write to Sister for 18 Years; 
 
 Now Dies Rich. 
 
 Newark, N. J., Dec. 7.— Patrick Man- 
 nin<r, who left Newark nearly a score of 
 years ago to .^eek his fortune in the West, 
 died at Kahspel, Mont., a few days ago, 
 and word of his death has just reached 
 Newark through inquiries being made 
 for his heirs. IManning died jiossessed 
 of a fortune. 
 
 Miss Theresa Manning, of Newark, a 
 sister of the deceased, had not heard 
 from him in eighteen years and knew 
 nothing of his wealth. 
 
 This suggests to me a story of destitution at home, re- 
 lieved in the nick of time by the news of the long lost brother, 
 who was supposed to be dead. 
 
 SWAMP MONSTER 
 DEAD AT LAST 
 
 Brave Hunter Puts an End to 
 Strange Terror in Florida. 
 
 LIKE A SEA SEKPENT 
 
 Indians Say the Snake Has Lived 
 
 Over 100 Years Near Lake 
 
 Okeechobee.
 
 APPENDIX. 127 
 
 This suggests n story of a fearless huuter who hears these 
 strange rumors and sallies forth into the swamps. Many be- 
 fore him had tried to kill the monster and had lost their lives. 
 Here would be much room for mystery and adventure. 
 
 "WE BURIED A POTE 
 
 OFGOOLD IN 1618." 
 
 Parchment Found Among Old Fam- 
 ily Papers Gives Location of 
 Hidden Treasure. 
 
 Here the story would begin with the accidental discovery of 
 the parchment. Let it be very old and partly illegible. Let 
 much ingenuity be expended upon deciphering it. Let it con- 
 tain a strange map. Then let preliminary explorations be 
 made in secret by the finder. Have him organize an expedi- 
 tion. Let one of the men turn traitor and organize a rival 
 company. Here, certainly, would be room for a multitude of 
 conspiracies and adventures. 
 
 SHE LOCKS IN THIEVES 
 
 Mrs. Kartanki Keeps Them Until 
 the Police Arrive. 
 
 BOY HERO 
 
 Discovers a Broken Rail and Gives 
 Warning That Saves a Train. 
 
 Special to The Times. 
 
 Decatur, Ala., Dec. 11. — Walke Simp- 
 son, acred twelve, discovered a broken 
 rail on the Loui^iville and Nashville rail- 
 road, near Hartselle, and reported it in 
 time to prevent at'erious wreck, and he 
 is the hero of the day.
 
 128 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CO^NirOSITION. 
 
 THIEF'S xWENUE 
 
 IS A CHIMNEY 
 
 Mystery of Repeated Robberies 
 Solved by Rope Breaking. 
 
 Chicago, Dec. 10. — [Special]. — A thir- 
 teen-year-old girl led oOU children from a 
 burning school by playing a two-step on 
 the piano. 
 
 II. Premonitory Allusions. 
 
 Note how the following paragraphs give mysterious hints at 
 events to come. 
 
 Well would it have been for her, and for another, too, if she could 
 have said "Yes;" and taken him. * * » * Well, indeed, it would 
 have been for her if she could have taken this brave fellow, but she 
 could not.— Besant, The Wodd Went Very Well Then, Ch. ix. 
 
 Where there is great love there is also the possibility of great wrath 
 and great revenge, as you will presently discover. — lb., Ch. iv. 
 
 "Don't pray for that," he said, in a quick, low voice. "It may 
 come too soon for some of us, God knows— too soon for many a good 
 man and true!"— Steele, OntJie Face of the Waters. 
 
 "Are you asleep, or will you listen, and I will tell a dale dot you 
 shall not pelief?" 
 
 "There's no tale in the wide world that I can't believe," I said. 
 
 "If you haf learned pelief, you haf learned somedings. Now I shall 
 try your pelief. Good!"— Kipling, Bimi. 
 
 III. Atmosphere. 
 
 Notice how a master constructs a description so as to pro- 
 duce a state of feeling in his reader: — 
 
 The room was darkened till it was only just possible to distin- 
 guish the pips of the cards and the very white faces of the players,
 
 APPENDIX. 129 
 
 A tattered, rotten punkah* of whitewashed calico was paddling the 
 hot air and whining dolefullj^ at each stroke. Outside tliere was 
 neither sun, sky nor liorizon— nothing but a brown-purple haze of 
 heat. It was as though the earth were dying of apoplexy. From 
 time to time, clouds of tawny dust rose from the ground without 
 wind or warning, flung themselves table-cloth-wise among the tops 
 of the parched trees, and came down again. Then a whirling dust- 
 devil would scutter across the plain for a couple of miles, break and 
 fall outward, though there was nothing to check its flight save a long, 
 low line of piled railway sleepers, white with the dust, a cluster of 
 huts made of mud, condemned rails and canvas, and the one squat, 
 four-roomed bungalow that belonged to the assistant engineer in 
 charge of the section of the Gandhari State Line then under con- 
 struction." — Kipling, At the End of the Passage. 
 
 The following extract has the purpose of producing in us a 
 feeling of the uncanny. It is not a premonitory allusion, be- 
 cause nothing of what is indicated comes to pass. 
 
 It is a strange feeling that comes and stays about the roots of the 
 neck, when one first realizes that the headsman- may have to do 
 therewith ere many weeks pass by. And it is a feeling that I have 
 taken to bed with me for years at a time. ^ « a. It was judged best 
 that my cousin and I should ride alone. This we wished because we 
 knew not whom to trust in the strange case in which we found our- 
 selves. — Crockett, Tlie Man of the Moss Hags, xvii. 
 
 What feeling is produced in each case by the following 
 touches? 
 
 1. A twisted and aged apple tree, standing all alone on the stony 
 slope of a hill. 
 
 2. A white-painted cottage nestling among trees. 
 
 3. The slow, soggy plash! plash! of hoofs in the muddy road. 
 
 4. A snow-capped mountain-top gleaming in the sun-rise. 
 
 5. A gray plain stretching on unbroken forever. 
 
 *A sort of huge fan that swung on hinges from the ceiling and was pulled by 
 a rope to produce a breeze.
 
 i:]0 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 IV. Inferences. 
 
 1. Tlie flag oil the schoolliouse gtands straight out from the pole 
 in a southerly direction. What two causes are inferred ? 
 
 2. Tlie steam fire-engine is seen to pass leisurely. What cause is 
 inferred ? 
 
 3. Crum])s are found scattered over the floor of a certain school- 
 room. What inference ? 
 
 4. Coaches and omnibuses are seen coming from the station. In- 
 ference ? 
 
 5. A great flock of doves and other birds is seen settling upon a 
 certain spot of ground. Inference? 
 
 6. Shouts and songs in foot-ball season. What inference is 
 made ? 
 
 7. Clapping of hands and stamping of feet are heard in a certain 
 room. Inference? 
 
 8. Prolonged, hearty laughter is heard in a crowd. Inference? 
 
 9. Througli which of the five senses is each of these inferences 
 made ? 
 
 IQ. Suggest an inference that is made through any of the other 
 senses. 
 
 11. A student comes home and rams his examination paper into 
 the stove. Inference ? 
 
 12. A brakeman is seen on the railroad-track with a red flag in his 
 hand. What two inferences ? 
 
 18. A small boy is peering into a crack in the sidewalk. Infer- 
 ence? 
 
 14. A student habitually and ostentatiously carries about an arm- 
 ful of huge library books. Inference ? 
 
 15. A crowd of men laughs at a refined woman who has fallen in 
 the street. AVhat is instantly inferred as to their breeding? 
 
 16. You are making a visit and observe dirt in the corners of the 
 sitting-room. What inference is at once made ? 
 
 17. Which of the aT)0ve are inferences of character? W'hich, of 
 incident ? 
 
 18. Make a list of live circuuistances in real life from which you 
 find that your mind infers character.
 
 APPENDIX. 131 
 
 19. Make a similar list of circumstances from which you infer 
 some iiicident. 
 
 20. i\Iake a list of five circumstances from which you infer char- 
 acter through some one of the senses other than sight. 
 
 The following selections from The Crisis will show the work- 
 ing of this principle in literature. Think out answers to the 
 questions appended: — 
 
 1 . The oily auctioneer was inviting the people to i)inch the ware?', 
 (negro girls on sale). Men came forward to feel the creatures and look 
 into their mouths, and one brute, unshaven and with filthy linen, 
 snatched a child from its mother's lap. — Ch. iv., Bk. i. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 
 
 1. What poiint of character is inferred from the fact that these girls are called 
 "wares"? 
 
 2. What two acts next mentioned cause us to infer character — and what char- 
 acter ? 
 
 3. Which is tlie most powerful inference made here, where is it made, and 
 w)iat is it that we infer ? 
 
 2. When I Avas a boy I worked my way down the river to New York, 
 to see the city. I met a bishop there. He said to me, "Sit down, 
 my son, I want to talk to you. I know your father in Albanj-. You 
 are Senator Whipple's son." I said to him, "No, sir, I am not Sena- 
 tor Whipple's son. I am no relation of his." If the bishop had 
 wished to talk to me after that, he might have made my life a little 
 easier — a little sweeter. — Ch. xi., Bk. ii. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 
 
 1. What mistake did the bishop make? 
 
 2. How did the boy get to the city? 
 
 3. What were his worldly circumstances? 
 
 4. In what way was he different, then, from Senator Whipple's son? 
 
 5. What did the bishop do after he found out his mistake? 
 B. What effect did this action have on the boy? 
 
 7. Why do you suppose the bishop was so anxious to cultivate the acquuint- 
 ance of Senator Whipple's son, as he supposed?
 
 132 FIRST STEPS IX KXiiLISII COMPOSITION. 
 
 8. Wbat trail of character does the boy's strai^'btforwnrd answer reveal? 
 9- What do you think of tliu bishoji? 
 
 0. As the gray uniforms fileout of Ihegate, the crowd lia.s become a 
 mob, now flowing back into the fields on each side of tlie road, now 
 pressing forward vindictively until stopped by the sergeants and cor- 
 porals. Listen to the:n calling to sons, and brothers, and husbands in 
 gray! See, there is a woman who spits in a soldier' !i face! — Ch. xix., 
 Bk." II. 
 
 QUESTION. 
 
 Here there is really only one inference; but it is a very powerful one. Where 
 
 is it, and what is it we infer? 
 
 4. Carl Richter too'c up the cliallenge. Before night all Berlin had 
 heard of the temerity of the young Liberal. To our shame, be it said, 
 we who knew and loved Carl likewise feared for him. Carl chose for 
 his second Ebhardt, a man of our own Germania Club. And, if you 
 will believe me, 1 tell you that Carl came to the glade at daybreak 
 smoking his pij^e. — Ch. x, Bk. ii. 
 
 QUESTION. 
 
 Here there is likewise only one inference; but it is very powerful. Where is 
 it? Is it character or incident? 
 
 5. The side door of the house opened; a weeping woman came out; 
 and with her was a tall Confederate Colonel of cavalry. Gallantly 
 giving her his arm, he escorted her as far as the little gate, where she 
 bade him good-l^ye with nuich feeling. With an im])ulsive movement 
 he drew some money from his pocket, thrust it upon her, and started 
 hurriedly away that he miglit not listen to her thanks. Such was his 
 preoccupation that he actually brushed into Stephen, who was stand- 
 ing beside a tree. — Ch. VIII., r>k. III. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 
 
 1. Where is the first act from which we infer the presence of a sympathetic 
 trait in the Coloners character? 
 
 2. Wliat was her attitude of mind towards him? 
 
 3. What did the Colonel do at the gate? 
 
 4. How did he do it— slowly, deliberately? 
 
 5. Why did he not stay to hear the -.voman's thanlfs?
 
 APPENDIX. 133 
 
 6. How do you like the Colonel? 
 
 7. What do you infer as to her character from the fact that he "thrust" the 
 money upon her? 
 
 8. What happened to the Colonel as he hurried on? 
 
 9. Why did he not see Stephen— because the latter was behind the tree' 
 
 Eliphalet Hopper is a young man who begins life as office 
 boy in a cliy-goods store. Now he has become manager. He 
 is stingy, unscrupulous, and selfish. Notice how these char- 
 acteristics are inferred from the following: — 
 
 6. As for j\Ir. Hopper, increase in salary had not changed him. He 
 still lived in the same humble way, in a single room in the Widow 
 Crane's boarding-house; and he paid very little more for his board 
 than he had that first week in which he swept out Colonel Carvel's 
 store. At night, when he came home from business, he would read 
 the widow's evening paper, and the Colonel's morning paper at the 
 office. His only indulgence was chewing-tobacco. It was as early as 
 1859 that the teller of the Boatman's Bank began to point out Mr. 
 Hopper's back to casual customers, and he was more than once seen 
 to enter the president's room. 
 
 Eliphalet' s suavity with certain delinquent customers from the 
 Southwest was according to Scrijiture. When they invited him into 
 the street, he reminded them that the city had a police force and a 
 jail. He knew tlie laws concerning mortgages in several different 
 States. 
 
 But Elii^halet was content still to remain in the sphere in which 
 Providence had placed him . . . He did not buy, or even hire, an 
 evening suit. He was pleased to superintend some of the details for a 
 dance at Christmas-time before Virginia left Monticello, but he sat as 
 usual on the stair-landing. There Mr. Jacob Cluyme (who had been 
 that day in conversation with the teller of the Boatman's Bank) 
 chanced upon him. Mr. Cluyme was so charmed at the facility with 
 w^hich Eliphalet recounted the rise and fall of sugar and cotton and 
 wheat that he invited Mr. Hopper to dinner .... Eliphalet 
 sat next to Miss Belle, and heard the private history of many old 
 families, which he cherished for future use. — Ch. viii., Bk. xi.
 
 l.W FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH COMl't )SITI()N. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 
 
 1. Where had Mr. Hopper put up when he began his work as olMcc-boy? 
 
 •i. Where is he living, now that he is manager? 
 
 X Why has he not moved into more luxurious quarters? 
 
 4. Whose newspapers did he read regularly? 
 
 ."). Why did he not subscribe for them himself ? 
 
 6. How much did he spend on luxuries? 
 
 7. What had the bank teller begun to do, and why? 
 
 8. How has Mr. Hopper come to have business in the president's room? 
 
 '.>. Wliat sort of scenes does he seem to have had witli customers who could 
 not pay up? 
 
 10. How did these interviews aflFect them? 
 
 1 1 . Was he relenting and easy? 
 
 12. Why should he have studied mortgage laws, since his business was the 
 drj'-goods trade? 
 
 i;^ Did he gD into society very much? Why? 
 
 1-t. What position did he fill at the few parties which he did attend? 
 
 ]."). \Vhy should this not have wounded his self-respect terribly? 
 
 It). What do you suppose the banl< teller had been saying to Jacob Cluyme? 
 
 IT. How did this gentleman show his interest in Mr. Hopper? 
 
 18. What was itabout Mr. Hopper that he was interested in? 
 
 U). What sortof man do you think Cluyme was? 
 
 20. What sort of conversation prevailed at Mr. Cluyme"s table? 
 
 21. What trait of character does this show? 
 
 22. What did Mr. Hopper cherish this information for? 
 
 23. How do you like Mr. Hopper? 
 
 7. "It won't do, Abe," said he. "You commit suicide." 
 
 "You'd better stick to the pear, Abe," said Mr. Medill, "and fight 
 Ste]jhen A. Douglas here and now. Tliis isn't any picnic. Do you 
 know who he is?" 
 
 "Why, yes, Joe," said Mr. Lincoln, amiably. "He is a mail with 
 tens of thousands of blind folloivers. It's my duty to make some of 
 these blind followers see." .... 
 
 Mr. Lincoln surprised him (Stephen Brice) still further in taking 
 him by the arm. Turning to the young reporter he said: 
 
 "Bob, a little air will do you good. I've had enough of the old 
 boys, and I'm going to talk to somebody my own age."
 
 APPENDIX. 135 
 
 Stephen was half-way down the corridor when he discovered that 
 he had forgotten liis hat.— CiiuiiciiiLL, The Crial.t, Ch., iir., Bk. ii. 
 
 (iUESTIONS. 
 
 1. Here, beyond some minor inferences drawn from tlie dialogue, there is but 
 one point worthy of notice. But the inference which this causes us to make is 
 very powerful. It has todo with Stephen. Where is it ? 
 
 2. Does the inference, however, set off Stephen, or someone else :' 
 
 3. Wliat lemarkable glimpse of personal force does this little point tinally 
 give us ? 
 
 IV. Inferences of Incident. 
 
 THE BURIAL OP SIR JOHN MOORE. 
 
 1. Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 
 
 As hi^ corpse to the rampart we hurried ; 
 Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 
 O'er the grave where our hero we buried. 
 
 2. We buried him darkly at dead of night. 
 
 The sods with our bayonets turning, 
 By the struggling moonbeam's misty light. 
 And the lantern dimly burning. 
 
 3. No useless cofhn enclosed his breast, 
 
 Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ; 
 But he lay like a warrior, takirg his rest. 
 With liis martial cloak around him. 
 
 4. Few and short were the prayers we said. 
 
 And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 
 But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, 
 And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 
 
 r-). AVe thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, 
 .\nd smoothed down his lonely pillow, 
 Tliat the ioe and the stranger would tread o'er his head. 
 And we far awav on the billow !
 
 l;](; FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 6. LigliUy they'll talk ul the t^piril lluiL's gone, 
 
 And o'er his cold ashes upbruid him — 
 But little he'll reek, if they'll let him sleep on 
 In the grave where a Briton has laid him. 
 
 7. But half of our heavy task was done, 
 
 When the cloek struck the hour for retiring, 
 And we heird the ilistant and random gun 
 That the foe was sullenly firing. 
 
 8. SU)\vly and sadly we laid him down, 
 
 From the field of his fame fresh and gory; 
 We carved not a line and we raised not a stone — 
 But we left him alone with Ids glory. 
 
 — Charles Wolfe. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 
 
 1. Are generals usually buried in the night without all ceremony ? 
 
 2. IIow was Sir John Moore buried ? 
 
 3. What, from stanza 7, do we see was the situation with respect to the 
 enemy ? 
 
 4. Was he buried inside or outside the ramparts? 
 
 5. Now, can you tell why no drum was beaten in his honor ? 
 0. What other mark of respect was omitted ? 
 
 7. What expression in line 4 shows that they loved him ? 
 
 8. Why did they hurry ? 
 
 9. Why did they have no light ? 
 
 10. Why did they choose the dead of night for the burial ? 
 
 11. IIow did they dig the grave? 
 
 12. Which is most fitting to a soldier's death — to have the grave thus dug, or 
 with spades ? 
 
 13. What bit of "atmosphere" is introduced here? 
 
 14. AVhat is meant by saying the moonbeams struggled ? 
 
 15. Which is most fitting— the cloak or a coffin? 
 10. Why, then, is the coffin said to be '• useless "? 
 
 17. What else did they not do that they would have liked to do ? 
 
 18. Why were their prayers few and short ? {cf. ques. 8 and 3). 
 
 19. Was it their haste that prevented them from uttering their grief ? If not, 
 what was H ?
 
 APPENDIX. " 137 
 
 20. What did they do that showed their love ? 
 
 21. Now that he was dead, what was the reason they thought bitterly of the 
 morrow ? 
 
 22. What act In stanza 5 shows how they loved him ? 
 
 23. What thought makes them especially sad ? 
 
 24. How do they fear the enemy will talk about their general ? 
 
 25. How, on the contrary, do they feel about him ? 
 
 26. What is meant by the line, "But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep 
 on" ? 
 
 27. Did they get time to finish their work ? 
 
 28. What words in the last stanza express their feelings ? 
 
 29. What last mark of respect were they compelled to omit ? 
 
 30. Do you think Sir John Moore needed tombstone and epitaph ? What did 
 he leave that was better ? . 
 
 V. Inferences that Reverse our Expectations. 
 
 Note how we, at first, in the following extracts, are made, 
 by means of description, to take an attitude of dislike towards 
 the characters and to expect poor things of them, and how this 
 feeling, later, is completely overturned by means of a series 
 of quick, sudden inferences. This device requires much space 
 in the working ; and considerable time must be made to inter- 
 vene between the construction of the preliminary unfavorable 
 impression and the reversal. Several paragraphs have been 
 omitted from the selections given, at the points indicated. 
 
 1. "Dutchmen, sir! Hessians! Foreign Republican hirelings, 
 sir !" exclaimed the Colonel, standing up. " We shall drive them 
 like sheep if they oppose us. You are drilling them now that they 
 may murder your own blood, when you think the time is ripe." . . 
 
 . . . . "And you Black Republicans", the Captain cried, 
 ' ' have organized your Dutch Wideawakes and are arming them to re- 
 sist Americans born." " We shall drill every night 
 
 now, my friend, untilfurther orders," said Richter, a leader among 
 the Germans. "It is the Leader's word. Until we go to the front, 
 Stephen, to put down rebellion." Stephen sank into a chair, and 
 bowed his head. What would he think— this man who had fought
 
 18H I-^IRST 8TEPS IN ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 and suft'i'ft'd and n'lioiuiccd Iuh native laud lor hi.s convictions? Who, 
 in this nobler allegiance, was ready to die for them ? How was he to 
 confess to Richter, of all men? 
 
 "Carl," he said at length, "I— I cannot go." 
 
 "You — you cannot go? You who have done so much already'. 
 And why?" 
 
 Stephen did uot answer. But Richter, suddculy divining, lai<l his 
 hands imjiulsively on Stei)hen's shoulders. 
 
 ".ic//, I see," he said. "Stephen, 1 have saved some money. It 
 shall be for your mother while you are away." 
 
 At first Stephen was too surprised to speak. Then, in spite of his 
 feelings, he stared at the (ierman with a new apiireciatiou of his 
 character. — Ciiruciiii.L, TJic f'nsis, Ch. .\vi, P>k. ii. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 
 
 1. Does the first word e.vpress very prreat admiration or regard for the Ger- 
 mans? 
 
 2. Can you find five more i)oints in the first two paragraplis that give ns a bad 
 impression ? 
 
 3. What is it in Richter's first sentence that mal<es it sound so gentle and 
 kind ? 
 
 4. What is the circumstance that reverses our first opinion ? 
 
 5. Wliat is the effect of Richter's act on Stephen ? 
 
 6. Should we admire Richter so much if his countrymen had not been previ- 
 ously abused in our hearing ? 
 
 2. Could this fantastically tall, stooping figure before her be that of 
 the President of the United States ? She stopped, as from the shock 
 he gave her. The lean, yellow face with the mask-like lines all up 
 and down, the unkempt, toiisled hair, the beard — why he was a 
 hundred times more ridiculous than his caricatures. He might have 
 stood for many of the i)Oor white trash farmers she had seen in Ken- 
 tucky " You are not content in the North with what 
 
 you have gained," she exclaimed. "You are not content with de" 
 priving us of our rights, and our fortunes, with forcing us back to an 
 allegiance we despise. You are not content with humiliating our 
 generals and putting innocent men in prisons. But now I suppose 
 you will shoot us all. And all this mercy that I have heard al)Out 
 means nothing — nothing — "
 
 APPFADTX. 139 
 
 "Miss Carvel," said the President, "T am afraid, from what I liave 
 heard just now, that it means nothing." 
 
 Oh, the sadness of that voice — the ineffal)le sadness — the sadness 
 and woe of a great nation ! And the sorrow in those eyes, the sorrow 
 of a lieavy cross — how heavy none will ever know. The pain of a 
 crown of thorns worn for a world that did not understand 
 
 A1)raham T^ineoln laid his hands upon the girl. And Stephen, 
 watching, knew that he was looking upon a l^enediction. 
 
 " Virginia," said Mr. Lincoln, "I have not suffered by the South. I 
 have suffered mtlt the South. Your sorrow has been my sorrow, and 
 your pain has been my pain. "What you have lost, I have lost. And 
 what you have gained," he added su])limely, " I have gained." — 
 Churchill, Hie Cri.iis,Ch. xv., Bk. in. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 
 
 1. What are some of the points that ridicule Lincoln? 
 
 2. Where does the overturning of our feelings begin? 
 
 3. Where is it completed? 
 
 The following recounts Lincoln's debate with Douglas at 
 Freeport. 
 
 3. Stephen, craning in his seat, caught sightofMr. Lincoln slouched 
 into one of his favorite attitudes, his chin resting in his hand. 
 
 But who was this, erect, compact, aggressive searching with a con- 
 fident eye the wilderness of upturned faces? A personage, truly, to 
 be questioned timidly, to ])e approached advi.sedly. Here, indeed, 
 was a lion, by the very look of him, master of himself and of others. 
 By reason of its regularity and masculine strength, a handsome face. 
 A man of the world, to tlie cut of the coat across the broad shoulders. 
 
 The inevitable comparison was come, and Stejihen's 
 
 hero was shrunk once more. He drew a deep breath, searched for 
 the word, and gulped. There was but the one word. How country 
 
 Abraham looked l)eside Stephen Arnold Douglas ! 
 
 There was a hush, and the waves of that vast human sea were stilled. 
 A man, lean, angular, with coat-tails flapping— unfolded like a gro- 
 tesque figure at a side-show. No confidence was there. Stooping for- 
 ward, Abraham Lincoln V)egan to speak, and Stephen Brice hung his 
 head and shuddered. Could this shrill falsetto be the same voice to
 
 NO FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 which he luul li^itcned only that luoruiug? Could this awicwanl, yel- 
 low man, with his hands behind his back, ha he whom he had wor- 
 sliipped? Ripples of derisive laughter rose here and there, on the 
 stand and from the crowd. Tlirice distilled was the agony of those 
 moments. 
 
 But what was this feeling that gradually crept over him? Surprise? 
 Cautiously he raised his eyes. The hands were coming around to the 
 front. Suddenly one of them was thrown sharply back, with a de- 
 termined gesture, the head was raised— and — and his shame was for- 
 gotten. In its stead wonder was come . . . The voice was no 
 longer shrill. Nay, it was now a powerful instrument which played 
 strangely on those who Heard. Now it rose, and again it fell into 
 tones so low as to start a stir which spread and spread like a ripple in 
 a pond, until it broke on the very edge of that vast audience . . 
 
 But see! what is this man about whom you despise? One by one 
 he is taking the screws out of the engine Avhich you have invented to 
 run your ship. Look! He holds them in his hands without niixing 
 them and shows the false construction of its secret parts. 
 
 For A))raham Lincoln dealt with abstruse questions in language so 
 limpid that many a farmer, dulled by toil, heard and understood and 
 marvelled. The simplicity of the Bible dwells in those speeches, and 
 they are now classics in our literature. And the wonder in Stephen's 
 mind was that this man — who could be a buffoon, whose speech was 
 coarse and whose person unkempt, could prove himself a tower of 
 morality and truth. That has troubled many another, before and 
 since the debate at Freeport. — Chukchill, The Crisis, Ch. v., Bk. ii. 
 
 VI. I append a few sentences to show how effective homely, 
 striking words may be made in the hands of a master. Com- 
 pare page 31. Let the pupil pick out the words that seem 
 thus unusually vigorous. 
 
 1. A valley tliat lay skulking between two hills. — Don Quixote. 
 
 2. The ship burrowed in the waves. — Ibsicn, Et Ririihreo. 
 
 3. They stoned the fellow wdth their silent eyes. — Ibsen, Per Gynt. 
 
 4. The mist enfolding us, as in a gloomy chamber— or, perha])s, if 
 the wind blew, falling suddenly apart, and showing us the gulf o/
 
 APPENDIX. 141 
 
 oome dark valley where the streams were crying aloud.— R. L. Ste- 
 venson, Kidnapped. 
 
 5. My fatlier heard and ran 
 In on the lists and the- "» unlaced my casque 
 
 And grovelled on my body. — Tennyson, The Princess. 
 
 6. On their curls 
 
 From the high tree the blossom wavering fell. 
 And over them the tremulous isles of light 
 Slided, they moving under shade. — lb. 
 
 7. But he that lay 
 Beside us, Cyril, battered as he was. 
 Trailed himself up on one knee. — i6. 
 
 8. A wall of night 
 Blots out the slope of sea from verge to floor 
 
 And sucks the blinding splendor from tlie sands. — lb. 
 
 9. O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls! Sometimes to see 
 'em, and not to see \.m; r<ow the ship boring the moon with her 
 main-mast, and anon swallowed with yeast and froth.— Sh-^kespk^re, 
 Tlie Winter's Tale. 
 
 10. Raised up his ha ^d; then the king of the Geats 
 Struck at the demon with his good sword; 
 But the edge turned and bit less strongly 
 Than its lord had need of. — Beowulf, 2577. 
 
 11. The arrowy under-tide 
 Shoots on and cleaves the marljle as it goes, 
 
 And strikes up palace walls on eitlier side, 
 And froths the cornice out in glittering rows. — E. B. Brown- 
 ing, Casa Guidi Windows. 
 
 12. The hand did not hold back from the blow 
 
 But the ring- wreathed sword sang on her helmet.— Beoundf, 
 1522.
 
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