We shall no longer attempt to keep narration and description apart. As a matter of fact very few productions are purely the one or purely the other; we have seen in the preceding exercises how naturally and almost inevitably we mingle them. On the other hand very few productions partake of the characteristics of both narration and description in an equal degree. Taking advantage of this fact we have in the two foregoing sections pretty well covered the whole ground. There remain however a few classes of subjects into which both kinds of composition enter with nearly equal prominence. But even here you will in all probability find, when you have finished your productions, that they are still essentially narrative or essentially descriptive. That result will be due to yourself

to the point of view you have chosen to take, or to your predilection for a particular style of treatment. Remember however that the condition is not imposed; you have entire freedom and should endeavor to make use of it.

In the present exercise we have scenes to be depicted, with little or no real plot to be unfolded. Yet they are scenes in which there is much action and in which moreover you are supposed to have been one of the actors. This is somewhat different from standing passively by and watching the progress of events. Here you contribute your share toward the sum of accomplishment.

The main tendency in treating such subjects as those given above will probably be toward description. Therefore restrain it somewhat, or deflect it. Put all the life and action into the scenes that you can. Make the characters walk and talk, smile and frown, laugh and cry for us. If there is comedy let it come out, if there is tragedy let it be revealed. Read the old fairy tale of Cinderella; The Christmas Dinner in Irving's Sketch-Book; The Archery Tournament in Cupid's Arrows, Rudyard Kipling's Plain Tales from the Hills.

EXERCISE XXXVII.

PERSONAL ADVENTURES.

A Narrow Escape.
A Night in a Cemetery.
Our Burglar.

Caught in a Squall.

Subjects:

On a Runaway Car.

The Ghost of Smith's Hollow.
My First Bear Hunt.

Ascent in a Balloon.

The tendency here will be to lay stress on the narrative portions. But the scene of the adventure must be prepared, the circumstances detailed, the actors portrayed; and all of this involves description. The two must be judiciously interwoven. It is most natural to begin with description, and a little observation will show that the majority of tales do so begin. On the other hand a bit of narration at the first may sometimes be of advantage; it will be more likely to catch and hold the reader's attention and make him willing to follow through the necessary description which is then introduced later. Let it not be introduced too late, however. The insertion of even the briefest description at a point where the interest is thoroughly aroused will be resented by the reader. Let such passages come at the natural pauses or lulls in the action.

As to the action itself, let it be developed with the utmost naturalness. One event grows out of another in fact; it should seem to do so likewise in the recital, You have heard people attempt to tell a story who appear to lack what we may call a sense for sequence. They are constantly getting "ahead of themselves," that is, ahead of their story; and then they have to retrace their steps and the story loses its charm. The fault is an inherent one and it will take close attention and practice to eradicate it. But in writing there is no excuse for it, for the writer has time to consider the sequence of events.

Draw upon your own experience for this adventure, or, if the uneventfulness of your life absolutely constrains you, upon your imagination. Perhaps one of the incidents which you have recorded in the early part

of this work may recur to you as an appropriate subject. If so, expand it to the proportions of a regular story or tale. It may have consisted of a single paragraph then; make eight or ten of it now. Enter into details of scenes and characters and make them contribute as much as possible to the realism of the events.

It is scarcely necessary to give references to models of this kind of composition. Papers like the Youth's Companion contain many such stories, and if you care for examples on a larger scale go to the tales of Sir Walter Scott, Jane Porter, J. Fenimore Cooper, and others.

In the following sketch the writer was more a witness of the action than a participator in it, and therefore the language, while dealing unquestionably with good narrative material, is essentially descriptive, showing again how inseparable the two characteristics often are.

BRINGING A SHARK ABOARD.

It is only on the days of calm in the doldrums, when passengers are moping and sailors are loafing, that a landsman gets a chance to learn the seaman's hatred of sharks and to see what pleasure the capture of one gives him.

One such a day a monster about eleven feet long was seen ploughing astern. In a few minutes a stout hook, baited with a junk of fat pork, was thrown overboard. The fish made for it immediately and gulped it down without examination. Then came a tug of war. The combined strength of half a dozen men exerted on the tackle which had been made fast to the end of the line, was just enough to budge the shark when in the water; but when once his head was above the surface his power was gone, and very soon we saw him dangling from the stern, his tail just touching the water. Then the purpose of the short chain fastened to the hook became apparent as he swung there, his grinding rows

of teeth would have cut through a line in a moment and he would have dropped in the water free, but as it was, the only effect was a horrid scratching noise that sent through most of us a shiver of fear.

By means of a running loop passed over his head and drawn tight just above the tail, he was pulled up until he was level with the gunnel. Then with the aid of a guy rope he was hauled aboard and landed on deck, thrashing fiercely with his tail and snapping ferociously. His eyes had to be put out first, for while he could see it was impossible to approach him; when he was blind, however, it was an easy matter for one of the sailors to creep cautiously up to him and chop off his tail, thus rendering him powerless to do any damage.

Now that he was comparatively quiet it was no great task to despatch him. All had a hand in the disemboweling, laughing triumphantly and joking over the possibility of finding a gold watch or other clue to his former life in the capacious stomach. One sliced the liver and threw it into the pig-sty, while another cut out the still beating heart and threw it to the dog; and yet, with eyes out, tail off, disemboweled, with the pigs digesting his liver and the dog devouring his heart, he still spluttered and gasped, refusing to die.

Soon however all the flesh was cut away and thrown overboard, the only things saved being the backbone, which makes a beautiful walking-stick the sailors say, and the rows of teeth, which passed into the hands of some of the ladies and which were afterwards seen in a little girl's possession in the shape of a necklace. R. L. D.

EXERCISE XXXVIII.

EXCURSIONS, TRAVELS.

Subjects:

Our Expedition to Fall Creek.
Camping on the Bluff.
Through Colorado Cañon.

An Excursion to Niagara Falls.

From Detroit to Chicago on a

Bicycle.
Climbing the Matterhorn.
An Afternoon Outing.