There was somebody born in England, on the 16th of July, 1723.  He was the son of a clergyman, and his father was rather strict with him.  He made a drawing of his father’s school with so much accuracy of outline, and in such correct perspective, that the grave clergyman could no longer maintain his severity.  He saw that his son would be a painter, and resolved to aid him.  An anecdote related of the artist runs thus:  One day, a man called to see some of his pictures, and asked him what he mixed his colors with.  The painter answered, “With brains, sir—­with brains!”—­Yours,

    FRANK R.M.

* * * * *

    Columbia, S.C.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS:  Our schoolma’am told us the other day that it is generally best to use short words instead of long words in writing or speaking, and she gave us a verse to copy as a specimen.  She said that it was written by a man who was perfect master of seven languages, knew six others very well, was at home with another eight, and read with a lexicon four more,—­in all twenty-five different languages; and although he could use tremendously long words when he chose, yet he made a point of using short ones, even though they were old and odd and not in common use.  I send you a copy of the verse, and I think he might have done much better if he had used longer and more forcible words.—­Yours truly,

    STELLA G.

      “Think not that strength lies in the big round word,
        Or that the brief and plain must needs be weak. 
      To whom can this be true that once has heard
        The cry for help, the tongue that all men speak
      When want or woe or fear is in the throat,
        So that each word gasped forth is like a shriek
      Pressed from the sore heart, or a strange wild note
        Sung by some foe or fiend.  There is a strength
      Which dies if stretched too far or spun too fine,
        Which has more height than depth, more breadth than length. 
      Let but this force of thought and speech be mine,
        And he that will may take the sleek fat phrase,
      Which glows and burns not, though it gleam and shine—­
        Light but not heat—­a flash, but not a blaze!”

Long words are not always the most “forcible,” Stella,—­nor, on the other hand, are they always to be avoided.  Sometimes the best word for expressing our meaning may be long to spell, but easy to understand; and, again, a word may be short and yet fail to tell exactly what we wish to say.  The verse you copy is not a convincing example of the power of short words, although it shows that much may be done with them.  Frequently a word is chosen for its rhythmic quality—­the pleasantness and ease with which its sound fits in with the context—­rather than because it is long or short.  Mr. Longfellow’s poem, “The Three Kings” published in the last Christmas number of ST. NICHOLAS, is an example of a fine poem in simple and rhythmical language, the study of which will improve your style of writing more than any number of rules that we might give you.