Elementary Composition

by Dorothy Canfield Fisher; George R. Carpenter

Read the following passage, which, to be sure, is not exactly a whole composition in itself, for it forms a part of a long essay on a visit to Shakspere's birthplace. It is sufficiently long, however, to show how paragraphs are combined.

I had come to Stratford on a poetical pilgrimage. My first visit was to the house where Shakspere was born, and where, according to tradition, he was brought up to his father's craft of wool-combing. It is a small, mean-looking edifice of wood and plaster, a true nestling place of genius, which seems to delight in hatching its offspring in by-corners. The walls of its squalid chambers are covered with names and inscriptions in every language, by pilgrims of all nations, ranks, and conditions, from the prince to the peasant; and present a simple, but striking instance of the spontaneous and universal homage of mankind to the great poet of nature.

The house is shown by a garrulous old lady, in a frosty red face, lighted up by a cold blue anxious eye, and garnished with artificial locks of flaxen hair, curling from under an exceedingly dirty cap. She was peculiarly assiduous in exhibiting the relics with which this, like all other celebrated shrines, abounds. There was the shattered stock of the very matchlock with which Shakspere shot the deer, on his poaching exploits. There, too, was his tobacco box; which proves that he was a rival smoker of Sir Walter Raleigh; the sword also with which he played Hamlet; and the identical lantern with which Friar Laurence discovered Romeo and Juliet at the tomb!

The most favorite object of curiosity, however, is Shakspere's chair. It stands in the chimney nook of a small gloomy chamber, just behind what was his father's shop. Here he may many a time have sat when a boy, watching the slowing revolving spit with all the longing of an urchin; or of an evening, listening to the cronies and gossips of Stratford, dealing forth churchyard tales and legendary anecdotes of the troublesome times of England. In this chair it is the custom of every one that visits the house to sit: whether this be done with the hope of imbibing any of the inspiration of the bard I am at a loss to say—I merely mention the fact; and mine hostess privately assured me, that, though built of solid oak, such was the fervent zeal of devotees, that the chair had to be new bottomed at least once in three years. It is worthy of notice also, in the history of this extraordinary chair, that it partakes something of the volatile nature of the Santa Casa of Loretto, or the flying chair of the Arabian enchanter; for though sold some few years since to a northern princess, yet, strange to tell, it has found its way back again to the old chimney.

I am always of easy faith in such matters, and am ever willing to be deceived, where the deceit is pleasant and costs nothing. I am therefore a ready believer in relics, legends, and local anecdotes of goblins and great men; and would advise all travelers who travel for their gratification to be the same. What is it to us, whether these stories be true or false, so long as we can persuade ourselves into the belief of them, and enjoy all the charms of the reality? There is nothing like resolute good-humored credulity in these matters; and on this occasion I went even so far as willingly to believe the claims of mine hostess to a lineal descent from the poet, when, unluckily for my faith, she put into my hands a play of her own composition, which set all belief in her consanguinity at defiance.—Washington Irving: Stratford-on-Avon.

You will notice that the opening sentences give you a hint of what is coming. You will also notice that the author has a separate thought for each paragraph:—

1. The house in general.
2. The relics exhibited by the housekeeper.
3. The most interesting relic; its history.
4. The author's "good-humored credulity."

These thoughts, when taken together, build up in the reader's mind a larger thought, just as the thoughts expressed in each sentence in a paragraph, when taken together, build up in the reader's mind a smaller idea.

Furthermore, you will notice how careful the writer has been to build up that idea in the reader's mind clearly and easily. He began with a thought that was easy to grasp and that gave you a hint of what was coming.

Here is another good instance of an author's skill in planning his work:—

Let us consider briefly the structure of the earth, studying first its crust, second its interior, third its atmosphere.

It has been found that what is called the earth's crust—that is, the outside of the earth, as the peel is the outside of an orange—is composed of various rocks of different kinds and ages, all of them, however, belonging to two great classes: stratified [that is, deposited in layers] rocks and igneous [made by fire] rocks. The stratified rocks have been deposited by water, principally by the sea. This is proved by two facts: first, in their formation they resemble the beds lying deposited by water at the present time; secondly, they nearly all contain remains of fishes and shell-fish. Such remains, being dug out of the earth, are called fossils, from the Latin fossilis, dug. The whole series of sedimentary rocks have been disturbed by eruptions of volcanic materials. Molten rock ejected from the interior of the earth and cooling form the igneous rocks we have spoken of. They are easily distinguished from the sedimentary rock, as they have no appearance of stratification and contain no fossils.

We have numerous proofs that the interior of the earth is at a high temperature at present, although its surface has cooled. Our deepest mines are so hot that, without a perpetual current of cold air it would be impossible for the miners to live in them. The water brought up in artesian wells is found to increase in temperature one degree for from fifty to fifty-five feet of depth. In the hot lava emitted from volcanoes we have further evidence of this internal heat. It has been calculated that the temperature of the earth increases as we descend at the rate of one degree Fahrenheit in a little over fifty feet. We shall therefore have a temperature of two thousand seven hundred degrees at a depth of twenty-eight miles. At this temperature everything which we are acquainted with would be in a state of fusion.

We now pass to the atmosphere, which may be likened to a great ocean, covering the earth to a height not yet exactly determined. This height is generally supposed to be forty-five or fifty miles, but there is evidence to show that we have an atmosphere of some kind at a height of four hundred or five hundred miles. The chemical composition by weight of one hundred parts of the atmosphere at present is as follows: nitrogen, seventy-seven parts; oxygen, twenty-three parts. Besides these two main constituents, we have carbonic acid, whose quantity varies with the locality; aqueous vapor, variable with the temperature and humidity; and a trace of ammonia.—Adapted from Lockyer's Astronomy.

Here, as before, you will notice that the author has a separate idea for each paragraph, as follows:—