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From: "alexander koryagin" <koryagin@erec.ru>

Hi, Dallas Hinton! How are you?
on Friday, 17 of February, I read your message to All
about "Humour"

 DH> Here are a few humorous grammar rules!
 DH> Verbs HAS to agree with their subjects.

 DH> Never use a preposition to end a sentence with. Winston Churchill,
 DH> corrected on this error once, responded to the young man who corrected
 DH> him by saying "Young man, that is the kind of impudence up with which I
 DH> will not put!

 DH> And don't start a sentence with a conjunction.
[Skipped]

Probably better to read something like this:

=========Beginning of the citation==============
    George  and  I  were for camping out.  We said it would be so wild and
free, so patriarchal like.

    Slowly  the golden memory of the dead sun fades from the hearts of the
cold,  sad clouds.  Silent, like sorrowing children, the birds have ceased
their  song,  and  only the moorhen's plaintive cry and the harsh croak of
the  corncrake  stirs the awed hush around the couch of waters,  where the
dying day breathes out her last.

    From  the  dim  woods on either bank,  Night's ghostly army,  the grey
shadows,  creep  out  with  noiseless  tread  to  chase away the lingering
rearguard of the light,  and pass,  with noiseless, unseen feet, above the
waving river-grass,  and through the sighing rushes;  and Night,  upon her
sombre throne,  folds her black wings above the darkening world, and, from
her phantom palace, lit by the pale stars, reigns in stillness.

    Then  we  run  our  little boat into some quiet nook,  and the tent is
pitched,  and  the frugal supper cooked and eaten.  Then the big pipes are
filled and lighted, and the pleasant chat goes round in musical undertone;
while,  in  the  pauses  of our talk,  the river,  playing round the boat,
prattles  strange  old  tales and secrets,  sings low the old child's song
that it has sung so many thousand years - will sing so many thousand years
to come,  before its voice grows harsh and old - a song that we,  who have
learnt  to  love  its  changing  face,  who  have  so often nestled on its
yielding bosom,  think,  somehow,  we understand, though we could not tell
you in mere words the story that we listen to.

    And  we sit there,  by its margin,  while the moon,  who loves it too,
stoops  down  to kiss it with a sister's kiss,  and throws her silver arms
around  it  clingingly;  and we watch it as it flows,  ever singing,  ever
whispering,  out  to meet its king,  the sea - till our voices die away in
silence,  and the pipes go out - till we, common-place, everyday young men
enough,  feel strangely full of thoughts, half sad, half sweet, and do not
care or want to speak - till we laugh,  and,  rising, knock the ashes from
our  burnt-out  pipes,  and say "Good-night, " and,  lulled by the lapping
water  and  the  rustling trees,  we fall asleep beneath the great,  still
stars,  and  dream  that the world is young again - young and sweet as she
used  to be ere the centuries of fret and care had furrowed her fair face,
ere  her children's sins and follies had made old her loving heart - sweet
as  she was in those bygone days when,  a new-made mother,  she nursed us,
her  children,  upon  her  own  deep  breast  -  ere  the wiles of painted
civilization had lured us away from her fond arms, and the poisoned sneers
of  artificiality  had made us ashamed of the simple life we led with her,
and  the  simple,  stately  home  where mankind was born so many thousands
years ago.

=========The end of the citation================


[...Pride goes before a fall]
Bye Dallas!
Alexander (yAlexKo[]yandex.ru) + 2:5020/2140.91
fido7.english-tutor 2012 



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