Chapter IV: Part 4

But this sweet nestler of the spring hills is so secluded, half-covered with russet leaves, that you would not suspect its graces, did you not stoop to uncover the vine, to lift it up, and then you espy its secluded beauty.

If you smell it, at first it seems hardly to have an odor. But there steals out of it at length the finest, rarest scent, that rather cites desire than satisfies your sense. It is coy, without designing to be so, and its reserve plays upon the imagination far more than could a more positive way.

Without doubt there are intrinsic beauties in plants and flowers, and yet very much of pleasure depends upon their relations to the seasons, to the places where they grow, and to our own moods. No midsummer flower can produce the thrill that the earliest blossoms bring, which tell us that winter is gone, that growing days have come!—_Henry Ward Beecher._

EXERCISE.

1. Are all the essential or cardinal qualities of style illustrated in the foregoing extract? By what means does the author secure each of the qualities found in this composition?

2. What other qualities of style do you find in this selection? Give examples of each.

* * * * *

=LESSON LXXII.=

PROSE.

The chief varieties of prose composition are Letters, Narrations, Descriptions, and Expositions.

LETTERS.

Letters are of two kinds, =familiar letters= or =letters of friendship=, and =business letters=.

_Note._—_In letter-writing of all kinds, the style should be
simple, and the manner of expression natural. Neatness and
correctness are essential._

THE PARTS OF A LETTER.

The parts of a letter are the _heading_, the _address_, the _salutation_, the _body_, the _conclusion_, and the _signature_.

The _heading_ should show where and when the letter was written. It should include the _address of the writer in full_, and the _date_.

Every important part of the _heading_ should begin with a capital letter. Every abbreviated word should be followed by a period, and the parts of the heading should be separated by commas. A period should be placed at the close of the heading.

The _heading_ should be placed about an inch and a half from the top of the page, and should begin about the middle of the sheet. It may occupy a part of a line, or of two lines.

The _address_ shows to whom the letter is written and his place of residence. It may be placed at the beginning or at the close of a letter. In business letters the best place is at the beginning, and in familiar letters at the close. The address, when placed at the beginning of a letter, should begin near the left margin of the sheet and one inch below the last line of the heading. It should not occupy more than two lines.

The _salutation_ is the greeting with which we begin the letter. There is a variety of forms in keeping with our different relations. The most formal salutation is “Sir.” If our relations are somewhat familiar, we use “Dear Sir,” “My dear Sir,” “Dear Mr. Williams,” etc. In addressing a business firm the salutation is “Gentlemen.”

The _body_ of a letter begins one space below the salutation, and just where the salutation closes. A margin of one-half inch, at least, should be left on the left-hand side of the sheet. Each succeeding paragraph should begin in line with the first word of the first paragraph.

The _conclusion_ consists of the complimentary close and follows the body of the letter. It depends upon the relation of the persons. The closing words in business letters are:—_Yours truly_, _Yours respectfully_, _Very truly yours_, etc. The closing words in letters of friendship are:—_Yours sincerely_, _Your loving friend_, _Your affectionate niece_, etc.

The _signature_ follows the complimentary close, in the next space and to the right. It should end at the right-hand side of the sheet.

* * * * *

A FAMILIAR OR SOCIAL LETTER.

Text of illustration FAMILIAR Letter:

14 Grosvenor S^t., Toronto, July 26, 1900.

Dear Uncle:—

I received your kind letter on the 20^{th} inst. I thank you very much for the gold pen you sent me by the same mail. I am writing this letter with it, and like it well. I shall always think of you when I use it.

I listened to a lecture in Massey Music Hall last night on New Ontario. This name is now given to Northern Ontario which comprises the districts of Nipissing, Algoma, Thunder Bay and Rainy River. The lecturer told us about the fertile soil, valuable forests and great mineral wealth of that part of our province. He described the large pulp mill at Sault Ste. Marie, the extensive nickel deposits near Sudbury and the rich gold mines in the vicinity of Rat Portage. There are millions of acres of good lands which can be had free.

Let me tell you about a book I have been reading. It is entitled “What One Boy Did.” When the hero of the story was quite young, his father died and his mother was not able to keep him at school. The boy was determined to have an education, and every evening, after his day’s work, he applied himself to his studies. After a few years he was able to attend college, and later in life he became a professor in a university.

We all send our kindest regards to you and Aunt.

Your loving nephew, Henry M. Turner.

* * * * *

INVITATION.

Text of illustration INVITATION:

Mr. and Mrs. James Smith request the pleasure of your company at dinner on Wednesday evening, June 21^{St.} at seven o’clock. 124 Perth St.

* * * * *

ACCEPTANCE.

Text of illustration ACCEPTANCE:

Mr. H. M. Reid accepts with pleasure the kind invitation of Mr. and Mrs. James Smith to dinner at seven o’clock, Wednesday evening, June 21^{st.}

* * * * *

REGRET.

Text of illustration REGRET:

Miss Mary Brown regrets her inability, on account of a previous engagement, to accept the very kind invitation of Mr. and Mrs. James Smith for Wednesday evening, June 21^{st.}

* * * * *

APPLICATION FOR A SITUATION.

Text of illustration APPLICATION FOR A SITUATION:

Brampton, July 20, 1900.

Messrs. Brown and Hogan, Toronto.

Gentlemen:—

In reply to your advertisement in to-day’s “Globe” for an office assistant, I beg to offer my services.

I was in the employ of the firm of Messrs. Liman, Henry and Co. of this town until May last, when they sold out. I had the second position in their office, where I had considerable experience in book-keeping and correspondence. I enclose a copy of a testimonial from my former employers, and shall await with interest your reply.

Yours respectfully, R. W. King.

* * * * *

LETTER ORDERING GOODS.

Text of illustration LETTER ORDERING GOODS:

JAMES HOPE & SONS, Booksellers and Stationers.

Ottawa, July 5, 1901.

The Hunter, Rose Co., Ltd. Toronto.

Dear Sir:—

Please send us by Canadian Express, at earliest possible date the following books—

12 High School Reader.
24 M^{c}Kay’s Euclid Books 1-3.
30 Swiss Family Robinson.
12 High School Arithmetic.

We thank you for the promptness with which you filled our former orders. Enclose bill at your lowest rate.

Yours very truly, James Hope & Sons.

* * * * *

_Note._—Fold a _letter-sheet_ from the bottom forward, bringing
the lower edge to the top, and then break the fold. Next fold
twice the other way, beginning at the left edge. Measure these
folds so as to fit the envelope. Fold a _note-sheet_ twice, from
the bottom forward. If the envelope is nearly square, a single
fold of the note-sheet is sufficient.

* * * * *

ENVELOPE ADDRESSES.

Text of illustration ENVELOPE ADDRESSES:

—-----------------------------------------
| | |
| | |
|-----------------------------------------|
| |
| |
| The Hunter, Rose Co., Limited, |
| Temple Building, |
| Toronto, |
| Ont. |
-------------------------------------------

-------------------------------------------
| | |
| | |
|-----------------------------------------|
| |
| |
| Miss Annie M. Lawson, |
| 104 Lansdowne Ave., |
| Hamilton, |
| Ont. |
-------------------------------------------

_Note._—In social correspondence, the envelopes and paper
should be white and plain. Always use black ink.

EXERCISE.

1. Write a social letter to a friend, describing a holiday that you have had.

2. You are clerking for a bookseller. Write a letter to a publisher, ordering a stock of books.

3. Write an invitation to a friend to attend your birthday party.

4. You have been absent from school for some days. Write your teacher a note of explanation.

* * * * *

=LESSON LXXIII.=

NARRATION.

A detailed account of incidents, real or imaginary, is called =narration=.

Narrations of fact include _history_, _biography_, and _travels_. Narrations of imaginary incidents are called _fiction_ or _stories_.

THE LEADING PRINCIPLES OF NARRATION.

1. The order in which the events occurred must be followed.

2. Every event must grow out of a preceding one.

3. When possible, the whole narration should centre in one principal event.

4. When there is more than one important event, one is brought up to a certain point, then dropped until the others reach this particular place in the narrative.

5. The scene and the actors should seldom change, and never without intimation.

6. Only the prominent points are related, the reader will infer the rest.

MODELS.

=Personal Incidents.=

I. JAMES BARRY AND EDMUND BURKE.

The father of James Barry, the Irish painter, was a sailor, who was disgusted with his idle, dreamy, good-for-nothing son. His mother perceived his natural ability, but tried to dissuade him from study for the sake of his health. He had therefore to prosecute his art studies in the face of the greatest difficulties. At length, while yet a boy, he ventured to send to a public exhibition in Dublin his first matured production—“St. Patrick’s Arrival on the Coast of Cashel.”

When the exhibition opened, Barry with beating heart entered it with the crowd. To his infinite delight, it quickly gathered around his picture, and murmurs of approval arose on every side. Suddenly the throng made way for one whose judgment none might dispute—the orator, statesman, and philosopher, Edmund Burke. Having examined the composition closely, he praised it warmly, ungrudgingly. “_Who_ is the painter?” he asked; “_Where_ is he?”

Then the unknown stranger, the ill-dressed, pallid little boy, could contain his fierce delight no longer. “I am the painter!” he exclaimed from amid the crowd. “You, a boy; impossible!” was the reply from many lips. But when Edmund Burke advanced to congratulate him, he was overpowered. He burst into a sudden gush of tears, covered his face with his hands, and rushed from the room.—_Royal School Series._

II. JENNY LIND AND THE QUEEN.

There is a pretty story told of Queen Victoria and Jenny Lind. It belongs to the year 1848, and shows how the modesty of two women—the Queen of England, and the Queen of song—made a momentary awkwardness which the gentle tact of the singer overcame.

It was on a night when Jenny Lind was to sing at her Majesty’s Theatre that the Queen made her first appearance after the memorable Chartist day. For the great artist, too, this was a first appearance, for it was the beginning of her season at a place where the year before she had won unparalleled fame.

It happened that the Queen entered the royal box at the same moment that the prima donna stepped upon the stage. Instantly a tumult of acclamation burst from every corner of the theatre. Jenny Lind modestly retired to the back of the stage, waiting till the demonstration of loyalty to the sovereign should subside.

The Queen, refusing to appropriate to herself that which she imagined to be intended for the artist, made no acknowledgment. The cheering continued, increased, grew overwhelming, and still there was no acknowledgment, either from the stage or the royal box.

At length, when the situation became embarrassing, Jenny Lind, with ready tact, ran forward to the footlights and sang “God Save the Queen,” which was caught up at the end of the solo by the orchestra, chorus and audience. The Queen then came to the front of her box and bowed, and the opera was resumed.—_Youth’s Companion._

EXERCISE I.

Examine carefully the construction of the foregoing incidents. How far do they illustrate the principles of narration?

EXERCISE II.

Write a composition of about six paragraphs on one of the following subjects:—

1. Our Sunday School Picnic.
2. A Visit to Niagara Falls.
3. Learning to Swim.
4. A Snow-balling Match.
5. A Drowning Accident.
6. On the Way Home from School.
7. A Sail Down the St. Lawrence.
8. A Scene in School.
9. A Fishing Excursion.
10. An Apple-Bee.

_Note._—Before writing, make an analysis of your subject, and
draw up a plan showing the chief topics of your composition,
arranged in natural order.

A plan for the first subject:—

OUR SUNDAY SCHOOL PICNIC.

=Introduction.= {Time and place of picnic.

{The journey to the appointed place.
{The arrival.
=The Story.= {The amusements.
{How lunch was served.
{The return home.

=Conclusion.= {Pleasure derived from the outing.

* * * * *

=Historical Narratives.=

I. THE LANDING OF COLUMBUS.

It was on Friday morning, the 12th of October, that Columbus first beheld the new world. As the day dawned he saw before him a level island, several leagues in extent, and covered with trees like a continuous orchard. Though apparently uncultivated, it was populous; for the inhabitants were seen issuing from all parts of the woods and running to the shore. As they stood gazing at the ships, they seemed by their attitudes and gestures to be lost in astonishment. Columbus made signal for the ships to cast anchor, and the boats to be manned and armed. He entered his own boat, richly attired in scarlet, and holding the royal standard; two other boats followed with the captains and other officers, each with a banner of the enterprise emblazoned with a green cross, having on either side the letters F. and Y., the initials of the Castilian monarchs Ferdinand and Ysabel, surmounted by crowns.

As he approached the shore, Columbus, who was disposed for all kinds of agreeable impressions, was delighted with the purity and suavity of the atmosphere, the crystal transparency of the sea, and the extraordinary beauty of the vegetation. He beheld, also, fruits of an unknown kind upon the trees which overhung the shores. On landing, he threw himself on his knees, kissed the earth, and returned thanks to God with tears of joy. His example was followed by the rest, whose hearts, indeed, over-flowed with the same feelings of gratitude. Columbus then rising, drew his sword, displayed the royal standard, and assembling around him the two captains, with the rest who had landed, he took solemn possession in the name of the Castilian sovereigns, giving the island the name of San Salvador.—_Washington Irving._

II. THE TAKING OF EDINBURGH CASTLE.

While Robert Bruce was gradually getting possession of the country, and driving out the English, Edinburgh, the principal town of Scotland, remained with its strong castle in possession of the invaders. Sir Thomas Randolph, a nephew of Bruce, and one of his best supporters, was extremely desirous to obtain this important place; but, as you well know, the castle is situated on a very steep and lofty rock, so that it is difficult, or almost impossible, even to get up to the foot of the walls, much more to climb over them. So, while Randolph was considering what was to be done, there came to him a Scottish gentleman named Francis, who had joined Bruce’s standard, and asked to speak with him in private. He then told Randolph that, in his youth he had lived in the Castle of Edinburgh, and that his father had then been keeper of the fortress. It happened at that time that Francis was much in love with a lady who lived in a part of the town below the castle, which is called the Grassmarket. Now, as he could not get out of the castle by day to see the lady, he had practised a way of clambering by night down the castle crag on the south side, and returning up at his pleasure; when he came to the foot of the wall he made use of a ladder to get over it, as it was not very high on that point, those who built it having trusted to the steepness of the crag. Francis had come and gone so frequently in this dangerous manner that, though it was now long ago, he told Randolph that he knew the road so well that he would undertake to guide a small party of men by night to the bottom of the wall, and as they might bring ladders with them, there would be no difficulty in scaling it. The great risk was that of being discovered by the watchmen while in the act of ascending the cliff, in which case every man of them must have perished.

Nevertheless, Randolph did not hesitate to attempt the adventure. He took with him only thirty men (you may be sure they were chosen for activity and courage), and came one dark night to the foot of the crag, which they began to ascend under the guidance of Francis, who went before them on his hands and feet, up one cliff, down another, and round another, where there was scarce room to support themselves. All the while these thirty men were obliged to follow in a line, one after the other, by a path that was fitter for a cat than a man. The noise of a stone falling, or a word spoken from one to another, would have alarmed the watchman. They were obliged, therefore, to move with the greatest precaution. When they were far up the crag, and near the foundation of the wall, they heard the guards going their rounds to see that all was safe in and about the castle. Randolph and his party had nothing for it but to lie close and quiet, each man under the crag as he happened to be placed, and trust that the guards would pass by without noticing them. And while they were waiting in breathless alarm, they got a new cause of fright. One of the soldiers of the castle, wishing to startle his comrade, suddenly threw a stone from the wall and cried out, “Aha, I see you well!” The stone came thundering down over the heads of Randolph and his men, who naturally thought themselves discovered. If they had stirred or made the slightest noise they would have been entirely destroyed, for the soldiers above might have killed every man of them merely by rolling down stones. But being courageous and chosen men, they remained quiet, and the English soldiers, who thought their comrade was merely playing them a trick (as, indeed, he was), passed on without further examination.

Then Randolph and his men got up, and came in haste to the foot of the wall, which was not above twice a man’s height in that place. They planted the ladders they had brought, and Francis mounted first to show them the way. Sir Andrew Grey, a brave knight followed him, and Randolph himself was the third man who got over. Then the rest followed. When once they were within the walls there was not much to do, for the garrison were asleep and unarmed, excepting the watch, who were speedily destroyed. Thus was Edinburgh Castle taken in the year 1313.—_Scott’s Tales of a Grandfather._

EXERCISE I.

Make an analysis of the foregoing extracts. What principles of narration are illustrated in each?

EXERCISE II.

Write a composition of five or six paragraphs on one of the following subjects:—

1. The Discovery of America.
2. The Massacre of Glencoe.
3. The Death of Sir Isaac Brock.
4. The Capture of Quebec.
5. Laura Secord’s Brave Deed.
6. The Taking of Detroit.
7. The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers.
8. The Relief of Ladysmith.
9. The Canadian Rebellion (1837).
10. The Invasion of Russia by Napoleon.

A plan for the first subject:—

=Introduction.= { Columbus and party set sail; time; place.

{ Incidents of the voyage.
{ The sighting of land.
=The Story.= { The landing.
{ The natives; appearance and actions.
{ What the Spaniards saw.

=Conclusion.= { How Europe received the news.

* * * * *

=Stories.=

I. CORNELIA’S JEWELS.

It was a bright morning in the old city of Rome many hundred years ago. In a vine-covered summer-house in a beautiful garden, two boys were standing. They were looking at their mother and her friend, who were walking among the flowers and trees.

“Did you ever see so handsome a lady as our mother’s friend?” asked the younger boy, holding his tall brother’s hand. “She looks like a queen.”

“Yet she is not so beautiful as our mother,” said the elder boy. “She has a fine dress, it is true; but her face is not noble and kind. It is our mother who is like a queen.”

“That is true,” said the other. “There is no woman in Rome so much like a queen as our own dear mother.”

Soon Cornelia, their mother, came down the walk to speak with them. She was simply dressed in a plain white robe. Her arms and feet were bare, as was the custom in those days; and no rings nor chains glittered about her hands and neck. For her only crown, long braids of soft brown hair were coiled about her head; and a tender smile lit up her noble face as she looked into her sons’ proud eyes.

“Boys,” she said, “I have something to tell you.”

They bowed before her, as Roman lads were taught to do, and said, “What is it, mother?”

“You are to dine with us to-day, here in the garden; and then our friend is going to show us that wonderful casket of jewels of which you have heard so much.”

The brothers looked slyly at their mother’s friend. Was it possible that she had still other rings besides those on her fingers? Could she have other gems besides those which sparkled in the chains about her neck?

When the simple outdoor meal was over a servant brought the casket from the house. The lady opened it. Ah, how those jewels dazzled the eyes of the wondering boys! There were ropes of pearls, white as milk, and smooth as satin; heaps of shining rubies, red as the glowing coals; sapphires as blue as the sky that summer day; and diamonds that flashed and sparkled like the sunlight.

The brothers looked long at the gems.

“Ah!” whispered the younger, “if our mother could only have such beautiful things!”

At last, however, the casket was closed and carried carefully away.

“Is it true, Cornelia, that you have no jewels?” asked her friend. “Is it true, as I have heard it whispered, that you are poor?”

“No, I am not poor,” answered Cornelia, and as she spoke she drew her two boys to her side; “for here are my jewels. They are worth more than all your gems.”

I am sure that the boys never forgot their mother’s pride and love and care; and in after years, when they had become great men at Rome, they often thought of this scene in the garden. And the world still likes to hear the story of Cornelia’s jewels.—_Fifty Famous Stories._

II. NEW YEAR’S EVE.

It was New Year’s Eve. An aged man was standing by a window. He raised his mournful eyes towards the deep blue sky, where the stars were floating like white lilies on the surface of a clear calm lake. Then he cast them on the earth where few more hopeless beings than himself now moved towards their certain goal—the tomb.

Already he had passed sixty of the stages which lead to it, and had brought from his journey nothing but errors and remorse. His health was destroyed, his mind vacant, his heart sorrowful, and his old age devoid of comfort.

The days of his youth rose up in a vision before him, and he recalled the solemn moment when his father had placed him at the entrance of two roads—one leading into a peaceful, sunny land, covered with a fertile harvest, and resounding with soft, sweet songs; _the other_ leading the wanderer into a deep, dark cave, whence there was no issue, where poison flowed instead of water, and where serpents hissed and crawled.

He looked toward the sky, and cried out in his agony:—“O youth, return! O, my father, place me once more at the entrance to life, that I may choose the better way!” But the days of his youth, and his father, had both passed away.

He saw wandering lights float away over dark marshes and then disappear. These were like the days of his wasted life. He saw a star fall from heaven and vanish in darkness. This was an emblem of himself; and the sharp arrows of unavailing remorse struck home to his heart. Then he remembered his early companions who entered on life with him, but who, having trod the paths of virtue and of labor, were now honored and happy on this New Year’s Eve.

In the midst of these thoughts, there sounded suddenly from the church-tower the music of the New Year, like distant holy hymnings. The tones falling on his ear recalled his parents’ early love for him, their erring son; the lessons they had taught him; the prayers they had offered up on his behalf. Over-whelmed with shame and grief he dared no longer look toward that heaven where his father dwelt; his darkened eyes dropped tears, and with one despairing effort he cried aloud, “Come back, my early days, come back!”

And his youth _did_ return, for all this was but a dream which visited his slumbers on New Year’s Eve. He was still young, his faults alone were real. He thanked God fervently that time was still his own, that he had not yet entered the deep, dark cavern, but that he was free to tread the road leading to the peaceful land where sunny harvests wave.

Ye who still are young, lingering on the threshold of life doubting which fate to choose, remember that when years are passed and your feet stumble on the dark mountains, you will cry bitterly, but cry in vain, “O youth, return! O, give me back my early days!”—_Jean Paul Richter._

EXERCISE I.

Make an outline for a story which you have heard and reproduce it.

_Note._—In connection with this exercise the teacher is advised
to make use of the following books: Fifty Famous Stories
(American Book Co.), Hawthorne’s Twice Told Tales, Lamb’s Tales
from Shakespeare, and Stories from Canadian History by T. G.
Marquis and Miss Machar.

EXERCISE II.

Write a story on one of the following themes:—

1. The History of a Kite.
2. The Biography of a Pen.
3. How Harry Won the Prize.
4. The Autobiography of a Bicycle.
5. Lost in the Woods.
6. The Story of a Newsboy.
7. How Ben Earned a Jack-knife.
8. The History of a Cent.

_Note._—A story may or may not be true, but it must be
pleasing. All the incidents of the story should lead up to a
final event.

* * * * *

=LESSON LXXIV.=

DESCRIPTION.

Composition that presents a picture of an object or a place is called =description=.

The three classes of objects that we most frequently desire to describe are (1) material objects, as buildings, (2) natural scenery, and (3) persons.

THE LEADING PRINCIPLES OF DESCRIPTION.

1. A general plan of the whole should be included with the enumeration of the parts. The form and magnitude of objects often furnish this plan.

2. The object or scene should be described from the most favorable point of view.

3. The most striking and interesting features should be selected and arranged so that they will easily combine into a whole. _Aim to give the reader a distinct and vivid picture of the subject._

=MODELS.=

I. THE POND IN THE WOOD.

As soon as you get inside the belt of wood, and begin to go down to the pond, the damp, and the dusk, and the scent of the dead leaves make you feel as if you were in a very old church. Plenty of wake-robin also grows in the wood, with its leaves like spotted spearheads, and its stumpy red and purple pencils wrapped up in faded green satin (“lords and ladies,” I think we used to call them when I was a youngster). The sweet flag grows all about the pond, and in it too. The corn-flag brightens up its banks with great yellow flowers; and the iris nods its purple blossoms on them, looking a great deal nicer than it smells. Big tangled sheaves of bright green forget-me-not, dotted with tiny stars of blue and gold, bulge over and into, and straggle along, the water. A great part of the pond is choked and carpeted with crow-silk and water-flannel, and moor-ball, spangled with glassy air-bubbles and bright-backed little beetles. White water-lilies, and yellow water-lilies spread a splendid service of china and gold on glossy green table-cloths, for the water-fairies to take supper off by moonlight; and yet, for all that, the great pond is a melancholy place. Big fish mope motionless in its corners, as if they had something on their minds. Little fish leap through its duck-weed, almost covered with the green scum, not as if they did it for the fun of the jump and splash, but to keep for a moment out of the jaws of the shark-like pike that is waiting for them. The pond’s great pike—it has only one, according to village report—is said to have dragged into its waters a dog that came to lap them. No one ever bathes in the pond. Steel-blue dragon-flies zig-zag over the water on their gauzy wings, and two or three kingfishers flash backwards and forwards across it like streaks of variegated lightning.—_Anon._

II. SUNSET ON DERWENTWATER.

Then we went down to Derwentwater. It was a warm and clear twilight. Between the dark green lines of the hedges we met maidens in white, with scarlet opera cloaks, coming home through the narrow lane. Then we got into the open, and found the shores of the silver lake, and got into a boat and sailed out upon the still waters, so that we could face the wonders of a brilliant sunset.

But all that glow of red and yellow in the north-west was as nothing to the strange gradations of colour that appeared along the splendid range of mountain-peaks beyond the lake. From the remote north round to the south-east they stretched like a mighty wall; and whereas, near the gold and crimson of the sunset they were of a warm, roseate, and half-transparent purple, as they came along into the darker regions of the twilight they grew more and more cold in hue and harsh in outline. Up there in the north they had caught the magic colors, so that they themselves seemed but light clouds of beautiful vapor; but, as the eye followed the line of twisted and mighty shapes, the rose color deepened into purple, the purple grew darker and more dark, and greens and blues began to appear over the wooded islands and shores of Derwentwater. Finally, away down there in the south, there was a lowering sky, into which rose wild masses of slate-colored mountains, and in the threatening and yet clear darkness that reigned among these solitudes we could see but one small tuft of white cloud that clung coldly to the gloomy summit of Glaramara.

That strange darkness in the south boded rain; and, as if in anticipation of the wet, the fires of the sunset went down, and a gray twilight fell over the land. As we walked home between the tall hedges, there was a chill dampness in the air; and we seemed to know that we had at last bade good-bye to the beautiful weather that had lit up for us the blue water and green shores of Grasmere.—_William Black._

EXERCISE I.

Examine each of these selections for the leading principles of description.

EXERCISE II.

Describe the scene in a picture hanging in your school-room, or an incident that it suggests.

EXERCISE III.

Write a description of one of the following:—

1. Sunrise at Sea.
2. Evening.
3. A Wet Day in the Country.
4. The Phases of the Sky.
5. A Waterfall.
6. A Moonlight Scene.
7. Night.
8. A Snowstorm.
9. A Scene in Autumn.
10. An Inland Lake.

A plan for the first subject:—

=Introduction.= {The occasion, vessel, party, arrangements the night
before.

{Coming on deck next morning.
{Sky and water before dawn.
=Details.= {Indications that the eye of day is coming.
{The sun appears.
{Sky and water afterwards.

=Conclusion.= {General effect of scene.

=MODELS=—(Continued).

III. SLEEPY HOLLOW.

Not far from this village, perhaps about two miles, there is a little valley, or rather lap of land, among high hills, which is one of the quietest places in the whole world. A small brook glides through it, with just murmur enough to lull one to repose; and the occasional whistle of a quail or tapping of a woodpecker is almost the only sound that ever breaks in upon the uniform tranquillity.

I recollect that, when a stripling, my first exploit in squirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall walnut-trees that shades one side of the valley. I had wandered into it at noon-time, when all nature is peculiarly quiet, and was startled by the roar of my own gun, as it broke the Sabbath stillness around, and was prolonged and reverberated by the angry echoes. If ever I should wish for a retreat, whither I might steal from the world and its distractions, and dream quietly away the remnant of a troubled life, I know of none more promising than this little valley.

From the listless repose of the place, and the peculiar character of its inhabitants, who are descendants from the original Dutch settlers, this sequestered glen has long been known by the name of Sleepy Hollow; and its rustic lads are called the Sleepy Hollow boys throughout all the neighboring country. A drowsy, dreamy influence seems to hang over the land, and to pervade the very atmosphere.

Certain it is that the place still continues under the sway of some witching power, that holds a spell over the minds of the good people, causing them to walk in a continual reverie. They are given to all kinds of marvellous beliefs; are subject to trances and visions; and frequently see strange sights, and hear music and voices in the air. The whole neighborhood abounds with local tales, haunted spots, and twilight superstitions. Stars shoot and meteors glare oftener across the valley than in any other part of the country; and the nightmare, with her whole ninefold, seems to make it the favorite scene of her gambols.

It is remarkable that the visionary propensity I have mentioned is not confined to the native inhabitants of the valley, but is unconsciously imbibed by everyone who resides there for a time. However wide awake they may have been before they entered that sleepy region, they are sure, in a little time, to inhale the witching influence of the air, and begin to grow imaginative—to dream dreams, and see apparitions.—_Washington Irving._

IV. VIEW OF LISBON.

Lisbon, like ancient Rome, is built on at least seven hills. It is fitted by situation to be one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Seated, or rather enthroned, on such a spot, commanding a magnificent harbor, and overlooking one of the noblest rivers of Europe, it might be more distinguished for external beauty than Athens in the days of her freedom. Now, it seems rather to be the theatre in which the two great powers of deformity and loveliness are perpetually struggling for the mastery. The highest admiration and the most sickening disgust alternately prevail in the mind of the beholder. Never was there so strange an intermixture of the mighty and the mean—of the pride of wealth and the abjectness of poverty—of the memorials of greatness and the symbols of low misery—of the filthy and the romantic. I will dwell, however, on the fair side of the picture; as I envy not those who delight in exhibiting the frightful or the gloomy in the moral or natural world. Often after traversing dark and wretched streets, at a sudden turn, a prospect of inimitable beauty bursts on the eye of the spectator. He finds himself, perhaps, on the brink of a mighty hollow, scooped out by nature amidst hills, all covered to the top with edifices, save where groves of the freshest verdure are interspersed; or on one side a mountain rises into a cone far above the city, tufted with woods, and crowned with some castellated pile, the work of other days. The views fronting the Tagus are still more extensive and grand. On one of these I stumbled a few evenings after my arrival, which almost suspended the breath with wonder. I had labored through a steep and narrow street almost choked with dirt, when a small avenue on one side, apparently more open, tempted me to step aside to breathe the fresher air. I found myself on a little plot of ground, hanging apparently in the air, in the front of one of the churches. I stood against the column of the portico absorbed in delight and wonder. Before me lay a large portion of the city—houses descended beneath houses, sinking almost precipitously to a fearful depth beneath me, whose frameworks, covered over with vines of delicate green, broke the ascent like prodigious steps, by which a giant might scale the eminence. The same “wilderness of buildings” filled up the vast hollow, and rose by a more easy slope to the top of the opposite hills, which were crowned with turrets, domes, mansions, and regal pavilions of a dazzling whiteness. Beyond the Tagus, on the southern shore, the coast rose into wild and barren hills, wearing an aspect of the roughest sublimity and grandeur, and in the midst, occupying the bosom of the great vale, between the glorious city and the unknown wilds, lay the calm and majestic river, from two to three miles in width, seen with the utmost distinctness to its mouth, on each of which the two castles which guard it were visible, and spread over with a thousand ships—onward, yet further, far as the eye could reach, the living ocean was glistening, and ships, like specks of purest white, were seen crossing it to and fro, giving to the scene an imaginary extension, by carrying the mind with them to far distant shores. It was the time of sunset, and clouds of the richest saffron rested on the bosom of the air, and were reflected in softer tints in the waters. Not a whisper reached the ear. “The holy time was quiet as a nun breathless with adoration.” The scene looked like some vision of blissful enchantment, and I scarcely dared to stir or breathe lest it should vanish away.—_Talfourd._

V. PEN-PICTURE OF THE SCENE AT ST. PAUL’S CATHEDRAL.

JUNE 22nd, 1897.

Riding three-and-three, came a kaleidoscope of dazzling horsemen, equerries, aides-de-camp, attaches, ambassadors and princes, all the pomp of all the nations of the earth—scarlet and gold, azure and gold, purple and gold, emerald and gold, white and gold—always a changing tumult of colors that seemed to live and gleam with a light of their own. It was enough. No eye could bear more gorgeousness. No more gorgeousness could there be, unless princes are to clothe themselves in rainbows and the very sun.

The prelude was played, and now the great moment was at hand. Already carriages were rolling up full of the Queen’s kindred, full of her children and children’s children, but we hardly looked at them. Down there, through an avenue of eager faces, through a storm of white, waving handkerchiefs, through roaring volleys of cheers, there was approaching a carriage drawn by eight cream-colored horses. The roar surged up the street, keeping pace with the eight horses. The carriage passed the barrier; it entered the churchyard; it wheeled left and then right. It drove up to the very steps of the Cathedral.

We all leaped up. Cheers broke into screams, and the enthusiasm swelled to delirium. The sun, watery until now, shone out suddenly, clear and dry, and there was a little, plain, flushed old lady, all in black, with a silver streak under her black bonnet, and with a simple white sunshade, sitting quite still, with the corners of her mouth drawn tight, as if she was trying not to cry; but that old lady was the Queen and you knew it. You did not want to look at the glittering uniforms now, nor yet at the bright gowns and young faces in the carriages, nor yet at the stately princes, though by now all these were ranged in a half-circle round her. You could not look at anybody but the Queen, so very quiet, so very grave, so very punctual, and so unmistakably every inch a lady and a Queen.

It was almost pathetic, if you will, that small, black figure, in the middle of these shining cavaliers, this great army, this roaring multitude, but it was also very glorious. When other kings of the world drive abroad, an escort rides close at the wheels of their carriages. The Queen drove through her people quite plain and open, with just one soldier at the curbstone between her and them. Why not? They are quite free. They have no cause to fear her. They have much cause to love her. Was it not all for her; gala trappings of the streets, men, horses, guns and the living walls of British men and women? for the Queen summed up all that had gone before—all the soldiers and sailors, the big-limbed colonials, and the strange men from unheard-of islands over the sea. We know now what that which had come before all stood for. We know as we had never known before what the Queen stands for. The Empire had come together to revere and bless the mother of the Empire; the mother of the Empire had come to do homage to the one Being more majestic than she.

There were the archbishops, bishops and deans, in gold and crimson caps, and white, orange and gold embroidered vestments, waiting on the steps. There, through gaps in the pillars and scaffoldings, you could see all her Ministers and great men, a strange glimpse of miniature faces, as in some carefully labored picture, where each face stands for an honored name.

All stood, and the choir sang the Te Deum. Next rose up a melodious voice intoning prayers. The Queen bowed her head, and then the whole choir and the company outside the Cathedral and the whole company in the stands, at the windows, on the house tops, and away down the street, all standing, all uncovered, began to sing the One Hundredth Psalm: “Come ye before Him and rejoice.” The Queen’s lips were tight, and her eyes, perhaps it was fancy, looked dim; but then, “Three cheers for the Queen,” and the Dean, pious man, was wildly waving that wonderful crimson cap, and the pillars and roofs were ringing as if they must come down. Then “God Save the Queen,” a lusty peal, till you felt drowned in sound.

The Queen looked up and smiled, and the Queen’s smile was the end of it all—a smile that broke down the sad mouth—a smile that seemed half-reluctant, so wistful, yet so kind, so sincere, so motherly.—_G. W. Steevens in London Daily Mail._

EXERCISE I.

Examine each of the foregoing passages for principles of description. Notice the way in which the theme is introduced, the selection and arrangement of details, and the effective conclusion.

EXERCISE II.

Write a description of one of the following:—

1. A Funeral in the Country.
2. A Shipwreck.
3. Trusty—Our Dog.
4. A Pasture Field.
5. A Castle in Ruins.
6. Laying the Foundation-stone of a Church.
7. A Village Churchyard.
8. Arbor Day.
9. An Old Man.
10. Early Settlement Life in Canada.

A plan for the first subject:—

=Introduction.= {A brief account of the dead.

{The gathering of the people at the house.
{Leaving the house.
{The procession to the village church.
=Details.= {The service in the church.
{Scene at the grave.
{How the people withdrew.

=Conclusion.= {Reflections on life and death.

* * * * *

=LESSON LXXV.=

EXPOSITION.

A composition in which the subject is explained, interpreted, discussed, proved, or illustrated, is called =exposition=.

This division of prose composition includes essays, speeches, sermons, lectures, and debates.

In _narrative_ and _descriptive_ composition, the materials are obtained through the senses, but in _exposition_ they are derived from general and abstract thought. Since the manner in which two minds will approach the treatment of any subject will be as diverse as the minds themselves, no definite rules can be laid down for the guidance of the learner, but the following hints may be given:—

(1) Having selected his subject, the pupil should think over the exact force and meaning of the terms in which the subject is proposed, so as to have a clear conception of the ground it covers.

(2) In the next place, he should determine the mode in which he will treat his subject. He may commence with the general statement and proceed to prove and illustrate it, or he may commence with the examination of particulars, and proceed to the general truth.

(3) The pupil’s attention must now be given to the division of his subject. The logical order of the several parts should be preserved.

(4) Having decided on his plan or frame-work, the pupil has now to obtain the necessary information under each head. This he may derive from reflection, from conversation, and from reading. As thoughts are obtained he should note them down.

(5) After the composition is written out, the pupil should review it carefully to see if his thoughts have been expressed in the proper place, and in the most suitable manner. After a careful criticism by himself, he should write out his composition again.

=MODELS.=

I. PERSEVERANCE.

Experience amply shows that nothing valuable is to be attained without labor. Exceptional cases apart, the rule of life is that what costs us nothing is little worth, and that what is esteemed among men is the prize of effort and self-denial. The rich harvest which rewards the husbandman is the fitting sequel to a year of watchful and provident exertion; the successful merchant reaches his envied fortune by the closest vigilance combined with the most skilful calculation; whilst the splendid structure of knowledge which the student aspires to rear is only built up by long years of patient and sustained devotion.

Yet it is possible that labor may end in disappointment. Mere capacity of working carries with it no guarantee of ultimate success. For one may be always working, and yet may achieve little. “One thing to-day, another to-morrow,” indicates a fickleness of temper which has rendered many an active life well-nigh useless. Labor to be effective must be steady. Energy must be under the guidance of purpose. It is the resolute concentration, and not the fitful ebullition of effort, which surmounts all obstacles. The fabled contest of speed between the hare and the tortoise expresses in a homely way the truth which is patent to general observation, that the cause of failure in any pursuit is more commonly to be found in want of perseverance than in want of ability.

Most readers are familiar with the incident in the life of Robert Bruce, strongly illustrative of the virtue of perseverance. The King, almost despairing of success in his efforts to restore freedom to his country, was lying one day in his little cabin, when his attention was caught by a spider. The little animal, hanging at the end of a long thread of its own spinning, was trying to swing itself from one beam in the roof to another, for the purpose of fixing the line for its web. Not till the seventh attempt did it succeed; but its success encouraged the King to make one effort more. His perseverance met with its reward; for, as he had never before gained a victory, so he never afterwards suffered any serious defeat.

If, then, perseverance is the secret of success in life, it is surely worth while for all to cultivate this virtue. The effort may be trying and painful at first, but repetition gradually makes it easy, and even pleasant. We should enter on the path of effort betimes, too, before habits of self-indulgence have been acquired, which renders perseverance impossible. Nothing is more certain than that this virtue is amongst the most precious legacies which maturer years can inherit from a laborious and well-spent youth.—_James Currie._

II. ADDRESS TO STUDENTS.

Advices, I believe, to young men—and to all men—are very seldom much valued. There is a great deal of advising and very little faithful performing. And talk that does not end in any kind of action is better suppressed altogether. I would not therefore go much into advising; but there is one advice I must give you. It is, in fact, the summary of all advices, and you have heard it a thousand times, I dare say; but I must, nevertheless, let you hear it the thousand and first time, for it is most intensely true, whether you will believe it at present or not—namely, that above all things the interest of your own life depends upon being diligent now, while it is called to-day, in this place where you have come to get education.

Diligent! That includes all virtues in it that a student can have; I mean to include in it all qualities that lead into the acquirement of real instruction and improvement in such a place. If you will believe me, you who are young, yours is the golden season of life. As you have heard it called, so verily it is the seed-time of life, in which if you do not sow, or if you sow tares instead of wheat, you cannot expect to reap well afterwards, and you will arrive at, indeed, little, while in the course of years, when you come to look back, and if you have not done what you have heard from your advisers—and among many counsellors there is wisdom—you will bitterly repent when it is too late.

At the season when you are in young years the whole mind is, as it were, fluid, and is capable of forming itself into any shape that the owner of the mind pleases to order it to form itself into. The mind is in a fluid state, but it hardens up gradually to the consistency of rock or iron, and you cannot alter the habits of an old man, but as he has begun he will proceed and go on to the last.

By diligence, I mean among other things—and very chiefly—honesty in all your inquiries into what you are about. Pursue your studies in the way your conscience calls honest. More and more endeavor to do that. Keep, I mean to say, an accurate separation of what you have really come to know in your own minds, and what is still unknown. Leave all that on the hypothetical side of the barrier, as things afterwards to be acquired, if acquired at all; and be careful not to stamp a thing as known only when it is stamped on your mind, so that you may survey it on all sides with intelligence.

There is such a thing as a man endeavoring to persuade himself, and endeavoring to persuade others, that he knows about things when he does not know more than the outside skin of them, and he goes flourishing about with them. There is also a process called cramming—that is, getting up such points of things as the examiner is likely to put questions about. Avoid all that as entirely unworthy of an honorable habit.

Be modest and humble, and diligent in your attention to what your teachers tell you, who are profoundly interested in trying to bring you forward in the right way, as far as they have been able to understand it. Try all things they set before you, in order, if possible, to understand them, and to value them in proportion to your fitness for them. Gradually see what kind of work you can do; for it is the first of all problems for a man to find out what kind of work he is to do in this universe. In fact, morality as regards study is, as in all other things, the primary consideration, and overrides all others. A dishonest man cannot do anything real; and it would be greatly better if he were tied up from doing any such thing. He does nothing but darken counsel by the words he utters. That is a very old doctrine, but a very true one; and you will find it confirmed by all the thinking men that have ever lived in this long series of generations of which we are the latest.