Elementary Composition · Part 17

We said farewell to our mules, and took the train again at Pombal, interesting chiefly from its association with the great eighteenth-century statesman of the same name. We look out from the railway carriage on level meadows, purple with vipers' bugloss, bordering the Mondego, and then across a bend of the river where it is broadest we see Coimbra, the Oxford of Portugal, an ancient and beautiful city, beautifully set on a hillside. Bare-headed, black-robed students fill the streets, and swarm in and out of the doors of the university. The streets are steep and narrow, and here and there are unexpected gardens and blossoming Judas trees.--LADY GREGORY: Through Portugal.

Exercise 119.--Write, either in letter form or as a composition, an account of any journey you have taken. It is better to select a small part of a trip, and describe that quite completely, than to try to cover a long journey. A day's excursion, if it is interesting, is enough as a rule for one exercise, although this is by no means an invariable rule.

The following subjects are given as suitable for travel compositions, or as suggesting others:--

1. Our trip to the county fair. 2. The journey I took the first time I saw the ocean. 3. How we go away for the summer: packing up, leaving the house, the journey with pet animals, etc., arrival. 4. A trip that should have been very short, but was made long by an accident. 5. How we go fishing, hunting, studying birds. 6. The trip to the greatest natural curiosity I ever saw; a cave; hanging cliff; waterfall, etc.

73. Descriptions of an Hour.--When you write an account of a journey, you are telling all the interesting events that occurred in your life on a certain day or days, or in a certain number of hours. Now you do not need to travel to have interesting things happen to you, and a lively and picturesque account of your doings for an afternoon or a morning may be extremely readable, although perhaps you did not stir from one room. You will be quite surprised to see how many things you do, or any one else does, in a short space of time.

The following passage from David Copperfield is an account of how an underdone leg of mutton was made palatable after it had come to the table. No subject could be simpler, and yet it is treated in so lively a way that it is very entertaining.

There was a gridiron in the pantry, on which my morning rasher of bacon was cooked. We had it in, in a twinkling, and immediately applied ourselves to carrying Mr. Micawber's idea into effect. The division of labor to which he had referred was this: Traddles cut the mutton into slices; Mr. Micawber (who could do anything of this sort to perfection) covered them with pepper, mustard, salt, and cayenne; I put them on the gridiron, turned them with a fork, and took them off, under Mr. Micawber's direction; and Mrs. Micawber heated, and continually stirred, some mushroom ketchup in a little saucepan. When we had slices enough to begin upon, we fell to, with our sleeves still tucked up at the wrists, more slices sputtering and blazing on the fire, and our attention divided between the mutton on our plates, and the mutton then preparing.

What with the novelty of this cookery, the excellence of it, the bustle of it, the frequent starting up to look after it, the frequent sitting down to dispose of it as the crisp slices came off the gridiron hot and hot, the being so busy, so flushed with the fire, so amused, and in the midst of such a tempting noise and savor, we reduced the leg of mutton to the bone. My own appetite came back miraculously. I am ashamed to record it, but I really believe I forgot Dora for a little while. Traddles laughed heartily almost the whole time, as he ate and worked. Indeed we all did, all at once; and I dare say there never was a greater success.

We were at the height of our enjoyment, and were all busily engaged, in our several departments, endeavoring to bring the last batch of slices to a state of perfection that should crown the feast, when I was aware of a strange presence in the room, and my eyes encountered those of the staid Littimer, standing hat in hand before me.--CHARLES DICKENS: David Copperfield.

Exercise 120.--I. Take a piece of paper and try to note down everything a baby of six or eight months does for a half an hour when he is wide awake and active. Or take similar notes of all that a two-year-old child does in an hour's play; or watch a kitten amuse itself, and try to write an account of it that will give your reader some idea of the gay frolics of the little animal. If you can find a colony of ants, their movements will give you good material for this sort of composition; or a pair of birds building a nest, or a crowd of little children playing.

II. In the same way, write on any of the following subjects:--

1. The story of a convalescent's afternoon. 2. The story of one day in house-cleaning time. 3. What we do on Sunday afternoon. 4. The first day at school after a vacation. 5. Our school picnic. 6. Two hours spent at a junction, waiting for a delayed train--how we amused ourselves. 7. The first time I ever rode horseback or tried to sail a boat. 8. The cook's last fifteen minutes before dinner is served. 9. An hour in a department store. 10. A visit to a flour mill, blacksmith shop, large bakery, candy factory, or any manufactory. 11. An afternoon spent just as I should like it best. 12. What a country boy does to amuse himself in two leisure hours; a city boy. 13. The hardest hour's work I ever did. 14. The hour on a farm spent in feeding the animals. 15. How we hurried to catch the morning train. 16. The half hour when I tried to amuse the baby.

CHAPTER XII

NARRATION (Continued)

74. Historical Stories.--In writing on the subjects given below, you are to try to make a complete story, including the dialogue between the principal characters, what descriptions of scenery or people or houses you think are needed to make your picture vivid and your persons real, and what explanation of conditions or surroundings are necessary to make the action intelligible.

Once upon a time a worthy merchant of London, named Gilbert à Becket, made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and was taken prisoner by a Saracen lord. This lord, who treated him kindly and not like a slave, had one fair daughter, who fell in love with the merchant; and who told him that she wanted to become a Christian, and was willing to marry him if they could fly to a Christian country. The merchant returned her love, until he found an opportunity to escape, when he did not trouble himself about the Saracen lady, but escaped with his servant Richard, who had been taken prisoner along with him, and arrived in England and forgot her. The Saracen lady, who was more loving than the merchant, left her father's house in disguise to follow him, and made her way, under many hardships, to the seashore. The merchant had taught her only two English words (for I suppose he must have learnt the Saracen tongue himself, and made love in that language), of which London was one, and his own name, Gilbert, the other. She went among the ships saying, "London! London!" over and over again, until the sailors understood that she wanted to find an English vessel that would carry her there; so they showed her such a ship, and she paid for her passage with some of her jewels, and sailed away. Well! The merchant was sitting in his counting house in London one day, when he heard a great noise in the street; and presently Richard came running in from the warehouse with his eyes wide open and his breath almost gone, saying, "Master, master, here is the Saracen lady!" The merchant thought Richard was mad; but Richard said, "No, master! As I live, the Saracen lady is going up and down the city, calling 'Gilbert! Gilbert!'" Then he took the merchant by the sleeve and pointed out a window; and there they saw her among the gables and waterspouts of the dark, dirty streets, in her foreign dress, so forlorn, surrounded by a wondering crowd, and passing slowly along, calling "Gilbert! Gilbert!" When the merchant saw her and thought of the tenderness she had shown him in his captivity, and of her constancy, his heart was moved, and he ran down into the street; and she saw him coming, and with a great cry fainted in his arms. They were married without loss of time, and Richard (who was an excellent man) danced with joy the whole day of the wedding; and they all lived happily ever afterward.

This merchant and the Saracen lady had one son, Thomas à Becket. He it was who became the favorite of King Henry the Second.--CHARLES DICKENS: A Child's History of England.

Read this over very carefully and note the construction of it. The first half is plain narration, such as you have employed in historical writing, in fables, etc., but the second half is embellished narration, or a report of facts that at the same time gives you a lifelike picture of how they took place. After telling you the first half of his story without description, or any attempt to make you see the scenes, Dickens gives you a complete and striking picture of the last part of the action. It is by no means always best to adopt this method in story telling, but in re-telling historical stories it is often a good plan, since frequently your reader needs a brief explanation of what the general conditions are before he can really understand the tale you wish to tell him. For instance, in writing the story of Robin Hood for a little boy, you would need to explain some of the conditions of England at that time, so that your reader would not think of him as a common thief and poacher.

Exercise 121.--Look up the facts about any of the following subjects, think them over, make the persons and scenes real to your own mind, and write as though trying to make the story clear, intelligible, interesting, and vivid to a boy or girl eight years old.

1. Robin Hood. 2. William Tell and his little son. 3. King Alfred and the cakes. 4. John Smith and Pocohontas. 5. The youth of Hannibal and his vow of revenge on the Romans. 6. Leonidas and the Spartans at Thermopylæ. 7. Nathan Hale's capture and death. 8. The Spanish Armada. 9. Guy Fawkes and his conspiracy. 10. The story of Marcus Curtius. 11. Dick Whittington.

All these subjects have been selected because they naturally suggest to your mind one vivid and dramatic picture toward the end, so that you can take as a model the story of Gilbert à Becket. After you have studied the facts of each story, see if a picture does not rise before you of the most exciting or characteristic moment of the action. Then try to make this picture real to your reader by the best and most spirited description you can write. Put yourself in the place of the persons of the incident you are relating, and try to see the scene and feel what naturally would move you.

Exercise 122.--Re-tell the following well-known stories, selecting two or three incidents for particularly detailed and careful treatment. Choose those that appeal to you as affording a good chance either for animated dialogue, which is an excellent means of making a scene lifelike, or for description which shall make the persons and action seem more real. Never put in any description for its own sake,--only so much as will help to interest your reader and make him feel and see the incidents of your story. In these stories, taken from well-known poems, be careful not to let yourself be influenced by the words of the poem. Think of the story as apart from its poetic expression, and write it in your own language.

1. Ulysses and the Cyclops. 2. Ulysses and the Sirens. 3. Ulysses's arrival at home. 4. Iphigenia. 5. The Pied Piper of Hamlin. 6. The story of the wooden horse in the siege of Troy. 7. Jason and the Golden Fleece. 8. The story of Pegasus and Bellerophon. 9. The One-Hoss Shay. 10. The Falcon. 11. John Gilpin's Ride. 12. Paul Revere's Ride. 13. Yussouf (James Russell Lowell). 14. Hervé Riel (Browning). 15. A story from the Bible, such as that of David and Goliath.

75. Fictitious Stories.--In writing on the subjects of the preceding lesson you have been using material furnished you by history or by poetry. The final step in story writing is often considered to be the invention of the material from which you weave your tale; but, as a matter of fact, few writers actually invent their material. What is usually meant by "invention" in story telling is power to see the story which lies in the events of every day. A small incident, if you interest yourself in it, will be of interest to a reader. Once when John Burroughs was fishing on a lake, a mouse ran up his oar into the boat, sat there for a few moments, and then swam back to shore. You could scarcely imagine a less exciting adventure, and yet see what a charming little narrative he has made of it, making you almost feel that you have held the gentle little creature in your hand, and arousing so much sympathy for it in your mind that you are genuinely glad to think it was able to return safely to land:--

I met one of these mice in my travels one day under peculiar conditions. He was on his travels also, and we met in the middle of a mountain lake. I was casting my fly there, when I saw, just sketched or etched upon the glassy surface, a delicate V-shaped figure, the point of which reached about to the middle of the lake, while the two sides, as they diverged, faded out toward the shore. I saw the point of this V was being slowly pushed across the lake. I drew near in my boat, and beheld a little mouse swimming vigorously for the opposite shore. His little legs appeared like swiftly revolving wheels beneath him. As I came near, he dived under the water to escape me, but came up again like a cork and just as quickly. It was laughable to see him repeatedly duck beneath the surface and pop back again in a twinkling. He could not keep under water more than a second or two. Presently I reached him my oar, when he ran up it and into the palm of my hand, where he sat for some time and arranged his fur and warmed himself. He did not show the slightest fear. It was probably the first time he had ever shaken hands with a human being. He had doubtless lived all his life in the woods, and was strangely unsophisticated. How his little round eyes did shine, and how he sniffed me to find out if I was more dangerous than I appeared to his sight!

After a while I put him down in the bottom of the boat and resumed my fishing. But it was not long before he became very restless, and evidently wanted to go about his business. He would climb up to the edge of the boat and peer down into the water. Finally he could brook the delay no longer and plunged boldly overboard; but he had either changed his mind or lost his reckoning, for he started back in the direction from which he had come, and the last I saw of him was a mere speck vanishing in the shadows near the shore.--JOHN BURROUGHS: Squirrels and Other Fur-Bearing Animals.

Exercise 123.--Following this model, tell any incident, either real or invented, suggested by the following subjects:--

1. Our cat and the dry leaves. 2. Our canary bird and the thunderstorm. 3. The butcher and the sick dog. 4. The tired street-car conductor and the lame man. 5. The mother and child and the little beggar. 6. How a horse got rid of his halter. 7. The hen and the duck eggs. 8. The elevator boy, the irritable man, and the soft answer. 9. The teacher's watch left in the class room and the janitor's little boy. 10. How I lost my belief in Santa Claus, in fairies. 11. A queer idea I had when I was younger,--e.g. that the North Pole is an actual pole sticking out from the ground, etc.

76. The Beginning.--The beginning of a story is a very important part of it, for the average reader will not go on with a story which does not interest him at once. It is therefore better, as a rule, to begin, not with an introduction, as in historical stories, but with some phrase or sentence that belongs in the action. Then, after you have caught your reader's attention, you can, in a later paragraph, give briefly what explanation is needed.

The beginnings of several excellent stories are given here to show you how they commence without any sort of introduction.

[Edgar Allan Poe's Descent into the Maelstrom.] "We had now reached the summit of the loftiest crag. For some minutes the old man seemed too much exhausted to speak."

[Octave Thanet's The Sheriff.] "Sheriff Wickliff leaned out of his office window, the better to watch the boy soldiers march down the street."

[Louisa M. Alcott's Jack and Jill.] "'Clear the track' was the general cry on a bright December afternoon, when all the boys and girls of Harmony Village were out enjoying the first good snow of the season."

Exercise 124.--Sometimes the beginning is so full of meaning that you can almost construct the whole story from it. See if you can finish the stories begun below:--

1. Waking up with a start, he was very much amazed to find himself under the counter and not at home in bed. A little moonlight coming in the grocery window showed him where he was, and he remembered that he had lain down for a moment's nap, just as the clerks were closing the doors. Probably no one had noticed the little errand boy, tired out with his long day's work and with a long evening before spent over his books. Suddenly he noticed that the room was growing lighter, and saw a little tongue of flame shoot up from the floor near him.

2. Jack pulled his hand out of his pocket with a cry of alarm. "Why I've lost my purse and my railway ticket home!" he said, "and I don't know a soul in the city. What shall I do!" As he spoke, he noticed a man step out of a store and try to put up the awning over the door. The rope caught on a nail, and without seeing what was the trouble the man jerked impatiently but uselessly. Jack had been brought up to help people out if he could. "I think I can do that," he said pleasantly, stepping forward. The man stopped and looked at him curiously.