Wouldn't you
think somebody would have told her? And that isn't all. She got
the premium!
Neither am I prepared to pass judgment on the fancy penmanship
displayed by Professor Swope, framed elegantly in black walnut, and
gilt, depicting a bounding deer, all made out of hair-line, shaded
spirals, done with his facile pen. (No wonder a deer can jump so,
with all those springs inside him.) Professor Swope writes visiting
cards for you, wonderful birds done in flourishes and holding
ribbons in their bills. He puts your name on the ribbon place.
Neatest and tastiest thing you can imagine. I like to watch him do
it, but it makes me feel unhappy, somehow. I never was much of a
scribe, and it's too late for me to learn now.
I don't feel so downcast when I examine the specimens of writing
done by the children of District No. 34. I can just see the young
ones working at home on these things, with their tongues stuck out
of one corner of their mouths.
"Rome was not built in a day
Rome was not built in a day
Rome was not built in a day"
and so on, bearing down hard on the downstroke of the curve in the
capital "R," and clubbing the end of the little "t." And in the
higher grades, they toil over "An Original Social Letter,"
describing to an imaginary correspondent a visit to Crystal Lake,
or the Magnetic Springs.
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