DEFINITE NARRATION It was one January morning, very early-a pinching, frosty morning-the cove all gray with hoarfrost, the ripple lapping softly on the stones, the sun still low and only touching the hilltops and shining far to seaward. The captain had risen earlier than usual, and set out down the beach, his cutlass swinging under the broad skirts of the old blue coat, his brass telescope under his arm, his hat tilted back upon his head. I remember his breath hanging like smoke in his wake as he strode off, and the last sound I heard of him, as he turned the big rock, was a loud snort of indignation, as though his mind was still running upon Dr. Livesey. Well, mother was upstairs with father; and I was laying the breakfast table against the captain's return, when the parlor door opened, and a man stepped in on whom I had never set my eyes before. He was a pale, tallowy creature, wanting two fingers of the left hand; and, though he wore a cutlass, he did not look much like a fighter. I had always my eye open for seafaring men, with one leg or two, and I remember this one puzzled me. He was not sailorly, and yet he had a smack of the sea about him too. I asked him what was for his service, and he said he would take rum; but as I was going out of the room to fetch it he sat down upon a table and motioned me to draw near. I paused where I was with my napkin in my hand. "Come here, sonny," says he. "Come nearer here." I took a step nearer. "Is this here table for my mate Bill?" he asked, with a kind of leer. "Treasure Island," Stevenson. Exercises I. In the following examples of definite narration, name all the details which make you see just what time it is, just where it is, just how things look, just what happens, and just how the characters feel. It was deathly still. The homespun bedclothes and handmade quilts of brilliant colors had been thrown in a heap on one of the two beds of hickory withes; the kitchen utensils—a crane and a few pots and pans—had been piled on the hearth, along with strings of herbs and beans and red pepper-pods-all ready for old Nathan when he should come over for them, next morning, with his wagon. Not a living thing was to be heard or seen that suggested human life, and Chad sat down in the deepening loneliness, watching the shadows rise up the green walls that bound him in, and wondering what he should do, and where he should go, if he was not to go to old Nathan; while Jack, who seemed to know that some crisis was come, settled on his haunches a little way off, to wait, with perfect faith and patience, for the boy to make up his mind. Just above him, and across the buck antlers over the door, lay a long flint-lock rifle; a bulletpouch, a powderhorn, and a small raccoon-skin haversack hung from one of the prongs; and on them the boy's eyes rested longingly. Old Nathan, he knew, claimed that the dead man had owed him money; and he further knew that old Nathan meant to take all he could lay his hands on in payment; but he climbed resolutely upon a chair and took the things down, arguing the question, meanwhile.. "Uncle Jim said once he aimed to give this rifle gun to me. Maybe he was foolin', but I don't believe he owed ole Nathan so much, an' anyways," he muttered grimly, “I reckon Uncle Jim 'ud kind o' like fur me to git the better of that old devil-jes a leetle, anyways." A moment more and he had his pack and his rifle on one shoulder and was climbing the fence at the wood-pile. There he stopped once more with a sudden thought, and wrenching loose a short ax from the face of a hickory log, staggered under the weight of his weapons up the mountain. The sun was yet an hour high and, on the spur, he leaned his rifle against the big poplar and set to work with his ax on a sapling close by-talking frankly now to the God who made him. "I reckon You know it, but I'm a-goin' to run away now. I haint got no daddy an' no mammy, an' I haint nuver had none as I knows-but Aunt Jane hyeh-she's ben jes' like a mother to me an' I'm a-doin' fer her jes' whut I wish You'd have somebody do fer my mother, ef You know whar she's a-layin'." Eight round sticks he cut swiftly-four long and four short-and with these he built a low pen, as is the custom of the mountaineers, close about the fresh mound, and, borrowing a board or two from each of the other mounds, covered the grave from the rain. Then he sunk the ax into the trunk of the great poplar as high up as he could reach-so that it could easily be seen-and, brushing the sweat from his face, he knelt down. "God," he said, simply, "I hain't nothin' but a boy, but I got to ack like a man now. I'm a-goin' now. I don't believe You keer much, and seems like I bring ever❜body bad luck; an' I'm a-goin' to live up hyeh on the mountain jus' as long as I can. I don't want You to think I'm a-complainin'-fer I aint. Only hit does seem sort o' curious that You'd let me be down hyeh-with me a-keerin' fer nobody now, an' nobody a-keerin' fer me. But Thy ways is inscrutable-leastwise, that's whut the circuit-rider says-an' I ain't got a word more to say. Amen.” "The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come," John Fox, Jr. 2. Point out the same in "The White Ship"; "The Last Class"; in some story of your own selection. 3. Compare the account of the return of Ulysses in Gayley's "Classic Myths," with Stephen Phillips' "Ulysses," Act III. 4. Compare one of the stories in the "Arabian Nights," Riverside Literature Series, with any larger version of the story. 5. Read a story from the "Arabian Nights" or "Tales of a Wayside Inn," or Hawthorne's "Twice Told Tales"; point out in it the scenes which are told in definite narrative; point out also the general narrative which connects these scenes. 6. Read one of Lamb's "Tales from Shakespeare," pointing out the general and the definite narrative. SECTION IV. DESCRIPTION. DETAILS SELECTION OF It is obvious that a story is more vivid when the writer makes us see the characters and the places, as if they were actually before us. On the other hand, a narrative that is overburdened with description loses interest. Thus it becomes necessary to tell as much as possible in a few words. The first thing to learn then, is what to leave out. It goes without saying that you will omit what everyone takes for granted; for example, if you were describing a man, you would not say he had two eyes and a nose. But you would say that he was of medium height, and that he wore an ordinary-looking business suit. This gives the general look of the man, and so forms a natural part of your description; but it is only the beginning. You must go on, then, and give the individualizing details which mark him out from all other men of medium height wearing business suits. You would say that his mild brown eyes have an expression as if he were trying vainly to recall something he had forgotten; and that his face is barred on the left side with a scar, which makes the left corner of his mouth droop. Thus you would give a picture of this particular man. Your object is to make the reader see the person, place, or thing as you saw it, and feel it as you felt it. Two people, each with good powers of observation, look at the same object, but their impressions of the object differ. Remember that what you see has a particular meaning for you, and that you must convey that meaning to your reader. There are three points to keep in mind in reference to any literary description you may make: I. You must note the general shape or outline of the person, place, or object. 2. You must note the individual traits which belong to this person, place or object, and to none other. 3. You must know what main impression the person, place, or object makes upon you. These points we shall study in their order. First, you should notice the general look of what you are going to describe. A good way of making your reader see the general appearance of a man, for example, is to compare him to something he resembles. This method can be more easily applied to the description of places than of persons. Note, however, the aptness of the following example: The cognomen of Crane was not inapplicable to his person. He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung together. His head was small and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weathercock perched upon his spindle neck to tell which way the wind blew. To see him striding along the profile of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and fluttering about him, one might have mistaken him for the genius of famine descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield. "The Sketch Book," Washington Irving. The individual traits which express the real essence of a person are usually as few as they are telling. A few details, if rightly selected, will make you see a whole picture. For examples: "A tall, strong, heavy, nut-brown man; his tarry pigtail falling over the shoulders of his soiled blue coat; his hands ragged and scarred, with black, broken nails; and the sabre cut across one cheek, a dirty, livid white." "He was a pale, tallowy creature, wanting two fingers of the left hand; and, though he wore a cutlass, he did not look much like a fighter.' Exercise 1. Study the descriptions in “Rip Van Winkle," or "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," or in Chapter I or XIII or XXV of "Treasure Island." Point out the most lifelike pictures given by a few strokes. SECTION V. ARRANGEMENT OF DETAILS You can make no description of a person effective until you know the kind of man he is, the impression he makes upon you. Until you are sure of this, you do not know what details to put in and what to leave out. For example, the man you are trying to describe is a millionaire, noted for his parsimony. You would of course mention that he wore an ordinary, even shabby, business suit, for this detail |