I am a dancing girl


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<<   作成日時 : 2017/04/03 13:10   >>

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Of course it was furnished apartments for rentgood enough journalism for a beginning; I knew that quite well, and yet it was somehow disappointing. The "Court Circular" pleased me better;

indeed, its simple and dignified respectfulness was a distinct refreshment to me after all those disgraceful familiarities. But even it could have been improved. Do

what one may, there is no getting an air of variety into a court circular, I acknowledge that. There is a profound monotonousness about its facts that baffles and

defeats one's sincerest efforts to make them sparkle and enthuse. The best way to manage -in fact, the only sensible way -- is to disguise repetitiousness of fact

under variety of form: skin your fact each Hong Kong shopping placestime and lay on a new cuticle of words. It deceives the eye; you think it is a new fact; it gives you the idea that the

court is carrying on like everything; this excites you, and you drain the whole column, with a good appetite, and perhaps never notice that it's a barrel of soup

made out of a single bean. Clarence's way was good, it was simple, it was dignified, it was direct and business-like; all I say is, it was not the best way:
On Monday, the king rode in the park.
" Tuesday, " " "
" Wendesday " " "
" Thursday " " "
" Friday, " " "
" Saturday " " "
" Sunday, " " "
However, take the paper by and large, I was vastly pleased with it. Little crudities of a mechanical sort were observable here and there, but there were not enough

of them to amount to anything, and it was good enough Arkansas proof-reading, anyhow, and better than was needed in Arthur's day and realm. As a rule, the grammar

was leaky and the construction more or less lame; but I did not much mind these things. They are common defects of my own, and one mustn't criticise other people on

grounds where he can't stand perpendicular himself.
I was hungry down the whole paper you beauty hard sell at this one meal, but I got only a few bites, and then had to postpone, because the monks

around me besieged me so with eager questions: What is this curious thing? What is it for? Is it a handkerchief? -- saddle blanket? -- part of a shirt? What is it

made of? How thin it is, and how dainty and frail; and how it rattles. Will it wear, do you think, and won't the rain injure it? Is it writing that appears on it, or

is it only ornamentation? They suspected it was writing, because those among them who knew how to read Latin and had a smattering of Greek, recognized some of the

letters, but they could make nothing out of the result as a whole. I put my information in the simplest form I could:
"It is a public journal; I will explain what that is, another time. It is not cloth, it is made of paper; some time I will explain what paper is. The lines on it are

reading matter; and not written by hand, but printed; by and by I will explain what printing is. A thousand of these sheets have been made, all exactly like this, in

every minute detail -- they can't be told apart." Then they all broke out with exclamations of surprise and admiration:
"A thousand! Verily a mighty work -- a year's work for many men."
"No -- merely a day's work for a man and a boy."





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