How to Use a Histogram in Poetry

This video shows the solution to matching the points on the scatter graph to the columns of data.

Here is another question based on graphs;

How to Use a Histogram in Poetry

Construct a histogram based on these short excerpts, comparing the number of words with different numbers of syllables in each, and comment on the results. Can you think of other ways of comparing them in a way that creates data?

Extract From Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

The succeeding week seemed long: it came to an end at last, however, like all sublunary things, and once more, towards the close of a pleasant autumn day, I found myself afoot on the road to Lowton. A picturesque track it was, by the way; lying along the side of the beck and through the sweetest curves of the Dale: but that day I thought more of the letters, that might or might not be waiting for me at the little burgh whither I was bound, and the charms of lea and water.

My ostensible errand on this occasion was to get measured for a pair of shoes; so I discharged that business first, and when it was done, I stepped across the clean and quiet little street from the shoemaker’s to the post office: it was kept by an old dame, who wore horn spectacles on her nose and black mittens on her hands.

Extract from A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

Now, it is a fact that there was nothing at all particular about the knock on the door, except that it was very large. It is also a fact that Scrooge had seen it, night and morning, during his whole residence in that place; also that Scrooge had as little of what is called fancy about him as any man in the City of London, even including – which is a bold word – the corporation, aldermen and livery. Let it also be borne in mind that Scrooge had not bestowed one thought on Marley since his last mention of his seven-year’s-dead partner that afternoon. And then let any man explain to me, if he can, how it happened that Scrooge, having his key in the lock of the door, saw in the knocker, without its undergoing any intermediate process of change – not the knocker, but Marley’s face.

Extract from Father and Son by Edmund Gosse

In a few hours, when all dirt had subsided, and what living creatures we had brought seemed to have recovered their composure, my work began. My eyes were extremely keen and powerful, though they were vexatiously nearsighted. Of no use in examining objects at any distance, in investigating a minute surface my vision was trained to be invaluable. The shallow pan, with our spoils, would rest on a table near the window, and I, kneeling on a chair opposite the lights, would lean over the surface till everything was within an inch or two of my eyes. Often I bent, in my zeal, so far forward that the water touched the tip of my nose and gave me a little icy shock. In this attitude – an idle spectator might have formed the impression that I was trying to wash my head and could not quite summon up resolution enough to plunge – in this odd pose I would remain for a long time, holding my breath and examining with extreme care every atom of rock, every swirl of detritus.