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Exploring Writing: Paragraphs and Essays Zoé L. Albright
Acknowledgments of third-party content appear on page 529, which constitute an extension of this copyright page.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Arlov, Pamela, author.
Title: Wordsmith : a guide to paragraphs and short essays : annotated instructor’s edition/Pamela Arlov, Middle Georgia State University.
Thank you for choosing Wordsmith: A Guide to Paragraphs and Short Essays as your textbook. Whether you are teaching from this text or learning from it, it is my hope that you will enjoy its simplicity. Writing itself is a remarkably complex process that incorporates the personality and experience of each writer and each reader. It also requires adherence to agreed-upon rules of grammar, punctuation, and form. Therefore, I have tried to make this book simple in its structure, straightforward in its language and presentation, and easy to use for both instructors and students.
Updates to the Seventh Edition
Many changes have been made in this seventh edition of Wordsmith: A Guide to Paragraphs and Short Essays: Changes to Part 1, Composition
• You will find new exercises, images, assignments, and model paragraphs throughout the section.
• Chapter 8, Limiting and Ordering: Definition, Classification, and Process, contains a new essay, “Surrender at Appomattox” by Ulysses S. Grant.
• Chapter 11, Writing Summary Reports, has a new look. In addition to containing the latest MLA updates, it now contains a section on incorporating quotations into college essays. Because college writing focuses much more on quotations in the context of research than on quotations used with
simple dialogue, all of the material on quotations and use of quotation marks now resides in Chapter 11.
Changes to Part 2, Grammar
• Each chapter in this section boasts something new: new questions, new exercises, new Grammar Alert! boxes, and/or new chapter openers.
• An additional paragraph-style editing exercise has been added to important areas where students are most likely to have problems and need extra work: Chapter 13, Subject-Verb Agreement, Chapter 15, Coordination and Subordination, Chapter 16, Run-on Sentences, Chapter 17, Sentence Fragments, Chapter 18, Pronoun Case, and Chapter 19, Pronoun Agreement, Reference, and Point of View.
• In many chapters, particularly Chapter 13 and Chapters 18 and 19, explanations and examples have been streamlined and simplified to enhance clarity without sacrificing coverage.
Changes to Part 3, Readings
• In addition to Ulysses Grant’s “Surrender at Appomattox” in Chapter 8, four new readings have been added to the Readings section of the text. Barbara Ehrenreich’s “Warning: This Is a Rights-Free Workplace” explores the world of the low-wage workplace and the ways in which it curtails workers’ freedoms. In “Crossing Invisible Lines,” Eugenia Vela writes of rehearsing for her green card interview and anticipating the questions that will be asked as she and her husband prove that their marriage is not just a sham so that she can get the card that allows her to remain in the United States. Mark Twain’s classic “Two Ways of Seeing a River” details what is gained and what is lost as he develops expertise.
Features of Wordsmith: A Guide to Paragraphs and Short Essays
• The three-part layout allows the freedom to mix and match the writing chapters, grammar chapters, and readings.
• A structured yet flexible approach to writing encourages clarity and creativity.
• A direct, conversational, student-friendly approach is used throughout.
• Lighthearted chapter openings promote a positive and playful approach to learning.
Part 1, Composition
Part 1, “Composition,” takes the paragraph as its primary focus but provides an extensive chapter (Chapter 10) on the five-paragraph essay and a chapter (Chapter 11) on the summary report. The book begins with an overview of the writing process (Chapter 1), followed by a chapter on prewriting (Chapter 2). Planning and drafting, the next two steps in the writing process, are discussed in Chapters 3, 4, and 5. Chapter 6 deals with revising and proofreading. Chapters 7, 8, and 9 present methods of development. I have sacrificed some flexibility by grouping the methods; let me explain why. The first reason is philosophical. I believe it is more realistic to group the modes because they are seldom used in isolation in “real-world” writing. Modes with a similar purpose are grouped together, and the optional “Mixed Methods Assignments” at the end of each chapter show how the modes can be used together in a single piece of writing. The second reason for grouping modes is more practical. I have found that no matter how hard I try, it is not possible to cover nine rhetorical modes in one term. Grouping them allows me to assign a chapter containing three modes and then deal with only one or two in depth. If all three rhetorical modes chapters are assigned, students are exposed to all nine modes even if they practice only a few.
Part 2, Grammar
Part 2, “Grammar,” can be used in a variety of ways: with direct in-class instruction, in a lab setting, as a supplement, or for independent study. Part 2 also works well for instructors who want to address more difficult grammar topics in class while assigning easier material or review material for independent study. In the grammar chapters, explanations are clear, and each topic is taken one skill at a time, with numerous practice exercises for each skill. At the end of each chapter are review exercises in increasing order of difficulty, ending with a paragraph-length editing exercise.
Part 3, Readings
Part 3, “Readings,” offers essays written by professional writers. In any craft, the works of accomplished artisans can inspire the apprentice. These essays model writing at its best: entertaining, challenging, and thought provoking. Each reading is followed by a comprehension exercise that includes questions about content, questions about the writer’s techniques, and related topics for discussion and writing. Diversity in authorship, subject matter, and rhetorical method is emphasized.
Instructor and Student Resources
Annotated Instructor’s Edition for Wordsmith: A Guide to Paragraphs and Short Essays 7e ISBN 0-13-477177-X / 978-0-13-477177-9
Instructor’s Resource Manual for Wordsmith: A Guide to Paragraphs and Short Essays 7e ISBN 0-13-477146-X / 978-0-13-477146-5
Test Bank for Wordsmith: A Guide to Paragraphs and Short Essays 7e ISBN 0-13-477230-X / 978-0-13-477230-1
PowerPoint Presentation for Wordsmith: A Guide to Paragraphs and Short Essays 7e ISBN 0-13-477153-2 / 978-0-13-477153-3
Answer Key for Wordsmith: A Guide to Paragraphs and Short Essays 7e ISBN 0-13-477149-4 / 978-0-13-477149-6
Writing
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Integrated Reading & Writing
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• Empower each learner: Each student learns at a different pace. Personalized learning pinpoints the precise areas where each student needs practice, giving all students the support they need—when and where they need it—to be successful.
0 MyLab diagnoses students’ strengths and weaknesses through a preassessment known as the Path Builder and offers up a personalized Learning Path. Students then receive targeted practice and multimodal activities to help them improve over time.
0 MyLab Reading & Writing Skills uses The Lexile ® Framework for Reading to diagnose a student’s reading ability. After an initial Locator Test, students receive readings and practice at their estimated reading level. Throughout the course, periodic diagnostic tests incrementally adjust their level with increasing precision.
• Teach your course your way: Your course is unique. So whether you’d like to build your own assignments, teach multiple sections, or set prerequisites, MyLab gives you the flexibility to easily create your course to fit your needs.
• Improve student results: When you teach with MyLab, student performance improves. That’s why instructors have chosen MyLab for over 15 years, touching the lives of over 50 million students.
Reading
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MyLab™ is a teaching and learning platform that empowers you to reach every student. By combining trusted content with digital tools and a flexible platform, MyLab personalizes the learning experience and improves results for each student. When students enter your developmental reading course with varying skill levels, MyLab can help you identify which students need extra support and provide them targeted practice and instruction outside of class. Learn more at www.pearson.com/mylab/reading.
• Empower each learner: Each student learns at a different pace. Personalized learning pinpoints the precise areas where each student needs practice, giving all students the support they need—when and where they need it—to be successful.
0 MyLab Reading diagnoses students’ strengths and weaknesses through a pre-assessment known as the Path Builder and offers up a personalized Learning Path. Students then receive targeted practice and multimodal activities to help them improve over time.
0 MyLab Reading uses The Lexile® Framework for Reading to diagnose a student’s reading ability. After an initial Locator Test, students receive readings and practice at their estimated reading level. Throughout the course, periodic diagnostic tests incrementally adjust their level with increasing precision.
• Teach your course your way: Your course is unique. So whether you’d like to build your own assignments, teach multiple sections, or set prerequisites, MyLab gives you the flexibility to easily create your course to fit your needs.
• Improve student results: When you teach with MyLab, student performance improves. That’s why instructors have chosen MyLab for over 15 years, touching the lives of over 50 million students.
Acknowledgments
I could not have written this book without the help, support, and collaboration of a great many people. I owe thanks to all the staff at Pearson, including Chris Hoag, VP of Portfolio Management, and Roxanne McCarley, Marketing Manager.
I thank the outstanding professionals at Ohlinger Publishing for the work they put into making this edition a reality. I am grateful to Bridget Funiciello, Lauren MacLachlan, and Corinna Dibble, program managers; to Joanne Dauksewicz, managing editor; and (for old times’ sake) to Maggie Barbieri. It was also a privilege to work with Nancy Doherty Schmitt, development editor, who is not only analytical and insightful but also has the ability to keep an entire project in mind while maintaining laser focus on the smallest detail.
I was fortunate to work with copyeditor Kitty Wilson, who offered insights beyond mere punctuation and style.
Much gratitude to Marianne Peters-Riordan of Aptara, Inc. for keeping production rolling along smoothly.
I thank the following people at Middle Georgia State University for their support of my work: Dr. Amy Berke, chair of the English Department, who runs the best and most overachieving department at Middle Georgia State University; Dr. Debra Matthews, associate dean for Undergraduate Studies in the College of Arts and Sciences; and Dr. Ron Williams, professor of chemistry and Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences.
I also thank the reviewers, whose comments helped to shape the most recent edition. They are Joshua Mattern, Waubonsee Community College; Robin Miltimore, Columbia College of Missouri; Latasha Goodwyn, Tyler Junior College; Aaron Lelito, Erie Community College–City Campus; Diego Baez, Harry S Truman College; and Karin Burns, Los Angeles Pierce College.
Finally, I am forever grateful for the years I had with my late husband, Nick Arlov. He changed my life with his love, his support, and the sacrifices he made so that I could attend college.
Pamela Arlov Middle Georgia State College
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C hapter 1
The Writing Process PART 1: Composition
The gears turn inside your head. You write, plan, write some more. The gears may grind together, jam, and even stop. The process isn’t perfect, but it works just the same. Soon, the gears mesh again. You analyze, revise, and proofread. Writing is a process.
WLearning Objectives
In this chapter, you will learn how to
❶ Use a five-step writing process.
❷ Harness your creativity with less conventional strategies.
riting is not a single act but a process composed of several steps. As with most other processes—swinging a baseball bat, playing the clarinet, or surfing the Internet—it is sometimes easier to do than to analyze. When people try to analyze how they write, their descriptions of the process are uniquely their own. Yet from a sea of individual accounts, the same steps emerge.
Focus on the Writing Process: Completing the Steps
Admittedly, the “Sorry we’re open” sign in the photograph is probably the product of someone’s slightly warped sense of humor. But as it brings a smile to your face, it may also serve as a reminder of the need to proofread carefully.
Often, the temptation to let prewriting, revision, or proofreading slide is hard to resist. But every step contributes to the final product. Taking time to complete all the steps in the writing process can be your personal form of quality control.
Reflect on It
1. Write down a process that you do that requires several steps.
2. List the steps in the order in which you do them.
3. Analyze the process. Is it a flexible process, like the writing process, that allows you to go back to a previous step if you need to? Or is it a more rigid process, like baking, which does not allow you to add an egg once the cake is in the oven?
4. Finally, think about the importance of each step in your process. What would happen if you left out a step?
The Writing Process
One writer, Antonio, describes his writing process this way:
Well, first, I need time to think. If I have a while before the paper is due, I never start right away. Some people might call it procrastination, but it works for me. After the ideas have had time to percolate, I sit at the computer and just start writing. I just let my ideas flow, good or bad. If that doesn’t work, sometimes I try a more organized approach, jotting down an outline. It’s all a part of finding my focus. Then, once I know what I want to say, I just write. I am a slow writer because I try to get it right the first time. But I never do. If I look at it the next day, I see where the holes are—where I’ve left out details. I’m bad about that. So my second draft is always better than my first. When I’m finished, I check to make sure my commas are in the right place and my grammar is okay. Then I’m ready to turn it in.
❶ Use a fivestep writing process.
Though everyone approaches writing a little differently, most people follow a process similar to Antonio’s. He may not be aware of it, but he is following all of the steps in the writing process: prewriting, planning, drafting, revising, and proofreading.
Prewriting
“. . . first, I need time to think.”
Prewriting covers a range of activity from casually thinking about your topic to going through a prewriting exercise to get your thoughts on paper. You will probably find yourself doing some form of prewriting throughout the writing process. When you are sitting at a traffic light and the perfect example to illustrate your point pops into your head, you are prewriting. When you realize that your paragraph isn’t working the way you wanted and you stop to list ideas or figure out another approach, you are returning to the prewriting stage. Prewriting is thinking, and the more thought you put into a paper, the stronger it will be.
Planning
“It’s all a part of finding my focus.”
Careful and thoughtful planning makes a paragraph easier for you to write and easier for your readers to read. Your plan may include a topic sentence—your statement of the main idea. Because it states the main idea, the topic sentence forms the cornerstone of your paragraph. Besides a topic sentence, your planning will probably include an informal outline. An outline can be as simple as a list of the points you will develop in a paragraph. Don’t be afraid that planning will waste your time. Careful planning—or lack of it—always shows in the final draft.
Drafting
“I just write.”
Sometimes drafting is a quick process, with ideas flowing faster than you can get them down on paper. At other times, the process is slow and difficult. Your thoughts grind to a standstill, and you become frustrated, thinking you have nothing to say. If you get stuck during the drafting process, don’t quit in frustration. The creative process is still at work. What is happening to you happens to all writers. Write through the problem, or, if necessary, return to the planning or prewriting stage.
As you draft your paper, you should not worry about grammar, spelling, or punctuation. Stopping to look up a comma rule will only distract you. Concentrate on ideas and save the proofreading for later.
Revising
“I see where the holes are.”
In its Latin roots, the word revising means “seeing again.” Revising is difficult because it is hard to see your work through the eyes of a reader. Writers often see what they meant to say rather than what they really said. Sometimes they take for granted background knowledge that the reader may not have. Because of these difficulties, it helps to put your draft aside for a day or so before trying to revise it. With twenty-four hours between writing and revising, you will see your paper more clearly. It is also helpful to ask someone else to look at your work—a friend, classmate, or relative. Ask the person to focus on the content of your paper rather than on grammar, spelling, or punctuation. Ask which ideas are clear and which ones need more explanation. Ask how well your examples illustrate your points. A reader’s comments can help you see your paper in a new light.
Proofreading
“I check to make sure my commas are in the right place and my grammar is okay.”
Proofreading is the final polish that you put on your paragraph. When you proofread, consider such things as grammar, spelling, and word choice. Replace vague words with specific words. Take out words that are not carrying their weight. Look at connections, making sure ideas flow smoothly from one sentence to the next. Because the stages of the writing process overlap, you have probably done some minor proofreading along the way. Before the final proofreading, set your paragraph aside for a while. Then proofread it once more to give it the luster of a finished piece.
Expect the Unexpected
If you go through the writing process expecting the steps to fall in order, like the steps involved in changing the oil in your car, you may think the process is not working. However, writing a paragraph is not a sequential process. It is a repetitive process, more like driving a car than changing its oil.
If you take a two-hundred-mile trip, the steps you follow might be described as “Turn on the ignition. Put the car in drive. Accelerate. Brake. Put the car in park. Turn off the ignition.” Yet it is not that simple. During a twohundred-mile drive, you repeat each step not once but several times, and you may even stop for rest or fuel. Writing a paragraph works in the same way. You may list the steps as “prewrite, plan, draft, revise, proofread,” but it is not that simple. You may change the order of the sentences as you write the first draft or correct a spelling mistake as you revise. Sometimes you repeat a step several times. You may even stop for rest or fuel, just as you do when you drive. Eventually, both processes will get you where you want to go.
Answer the following questions to review your knowledge of the writing process.
1. The five steps in the writing process are __________, __________, __________, __________, and ____________.
2. The “thinking step” in the writing process is called __________.
3. The part of the writing process that involves correcting grammar and punctuation is called _____________.
4. Major changes would most likely be made during the _________ step in the writing process.
5. True or false? The steps in the writing process often overlap. __________
The Writing Process: Stephanie’s Paragraph
This section follows the development of one writer’s paragraph from start to finish. In writing her paragraph, Stephanie went through several forms of prewriting, made two different outlines, conferred with members of her writing group and her instructor, and wrote two rough drafts. (Only the first of the two drafts is shown here because the final draft reflects all of the changes Stephanie made.) Before turning in her final draft, Stephanie also proofread the paragraph once from top to bottom and twice from bottom to top. Then she asked a member of her writing group to look over the final draft for any mistakes she might have overlooked.
Exercise 1-1 The Writing Process
The steps that Stephanie goes through are the steps that you will take as you learn the writing process. You will also share some of her frustrations. But, like Stephanie, you will find that what seems difficult at first is attainable, one step at a time.
Stephanie’s Assignment
Stephanie’s instructor handed out a list of three paragraph topics. Stephanie chose to write on this one: “Write about a piece of music or art that has a message for you. Don’t just describe the piece of music or art; tell your reader how it affected you.”
Stephanie’s instructor suggested that the students prewrite, then make an outline. Earlier, the class had been divided into writing groups of four or five people who would help one another during the term. The instructor suggested that the writing groups meet to discuss each student’s outline. Then students would write rough drafts and bring them to individual writing conferences with the instructor.
Stephanie’s Prewriting
In class, Stephanie did a form of prewriting called freewriting. (For more information on freewriting and other forms of prewriting, see Chapter 2.) In this prewriting, Stephanie did not worry about grammar or spelling, but focused on gathering ideas. Stephanie’s prewriting is reproduced here without correction.
I remember the day my art class went to an exhibit at the museum and I saw a piece of art—I don’t know what to call it. Not a painting or a drawing, but something the artist had put together. Built. I was trailing behind the class and something just pulled me over into the corner where it was. It was just me and that piece of art, and when I lifted the curtain— Wow! I was so knocked out. I remember my art teacher used to talk about what art meant, and I never understood until that day. I felt all sorts of emotion. I think I’ll go over to the Tubman this weekend and see if it’s still there.
Later, Stephanie visited the museum and took the following notes:
“Beauty Standard” by Ce Scott
Black frame, masks placed at top & bottom. Each side has female figure tied at ankles, wrist, and eyes with golden cord. They have bodies like models—thin & beautiful. Masks are just blank—no real features. Frame has tiny words repeated
over and over “dark brown eyes big full lips flat wide nose.” Velvet curtain—very mysterious—hangs there. Golden tassels hang down. “Mirror” embroidered on. Card says “Lift the curtain to see the image by which each of us should be judged.”
Stephanie’s Rough Draft
Ce Scott’s artwork Beauty Standard is a piece of art with a message. It hangs in the Tubman African American Museum. It has a black frame decorated with female figures bound at the wrists, ankles, and eyes with golden cord. They have bodies like models, thin and beautiful. At the center of the frame is a black velvet curtain embroidered with the word “Mirror.” On the frame, in small writing are the words “dark brown eyes big full lips flat wide nose.” A card beside the work invites the viewer to lift the cloth and see “the image by which each of us should be judged.” Underneath is a mirror—not the one held up by society, but one that reflects the image of whoever looked into it. The message is that the only beauty standard you need to meet is your own.
Stephanie’s Writing Group Meets
Next, Stephanie met with her writing group. A transcript of the portion of the session dealing with Stephanie’s prewriting and rough draft appears below.
Transcript: Writing Group Session, Monday, September 7
Eddie: Okay, who’s the first victim? Tran?
Tran: I don’t want to go first. Stephanie?
Stephanie: I may as well. I think I need major help. (Stephanie passes out copies of her prewriting and rough draft, and the group reads silently.)
Tran: I like it. You have good grammar and spelling. Stephanie: You’re just saying that because I got you off the hook. You didn’t have to go first. (Laughter.)
Kelly: I like it, too. But your prewriting is really different from the rough draft.
Stephanie: Yeah, the prewriting doesn’t have much detail. I had to go back to the museum to look at the piece again because I had forgotten a lot.
Eddie: Yes, but I like the prewriting. I can tell you were really excited about the painting.
Stephanie: It’s not a painting. I’m not sure what you’d call it.
Eddie: Whatever. But in the prewriting, I can tell it really had an effect on you. In the rough draft, the excitement disappears. It’s just a description.
Kelly: Eddie is right. I mean, it’s a good description, but it needs more of you in it.
Stephanie: Yeah, I see what you mean.
Tran: I chose the same topic, except I’m doing my paragraph on music. Anyway, I remember that the assignment said to tell how the music or art affected you.
Stephanie: That’s right! I do need to put more of my reaction in there somehow. But won’t that make it too long?
Kelly: Well, you heard what Dr. Pettis said. Plenty of support.
Stephanie: Okay, guys. Thanks. You’ve been a big help. Anything else?
Tran: Yeah. Will you help me with my grammar? (Laughter.)
Stephanie’s Final Draft
Stephanie wrote a second rough draft. Then she met with her instructor for a conference before writing her final draft. Stephanie’s final draft appears below.
Beauty Standard
I always thought of art as something to hang on a wall, never as something that had a message for me. Then last fall, at the Tubman African American Museum, I saw a piece of art called Beauty Standard by Ce Scott. It had a black frame decorated with female figures bound at the wrists, ankles, and eyes with golden cord. At the center of the frame hung a black velvet curtain embroidered with the word “Mirror.” A card beside the work invited the viewer to lift the cloth and see “the image by which each of us should be judged.” On the frame, in small writing, were the words “dark brown eyes big full lips flat wide nose.” The words made me think of the sixties slogan, “Black is beautiful.” It was a statement of pride and at the same time a demand to be included. At the time, society’s beauty standard was a white one. Even though ideas of beauty now include different races, so many people are still left out—the old, those who are overweight, and even those who are just average. Suddenly, I felt angry and a little afraid to lift the velvet curtain.
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of A winter in retirement
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: A winter in retirement or, scattered leaves
Author: Hannah Blaney Washburn
Release date: January 29, 2024 [eBook #72811]
Language: English
Original publication: New York: Frank Allaben genealogical company, 1914
Credits: Bob Taylor, Charlene Taylor and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
A Winter in Retirement Or
Scattered Leaves
By Hannah Blaney Washburn
Frank Allaben Genealogical Company
Forty-Second Street Building, New York
Copyright, 1914, by Frank
Allaben Genealogical Company
PREFACE
The scene of this little sketch is laid in one of the most delightful of our sea-coast residences, as it respects local situation; one of the earliest settlements of New England, and the birthplace of many individuals, whose memory, though perhaps unknown to fame, is cherished by their descendants to the third and fourth generation. With the hope that it may be received with favor, and do good, the writer, who is herself a native of Lynn, offers it to the public.
H. B. W.
A WINTER IN RETIREMENT OR SCATTERED LEAVES
C I
A home on Ocean’s sounding shore
Would be the home for me, Though loudly hoarse the wild waves roar, ’Tis the music of the Sea.
There is no prospect more lovely and attractive to those who were born upon its shores, than that of the Ocean. In the heat and sunshine of a bright summer day, there is a delicious coolness and refreshment in the breezes which float over its waters never to be forgotten by the wanderer from his native home, and even the hollow murmuring of its waves, when presaging an approaching storm, and their wild roar when the tempest is abroad in its fury, is remembered with a sort of pleasure as being the lullaby for many a calm and sound night’s sleep. In sickness, when far away from the land of his birth, the exile will remember its pure and healthful atmosphere, and in his dreams, perhaps, fancy himself treading the pebbly shore, and feeling the pleasant air upon his fevered brow. Such a fond remembrance has led to the location of the scene of this tale, a remembrance which will exist as long as memory remains.
“And this is the end of all our plans and anticipations for the winter? Oh, Mary, what shall we do through this long dreary season of nearly six months? No balls, no parties, indeed, no society, shut up in my aunt’s lonely house, with nothing to amuse us but the sound of the dismal waves, dashing against the rocks, the mournful wind, whistling through that forest of apple trees, and not a man to be seen but old Philip”—and here the voice of the speaker was stopped by her tears which were, however, soon soothed by the mild and gentle voice of her sister.
“Do look on the bright side of things, dear Susan,” said she, “you forget, how, when we were little girls, we used to love that orchard, how many merry plays we have had among those trees, and how many stories old Phillip would tell us; then, the beautiful shells we picked up upon the little beach, at the foot of the rocks,”—“But that was in the summer, Mary, when you know it is pleasant out doors, and that was when we were so young, and so easily amused, but now it is so very different, and then Aunt Wilson is so very, very pious—Oh; she will not let us read anything but sermons, or sing anything but psalm tunes.”
This was, indeed, but a gloomy prospect for a gay young girl of seventeen, and it required more stoicism than Susan Morton possessed to view it with indifference. The illness of their father, the necessity of his seeking a warmer climate through the winter, and his wish that his wife should accompany him, were the reasons which had induced him to trust his daughters, during his absence, to the care of his sister, a widow lady of much respectability, who resided near the sea-coast, and, who, since the death of her husband, had devoted her time and talents to the education of her children, two sons and a daughter; and, it was after bidding a sorrowful adieu to their parents, and finding themselves shut up in the carriage, which was to convey them to their winter home, that this conversation commenced. Susan was the youngest of the two sisters, a lively beautiful girl, very fond of society, and always the life and animation of every circle. She had formed many gay schemes of pleasure for the coming winter, the winter after she entered her seventeenth year, which had been all dispersed by the gradual but increasing illness of her father, and she had listened to the arrangement which had consigned her to the care of her aunt through that season which she had anticipated with so much delight with a dissatisfaction and gloom, which prevented her from seeing anything pleasant in their winter abode, or seizing upon any circumstances to soften her disappointment. Not so with Mary; with as lively a disposition as her sister, she still possessed the happy talent of extracting pleasure from any situation, and enjoying herself under almost any circumstances, and now endeavored, with earnest kindness, to bring to her remembrance many little events of their early youth,
connected with their aunt and her family, which would aid in restoring her tranquility, and she succeeded, for before their arrival at their destined home, Susan had joined in many a merry laugh at some pleasant recollection. The evening of a dull November day closed in before they arrived at the end of their journey, the monotonous dashing of the waves against the beach sounded drearily, and the chilly air, and the gloomy appearance of the sky made them welcome the bright light, which they knew, streamed from the retired dwelling of their aunt. The carriage now turned into the lane which led to the house, and they were greeted at the porch by the kind old Philip, whose hair seemed not a shade whiter, nor his face a whit more wrinkled than when, five years before, two lively little girls, they bade him “good-bye,” at that very door. They had hardly time to return his good humored smile, when they were surrounded by the rest of the family, and the affectionate caresses of their aunt, the joyous welcome of their cousins, and even the broad smile which displayed the white teeth of black Phoebe, made them feel that they had, indeed, as Philip said, “Got home again,” and caused Susan to forget her sad forebodings. The transition from the cold darkness of the evening without to the pleasant warmth and cheerful light of the sitting room was delightful, and, in a short time Susan found herself seated among a circle of lovely and beloved friends, all striving to make her happy, and all happy together, and, when, after an evening of the most charming sociability, she found herself alone with her sister, she acknowledged that she was never more entertained than she was this evening.
A bright and pleasant morning sun after a night of uninterrupted and tranquil repose, rendered sweet by the fatigue of the preceding day, restored all the gay cheerfulness of Susan, and she received the kind greetings of her friends, and their affectionate inquiries, with all her wonted good humor. A livelier party never surrounded a breakfast table, from the mother to the youngest of Mrs. Wilson’s children, the light-hearted Charles, a sprightly, intelligent boy of thirteen. Her eldest, a son, a member of the University, had returned to his home to spend the winter vacation. Herbert Wilson was a noble specimen of the youth of New England, active and enterprising, uniting to a fine constitution, habits of industry and
order, and already ranking high among the talented sons of his native State. Elizabeth, the daughter, was the counterpart, in disposition, of her cousin Mary; she was the friend and companion of her mother, and the loving counsellor of her brothers. The clouds of the preceding evening had dispersed; it was one of those delightful days which sometimes occur in November; a walk was proposed to the seashore, and with light and happy hearts, the young party, after crossing the brow of the hill, which separated them from the ocean, beheld its vast expanse stretched before them in boundless majesty. The sands, covered with shells, sparkled in the sunbeams; far off, in the distance, were seen the white sails of ships, some leaving their native shores, and some returning to them, and, in the southwest, rose the dome of the State House and many spires of Boston, from whence, on a clear morning, might be heard the cheerful sound of bells. On the smooth beach that united the shore with the beautiful peninsula of Nahant, were seen sportsmen with their guns, in pursuit of the wild fowl, which were wheeling in hurried circles above their heads, and, here and there, a fishing boat, lying upon the surface of the water, while its owner was engaged in his customary employment of fishing. “How delightful,” said Susan, “I could not have believed it would have been so pleasant here in November. I think I shall be quite contented here, after all.” “But reflect, my cousin,” said Herbert, “this is one of our days of sunshine, what will you say in the days of storm and tempest, when the waves dash against these rugged rocks, and the rain pours in torrents or snow darkens the atmosphere?” “Oh,” said the listening Charles, “you would not be discontented then, for, you know, the days are short, and soon pass away, and the evenings are so pleasant. Oh, cousin Susan! you don’t know anything about those winter evenings.” “Do tell me about them, Charlie, do tell me,” said the lively Susan. “Well, then, Herbert reads”—“Stop, stop, my little man,” said Herbert, “do not let Susan waste all her pleasure in anticipation, but, I hope, dear cousin of mine, to convince you that our happiness is not dependent upon the weather, or upon local situation, and, that, years hence, perhaps, on some bright day, in the most delightful season of the year, or, when surrounded, it may be with everything to make your life happy, you will look back to this winter in retirement as one of the
bright spots in your existence.” “I am half inclined to believe you, dear Herbert, but we will walk faster, for I think Mary and Elizabeth have found a prize.” Charles now bounded over the sands, and, upon joining his sister and cousin, found them engaged in examining a shell fish of singular construction. “Why, it is nothing but a horseshoe,” said he. “Uncle Bill says they call them so because they look like one, and, look, Herbert, there is Uncle Bill himself, with a basket of clams. Hurrah! Uncle Bill, what will you do with your clams?” He then ran to join a man who was coming from the edge of the water, where he had been employed in procuring the contents of his basket. He was slightly built, of a florid complexion, and a mild sensible countenance, but a certain wandering and restless expression indicated an unsettled mind. As Herbert greeted him kindly his eyes lighted with animation, and his respectful salute to the young ladies had an air of good breeding, unusual in a person in his apparent condition of life. To the repeated question of Charles as to what he would do with his clams, he said he would carry some to Phoebe, that she might make him a chowder. “That is the very thing, Uncle Bill; hurrah for clam chowder, and I’ll go forward and tell her,” said Charles, and he ran on, followed more slowly by Uncle Bill. “There is something singular in the appearance of that man,” said Mary. “There is something singular in his history,” said Herbert. “Sometime, on one of those stormy days of which I have forewarned Susan, I will tell you the outlines of it.” “Oh, no outlines,” said Susan, “tell me all the particulars, all the little shades of the story. I do not like rough sketches, I have not imagination enough to fill them up.” “I will tell you all I myself know of his life,” said Herbert, “and it is an illustration of the caprice and coquetry of which some of your sex are accused.” “A love story; that will be grand,” said Susan, “only it is a pity that the hero is an old clam merchant.”
A cheerful walk returned them to their home, where each resorted to their usual avocations, Herbert to pursue his studies and instruct Charles, Elizabeth to attend to and learn the necessary duties of a housewife, and during their morning walk she had contrived to inspire Mary with a desire to emulate her in becoming a complete cook and housekeeper, and thus give her kind mother an agreeable surprise on her return. Susan, also, was forming many plans for her
winter pursuits, among which, one was commencing the study of Latin, under the instruction of Herbert, and another of working, in worsted, a cover for a family Bible, with the names of her parents wrought upon it, in imitation of the one which laid upon her aunt’s table, and which she thought would please her father and mother. Thus the day passed, and when the family surrounded the tea table, health and cheerfulness glowed in every countenance, and Susan forgot every cause of discontent. After the tea things were removed. “Now,” said Charles, “now for the story, Herbert.” “What,” said Susan, “about Uncle Bill?” “No, no, not now,” said Charles, “a story about Rome, in the time of the early Christians. I am studying the history of Rome in Latin, and Herbert promised he would read a story about it.”
“In that case, Charles,” said Mrs. Wilson, “you will be able to detect any deviations from the truth of history.” “But, may I speak, mother, when I think I find anything that is not true?” “There will be times, my dear, when Herbert will pause awhile, and then you can make your remarks.” “There is a peculiar charm,” said Herbert, “in retracing the records of antiquity, for we lose sight, in the distance, of all roughness and inequalities, and our imagination only rests upon the smooth and distant perspective. I remember journeying with my father, many years ago, through the northern part of this State, and when I remarked to him that the hills which we saw around us looked as if they were highly cultivated, their surface appearing so even and delightful, here and there dotted with clumps of trees, he repeated the words of the poet, ‘’Tis distance lends enchantment to the view.’ ‘If, my son, you were there, upon those very spots that appear so pleasant, you would be disappointed by their rugged and uneven appearance, perhaps deformed with unsightly stumps, or with patches of rock.’” “So it is with the romance of history,” said Elizabeth, “but, if we are too critical in our remarks, we should lose much pleasure.” “True,” said Herbert, “and therefore, not to spoil the appetite of Charles for our little tale, we will not proceed with our illustrations.” Herbert produced his manuscript, the little circle arranged themselves at their different employments, and silence ensued, while in a clear voice he commenced reading a tale of which the scene was laid in the days of Nero, the tyrant of Rome, and the malignant persecutor of the Christians.
C II
Proud, imperial Rome!
The withering wing of Time has swept o’er all your splendor, Your stately palaces, where once the tyrant held his midnight revels, The amphitheatre, which echoed with the groans of martyred Christians,
And the triumphal Arch, where passed, in haughty pride, the victor, Where, in dark despair, strode on the vanquished monarchs, All alike have felt the blighting pressure.
It was on a bright and beautiful evening, just as the delightful sun of Italy was declining, that Cleone, a young Roman maiden, walked with her mother along the pleasant banks of the Tiber. They had chosen a retired walk for many reasons, one of which was that retirement better suited their dispositions, and another that Rome was, at that time, filled with a dissolute nobility, whose wills were almost their only law. Cleone and her mother were descendants of ancient and noble families, who had counted amongst their numbers grave and influential senators, warlike and victorious soldiers, and even mingled their blood with the powerful kings and dictators of Rome; but time, with its changing scenes, had reduced them in power and wealth, though oppression and poverty had not taken from them the proud consciousness of former greatness. “My daughter,” said the matron, “look at that glorious sun, though declining, though its splendor will shortly be obscured, yet it will rise again, with renewed and more brilliant light, and shed joy and happiness with its glad beams. So, dearest, shall the sun of our fortunes, though now almost disappearing, again rise, and the virtues of our own Curtius pour light and warmth on all within their influence. Believe this, my own Cleone, and let the thought disperse those clouds of melancholy, believe that your mother is a prophetess, and this time of good.” “Mother,” said Cleone, “I will try to have faith in your augury, but my brother is in a prison, in the power of a tyrant; how can we hope?” “He is under the protecting
power of that Being in whom we trust, who has comforted us in affliction, and preserved us in danger, and who will not now forsake us. He, whose power can melt the flinty rock, can soften even the hard heart of a Nero. Do you remember, Cleone, the deathbed of your father, when, laying his hand on the youthful head of our Curtius, after commending us to his love and protection, he blessed him in the name of the only living and true God. ‘Even,’ said he, ‘though called to the death of a martyr, let him never forsake the God of his father.’ The prayer of the dying saint has been heard; midst temptations, in the view of danger and death the undaunted youth has never been shaken in his fidelity to his God, and by his noble courage has forced even the haughty tyrant and his minions to respect.” “Oh, that I could restore him to you, dear mother. Last night I woke from disturbed slumber; the bright beams of the moon rested upon my couch, all was calm and still, the very air breathed peace, but the thought of my darling brother, shut out from all this loveliness, and exposed to the unwholesome damps of a dungeon, weighed heavy upon my mind. I threw myself upon my knees, I prayed God that he would save him from the cruel Emperor. Oh, mother, I did not again lie down until peace and comfort entered my mind, and I felt that if he lived or died, I could say, ‘Thy Holy will be done,’ but mother, I cannot always say so.” Thus communing they had arrived at a lovely spot, surrounded by trees whose luxuriant foliage almost touched the ground. Here they seated themselves upon the bank; the beautiful appearance of the river, as the bright sky was reflected upon the waters, the songs of the birds over their heads, the buzzing of innumerable insects, and the hum of the city, softened by distance, tranquillized their minds. “My Cleone, join your voice to this chorus, and sing our evening hymn.” Obedient to her mother’s wish, she sang, with sweet melody, the simple strain:
The shades of night are closing o’er us, God of Heaven, watch our sleep! For the sake of the Lord Jesus Wilt thou still thy servants keep? Lord! though dangers may surround us, We are safe beneath thy care.
As the low, sweet voice of Cleone died upon the air, a slight rustling of the bushes startled them and, turning quickly, they beheld a woman whose fixed and earnest gaze was riveted upon them. Leaning upon a staff, enveloped in a dark gray mantle, the hood of which covered her head, she appeared lost in thought. Her grey locks and the deep furrows of her face betokened extreme age, while her eyes, black, deep-set and piercing, showed that her mind still retained its powers. Her attention seemed fixed upon Cleone, whose countenance expressed terror at her unexpected appearance. “Lady,” said she, and her deep and hollow voice sounded as from the tomb, “do not fear; your voice has awakened feelings which I thought long since dead. Years of sin and misery seemed like a dream as I listened, and a youth of innocence and love was present to my thought. Thanks, maiden, for the momentary trance. Scion of the noble house of Curiatii, a dark cloud hangs heavy over your fortunes; He in whom you trust can disperse it. The gray moss waves on the lofty towers of the Atili, but their stones are yet firm and unbroken; the stately pine is decaying, but the young sapling is yet vigorous, and its shoots will press upward, the lamp of life glimmers but faintly in the breast of the aged, and will soon be extinguished, yet a bright spark remains in the young and noble to rekindle the ancient blaze. Lady, hearken to the prophecy of one who, though sinful and despairing, forgets not the remnant of the illustrious house that reared her childhood.” “You are unhappy, mother,” said the matron in the soothing tone of kindness, “but you must not say despairing. He who has offered up his life for us, who has borne our sins upon the cross, has left us the blessed assurance that all who repent need not despair.” “Aye,” said the Sybil, while a strong shudder shook her frame, “you are a Christian; enough,” and her eyes gleamed with almost terrific wildness; “away,” and, waving her hand, she disappeared among the trees. A moment of deep silence succeeded her departure, which was broken by Cleone. “Is not this frightful, mother? Who can this woman be? and does she mean us good or evil?” “Her words would seem to imply good to us,
my daughter, but dark and, I fear, unrepented wickedness burthens her mind, benighted indeed, if without the cheering ray of hope. Who she is I know not; tradition tells of those who have leagued themselves with the powers of darkness, but there was kindness in her words; let us think of her no more, my dearest, but quickly retrace our steps. We have already left our kind uncle too long.” “Ah, we will not linger, dear mother, he is so feeble.” The twilight deepened around them as they bent their way to their home, but the moon was rising in unclouded splendor and its mild beams diffused a brilliancy around the landscape more beautiful than that of day “How many, my Cleone, have listened to the murmur of these waves and watched the reflection of these moonbeams; how many noble and gifted beings whom we have been taught to love and admire, have, perhaps upon this very spot, gazed upon this same lovely scene. This same quiet and sparkling sky has shone upon the form of many a noble Roman whose heart was devoted to his country. Time moves on in his never-resting course and, centuries hence, my daughter, this river will roll on, as it now does, this sky sparkle with the same brilliancy, and beings, within whose forms the current of life flows as warmly as it now does in ours, will watch the unceasing motion of this stream and admire this pure and lovely firmament as we do.”
The family of the Curiatii, once powerful in Rome, was now represented by the young Quintius Curtius and his sister; civil wars and oppressions had reduced their numbers and torn from them their possessions and these, the last of an illustrious race, were even dependent upon the charity of an almost superannuated old man, the uncle of his mother. Their father, while serving in the Roman bands in Judea, had become a convert to Christianity and, while his children were yet young, had died in the full faith of the Christian’s hope, bequeathing them, as he believed, a rich legacy, in commending them to that Being who has said: “Leave thy fatherless children to me,” and, with a firm confidence that their mother would educate them in the “nurture and admonition of the Lord.” Most faithfully had that tender mother redeemed her pledge to her dying husband, and, with a noble fortitude, she had endured every privation and cheerfully made every sacrifice for the eternal welfare of those beloved children, and with that joy which only the Christian
parent can feel, she had seen them, while growing in their loveliness, devoting themselves to the service of the God of their father. Who has not shuddered at the atrocious cruelties of the reign of Nero? The wicked tyrant, whose greatest happiness seemed to consist in causing the misery of his fellow-beings, and where is the heart that has not beat in sympathy with the sufferings of those Christian martyrs, who, with a firm and unshaken constancy, endured the torments inflicted by that monster in human form, even until death, rather than deny the “Lord who bought them.” Educated in retirement, the young Curtius had for some time escaped notice, but as he grew in years and, through the influence of friends, had been introduced into public life, he was no longer shielded by obscurity. In his noble countenance was portrayed his high and commanding talents and vice and wickedness shrank abashed from the quick glance of his eye. Is it, then, to be wondered that he became an object of dislike to the infamous emperor and that the cruel tyrant sought an excuse to gratify his feelings of hatred, for, without an excuse, even Nero dared not attack the virtuous young Roman who was equally the object of love and admiration. That excuse was not long wanting, for the undaunted youth feared not to confess Christ before men, and that alone was crime of the deepest dye in the Pagan court of Nero. Summoned before the emperor, his firm yet respectful deportment and calm and decided answers commanded the admiration of all, even of the tyrant himself, who, with the strange inconsistency of his character, could even admire and applaud where he hated and had determined to destroy. But it would be greater matter of triumphs to Nero to induce the high-souled Curtius to renounce his religion than to take his life and, therefore, summoning to his aid those bland and persuasive manners he could so well assume, he, during many interviews, attempted to sap the foundation of that virtue, which was based upon a principle, enduring as eternity, till, finding every effort ineffectual, his rage knew no bounds, and the young Christian was closely confined, debarred from the sight of his mother and sister, and only respited until the imperial ruffian had contrived new modes of torture to enhance the bitterness of death. But, although cast into the dreariest dungeon, and apparently deprived of every comfort, this son of a sainted father
was not only resigned to his fate, but even triumphant in the thoughts of martyrdom, and, though deprived of the sight of those friends so dear to his heart, felt a sweet serenity in the conviction that he was the object of their fervent prayers and fondest solicitude. Who can estimate the unspeakable consolation he derived from the invisible presence of that Saviour who has promised, “I will never leave you comfortless,” who has said, “Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”
“You will read more, you will not leave off yet, Herbert,” said Charles. “Our time is expended,” said Herbert, “and, in order to enjoy pleasure, we must not prolong it until it becomes wearisome.” “Wearisome!” said Susan, “we should not even think of the idea.” “I could almost wish,” said Elizabeth, “to have been one of the first Christians, even amidst all their dangers. Such firm confidence, such joyful hope, and holy love would seem cheaply gained by all their sufferings.” “I almost believe,” said Mary, “that placed in their situation, I, too, could have risen above fear; that I could almost rejoice to die in such a cause.” “Their situation was indeed peculiar,” said Mrs. Wilson. “The power of God was with them and supported them. He was their refuge and strength, their present help, therefore they did not fear. Left to our own weakness we are as nothing, supported by his mighty arm, we are powerful, invincible.” “My curiosity,” said Susan, “is much excited by the old woman, and I shall like to find out who she is.” “You called her a Sybil, Herbert,” said Charles. “There is a story in my History of Rome of a woman who went to one of the kings to sell some mysterious books, which he refused to purchase. She went away and burned some, then came back and asked the same price for those remaining, and continued to do so till she had burned a good many, and, at last, the king bought those that were left, and they were considered of so much value that officers were appointed to take care of them and they were consulted upon all important matters.” “You are right, Charles,” said Herbert, “there is such a relation, and perhaps we may class
