Elementary Composition · Part 18

3. The mast broke with a loud report and the sail blew overboard in a breath. The two boys looked at each other with pale faces. "If this wind keeps up, it looks as though we never should get back to shore," said George, looking about him despairingly.

4. When Oliver Whiting realized that he had lived with the Indians for five years, it always surprised him. The time had slipped by very rapidly since that exciting night of the raid on the Puritan settlement, when he had been carried off from his master's house. He had really been happier in the lazy Indian life than in the busy, active, hard-working household of the Puritan farmer. As he lay on the grass one summer evening, listening to the river and watching the stars shine, he reflected that if he could, he would not choose to go away from his kindly Indian captors. A low call made him turn his head, and there, within a few feet of him, stood his old master, Fear-God Elliott.

5. "Run Johnnie, or the tree will strike you," shouted Mr. Edwards to his ten-year-old son, pushing him out of the way. The great tree came crashing down. The child was safe, but the man lay groaning with pain, both legs pinned down by the terrible, crushing weight.

"Johnnie, do you suppose you can find your way five miles to Neighbor Ashley's clearing?" said the man, compressing his pale lips to keep back a shriek of pain. "If you lose yourself, you'll starve to death and so shall I, but there's no other way to save us both."

6. Mary Ellen was thinking of nothing more exciting than her arithmetic lesson, as she looked absently through the open door into the long empty hall of the school building. What she saw there made her catch her breath in horror, but her presence of mind came instantly to her rescue. If she screamed "Fire! Fire!" there would be a panic. What could she do? All at once a bright idea struck her.

In beginning a story of your own, you should take any one of these beginnings as model. You will notice that each of them lets you know at once three main points--the principal character, the place of the action, and the general conditions. It is very important to do this, and, as you notice, these facts can be brought in without stating them definitely and tediously. For instance, the first story given might have begun, "Harry was an errand boy in a grocer's shop. He was poor and had to work hard all day, but he was ambitious, and kept up his studies in the evening. One night he went to sleep under the counter. When he woke up, he saw a tongue of flame darting up from the floor." Do you see how much better the first way of telling you all this about Harry is than the second?

77. The Ending.--The end of a story is also very important. It should contain the point. This is sometimes the explanation of the action, sometimes the summing up of the spirit of the tale, but in any case it is brief and lively.

Exercise 125--See if you can write the stories that go before the endings given below:--

1. I was trembling with terror as the apparition drew nearer, and little Pollie was shaking so she could hardly stand. All at once she burst out in a loud fit of laughter, pointing through the dusk at the white spirit of our fears. "Why, aren't we silly!" she cried. "It's no ghost at all,--only our own old white cow."

2. Pauline had just given up trying to control the maddened horse, when out of a house ahead of them dashed a man with a long rope. Coiling this, he threw it deftly around the horse's neck as it plunged by, and, instantly dropping it about a fence post, he brought the animal to a dead stop so quickly that Pauline was thrown out of the wagon. She was unhurt, however, and the man, who ran to pick her up, exclaimed when he saw who she was. "Well, perhaps you'll take my advice about horses the next time," he said laughingly.

3. I splashed wildly, I kicked up a tremendous foam with my feet, I panted and spluttered like a porpoise; but, looking over my shoulder, I saw I had passed the line of the old oak tree. The deed was done,--very badly it might be, but none the less actually the accomplishment was mine. I had learned to swim at last!

78. The Body.--You have now studied the beginning and the end of a story. The middle part is the easiest of all. You may have learned enough geometry to know that a straight line is the shortest distance between two points. A good story is the shortest distance between a good beginning and a good ending. By that you are not to understand actually the shortest statement you can make of the facts involved, but the shortest treatment of your theme which still slights none of the features necessary to make your ending most effective. Fix your mental eye on your ending, and write your story to make that most full of meaning. For instance, the first of the three endings given above would lose most of its value if you did not, in writing the story, describe the lonely house at twilight, the two dreadfully frightened children, and the shapeless white mass looming up through the dusk. Their relief at finding it to be only a cow is neither amusing nor even interesting unless you have shown by a lively description how terribly alarmed they were. In the same way the last ending must be preceded by a humorous account of the great difficulty a boy had in learning to swim. His joy at finding he could make a little headway is only of interest because it comes as a contrast to former discouragement.

Exercise 126.--Write a story suggested by any of the following titles or phrases:--

1. The first time I was badly frightened. 2. The thing I am proudest of having done. 3. My runaway. 4. How the bird's nest was saved from the snake. 5. When the elephant broke loose from the circus. 6. How the fox got the honeycomb away from the bear by saying it was bad for his health. 7. What I did when our house caught on fire. 8. How our cat got out of the barn when she was shut in. 9. Why I got to the train late. 10. How the children lost in the woods kept house in the cave. 11. What would happen if the statues in our school building could come to life. 12. If the pictures could come to life. 13. Christopher Columbus revisits America. 14. An interesting dream I once had. 15. At this, the Queen of the Fairies touched Hans with her wand. "Oh," he cried, "I'll never put off doing anything again." 16. The old sailor gave a little shiver of recollection. "Well, I hope you'll never be in such a place, sonny," he said to the little boy. 17. The poor old man looked at the kind young lady very intently. "Weren't you in Archester one summer?" he asked. "Why, you must be old Farmer Norton, to whom I owe such a lot of money," she cried. "I never could find you to pay it back."

CHAPTER XIII

EXPOSITION

79. General Principles.--There is perhaps no other form of composition which is so generally in use as exposition or explanation. If you observe your own conversation and that of the people about you, you will find that a great deal of it is explanation. Every time you say in answer to some question about a remark you have just made, "Why, I mean that--," you are explaining the first remark. In almost all the recitations you make in school you are explaining something--a principle in arithmetic, or in physics, the construction of something in manual training, the meaning of a word, etc. The object of your explanation is to make the person whom you address understand the nature of your subject. There are a number of devices for doing this, which will be treated in this chapter, but you are never to forget that your aim is simply to make some one clearly understand what was not plain to him before.

In description you were told that knowledge of your subject was the most necessary element. This is so true of exposition that only the briefest mention of that necessity is enough to show you its great importance. It might be possible to describe something and give a fair notion of it, without knowing it thoroughly yourself; but this is out of the question in explanation. If you do not entirely and completely understand what you are talking about, you certainly cannot explain it to any one else. One of the great advantages of writing explanations is that you are forced to think accurately as well as to express yourself clearly.

The next thing in explanation is a consideration of the people for whom you are writing. In the diary you write to yourself; in a letter you address one person, whom you usually know well; in narration and description, you write for persons about whom you can know very little. In exposition you come back again to a set of readers about whom you have some definite information. They may be different from each other in a great many ways, but in one respect they are alike--they do not understand the thing you are explaining, or at least they do not understand it as clearly as you do, for if they did, they would not be reading your exposition. This may appear self-evident, but it is a very important matter. You are apt to forget what should be constantly in your mind, that the entire value of your explanation lies in making something clear to a person who has not before understood it. In literary description your aim was to make your reader see the picture you saw. In exposition your aim is always and forever to make him understand, and no matter how well written, your explanation is a failure if he does not understand. You will often find it difficult to realize that some people know nothing whatever of some process or principle with which you are very familiar, and a good device is to imagine that you are addressing your explanation to a foreigner ignorant of our life, or to some one younger than you. Put yourself in the place of such a person, and see if your remarks are sufficiently clear and full to be a complete explanation.

There are two great divisions of exposition--the explanation of a material process or thing, and the explanation of an abstract idea. The first is very much easier and will be taken up first.

80. Explanation of a Material Process.--There is a strange resemblance between the explanation of a material process and telling a story. This will be made more clear by an example. A well-written cookbook, or manual of handwork, employs constantly this simplest, plainest form of exposition.

To broil a steak. Light the oven burners at least five minutes before the time for broiling. Allow twelve to fifteen minutes for a steak an inch and a half thick. When the rack and the pan are hot, place the steak on the rack and put it as near the flames as possible without having it touch. As soon as it is seared and brown on one side, turn, and sear and brown on the other. Now turn again. Remove the rack three or four slides down, but do not reduce the heat. Cook for five minutes. Turn the steak and broil for five minutes longer, and it is ready to season and serve.

You may not see any connection between these straightforward and plain instructions for broiling a steak and a story; but if you examine them, you will see that they are the story of the process, and that the explanation relates from first to last all the things that were done by some one who cooked a steak in exactly the right way. This resemblance is mentioned because it shows you that clear statement of events in their right order is as necessary in this sort of exposition as in story telling. Every one who writes good instructions for going through some process, either consciously or unconsciously imagines himself doing what he explains. In the above example, the writer has imagined herself broiling a steak, and has set down, step by step, everything she does. This is a very good plan to follow. You will find that it simplifies any difficulty in your mind, when you are a little confused as to what comes next, if you will ask yourself, "If I were actually doing this, what would be the very next thing I should do?"

Remember that your reader is ignorant of the process, and do not forget any details that must be cared for, or there will be a gap in your directions over which he cannot cross. Use the simplest, plainest terms possible, and do not fear to be too minute. You will have a tendency to forget some necessary instruction rather than to add one that is not needed.

It is often well to make a broad statement of general conditions first, before going on to detailed instructions. For instance, suppose you are writing to a boy who has always until now lived in the South, in order to tell him how to make a snow man. Before you begin to tell him about starting with a small ball and rolling it about till it grows large, you should say that he should try to make a snow man only when the snow is somewhat damp, for no matter how clear your instructions are, he can accomplish nothing by following them if the snow be dry and powdery.

Exercise 127.--Write an explanation of the following processes, as if to a person wholly ignorant of them:--

1. How to make a dam in a brook; to make a snow man; a snow fort (with blocks pressed into shape in boxes); to set up a tent; to irrigate a garden; to hang wall paper; to teach a pet animal tricks; to build a fire out of doors.

2. How to make cocoa, soup, bread, butter, cheese, cake, custard.

3. How to grow flowers indoors; in a hot bed. How to plant and grow lettuce, tomatoes, tobacco, corn, mushrooms, celery, nasturtiums, crocuses, potatoes.

4. How to harness a horse. How to get a trunk from your house to your cousin's in another town. How to develop an exposed photographic plate.

Probably you have been able to treat the subjects above directly from your own experience or observation. In the following subjects you will probably need to consult some books, but be careful not simply to repeat their language. Look up the subject, inform yourself of all necessary details of manufacture or use, and then write an exposition (as if to some one younger than yourself), explaining any terms that would be new to him and stating the facts in the simplest, plainest way.

Exercise 128.--Write as if in answer to any one of the following questions from a child:--

1. How are bricks made? paper? glass? ink? iron? steel? gold leaf? shingles? baseballs? hairbrushes? mirrors?

2. Why are fishhooks made in the form they are? saws? wheels?

3. Why does an ice house keep the ice from melting?

4. How does a water wheel work? a windmill? a well sweep? scissors? Why does a chimney "draw"? What makes popcorn pop?

Exercise 129.--I. Explain, with a diagram or drawing, the mechanism of the following objects. Letter or number the different parts of your diagram, and refer to them in that way. Plan your exposition as if trying to make the matter clear to a younger brother or sister.

A pump, lamp, candle, stove, furnace, cistern, switches on a railroad track, city waterworks, refrigerator, ice-cream freezer, silo, limekiln.

II. Explain how a book is bound; how a horse is harnessed; how windows are hung; what makes a window shade go up when you pull the string; how thread is spun and cloth woven; how grain is ground into flour; how salt is obtained.

III. Give instructions (using, if necessary, a lettered diagram): for making a snare for rabbits; a mouse trap; a bear trap; a mole trap; a box; a basket; a bow and arrow; a needlebook; a cover for a book; a kite; a baseball diamond; a tennis court; a doll's hat; a springboard; a picture frame; a toboggan slide; a hasty shelter of boughs for camping; a doll's dress (with pattern).

81. Explanation of Games.--One form of exposition which you have often used is the explanation of games and contests; and you have probably suffered from having other people give you imperfect and confused directions for playing a game unfamiliar to you, finding at some critical time in the contest that a detail or rule has been forgotten.

The following is an exposition of a game which will almost certainly be unfamiliar to you, but which is a great favorite in Spain:--

Pelota is an old Basque game, resembling hand ball, which of late years has come greatly into fashion in Spain. It is given over to professionals, and it is said that none can continue it more than three or four years, so severely does it tax the constitution.

Pelota is played in large glass-roofed buildings, one side of which is devoted in all its breadth to the asphalt court. The side wall of the court at Madrid is 175 feet long and the end walls are 50 feet broad and 40 feet high.

The wall fencing the players has a rib of metal along it, about a yard from the pavement, and another near the top, which limit of height is carried along the longitudinal wall opposite the spectators.

A ball is only in play when it hits the first wall between these lines or the long wall below the prescribed limit. The court is marked off by lines at regular distances of about four yards. The spaces from four to seven are important, for the ball when first played must drop from the wall between these two spaces.

The ball, which weighs about four ounces, is thrown from a basket-work gauntlet or cesta, with a leather glove attached for fastening to the hand, and during a game I have seen the ball sent with such terrific force that it has rebounded from the wall at one end of the court against that at the other. There are usually four players, two on each side, and the aim of the players is to cause the ball to rebound from the wall into so remote or unexpected a place in the court that it will be impossible for their opponents to reach it in time to return it again to the wall. The time that the ball is in play, that is, the time that both sides are successful in keeping the ball in motion, is called a "rally." There are frequently, between good players, rallies of sixteen strokes or more. During a match game of fifty up, the players will wear their shoes right through.

Pelota is popular in most Spanish towns and villages, and one frequently sees notices on church walls to the effect that it is forbidden to play pelota against them.--E. MAIN: Cities and Sights of Spain.