THE PRACTICAL ELEMENTS OF RHETORIC WITH ILLUSTRATIVE EXAMPLES. BY JOHN F. GENUNG, PH.D. (LEIPSIC) PROFESSOR OF RHETORIC IN AMHERST COLLEGE. BOSTON : GINN & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS. 1888. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1886, by JOHN F. GENUNG, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, J. S. GUSHING & Co., PRINTERS, BOSTON, MASS. Stack Annex \M02, TO my friend and colleague, f&. f&umpijreg Netll, in pleasant recollection of the points we have discussed and the plans we have made together, in the sphere of study to which this book aspires to contribute. CONTENTS. Introductory. Definition of Rhetoric I Rhetoric as Adaptation I Rhetoric as an Art 3 Province and Distribution of Rhetoric . . . . . . 6 PART I. STYLE. Chapter I. Style in General. Definition of Style . 13 Adaptations of Style ...17 Qualities of Style 19 Principle of Economy .........25 Chapter II. Diction. Definition of Diction 28 SECTION I. Choice of Words ....... 29 I. Accurate Use 29 n. Present Use 35 ill. Intelligible Use 39 iv. Scholarly Use 42 SECTION II. The Characteristics of Poetic Diction ... 48 I. Poetic Brevity of Expression 50 II. Poetic Archaisms and Non-Colloquialisms ... 52 in. Poetic Picturesqueness 55 iv. Poetic Regard for Sound ....... 60 vi CONTENTS. PAGE SECTION III. The Characteristics and Types of Prose Diction . 63 I. Characteristics of Prose Diction 64 II. Types of Prose Diction 68 SECTION IV. Diction as Determined by Object and Occasion . 76 I. The Diction of Spoken Discourse 76 II. The Diction of Written Discourse ..... So III. Antique, Foreign, Colloquial, and Dialect Diction . . 82 iv. Maintenance of the Tone of Discourse .... 83 Chapter III. Figures of Speech.. Definition 85 General Suggestions 85 Classification and Description of the Most Important Figures of Speech 87 I. Figures that promote Clearness and Concreteness . . 87 II. Figures that promote Emphasis 96 Chapter IV. Composition. SECTION I. Fundamental Processes 109 I. Syntax no II. Collocation 117 in. Retrospective Reference 122 iv. Prospective Reference 133 v. Correlation 135 vi. Conjunctional Relation 138 vn. Negation 144 vin. Suspension 146 IX. Augmentation 150 X. Condensation i54 XI. Repetition 160 XII. Inversion . . . . . . . . .165 xin. Euphony 167 xiv. Rhythm 169 SECTION II. The Sentence 172 Definition 172 I. Structure of the Sentence 172 CONTENTS. vii PAGE II. Necessary Qualities of the Sentence . . . .175 in. Kinds of Sentences 185 SECTION III. The Paragraph 193 Definition 193 I. Qualities and Structure of the Paragraph . . . . 194 II. Kinds of Paragraphs 210 PART II. INVENTION. Scope of Invention . . . . . . . . .217 Chapter I. The Basis in Mental Aptitudes and. Hab- its. I. Invention as a Natural Gift ...... 220 II. The Mental Habits that promote Invention . . . 226 Habits of Observation 227 Habits of Thought 232 Habits of Reading 235 Chapter II. General Processes in the Ordering of Material. SECTION I. Determination of the Theme 248 Definition of Theme ........ 248 Theme and Subject 249 Statement of the Theme 253 The Title 258 SECTION II. Construction of the Plan 260 I. General Mechanism of the Plan 261 II. The Three Fundamental Elements of the Plan . . 266 The Introduction ....... 267 The Development 272 The Conclusion ........ 279 III. Means of Preserving Continuity 282 SECTION III. Amplification ....... 285 I. Uses of Amplification 286 II. Means of Amplification ....... 290 III. Accessories of Amplification 297 viii CONTENTS. PAGE Chapter III. Reproduction of the Thought of Others. I. Interpretation 302 II. Abstract 307 in. Paraphrase 310 IV. Translation 315 Chapter IV. Invention dealing with Observed Ob- jects: Description. I. Description in its Principles ...... 326 Definition of Description 326 Mechanism of Description 328 Subdual of Descriptive Details 334 Accessories of Description 338 Exactions of the Object 347 II. Description in Literature 350 In Prose Literature 351 In Poetry 352 Chapter V. Invention dealing with Events : Narra- tion. I. Simple Narration 355 Definition of Narration 355 Method of Narration 356 Movement in Narration ...... 363 What Narration owes to Description .... 368 II. Combination of Narratives 371 Synchronism of Events 371 Interwoven Plots 373 in. Narration in Literature 375 History 375 Biography . . . 378 Fiction 379 Drama , 381 Chapter VI. Invention dealing with Generaliza- tions : Exposition. I. Exposition in its Elements .... . 884 CONTENTS. ix PAGE The Object Expounded 384 Exposition Intensive, or Definition .... 387 Exposition Extensive, or Division .... 396 n. Exposition in Literature 402 Science and Systematized Thought .... 402 Criticism 404 Popular Exposition 405 Chapter VII. Invention dealing -with Truths: Argu- mentation. I. Proof of Truth Directly .408 Discovery of Facts : Testimony and Authority . . 408 Inference from Particulars : Induction . . .416 Inference from Generals : Deduction .... 424 II. Proof of Truth by Disproof of Error .... 429 By Reducing the Issue to an Alternative . . . 429 By Refutation 432 in. The Body of Arguments 439 What Argumentation owes to Exposition . . . 439 Suggestions on Order of Arguments . 441 iv. Debate 444 Chapter VIII. Invention dealing with Practical Is- sues : Persuasion. I. The Principles of Persuasion 448 The Speaker's Alliance with his Audience . . . 449 The Speaker's Achievement of his Object . . . 456 II. Oratory 468 Characteristics of Oratory in General .... 469 Kinds of Oratory 472 Index of Subjects 477 Index of the Principal Quotations 485 PREFACE. A BOOK on so old a subject as rhetoric can scarcely hope to give the world much that is new. But old things, in proportion to their living value, need from time to time to be newly defined and distributed, their perspective and emphasis need to be freshly determined, to suit changing conditions of thought ; this we find abundantly recognized in the subject before us, in the rapidly increasing number of text-books that are appearing. To which number the present volume presumes to add one ; and in setting forth its aim and standard would select for remark a single word of its title, the word practical, By practical elements are here meant, broadly, those elements which may be applied, as the result of the teacher's guidance, to the actual construction of literature. In this sense of the term, some elements of rhetoric, though very real and valuable, are not practical, because the ability to employ them cannot be imparted by teaching. They have to exist in the writer himself, in the peculiar, individual bent of his na- ture. No teacher or treatise, for instance, could ever endow the student with Milton's sublimity, or with Sterne's elusive wit, or with Bacon's weighty sententiousness ; and any attempt on the student's part to work up these qualities by rule would be only a contortion. Other elements are not practical, because all that can be done with them is merely to discriminate and define them. The student can burden him- self, for instance, with the names of some two hundred and fifty figures of speech ; but when he gets beyond the name and inquires after the usage, he may safely omit two hundred and thirty-five of them as super- fluous, they are merely those spontaneous and unlabored modes xii PREFACE. of expression of which De Quincey says, " the rack would not have forced any man to do otherwise." Still other elements there are which are not practical to teach, because they have to be discovered. The finer principles of literary taste, for instance, the subtler music of rhythm and fancy and allusion, are obtained only through a special sense devel- oped by long and minute discipline ; they may come some time, but not ordinarily through the class-room. Such are the elements excluded from the present treatment. To say they are unpractical, however, is not to say they are useless ; it is merely to confess that they are incom- municable. They belong, in a word, to a delicate and difficult science the science of criticism, rather than to what is here sought, the art of constructing. Literature is of course infinitely more than mechanism ; but in pro- portion as it becomes more, a text-book of rhetoric has less business with it. It is as mechanism that it must be taught ; the rest must be left to the student himself. To this sphere, then, the present work is restricted : the literary art, so far as it is amenable to the precepts of a text-book and to the demands of a college course. The best way to discern whether a rhetorical principle is true and practical is to study its effect in the concrete. When the student sees how it looks in actual application, he cannot gainsay it ; it is no more theory but fact. And all the more suggestive is the instance if it is not manufactured for the occasion but taken from those universally current works whose writers had neither the fear nor the worship of rhetoric before their eyes. For this reason, it has been deemed essential in this book to illustrate every important point by copious examples from standard literature ; and though these have increased the number of pages beyond what was originally contemplated, it is believed that their value will more than atone for the space they occupy. AMHERST, MASS., June 25, 1887. " I hope that your professors of rhetoric will teach you to cultivate that golden art the steadfast use of a language in which truth can be told ; a speech that is strong by natural force, and not merely effective by declamation ; an utterance without trick, without affectation, without mannerisms, and without any of that excessive ambition which over- leaps itself as much in prose writing as it does in other things." John Morley. INTRODUCTORY. Definition of Rhetoric. Rhetoric is the art of adapting dis- course, in harmony with its subject and occasion, to the require- ments of a reader or hearer. The word discourse, as it will be used throughout this treatise, is a general term denoting any coherent literary production, whether spoken or written. I. Rhetoric as Adaptation. Literary discourse, properly consid- ered, does not exist for itself alone ; it is not soliloquy, but a de- terminate address to readers or hearers, seeking to impart to them some information or thought, with accompaniment, as occasion requires, of emotion or impulse. Hence, whatever is thus im- parted must strive after such order and expression asjs best fitted to have its proper power on men ; consulting their capacities and susceptibilities, it must determine its work by the requirements thus necessitated. The various problems involved in such adapta- tion constitute the field of the art of rhetoric. This idea of adaptation is the best modern representative of the original aim of the art. Having at first to deal only with hearers, rhetoric began as the art of oratory, that is, of convincing and persuading by speech ; now, however, when the art of print- ing has greatly broadened its field of action, it must fit itself to readers as well, must therefore include more literary forms and more comprehensive objects; while still the initial character of the art survives, in the general aim of so presenting thought that it shall have power on men, which aim is most satisfactorily ex- pressed in the term adaptation. 2 INTR OD UC TOR Y. Distinguished by this Characteristic from the Sciences on which it is founded. Rhetoric is mainly founded on two sci- ences, logic and grammar. " Now^ it is by the sense," says Dr. Campbell, "that rhetoric holds of logic, and by the expression that she holds of grammar." Grammar investigates the uses of words, and the structure of phrases and sentences, with a view to ascertaining what are the facts of the language ; and when these are presented so as to show what is correct hi expression, its end is accomplished. Rhetoric, also, employs the facts of the language to secure gram- matical correctness ; but this only because discourse cannot be effectual without it. Nor does rhetoric stop with mere correctness of expression. Having an end to accomplish beyond simple utter- ance, it must seek also clearness, or beauty, or force of style, ac- cording as these qualities may best serve to give thought its fitting power. Further, while the sphere of grammar extends only as far as the sentence, rhetoric discusses also the structure of paragraphs and larger sections, and so on through the various details of an entire discourse. Logic investigates the laws of thought, with a view to determin- ing its exact and consistent sequences ; and, like grammar, it is content with discovering and presenting the facts of its province. Rhetoric, also, must observe the laws of thought, because the ends of discourse fail if these are transgressed ; but this it does only as its hidden beginning. What it has found by logical processes to be true and consistent, it seeks further to make lucid, or attractive, or cogent, or persuasive, in order to gain men's attention and in- fluence them. Thus thought on the one side and expression on the other, taking the distinctive qualities that adaptation imposes on them, combine to make up what Dr. Campbell calls the soul and the body of discourse. In what Ways Discourse may be adapted. As dictated by its thought and occasion, three general adaptations of discourse are to be noted, corresponding to the three divisions of man's spiritual INTR OD UC TORY. 3 powers, and giving rise, as either of these is predominantly con- sulted, to three broad types of literature. First and most fundamentally, discourse of whatever kind must adapt itself to the reader's understanding ; that is, it addresses and compels his power of thought, whether by imparting information or by convincing of truth. Common ideas require, for the most part, merely such simple presentation as this ; and the predomi- nance of this appeal to the intellect gives rise to the great body of every-day literature history, biography, fiction, essays, treatises, criticism included under the general name of Didactic Prose. Secondly, some kinds of ideas come to the writer intensified by emotion or glowing with imagination ; and hence, in their presen- tation, while they must still consult primarily the reader's under- standing, they address themselves most directly to his sensibilities, to make him feel the thought as well as think it. Of such adapta- tion to the emotional nature, the purest outcome is Poetry. A third class of ideas comprises such as, from their importance, or from the occasion of their presentation, require a definite deci- sion in the hearer's conduct, and hence, employing persuasion as a means, culminate as an appeal to the will. This kind of dis- course, as it has the highest object, must seek to enlist all the spiritual powers, imparting alike thought, emotion, and impulse ; and results in the most complex literary type, Oratory. Such are the three comprehensive types of discourse, evolved from the effort to adapt thought, in various ways, to human powers. Of their occasion and principle it is essential to take account, though it is not to be supposed that they must necessarily remain unmixed. A great part of the life and interest of any literary work may arise from the fact that, while one type predominates, such elements of others may be introduced as shall make the thought influence and satisfy the whole man. II. Rhetoric as an Art. Rhetoric, here called an art, is some- times defined as a science. Both designations are true; they 4 INTR OD UC TOR Y. merely regard the subject in two different aspects. Science is sys- tematized knowledge ; if then the laws and principles of discourse are exhibited in an ordered system, they appear in the character of a science. Art is knowledge made efficient by skill ; if then rhetorical laws and principles are applied in the actual construction of discourse, they become the working rules of an art. According to its predominant character as an art or as a science, rhetoric may be regarded as of two kinds : constructive rhetoric, which is concerned with the production of discourse ; and critical rhetoric, which traces the laws of discourse through the study of works of literature. The present manual, having principally in view the practical ends of constructive rhetoric, starts from the definition which views rhetoric as an art. Art and Aptitude. Art in expression is exactly analogous to art in painting, or music, or handicraft. No one becomes really eminent in these pursuits without first possessing some natural aptitude for them ; and just so, true genius for expression must to some extent be born in a man. Some persons cannot hope, even by training, to attain eminence as writers. There is in the highest literary work a grace and freedom that cannot be imparted by rules. But though all cannot become great writers, all can at least learn to express their thought directly and without ambiguity ; nor is there any excuse on the score of nature for crudeness and inac- curacy in speech. Further, just as in these other arts one does not think of stopping with mere inborn aptitude, but develops and disciplines all his powers by precept and training ; so in the art of expression one needs by faithful study and practice to get beyond the point where he only happens to write well, and attain that conscious power over language and thought which gives him precision and grace in adapting means to ends, and fine discrimination in choosing among his resources. This is rhetorical art, and this assured power its value. Sources of Failure. "All fatal faults," says Ruskin, "in art that might have been otherwise good, arise from one or other of INTR OD UC TORY. 5 these three things : either from the pretence to feel what we do not ; the indolence in exercises necessary to obtain the power of expressing the truth ; or the presumptuous insistence upon, and indulgence in, our own powers and delights, and with no care or wish that they should be useful to other people, so only they be admired by them." This, written primarily with reference to painting, applies with equal fitness to the literary art ; and the order in which the faults are named corresponds to the frequency of their occurrence. First and commonest,, insincerity. By this is not meant that writers intentionally make pretence of feeling what they do not. None the less truly, however, they may fall into insincerity and unreality, by unconsidered use of conventionalisms, stock expres- sions, outworn figures, and the like. Young writers especially are liable to employ such ready-made and stereotyped resources, with- out stopping to think how much or how little they mean ; and thus they commit themselves to what does not represent their genuine thought. Secondly, " indolence in exercises necessary to obtain the power of expressing the truth." This fault is the special temptation of those to whom composition comes easy ; they think their cleverness will obviate the necessity of discipline. Thus the very innate aptitude which is so full of promise may be- come a snare to them, through being undervalued. It is to be remembered that this art, like every other, has its technicalities, which require and repay all the diligence and minuteness of care that can be expended upon them. Lastly, rhetorical vanity. This comes from being so taken with literary devices and artifices as to rate form before thought ; and it manifests itself in manner- isms, affectations, tricks of style, and the like. It must always be borne in mind that rhetoric does not exist for itself, but only as the handmaid of the truth which it seeks to make living in the minds and hearts of men. Initial Difficulties of the Art of Rhetoric. These are just such as occur in the beginning of every art : the difficulty, to wit, of making skilled achievement take the place of crude, undisciplined 6 INTRODUC TOR Y. effort. To submit one's work in composition to rules is to regulate the free creative impulse by critical processes ; and this, until the writer gets used to it, is apt to check and chill the flow of thought. Beginning thus, literary work is too self-conscious, and the art of the discourse too apparent. But such a self-conscious stage in the writer's experience cannot well be avoided ; it is merely a sign that the art is not fully mastered. Sooner or later rhetorical rules must be learned, either from precept or from experience ; for they are not arbitrarily invented, as something that a writer may treat as he will, but discovered and deduced from confessedly good usage, as principles that must be observed. The question therefore is, whether the writer will learn without rules, by blundering experi- ence, or take what the approved procedure of others has found to be best. Nor can the answer be doubtful. The true way is to submit to rhetorical laws and methods ; and though these may in the beginning be obtrusive and tyrannical, by diligent practice they will become second nature. The crowning excellence of skilled expression, as all acknowl- edge, is naturalness. But such an achievement, wherein everything seems in its right place and degree, we call also artistic. Art at its highest and nature at its truest are one. The result appears ideally free from, pains and effort ; this, however, not because art is not present, but because the art is so perfect as to have concealed its processes. III. Province and Distribution of Rhetoric. The art of rhetoric, in its endeavor to adapt discourse to the requirements of the reader or hearer, must naturally take for its province all the plans and procedures included in the construction of a literary work. In so doing, however, it cannot undertake to legislate for individ- ual cases. Its business is merely to point out the resources at the writer's command, with the mental habits necessary to the mastery of them ; and to give cautions against whatever is unskilled and unadapted. Beyond this, in all the actual work of authorship, it INTRODUCTORY. 7 must leave him to his own powers and judgments. Rhetoric can- not make a writer ; it can neither enhance the value of his thought nor impart real character to his expression ; it can only bring him to the point where, if he has ability, that ability may rightly prove itself. In a word, its province is to supply such directions for self- culture that the author, having submitted to its guidance, may be able to utter his conceptions confidently and with self-reliance. In the construction of a work of literature we discern two differ- ent lines of mental activity, which, starting from widely separated points, converge to a common result in the completed product. The one is the line of thought, or matter ; the other the line of expression, or manner. Of course a question of expression must often involve the question of thought also, and vice versa ; so the two lines of study must continually touch and interact ; but on the whole they are distinct enough to furnish what is perhaps the sim- plest working basis for the distribution of the art. The principles of rhetoric therefore group themselves naturally around two main topics : style, which deals with the expression of discourse, and invention, which deals with the thought. Style. Under this heading are discussed the various rhetori- cal principles that are developed from grammar : how to use words and figures, and how to build them together so as to impart to the whole a desired power and quality. The sphere of the work of style is the construction of sentences and paragraphs. Herein are comprised, it will be observed, the more mechanical features of the art, features too often shunned on account of their dryness, but, like the prosaic technicalities of every art, elements that can least be spared, principles that must accompany the writer at every step, whatever the form of his undertaking. Nor is the dryness so much real as fancied. Details of expression are repulsive only to the lazy or the listless ; let the writer once feel the greatness and importance of his subject, and every word that goes to increase its effectiveness is full of interest. Invention. Under this heading are comprised, roughly speak- ing, the various features of discourse that are developed from logic : 8 INTRODUCTORY. how to work out a line of thought from its central theme through its outline to its final amplified form ; and how to select, arrange, and modify it for the requirements of the various literary types. Observe, the sphere of invention, so far as invention can be taught by a treatise, is only partly indicated in the derivation of the word ; nor can it be concerned so much with the question what material to find as with the question how to find it. All the work of origination must be left to the writer himself; the rhetorical text-book can merely treat of those mental habits and powers which give firmness and system to his suggestive faculty, and the principles and procedures involved in the determination of any literary form. I. STYLE. " The style which deals in long sentences or in short sentences, or indeed which has any trick in it, is a bad style. . . . The best thing which, to my mind, has ever been said about style was said in a metaphorical way, the writer de- claring that the style should, as it were, involve and display the subject-matter, as the drapery in a consummate statue folds over and around the figure." Sir Arthur Helps. STYLE. Order of Rhetorical Study. It is with design that the order here followed is chosen for the two main divisions of a rhetorical course, that the part relating to expression precedes the part relating to the thought. For this corresponds to the logical order which all arts, as well as the art of discourse, must observe. The first care in every art is devoted to technical details, to those minutise of treatment which, it may be, escape notice in the per- fected whole, but whose presence or absence makes all the differ- ence between skill and crudeness. " In all arts," says Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1 " the natural advance is from detail to general effect. How seldom those who begin with a broad treatment, which apes maturity, acquire subsequently the minor graces that alone can finish the perfect work ! " From this remark he goes on to describe a poet of this century (Tennyson), who in the be- ginning of his career "devoted himself, with the eager spirit of youth, to mastering this exquisite art, and wreaked his thoughts upon expression, for ^the expression's sake. And what else," Mr. Stedman then pertinently asks, " should one attempt, with small experiences, little concern for the real world, and less observa- tion of it?" Following then this natural order, it is important that the stu- dent of composition begin with thorough investigation of the re- sources of expression, and with diligent practice in them, just as the musician begins with finger exercises, and the artist with draw- ing from models. Such initial discipline is valuable both in itself and in its results; for it is the best and directest means of awakening that insatiable desire for accuracy, in statement and in I "Victorian Poets," p. 156. 12 STYLE. thought, which is the indispensable accompaniment of honest writing, that feeling which forbids the author to rest until both the expression and the idea, both style and invention, are conformed throughout to a sternly chosen standard. Nor is this technical practice in style to be confined to the first period of the literary art, as if it could be mastered once for all and then neglected. Rather, it is present always, in the construc- tion of every phrase and sentence. Its order is logical rather than chronological. In every literary undertaking, and with care for it increasing instead of diminishing, the skilled writer's fundamental labor is devoted to patient management of details and particulars, weighing of words, sifting and shaping of minute considerations, until with unhasting pains everything is fitted to its place. And the result of such diligence is increasing fineness of taste for ex- pression, and increasing keenness of sense for all that contributes, in however small degree, toward making the utterance of thought perfect. STYLE IN GENERAL. 13 CHAPTER I. STYLE IN GENERAL. I. Definition of Style. By style is meant, in general, manner of expressing thought in language ; and more particularly, of giving it such skillful expression as invests the ictea with fitting dignity and distinction. Some modes of exhibiting facts, as in statistics, reference-tables, formulae, and the like, are too rudimentary to admit the idea of style. There can be no degrees of effectiveness in the presenta- tion of them, nor is such effectiveness looked for ; their interest centres solely in the thing that is said. A work characterized by style derives equal importance from the particular manner of say- ing a thing : there is a force or a felicity in the use of language that adapts the thought to the occasion, and gives it fullness and power. That is, there must be some dignity or distinction in the expression before we can begin to estimate it as style. By its style the thought is made to stand out as adapted to act upon men. NOTE. To illustrate how great a difference there may be in the manner of saying a thing, and how much a thought may be enriched by its style, com- pare the following passages. i. The first, quoted from the North American Review, has occasion only to give statistics, and hence contains little if any thought of style : " I have stated the taxable value of all the property of Texas at six hundred and three millions of dollars. Let me enumerate, in round numbers, a few of the items which go to make up that sum. " The land is counted at about two hundred and forty-seven millions, not including eighty-six millions for town lots. Cattle stand for eighty-one mil- lions; horses, thirty-two millions; sheep, nine millions; and hogs, two mil- lions. The assessed value of railroads is forty millions. The merchandise of the State is put down at twenty-nine millions; and the money on hand, twelve millions and a half." 14 STYLE IN GENERAL. 2. The second, quoted from Lowell's " Fireside Travels," deals indeed with a simple thought, but notice how much the author's mind adds to it from its own resources, in play of fancy, figurative suggestiveness, quotation, allusion, so that the idea is enriched by the sparkle and play of many associated ideas : " When our dinner came, and with it a flask of drowsy red Aleatico, like ink with a suspicion of life-blood in it, such as one might fancy Shakespeare to have dipped his quill in, we had our table so placed that the satisfaction of our hunger might be dissensualized by the view from the windows. Many a glut- ton has eaten up farms and woodlands and pastures, and so did we, aestheti- cally, saucing our frittata and flavoring our Aleatico with landscape. It is a fine thing when we can accustom our animal appetites to good society, when body and soul (like master and servant in an Arab tent) sit down together at the same board. This thought is forced upon one very often in Italy, as one picnics in enchanted spots, where Imagination and Fancy play the parts of the unseen waiters in the fairy-story, and serve us with course after course of their ethereal dishes. Sense is satisfied with less and simpler food when sense and spirit are fed together, and the feast of the loaves and fishes is spread for us anew. If it be important for a state to educate its lower classes, so is it for us personally to instruct, elevate, and refine our senses, the lower classes of our private body-politic, and which, if left to their own brute instincts, will dis- order or destroy the whole commonwealth with flaming insurrection." Between these two opposite poles of expression lies the broad and diversi- fied domain of literary style. Among practical people there is sometimes a disposition to decry any endeavor after style, and along with it any study of rhetoric, as if all had to do only with tricks and subtleties of ex- pression, or with cunning artifices of logic. Plain and direct state- ment, without art, is the favorite plea of such people ; like the Franklin in the Canterbury Tales, they take for granted that com- mon speech is excluded from the province of rhetoric : " At my bigynnyng first I yow biseche, Have me excused of my rude speche. I lerned nevere rethorik certeyn; Thyng that I speke it moot be bare and pleyn." This plea merely betrays a wrong idea of what style is. Plainness and directness, even bareness of statement, belong, in their place, as truly to style as does elegance ; indeed, these apparently simpler STYLE IN GENERAL. 15 qualities are often the most difficult to obtain. " To press to the sense of the thing itself with which one is dealing," says Matthew Arnold, " not to go off on some collateral issue about the thing, is the hardest matter in the world." The criterion of a style is fur- nished first of all by the requirements of the subject-matter. While the expression of some ideas may stop with plainness, other ideas must take higher qualities. Some thoughts are essentially beautiful or subtle, and scorn a bald and rudimentary statement ; others are in their nature rugged or ponderous or incisive, and the force of the expression must correspond. Style is just the skillful adaptation of expression to thought. That manner of expression is all-important is shown by those literary works that survive their age and become classic. The pro- ductions that take their place among the world's undying treasures of literature are invariably and exclusively such as possess eminent merits of style. All others, though they deal with the same thought, are, so to say, melted back into the bullion of rudimental ideas, until their thought, masterfully expressed, is fitted to live. While, however, we speak of thought and expression as two things, it is to be remembered that style is not to be regarded as separable from the thought. It is not, and cannot be, something added from without. Any such thing brought in as a finery, or a mere device, betrays its unfitness at once. If it is not required by the thought, it does not rightly belong to the style. For the style is the thought, freed from crudeness and incompleteness, and pre- sented in its intrinsic power and beauty. And the writer's supreme effort is directed, not so much to the qualities of style in themselves, as to the demands of his subject, in order to bring out in its fullness what is essentially there. How far Style is Communicable. True as it is that the style is the thought, it is equally true that the style is the man. No two persons have the same way of looking at things. Each writer imparts something of his own personality to what he writes ; so that the vigor of his activities, the earnestness of his convictions, the grace of his fancies, live again in a manner of expression that 16 STYLE IN GENERAL. would be natural to no one else. His style is the mirror of his mind and character. Thus there is an individuality in every man's style which is incommunicable. The grace and power of it can be felt and interpreted, but it cannot well be imitated, or at least any imitation is sure to be weak and insincere. An author's pecu- liar manner may furnish valuable suggestions,' by which others may improve their own style ; a vigorous thinker may even set a pattern of writing for his generation, and thus materially influence the gen- eral style of his age ; l but yet, beyond all this, every man who would write with power must seek his own natural expression, must be himself, in an individuality as incommunicable as he sees in the work of others. But while the personal qualities are incommunicable, there are features of style that may be taught and acquired, being largely a matter of discipline and care. Such are the grammatical and log- ical principles of expression. Not every one can learn to write in a masterly style ; but every one can learn to write honestly, can clear his language of ambiguities and inconsistencies, can unlearn false and vulgar tastes. Every one can form the habit of weighing words and constructions, and of making his thought direct and definite. These are lower qualities of style, it is true ; but they are fundamental, and indispensable to the higher. And when one has acquired these, he has at least the medium of useful expression, which all need, and which is all that most people have occasion for. The impersonal features of style, such as are developed from grammar and logic, it is within the province of a text-book to teach. Accordingly such a manual as the present concerns itself with the shaping of language to thought, and with pointing out the value and use of the various resources of expression, from the choice of words up to the construction of an entire discourse. In so doing it may also give counsel regarding literary habits and methods in 1 Of the writers of this century, Macaulay is perhaps the most remarkable illus- tration of this fact. More than can well be estimated, the current style of writing, especially in journalistic and periodical literature, has profited in crispness and interest, since he first gave to the world his vigorous and pointed sentences. STYLE IN GENERAL. 17 general, may show the writer how to educate his thinking powers, may put him in the way to develop a pure taste. Such is the task recognized in the present course of rhetorical study. II. What Adaptations of Style are Essential. Three factors are to be noted as necessary in the perfect adaptation of any style, or any quality of style, to its purpose. To satisfy these is the work of skill and calculation in any particular case, but also it depends fully as much on the writer's general culture. 1. The writer needs to have a just feeling of the relation between style and thought. Just as there are different planes of thinking, so there are different levels of style. Some thought is common and homely, and any attempt to dress it up in splendor of language makes it appear tawdry. Some thought, and the expression given to it, needs to be severe, sententious, precise. Other thought there is that requires all the resources of fancy and imagery that can be employed. The nature of the thought is indeed the first dictator of the style ; but to obey its dictates unerringly, and make manner answer perfectly to matter, is the result of no little skill. The perfect adjustment of style to thought depends mainly on a matured and educated taste. Such taste is developed by familiarity with the usage of the best writers, and by watchful care over one's own speech. By his ' daily habits of reading and conversation, if they are rightly regulated, one may form almost insensibly a literary instinct, which enables him to detect at once a false note in expres- sion ; he feels when a word adds a real poetic touch, and when it is only tinsel ; or when a prosaic word flats the tone of an impas- sioned passage ; or when a colloquialism impairs the dignity of a severe and elevated thought. 2. The writer needs to recognize the relation of the style to the reader. Most truths belong to all men, and need to be expressed in a style that $nay be understood by all ; but some, which are technical and belong only to a class, may on occasion be expressed in the language of that class. Thinking readers take special pleas- 18 STYLE IN GENERAL. ure in severe and precise expression ; imaginative readers look for and value the graces of style ; cursory readers may be arrested by a flavor of wit and pungency, or by the confidential tone of a con- versational manner. All such things the writer must remember, and seek to adapt his work to the capacities and powers of his readers. The fault is often mentioned of an orator's speaking over the heads of his audience : the complaint means that he is too inflexible in his individual ways of thinking and does not simplify for the needs of others than himself. The writer cannot easily go astray in seeking to adapt his words to minds of ordinary capacity ; and this he may the more safely do because, while the unlearned require plainness of speech, the truly cultured are the last to despise simplicity. To effect such adapta- tion, leading authors have found it of great advantage to write as in the presence of an audience, to imagine themselves conversing with a person of average intelligence, who must be made to appreciate the thought according to its nature. This is indeed the truest and simplest basis of discourse, to write as one would speak. 3. The writer needs to make his style adequately represent himself. By this is meant that he is to present his ideas and con- victions fully and naturally, without disadvantage from an imper- fectly mastered medium of communication. The ability to do this is by no means the easy matter it seems. The writer may be glowing with the beauty or importance of a truth, and yet his attempt to express it may result, with his best efforts, only in frigid and stilted language. He may in conversation be perfectly fluent and natural, and yet write a pedantic or lifeless style. 1 The fault lies in imperfect or insufficient training. His power over expression needs to be so developed by culture, needs to become so truly a second nature, that his written words may be a sponta- neous, undimmed reflection of his mind's working. Until such mastery is attained, his style disguises, not represents, himself. 1 " Tom Birch is as brisk as a bee in conversation ; but no sooner does he take a pen in his hand, than it becomes a torpedo to him, and benumbs all his faculties." Remark attributed to Dr. Johnson, Boswell's Life. STYLE IN GENERAL. 19 The adaptation of the writer's style to himself depends mainly on diligent and painstaking practice. It cannot come with the first attempt, nor with the second ; it is the result only of long labor, and patient subdual of the intractable elements of expression, until they become an obedient working-tool, responding to every touch, and represent not only the writer's thought but himself, in all the rich endowments of his nature. III. What Qualities a Good Style, apart from its Individuality, should have. The cardinal qualities of a good style may be reduced to three, which are here given in the order of their uni- versality and importance. I. The first and indispensable quality of a good style is Clear- ness. Generally it is enough if the writer devote^ his efforts simply to being understood ; let this be secured, and other qualities will come largely of themselves. Such plainness, such clearness, is the foundation on which all other qualities are built ; force or elegance of style counts for little, and seems indeed out of place, unless there is clear conception and expression under it. Nor is it enough for perfect clearness that a style be intelligible. Quintilian puts the ideal still higher. " Non ut intellegere possit, sed ne omnino possit non intellegere, curandum ; " not language that may be understood, but language that cannot be misunderstood, is the writer's true aim. The quality of clearness, according as the writer's concern is predominantly with the thought or with the reader, takes two aspects. i. Precision, or faithfulness to the thought. A well-mastered and clearly defined thought gives the impulse to careful work with the medium of expression ; hence its outcome is precision of style. 20 STYLE IN GENERAL. Precision depends chiefly on the choice of words, and especially with recognition of their fine distinctions and shades of meaning. While words are thus weighed and discriminated, critical care is equally exercised not to tolerate anything that only fills up or pads out, without making real addition to the thought. The habit of carefulness thus generated is well expressed by Walter Savage Landor, himself an acknowledged master of precision in style, in describing his own methods : " I hate false words, and seek with care, difficulty, and moroseness those that fit the thing." And the result of this habit, providing as it does for the finer and less obvious features, is a general cleanness and chasteness of expres- sion, which to the intelligent reader affords peculiar satisfaction. Too exclusive endeavor after precision may make the style stiff and angular ; this fault is of course to be guarded against. The ideal is, so to conceal the workmanship that the reader may absorb the thought without realizing how exact and careful is the wording. 2. Perspicuity, or adaptedness to the reader. The derivation of the word perspicuity, denoting the property of being readily seen through, or as we express it by another word, transparency, is a just indication of this quality of style. Perspicuity in expression is due mainly to the grammatical man- agement of phrases and sentences, and is perhaps the most easily reduced to rules of any of the qualities of style. It calls for the mental habit of keeping strict note of all relations of words to each other, of leaving no word till its grammatical connexions are cared for, and of hunting out all possible ambiguities, vaguenesses, incon- sistences. And the ideal sought is, everything in its place, every word where it will count for the most in representing the thought. Perspicuity and precision of style cannot always both exist in the degree that is desirable. Some thoughts are less easy to make clear than others ; and sometimes perfect exactness can be ob- tained only at the sacrifice of some ease of interpretation. In such cases, where the writer must choose between the two, it is generally advisable to decide for the precise statement. It is unwise to impair the thought for the sake of the expression. Let STYLE IN GENERAL. 21 the aim be first faithfulness to the thought, and secondly intelli- gibility, so far as the idea will permit ; and few cases will be found where with reasonable care the two qualities may not be conjoined. 3. As related to the writer himself, clearness, in its double aspect, may be called the intellectual quality of style. Whatever trains the thinking powers, therefore, in discrimination, in grasp, in vigor, has its good effect toward producing clear expression ; but besides this there is also needed much patient and systematic self-culture, in subduing language to perfect flexibility and obedi- ence. It is this quality of style, in particular, that demands unwearied interest in all the prosaic details of composition. II. To the quality of clearness must generally be added, for ade- quate effect, the quality of Force. Precise and perspicuous expression, being the staple, the back- bone of composition, is to be cultivated first and most conscien- tiously of all ; but the cases in which mere clearness is enough, without the aid of other qualities, belong to the comparatively elementary forms of literature, those works in which the bare thought is all-sufficient to supply the interest. But when the idea comes home more closely to reader and writer, when on the one hand it must gain lodgement in dull minds or stimulate a laggard attention, or when on the other, its importance rouses the writer's enthusiasm or stirs his deep convictions, there is or must be imparted to it greater life than its merely intelligible statement would demand. The various features that go to give life and emphasis to style we gather under the general quality of force. i. As related to the reader, the devices for obtaining force in expression are, like those for obtaining clearness, simple and readily reduced to rules. They consist in choosing words that make a definite and particular impression instead of a general and vague one ; in choosing words that mean or suggest a great deal, and so stimulate thought ; and especially in so arranging words as to bring out important ideas in strong relief. The mental habit 22 STYLE IN GENERAL. required, therefore, is, study of the power of words, of their dynamic or suggestive qualities; and study of the position of words, until the writer can feel and calculate the effect of every smallest change in their arrangement. It is with special relation to the quality of force that the assertion holds, Words are things. Closely connected with force of expression, and generally a promoter of it, is brevity. A strong impression needs in most cases to be a quick impression. Occasions sometimes rise, there- fore, where there is a clash between force and clearness. For while clearness demands the presence of particles and other sub- ordinate words that, while they articulate the thought, tend also to cumber its movement, force demands that these be cut down or dispensed with, as far as may be, in order not to enfeeble the im- portant words. In such cases, when one quality can be secured only at some expense to the other, the particular object in view must determine the decision. The writer must consider whether this object can best be promoted by fullness of statement, or by vigor of impression. 2. As related to the thought, force is a higher quality, less amenable to rules. A commonplace subject cannot be made forcible by manipulation of words ; the effect is only a contortion. On the other hand, a strong subject scorns languid expression ; it has a power and a cogency in itself that compels earnestness and quickened feeling in the writer. His duty in this respect, there- fore, is more with himself than with his methods ; he is to seek to be so in harmony with his subject that his conviction of its impor- tance shall not fall below its demands. And the result of such harmony is a general vigor and virility of expression, more easily felt than described, wherein every word seems to have its mark and to take deep hold of the author's inner life. 3. As related to the writer himself, force may be regarded as the will-quality of style. It comes most genuinely when it is sought only indirectly, when the writer is determined to make the reader think as he does, and throws the whole energy of his nature into the attainment of his object. This calls in the deepest STYLE IN GENERAL. 23 sense for the culture of character ; the writer must think closely, look upon things independently, and cherish true convictions. Let these be secured, and the writer has the best impulse to mas- ter those more mechanical features that appear in the perfected art. III. The quality of style supplementary to clearness and force is Beauty. An idea may be stated with perfect clearness, may make also a strong impression on the reader's mind and heart ; and yet many of the details may still be an offense to his taste ; or a crude ex- pression and harsh combinations of sound may impair the desired effect by compelling attention to defective form. Any such dis- turbing element is a blemish in the style. Nor is it an offense to the cultured reader alone. Every one may be aware that a style is crude, though he may not be able to locate or explain the cause ; and when an idea is expressed with supreme felicity every one may appreciate it. There is needed, therefore, in every well-formed style, an element of beauty, to make the style a satisfaction to the reader's taste, as well as to his thought and conviction. Beauty in style is by no means synonymous with ornament ; so far from it, indeed, that the question of elegances and decorations of style is here left wholly out of the account, belonging as it does rather to the peculiar susceptibilities of a subject, or to the excep- tional endowments of the writer's mind. The quality of beauty is fundamental ; supplementary indeed to the others, and ungenuine . unless they also are present, but just as necessary as they are. i. As regards its mechanical adaptedness to the reader or hearer, the quality of beauty depends mainly on sound. The writer needs to be on his guard against successions of sounds hard to pronounce together ; against jingling recurrence of the same sound ; and against harsh consecutions of accented or un- accented syllables. Further, he needs to guard against hitches and abruptness in construction, and against ill balance in clauses or phrases related to one another. In a word, he is to aim at smoothness and melody of expression, so far as these will not impair more important qualities. 24 STYLE IN GENERAL. The readiest training for this quality of style is to subject one's work constantly to the test of reading aloud. Prose characterized by beauty requires a discipline of the ear, as truly as does music or poetry. It is indeed a test in which much reliance may be placed, that a passage should sound rightly. 2. As related to the thought, beauty, even more than force, is above the reach of mere rules and precepts. Just as a forceful style is the spontaneous result when the idea is intensified by ear- nest conviction, so beauty is the result when the idea is vivified by the imagination. No devices or methods can of themselves produce the quality ; its ideal lies in the perfect harmony of the form with a true taste and poetic sensibility. Sometimes, there- fore, beauty takes the shape of graceful simplicity ; sometimes the strength and even the ruggedness of a passage is its truest beauty ; and sometimes no richness of coloring and imagery can be too elaborate. The thought, as it lives and works in a cultivated im- agination, is the dictator of the form. The external indications of such beauty arey harmony of sound and sense, rhythm, and picturesqueness of word and figure. These, being also the distinctive features of poetic diction, are the qualities in which prose approaches nearest to poetry. We find . therefore that to satisfy the demands of beauty, as the thought requires, prose often borrows poetic resources. 3. As related to the writer himself, beauty is the aesthetic qual- _ ity of style ; and calls for culture in taste and in perception of the music of word and thought. Mechanical devices are of little worth unless the writer has a real susceptibility to begin with ; nor can the sense of beauty be imparted from without. Any be- ginning of such a sense may, however be indefinitely developed ; besides, the writer may be unaware of his innate powers until the right discipline awakens them. There is no reason, therefore, in the case of any one, for neglecting such culture. The best discipline for the aesthetic sense in style, is familiarity with what is beautiful in literature. By a law of nature he who dwells habitually among beautiful thoughts will become imbued, STYLE IN GENERAL. 25 in mind and feeling, with their beauty. Let the writer shun, alike in writing and in conversation, whatever is gross and deformed and vulgar, let him seek to appreciate what the world's taste has pronounced satisfying, and he will soon find himself possessing susceptibilities unsuspected before. Summary of the Qualities of Style. Before leaving the dis- cussion of this subject, it is essential to note how intimately the car- dinal qualities of style are dependent on each other. So inter- linked are they that any one of them in its perfection necessarily involves to a greater or less degree the others, and each may almost be described in terms of the others. So we may say of force, that the first means of securing it is clearness, and after- wards its more distinctive devices ; and of beauty, that its first element is clearness, its second, force. And may it not indeed be said that the simple pervasive quality of clearness, clearness to the mind, clearness to the convictions, clearness to the sensibili- ties, is the truest secret of artistic expression ? To be genuine, the qualities of force and beauty, in their higher significance, must come for the most part unsought, rising natu- rally out of the character and demands of the subject-matter. It is precarious, therefore, to work for them directly ; the endeavor is apt to result, if force is sought, in a violent style, or if beauty, in affectation. Let the simple aim be, perfect fidelity to the thought, in its fullness and importance, as it must be imparted to a reader, and the higher qualities will no doubt come in satisfac- tory measure of themselves. IV. The Principle that makes these Qualities of Style Practical Economy. Since Herbert Spencer wrote his essay on "The Philosophy of Style," students of the subject have universally ac- cepted his conclusion therein reached, that the central principle of a good style lies in the economizing of the reader's attention. The ideal of writing, as he states it, is " to so present ideas that they may be apprehended with the least possible mental effort." In explanation Mr. Spencer says : 26 STYLE IN GENERAL. " Regarding language as an apparatus of symbols for the con- veyance of thought, we may say that, as in a mechanical appara- tus, the more simple and the better arranged its parts, the greater will be the effect produced. In either case, whatever force is absorbed by the machine is deducted from the result. A reader or listener has at each moment but a limited amount of mental power available. To recognize and interpret the symbols pre- sented to him, requires part of this power ; to arrange and com- bine the images suggested requires a further part ; and only that part which remains can be used for realizing the thought con- veyed. Hence, the more time and attention it takes to receive and understand each sentence, the less time and attention can be given to the contained idea ; and the less vividly will that idea be conceived." In accordance with this principle of economy, the foregoing qualities of style may be briefly recapitulated. i. Economy of the reader's interpreting power. This may be secured, according to occasion, in two ways. First, by giving the reader less to do ; that is, by reducing the difficulties of the mechanism of expression to a minimum, so that all the reader's energy may be employed in realizing the thought itself. This, which is illustrated in the paragraph from Mr. Spen- cer quoted above, is the economy effected by the various means employed to secure clearness of style. Secondly, by stimulating the reader to do more. This means of economizing power is fully as valuable as the other, and not to be ignored. What is too easily obtained is too cheaply held, in litera- ture as in everything else ; and not infrequently a thought is prized the more from some effort made to master it. In the matter of economizing attention, then, the writer must be wise ; and if instead of clearing away every difficulty he uses such expression as will arouse in the reader something of his own creative energy, his object is even more effectually secured. Strong and suggestive language, vigorous imagery, skillful grouping of important ideas, are thus a second means of economizing interpreting power. These belong to the general quality of force in style. STYLE IN GENERAL. 27 2. Economy of the reader's sensibilities. This is secured partly by force and partly by beauty of style. First, when an emotion is once roused in the reader, economy requires that it be wisely conserved and utilized. This forbids, for example, following an image or appeal by one less vivid or vigor- ous ; the progress should rather be upward, to greater interest and strength. It forbids, equally, following out every striking suggestion to its utmost ; if the reader's mind is quickened, let it have some share in constructing the thought, and not have all its action fore- stalled. This fault, which is known as " writing a subject to the dregs," is .one of the surest means of deadening interest. The activity of the reader's suggestive faculty should be wisely main- tained ; it is a real economy of his feeling and power. Secondly, the reader's sensibilities are economized by conciliat- ing his aesthetic sense. Whatever jars on his taste, or his feeling of fitness, is so much of an obstruction to the idea, and conse- quently uses up so much of his energy for nothing. The means of promoting this economy have been mentioned under the head of beauty of style. The laws of style, which the foregoing chapter has defined in general terms, it will now be the business of the rest of Part I. to apply in detail. For such a purpose as this, the various inquiries concerning style may be conveniently grouped into two classes of problems : the first comprising what relates to the material of style, which class subdivides itself again into Words and Figures ; the second comprising whatever relates to the building together of these materials into literary forms. Accordingly, the subject of style in detail, as discussed in the following three chapters, will in- clude : Chapter II. Diction. Chapter III. Figures of Speech. Chapter IV. Composition. 28 DICTION. CHAPTER II. DICTION. Definition of Diction. The word diction is the name given to that aspect or department of style which has to do with words, principally with the choice of words, but also, in a general way, and independently of the distinctive details of composition, with the connexion and arrangement of words. A writer's diction, then, as we generally speak of it, is the kind of words he habitually em- ploys to convey his thoughts ; which words we find, in any case, bear, according to the writer and the kind of discourse, a distinc- tive character that enables us to classify them as a kind of diction. Every author has his peculiar diction, and so has every kind of literature. But beyond these individual and class characteristics there is also a general standard of diction, which every writer must regard. That standard, or ideal, is perhaps best expressed by the word PURITY ; the writer must see to it that he keep his mother- tongue unsullied ; and this by observing, in all his choice of lan- guage, the laws of derivation, usage, adaptedness, and taste. Transgressions of the standard are owing to want of culture and tact, either in the general knowledge and use of words, or in the special requirements of the discourse in hand. The requirements of pure and fitting diction will be discussed in four sections : on the choice of words ; on the characteristics of poetic diction ; on the characteristics and types of prose dic- tion ; and on diction as determined by object and occasion. THE CHOICE OF WORDS. 29 SECTION FIRST. THE CHOICE OF WORDS. " IF there is one thing in this world," says De Quincey, " that, next after the flag of his country and its spotless honor, should be wholly in the eyes of a young poet, it is the language of his country. He should spend the third part of his life in studying this language, and cultivating its total resources. He should be willing to pluck out his right eye, or to circumnavigate the globe, if by such a sacrifice, if by such an exertion, he could attain to greater purity, precision, compass, or idiomatic energy of diction." This is spoken primarily of the poet ; but it is hardly an exagger- ation of the ideal of the conscientious prose-writer. The impor- tance of care, patience, scrupulous minuteness, in the study and choice of words, cannot easily be overstated ; it is by such a habit alone that eminent authors have written what the world could ac- cept as true and trustworthy. Such authors, as inquiry always reveals, observe rigid rules and standards. At the same time, it is to be remembered that rules are to be the writer's servants, not his tyrants ; their use lies, not in being apparent as rules, but in guiding to results that have the freedom and ease of nature. The man is to be ever above his rules ; this however not by disregarding them, rather by so mastering them that they cease to be mere external precepts and become his readiest mode of working. The following are the principal rules and cautions to be observed in the choice of words. I. ACCURATE USE. Under this head are given those rules which refer in general to the task of fitting the word to the idea ; of removing language, therefore, on the one side, from the looseness and exaggeration of ordinary speech, and on the other, from incorrectness owing to 30 THE CHOICE OF WORDS. carelessness and ignorance. They are rules for literary habits and culture, fully as much as for procedure in individual cases. i. In the choice of words, let the paramount consideration be exactness. That is, seek to say precisely what the thought requires, neither more nor less. This demands of course close scrutiny of mean- ings, and independence of current fashions in words. It is disas- trous for a writer to take up with the lazy idea that a word is " not quite right but near enough " ; nor can he afford to adopt without examination what " everybody says." His standard must be abso- lute, not what will do, but what is exactly commensurate with the thought. NOTE. The following cases will exemplify the most frequent violations of exactness : 1. Dashing use of vague epithets, as heard especially in ardent conversa- tion : " The falls were veryjine, and all the scenery about them is elegant. At the hotels also one can get & grand dinner; at least while we were there we fared splendidly." These words really have no definite meaning, as here used : a more significant quality is attributed to a dinner than to the sublimest natural object. 2. Choice of words a little aside from their proper meaning, and all the more misleading because only a little wrong : " He was greatly aggravated by the occurrence"; here the more proper word would be "vexed" or "exas- perated." " Where shall I be liable to find this passage of poetry?" here " liable " is improperly used for " likely." 3. Faults to which young writers are especially liable are, generalizing too hastily, stating things too absolutely, and off-hand exaggeration. Examples (from student essays): "There are very good proofs that Chaucer was a Wyckliffite." This is too absolute a statement; strong enough would be, " There are some indications" etc. " An attempt to justify the treachery of Benedict Arnold." This was certainly a hardy attempt; but the truer title of the actual endeavor would have been, " An attempt to extenuate the treach- ery," etc. 2. Seek to have at command more than one expression for the same thing. Not that several forms of expression are in every case to be employed ; this, of course, is a matter that must be determined by THE CHOICE OF WORDS. 31 occasion. But it often happens that if the writer has not thought broadly and deeply enough to have more than one expression for his idea, the one that he has will be meagre. " The one apt word " is very generally the result of long cogitation and debate between alternative locutions. Recognizing this fact, eminent writers have often cultivated, as a private discipline, the habit of putting things in many different ways, ringing changes in expres- sion, softening and strengthening, formalizing and colloquializing, condensing and expanding, making severely accurate and making freely loose. Such a habit is of untold value as a means of famil- iarizing the literary workman with his tools. NOTE. It often happens that a close thinker has an idea that no single word is adequate to express; and the exact thought must be gathered as the resultant of several approximating words. For example : " It is true that all these criticisms were written some years ago, and in the meantime a tendency toward a better state of things has begun to show itself. But at present it is only a tendency, a symptom, a foreshadowing." Another example : " So also Shakespeare no doubt projected himself in his own creations; but those crea- tions never became so perfectly disengaged from him, so objective, or, as they used to say, extrinsical, to him, as to react upon him like real and even alien existences." This principle gives great importance to the study of synonyms. The mastery of synonymous expressions is important, first, because of their points of resemblance. For often the writer needs to repeat a thought ; or while he is elaborating a subject the princi- pal terms must of necessity recur many times before all phases of the idea are treated. In such cases the reiteration of one term is clumsy and rigid, and the thought seems poor ; and the con- stant problem is, how to find words that may be substituted and preserve substantially the same meaning. Besides, skillful varia- tion of the expression enriches the thought by adding new aspects of it. EXAMPLE. The following sentences from Matthew Arnold, who is a mas- ter of skillful repetition, will illustrate how he varies the expression of a repeated idea. The subject is Macaulay's Essay on Milton. 32 THE CHOICE OF WORDS. "A reader who only wants (a) rhetoric, a reader who wants (If) a pane- gyric on the Puritans, will find what he wants. A reader who wants (c) criticism will be disappointed. This would be palpable to all the world, and every one would feel, not pleased, but disappointed, by the Essay on Milton, were it not that the readers who seek for (V) criticism are extremely few; while the readers who seek for (a 1 ) rhetoric, or who seek for (#) praise or blame to suit their own already established likes and dislikes are extremely many. . . . However, there is a multitude of readers, doubtless, for whom it is sufficient to have their ears tickled with (") fine rhetoric; but the tickling makes a serious reader impatient. . . . But a disinterested reader, whose ob- ject is not (") to hear Puritanism and Milton glorified, but (<:") to get at the truth about them, will surely be dissatisfied. . . . Human progress consists in a continual increase in the number of those, who, ceasing to live by the animal life alone and to feel the pleasures of sense only, come to participate in the intellectual life also, and to find enjoyment in the things of the mind. The enjoyment is not at first very discriminating. ('") Rhetoric, brilliant writ- ing, gives to such persons pleasure for its own sake; but it gives them pleas- ure, still more, when it is employed ("') in commendation of a view of life which is on the whole theirs, and of men and causes with which they are naturally in sympathy. . . . But with the increasing number of those who awake to the intellectual life, the number of those also increases, who having awoke to it, go on with it, follow it where it leads them. And it leads them to see that it is their business (c"') to learn the real truth about the important men, and things, and books, which interest the human mind. For thus is gradually (*"") to be acquired a stock of sound ideas, in which the mind will habitually move, and which alone can give to our judgments security and solidity. To be satisfied with (a"") fine writing about the object of one's study, with ("") having it praised or blamed in accordance with one's own likes and dislikes, with any conventional treatment of it whatever, is at this stage of growth seen to be futile." Compare the expressions here marked as corresponding, and consider how the author both varies and makes more definite and significant the three ideas, rhetoric, panegyric, and criticism. For further considerations on Repetition, see Fundamental Processes, p. 1 60. The mastery of synonyms is equally important, secondly, be- cause of their points of difference. Very few words in our lan- guage are exactly alike in meaning. Even when terms derived from different sources started synonymous, they have come in course of time to be employed for different purposes or shades of meaning. And these very points of difference, fine as they are, THE CHOICE OF WOXDS. 33 may determine the most significant distinctions in the thought; they are often the delicate hinges on which it turns. Perhaps there is no way in which a thought is so frequently made to di- verge from the truth, as in the careless or unadvised use of a nearly synonymous expression. EXAMPLES. The following are instances of fine discrimination between nearly synonymous words. From Carlyle : " He was a man that brought him- self much before the world; confessed that he eagerly coveted fame, or if that were not possible, notoriety ; of which latter as he gained far more than seemed his due, the public were incited, not only by their natural love of scandal, but by a special ground of envy, to say whatever ill of him could be said." From James Russell Lowell : " The Latin has given us most of our canorous words, only they must not be confounded with mere sonorous ones, still less with phrases that, instead of supplementing the sense, encumber it." " In verse he had a pomp which, excellent in itself, became pompousness in his imitators." Synonyms employed for their likeness promote flexibility of ex- pression ; employed for their unlikeness, delicacy and precision. 3. Cultivate the habit of observing the derivation and history of words. This habit, while a source of delight in itself, is* of great service in promoting the assured mastery of language. A word whose etymology is known defines itself; the writer feels its force intui- tively, and need not depend on a dictionary. A word that has passed through changes of meaning is full of suggestiveness by reason of its history ; but while it is more significant when skill- fully used, it is also more liable to misuse. We cannot depend on our knowledge of etymology alone. The very changes a word has suffered have added to its meaning new and subtle aspects that cannot be casually discerned ; they must be studied. EXAMPLES. The following examples will illustrate how important or sig- nificant the origin and history of a word may become in the writer's usage. I. Derivation. Carlyle thus uses the derivation of the word King: " He is called Rex, Regulator, Roi : our own name is still better; King, Konning, which means Caw-ning, Able-man. . . . The finding of your Ableman and 34 THE CHOICE OF WORDS. getting him invested with the symbols of ability, with dignity, worship (worth- ship), royalty, kinghood, or whatever we call it, so that he may actually have room to guide according to his faculty of doing it, is the business, well or ill accomplished, of all social procedure whatsoever in this world!" Lowell thus constructs a felicitous definition on the basis of a derivation: "A super- , stition, as its name imports, is something that has been left to stand over, like unfinished business, from one session of the world's ivitenagetnot to the next." 2. History. Gibbon thus deduces the history of a people from the history of a word : " The unquestionable evidence of language attests the descent of the Bulgarians from the original stock of the Sclavonian, or more properly Slavonian, race; and the kindred bands of Servians, Bosnians, Rascians, Croatians, Walachians, etc., followed either the standard or the example of the leading tribe. From the Euxine to the Adriatic, in the state of captives, or subjects, or allies, or enemies, of the Greek empire, they overspread the land; and the national appellation of the SLAVES has been degraded by chance or malice from the signification of glory to that of servitude." A book of surpassing interest for every student, as revealing some of the wonders of language, is Trench, " On the Study of Words." 4. Enlarge your vocabulary by diligent study of usage in the best writers. Dictionaries and books of synonyms are indispensable in their way, but they cannot impart the inner life and delicacy of words. Words are the vehicle not only of thought but of sentiment and emotion ; but this they can be only as interwoven with other words. Thus alone can they get beyond the merely intellectual side of language, and from its defined meanings provide for " its often far more vital undefined associations." No fineness of usage can be acquired from the dictionary alone ; the grace and power, the subtilities and flexibilities of words, are seen fully only as they are fitted together, in actual literature, by the masters of expression. EXAMPLES. "'My dear sir,' exclaimed General Vayne, with a certain rotund emphasis, ' I am happy to see you ! ' " We feel the meaning of " ro- , tund" here; but how much of it have we obtained from the dictionary defi- , ' nition " round, circular, spherical, hence complete, entire " ? In the following passage from Tennyson, consider how much more signifi- cant the word " large " is, than any dictionary could make it : THE CHOICE OF WORDS, 35 " But when he spake and cheer'd his Table Round With large divine and comfortable words Beyond my tongue to tell thee I beheld From eye to eye thro' all their Order flash A momentary likeness of the King." II. PRESENT USE. Under this head come the considerations that should influence the writer on account of the age of words : he should admit only words in good standard present usage. Language shows its life as do all living things ; it is continually sloughing off old locutions for which there is no further use, and continually assimilating new expressions, as growing thought or discovery or invention demands them. In language as in life, also, there are fashions and affecta- tions. There come every year into current speech ephemeral terms, colloquialisms, slang, flash and cant expressions, which serve a brief purpose and then die, unless, as happens in rare cases, a real need exists for them. These cannot find place in standard literature ; nor can any newly coined word be accepted until it has been well tried, and adopted by general consent. The following four rules include the chief cautions to be ob- served regarding present use. 5. Beware of words too new to have a recognized place in the language. The word beware, in its old sense be wary, is perhaps the best indication of the writer's proper attitude toward such new terms. Such words may, in a given case, subserve a real need and be destined to become standard ; but at least, watch them. " Be not the first by whom the new are tried," is Pope's maxim. If they are to live, there is abundant time to use them ; if not, they are better left alone. EXAMPLES. The wretched word "enthuse" seems to be fighting for a place in standard usage, and as yet no one can tell what the sequel will be; .-, at present it is a word to be shunned. A few years ago the word "telegram" was new and much talked of; but it supplied a need in the language and 36 THE CHOICE OF WORDS. soon came to be freely used by all. The invention of the telephone brought with it the suggestion of a corresponding word " telephem "; but it is doubtful whether this will ever become current. 6. Be sure of ample justification before coining new formations or compounds. It is to be remembered that, though language is a sacred heri- tage, to be cherished and guarded with all solicitude, yet after all it was made for man, not man for language. There is therefore both a freedom and a caution to be observed with regard to new formations. Because language is a living organism, and thought is living, there must be flexibility, adaptation, liberty ; and so, not infrequently a juncture of thought occurs where the masterful writer has to make his word, from materials already existing, and where such a new coinage, though serving only the present occa- sion, may be precisely the most effective word possible. EXAMPLES. The following, used by Professor Henry Drummond, is a word that the author himself would perhaps never have occasion to use again, nor would it ever be put into a dictionary; yet it fits its idea as no other word could do: "No one point is assailed. It is the whole system which when compared with the other and weighed in its balance is found wanting. An eye which has looked at the first cannot look upon this. To do that, and rest in the contemplation, it has first to uncentury itself." The following, from Howells, gives a shade of meaning that no existing word was adequate to express : " But for the time being Penelope was as nearly crazed as might be by the complications of her position, and received her visitors with a piteous distraction which could not fail of touching Brom- field Corey's Italian sympatheticism" On the other hand, such license of coinage is very precarious. The passion for new forms may become a mannerism ; and the writer, supposing that his thought is too original for existing forms, may easily develop a fondness for vagaries in language for the sake of smartness and pungency. Unless, then, the need of a new form is imperative, and the writer knows well his own power and the poverty of the present vocabulary, he will do better to hold the purity of his mother-tongue sacred against innovations. THE CHOICE OF WORDS. 37 EXAMPLES. The following may stand as illustrations of over-hasty coin- age : From W. Clark Russell : " This, coupled with the fast-spreading gloom, and the wild tumblefication, and the fierce cracking of napping noises, fright- ened her." From Mrs. Whitney : "The summer joy districted from the year, like a glowing jewel, by its very setting between the bleaker changes." The following, from a review article, exemplifies a somewhat pedantic custom of coining adjectives: "There is no end to this chapter of authorial misfor- tune." To new formations and compounds made in a humorous spirit more liberty must be allowed ; though it may be remarked that such devices are the first to lose flavor and sound cheap and arti- ficial. It is only the abounding freedom of a conversational style that can justify them. EXAMPLES. The following, from Dickens, will serve to illustrate humor- ous formations : " Her spirits rose considerably, on beholding these goodly preparations, and from the nothingness of good works, she passed to the some- thingness of ham and toast with great cheerfulness." " Amidst the general hum of mirth and conversation that ensued, there was a little man with a puffy say-nothing-to-me-or-Fll-contradict-you sort of countenance, who remained very quiet." 7. Be suspicious regarding current newspaper and colloquial terms. In the discussion of public and political questions, as also in the shifting phases of the people's life, expressions are frequently used for which there is only transient occasion ; and for a while they may enter every one's speech, or be bandied about by the news- papers, and then be cast aside and forgotten. Some of these may be mere slang ; others, at least while they are in the vogue, may seem spirited, and felicitous ; and others again may involve curious etymological analogies and crudenesses. The writer's uniyersal caution regarding such ephemeral terms is, be suspicious ; do not fall into the use of them unadvisedly. EXAMPLES. The following newspaper terms may, some of them, be pass- ing into standard usage, but they will at least illustrate the freedom of journal- ism ; " Last night the Third National Bank was burglarized," " Mr, Blank, 38 THE CHOICE OF WORDS. the well-known educationalist, suicided yesterday morning." "The man has been extradited." " All attempts at bulldozing failed." " Last week a party of resurrectionists were operating in the Old North burying-ground." The following colloquialisms are from De Quincey, who was sometimes careless : " Poor Aroar cannot live, and cannot die so that he is in an almighty fix." " Really Aroar is too Tom-Painish, and seems up to a little treason." " But all this we men of sense know to be gammon." A word may here be said to students, from the writer's point of view, about current slang. That it is spirited, spicy, extremely convenient, is conceded. That the use of it is reprehensible as a sin against the purity of the language, the user of it himself is not slow to acknowledge. But the most deplorable feature of slang, not often realized, is that, being used on every admissible occasion, and so not as a vehicle of definite thought but as a substitute for it, such unconsidered language causes an appalling poverty of Standing for so many things, it means nothing ; while it occupies the place of what should be definite and significant. The student should consider whether he can afford, out of mere fun or mental indolence, so to starve his resources. 8. Do not, out of mere affectation, indulge a fancy for quaint or archaic terms. There is little tendency to use words too old to be current, or that have a quaint effect, except from affectation ; but from this cause, in some stages of the writer's culture, the tendency is considerable. NOTE. The affectation of old terms is perhaps most noticeable now-a-days in the case of old connectives and adverbs; as, perchance, peradvcnture, fur- thermore, eke, verily, in sooth, haply. Owing to the influence of Biblical dic- tion, religious literature often takes an archaic tinge, which with lack of taste may easily degenerate into cant. The " holy tone " is not much respected now, in literature that seeks power. Sometimes also such words as hight, yclept, swain, -wight, quoth, y* (for the), y' (for that), are used for smartness or humorous effect. Charles Lamb was much given to such quaintnesses, partly from his peculiar turn of humor, partly from the influence of old writers. THE CHOICE OF WORDS. 39 There is at present a strong effort on-the part of scholarly authors to revive some of the hearty old Saxon expressions that have passed out of current use ; and this is commendable, for many of these terms are too good to die. Study of the early English from an earnest desire to enlarge and diversify the resources of expression is certainly very valuable. But fondness for old words may also be, like fondness for old china, a fashion, a craze ; and when writers adopt them as a mere affectation, their style becomes artificial and fanciful, and loses its earnestness and power. III. INTELLIGIBLE USE. The adaptation of the word to the idea, which calls for accurate use, has its limits. The word must also be adapted to the reader ; and in general the reader must be supposed not a learned man, but a man of average information and intelligence. So the only safe standard for general literature, as regards the kind of words chosen, is ordinary popular usage. 9. Do not employ in general literature words peculiar to some limited section of the country. Under such words are included dialectic peculiarities and provincialisms. These may of course be used with intent, as in a dialect tale, to illustrate the manner of speaking in some particular section, or to preserve the " local coloring " ; but to use them through ignorance or carelessness, in a production intended for the general public, is to put too great a burden of interpretation on the reader. Provincialisms outside of their own district have the effect of slang. EXAMPLES OF PROVINCIALISMS. The following examples are taken from Hunt's " Principles of Written Discourse " : " He is very clever" (in the sense of good-natured) ; " he took him to do" ; " he/avors (resembles) his father "; " he is a likely child "; "I reckon you will "; "I will take it kind of you"; " I set no store by it " (Compare, however, as to this last citation, the following from Principal Shairp: " In his estimate of men he (Wordsworth) set no store 40 THE CHOICE OF WORDS. by rank or station, little by those ' formalities ' which have been misnamed education"). It may here be remarked that, owing to the increased facility of communication between one part of the country and another, many words once provincial are passing into good usage, while others are becoming recog- nized as vulgarisms. 10. Do not use technical terms where they are not likely to be understood. Technical terms are terms peculiar to some particular depart- ment of science or thought or industry ; indispensable therefore in their own sphere, but for the most part unknown outside. In writings intended only for a particular class of readers, of course the terms peculiar to that class cannot well be dispensed with ; they are both the directest and the most accurate that can be employed. To discard them in general literature, in the case of a subject to which they belong, is indeed a makeshift ; but none the less it is a necessity. Even in the case of popularizing a science, the writer should work for the smallest number of techni- cal terms possible, and should give much care to explaining strange words. EXAMPLE OF SCIENTIFIC TERMINOLOGY. The following, taken from Car- penter's " Comparative Physiology," will show how little adapted is technical diction to general readers. (The author's italics are omitted.) "The same formation contains remains of the Rhyncosaurus, which, while essentially Saurian in its general structure, had the horny mandibles, and probably many other characters, of the Chelonia. From the same or a some- what anterior epoch, we have the remains of the Dicynodon ; which seems, along with Chelonian, Crocodilian, and Saurian characters, to have possessed the peculiarly Mammalian feature of a pair of tusks growing from persistent pulps. So, again, the Ichthyosaurus, whilst essentially Saurian in its osteology, had not merely the bi-concave vertebrae of a Fish, but paddles of a Cetacean type, and a pecular sterno-acromial apparatus resembling that of the Ornitho- rhyncus." A striking use of technical or semi-technical terms in general literature is found in the writings of such men as Emerson and Holmes. Employed to illustrate ideas in other departments of thought, these terms have the force of a figure of speech, and are THE CHOICE OF WORDS. . 41 often very suggestive. The use of them thus is a compliment to the increasing culture of people in general, recognizing as it does that learned and scientific ideas are becoming more widely known ; but, of course, to use them with true effect, the author needs to be well aware of his liberties and limits, in order to choose only such terms as can be counted on to be understood and enjoyed. EXAMPLES. In the following extracts the italicized words and turns of expression have their significance in the fact that they are the peculiar termi- nology of some science or system of ideas. From Ralph Waldo Emerson: "The divine circulations never rest nor linger. Nature is the incarnation of a thought, and turns to a thought again, as ice becomes water and gas. The world is mind precipitated, and the vola- tile essence is forever escaping again into the state of free thought. Hence the virtue and pungency of the influence on the mind, of natural objects, whether inorganic or organized. Man imprisoned, man crystallized, man vegetative, speaks to man impersonated." From Oliver Wendell Holmes: "All uttered thought, my friend, the Pro- fessor, says, is of the nature of an excretion. Its materials have been taken in, and have acted upon the system, and been reacted on by it; it has circulated and done its office in one mind before it is given out for the benefit of others. It may be milk or venom to other minds; but, in either case, it is something which the producer has had the use of and can part with. A man instinct- ively tries to get rid of his thought in conversation or in print so soon as it is matured; but it is hard to get at it as it lies imbedded, a mere potentiality, the germ of a germ, in his intellect." ii. Do not use an unnaturalized foreign word unless you are sure it expresses an idea for which there is no fitting term in Eng- lish. EXAMPLES. "A keen observer might have seen about him some signs of ^.jeunesse orageuse, but his manner was frank and pleasing." " Every one was on the qui vive." " He enjoyed his otium cum dignitate." The most reprehensible affectation, which needs only a mention, is to interlard one's writing with foreign words and phrases just to show off one's familiarity with the languages thus borrowed from. Such affectation is simply vulgarity. Scarcely less vulgar it is, to parade well-worn classical quotations with the air of scholarliness, as if they represented extensive research on the part of the writer. 42 THE CHOICE OF tVORDS. A close student of a foreign language, however, who knows its literature and can feel its spirit, often finds ideas more closely fitted jvith terms in that language than in his own. The different medium of expression seems to develop or to accompany a different range of thought. The temptation to borrow, therefore, for the sake of exactness, is often great, and the occasion real ; but let the writer study his own language more deeply, and he will find that most of his ideas may find somewhere in English an approxi- mately close expression. Besides, if his skill can transfer a new and valuable meaning to, his own vernacular, he is enriching its stores of thought, both for himself and for others. Words used in travel, or citations of foreign literary expressions, may sometimes be fittingJy used in works obviously intended for readers to whom such terms will be familiar and suggestive. The writer thus pays a compliment to the culture of his reader. Mr. Lowell may be mentioned as one who carries this usage to the verge, perhaps sometimes a little beyond the verge, of admissibility. NOTE. A specimen paragraph may be cited from Lowell's " Fireside Travels": "You are in Rome, of course; the sbirro said so, the doganiere bowed it, and the postilion swore it; but it is a Rome of modern houses, muddy streets, dingy caffis, cigar-smokers, and French soldiers, the manifest junior of Florence. And yet full of anachronisms, for in a little while you pass the column of Antoninus, find the Dogaiia in an ancient temple whose furrowed pillars show through the recent plaster, and feel as if you saw the statue of Minerva in a Paris bonnet. You are driven to a hotel where all the barbarian languages are spoken in one wild conglomerate by the Commission- aire, have your dinner wholly in French, and wake the next morning dream- ing of the Tenth Legion, to see a regiment of Chasseurs de Vincennes trotting by." IV. SCHOLARLY USE. Jf.*Jt V*"" Above the requirements of accuracy, age, and plainness, there is a use of words which evinces the writer's culture : his intimate and delicate knowledge of his resources, his disciplined and educated taste, and his independent choice of what he intelligently recognizes as best. Such may be called scholarly use, and may be observed in the following four rules. THE CHOICE OF WORDS. 43 12. Seek to use both Saxon and Classical derivatives for what they are worth, and be not anxious to discard either. From a comparison of passages containing different proportions of words derived from the two main sources of our language, the Saxon and the Classical, it will be seen that the words of different origin suit themselves naturally to different kinds of thought, and produce dissimilar effects in the tone and movement of the pas- sage. NOTE. This fact may be illustrated by comparing a passage whose words are predominantly Saxon with one that freely uses words of Classical deriva- tion. 1. In the first, from Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, the almost pure Saxon character is like the natural, unstudied, conversational language of common intercourse : "Now they had not gone far, but a great mist and a darkness fell upon them all, so that they could scarce for a great while see the one the other. Wherefore they were forced for some time to feel for one another by words, for they walked not by sight. But any one must think that here was but sorry going for the best of them all, but how much worse for the women and chil- dren, who both of feet and heart were but tender. Yet so it was, that through the encouraging words of him that led in the front, and of him that brought them up behind, they made a pretty good shift to wag along. The way also was here very wearisome through dirt and slabbiness. Nor was there on all this ground so much as one inn or victualling-house, therein to refresh the feebler sort. Here therefore was grunting and puffing and sighing. While one tumbleth over a bush, another sticks fast in the dirt; and the children, some of them, lost their shoes in the mire. While one cries out, I am down; and another, Ho, where are you? and a third, The bushes have got such fast hold on me, I think I cannot get away from them." 2. In the second, from De Quincey, while the body of the passage must still be Saxon, words of Latin and Greek origin are freely chosen for the sake of precision, and these give to the style, whether designedly or not, a certain formal and learned air : "Every process in Nature unfolds itself through a succession of phenomena. Now, if it be granted of the artist generally, that of all this moving series he can arrest as it were but so much as fills one instant of time, and with regard to the painter in particular, that even this insulated moment he can exhibit only under one single aspect or phasis, it then becomes evident that, in the selection of this single instant and of this single aspect, too much care cannot 44 THE CHOICE OF WORDS. be taken that each shall be in the highest possible degree pregnant in its mean- ing; that is, shall yield the utmost range to the activities of the imagination." What these two classes of words are good for, respectively, is indicated by their relative places in the history of the language. Classical derivatives are just as indispensable in their way as Saxon. 1 Coming as they did later into the language, when its framework was already constructed, these words indicate that a want existed which the Saxon could not supply, a want created by advancing and refining thought. Roughly speaking, then, the uses of the two kinds of derivatives may be given as follows : 1. Saxon derivatives constitute the foundation of the language. Being the earliest words, they stand for the primitive ideas : they are the words of the family and the home and the everyday rela- tions of life. They are therefore the natural terms for common intercourse, for simple and direct emotions, for strong and hearty sentiments. Saxon is especially the language of strength ; and its short words, and sturdy sounds join well with its homely meanings to give it impress and cogency. 2. Derivatives from the Latin and Greek express the subtler dis- tinctions in the thought; they enable the writer to come more closely to the exact expression of his idea. They constitute the more learned element of the language. Being also in general longer and more sonorous, they are often better adapted to make volume of sound correspond to volume of sense ; and thus they frequently serve well the higher requirements of poetry and oratory. NOTE. That classical derivatives are used in the interests of more learned, particular, precise thought is evident from the above quotation from De Quin- cey; consider, for instance, the words "succession," " phenomena," "arrest," " insulated," " aspect," " phasis," " activities," " imagination." In the follow- ing, from Macaulay, consider how much distinction is given to the idea by the sonorous Latin words: "The whole book, and every component part of it, is 1 " Especially do not indulge any fantastic preference for either Latin or Anglo- Saxon, the two great wings on which our magnificent English soars and sings ; we can spare neither. The combination gives us an affluence of synonymcs and a deli- cacy of discrimination such as no unmixed idiom can show." Higginson," Atlan- tic Essays," p. 81. THE CHOICE OF WORDS. 45 on a gigantic scale. . . . We cannot sum up the merits of the stupendous mass of paper which lies before us better than by saying that it consists of about two thousand closely printed quarto pages, that it occupies fifteen hundred inches cubic measure, and that it weighs sixty pounds avoirdupois." In " gigantic scale " and " stupendous mass," the volume of the word better expresses the spirit of the sense than would " great scale," " huge mass." For copious examples in illustration of the two great elements of our language, see Bain, " Composition Grammar," pp. 205-229. If the requirements of precision and fineness are not especially present, it is better to keep as near as possible to the Saxon basis of the language, because that is the speech of common people, and seems less studied. Besides, if one's style is predominantly Saxon, the more learned derivatives occasionally used for a partic- ular purpose have a greater effect, being more noticeable. 13. Beware of the false garnish of " fine writing." By "fine writing" is meant the use of pretentious terms for trivial ideas, or the attempt by high-sounding language to dress up something that needs only commonplace expression. Under the same head may be reckoned also the use of scraps of trite quota- tion, well-worn poetic locutions, and shallow attempts at facetious- ness. All such devices are simply a melancholy revelation of the writer's lack of taste ; while also they sin against the accuracy and dignity of the language. ILLUSTRATION. The tendency in imperfectly or falsely educated people to say common things in fine language may be exemplified by the following, from Dickens : " ' Willet,' said Solomon Daisy, who had exhibited some impatience at the intrusion of so unworthy a subject on their more interesting theme, ' when Mr. Chester came this morning, did he order the large room?' 'He signified^ sir,' said John, 'that he wanted a large apartment. Yes. Certainly.' " In the following Dickens makes one of his characters say a commonplace thing in a very pretentious way : " ' Under the impression,' said Mr. Micawber, ' that your peregrinations in this metropolis have not as yet been extensive, and that you might have some difficulty in penetrating the arcana of the Modern Babylon in the direction of 46 THE CHOICE OF WORDS. the City Road in short,' said Mr. Micawber, in another burst of confidence, ' that you might lose yourself I shall be happy to call this evening, and instal you in the knowledge of the nearest way.' " " Fine writing " is to be distinguished from the intentional use of exaggerated terms for humorous effect. One means of express- ing humor is by the use of words a little more pretentious than the occasion demands. Of this kind of writing it may be said that only a cultured taste can master it, as also only a cultured taste can judge of its limits and justification ; hence it is precarious for Ian unpracticed hand. EXAMPLE. The following is from Hawthorne, who excelled in this felicity of language : "The child, staring with round eyes at this instance of liberality, wholly un- precedented in his large experience of cent-shops, took the man of ginger- bread, and quitted the premises. No sooner had he reached the sidewalk (little cannibal that he was !) than Jim Crow's head was in his mouth. As he had not been careful to shut the door, Hepzibah was at the pains of clos- ing it after him, with a pettish ejaculation or two about the troublesomeness of young people, and particularly of small boys. She had just placed another representative of the renowned Jim Crow at the window, when again the shop-bell tinkled clamorously, and again the door being thrust open, with its characteristic jerk and jar, disclosed the same sturdy little urchin who, pre- cisely two minutes ago, had made his exit. The crumbs and discoloration of the cannibal feast, as yet hardly consummated, were exceedingly visible about his mouth." Was ever such a homely subject so exquisitely described before? 14. Cherish wisely the strong and homely idioms of the lan- guage. In certain stages of culture the young writer is apt to regard everything that presents any ruggedness of diction, or that is not transparently conformed .o grammatical rules, as a blemish ; and he is tempted to smooth everything down into propriety and prim- ness. But in so doing he may easily throw away some of the strongest and most characteristic features of the language. The idioms of English, those turns of expression which have grown up with the people and are untranslatable, are to be valued. Many THE CHOICE OF WORDS. 47 idioms express ideas as nothing else could do ; and certainly they are near to the everyday basis of the language, not manufactured expressions, but growths of the soil. Idioms are therefore to be studied and cherished, not indiscriminately but wisely, as preserv- ing the strength and character of the mother-tongue. "Every good writer," says Landor, " has much idiom ; it is the life and spirit of language ; and none such ever entertained a fear or ap- prehension that strength and sublimity were to be lowered and weakened by it." EXAMPLES OF IDIOM. Some of the commonest things in our language */ are idiomatic, and seem homely and rude sometimes to a taste only partly formed. There is apt to be a stage, for instance, when the tendency is to . change " get used " to " become accustomed," because the latter parses better. , . " A man instinctively tries to get rid of his thought in conversation or print so / / soon as it is matured"; here "get rid of" is much better than "give publicity to." So also such an expression as " long-tried friend of mine," though a double possessive, and strictly speaking a solecism, is idiomatic and admissible. '__ "A great deal" is as good as "very much." An idiomatic expression will not easily bear to be divided ; it must move together if it move at all; e.g. "The children point to him as the old miser, out of whose way it is best to keep, since there is no telling how he may show his spite if he is angered." Here " keep " alone is different in meaning from "keep" with "out";' so the idiom should be kept together. 15. Use no expression thoughtlessly, or merely because it is current, but from your own independent recognition of its fit- ness. This is a general consideration, a plea for self-reliance and inde- pendence, which is meant to cover all the preceding rules. Many current expressions there are which, while they may indeed be accurate enough and in good use, are employed largely as mere counters, substitutes for thought, just bl '-cause they are near at hand, and obviate the need of looking up some expression more fitting. Such thoughtless use in the case of slang has already been spoken of; here it is to be noted further that even a good expres- sion may lose its power by becoming worn ; and if it represents no thought on the writer's part, it will not be strong to awaken V 6M. R- - 48 POETIC DICTION. thought in the reader. Such unthinking use of trite expressions Is called cant. Every department of thought has its cant terms and phraseology. These well-worn locutions may become a veri- table tyranny to the writer ; for this reason they often need to be broken up and replaced by a fresher, even if not a better expres- sion. The writer should let his words show marks of independent thinking, and tolerate nothing that has not been fused anew in the fire of his own mind. His chosen diction may then be old, or new ; but at least it is his own. ILLUSTRATION. It is not always necessary to call the pulpit "the sacred desk"; nor need a man who knows how to do so simple a thing as^tf, always have to " wend his way." A portrait was once called a " counterfeit present- ment " : good as the expression was, it awakens rio-K>re freshness of delight when employed now. Boswell once asked Dr. Johnson, of certain poems just published, " Is there not imagination in them, Sir?" "Why, Sir," replied the Doctor, "there is in them what was imagination, but it is no more imagination in him, than sound is sound in the echo. And his diction too is not his own. We have long ago seen "while-robed innocence, and flower-bespangled meads." The following seems to be an intentional breaking-up of the trite locution " without let or hindrance," and the good effect is easily felt : " No one will question that the whole nature of the holiest being tends to what is holy with- out let, struggle, or strife it would be impiety to doubt it." SECTION SECOND. THE CHARACTERISTICS OF POETIC DICTION. ALTHOUGH poetry represents ideally one of the main directions that literature takes, in its endeavor to adapt itself to men, the discussion of it falls only partly within the scope of this book. Metre and rhyme, the more mechanical features of poetry, are here left unconsidered, because they are only indirectly related to that problem of practical adaptation which is the central motive of rhetoric, POETIC DICTION. . 49 Some discussion of the diction of poetry is necessary, however, both in itself considered, and on account of its relation to the diction of prose. The characteristics of the latter may be seen more clearly in the light of something that furnishes a contrast, or at least a marked distinction.' Further, and what is of more impor- tance, some types of prose style approach, in varying degrees, to poetry ; they spontaneously take on poetic forms, more or less marked, according to the mood in which they are written. It is essential therefore to know the verbal forms distinctive of poetic discourse. When we speak of poetic diction, however, it is not to be under- stood that poetry must take on the characteristics here named, in order to be poetry. Many true poems are written with but few traces of these peculiarities ; witness, for example, Tennyson's idyl, " Dora," a paragraph of which may here be quoted, to show how simple and plain poetic language may be. " And Dora took the child, and went her way Across the wheat, and sat upon a mound That was unsown, where many poppies grew. Far off the farmer came into the field And spied her not; for none of all his men Dare tell him Dora waited with the child; And Dora would have risen and gone to him, But her heart fail'd her; and the reapers reap'd, And the sun fell, and all the land was dark." Here the simple tale is poetic in itself, and requires no special splendor of word or imagery. What we are to consider in the present section, however, is, how, on occasion, poetic diction is at liberty to diverge from the common usage of prose. It is, after all, only in occasional words and combinations that the two separ- ate ; the great bulk of usage remains common to both. The motive of poetic diction is reducible to a single principle. As poetry is the language of emotion and imagination, its verbal peculiarities portray the spontaneous endeavor to make utterance more effective, either in impressiveness or in picturesquenesg, In 50 POETIC DICTION. a word, poetic diction is heightened language, the result in words of the fervor and sense of beauty that reign in the poet's mind. " The word of the Poet by whom the deeps of the world are stirred, The music that robes it in language beneath and beyond the word." The following are the main characteristics of poetic diction, named in an order corresponding to poetry's natural divergence from the language of common life. What this order is, was ascer- tained by the study of Wordsworth's pastoral, " Michael," a poem standing, in style and subject, at only a moderate remove from prose. It is chiefly by citations from this work that the first two main characteristics here given are exemplified. I. Poetic Brevity of Expression.' The first and easiest liberty taken in the spontaneous effort of poetry to heighten language is the liberty of condensation and abbreviation ; this because poetry is naturally averse to lengthiness. Here a distinction must be made. Lengthiness in expression is not synonymous with length ; nor does poetry shun long constructions or long words in them- selves. By lengthiness is meant length -without force ; and it is oftenest apparent in those small words, particles of connection and relation, which constitute not the thought but the joints of the thought. Poetry takes liberties first with these, because, striking as it does for the strong points, it clears away or subordinates whatever impedes progress to them. In the case of important words, also, whenever they may be made more telling, poetry con- denses or compounds to suit its purpose. i. Poetic diction abbreviates or omits particles. Conjunctions, adverbs, and relatives may be named as representatives of this class of words ; symbolic words, they will be called later. Such words, from their subordinate office, are necessarily unemphatic, and if used with scrupulous fullness tend to drag the sense. l In the preparation of this section on Poetic Diction, many valuable suggestions are taken from Abbott and Seeley's " English Lessons for English People." POETIC DICTION. 51 EXAMPLES. i . Abbreviation, or choice of shorter form : " The hills which he so oft had climbed;" "When Michael, telling o'er his years; " "Ere yet the boy had put on boy's attire;" "Though naught was left undone;" " ' T were better to be dumb than to talk thus." 2. Omission, a. Of the article: " When^day was gone;" "Some injury done to^sickle^flail, or /^scythe;" "Not fearing toil nor^length of weary days." b. Of conjunctive particles : " But^soon as Luke could stand." c. Of relative: "Even if I could speak of things A thou canst not know of;" " Exceeding was the love/\he bare to him." The omission of the relative is less frequent in Wordsworth than in some others ; nor does he make any omitted or condensed construction violent. Compare with him some passages from Browning : " You have the sunrise now,/\joins truth to truth, Shoots life and substance into death and void," where the subject-relative is omitted; " Whence need to bravely disbelieve report Through increased faith in /^thing/^ reports belie," where the article and the object-relative are omitted; " For how could saints and martyrs fail^see truth Streak the night's blackness? " where the sign of the infinitive is omitted. Browning's omission of the relative is so frequent as to be a mannerism. 2. Poetry uses more frequently than does prose the possessive for brevity's sake; as, "by the streamlefs edge," "with morrow's dawn," " his Heart and his Hearfs joy." In prose the possessive is mostly confined to personal nouns and some few idioms like the one in the foregoing sentence (" for brevity's sake ") ; beyond these it is apt to become an affectation. 3. Poetry exercises greater liberty than prose in making com- pounds for an occasion. EXAMPLES IN "MICHAEL." "Surviving comrade of uncounted hours." "Did . . . overbrtnv large space beneath." "Brings hope with it, and forward- looking thoughts." " Turned to their cleanly supper-board." " With Luke that evening thitherward he walked." The tendency to join two words into one by compounding is close to the further tendency to condense important words or choose short forms for them ; this is seen especially in the fre- 52 POETIC DICTION. quency, so great as almost to become the rule, with which poetry leaves off the adverbial termination ; as altern for alternately, scarce for scarcely. In other parts of speech, also, terminations are often discarded ; as in list for listen, vale for valley, marge for margin. The above examples are mostly taken, with design, from poetry pitched in a rather low key ; in poems where the passion or pic- turesqueness is greater, of course the boldness of the effects is correspondingly increased. EXAMPLES OF COMPOUNDS. From Shakespeare : " the always-wind-obey- ing deep." From Tennyson: "love-loyal to the least wish of the king"; "the peak haze-hidden." From Browning: "the cloud-cup's brim"; "yet human at the red-ripe of the heart." II. Poetic Archaisms and Non-Colloquialisms. The next step that poetry takes, in its endeavor to heighten language above prose usage, is to employ words elevated above everyday associa- tions, and thus more congenial to the fervid and imaginative region in which poetry moves. i. A very natural poetic impulse is the employment of archa- isms. An archaism (from the Greek dp^aios, old, ancienf) is a word, or more commonly a form, older than current use, an expres- sion that, though intelligible, is no longer employed in ordinary unemotional discourse. The uncommonness of an archaic expression, and its associa- tions of age, fit it for the higher and purer air of poetry ; for the unusual form rouses just the attention needed to elevate the reader's mind above the commonplace, and to seek what the word conveys more than is involved in mere assertion. EXAMPLES OF ARCHAISMS. From Wordsworth's "Michael": "Exceeding was the love he bare to him"; "Albeit of a stern, unbending mind"; "We have, thou knmvest, another Kinsman." This last example, representing the pronoun of the second person singular and the old verbal forms in -eth and -est, gives an archaism very common, more the rul<: than the exception, in serious poetry. POETIC DICTION. 53 A whole poem is sometimes written in archaic diction, as suited to the character of its subject. As example of this, William Morris's " Sigurd the Volsung " may be mentioned, the first six lines of which will indicate the tone of the whole. " There was a dwelling of Kings ere the world was waxen old ; Dukes were the door-wards there, and the roofs were thatched with gold; Earls were the wrights that wrought it, and silver nailed its doors ; Earls' wives were the weaving-women, queens' daughters strewed its floors, And the masters of its song-craft were the mightiest men that cast The sails of the storm of battle adown the bickering blast." i The following, from Byron's " Childe Harold," is an artificial imitation of the antique : " Whilom in Albion's isle there dwelt a youth, Who ne in virtue's ways did take delight ; But spent his days in riot most uncouth, And vex'd with mirth the drowsy ear of Night. Ah, me ! in sooth he was a shameless wight. . . . Childe Harold was he hight." 2. The same feeling that reigns in the use of archaisms leads poetry also to shun colloquial expressions. A colloquialism belongs to ordinary states of mind ; it is un- sought and unvalued expression, language as it were in undress. Poetry, in the nature of the case, is elevated; its exceptional nature calls for unusual and unsullied language ; and even when, in certain lower forms, it employs the language of common life to a limited extent, it refines it and gives it a tone above the prosaic relations to which it belongs. NOTE. This averseness to colloquial language shows itself in two ways : 1. In an impulse to find unhackneyed words for prosaic things; as in the following instances from " Michael": "At the church-door they made a gath- ering for him " (instead of took a collection) ; " where he grew wondrous rich " (colloquial prose would say got very rich) ; " wrought at the sheep- fold" (the common preterite is worked'). 2. In the avoidance, or very sparing use, of conversational abbreviations; as don't, can't, I'll, he'll, and the like. It is rather remarkable that the abbre- viation V is, for it is, which is less used in ordinary prose and conversation than it's, is correspondingly more natural as a poetic abbreviation. 54 POETIC DICTION. It is instructive to note how Shakespeare shows his fine sense of the different regions to which thought of different kinds belongs, by the alternation of verse and prose dialogue in his dramas. For common and clownish characters, and for details of everyday life, he employs colloquial prose ; but from this, and not infrequently in the same scene, the expression rises spontaneously, as sentiment and speakers are nobler, into dramatic verse. Poetic diction and colloquial diction have each their well-defined sphere. NOTE. The following, from The Merchant of Venice, will illustrate how Shakespeare on occasion intersperses prose and verse : " Lorenzo. How every fool can play upon the word ! I think the best grace of wit will shortly turn into silence, and discourse grow commendable in none only but parrots. Go in, sirrah; bid them prepare for dinner. Launcelot. That is done, sir; they have all stomachs. Lorenzo. Goodly Lord, what a wit-snapper are you ! then bid them prepare dinner. Launcelot. That is done too, sir; only 'cover' is the word. Lorenzo. Will you cover then, sir? Launcelot. Not so, sir, neither; I know my duty. Lorenzo. Yet more quarrelling with occasion ! Wilt thou show the whole wealth of thy wit in an instant? I pray thee, understand a plain man in his plain meaning: go to thy fellows; bid them cover the tables, serve in the meat, and we will come in to dinner. Launcelot. For the table, sir, it shall be served in; for the meat, sir, it shall be covered; for your coming in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours and conceits shall govern. [Exit. Lorenzo. O dear discretion, how his words are suited J The fool hath planted in his memory An army of good words; and I do know A many fools, that stand in better place, Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word Defy the matter. How cheer' st thou, Jessica? And now, good sweet, say thy opinion, How dost thou like the Lord Bassanio's wife? Jessica. Past all expressing. It is very meet The Lord Bassanio live an upright life; For, having such a blessing in his lady, He finds the joys of heaven here on earth; And if on earth he do not mean it, then In reason he should never come to heaven." POETIC DICTION. 55 III. Expression heightened for the Sake of Picturesqueness. With this feature of poetic diction we enter upon the charac- teristics found in the more fervid and ambitious types of poetry. Being of such nature, these types naturally seek such words as will yield the utmost obtainable of beauty or suggestiveness. The reader's imagination is directly appealed to, by language adapted to make it active, that he may, as it were, cooperate with the poet in creating a picture of the object or idea portrayed. The following are the chief means employed to give language that heightened quality here called by the general name of pic- turesqueness. i. Poetic picturesqueness is sought first of all by imagery or word-painting. Words that contain figurative suggestiveness are preferred to plain, specific terms to general ; similes and descrip- tive comparisons are freely introduced, and often revelled in ap- parently for their own sake merely, and followed out at length whenever the beauty or boldness of the design may be enhanced thereby. NOTE. The picturing power of words, so much better felt than described, may here be illustrated by an example, from Tennyson's " Lotos Eaters." " ' Courage ! ' he said, and pointed toward the land, ' This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon.' In the afternoon they came unto a land In which it seemed always afternoon. All round the coast the languid air did swoon, Breathing like one that hath a weary dream. Full-faced above the valley stood the moon; And like a downward smoke, the slender stream Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem. A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke, Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go ; And some thro' wavering lights and shadows broke, Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below. They saw the gleaming river seaward flow From the inner land : far off, three mountain-tops, Three silent pinnacles of aged snow, Stood sunset-flush'd: and dew'd with showery drops, Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse." 56 POETIC DICTION. Of course prose employs imagery too, but only for an ulterior object, to illustrate or emphasize thought that already exists in lit- eral form. Poetry goes farther, and employs imagery to give sub- stance to the thought ; it is frequently the case that the thought is the image, and cannot exist without it. We find accordingly that many ideas are introduced into poetry that but for their imagina- tive or picturesque suggestiveness would never find place in litera- ture. As a consequence, poetic imagery is not always easy to re- duce to motive ; there seems no logical necessity calling for it, nor any explanation why it is so and not otherwise, except the poet's free creative impulse. 2. A second means of poetic picturesqueness is the employ- ment of epithet. An epithet may be defined as a descriptive adjective ; that is to say, an adjective not essential to the under- standing of its substantive, but (as the derivation of the word, from eTri and TIJ^/U, to add to, implies) added in order to give some descriptive or characterizing feature, some coloring, or strik- ing accompaniment. Epithet belongs therefore to the more vivid agencies of expression ; its presence indicates that vigor and keenness of perception which is most distinctive of the poetic mood. Three kinds of epithets may here be defined and exempli- fied. First, what are called essential epithets are used to express some quality already involved in the noun ; as " wet waves," " white milk," "green pastures," "the sharp sword." These, naming a thing by its characterizing quality, simply bring out into promi- nence what would otherwise be unthought of from its obvious- ness. In the same class with these may be mentioned a peculiar use of epithets, notably in Homer and the early ballads, as a constant accompaniment of their nouns, without special reference to their fitness on any given occasion. Thus, Achilles is " swift-footed " when he is sitting in council or sleeping, as well as when he is run- ning. So too we have " bright-eyed AtheneV " white-armed Juno," POETIC DICTION. 57 "merry England," "the doughty Douglas," "the bold Sir Bedi- vere " ; adjective and noun making one term indivisible for the purpose and tone of the poem in which they occur. Secondly may be mentioned what we may name decorative epi- thets. These, which comprise by far the greatest proportion, and especially in modern poetry, are employed to give elements of life and color not necessarily involved in the object ; they enrich the idea by adding picturesque qualities. In the lines, "with bossy beaten work of mountain chains," and " they roamed the daisied fields together," both of which are from prose works, we recog- nize such superadded features in the epithets. It is in poetry, how- ever, that expressions like these are more natural ; and when they occur in prose it is some exceptional prose, akin in sentiment and feeling to poetry. How rich poetic literature often is in epithet, may be illustrated by the following, from Keats's " Lamia " : "Upon a time, before the faery broods Drove Nymph and Satyr from the prosperous woods, Before King Oberon's bright diadem, Sceptre, and mantle, clasp'd with dewy gem, Frighted away the Dryads and the Fauns From rushes green, and brakes, and cowslip\i lawn :>, The ever-smitten Hermes empty left YliagvUeH throne, bent warm on amorous theft: From high Olympus had he stolen light, On this side of Jove's clouds, to escape the sight Of his great summoner, and made retreat Into a forest on the shores of Crete." Such epithets may sometimes, by a license very rare in prose, be used without their substantives ; thus, Milton has " the dank" " the dry" for water and land. Sometimes also an epithet may be used substantively and be modified by a second epithet ; as, " the breezy blue," "the sheeted dead." "the dead vast of the night." Thirdly may be mentioned what are called phrase epithets, epithets employed, by way of condensation, to suggest or imply an idea whose full expression would require a phrase or clause. Such epithets are tested by inquiring how much they involve. 58 POETIC DICTION. The following examples will illustrate them. " Even copious Dryclen wanted, or forgot The last and greatest art, the art to blot." Here the epithet is equivalent to " though he was copious," imply- ing that in his great wealth of expression Dryden could have af- forded to strike out the poorer passages, being able to supply their place with better. Consider how much that well-chosen word " copious " stands for. In the lines, " Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain, Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims along the main," the full sense implied in the epithet is " which had not time, as she passed over it, to bend beneath her." Notice that the mere descrip- tive epithet " swift," in the first line of the couplet, is not suscepti- ble of such expanded sense. The following, from Keats, is a very bold and striking example : " So those two brothers, with their murdered man Rode past fair Florence," where by the word "murdered," as the context shows, the poet means " whom they were about to murder," or " murdered in anticipation." Phrase epithet belongs more to poetic brevity than to poetic pic- turesqueness ; but it is discussed here, in order that it may appear with the other kinds of epithet. It is the kind most naturally used in prose. The management of epithet furnishes one of the most delicate indications, especially in prose style, of a writer's taste or lack of taste. A very effective instrument of picturesqueness, it is also a precarious one, and requires much caution and restraint in prose, or the style may easily be loaded down and become tawdry. 1 It is the recognition of this fact that has led some writers to give the somewhat sweeping advice, " Never use two adjectives where one will do ; never use an adjective at all where a noun will do " ; advice 1 See Fundamental Processes, p. 155. POETIC DICTION. 59 that is certainly worth remembering, though there may be excep- tions in its application. 3. A third means of poetic picturesqueness, or at least of poetic distinction, consists in using words in senses strikingly different from their current acceptation. " It is doubtless the privilege of a poet," says Mr. S. H. Butcher, " to force a word back, along the line of its own development, in the direction of its etymology or of primitive usage." Two or three examples may be given. From Tennyson : " Live yet live Shall sharpest pathos blight us, knowing all Life needs for life is possible to will Live happy." Here " pathos " is used in the old Greek sense of suffering. Another example from Tennyson : " not that tall felon there Whom thou by sorcery or unhappiness Or some device, hast foully overthrown," where " unhappiness " is used in the sense of unlucky hap or acci- dent. The following is from Bryant : " Kind words, remembered voices once so sweet, Smiles, radiant long ago, And features, the great soul's apparent seat." Here the word " apparent " has the sense of making appear or be evident. Such liberty with words is almost the exclusive prerogative of poetry. An example, from 1 Charles Lamb, will show how estrang- ing it is in prose : "While childhood, and while dreams, reducing childhood, shall be left, imagination shall not have spread her holy wings totally to fly the earth." This cannot be quoted as a model even from Lamb ; its justifica- tion in him, if it has any, is due to the " self-pleasing quaintness " which was his avowed idiosyncrasy. 60 POETIC DICTION. IV. Expression modified for the Sake of Sound. As the funda- mental form of poetry is based on a regular arrangement of words according to accent and articulation, it is obvious that the element of sound plays a much more prominent part in poetry than in prose. Modifications exacted by metre and rhyme it is not in our province here to discuss ; apart from these, however, poetic dic- tion, in its general choice of words, is largely influenced by the desire for easy or musical or descriptive articulation. 1. Regard for euphonious sound is often manifest in the choice or modification of proper names. "Albion" for England, "Erin" for Ireland, "Caledonia" for Scotland, "Columbia" for America, were originally adopted mainly for their imaginative and unworn associations ; but their form indicates that the considerations of euphony also were prominent. Tennyson, in the epilogue to the Idyls of the King, changes the name Mallory to Malleor, probably the better to satisfy his ear. Milton's ear was very sensitive to the sound of names ; he has "ammiral" for admiral, "Chersoness" for Chersonese, " Oreb " for Horeb, " Chemos " for Chemosh, and many more. He often makes a passage musical by the names he chooses. " From Arachosia, from Candaor east, From Margiana, to the Hyrcanian cliffs Of Caucasus, and dark Iberian dales; From Atropatia, and the neighboring plains Of Adiabene, Media, and the south Of Susiana, to Balsara's haven." 2. Poetry takes greater liberties than does prose in employing alliteration and assonance. Alliteration is the name given to a near recurrence of the same initial sound. It is a very natural device in English ; the early poetry of the language was all allit- erative, and no doubt the tendency lives in the genius of the liter- ature. It may be interesting to compare a passage of the old alliterative verse with the refined use of alliteration in our day. The following is from " The Vision of Piers the Plowman " : POETIC DICTION. 61 " In a corner .reson whan soft was the ronne, I shope me in 5/roudes as I a s/tepe were, In /jabite as an ^eremite vn/wly of workes, Went tvyde in this world wondres to here." \\'ith this compare the following stanza from Swinburne : " When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces, The mother of ;onths in weadow or plain Fills the shadows and windy places With /isp of /eaves and ripple of rain ; And the Arown Aright nightingale amorous Is half assuaged for Itylus For the Thracian ships and the/breignyhces; The tongueless vigil, and all the pain." In this latter example the alliteration is no more obtrusive, but exists as a half-hidden music in the structure of the verse. Assonance, in its strict technical sense, is the name given to a recurrence of the same vowel sound, irrespective of the consonantal setting in which it is found : as, " The groves of 'Blarney They are so charnu'ng." In a popular sense, however, the word is often used as nearly synonymous with rhyme. In both senses of the word, assonance enters largely into the body of the verse, as well as at the ends ; as, " How sad and bad and mad it was But then, how it was sweet ! " Assonance and alliteration are combined in " Airy, Fairy Lilian, flitting, /airy Lilian." These devices may easily become so noticeable as to make the style trifling and artificial. 3. Poetry is more sensitive and flexible than prose in making the sound answer to the sense. This characteristic, attained partly through the rhythm and partly through the articulate sounds, is the secret of much of its power in word-painting, already men- 62 POETIC DICTION. tioned. The subject of the harmony of sound and sense is a broad one ; and only a few examples can be given here, principally by way of suggesting how important it is. It will be taken up again, later on, in its relation to prose usage. 1 Very natural in poetry, first, is the impulse to make vocal sounds reproduce the movements and sounds of nature. In the following, for instance, the consonant combinations str and si, which must be pronounced somewhat slowly, are employed to denote slowness and reluctance of movement : " So strode he back slow to the wounded King." Quickness and life are expressed in the following by a change ol rhythm from an iambus to a tribrach : "Then would he whistle rapid as any lark." The following is a remarkable imitation of a heavy sound echoing among rocks : " He spoke; and, high above, I heard them blast The steep slate-quarry, and the great echo flap And buffet round the hills, from bluff to bluff." But secondly, poetry may be equally felicitous in making com- binations of vocal sounds portray states of mind, states of nature, or general characters of combined events. In the following, for instance, desolateness, both of mind and weather, is indicated by " the harsh sibilants in the third line, and the intentionally hard alliteration and utter want of rhythm in the last line " 2 : " He is not here; but far away The noise of life begins again, And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain On the bald street breaks the blank day." A line without rhythm is similarly employed by Milton to portray the swift and utter rout of the rebellious angels : " headlong themselves they threw Down from the verge of heaven ; eternal wrath Burnt after them to the bottomless pit" 1 See section on Fundamental Processes, p. 168. 2 Genung, "Tennyson's In Memoriam : a Study," p. 109. PROSE DICTION. 63 Such spontaneous features of the poet's art as these furnish con- tinual illustration of this remark of Thomas Wentworth Higginson : " Words are available for something which is more than knowledge. Words afford a more delicious music than the chords of any in- strument ; they are susceptible of richer colors than any painter's palette ; and that they should be used merely for the transportation of intelligence, as a wheelbarrow carries brick, is not enough. The highest aspect of literature assimilates it to painting and music. Beyond and above all the domain of use lies beauty, and to aim at this makes literature an art." SECTION THIRD. THE CHARACTERISTICS AND TYPES OF PROSE DICTION. THE distinctive qualities of prose diction are suggestively indi- cated in the derivation of the word prose. It comes from the Latin prosa, a contracted form of prorsa, which itself is a con- traction of the compound pro-versa ; an adjective, feminine in form because the noun to be supplied is the feminine oratio, dis- course ; the whole meaning, therefore, "straight- forward discourse." The name was first given, no doubt, because, instead of turning and beginning anew when it has reached a certain measured length (its contrast, verse, versus, means a turning), the line keeps straight on, as far as there is room for it. But the characteristic straight-forward is capable also of another application. Prose dis- course is straight- forward in two senses : In not changing the natural order of words ; In not departing from the common use of words. This is another way of saying that prose is the language of ordi- nary ideas and sentiments ; it is the form that unstudied speech assumes. None the less, however, it is open to unlimited study 64 PROSE DICTION. and development, and perfection in it is among the greatest of achievements ; this is shown by the fact that in the history of every literature prose is a later development than poetry, and by the fact that the number of transcendent prose writers, in any generation and in the whole course of a nation's history, is much smaller than the number of its eminent poets. The above description of prose recognizes it merely as a form of expression. Poetry is much broader than this : it includes not only form but material and thought. We cannot reduce it to mere mechanism of words and images. The proper antithesis to prose, therefore, is not poetry, but verse, or metrical composition ; while to the comprehensive term poetry the nearest antithesis (no single word expresses it fully) is perhaps science, taken in its most gen- eral sense of knowledge or instruction presented in order. I. CHARACTERISTICS OF PROSE DICTION. These have in great part been suggested in the preceding pages, directly in the rules for the choice of words, and by contrast in the section on poetic diction. They need, however, to be brought together in a brief ordered summary ; and this may be done un- der the three heads, choice of words, arrangement of words, and connexion of words. I. As to Choice of Words. The ruling standard of choice, to which all other considerations are subordinated, is utility. Thi,s, because it is the characteristic of prose, as distinguished from verse, to use expression not for the mere expression's sake but always with some ulterior end in view, to instruct, or convince, or impress, or persuade. Its expression, therefore, is ideally an instrument to be skillfully wielded to that end ; free on occasion to employ plainness of language or elegance, terseness or fullness, simplicity or elaborateness, according as any of these qualities may commend themselves as most practically useful for its purpose. PROSE DICTION. 65 This character of prose dictates that for the sake of clearness words be taken from ordinary life and from the recognized usage of the day. The archaic and abbreviated forms of poetry are therefore not natural to prose ; if in any prose they are found, it is such prose as seeks confessedly to produce poetic effects. So also any far-fetched or cunningly manufactured terms that with- draw attention from the idea to the form are a blemish, because they obscure the utility that in some application should govern every word. If picturesque language is employed in prose, it must likewise have its justification in utility. Picturesqueness may be part of the information conveyed ; or it may be needful in order to give an assertion due distinction ; if so, it is sought for its practical use. So also epithets, which in prose, as has been said, are so easily overdone, may be kept well within the bounds of good taste, if they are always estimated by the power or effectiveness they add to the thought. NOTE. To illustrate how picturesqueness may be an integral part of the information conveyed, one or two examples, taken from Abbott and Seeley's " English Lessons for English People," may here be given. It would hardly be fitting to use the expression " Emerald Isle" in ordinary prose, as, for instance, " Parliament, during this session, was mainly occupied with the Emerald Isle"; but the expression serves a useful purpose, by reason of its very imaginative character, in such a sentence as, " Accustomed to the arid and barren deserts of Arabia, the eye of the returning soldier rested with pleasure upon the rich, bright vegetation of the Emerald Isle." Again, the essential epithet in " He drew his bright sword " is evidently only a bit of use- less finery; but in the sentence, "Laughing at the peasant's extemporized weapon, the soldier drew his own bright sword," the epithet is a help in sharp- ening the antithesis and making the information more vivid. It is thus apparent that the standard of utility must be varied according to the kind of information conveyed. "There are two kinds of things," says Walter Bagehot, 1 " those which you need only to understand, and those which you need also to imagine. 1 Bagehot, Literary Studies, Vol. II. p. 241. 66 PROSE DICTION. That a man bought nine hundredweight of hops is an intelligible idea you do not want the hops delineated or the man described ; that he went into society suggests an inquiry you want to know what the society was like, and how far he was fitted to be there." In the latter case, accordingly, the writer begins to have occa- sion for the picturing power of words ; he must employ language more ambitiously and strikingly, for the sake of a more complex effect. II. As to Arrangement of Words. Prose arranges words accord- ing to the requirements of directness and emphasis. In poetry the exigencies of metre sometimes necessitate arbi- trary changes in the order of words. A more practical reason is requisite in prose diction. Variations from the natural order are indeed not infrequent, but they justify themselves in the greater strength or more convenient grouping of ideas. If an inversion is introduced, or if clauses are transposed, the change is made in order to put important elements of the thought in emphatic places ; and this of course may be a desideratum for the sake of some special distinction. Any arrangement that cannot so defend itself is sure to sound either crude or affected. NOTE. In the following sentence the inverted order of the verbs (the auxiliary before the subject) is not called for by any specially impassioned character of the thought; and the effect is simply crudeness: "Indeed, in nearly all of George Eliot's novels can we trace in some character a likeness to their creator; in Gwendolen even has the writer infused, perhaps uncon- sciously, something of her own personality." The rationale of inversion in prose will be given later; see Section on Fundamental Processes, p. 165. After directness and force are secured, euphony is a considera- tion ; and an arrangement that enhances the agreeable rhythm of a sentence often augments its other desirable qualities. Care is needed, however, not to sacrifice force to smoothness, and not to employ artificial forms at the expense of truth. PROSE DICTION. 67 III. As to Connexion of Words. Prose connects words by ex- pressing all the particles of relation and all the subordinate ele- ments as fully as may be requisite for perfect clearness. In this respect it must be more copious and scrupulous than poetry ; it must often give at length what poetry tends to shorten or omit. NOTE. To illustrate how much and what kind of material, that may be absent from poetry, must be present in prose, let us endeavor to express the thought of the following stanza from Browning in such prose as, by the ordi- nary standard, will be adequate to give the idea its proper fullness : " ' Why from the world,' Ferishtah smiled, ' should thanks Go to this work of mine? If worthy praise, Praised let it be and welcome : as verse ranks So rate my verse : if good therein outweighs Aught faulty judged, judge justly ! Justice says: Be just to fact, or blaming or approving: But generous? No, nor loving ! ' " In changing this to prose, of course we must occasionally substitute a prose word or idiom for a poetic one. The added matter is put in brackets. " Why," [said] Ferishtah [with a] smile, " should thanks be rendered by the world for this work of mine? If [it is] worthy [of] praise, let it be praised, and welcome. Let them [simply] rate my verse as verse runs. If [what is] good in it outweighs [what is ad-] judged [to be] faulty, [let them at all events] judge justly. Justice demands [merely] that they honestly ac- knowledge [whatever is] fact, whether [in] blame or [in] approval; but [that they should be] generous? No; [it does not demand that], nor [that they should be] loving [either] ! " Here it will be seen that the words to be supplied are almost exclusively particles, that is, words of subordinate rank that supply the connexions and shadings of the thought. To understand this distinction between prose and poetry, we need to take note of the two classes of which the words of any language are composed, called by Professor Earle presentive and symbolic words. 1 The presentive are those which by them- selves present a definite conception to the mind ; such are nouns, verbs, and in lower degree adjectives and adverbs. The symbolic 1 Earle, " Philology of the English Tongue," pp. 218 sqq. 68 PROSE DICTION. words are those which by themselves contribute nothing to the thought, except as symbols of some presentive idea or of some relation between ' ideas ; such are pronouns, articles, prepositions, conjunctions. This distinction in the offices of words is here mentioned in order to direct attention especially to the importance of the sym- bolic element in discourse. In the skillful use of this element lies the secret of fineness and flexibility of language. Symbolic words, in their endlessly varied offices of modifying, connecting, coloring the thought, are what make provision " for the lighter touches of expression, the vague tints, the vanishing points." Hence it is mostly by these that we estimate the efficiency of a language as an instrument of thought; for instance, the ancient Greek lan- guage, universally accounted the most flexible of tongues in its adaptability to all intricacies of the idea, holds that position chiefly by virtue of its fine and copious symbolic element. The English language, from its lack of inflections, must be cor- respondingly more scrupulous in its words of relation. The syn- tax becomes more complex in proportion as the etymology is more simple ; and thus the art of building words together, so that order, relation, and modification shall be adequately provided for and managed, is that which, in English, makes perhaps the most strenuous exactions of the writer's skill. This is especially true of prose writing, wherein clearness is the paramount consideration ; not only the words chosen, but whatever belongs to the consecu- tion and mutual dependencies of the thought, goes to give com- plexity to his problem. II. TYPES OF PROSE DICTION. Three general types of prose diction may here be described, to some one of which any literary work in prose is to be more or less predominantly referred. These three types correspond roughly to the three fundamental qualities of style, arising, as do they, from the predominance, in any passage, of the purely didactic mood ; or of quickened emotion, or of active imagination. It will PROSE DICTION. 69 be seen that the tendency, as these successive moods govern the discourse, is to make prose approach in increasing degree toward poetic diction ; until, in the third or imaginative type, it is capa- ble in skillful hands of advancing to the very verge of poetry. These types of prose are here represented as due to the mood of writing ; but the author's mood itself, it should be remarked, is determined by the exactions of the subject. It is only to a lim- ited degree that he has choice of modes of treatment. The kind of thought contains potentially its own diction. An impassioned treatment, for instance, cannot well consist with a subtle thought ; to be impassioned it must have a certain largeness and universality of idea, such as we see in the topics of oratory. In like manner a subject of severe thought or science is incapable of any great approach to imaginative expression ; the diction of poetic prose has its own sphere. Under each of the three fundamental types will be adduced an illustrative passage furnishing, as nearly as possible, a pure exam- ple of its type. I. The Intellectual Type. The first type of prose diction may thus be named, because it is the natural language of one who is addressing himself simply to his reader's intellect ; seeking, that is, to inform, instruct, or convince. It is an entirely secondary matter whether the reader feels, fancies, is excited by the thought, or not ; it is not such thought as needs any reception beyond be- ing understood. The interest centres in merely transmitting ideas from one mind to another. * Under this type falls the great body of prose discourse. Its characteristics need not be enlarged on here, being evident enough from what has been said in previous sections. Words are chosen with primary reference to the idea ; hence the ruling test is precision and clearness. Figures of speech may be used, being natural to all styles, but merely in their illustrative capacity. The arrangement and connexion of words are managed simply with reference to economy of the reader's interpreting power. 70 PROSE DICTION. Of course there may be all grades of this type of prose, from the unstudied simplicity of Bunyan to the highly finished balance of Macaulay ; but in all the object is fundamentally the same, to adapt ideas the most effectually to the intellect, the understand- ing and reasoning powers, of the reader. In the following passage, from Southey's " Life of Nelson," the task is simply to give information, in the plainest language, of an event. No effort need be made to excite interest, or to vivify by poetic devices; the subject con- tains its own interest and beauty. " It had been part of Nelson's prayer, that the British fleet might be distin- guished by humanity in the victory which he expected. Setting an example himself, he twice gave orders to cease firing upon the Redoubtable, supposing that she had struck, because her great guns were silent; for, as she carried no flag, there was no means of instantly ascertaining the fact. From this ship, which he had thus twice spared, he received his death. A ball fired from her mizzen-top, which, in the then situation of the two vessels, was not more than fifteen yards from that part of the deck where he was standing, struck the epaulette on his left shoulder, about a quarter after one, just in the heat of action. He fell upon his face, on the spot which was covered with his poor secretary's blood. Hardy, who was a few steps from him, turning round, saw three men raising him up. 'They have done for me at last, Hardy,' said he. 'I hope not,' cried Hardy. 'Yes!' he replied; 'my backbone is shot through.' Yet even now, not for a moment losing his presence of mind, he observed, as they were carrying him down the ladder, that the tiller ropes, which had been shot away, were not yet replaced, and ordered that new ones should be rove immediately; then, that he might not be seen by the crew, he took out his handkerchief, and covered his face and his stars. Had he but concealed these badges of honor from the enemy, England, perhaps, would not have had cause to receive with sorrow the news of the battle of Trafalgar. The cock- pit was crowded with wounded and dying men ; over whose bodies he was with some difficulty conveyed, and laid upon a pallet in the midshipmen's berth. It was soon perceived, upon examination, that the wound was mortal. This, however, was concealed from all except Captain Hardy, the chaplain, and the medical attendants. He himself, being certain, from the sensation in his back, and the gush of blood he felt momently within his breast, that no human care could avail him, insisted that the surgeon should leave him, and attend to those to whom he might be useful; 'for,' said he, 'you can do noth- ing for me.' PROSE DICTION. 71 All that could be done was to fan him with paper, and frequently to give him lemonade to alleviate his intense thirst. He was in great pain, and ex- pressed much anxiety for the event of the action, which now began to declare itself. As often as a ship struck, the crew of the Victory hurrahed; and at every hurrah a visible expression of joy gleamed in the eyes and marked the countenance of the dying hero. Nelson desired to be turned upon his right side, and said, ' I wish I had not left the deck ; for I shall soon be gone.' Death was, indeed, rapidly ap- proaching. His articulation now became difficult ; but he was distinctly heard to say, ' Thank God, I have done my duty ! ' These words he repeat- edly pronounced; and they were the last words which he uttered. He ex- pired at thirty minutes after four, three hours and a quarter after he had received his wound." II. The Impassioned Type. This type of prose, as the name in- dicates, is the outcome of strong and exalted emotion. It is per- haps most purely represented in oratory ; and deals with the great truths that come home, as Lord Bacon says, to men's " business and bosoms," the important truths with which are connected the joys and sorrows, the hopes and fears, the affections and interests, of all men. The emotion that rules this type of prose leads spontaneously to some of the characteristics of poetry. This is seen, for one thing, in a tendency to shun lengthy and commonplace words, and labored connexions and relations. Secondly, there is observable a tendency to heighten language, by employing words of striking and impressive quality. Thirdly, a decided rhythm is evident, not regular and measured, like poetic metre, but none the less a true observance of the sound and varied cadence of words. Thus this type advances a step toward poetry, by borrowing not yet the poetic vocabulary, but something of poetic structure. The following, from Daniel Webster's Oration on the Bunker Hill Monu- ment, will exemplify the general elevated tone of impassioned discourse : "VENERABLE MEN ! you have come down to us from a former generation. Heaven has bounteously lengthened out your lives, that you might behold this joyous day. You are now where you stood fifty years ago, this very hour, with 72 PROSE DICTION. your brothers and your neighbors, shoulder to shoulder, in the strife for your country. Behold, how altered ! The same heavens are indeed over your heads; the same ocean rolls at your feet; but all else how changed! You hear now no roar of hostile cannon, you see no mixed volumes of smoke and flame rising from burning Charlestown. The ground strewed with the dead and the dying; the impetuous charge; the steady and successful repulse; the loud call to repeated assault; the summoning of all that is manly to repeated resistance; a thousand bosoms freely and fearlessly bared in an instant to whatever of terror there may be in war and death; all these you have wit- nessed, but you witness them no more. All is peace. The heights of yonder metropolis, its towers and roofs, which you then saw filled with wives and children and countrymen in distress and terror, and looking with unutterable emotions for the issue of the combat, have presented you to-day with the sight of its whole happy population, come out to welcome and greet you with a universal jubilee. Yonder proud ships, by a felicity of position appropriately lying at the foot of this mount, and seeming fondly to cling around it, are not means of annoyance to you, but your country's own means of distinction and defence. All is peace; and God has granted you this sight of your country's happiness, ere you slumber in the grave. He has allowed you to behold and to partake the reward of your patriotic toils; and he has allowed us, your sons and countrymen, to meet you here, and in the name of the present generation, in the name of your country, in the name of liberty, to thank you ! . . . But ah ! Him ! the first great martyr in this great cause ! Him ! the pre- mature victim of his own self-devoting heart ! Him ! the head of our civil councils, and the destined leader of our military bands, whom nothing brought hither but the unquenchable fire of his own spirit ! Him ! cut off by Provi- dence in the hour of overwhelming anxiety and thick gloom; falling ere he saw the star of his country rise; pouring out his generous blood like water, before he knew whether it would fertilize a land of freedom or of bondage ! how shall I struggle with the emotions that stifle the utterance of thy name ! Our poor work may perish ; but thine shall endure ! This monument may moulder away; the solid ground it rests upon may sink down to a level with the sea; but thy memory shall not fail ! Wheresoever among men a heart shall be found that beats to the transports of patriotism and liberty, its aspira- tions shall be to claim kindred with thy spirit ! " Of such prose as this it is to be remarked that it cannot well be manufactured, as in cold blood ; to be genuine it must be the spontaneous utterance of emotion and deep conviction. The fervid and generous passion, filling the speaker's heart and will, PROSE DICTION. 73 heightens and makes serviceable every endowment of taste and fine literary instinct, while in turn the expression of passion is regulated and kept in bounds by them. III. The Imaginative Type. This is a type of prose diction in which very few have achieved eminent success, requiring as it does the finest ear and the most unfailing taste in the resources of language. It is the kind of style that shapes itself, with more or less artistic fitness, when the writer deals with an imaginative theme, and shapes his conceptions in the fancy rather than in the severity of logic. In this kind of writing language is used somewhat as a musical instrument, to arouse and gratify the reader's imagination by means of euphonic sound and imagery. Poetic resources, both of struc- ture and vocabulary, are freely drawn upon. Especially noticeable are epithet and picturesque language ; also many of the archaic and quaint forms of poetry. The tendency to rhythm is still more marked than in the impassioned type, while always harshness and crudeness in consecutions of sounds are avoided. Noted representatives of this kind of prose writing are De Quincey, Ruskin, Jeremy Taylor, and Milton. The following, from Ruskin's " Stones of Venice," carries this type of prose to the very verge of poetry. "We know that gentians grow on the Alps, and olives on the Apennines; but we do not enough conceive for ourselves that variegated mosaic of the world's surface which a bird sees in its migration, that difference between the district of the gentian and of the olive which the stork and the swallow see far off, as they lean upon the sirocco wind. Let us, for a moment, try to raise ourselves even above the level of their flight, and imagine the Mediterranean lying beneath us like an irregular lake, and all its ancient promontories sleep- ing in the sun; here and there an angry spot of thunder, a grey stain of storm, moving upon the burning field; and here and there a fixed wreath of white volcano smoke, surrounded by its circle of ashes; but for the most part a great peacefulness of light, Syria and Greece, Italy and Spain, laid like pieces of golden pavement into the sea-blue, chased, as we stoop nearer to them, with bossy beaten work of mountain chains, and glowing softly with terraced gardens, and flowers heavy with frankincense, mixed among masses 74 PROSE DICTION. of laurel, and orange and plumy palm, that abate with their grey-green shadows the burning of the marble rocks, and of the ledges of porphyry sloping under lucent sand. Then let us pass farther towards the north, until we see the orient colors change gradually into a vast belt of rainy green, where the pas- tures of Switzerland, and poplar valleys of France, and dark forests of the Danube and Carpathians stretch from the mouths of the Loire to those of the Volga, seen through clefts in grey swirls of rain-cloud and flaky veils of the mist of the brooks, spreading low along the pasture lands : and then, farther north still, to see the earth heave into mighty masses of leaden rock and heathy moor, bordering with a broad waste of gloomy purple that belt of field and wood, and splintering into irregular and grisly islands amidst the northern seas, beaten by storm and chilled by ice-drift, and tormented by furious pulses of contending tide, until the roots of the last forests fail from among the hill ravines, and the hunger of the north wind bites their peaks into barrenness; and, at last, the wall of ice, durable like iron, sets, death- like, its white teeth against us out of the polar twilight." In this passage we are aware at once of the writer's somewhat daring incursions into the poetic realm, manifest by words and structure alike. It may be interesting to point out some of these characteristics borrowed from poetry. Notice, for instance, how much is introduced for word-painting : " Promontories sleeping in the sun " ; "a great peacefulness of light " ; "the hunger of the north wind "; "sets its white teeth against us"; "grey sivirls of rain-cloud yn& flaky -veils of the mist of the brooks." Epithet : " Sirocco wind "; "ancient promontories"; "golden pavement "; "ter- raced gardens "; "plumy palm "; " lucent sand "; " orient colors " ; " rainy green"; " heathy moor " ; " into the sea-blue" All these epithets are of the decorative or descriptive kind. Alliteration : "A grey j/ain of tform"; "tossy beaten work"; "&tes their peaks into barrenness"; "rixed a/wong masses of laurel, and orange and /lumy/alm." Rhythm encroaching on metre : " All its ancient promontories Sleeping in the sun." PROSE DICTION. 75 " Here and there an angry spot of thunder." " With bossy beaten work of mountain chains." " Spreading low along the pasture lands." " By furious pulses of contending tide." This type of prose is so exceptional, and excellence in it is so rare, that it is adduced not so much for imitation as for study. It cannot be made by rule and precept ; and the attempt to produce it, unless a real poetic feeling compels it, results only in artificial word-mongery. Mixture and Alternation of Types. In the discrimination of the foregoing types of diction, it is not meant that every literary work ought necessarily to conform throughout to any one type. As matter of fact we find many works either of mixed type or passing on occasion into various types, according to mood and subject-matter. In an oration, for instance, the prevailing type is intellectual, being due to the effort to convey and enforce thought ; and from this it is direct and natural, as feeling becomes greater, to rise into the language of passion. Much of De Quincey's and Milton's prose-poetry represents a mingling of the impassioned and the imaginative. The intellectual is the fundamental type, the others coming in merely as occasional aids. Emotion and imagination have power in prose style only as they have a basis of well-defined thought ; if they exist only for themselves, apart from this, they are empty. NOTE. In the following, which is mostly in a light conversational tone, and of the simple intellectual type, notice how natural it is, when an imagina- tive description is introduced, to lapse into a more flowing style and employ epithet and picturesque words. The more imaginative part is enclosed in brackets. " The attractions of this spot are not numerous. There is surf-bathing all along the outer side of the beach, and good swimming on the inner. The fishing is fair; and in still weather yachting is rather a favorite amusement. Further than this there is little to be said, save that the hotel is conducted upon liberal principles, and the society generally select. But to the lover of nature and who has the courage to avow himself aught else? the sea-shore can never be monotonous. [The swirl and sweep of ever-shifting waters, the flying mist of foam breaking away into a gray and 76 OCCASIONAL DICTION. ghostly distance down the beach, the eternal drone of ocean, mingling itself with one's talk by day and with the light dance-music in the parlors by night all these are active sources of a passive pleasure. And to lie at length upon the tawny sand, watching, through half-closed eyes, the heaving waves, that mount against a dark blue sky wherein great silvery masses of cloud float idly on, whiter than the sunlit sails that fade and grow and fade along the horizon,] while some fair damsel sits close by, reading ancient ballads of a simple metre, or older legends of love and romance tell me, my eater of the fashionable lotos, is not this a diversion well worth your having?" SECTION FOURTH. DICTION AS DETERMINED BY OBJECT AND OCCASION. THE foregoing classification of the types of prose diction has contemplated diction as it answers to the subject-matter and the writer's correspondent mood. It remains now to consider what characteristics diction, of whatever type, must take, in the writer's effort to adapt himself to his readers or hearers ; that is, how dic- tion is made to answer most effectually to its object and occasion. I. The Diction of Spoken Discourse. The standard with which all writing begins is naturally and properly the spoken word. Write as you would speak, is the safe universal rule. That is, aim at something of the directness, the simplicity of structure, the life, that belong ideally to conversation. If too great departure is made from this standard, the style becomes either pedantic or weakly sentimental. In no way can the writer better promote clearness and straight-forwardness of style than by keeping con- stantly in mind what are the needs and capacities of an audience. But while in general this is true, the circumstances of spoken discourse make some characteristics imperative, which written discourse in its different circumstances may treat with more free- OCCASIONAL DICTION. 77 dom, and at the same time grant some liberties denied to written discourse. What these are may be gathered from the occasion and requirements of an ordinary conversation. 1. The speaker must make his meaning intelligible at once, must arrest the attention and arouse the interest of his audience from the outset of his discourse ; otherwise the object is lost alto- gether. Hence, the sentences, or at least the different members and masses of the thought, need to be short and direct; the points of emphasis need to be strongly marked ; and often some pointed manner of expression, such as antithesis, epigram, or striking metaphor, may be employed to bring the thought out in stronger relief. 2. The speaker needs to be more careful than the writer to repeat important thoughts in different terms, or, as is often nec- essary, in identical terms. The matter of spoken discourse is generally such thought as needs to be not only made clear but enforced ; and both these requirements make it important that the main points be reiterated, held up in different lights, subjected to various illustrations and elucidations, until they have impressed themselves on the mind of every hearer. 3. Spoken discourse will bear to be more irregular and abrupt than written ; declarative sentences are interspersed more freely with exclamatory and interrogative ; trains of thought are some- times introduced suggestively, and broken off for the hearer to finish. The speaker can safelier leave his style less finished, be- cause he has all the advantage of gesture, expression of counte- nance, and modulation of voice, to supplement it. 4. Often also a slight sacrifice of literal truth to vividness in other words, a somewhat sweeping or exaggerated expression is quite admissible in spoken discourse, and not misleading, be- cause this want of exactness easily corrects itself in the occasion and circumstances. Whatever is more than strict truth the hearer naturally adjusts to the score of emotion. By this is not meant that the choice of expression in speech may be less careful and calculated than in writing ; a bungling inaccuracy is inadmissible 78 OCCASIONAL DICTION. anywhere ; but inasmuch as the choice is determined by the double requirement of clearness and vividness, the latter quality may operate to transcend accuracy in simply the one direction of intensity. The following, from Charles James Fox, will illustrate very strikingly the impetuous, irregular nature of extemporaneous speech. " We must keep Bonaparte for some time longer at war, as a state of pro- bation! Gracious God, sir, is war a state of probation? Is peace a rash sys- tem? Is it dangerous for nations to live in amity with each other? Are your vigilance, your policy, your common powers of observation, to be extinguished by putting an end to the horrors of war? Cannot this state of probation be as well undergone without adding to the catalogue of human sufferings? But we must pause! What ! must the bowels of Great Britain be torn out, her best blood spilt, her treasure wasted, that you may make an experiment? Put your- selves oh, that you would put yourselves in the field of battle, and learn to judge of the sort of horrors that you excite ! In former wars a man might at least have some feeling, some interest, that served to balance in his mind the impressions which a scene of carnage and of death must inflict. If a man had been present at the battle of Blenheim, for instance, and had inquired the motive of the battle, there was not a soldier engaged who could not have sat- isfied his curiosity, and even perhaps allayed his feelings they were fighting to repress the uncontrolled ambition of the Grand Monarque. But if a man were present now at a field of slaughter, and were to inquire for what they were fighting, 'Fighting?' would be the answer, 'they are not fighting, they are pausing? 'Why is that man expiring? Why is that other writhing in agony ? What means this implacable fury ? ' The answer must be, ' You are quite wrong, sir; you deceive yourself. They are not fighting. Do not disturb them; they are merely pausing. This man is not expiring with agony, that man is not dead : he is only pausing ! They are not angry with one another : they have now no cause of quarrel; but their country thinks there should be a pause. All that you see, sir, is nothing like fighting : there is no harm, nor cruelty, nor bloodshed in it whatever; it is nothing more than a political pause! It is merely to try an experiment, to see whether Bonaparte will not behave himself better than heretofore; and in the meantime we have agreed to a pause in pure friendship ! ' And is this the way, sir, that you are to show yourselves the advocates of order? You take up a system calculated to unciv- ilize the world, to trample on religion, to stifle in the heart not merely the generosity of noble sentiment, but the affections of social nature, and in the prosecution of this system you spread terror and desolation around you." OCCASIONAL DICTION. 79 Discourse written for Public Delivery. Although the ideal of spoken discourse is that its expression be extemporaneous, a large proportion of such discourse is, and will continue to be, written and read or recited in public. With some literary tasks, as for instance public lectures, this is indeed almost a necessity ; and doubtless the temperament and habits of thought of a great many public speakers are such that they can represent themselves better by written and read discourse than by purely extemporane- ous utterance. The chief motive for writing a spoken discourse in full before- hand is thus expressed by Ruskin in one of his lectures on art : " Do not think I am speaking under excited feelings, or in any exaggerated terms. I have written the words I use, that I may know what I say, and that you, if you choose, may see what I have said." The thing most necessary to be remembered, and yet oftenest disregarded, in such writing, is, that it must subject itself unre- servedly to the standard of spoken discourse. The quiet mood of the writer in his study must, be conquered and replaced by the vigorous mood of the orator in the presence of his audience. Sen- tences must be simple and pointed ; the distance between pauses should be short ; and the hearer should not be made to carry a burden of thought in mind waiting for its result or application. The same need exists for judicious repetition as in purely spoken discourse. Irregularities of style, and especially the exaggeration due to intensity, are naturally considerably toned down ; for the audience, seeing the writer's manuscript before him, will uncon- sciously require of him the well-considered utterance of written discourse. The following, from one of Cardinal Newman's sermons, well illustrates the simplicity, the directness, the skillful repetition and amplification of thought necessary, that a hearer may receive and understand it at one hearing. " There are two worlds, ' the visible and the invisible,' as the Creed speaks, the world we see, and the world we do not see; and the world which we do not see as really exists as the world we do see. It really exists, though we 80 OCCASIONAL DICTION. see it not. The world that we see we know to exist, because we see it. We have but to lift up our eyes and look around us, and we have proof of it : our eyes tell us. We see the sun, moon and stars, earth and sky, hills and valleys, woods and plains, seas and rivers. And again, we see men, and the works uf men. We see cities, and stately buildings, and their inhabitants; men running to and fro, and busying themselves to provide for themselves and their fami- lies, or to accomplish great designs, or for the very business' sake. All that meets our eyes forms one world. It is an immense world; it reaches to the stars. Thousands on thousands of years might we speed up the sky, and though we were swifter than the light itself, we should not reach them all. They are at distances from us greater than any that is assignable. So high, so wide, so deep is the world; and yet it also comes near and close to us. It is everywhere; and it seems to leave no room for any other world. And yet in spite of this universal world which we see, there is another world, quite as far-spreading, quite as close to us, and more wonderful ; another world all around us, though we see it not, and more wonderful than the world we see, for this reason if for no other, that we do not see it. All around us are numberless objects, coming and going, watching, working or waiting, which we see not: this is that other world, which the eyes reach not unto, but faith only." II. The Diction of Written Discourse. Three characteristics, in which writing differs from spoken discourse, may here be named. 1. It must be more exact than speech. The words chosen must express neither more nor less than the thought ; and often statements must be guarded and qualified in order to be kept safe within the bounds of truth ; for the writer needs to say only what he can stand by, having no opportunity of oral explanation or correction. 2. It must be less unguarded and elliptical than speech. It is more sparing in the use of such contractions as don't, can't, ifs for it is, he's for he is, /'// for I will, and the like. It must often be scrupulous in supplying particles where conversation is freer to omit them ; as, " At what hour will the train start? " It must also discard many of the short, elliptical, inexact phrases used in speech. 3. Writing is less varied in construction, and at the same time more complex, than speech. Less varied, because it must keep, OCCASIONAL DICTION. 81 for the most part, to one tone of discourse ; hence interrogation, exclamation, and other means of variety and vividness, are less natural to writing. More complex, because suspensive structure, long sentences, and involved modifications of the thought, can be more safely employed, since the written or printed page is there, to be studied at leisure. NOTE. Such a long-jointed sentence as the following from Dickens, would be intolerable in spoken discourse ; the speaker would be constantly out of breath between pauses, to say nothing of the involutions of clauses and phrases. " The storm had long given place to a calm the most profound, and the evening was pretty far advanced indeed supper was over, and the process of digestion proceeding as favorably as, under the influence of complete tran- quility, cheerful conversation, and a moderate allowance of brandy and water, most wise men conversant with the anatomy and functions of the human frame will consider that it ought to have proceeded, when the three friends, or as one might say, both in a civil and religious sense, and with proper deference and regard to the holy state of matrimony, the two friends (Mr. and Mrs. Browdie counting as no more than one), were startled by the noise of loud and angry threatenings below stairs, which presently attained so high a pitch, and were conveyed besides in language so towering, sanguinary and ferocious, that it could hardly have been surpassed, if there had actually been a Saracen's head then present in the establishment, supported on the shoulders and sur- mounting the trunk of a real, live, furious, and most unappeasable Saracen." Some great writers, notably Burke, have contemned the idea of any difference between spoken and written diction, and maintain that everything written should conform to the standard of speech. But it must be remembered that Burke's speech, being the utterance of an extraordinary mind, is hardly to be taken as the representa- tive of average speech ; and further, that the acknowledged defect of his great addresses lay precisely in the fact that they were too much like written discourse ; they exacted so much thought and were so rich in imagery that they were heard with comparative indifference, while in their printed form they became English classics. It would have been better, therefore, at least for his immediate purposes, if Burke had been more observant of the lib- erties and limits of the two kinds of discourse. 82 OCCASIONAL DICTION. But while as matter of fact there are real differences between writing and speech, it is precarious for the writer to count on them so far as to excuse negligence in his written style. He needs to keep careful and constant watch over the life and interest of his diction ; for if it becomes pedantic or over-involved, the reason is likely to be that he has unconsciously surrendered himself too freely to the liberties of his pen, and needs simply to turn anew toward the standard of the spoken word. III. Antique, Foreign, Colloquial, and Dialect Diction. Of these irregular varieties of diction the details must be left, of course, to the writers who make them a specialty, inasmuch as each writer must for the most part make the laws that he observes. A word may be said, however, concerning the universal principle that con- ditions such work. In work of this kind two features are to be observed and recon- ciled with each other. First, there must be faithfulness to the usage portrayed ; and this is maintained not by the employment of catch-words and tricks of style, but only by thorough absorption of the thought and spirit of the age, people, or language with which the style is connected. But secondly, this faithful representation must be modified by the claims of present intelligibility ; a literary art must be superimposed which shall make the style readable in this day and land. Literary reproductions of this kind, therefore, are not absolute but relative ; they must be toned down for the use of average readers. A similar reconciliation of opposing claims must be made in constructing or reporting dialogue. On this point the words of Anthony Trollope, describing his own art, may perhaps best be quoted. 1 "The ordinary talk of ordinary people," he says, "is carried on in short, sharp, expressive sentences, which, very fre- quently, are never completed, the language of which, even among 1 Anthony Trollope's Autobiography, p. 216. OCCASIONAL DICTION. 83 educated people, is often incorrect. The novel-writer, in con- structing his dialogue, must so steer between absolute accuracy of language which would give to his conversation an air of pedantry and the slovenly inaccuracy of ordinary talkers which, if closely followed, would offend by an appearance of grimace as to produce upon the ear of his readers a sense of reality. If he be quite real, he will seem to attempt to be funny. If he be quite correct, he will seem to be unreal. ... In all this," he says a little farther on, " human nature must be the novel- writer's guide. But in following human nature he must remember that he does so with a pen in his hand, and that the reader who will appreciate human nature will also demand artistic ability and literary aptitude." IV. Maintenance of the Tone of Discourse. This is a point of great importance, and calls for the constant exercise of a culti- vated taste. Every literary work strikes a certain keynote, elevated or colloquial or humorous or severe ; and while it is often an elegance and advantage to rise on occasion into a higher strain, it is unfortunate to fall unadvisedly below the adopted standard. This is most noticeable, perhaps, when prosaic words and turns of expression occur in a passage of poetry. " Prose on certain occasions," says Landor, " can bear a great deal of poetry : on the other hand, poetry sinks and swoons under a moderate weight of prose." So also the sudden appearance of a slang or colloquial expression in a severe discourse, or of a commonplace passage in a sublime j discourse, produces an effect as of a flatted note in music, difficult to describe in words but instantly felt by every cultivated reader. NOTE. In the following stanza of poetry, we feel the decidedly prosaic tone of the italicized lines, as compared with the rest : " So from the sunshine and the green of love, We enter on our story's darker part ; And, though the horror of it well may move An impulse of repugnance in the heart, 84 OCCASIONAL DICTION. Yet let us think, that, as there's naught abore The all-embracing atmosphere of Art, So also there is naught that falls below Her generous reach, though grimed with guilt and woe." So in the following passage the objection to the italicized words is not that they are incorrect, but that they fall below the level of the rest of the pas- sage: "The task was indeed mighty, but Luther was a giant among men. Nor was his fatherland entirely out of sorts. The life-lessons of Wyckliffe and Huss had not been lost." A few years ago a very amusing little biography, written in English by a native Hindostanee, was published in Calcutta; and the most ludicrous faults in its style were due to the fact that the writer, having obtained all his words from a dictionary, had no sense of the difference of tone and spirit in different expressions. Words, idioms, proverbial expressions belonging to the most curiously discordant strata of thought were jumbled together. The following two or three sentences will illustrate this. " His first business, on making an income was to extricate his family from the difficulties in which it had been lately enwrapped, and to restore happiness and sunshine to those sweet and well-beloved faces on which he had not seen the soft and fascinating beams of a simper for many a grim-visaged year." " It was all along the case, and it is so up to this time with the Lieutenant Governors, to give seats to non-pro- fessional men (who are or were as if cocks of the roost, or in other words, Na- tives of high social status) in the Council." " He then came in his chamber to take his wonted tiffin, and felt a slight headache, which gradually aggra- vated and became so uncontrollable that he felt like a toad under a harrow." FIGURES OF SPEECH. 85 CHAPTER III. FIGURES OF SPEECH. Definition. A figure of speech is an intentional deviation from the plain and ordinary mode of speaking, for the sake of greater effect. The fact that figurative language deviates from ordinary expres- sion is not to be taken as an argument against its naturalness. It is just as spontaneous and artless in its place as any manner of speaking, for cultured and uncultured alike ; being the natural result of the effort to illustrate and vivify what the writer or speaker has to communicate. Nor are figures of speech to be reckoned as mere ornaments of discourse. They generally add beauty to the style, it is true ; but if they are introduced for no other object than this, especially in prose discourse, the employment of them is a blemish. The same rule holds with them as with other embellishments of style : nothing is really an embellishment except as it is useful toward effecting the purpose of the discourse, that is, in making the thought conveyed more clear or vivid or emphatic. I. General Suggestions regarding the Use of Figurative Lan- guage. As to the use of figures in general the following cautions are to be noted. i. It is to be borne in mind that figures of speech are not the real thought, but only helpers to the thought. The substance of the discourse, its leading ideas, must exist and be clearly brought out apart from them ; then, if they are once introduced, they fulfil their proper subordinated office. 86 FIGURES OF SPEECH. 2. A preliminary question often to be determined, therefore, is, whether in any passage the thought will profit by figurative expression, or will stand better without it. For sometimes an idea is so palpable in itself that a figurative illustration would be only an impertinence ; sometimes also a thought, especially if it is one on which much of the discourse depends, needs to be put as barely and plainly as possible. This is particularly to be heeded in argumentative discourse, in which not infrequently figures are mistaken for arguments, whereas they can never be more than illustrations of arguments. 3. Care should be taken that the figure be a real illustration of the thought, not a mere effort of the fancy. It is a blemish if its use is not obvious, or if it is far-fetched, or if it diverts attention to itself apart from its conditioning thought. A good test of a figure's usefulness is its naturalness ; it ought to rise spontaneously out of the subject, as if it were the one necessary form of expres- sion. This ideal can be attained only by earnest effort to give power to the thought. NOTE. In the character of King Richard II. Shakespeare portrays a ten- dency to manufacture far-fetched and elaborate conceits, as a mere play of fancy, and not from any necessity of the subjects about which he is speaking. Sometimes the King finds his problem too hard for him : " I have been studying how I may compare This prison where I live unto the world : And for because the world is populous. And here is not a creature but myself, I cannot do it ; yet I'll hammer it out" Effective and practical figures of speech are not apt to be the result of a " hammering-out " process. 4. A figure of speech once introduced may lose its power by being too labored, or carried too much into detail. Beyond a certain point, of which in any case the writer's judgment and good taste must be aware, it ceases to carry useful significance and becomes fantastic, artificial, a conceit ; or else so elaborate that the reader can no longer carry it and its illustrated thought together. FIGURES OF SPEECH. 87 NOTE. Dr. E. A. Abbott, in his "Shakespearian Grammar," thus exem- plifies this point : " Every additional detail increases the improbability that the correspondence of the whole comparison can be sustained. Thus, if King Richard (Rich. II. v. 5. 50) had been content, while musing on the manner in which he could count time by his sighs, to say ' For now hath Time made me his numbering clock,' there would have been little or no offense against taste. But when he con- tinues 'My thoughts are minutes, and with sighs they jar Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch, Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Now, sir, the sound that tells what hour it is Are clamorous groans which strike upon my heart, Which is the bell' we have an excess of detail which is only justified because it illustrates the character of one who is always ' studying to compare,' and ' hammering out ' unnatural comparisons." II. Classification and Description of the Most Important Figures of Speech. As according to the above definition figures are employed for the sake of greater effect, the most practical classi- fication for the present purpose is according to the effect they are adapted to produce. On this basis the figures here defined fall naturally into two classes : figures that promote clearness and concreteness, and figures that promote emphasis. I. FIGURES THAT PROMOTE CLEARNESS AND CONCRETENESS. Principle of this Class. A figure of speech promotes clear- ness or concreteness by associating the object of thought with some other object, so that either by what is associated or by the simple juxtaposition the thought gains. And thus the gain may be in clearness, when the associated object is something better known ; or in concreteness, when the associated object is less abstract and general, more impressive to the senses. Both of these qualities are usually present, in varying proportions ; and 88 FIGURES OF SPEECH. sometimes the choice between figures, especially between simile and metaphor, is determined by the question which shall predomi- nate, clearness or concreteness, for the effectiveness of the passage. The following are the most important figures of this class, ar- ranged progressively, beginning with the simplest. Synecdoche and Metonymy. The most elementary associa- tion is made by naming, not the whole object, but the part or accompaniment of it which is of significance for the writer's pur- pose. This gives rise to the figures synecdoche and metonymy, which, because they are essentially alike in principle, are here described together. Synecdoche lets some striking part of an ob- ject stand for the whole, or, less frequently, the whole for a part. Metonymy names, not the object, but some aspect or accompani- ment of it so closely related in idea as to be naturally interchange- able with it. These figures, using as they do merely the significant or service- able feature of an object, promote concreteness by choosing what is most evident to the senses, or clearness by choosing what most strongly impresses the mind. EXAMPLES. These figures, and the advantage flowing from them, may perhaps best be exemplified from Herbert Spencer's " Philosophy of Style." Synecdoche. " The advantage sometimes gained by putting a part for the whole, is due to the more convenient, or more accurate, presentation of the idea. If, instead of saying 'a fleet of ten ships,' we say 'a fleet of ten sail, 1 the picture of a group of vessels at sea is more readily suggested; and is so because the sails constitute the most conspicuous parts of vessels so circum- stanced : whereas the word ships would very likely remind us of vessels in dock. Again, to say, 'All hands to the pumps,' is better than to say, 'All men to the pumps ' ; as it suggests the men in the special attitude intended, and so saves effort. Bringing 'gray hairs with sorrow to the grave,' is another ex- pression, the effect of which has the same cause." Metonymy. '"The low morality of the bar? is a phrase both more brief and more significant than the literal one it stands for. A belief in the ulti- mate supremacy of intelligence over brute force, is conveyed in a more con- crete, and therefore more realizable form, if we substitute the pen and the sword for the two abstract terms. To say, ' Beware of drinking ! ' is less effec- tive than to say, ' Beware of the bottle ! ' and is so, clearly because it calls up a less specific image." FIGURES OF SPEECH. 89 Simile. The readiest means of illustrating an object or action is by representing it as like something else. When such com- parison, made between objects of different classes, is definitely expressed, it is called a Simile, which word is simply the neuter singular of the Latin adjective similis, like. The comparison is oftenest denoted by the word like ; but as, so, just as, similar to, and many more expressions, may be used for the purpose ; and sometimes the formal term of comparison may be omitted. EXAMPLES. i. Similes definitely introduced. "He shall be like a tree, planted by the rivers of water." " Of the two kinds of composition into which history has been thus divided, the one may be compared to a map, the other to a painted landscape." " She told me her story once; it was as if a grain of corn that had been ground and bolted had tried to individualize it- self by a special narrative." " His (Lord Bacon's) understanding resembled the tent which the fairy Paribanou gave to Prince Ahmed. Fold it; and it seemed a toy for the hand of a lady. Spread it; and the armies of powerful Sultans might repose beneath its shade." 2. Similes without comparing word. " Too much indulgence doe's not strengthen the mind of the young; plants raised with tenderness are seldom strong." "Of course a poet must represent his age and habitat; a Grecian temple beside an Alleghanian trout-brook might be lovely, but surely would be out of place and date." From these examples it will be seen that what makes a simile is its princi- ple of comparison, and not its mere external mark. Two or three additional remarks need to be made about this figure of speech. 1. There are comparisons which are not called similes, nor are they counted as figures of speech. To be a simile, the comparison, as intimated above, must be between objects of different classes. Thus, to compare a chariot-race with a boat-race, events of the same class, is no simile, such as we see when, in the Bible, chariots are said to " run like the lightnings." It is the actual likeness deduced from essential unlikeness that makes the figure. 2. Simile, being the great illustrative figure, is especially adapted to promote clearness of thought and expression; not so well adapted to force and passion. Hence it is more naturally used in the less emotional kinds of discourse. When men are under strong 90 FIGURES OF SPEECH. emotion they are not likely to indulge in comparisons ; they strike at once for the more trenchant metaphor. On the other hand, imaginative prose, as also poetry, is very congenial to simile. The reason is obvious : simile, presenting as it does a kind of pictured illustration of the thought, supplies pleasing material for the im- agination to dwell upon. 3. The spirit of a passage illustrated by simile is often indicated by the object to which comparison is made. Thus there are elevating similes, degrading similes, humorous similes, and the like ; which serve, by the delicate turn suggested in the figure, to indicate the feeling with which the writer regards the object. EXAMPLES. The following will illustrate how a certain spirit may be im- parted to a passage by the kind of comparison made. 1. Simile of sublimity (from Milton) : " On the other side, Satan, alarmed, Collecting all his might, dilated stood, Like Teneriff or Atlas, unremoved: His stature reached the sky, and on his crest Sat Horror plumed." 2. Disparaging simile (from Ruskin) : " We have got into the way, among other modern wretchednesses, of trying to make windows of leaf diapers, and of strips of twisted red and yellow bands, looking like the patterns of currant jelly on the top of Christmas cakes ; but every casement of old glass contained a saint's history." 3. Humorous simile (from Dickens) : " The unwonted lines which momentary passion had ruled in Mr. Pickwick's clear and open brow gradually melted away, as his young friend spoke, like the marks of a black lead-pencil beneath the softening influence of India rubber" Metaphor. A closer association of objects than by simile is made when, instead of comparing one thing with another, we identify the two, by taking the name or assuming the attributes of the one for the other. This figure is named metaphor, a term derived from the Greek words /zera and epw, to carry over, trans- fer ; indicating therefore exactly what the figure is, a transfer of meanings. FIGURES OF SPEECH. 91 EXAMPLES. I. The associated object directly named. "Music is both sunshine and irrigation to the mind." " The man who cannot wonder, who does not habitually wonder (and worship), were he President of innumerable Royal Societies, and carried the whole Mecanique Celeste and Hegel's Philoso- phy, and the epitome of all Laboratories and Observatories with their results, in his single head, is but a Pair of Spectacles behind which there is no Eye." " We must not make a scarecrow of the law, Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, And let it keep one shape, till custom make it Their perch, and not their terror." 2. The associated object taken for granted, its attributes being assumed. A man assumes characteristics of a cat : " But I beg of you, my dear Fields, do not let my paternal zeal prevent you from giving your views always and freely. If I seem to be stirred up at first, on being stroked the wrong way, you may be sure it is only a temporary electrical snapping, I shall soon be purr- ing" In the following a single word suffices to associate the object named with the sun, whose spots are invisible from the excess of light: "There are poems which we should be inclined to designate as faultless, or as disfigured only by blemishes which pass unnoticed in the general blaze of excellence." 3. Metaphor, like simile, may be used as an instrument of disparagement, or humor, or some particular spirit of the passage : e.g. " Pierre Bayle wrote enormous folios, one sees not on what motive principle; he flowed on forever, a mighty tide of ditch-water ; and even died flowing, with the pen in his hand." The following remarks and suggestions regarding the use of metaphor are of importance. i. Metaphor is the commonest and most spontaneous of all the figures. Language is full of it. As it names objects by terms that are more concrete than the literal, it is especially adapted to give form and tangibility to abstract ideas ; indeed, the vocabulary of mental and moral qualities consists very largely of words that are or have been metaphors. " We should often be at a loss," says Professor Jevons, " how to describe a notion, were we not at lib- erty to employ in a metaphorical sense the name of anything suffi- ciently resembling it. There would be no expression for the sweetness of a melody, or the brilliance of an harangue, unless it were furnished by the taste of honey and the brightness of a torch." 92 FIGURES OF SPEECH. NOTE. We are wont to assume the existence of a certain analogy between the relations of the mind and those of the body. It is by virtue of such analogy that we use such expressions as, " a striking thought," " a ray of hope," " a shade of doubt," " a flash of wit," " ebullitions of anger." 2. Metaphor may be regarded in one light as a condensed simile ; and by as much as it gains in brevity, it is naturally better adapted to produce a forcible and vivid impression. Hence it is more used in impassioned discourse, and in dramatic poetry, which is the poetry of passion as distinguished from the poetry of fancy. NOTE. This fact may be illustrated by taking any metaphor and expanding it to a simile. The greater diffuseness of effect is apparent at once. For instance, compare, "Ingratitude! thou marble- hearted fiend," with, " Ingrati- tude ! thou fiend with a heart like marble." The passion of the line makes the simile uncongenial. 3. Sometimes simile and metaphor are united in one expression, the thought being introduced by the one and carried on by the other. By this combination of figures the illustrative quality of simile and the vigorous directness of metaphor are both, in some degree, secured. EXAMPLE. The following is from a conversation between the sisters Irene and Penelope in Howells' " Rise of Silas Lapham " : " ' Oh, how can you treat me so ! ' moaned the sufferer. ' What do you mean, Pen?' ' I guess I'd better not tell you,' said Penelope, watching her like a cat playing with a mouse. If you're not coming to tea, it would just excite you for nothing.' The mouse moaned and writhed upon the bed. ' Oh, I wouldn't treat you so ! ' The cat seated herself across the room, and asked quietly 'Well, what could you do if it was Mr. Corey? You couldn't come to tea, you say. But he'll excuse you. I've told him you had a headache. Why, of course you can't come! It would be too barefaced. But you needn't be troubled, Irene ; I'll do my best to make the time pass pleasantly for him.' Here the cat gave a low titter, and the mouse girded itself up with a momen- tary courage and self-respect. ' I should think you would be ashamed to come here and tease me so.' " FIGURES OF SPEECH. 93 4. The principal caution needed in the use of metaphor is, to avoid mixing one metaphor with another. Such confusion of fig- ures is one of the most common faults of careless and slovenly thinkers. It arises from giving too little attention to the succes- sive images that crowd upon the brain, and is avoided by simply surrendering one's thoughts to the picture suggested until it is wrought out as far as needed. The homely old caution applicable to all style is of special significance here, " Have your thoughts about you." EXAMPLES. "The very recognition of these or any of them by the juris- prudence of a nation is a mortal -wound to the very keystone upon which the whole arch of morality reposes." "This world with all its trials is ft& furnace through which the soul must pass and be developed before it is ripe for the next world." The following gives intentionally the ludicrous effect that is produced when an uneducated writer uses what are at once hackneyed expressions and mixed metaphor : " I write to you in a state of mind that I really ardly know what I am about, but I cannot indure making no effort to clear up the gaping abiss which the events of the past fatal afternoon has raised betwixt us," 5. Akin to this fault is the injudicious or thoughtless mixture of metaphor and literal statement, which either produces the effect of bathos or else fills the whole passage with confusion. EXAMPLES. The following, from Dryden, describing the writing of drama, is a sudden drop into bathos: "When thus, as I may say, before the use of the loadstone, or knowledge of the compass, I was sailing in a vast ocean, without other help than the pole-star of the ancients, and the rules of the French stage among the moderns." In the following, in which there is betrayed an effort at smartness, where does history end and metaphor begin? "The object of the conspirators was to put between thirty and forty barrels of gunpowder into the mine, and to blow the King and the Prince of Wales, the lords and the bishops, to atoms. They shortly found a cellar which answered their purpose better. Here they banked up their barrels under a suspicious quantity of coal and other fuel. When the train was laid, it led, however, to themselves, and when the explo- sion came, it was under their own feet. They were scattered to the four winds." 04 FIGURES OF SPEECH. Personification. This figure endows inanimate things, or abstract ideas, with attributes of life and mind. It is closely related to the preceding figure, being indeed, in some of its uses, merely personal metaphor. The English language is especially adapted to effective personification, because it is not cumbered, like Latin, Greek, and German, with the incongruities of gram- matical gender; so when personality is attributed to something inanimate, and it is thus endowed with gender, the fact is signifi- cant and striking. EXAMPLES. " Do we look for Truth? she is not the inhabitant of cities nor delights in clamor; she steals upon the calm and meditative as Diana upon Endymion, indulgent in her chastity, encouraging a modest, and requiting a faithful love." "And then came autumn, with his immense burden of apples, dropping them continually from his overladen shoulders as he trudged along." " Yet Hope had never lost her youth ; She did but look through dimmer eyes ; r Or Love but play'd with gracious lies, Because he felt so fix'd in truth." The use of personification is in giving concreteness to abstract ideas ; we can conceive much more vividly what may be seen or heard than what is merely a subject of thought. Its abuse is in employing it where no end of concreteness or vividness really calls for it ; cheapening it from a practical use to " that alphabetic per- sonification which enlivens all such words as Hunger, Solitude, Freedom, by the easy magic of an initial capital." NOTE. In the following sentence there is no occasion for personification, nor is anything gained by it, in clearness, concreteness, or vividness : " It is to scholarly men that the world owes her progress in civilization and culture." This illustrates the chief tendency to abuse of personification by young writers, using it whenever the world, or our nation, or trade, or science, or literature is the subject of remark. Allegory. In this figure a course of moral or mental truth is conceived under the form of a fundamental metaphor, and followed out into detail as a narrative. Thus, in the most famous of allego- ries, Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, the trials and experiences of the FIGURES OF SPEECH. 95 Christian life are portrayed under the figure of a pilgrimage from the " City of Destruction " to the " Celestial City." The advantage of allegory, as a means of conveying abstract truth, is twofold. First, it makes the thought concrete, as does metaphor, by representing it in the guise of objects of sense ; and secondly, it lends to it the aid of story, which is the easiest and most interesting of literary forms. A course of abstract thought must be planned in logical sequences ; as allegory, however, it is planned according to a plot. EXAMPLE. The following scene, from the Pilgrim's Progress, will illustrate the principle of the allegory, and the double meaning underlying it. The pil- grims, Christian and Hopeful, are just departing from the Delectable Moun- tains. " When they were about to depart, one of the Shepherds gave them a note of the way. Another of them bid them beware of the Flatterer. The third bid them take heed that they sleep not on the Enchanted Ground. And the fourth bid them God-speed. So I awoke from my dream. And I slept and dreamed again, and saw the same two pilgrims going down the mountains along the highway towards the city. . . . So they went on, and Ignorance followed. They went then till they came at a place where they saw a way put itself into their way, and seemed withal to lie as straight as the way which they should go; and here they knew not which of the two to take, for both seemed straight before them; therefore here they stood still to consider. And as they were thinking about the way, behold a man black of flesh, but covered with a very light robe, came to them, and asked them why they stood there. They answered they were going to the Celestial City, but knew not which of these ways to take. ' Follow me,' said the man, ' it is thither that I am going.' So they followed him in the way that but now came into the road, which by degrees turned, and turned them so from the city that they desired to go to, that in little time their faces were turned away from it; yet they followed him. But by-and-by, before they were aware, he led them both within the compass of a net, in which they were both so entangled, that they knew not what to do; and with that the white robe fell off the black man's back. Then they saw where they were. Where- fore there they lay crying some time, for they could not get themselves out. Chr. Then said Christian to his fellow, Now do I see myself in an error. Did not the shepherds bid us beware of the Flatterers? As is the saying of the Wise man, so we have found it this day, ' A man that flattereth his neigh- bor spreadeth a net for his feet.' 96 FIGURES OF SPEECH. Hope. They also gave us a note of directions about the way, for our more sure finding thereof; but therein we have also forgotten to read, and have not kept ourselves from the paths of the destroyer. Here David was wiser than we; for saith he, 'Concerning the works of men, by the word of thy lips I have kept me from the paths of the destroyer.' Thus they lay bewailing themselves in the net. At last they espied a Shining One coming towards them with a whip of small cord in his hand. When he was come to the place where they were, he asked them whence they came, and what they did there. They told him they were poor pilgrims going to Sion, but were led out of their way by a black man, clothed in white, ' who bid us,' said they, ' follow him, for he was going thither too.' Then saith he with the whip, ' It is Flatterer, a false apostle, that hath transformed himself into an angel of light.' So he rent the net, and let the men out. Then said he to them, ' Follow me, that I may set you in your way again.' So he led them back to the way which they had left to follow the Flatterer. Then he asked them, saying, 'Where did you lie the last night?' They said, ' With the shepherds upon the Delectable Mountains.' He asked them then, If they had not of those shepherds a note of direction for the way? They answered, ' Yes.' ' But did you,' said he, ' when you were at a stand, pluck out and read your note? ' They answered, ' No.' He asked them, ' Why? ' They said they forgot. He asked moreover, If the shepherds did not bid them beware of the Flatterer? They answered, 'Yes; but we did not imagine,' said they,- 'that this fine-spoken man had been he.' Then I saw in my dream that he commanded them to lie down, which when they did, he chastised them sore, to teach them the good way wherein they should walk; and as he chastised them he said, ' As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten; be zealous, therefore, and repent.' This done, he bid them go on their way, and take good heed to the other directions of the shepherds. So they thanked him for all his kindness, and went softly along the right way, singing." Allegory has always been a favorite vehicle for moral truth. There are various modifications of the figure, such as Parables, Fables, Apologues, which, being well enough defined in any dic- tionary, need not be further discriminated here. II. FIGURES THAT PROMOTE EMPHASIS. Principle of this Class. A figure of speech promotes empha- sis, not by associating another idea more concrete or more pictur- esque, but by calling out the thought itself into greater distinction, FIGURES OF SPEECH. 97 through some peculiar manner of expressing it. As simply stated, the thought appeals only to the understanding ; as expressed fig- uratively, it is thrown, so to say, upon the reader's feelings, and thus its effect is heightened. The following are the principal figures to be mentioned under this head. Exclamation. The most spontaneous expression of emotion is by exclamation. This is to be distinguished from interjectional words (as ah, alas, fie, hush), which latter are not figures of speech. Exclamation as a figure of speech is the expression of a thought, just as it is strongly felt, not by a logical affirmation, but by some abrupt, inverted, or elliptical construction. The value of this figure consists in the naturalness with which it answers to the emotion within and the occasion without. Its abuse is in employ- ing it when the reader cannot be supposed excited enough to appreciate its propriety ; at the beginning of a literary work, for instance, before the subject has acquired a momentum, an exclam- atory style would almost inevitably seem forced. EXAMPLES. Note the difference in effect between the tame assertion, "A man is a most wonderful creature; noble in reason, infinite in faculties," etc., and the same truth held up to view, as it were, by exclamation : " What a piece of work is a man ! how noble in reason ! how infinite in faculties ! in form and moving how express and admirable ! in action how like an angel ! in apprehension how like a god ! " Interrogation. This figure is the natural result of the endeavor to enforce a vividly realized thought. The impulse is very direct to put such an assertion in the form of a question. Here, as in the preceding case, distinction is to be made be- tween figurative and unfigurative uses. The figure interrogation asks a question, not for the purpose of obtaining information, nor even as an indication of doubt, but in order to assert strongly the reverse of what is asked. It presupposes the idea as so certain that the reader or hearer may be challenged to gainsay the affir- mation ; and in this, its character as a virtual challenge, consists the emphasis of the figure. If the answer were less than ab- 98 FIGURES OF SPEECH. solutely certain, the question would degenerate into a conun- drum. EXAMPLES. From Burke: "What! Gentlemen, was I not to foresee, or foreseeing was I not to endeavor to save you from all these multiplied mis- chiefs and disgraces? . . . Was I an Irishman on that day that I boldly with- stood our pride? or on the day that I hung down my head, and wept in shame and silence over the humiliation of Great Britain? I became unpopu- lar in England for the one, and in Ireland for the other. What then? What obligation lay on me to be popular? " The following, from Thackeray, illustrates how natural it is to expect the contrary answer to an oratorical interrogation; the answer given, not being the reverse, is somewhat estranging. "What is it to be a gentleman? Is it to have lofty aims, to lead a pure life, to keep your honor virgin; to have the esteem of your fellow-citizens, and the love of your fireside; to bear good for- tune meekly; to suffer evil with constancy; and through evil or good to main- tain truth always? Show me the happy man whose life exhibits these quali- ties, and him we will salute as gentleman, whatever his rank may be; show me the prince who possesses them, and he may be sure of our love and loyalty." Here we naturally expect, " Is it not to have lofty aims," etc. Apostrophe. This figure, as is indicated in the derivation of the word, consists in turning from the natural course of the thought, in which a person or thing is spoken of, to address it directly, as if it were present. When the object addressed is inanimate, the figure apostrophe involves also personification. The emphasis of this figure results from the fact that an absent object is so vividly conceived as to become, as it were, present to the senses. EXAMPLE. The following apostrophe forms the peroration of Webster's oration on " The First Settlement of New England." " Advance, then, ye future generations ! We would hail you, as you rise in your long succession, to fill the places which we now fill, and to taste the blessings of existence where we are passing, and soon shall have passed, our own human duration. We bid you welcome to this pleasant land of the fathers. We bid you welcome to the healthful skies and the verdant fields of New England. We greet your accession to the great inheritance which we have enjoyed. We welcome you to the blessings of good government and religious liberty. We welcome you to the treasures of science and the de.- FIGURES OF SPEECH. 99 lights of learning. We welcome you to the transcendent sweets of domestic life, to the happiness of kindred, and parents, and children. We welcome you to the immeasurable blessings of rational existence, the immortal hope of Christianity, and the light of everlasting truth ! " Hyperbole. This figure magnifies objects beyond their natural bounds, in order to make them more impressive or more vivid. Its use lies in being understood for what it is an exaggeration : the reader easily makes allowance for what transcends the literal, and, attributing the excess to emotion, receives it with something of the same emotion. Its abuse consists in not answering inti- mately to the spirit of the passage : overdoing the passion, it be- comes bombast ; employed where no proper emotion exists to call it forth, it is ludicrous. According to the spirit that gives rise to the figure, two uses of hyperbole may be distinguished. The first, which results from strong and earnest feeling, as in contemplating what is sublime or what produces sorrow, may be called impassioned hyperbole. The second, which results from the vivid conception of some charac- teristic of an object, and the writer's spontaneous effort to describe it according to the effect on his own mind, may be called descrip- tive hyperbole. Not infrequently this latter use is humorous. EXAMPLES. i. Impassioned hyperbole. From Ossian : " I saw their chief, tall as a rock of ice; his spear the blasted fir; his shield the rising moon; he sat on the shore like a cloud of mist on the hill." From Milton : " So frowned the mighty combatants that hell Grew darker at their frown." From David : " Saul and Jonathan were lovely and pleasant in their lives, And in their death they were not divided. They were swifter than eagles ; They were stronger than lions." 2. Descriptive hyperbole. From De Quincey: "The groom swore he would do anything I wished; and, when the time arrived, went up stairs to bring my trunk down. This I 100 FIGURES OF SPEECH. feared was beyond the strength of any one man : however, the groom was a nian Of Atlantean shoulders fit to bear The weight of mightiest monarchies ; and had a back as spacious as Salisbury Plains'' 1 From E. P. Roe: " Mrs. Brown was heavy in every sense of the word; and with her huge person encased in acres of silk and festooned with no end of black lace, she waddled about and smiled and nodded good-naturedly at everybody and everything." From Hawthorne: "In the way of furniture, there were two tables: one, constructed with perplexing intricacy and exhibiting as many feet as a centi- pede ; the other most delicately wrought, with four long and slender legs, so apparently frail that it was almost incredible what a length of time the ancient tea-table had stood upon them." Irony. This figure expresses the contrary of what is meant, there being something in the tone or manner to show the speaker's real drift. The strength of the figure consists in its being so unan- swerable that no doubt can exist of the falsity of what it assumes as true. It is a kind of reductio ad absurdum. EXAMPLES. In the following passage Thackeray regards the guilt of the Princess Sophia Dorothea as so notoriously evident that he may safely call her innocent. " How that perverse fidelity of passion pursues the villain ! How madly true the woman is, and how astoundingly she lies ! She has bewitched two or three persons who have taken her up, and they won't believe in her wrong. Like Mary of Scotland, she finds adherents ready to conspire for her even in history, and people who have to deal with her are charmed, and fascinated, and bedevilled. How devotedly Miss Strickland has stood by Mary's inno- cence! Are there not scores of ladies in this audience who persist in it too? Innocent ! I remember as a boy how a great party persisted in declaring Caroline of Brunswick was a martyred angel. So was Helen of Greece inno- cent. She never ran away with Paris, the dangerous young Trojan. Mene- laus, her husband, ill-used her; and there was never any siege of Troy at all. So was Bluebeard's wife innocent. She never peeped into the closet where the other wives were with their heads off. She never dropped the key, or stained it with blood; and her brothers were quite right in finishing Blue- beard, the cowardly brute ! Yes, Caroline of Brunswick was innocent : and Madame Laffarge never poisoned her husband; and Mary of Scotland never blew up hers; and poor Sophia Dorothea was never unfaithful; and Eve never took the apple it was a cowardly fabrication of the serpent's." FIGURES OF SPEECH. 101 In the following, from Macaulay, the irony consists in describing the deep- est evil in terms belonging to the good. " It may well be conceived that, at such a time, such a nature as that of Marlborough would riot in the very luxury of baseness. His former treason thoroughly furnished with all that makes infamy exquisite, placed him under the disadvantage which attends every artist from the time that he produces a masterpiece. Yet his second great stroke may excite wonder, even in those who appreciate all the merit of the first. Lest his admirers should be able to say that at the time of the Revolution he had betrayed his King from any other than selfish motives, he proceeded to betray his country." One or two further remarks on the figure Irony may here be made. 1. A passage not predominantly ironical in tone may often be made more spirited by an occasional ironical touch, which, being less obtrusive, is correspondingly more graceful. Young writers who employ this device often betray their anxiety that their irony may not be missed by marking such touches with an interrogation- point enclosed in parenthesis ; but this is ordinarily quite needless, and in poor taste. EXAMPLES OF IRONICAL TOUCHES. From Charles Egbert Craddock : " He leaned forward suddenly, and clutched Pete by the throat, and the old man and Solomon were fain to interfere actively to prevent that doughty mem- ber of the family from being throttled on the spot. Pending the interchange of these amenities, Rick Tyler lay motionless on the ground." From Augustine Birrell (" Obiter Dicta "): "He (Browning) partially failed; and the British public, with its accustomed generosity, and in order, I suppose, to encourage the others, has never ceased girding at him, because forty-two years ago he published, at his own charges, a little book of two hun- dred and fifty pages, which even such of them as were then able to read could not understand." 2. Irony, more especially in its modified form of satire or innuendo, is an edge-tool of which the writer needs to be very careful. Not only may the satirical spirit become very enslaving, and lead him to look upon everything with captious and cynical eyes ; but it almost inevitably gives his writing an element of offense to simple and straight-forward minds. People may admire a satirist's wit and keenness, but more deeply they suspect and fear 102 FIGURES OF SPEECH. him ; even Thackeray, kind hearted as his admirers know him to have been, contracted such an unfortunate habit of satire, on cer- tain subjects, that he is apologized for fully as much as he is praised. The figures of this class yet to be named promote emphasis not as being the outcome of some emotion or passion, but as embody- ing in some form the intellectual effort to give point and distinc- tion to the thought. Antithesis. This figure places opposite ideas in juxtaposition, for the purpose of heightening their effect by contrast. Its emphasis consists in the fact that one idea sets off another. EXAMPLES. " If you would seek to make one rich, study not to increase his stores, but to diminish his desires." From Macaulay: "The Puritans hated bear-baiting, not because it gave pain to the bear, but because it gave pleasure to the spectators." The following, from Tennyson's " Lancelot and Elaine," describes in a series of very bold antitheses Lancelot's guilty love for Queen Guinevere. From his sick-bed the knight is regarding Elaine, as she ministers to him : " And peradventure had he seen her first She might have made this and that other world Another world for the sick man ; but now The shackles of an old love straiten'd him, His honor rooted in dishonor stood. And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true" The abuse of antithesis consists in warping the true course of the thought in order to accommodate it to a striking juncture of terms. The tendency to express thought antithetically may indeed become a tyranny to the writer, if not rigorously regulated. When fact yields in the smallest degree to antithesis, the figure becomes a snare. " Those who make antitheses by forcing the sense," says Pascal, " are like those who make false windows for the sake of symmetry. Their rule is not to speak accurately, but to make accurate figures." NOTE. The antithesis quoted above from Macaulay doubtless makes a too absolute and sweeping statement about the Puritans, when it accuses them of hating bear-baiting because it gave pleasure to the spectators; but the FIGURES OF SPEECH. 103 opportunity for antithesis, so clear and tempting, seems to have caused the historian, perhaps unthinkingly, to stretch the truth. It is largely Macaulay's inveterate tendency to striking antithetic statement that causes distrust in read- ing his historical writings; diligent investigator though he was, readers often hesitate to lean their whole weight on his assertions, for fear he may have sacrificed some measure of truth to form. Two or three additional remarks need to be made on antithesis. 1. Sometimes a false antithesis may be made, that is, a play on words, antithetic in form but not in sense. This however is a device so artificial that only a writer of the finest taste can be trusted to adopt it of intent ; and when it occurs inadvertently it had better be broken up. EXAMPLES. The following, from Tennyson's " Godiva," is an extreme example : " But she Did more, and underwent, and overcame." Here under and over, went and came, express opposition in sound only, not in idea. The following similar example occurred inadvertently in a prose pro- duction : " This is a duty that we are too often tempted to overlook or under- value "; and the expression was changed to "overlook or value but lightly." 2. Much grace and point may be imparted to a passage by hid- den antithesis, that is, antithesis unobtrusive in form, but none the less real in its power of setting ideas over against each other. EXAMPLES. " They were engaged in the noble work of calling men out of their heathenism, with its manifold corruptions and superstitions, into the gospel of purity and love." From Motley: "A strange and contradictory spectacle ! An army of criminals doing deeds which could only be expiated at the stake; an entrenched rebellion, bearding government with pike, match- lock, javelin and barricade, and all for no more deadly purpose than to listen to the precepts of the pacific Jesus." 3. The principle of contrast, on which antithesis is based, ex- tends to much broader relations than are indicated by mere verbal oppositions and structure of clauses. Thought, incidents, charac- teristics, are often prepared for or set off by something that pre- sents a striking contrast, and gives thus the lights and shades, the 104 FIGURES OF SPEECH. contradictions and incongruities, that continually occur to excite interest in real life. Antithesis in this broader signification is one of the most spontaneous resources of literature. EXAMPLE. The following, from Dickens, will illustrate how contrast may be employed to make a scene or an incident vivid. "There was a certain elderly gentleman who lived in a court of the Temple, and was a great judge and lover of port wine. Every day he dined at his club and drank his bottle or two of port wine, and every night came home to the Temple and went to bed in his lonely chambers. This had gone on many years without variation, when one night he had a fit on coming home, and fell and cut his head deep, but partly recovered and groped about in the dark to find the door. When he was afterwards discovered, dead, it was clearly established by the marks of his hands about the room that he must have done so. Now, this chanced on the night of Christmas Eve, and over him lived a young fellow who had sisters and young country-friends, and who gave them a little party that night, in the course of which they played at Blindman's Buff. They played that game, for their greater sport, by the light of the fire only; and once, when they were all quietly rustling and stealing about, and the blindman was trying to pick out the prettiest sister (for which I am far from blaming him), somebody cried, 'Hark ! The man below must be play- ing Blindman's Buff by himself to-night ! ' They listened, and they heard sounds of some one falling about and stumbling against furniture, and they all laughed at the conceit, and went on with their play, more lighthearted and merry than ever. Thus, those two so different games of life and death were played out together, blindfolded, in the two sets of chambers." Epigram. This figure employs in modified form the principle of contrast or antithesis, in order to give point to a thought. The term epigram has been so broadly and variously applied that it has come to be popularly taken as meaning any unusually pungent way of putting things. This idea is, however, too vague. To be epigrammatic an expression must have fundamentally two qualities : it must be brief; and it must give some unexpected turn to the idea. This latter quality is obtained in various ways. EXAMPLES. The following will illustrate some of the means by which epi- grammatic point is secured. I. By an apparent contradiction. "Conspicuous for its absence." "Ver- bosity is cured by a wide vocabulary." "Language is the art of concealing thought." " He is so good that he is good for nothing." " Here he straight- FIGURES OF SPEECH. 105 way fell into new misadventure by conceiving an undying passion, that lasted several weeks, for a young countrywoman whom he found in Holland." 2. By emphatic assertion of a truism. " Fact is fact." " His coming was an event." " What I have written, I have written." 3. By a sudden turn of the thought in a different spirit. " He is full of information like yesterday's Times." " His memory (for trifles) is remark- able, and (where his own performances are not involved) his taste is excel- lent." " What that man does not know is not worth knowing," was once said admiringly of an enthusiast in out-of-the-way learning. "True," was the reply, " and what he does know is not worth knowing." 4. By seeming irrelevance of associated idea. " Where snow falls, there is a freedom." " Lapland is too cold a country for sonnets." 5. By play on words. "The time will come when America, too, will under- stand that her ease is her disease." "My habit of writing only to people who, rather than have nothing from me, will tolerate nothings." " Those laborious orators who mistake perspiration for inspiration" In all the above examples the essential feature of the epigram namely, the element of surprise is easily detected. The power of epigram lies very largely in the comparative rarity of its employment. It is too artificial, too elaborate, to be made common ; it should be reserved for those thoughts which need to be compressed into especially striking and rememberable statement. Climax. This figure, which depends upon the law that a thought must have progress, is the ordering of thought and expres- sion so that there shall be uniform and evident increase in signifi- cance, or interest, or intensity. The derivation of the word, from the Greek KXifiag, a ladder, suggestively indicates the character of the figure. The construction of a climax depends more on the character of the thought than on the mechanism of expression, and conse- quently directions for the management of the latter may, in a given case, give way to weightier considerations. In general, how- ever, it may be said that, as volume of sound helps volume of sense, shorter and less sonorous words and constructions should, other considerations apart, precede the longer and more sonorous. That is the best climax where the structure corresponds to the progressive intensity of the thought. 106 FIGURES OF SPEECH. EXAMPLES. Various aspects of the figure may here be exemplified. 1. Climax of intensity. The commonly cited example, from Cicero's oration against Verres, being also the clearest and most striking of examples, cannot well be omitted here : " It is an outrage to bind a Roman citizen; to scourge him is an atrocious crime; to put him to death is almost parricide; but to crucify him what shall I call it?" From Dr. Holmes: "I know it, I re- plied, I concede it, I confess it, I proclaim it." 2. Climax of structure, corresponding with climax of significance. From Burke : " This was unnatural. The rest is in order. They have found their punishment in their success. Laws overturned ; tribunals subverted ; industry without vigor; commerce expiring; the revenue unpaid, yet the people im- poverished; a church pillaged, and a state not relieved; civil and military anarchy made the constitution of the kingdom; everything human and divine sacrificed to the idol of public credit, and national bankruptcy the conse- quence; and to crown all, the paper securities of new, precarious, tottering power, the discredited paper securities of impoverished fraud, and beggared rapine, held out as a currency for the support of an empire, in lieu of the two great recognized species that represent the lasting conventional credit of man- kind, which disappeared and hid themselves in the earth from whence they came, when the principle of property, whose creatures and representatives they are, was systematically subverted." It will be observed how, as the sense advances, sentences, and clauses within a sentence, increase uniformly in length. 3. Neglect of climax, or bathos. " What pen can describe the tears, the lamentations, the agonies, the animated remonstrances of the unfortunate prisoners?" "Such a derangement as, if immediately enforced, must have reduced society to its first elements, and led to a direct collision of conflicting interests." The flat effect of such inadvertent neglect of progress is obvious. Two or three additional remarks on climax may be made. i. Sometimes an intentional anti-climax is employed to give a special quality, usually humor or satire, to a statement. This is virtually a climax built on a new principle ; that is, while it de- creases in intensity, it increases as uniformly in the spirit that gives rise to it. EXAMPLES. From Macaulay : " Yet these stories are now altogether ex- ploded. They have been abandoned by statesmen to aldermen, by aldermen to clergymen, by clergymen to old women, and by old women to Sir Harcourt Lees." From George Eliot : " When George the Fourth was still reigning over the privacies of Windsor, when the Duke of Wellington was Prime Min- ^ ///.#.$ OF SP^C^. 107 ister, and Mr. Vincy was mayor of the old corporation in Middlemarch, Mrs. Casaubon, born Dorothea Brooke, had taken her wedding journey to Rome." The following, from De Quincey's " Murder Considered as one of the Fine Arts," is a good example of his elaborate humor: "Never tell me of any special work of art you are meditating I set my face against it in loto. For, if once a man indulges himself in murder, very soon he comes to think little of robbing; and from robbing he comes next to drinking and Sabbath-break- ing, and from that to incivility and procrastination. Once begin upon this downward path, you never know where you are to stop. Many a man has dated his ruin from some murder or other that perhaps he thought little of at the time." 2. The negation of a climax is naturally made in inverse order ; the strongest statement being denied first. A climax may also be virtually negative ; that is, some privative particle, such as without, against, unless, may operate to reverse the order of statement. ILLUSTRATIONS. i. The action of Alabama in seceding from the Union was denounced by Republicans as the consequence of "sudden, spasmodic, and violent passion." In answering this charge, the order would naturally be, " The action of Alabama was not due to violent passion, nor to spasmodic, nor even to sudden passion." 2. The following are virtually negative : "The chances were millions to one against its success, against its continued existence." "And thus he enters public life before he has any convictions, or perceptions, or right impressions even, of true citizenship." 3. The law of climax, which begins with the sentence, extends to all parts of a discourse. It is simply the law of uniform prog- ress, employed to economize the reader's interpreting and realizing power by increasing intensity and amplitude of thought. See preceding, page 25. 108 COMPOSITION. CHAPTER IV. COMPOSITION. THUS far the consideration of our subject has had to do mainly with the selection of material for style ; for such is fundamentally the task recognized in choosing words and estimating figures of speech. As we have seen, this work of selection demands not only skill and judgment for the occasion, but also thorough general discipline in carefulness, patience, scholarship, and taste. We come now to the business of building this material together into literary forms, into phrases, sentences, paragraphs ; and here the same discipline is required, only now the writer's attention is directed to combination^. Out of the scattered elements at com- mand is to be formed a structure of thought, which is to be no crude congeries jumbled together as it happens, but a unified, coherent, organic system. It is to such skilled combination alone that we can rightly apply the name style. This part of the writer's work has its distinctive problems. How words are related to one another grammatically ; how they sound together ; how they refer to what precedes or prepare for what follows ; how their position is so to be determined as to give them force and distinction in themselves or make them a support to one another, such questions as these arise at every step, questions to be answered only by constant and studious at- tention to the logical relations of the thought. It is in composition, or what may be called thought-structure, that rhetoric shows its close relationship to grammar, and at the same time its fundamental advance beyond that science. Gram- mar discovers the facts of 'the language, from which it formulates the laws of correct expression ; and these laws rhetoric must ob- serve, because correctness lies necessarily at the foundation of all FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 109 intelligible utterance, rhetorical or other. But even in employing grammatical processes as working-tools, rhetoric imparts to them a new quality distinctively rhetorical, the quality by which they become methods in an art, means to an end. That is, it is not mere mechanism, but an issue and a purpose, much greater than sentence-building or the manipulation of a theme, that controls the rhetorical combination of words, the purpose, namely, of adapting thought in harmony with its subject and occasion, to the various requirements and capacities of readers and hearers. In discussing, therefore, the processes of composition, we are to approach each principle, so to say, from its operative side ; that is, we are to view it in the light of its adaptedness to promote some end in thought or emotion, of its power toward making an idea, according to our design, clear or emphatic or felicitous. These processes have their roots partly in grammatical laws and principles ; but there are also many that go beyond and above the scope of grammar, into the more distinctive region of rhetorical structure. This chapter on composition comprises three sections : on fundamental processes ; on the structure of the sentence ; and on the structure of the paragraph. SECTION FIRST. FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. UNDER this head are discussed the most important features of grammatical and rhetorical combination. These are considered in themselves, as principles of expression, without reference to their agency in the construction of sentences and paragraphs. Some of the processes deal only with verbal combinations ; others may operate over a broader field, equally applicable, it may be, to a single sentence, paragraph, or entire discourse ; but so long as 110 FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. the principle is the same, and requires one mental habit for its mastery, it is best considered under one head, be its scope broad or narrow. I. SYNTAX. Every coherent assemblage of words has its necessary adjust- ments of number, case, mood, tense, and the like, which are to be carefully observed. Not all of these syntactical arrangements can or need be noticed here ; it will be sufficient to discuss merely those wherein the grammatical principle receives a special signifi- cance or modification from the rhetorical point of view. Concord of Subject and Verb. The strict observance of the grammatical rule that a verb must agree in number with its sub- ject is of special rhetorical importance in cases where, among a number of words, the exact subject is to be distinguished. Other cases occur where the concord is to be determined more from the idea than from the word. 1. Probably the most frequent source of error in concord is, where either some word of different number, or several subordi- nate details, intervening between the subject and the verb, may obscure the view of the former, and attract the verb to the differ- ent number suggested. This error is to be avoided, of course, only by keeping the exact subject well in mind. EXAMPLES. Subject obscured by intervening words : " The enormous ex- pense of governments have provoked men to think, by making them feel." " This large homestead, including a large barn and beautiful garden, are to be sold next month." Subject obscured by details : " But these Personal Memoirs of U. S. Grant, written as simply and straightforwardly as his battles were fought, couched in the most unpretentious phrase, with never a touch of grandiosity or attitudiniz- ing, familiar, homely, even common in style, is a great piece of literature, be- cause great literature is nothing more nor less than the clear expression of minds that have something great in them, whether religion, or beauty, or deep experience." 2. Subjects connected by conjunctions often require careful management, because what is grammatically of one number may sometimes be logically the opposite. FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. Ill Thus, singular subjects connected by and may merely be synony- mous words reiterating the one subject, or a closely connected couple making up together but a single idea ; requiring therefore a singular verb. In some cases also singular subjects connected by or may be more truly a connected than a disjoined couple, and require either a plural verb or more frequently a recast. EXAMPLES. Synonymous words : "All the furniture, the stock of shops, the machinery which could he found in the realm, was of less value than the property which some single parishes now contain." Here the writer (Macaulay) evidently views the three subjects as making together only a single idea, being practically synonymous. Combined couples : " The composition and resolution of forces was largely applied by Newton." "The ebb and flow of the tides is now understood." False disjunction : "The Army or the Navy answer to that description." On this sentence Professor Bain remarks, " There is no real disjunction in such a case; the Army does not exclude the Navy, the predicate applies to each and to both." This construction, however, is unnecessarily awkward, and rather than use it the writer would do better to recast his sentence. 3. Unless, however, there is special reason to emphasize the unity or plurality of the idea, it is worth some painstaking to avoid such clashes in the concord of connected subjects. In most cases this can be effected without difficulty, by choosing some verbal form that is neutral in number, or by changing the structure of the sentence. EXAMPLES. The following illustrates a not infrequent case: "Only a few, perhaps only one, were (or was ?~) benefited." This clash may be evaded by choosing a verb with the same form for both numbers, e.g., " received any benefit." In the following example, where, " though the verb should formally be singular, still the number of alternate subjects is strongly suggestive of plu- rality," the difficulty is evaded, as above, by the employment of a neutral verb : " ' " Truths that wake To perish never; Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor, Nor man, nor boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy ! " The verbal forms with auxiliaries are of especial use in evading clashes of ancord. 112 FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 4. The number of the verb used with a collective noun must be determined according to the logical predominance of the singular or the plural idea. This is often a nice point to settle, and some- times indeed must be left to the writer's individual interpretation ; the main caution, however, is, that the point be definitely settled, not left without care. EXAMPLES. " The Jewish people were all free." Here plurality predomi- nates, the subject being the Jews regarded as individuals. " An evil and adulterous generation seckelh after a sign." Here the action is so collective as to make a singular verb suitable. In the following the concord of the collective seems to have been disre- garded, or else not wisely judged : "The study of the moon's surface has been continued now from the time of Galileo, and of late years a whole class of competent observers has been devoted to it, so that astronomers engaged in other branches have oftener looked on this as a field for occasional hours of recreation with the telescope than made it a constant study." 1 Tense. It is of special rhetorical importance to notice com- binations of tenses, and modifications of tense due to the kind of idea presented, or to some particular effect sought. 5. In dependent clauses and infinitives the tense is to be counted relatively to the principal assertion, not absolutely in itself. EXAMPLES. In the sentence, " He intended to have gone," the tense of the infinitive is incorrect, because it ought to be counted, not from the present time, but from the time of the intention; and relatively to that time it is future, " He intended logo." "And so, you see, the thing never would have been looked into at all, if I hadn't happened to have been down there." "No writer would write a book unless he thinks it will be read." Say either, " No writer will," etc., or, " unless he thought it would" etc. In the use of the verb " should like " the mistake is very commonly made of interchanging the tense of the principal verb and the infinitive, " I should like to have seen him," instead of " I should have liked to see him." This is owing, no doubt, to the difficulty of pronouncing " like^/ to," when they are placed together; a difficulty which, however, should not be allowed to make the difference between accuracy and error. The following sentence, from l For an excellent discussion of Concord, from which the above examples are largely adopted, the student is referred to Bain's " Composition Grammar," pages 282-295. FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 113 Howells, illustrates the correct use : " There were some questions that she would have liked to ask him; but she had to content herself with trying to answer them when her husband put them to her." 6. General and universal truths are essentially timeless. In ex- pressing them, therefore, the present tense is required, whatever the tense of the accompanying verbs. EXAMPLE. " He perceived clearly that this world is governed by an all- wise and beneficent Ruler." This truth, being in no way affected by the time at which it is perceived, requires the present tense. 7. When a past occurrence is to be narrated with special vivid- ness it is often treated as if taking place in the present. This so-called " historic present " is a very effectual means of giving life to a narrative ; but it may also easily be overdone. It is not to be employed unless there is a real demand for vividness; and when once adopted it should be kept consistent throughout the passage. EXAMPLES. -In the following passage the historic present is carelessly mixed with the past : " The Romans now turn aside in quest of provisions. The Helvetians mistook the movement for retreat. They pursue, and give Caesar his chance. They fight at disadvantage, and after a desperate struggle are defeated." In the following passage, from Dickens, the historic present is used advisedly and skilfully, with noticeable care in the transition from one tense to the other: " Let me remember how it used to be, and bring one morning back again. I come into the second-best parlor after breakfast, with my books, and an exercise-book, and a slate. My mother is ready for me at her writing-desk, but not half so ready as Mr. Murdstone in his easy-chair by the window (though he pretends to be reading a book), or as Miss Murdstone, sitting near my mother stringing steel beads." [After a page or so of this reminis- cence in the historic present, the story is brought back to the ordinary past tense of narration by the remark, beginning a new paragraph] : " It seems to me, at this distance of time, as if my unfortunate studies generally took this course." [And from here onward the tense is past.] Shall and Will. The niceties of idiom in the use of these auxiliaries arise from the original sense of the words, still inherent in them ; and regulating their usage by the feeling of propriety, 114 FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. according as the writer predicates the action of himself or of some second or third person. " The radical signification of will (Anglo-Saxon willari) is pur- pose, intention, determination ; that of shall (Anglo-Saxon sceal, ought) is obligation." l To these primary meanings we trace the rationale of usage in the different persons. 8. Obligation imposed on self implies that what ought to be will be ; hence shall, in the first person, is the simple auxiliary of the future. Imposed on others, it has the force of a command ; hence, in the second and third persons, shall is the indicator of authority or necessity. Purpose or determination predicated of self has force merely for what it says ; hence will, in the first per- son, simply indicates the writer's volition. Predicated of others it implies, by a natural courtesy, fulfilment of what is willed ; hence, in the second and third persons, will is the simple auxiliary of the future. EXAMPLES. i. Simple future, a. Obligation become announcement : "I shall set about this work to-morrow." b. Volition implying fulfilment : " You -will not go far in this course of action "; " He will be rash, if he com- mits himself to the uncertainties of this measure." In most cases of will with second and third persons the volitional force has entirely given place to the future. 2. Determined future, a. By the speaker's volition on himself : " I will follow up this quest, despite its hardships and perils." b. By obligation im- posed on another, the determination of the speaker passing over, as it were, to the person or thing spoken to or of, thus making shall in second and third persons much like will in the first : " Thou shall not bear false witness against thy neighbor"; "The style shall be simple and familiar: but style is the image of character; and the habits of correct writing may produce, without labor or design, the appearance of art and study." This last was written by Gibbon concerning the style of his projected Autobiography. Shall, with its implied obligation, may have many degrees of effect, from command or threat to mere promise. Should and would follow the same rules as shall and will. 1 Quoted from White, " Words and their Uses," p. 266. His treatment of these words, pp. 264-273, is excellent. See also, McElroy, " Structure of English Prose," pp. 108-111. Only an outline from the rhetorical point of view is given above; minutiae of usage and exceptions must be left to grammar, where they properly belong. FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 115 9. There is a fine use of shall, with the second and third per- sons, as a verb of exemplification or prophecy ; enough of its original sense of obligation being retained to give especial strength, certainty, or distinction to the prediction. EXAMPLES. "And what do we see in actual life? There shall be two men, one of whom has started on the road of self-improvement from a mainly intellectual interest . . . ; the other has begun with some sense of God, and of his relation to Him," etc. " You shall hear the same persons say that ' George Barnwell ' is very natural, and ' Othello ' is very natural, that they are both very deep; and to them they are the same kind of thing." Participles. The participial construction is a convenient means of condensation ; it also promotes flexibility of style by obviating the too constant recurrence of principal verbs. Being, however, a subordinated construction, it needs careful adjustment to the principal assertion on which it depends. 10. A frequent error of hasty writers is what is called the " mis- related participle," that is, a participle employed without clear indication of the word to which it belongs. Whenever a partici- pial construction is used, the exact noun or pronoun to which the participle is attached should appear, in an unambiguous position. EXAMPLES. "Being exceedingly fond of birds, an aviary is always to be found in the grounds." Here there is no clue to the person or persons fond of birds, and the only word to which the participle may be grammatically attached is " aviary." " While visiting St. Louis with him (General Grant) while he was Presi- dent, he made a characteristic remark showing how little his thoughts dwelt upon those events of his life which made such a deep impression upon others." lere the writer meant " When / was visiting St. Louis," etc. When a participial construction constitutes the first part of a mtence, the word in the second part to which it relates is gener- ly the subject and takes the chief place ; sometimes, however, vhen there is no reasonable danger of ambiguity, it may have a place and office less prominent, though not remain unexpressed. EXAMPLE. From Southey : " Writing for a livelihood, a livelihood is all that / have gained; for, having also something better in view, and never, 116 FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. therefore, having courted popularity, nor written for the mere sake of gain, it has not been possible for me to lay by anything." 11. The participial construction is generally equivalent to a clause; and whenever the omission would cause ambiguity or vagueness, the conjunctional relation of the clause should be retained with the participle. EXAMPLE. " Republics, in the first instance, are never desired for their own sakes. I do not think they will finally be desired at all, unaccompanied by courtly graces and good breeding." Here there is doubt whether the meaning is, " because [they are] unaccompanied," or " if [they are] unaccom- panied," a doubt which should be precluded by retaining the conjunction proper to the clause. Infinitives. Errors in modifying infinitives, and in managing series of infinitives, are the most frequent. 12. The infinitive should not be divided by an adverb between the preposition to and the verb. The adverb belongs to the whole expression, and should therefore stand either before or after, not in the midst of it. EXAMPLES. (Quoted from A. S. Hill's Rhetoric.) " He's not the man to tamely acquiesce." " To an active mind it may be easier to bear along all the qualifications of an idea, and at once rightly form it when named, than to first imperfectly conceive such idea." 13. Where several infinitives occur together, the word on which each one depends is to be made obvious. Care in this respect is made necessary by the fact that an infinitive following another may with equal correctness be either subordinate to or coordinate with the other; its office and rank should therefore be evident. NOTE. One or two aids to clearness may be mentioned. Two infinitives coordinate with each other may be closely connected by omitting the preposi- tion to with the second. The dependence of infinitives may often be made obvious, while the sense also is made clearer, by distinguishing between the infinitive of sequence, (to) and the infinitive of purpose (in order to). The following, with its comment, is taken from Abbott's " How to Write Clearly." " ' He said that he wished to take his friend with him to visit the capital and to study medicine.' Here it is doubtful whether the meaning is FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 117 1 He said that he wished to take his friend with him, (1) and also to visit the capital and study medicine,' or (2) ' that his friend might visit the capital and might also study medicine,' or (3) ' on a visit to the capital, and that he also wished to study medicine.' " If in the above examples we adopt the two aids mentioned, the sentence becomes, " He said that he wished to take his friend with him in order to visit the capital and ^ study medicine," which gives clear sense in one aspect. For other senses it may b necessary to use that for to, or to insert conjunctions. II. COLLOCATION. The English syntax, being devoid of the aid that inflection would give in showing the relation of words, is all the more dependent on order and collocation. It depends on these first of all for clear- ness ; for a qualifying element may have its attachment either in what precedes or in what follows, and often, if carelessly placed, may with equal reason be counted in either direction. A frequent problem, therefore, is, how to remove ambiguity and give the modifier unmistakably the connection intended. The requirements of force, also, have their problems ; for the same element may be emphatic in one position and comparatively insignificant in another. And the question how to give an idea force according to its impor- tance is for the most part a question of position. To secure both clearness and distinction it is imperative that words, phrases, and clauses grammatically connected should be placed as near together as possible, or, if separated, that they should make up in prominence for what they lose in proximity. Placing of Words. The prevailing problem in the collocation of words is the problem of emphasis how to place a word so that it shall have its proper distinction or lack of distinction, ac- cording to its significance. 14. The natural position of the simple adjective is before its noun. This order of collocation is so well established that " marked - divergencies arrest the attention, and have, by reason of their exceptional character, a force which may be converted into a use- ful rhetorical effect." Accordingly, inversion of the natural order may on occasion be " proper to poetry and high style ; and it is US FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. one of the traces which early French culture has left on our literature." l NOTE. The placing of the adjective by inversion after its noun gives it a prominence above the noun; that is, the interest centres in the quality rather than in the thing qualified. This may be seen in examples like the following. " Having been successively subject to all these influences, our language has become as it were a sort of centre to which beauties the most opposite con- verge." " But at last, and even here, it seemed as if the years of this loyal and eager poet had felicities too many." Hence we find the adjective following its noun sometimes when, by repeti- tion or otherwise, the noun is already so prominently before the reader's at- tention as to need no stress, and when the stress is of use in multiplying qualities; as in the following, from Dr. John Brown : " The crowd round a couple of dogs fighting is a crowd masculine mainly, with an occasional active, compassionate woman, fluttering wildly round the outside, and using her tongue and hands freely upon the men, as so many 'brutes'; it is a crowd annular, compact, and mobile; a crowd centripetal, having its eyes and its heads all bent downwards and inwards, to one common focus." 15. The position of the article, demonstrative pronoun, or pos- sessive, is immediately before the adjective, with at most an adverb between. There is a tendency, however, due to recent German influence, to encumber the adjective with adjuncts of its own, so that " we not unfrequently find a second adverb, or an adverbial phrase, or a negative, included in the interval between the article or pronoun and the substantive." This structure is not fully natu- ralized, and is in itself so cumbrous that the attitude of suspicion toward it is safest. EXAMPLES. " The, I believe of Eastern derivation, monosyllable ' Bosh.' " This sentence, from Thackeray, would probably not have been justified by him in any but the most familiar style. The following is from a book on Brittany : " I have now travelled through nearly every Department in France, and I do not remember ever meeting with a dirty bed : this, I fear, cannot be said of our happily in all other respects cleaner island." 1 Earle, " Philology of the English Tongue," p. 520, FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 119 1 6. The natural unemphatic place of an adverbial word is just before its verb, or between the parts of a compound verb. The placing of an adverb after its verb gives it emphasis. EXAMPLES. I. In the following sentence the adverb, while important, is not emphatic : " Each man gains a power of realizing and firmly conceiving those things he habitually deals with, and not other things." Here the real emphasis is on the verb. 2. Compare now the effect of placing the adverb after the verb : " He writes passionately, because he feels keenly ; forcibly, because he feels -vividly; he sees too clearly to be vague; he is too serious to be otiose," etc. Here the adverb is so strong an element that in one instance (" forcibly ") it even stands alone. 1 7. Of single- word adverbs, the one that requires most care in placing, and that is oftenest misplaced, is only. The difficulty arises from the fact that only may have equal significance before substantives, adjectives, verbs, or adverbs ; and so if it is separated from the word it modifies, some word that could usurp its relation is almost sure to intervene. The endeavor should be made, there- fore, to place it, if possible, immediately before the word to which it belongs. EXAMPLES. " For fifty miles, the river could only be distinguished from the ocean by its calmness and discolored water." Strictly speaking, this means, "could be no more than distinguished"; but what is meant, and what should be said, is, " could be distinguished only by," etc. It is undoubtedly a fact, due to the so frequent misplacing of only, that people make the adjust- ment of sense unconsciously; but this should not be taken as an excuse for the incorrect usage. Sometimes only is awkwardly used with an intended backward reference, an office that the word alone would better fulfil. For example : " The first two named only ascended to the summit"; which means strictly "did no more than ascend to the summit," implying that others ascended higher than the summit. " The first two named alone" or, " Of the party, two alone went to the summit." In spoken discourse one may sometimes trust to intonation and pause to make only restrict a word before, as in " I only am to blame "; but in written composition it is better to adhere to the strict rule, that only should immediately precede the word to which it belongs. 120 FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. Placing of Phrases. In the collocation of phrases the pre- vailing problem is, how to secure clearness in the reference of the phrase. 1 8. A genitive, or of-phrase, being the closest of prepositional relations, should be placed if possible immediately after the word it modifies ; and especially with no word between, either noun or verb, that can usurp the relation. EXAMPLES. " And worst of all, the heavy pall hangs over all the land of Birmingham smoke, which, with a northerly wind, blots all the color out of the country, turns the blue sky to a dull brown, makes dusky shadows under the elm tops, and hides the distance in a thin veil of London fog." The part between the noun and its genitive, italicized above, contains a word (" land ") that produces confusion; it might be read, "land of Birmingham smoke." " The springs and sources ivere unsealtd of modern ideas, modern systems, and of ideas and systems that are still to be developed." Here the verb comes between the noun and its genitive, and the construction, at best inelegant, is excusable only on the ground that it is not likely to be understood " were unsealed of modern ideas." 19. Phrases adverbial in office are, perhaps of all sentence- members, most liable to ambiguous placing, and by consequence not infrequently ludicrous in effect. For the avoidance of such ambiguity only the general rule can be given " that what is to be thought of first should be mentioned first, and that things to be thought of together should be placed in close conjunction." * The question to be settled by careful study in each individual case is the question of near or remote relation ; and collocation is to be managed accordingly. EXAMPLES. From a leading newspaper : " Base-ball managers must look at this pleasant weather and think of the opportunity they have let slip to fill their coffers to overflowing with anything but pleasure.'' 1 Here so much inter- venes between the phrase and what it modifies that a new word capable of the same modification has inadvertently slipped in. A few other examples, in which the same disregard of near and remote relations may be discerned, are here quoted from Hodgson : " He blew out his brains after bidding his wife good-by with a gun." " Erected to the memory 1 Hodgson, " Errors in the Use of English," p. 183. FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 121 of John Phillips accidentally shot as a mark of affection by his brother." "The Board of Education has resolved to erect a building large enough to accommo- date 500 students three stories high." The foregoing seem extreme cases merely because the effect is ludicrous; but the fault is just the same in the following. " Sir Morton Peto spoke of the notion that the national debt might be repudiated with absolute contempt." " People have been crying out that Germany never could be an aggressive power a great deal too soon." " It is curious to see how very little is said on the subject treated in the present essay, by the great writers on jurisprudence." Such adverbs as at least, at all events, probably, perhaps, indeed, are often placed ambiguously between two emphatic elements of the sentence, where their influence may be reckoned either backward or forward. Such a position is therefore to be shunned. EXAMPLES. "I think you will find my Latin exercise, at all events, as good as my cousin's." Does this mean, " My Latin exercise at all events," or "as good as my cousin's at all events"? Either of these orders would be unambiguous. " Disturbance was not indeed infrequently caused by the sum- mary arrest of fugitive slaves in various parts of the North." Better: "Not infrequently, indeed, disturbance was caused," etc. Placing of Clauses. The chief error in the placing of clauses arises from the ambiguous mixture of dependent and principal ele- ments of the sentence. 20. Dependent clauses introduced by if, unless, though, that, and the like, should be kept clearly distinct from principal clauses in the same sentence. The fact that the influence of such a con- junction may extend beyond its own clause into the next makes the proper coordination of the second clause a matter of some difficulty ; either by changed order or by the use of directive par- ticles, therefore, sentence-members of like rank should be grouped together. EXAMPLES. "The lesson intended to be taught by these manoeuvres will be lost, if the plan of operations is laid down too definitely beforehand, and the affair degenerates into a mere review." Is the coordination here " the lesson . . . and the affair," or " if the plan . . . and [if] the affair " ? Cor- rected by change of order : " If the plan of operations is laid down too defi- 122 FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. nitely beforehand, the lesson intended . . . will be lost, and the affair degen- erates," etc. Or : " If the plan of operations is laid down too definitely beforehand, and the affair degenerates ... the lesson intended," etc. Cor- rected (according to one sense) by particle : " The lesson intended to be taught will be lost, if the plan is laid down too definitely beforehand, and thus the affair degenerates (will degenerate) into a mere review.^ " He replied that he wished to help them, and intended to make prepara- tions accordingly." Corrected by repetition : " He replied that he wished to help them, and that he intended to make preparations accordingly." Corrected (according to the other sense) by particle : " He replied that he wished to help them, and indeed he intended to make preparations accordingly." The indeed coordinates the last clause with " he replied." Especial care is to be taken of a that-clause within a that-clause; for example : " Some faint elements of reason being discernible in the brute it is not enough to prove that a process is not a process of reason, that something approaching to it is seen in the brute." Here a recast is needed, beginning, " The fact that something approaching ... is not enough to prove," etc. III. RETROSPECTIVE REFERENCE. This term is here adopted to designate the office of any word that requires for its interpretation some word or construction pre- ceding. Under the term are included demonstrative pronouns and adverbs, relative pronouns and adverbs, and phrases of refer- ence, in general, whatever is to be referred for its meaning to an antecedent. In the whole range of composition there is no process oftener mismanaged than retrospective reference. The mismanagement results not from ignorance, but from haste and carelessness ; the writer, in his ardor to continue his thought, does not stay to look back, but trusts to chance for accuracy. It is of especial value in this process to form the habit, in the case of any backward refer- ring word, of looking back at once and making all necessary adjust- ments before proceeding. Such a habit once thoroughly confirmed need not check or retard the current of thought, and will save much trouble of recasting afterwards. NOTE. The range and character of retrospective reference will be indi- cated in the subjoined tabular view. FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 123 TABLE OF RETROSPECTIVE REFERENCE. DEMONSTRATIVES. RELATIVES. I. Person and Thing-Reference. he she it this these the former they that those the latter who which that II. Place-Reference. here hence hither there thence thither where whence whither III. Time-Reference. now then when while From the above table it will be seen that reference may be made to a per- son or thing, to a place, or to a time; and that any of these antecedents may be either definitely pointed out (by a demonstrative), or taken for granted (by a relative). Further, it will be noticed that when the antecedent is pointed out it may be recognized as either near or remote, and hence for each of the demonstratives (with the exception of the personal pronoun) there are two forms, to indicate these two varieties of relation. When the antecedent is taken for granted, such discrimination is not so necessary. Discrimination of the Antecedent. Owing to the lack of inflec- tion in English, the means for discriminating between two or more possible antecedents are somewhat meagre. The unaided pronoun of the singular number, he, she, it, has the power of discriminating only between the sexes, and between persons and things ; while the plural, they, can discriminate only between one object and sev- 124 FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. eral. As a consequence, in the general problem how to remove ambiguity or vagueness of reference, questions of order, prominence, proximity, repetition, and the like, assume cardinal importance. NOTE. Before proceeding to the discussion of means, it may be desirable to give some examples illustrating the most frequent cases of carelessness, and the most frequent devices for overcoming difficulties of reference. 1. The following examples will illustrate prevailing carelessness in retro- spective reference : "This is one of the most lifelike and telling portraits of Hawthorne that has ever appeared." Here the writer seems to mean " one that has appeared," while his real meaning must be " portraits that have appeared." The antecedent is not accurately discriminated. " An old friend of Mr. Watts, R.A. (himself an artist), -whose pictures are now on exhibi- tion in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, has favored us with the following interesting sketch of that remarkable painter." Query, whose pictures are on exhibition? "A large capitalist or syndicate will sometimes buy all the wheat or cotton in the market, and hold it until its scarcity and the growing need for it enables him to charge what he will for it." Here the masculine pronoun is made to do the double duty of a masculine and a neuter. 2. The following sentence, from Smollett, with its correction by Professor Bain, will illustrate some of the writer's shifts for clearness of reference. "The pedant assured his patron "The pedant assured his patron that although he could not divest the that although he could not divest the boy of the knowledge he had already boy of the knowledge (a) already imbibed, unless he would empower imbibed, unless (3) he -were emp friend." 35. In comparing complex objects, care is needed that the points to be compared be correctly and exactly taken. Sometimes, through heedlessness, the comparison is given as between ideas that really have no correlation. EXAMPLES. "Few pages of English history record a more marked con- trast in the character and policy of the English Goverment than those which record the reigns of Elizabeth, the last of the Tudors, and James, the first of the Stuarts." Here the comparison is drawn as if it were between a " con- trast " and " pages of history." Better : " a more marked contrast . . . than existed between the reigns of," etc. " No author could more faithfully represent a character than this portrayal of Count Cenci by Shelley; and though the subject is unworthy, we cannot but admire the power with which it is treated." Here the inexactness in the objects compared might be very easily corrected " than Shelley has por- trayed the character of Count Cenci." How is the following question to be debated? " Resolved, that a college graduate is better fitted for American citizenship than any other." Correlation by Conjunctions and Conjunctive Adverbs. When two alternative or obverse thoughts are to be expressed, it is generally necessary to clearness, and especially if the clauses are lengthy, to prepare for the second by introducing at the outset FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 137 some correlative particle requiring the alternate for its complement. This necessity gives rise to such expressions as either . . . or, neither . . . nor, on the one hand . . . on the other hand, not only . . . but also, expressions whose value is best appreciated by those writers who think most of clearness in style. EXAMPLE. Consider how necessary it is in the following sentence to pre- pare the reader from the first for an alternative : " You must take this ex- tremely perilous course, in which success is uncertain, and failure disgraceful, as well as ruinous, or else the liberty of your country is endangered." The correlatives, "Either you must take . . . or else" etc., save much liability to misinterpretation, and obviate the necessity of correcting an impression formed and held for half a sentence. 36. The words or, nor, either, neither, although originally dual words, are freely extended to three or more alternatives. It is often desirable, for the sake of emphasis and climax, to add some intensifying word after the first alternative. EXAMPLES. A triple alternative : " Logic neither observes, nor invents, nor discovers, but proves." Intensified: "The Rector was neither laborious, nor obviously self-deny- ing, nor yet very copious in almsgiving." The following may be regarded as an elegant way of managing a triple alternative : " For surer sign had followed, either hand Or voice, or else a motion of the mere." ! 37. The words not only and but, or but also, when correlative, should be followed by the same part of speech. EXAMPLES. " He not only gave me advice but also help " is wrong. Write, " He gave me not only advice but also help." What part of speech follows these words is immaterial; but it is essential that the words should be followed alike by nouns, or verbs, or prepositional phrases. " He spoke not only forci- bly but also tastefully (adverbs), and this too, not only before a small audience but also in (prepositions) a large public meeting, and his speeches were not only successful, but also worthy of success (adjectives)." 1 The above rule, with examples, is mostly taken from Bain's " Composition Grammar." 138 FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. Sometimes the also may be separated from the but by considerations of force or euphony, for example : " But by seeking the other things first, as we naturally do, we miss not only the Kingdom of God, but those other things also which are truly attained only by aiming beyond them." 1 38. The adverbs indeed, in fact, in truth, to be sure, and the like, are much used, by way of concession, to prepare for a coming adversative, but, still, or yet. This mode of correlation contributes much to the strong and clear articulation of thought. Sometimes the influence of the concessive adverb extends through a whole paragraph, before the corresponding adversative is reached. EXAMPLES. This kind of correlation will be exemplified from Macaulay, who used it almost to the extent of mannerism. "No writer, indeed, has delineated character more skillfully than Tacitus; but this is not his peculiar glory." " It is true that his veneration for an- tiquity produced on him some of the effects which it produced on those who arrived at it by a very different road. [Sentence of amplification.] Yet even here we perceive a difference." " The fashionable logic of the Greeks was, indeed, far from strict. [Paragraph of amplification.] Still, where thousands of keen and ready intellects were constantly employed in speculating on the qualities of actions and on the principles of government, it was impossible that history should retain its old character." Often this correlation is effected in the first member, without the aid of a particle, by introducing a thought so obviously preparatory that the but is naturally suggested. EXAMPLES. " He has written something better, perhaps, than the best history; but he has not written a good history; he is, from the first to the last chapter, an inventor." "Of the concise and elegant accounts of the cam- paigns of Caesar little can be said. They are incomparable models for military despatches ; but histories they are not, and do not pretend to be." VI. CONJUNCTIONAL RELATION. More perhaps than on anything else, the progress, the flexibility, and the delicacy of the writer's expression, are dependent on the accurate use of conjunctions. They mark every turn, every change 1 Rule and examples taken mostly from Abbott's " How to Write Clearly." FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 139 of relation. It is of the highest importance, therefore, that the writer have the ability, and, what is equally important, the habit, of estimating closely, in every instance, the kind and degree of their influence. The following are the principal kinds of conjunctional relation, determined according to their rhetorical significance. Coordinating. It is the office of these conjunctions to " add a new statement having the same bearing as what preceded." LIST. The great representative of these conjunctions is AND. The others are: also, yea, likewise, so, in like manner, again, besides, too (following another word), further, moreover, furthermore, add to this (add to which). Now is an old-fashioned connective used to introduce a statement not closely connected with the preceding. 39. By the coordinating sense is meant that these conjunctions continue the thought in the same direction and the same rank. The varieties of coordination within these limits are determined by the adverbial implication of the conjunction. NOTE. It is to be noted that conjunctions are mostly derived from ad- verbs, and may present all stages of use, from almost purely adverbial to almost purely connective; or may be used on occasion either as one part of speech or the other. Care is needed, for instance, in the use of such 'a word as " now," which at the beginning of a sentence is most naturally understood as a connective : if therefore a temporal relation is meant, it needs to be repre- sented by such a phrase as "At this time," or "At present." 40. A thought moving in the same direction needs often to be intensified in succeeding members, in order that better progress and climax may be secured. Connectives that also intensify are sometimes called cumulative, from the Latin cumulus, a heap. NOTE. We see this cumulative force in such connectives as : more than this, especially, in greater degree, all the more, much more, after all. Lack of cumulation is exemplified in the following : " But anything is better than pedantry displaying itself in verse, and in connection with the name of Homer." As it stands, the second member is insignificant: we expect some such connective as, " and especially in connection with the name of Homer." 140 FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. Subordinating. These introduce a clause, or less frequently a sentence, that is dependent on, or in some way inferior in distinc- tion to a principal. They suggest conditions, limitations, excep- tions, accompaniments of time, place, and manner, and the like. LIST. ifj provided; though, although, whereas, inasmuch as, unless, save, except; when, while; for, because; that, in order that. 41. What should be made subordinate and what principal, is not always easy to determine ; indeed, the art of subordination is one of the most delicate and difficult in the writer's province. He needs therefore, for the sake of precision, to give minute and habitual study to the relative importance of his statements, and arrange or construct them accordingly. ILLUSTRATIONS. Imperfect subordination of ideas is shown in the follow- ing : " Henry V. was one of those few young men who give up their youth to carousal and folly, with the resolve that, when they are older, they will settle down to a steadier life, and -who succeed in carrying out their better purpose." Here the two statements cannot equally be made of "few young men"; in- deed, it is only the latter that can rightly be predicated of them. The first clause ought therefore to be so subordinated in structure as to be obviously preparatory for the second; thus: "Henry V. was one of those few young men who, having given tip . . . with the resolve that, etc., actually succeed in carrying out their better purpose." The following sentence appears in King James's version of the New Testa- ment : " But God be thanked that ye were the servants of sin, but ye have obeyed from the heart that form of doctrine which was delivered you." Here it is evident that the thanks are due not for what is said in the first clause but only for the fact mentioned in the second. The makers of the Revised Ver- sion, recognizing this, subordinate thus : " But thanks be to God, that, whereas ye were servants of sin, ye became obedient from the heart to that form of teaching whereunto ye were delivered." 42. If the form of the conditional clause is used, it should ex- press a real condition, and the kind of condition intended. This ought to go without saying ; but a tendency of rapid writers now-a-days to use the conditioning particle as a mere conveni- ence for grouping loosely connected ideas, makes the caution necessary. FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 141 EXAMPLE. The following is quoted from a leading newspaper: " The spectacle of the opening night was very brilliant, and the good feel- ing unmistakable. If the beginning is favored by fashion, and if fashion is proverbially fickle, and if mere national feeling and pride cannot sustain such an enterprise permanently, it is to be remembered that it is not upon such sup- ports that the American opera relies." Here it seems at first sight that the relation expressed by though would come nearer the sense intended; but a substitution of that particle for the ifs reveals the fact that the subordinated clauses are after all not real conditions of the principal. The passage can be remedied only by recast. 43. Subordination by means of a conjunction may be augmented, that is, the subordinate clause made less emphatic, by condensed structure (See Condensation) where occasion permits, and by inconspicuous position of the subordinated clause. The opposite means are relied on for making the condition emphatic. EXAMPLES. Note the difference in emphasis between the conditional clauses in the following examples. " Even so faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone." Here the if-clause attracts comparatively little attention, being buried in the sentence. Compare now the following: " But now farewell. I am going a long way With these thou see'st if indeed I go (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) To the island-valley of Avilion." Here the if-clause has an emphatic place, being after the principal assertion ; and the condition is made distinctive by the word " indeed," and the paren- thesis following. The subordinating particle though may be removed from the beginning of its clause, when ttiere is occasion to make the clause emphatic; for example: " My spirit longs for thee Within my troubled breast ; Unworthy though I be Of so divine a guest." Compare for emphasis, " Though this be madness, yet there is method in't." 44. Subordination inside of a clause already subordinate requires careful management. A second subordinate clause, if introduced by the same conjunction as the preceding, is in danger of being counted as coordinate with, instead of subordinate to, the other. 142 FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. EXAMPLES. "If the man will make full restitution of the stolen goods, if he is honest in his expressed purpose to lead a better life, he may be par- doned." Here the subordination would be better effected by another conjunc- tion : "provided indeed he is honest," etc. Notice how this aids the relation of the clauses. The particle provided would be, perhaps, too prosaic for poetry; but notice the following : " But thou if thou wilt seek earnestly unto God, And make supplication unto the Almighty, So be that thou art pure and upright, Verily then He will awake for thee, And will restore the habitation of thy righteousness." Here the second subordination is made consistently with the poetic nature of the passage. Adversative. These introduce a new statement contrary in some respect to the preceding, either as limiting, or as arresting a seeming inference from it. LIST. The representative of adversative particles is BUT. Others are: still, yet, however, only, nevertheless, notwithstanding, at the same time, for all that, after all. The word -whereas may have either a subordinating or adversative sense ; or it may combine the two. 45. When the word but is used to arrest a seeming inference from the preceding and turn the thought in opposite direction, be sure that such inference is natural, and that the added idea is some way antithetic ; in other words, that the adversative relation is real. EXAMPLES. In the sentence " He is poor, but proud," the antithesis of " proud " to " poor " is real, because it is natural to infer that a poor man would be humble. Compare, however, the following : " Luther's character was emotional and dogmatic, but exceedingly courageous." Here " courage- ous " does not arrest any natural inference from the preceding ; on the con- trary it seems to supply a thought in the same direction, and the but has no real adversative office. And would be more accurate. Or if we were to take as the inference that Luther, being emotional and dogmatic, was nothing else, we could say, " Luther's character was emotional and dogmatic, but also ex- ceedingly courageous." FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 143 46. The adversative relation is susceptible of various degrees. The strongest adversative, but, when used exclusively, as it often is by unskilled writers, gives a certain hardness and lack of shade to the style, which might be relieved by the more frequent use of softened adversatives, such as however, yet, while, whereas, which make the relation less obtrusive. EXAMPLES. The effect of the exclusive use of but adversative can be shown only by an extended passage; here an example may be adduced show- ing how it may be used where the relation requires a softened degree. " This society was founded in 1817, since which time it has done a truly noble work in aiding needy applicants, for help. But at present the churches seem little disposed to support it." Here the word but is too abrupt and strong; better : " At present, however, the churches seem little disposed to support it." In the following sentence an accumulation of buts is prevented by while, which in its place is a strong enough adversative: "Now to him that worketh is the reward not reckoned of grace but of debt ; while (instead of buf) to him that worketh not but believeth on him that justifieth the ungodly, his faith is counted for righteousness." Illative. These conjunctions (name derived from Latin illatum, in-ferre) indicate inference, effect, or consequence. LIST. Therefore, wherefore, hence, whence, consequently, accordingly, thus, so, then, so then. 47. The kind of inference, as indicated by the adverbial force of the conjunction, is a matter requiring accurate thought, and too often left loose. The word thus, for instance, is sometimes made to do duty in a variety of relations, where therefore, or accordingly, or consequently would be more exact. EXAMPLE. "Two emotions were paramount in his eager desire: hope that he might perform the task more thoroughly than had any of his prede- cessors, and fear lest in any part of it he should fall below his ideal. Thus, being so powerfully impelled, he soon distanced all competitors." Here " thus," which properly means " in this manner," does not express the exact nature of the sequence, and is all the more confusing for being very near the meaning. The word accordingly would seem to be more accurate. 144 FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. VII. NEGATION. The typical means of expressing simple negation is the adverb not. Special claims of emphasis, variety, or exactness often lead, however, to certain modifications of this adverb, which are here noted. Degrees of Negation. For some purposes it is desirable to intensify the negation, for others to soften it. 48. Of the comparatively mild negative not, such adverbs as not at all, in no wise, by no means, mark various degrees and shades of intensification. The most energetic, because most universal, negative to be found in the language, is the adjective no, taking the place of the adverb. EXAMPLE. Note the difference in strength between these two forms of negation : " Since the fall, mere men are unable in this life perfectly to keep the commandments of God." Compare : " No mere man, since the fall, is able," etc. The greater energy of no is partly due to the fact that it may easily be placed first in its clause, and partly to the fact that the negation of a subject means more than the negation of an act. Two or three examples from Carlyle, whose tendency to negation was al- most a mannerism, will illustrate various degrees of negation. " Shall we say, then, Dante's effect on the world was small in comparison ? Not so: his arena is far more restricted; but also it is far nobler, clearer; perhaps not less, but more important." "This Mahomet, then, we will in no wise consider as an Inanity and Theatricality, a poor conscious ambitious schemer; we can0/ consider him so." "He is by no means the truest of Prophets; but I do esteem him a true one." "No most gifted eye can ex- haust the significance of any object." "No Dilettantism in this Mahomet; it is a business of Reprobation and Salvation with him ; of Time and Eternity : he is in deadly earnest about it ! " 49. When a direct negation would be too obtrusive, or when in a series of negations variety of expression is desired, the negative may be softened. The usual way of doing this is by beginning the sentence or clause with nor, uncorrelative. EXAMPLES. "But those were simple, fortunate times for the young min- strel, who took his success modestly and gladly, nor forgot his work withal; and he now enjoyed a season as poetic as ever afterward came to him." FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 145 "Yet in my secret mind one way I know, Nor do I judge if it shall win or fail ; But much must still be tried, which shall but fail." The negation may sometimes be softened by being placed in an inconspicu- ous position; for example: " In fiction, no more than elsewhere, may a writer pretend to be what he is not, or to know what he knows not." Double Negative. In English two negatives connected with the same verb annul each other ; that is, they are equivalent to an affirmative. They cannot, therefore, be used for the sake of stronger negation ; but for modified affirmation the double negative is extensively employed. 50. The value of the double negative as an affirmative lies in the fact that it expresses a milder and more guarded degree than does direct affirmation ; it is employed, accordingly, in the inter- ests of precision. EXAMPLE. " It is not zwprobable that from this acknowledged power of public censure grew in time the practice of auricular confession." Here the writer will not commit himself to the unqualified assertion that such a thing is probable; so he chooses rather to negative the opposite. That the double negative is employed for precision, and softens instead of strengthens, is evi- dent in the following : " She was not twenty, probably handsome, and not im- probably giddy : being quite without evidence, we cannot judge what was rumor and what was truth." This construction may easily be overworked; note for example the follow- ing : "Yet it is not wwremarkable that an experienced and erudite Frenchman, not wwalive to artistic effect, has just now selected this very species of charac- ter for the main figure in a large portion of an elaborate work." 51. Essentially the same principle is often employed for the sake of emphasis, in what is called Litotes. This is a virtual double negative ; for, in a place where a strong affirmation would naturally be expected, it puts the negation of its opposite, with the effect of strengthening the assertion. EXAMPLES. From Macaulay: "He (the Puritan) had been wrested by no common deliverer from the grasp of no common foe. He had been ran- somed by the sweat of no vulgar agony, by the blood of no earthly sacrifice." Here, where we would quite naturally expect such expressions as " omnipotent 146 FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. deliverer," " supernatural agony," " transcendent sacrifice," we find the asser- tion much more strongly made by the negation of "common," "vulgar," " earthly." The force of this construction lies in its suggesting more than it says; hence it is much used in innuendo. When Carlyle says, "The Editor is clearly no witch at a riddle," it is a playful way of saying that he is remarkably obtuse. VIII. SUSPENSION. It was remarked under the head of Prospective Reference that an idea may acquire distinction by being prepared for and expected. This principle is the basis of the suspended, otherwise called periodic, structure ; which consists in delaying the significant part of the assertion by introducing before it preliminaries, conditions, and the like, constructions that, being in their nature incomplete, refuse emphasis to themselves, and serve to accumulate emphasis for what succeeds. Field of its Use. Suspension is usually understood as referring to the structure of clauses and sentences ; and it is to this appli- cation of it that the name period is distinctively given. A periodic sentence is one in which the idea and the grammatical structure are alike incomplete until the end is reached ; which depends therefore for distinction on some essential feature that is of purpose delayed. The same principle is extensively employed, also, in larger relations, being applicable to any passage where a word or idea is skillfully kept back while at the same time the reader's attention is stimulated to look for it. It is thus somewhat analogous to the denouement in a narrative. EXAMPLES. I. In sentence-structure. " On whatever side we contemplate Homer, what principally strikes us is his wonderful invention." Here the word " invention," which is the most significant word of the sentence, is stu- diously delayed to the very end. " Sitting last winter among my books, and walled round with all the comfort and protection which they and my fireside could afford me, to wit, a table of high-piled books at my back, my writing- desk on one side of me, some shelves on the other, and the feeling of the FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 147 warm fire at my feet, I began to consider how I loved the authors of these books." Here the real assertion is not begun until the words, " I began to consider"; what precedes being merely preparatory for it. 2. Suspense of interest in larger relations. " Was there then any man, by land or sea, who might serve as the poet's type of the ideal hero? To an Englishman, at least, this question carries its own reply. For by a singular destiny England, with a thousand years of noble history behind her, has chosen for her best-beloved, for her national hero, not an Arminius from the age of legend, not a Henri Quatre from the age of chivalry, but a man whom men still living have seen and known. For, indeed, England and all the world as to this man were of one accord; and when in victory, on his ship Victory, Nelson passed away, the thrill which shook mankind was of a nature such as perhaps was never felt at any other death so unanimous was the feeling of friends and foes that earth had lost her crowning example of impassioned self-devotedness and of heroic honor." Here the word " Nelson " is so evidently the goal of the reader's waiting attention that it can be safely put in a subordinate relation, while the emphatic elements of its sentence are left free for other ideas. Means of effecting Suspense. The principal means are here mentioned and exemplified, each by itself; though several differ- ent methods of suspending the sense may be employed in the same period. 52. For suspense the protasis or antecedent clause, introduced by a subordinating conjunction, as if or when, is placed first. EXAMPLES. The suspensive effect of a single if-clause may of course be added to by a succession of conditions. Observe the effect in the following, from Cardinal Newman : " If then the power of speech is a gift as great as any that can be named, if the origin of language is by many philosophers even considered to be nothing short of divine, if by means of words the secrets of the heart are brought to light, pain of soul is relieved, hidden grief is carried off, sympathy conveyed, counsel imparted, experience recorded, and wisdom perpetuated, if by great authors the many are drawn up into unity, national character is fixed, a people speaks, the past and the future, the East and the West are brought into communication with each other, if such men are, in a word, the spokesmen and prophets of the human family, it will not answer to make light of Literature or to neglect its study; rather we may be sure that, in proportion as we master it in whatever language, and im- 1'ibe its spirit, we shall ourselves become in our own measure the ministers of like benefits to others, be they many or few, be they in the obscurer or the 148 FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. more distinguished walks of life, who are united to us by social ties, and are within the sphere of our personal influence." Observe that after such a long suspensive preparation as the above, the answering assertion must have bulk and importance enough to correspond. The effect would have been rather abrupt and disappointing, for example, if the sentence had been stopped at the words "or to neglect its study"; we naturally expect more, to answer to the elaborate preface. In the following, from Thomas Moore, this feeling of expectation is raised just in order that it may be answered by a sudden and unexpected turn in the thought : " Good reader, if you e'er have seen, When Phoebus hastens to his pillow, The mermaids, with their tresses green, Dancing upon the western billow ; If you have seen at twilight dim, When the lone spirit's vesper-hymn Floats wild along the winding shore, If you have seen through mist of eve The fairy train their ringlets weave, Glancing along the spangled green ; If you have seen all this, and more, God bless me ! what a deal you've seen / " 53. An adverbial phrase, and in correspondingly increasing degree a succession of adverbial phrases, may in like manner be used to accumulate emphasis for the concluding member of the period. EXAMPLE. From Motley : " From the pompous and theatrical scaffolds of Egmont and Horn, to the nineteen halters prepared by Master Karl, to hang up the chief bakers and brewers of Brussels on their own thresholds from the beheading of the twenty nobles on the Horse-market, in the opening of the Governor's career, to the roasting alive of Uitenhoove at its close from the block on which fell the honored head of Antony Straalen, to the obscure chair in which the ancient gentlewoman of Amsterdam suffered death for an act of vicarious mercy from one year's end to another's from the most signal to the most squalid scenes of sacrifice, the eye and hand of the great master directed, without weariness, the task imposed by the sovereign." 54. A participle or adjective modifying the subject is a valuable means of effecting suspense ; the means, however, most liable to excess. ee "Participles/' p. 115, above, FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 149 EXAMPLE. " Accustomed to a land at home where every height, seen dimly in the distance, might prove a cathedral tower, a church-spire, a pilgrim's oratory, or at least a way-side cross, the religious explorers must have often strained their sight in order to recognize some object of a similar character." 55. Suspense is often effected by placing the predicate first, or, what is of the same principle, the characteristics of an object before the object itself is named. EXAMPLE. From Matthew Arnold : " Spenser's manner is no more Hom- eric than is the manner of the one modern inheritor of Spenser's beautiful gift, the po t, who evidently caught from Spenser his sweet and easy-slipping movement, and who has exquisitely employed it; a Spenserian genius, nay, a genius by natural endowment richer probably than even Spenser; that light which shines so unexpected and without fellow in our century, an Elizabethan born too late, the early lost and admirably gifted Keats." Cautions and Suggestions. While the suspensive structure is useful for climax and unity, and for imparting a certain stateliness to the style, it imposes on the reader a greater burden of interpreta- tion than do other structures. The chief problem, therefore, is to secure directness and simplicity. 56. The principal caution is against excess. As all the suspen- sive details must be held in mind until the key-word is reached, it is easy to make the number too great to be carried, and the read- er's attention is dissipated instead of stimulated. EXAMPLE. In the following, which is quoted from a newspaper, the accu- mulation of details becomes almost ludicrous toward the end : " Shocked by the suicide and treachery of a professed friend, embarrassed by the broken condition of the bank, maddened by the wild clamor of an excited community, stung by the harsh reports of the New York papers, dreading lest by reason of some technicality his honor would be impeached, having borne the terrible strain for four weary days, in a moment, without the slightest premeditation, frenzied and insane, he committed the deed." It will be noticed here that the principal means of suspense is the participial construction. 57. It is often an advantage, when the number of suspensive details is large, to introduce the principal assertion piecemeal, between the members of the sentence, 150 FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. EXAMPLE. The following sentence, strictly periodic, is cumbrous: "At last, with no small difficulty, after much fatigue, through deep roads, and bad weather, we came to our journey's end." Observe the greater ease and natu- ralness of the following : " At last, with no small difficulty, and after much fatigue, -we came, through deep roads and bad weather, to our journey's end." 1 58. Care is to be taken what kind of addition is made, if any, after the completion of a period. It should not be out of propor- tion to what precedes, in brevity or insignificance of meaning ; and this it is peculiarly liable to be if it is a clause beginning with not or which. EXAMPLES. This " loose addition " is equally precarious on any long sen- tence, whether strictly periodic or not. The following examples are quoted from Abbot. " This reform has already been highly beneficial to all classes of our coun- trymen, and will, I am persuaded, encourage among us industry, self-depend- ence, and frugality, and not, as some say, wastefulness." The italicized part ought to come after "among us" and the rest then be set off by but. " After a long and tedious journey, the last part of which was a little danger- ous owing to the state of the roads, we arrived safely at York, which is a fine old town" The danger of such a loose addition is that it may introduce some fact or thought not reconcilable with the unity of sentence structure. See page 176. IX. AUGMENTATION. " It is a maxim of style universally," says Professor Bain, " that everything should have bulk and prominence according to its im- portance." This principle leads the writer to augment, condense, or repeat, according to the requirements of his subject-matter. The word Augmentation is here chosen to indicate intentional fullness of statement, made in order to give more time or more emphasis to important elements of the thought. Prefaced Statement. It is a natural and frequent impulse, in the case of important statements, to make some kind of approach to them, by words or clauses not indispensable to th; sense. 1 See discussion of this sentence, and principle involved, Spencer, " Philosophy of Style," pp. 26, 27. See also Bain's Rhetoric, p. 77. FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 151 59. A prefacing expression gains distinction or momentum for certain words or parts of the thought. Not always, however, is such a device of advantage ; and its need or extent must be deter- mined by careful judgment, or it may easily become a superfluity. EXAMPLES. The words it and there have already been mentioned under prospective reference ; here it is to be noted again that they are in their nature merely prefacing expressions, useful for the approach they make to important thoughts. Compare, for instance, " I would not believe he listened to my voice," which is capable of more than one emphasis, with " I would not be- lieve it was he that listened to my voice," where the prefacing words direct the emphasis. " There is a lad here, which hath five barley loaves, and two small fishes; but what are they among so many?" All this idea could be expressed more briefly, "A lad here hath five barley loaves," etc., but the prefacing words gain distinction for it. Sometimes the prefacing statement may be more extended, a condition, for instance, or personal explanation. For example : " If we read of some illus- trious line, so ancient that it has no beginning, so worthy that it ought to have no end, we sympathize in its various fortunes; nor can we blame the gener- ous enthusiasm, or even the harmless vanity, of those who are allied to the honors of its name." Here our sympathy for the fortunes of the illustrious line does not really depend on our reading of it; and the idea could be all expressed by beginning, " We sympathize with the various fortunes," etc., but the prefacing conditional clause gives distinction, and is introduced for that purpose. Oratory is particularly friendly to such prefacing statements; as, " Let me remind the honorable gentleman that," etc. " I think I am right in maintain- ing that," etc. Amplitude. Not only at the beginning, but also in the body of a sentence, the tendency is natural, on occasion, to increase the number of words. 60. Of alternative grammatical structures, choose for amplitude the fuller ; not, however, unless the influence of every added word increase the desired effect of the passage can be accurately letermined. EXAMPLES. I. For amplitude, word-adjuncts may be changed to clause- djuncts; for example : "This expedient should embody [something that may regarded as] a real requisite to [what is in fact] so momentous a result." lere the words in brackets may be of real use in some circumstances. 152 FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 2. For amplitude, conjunctions are sometimes used copiously, in order to compel due attention to every detail thus connected; for example: "For I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God." 3. In oratory, amplitude of expression sometimes adds words merely to aid the movement or imaginative power of a passage. The following is from Daniel Webster: "a Power (the British Empire) which has dotted over the surface of the whole globe with her possessions and military posts, whose morning drum-beat, following the sun, and keeping company with the hours, circles the earth with one continuous and unbroken strain of the martial airs of England." On this E. P. Whipple remarks, " Perhaps a mere rhetorician might consider superfluous the word ' whole,' as applied to ' globe,' and ' unbroken,' as follow- ing ' continuous ' ; yet they really add to the force and majesty of the expres- sion." 6 1. It is not to be supposed, however, that amplitude can be reduced wholly to rule. In all its real effectiveness it must be left to the instinctive sense of a full mind seeking its best individual expression. To quote the words of Cardinal Newman, words which themselves illustrate their theme : " And, since the thoughts and reasonings of an author have, as I have said, a personal character, no wonder that his style is not only the image of his subject, but of his mind. That pomp of language, that full and tuneful diction, that felicitousness in the choice and exquisiteness in the collocation of words, which to pro- saic writers seem artificial, is nothing else but the mere habit and way of a lofty intellect. Aristotle, in his sketch of the magnani- mous man, tells us that his voice is deep, his motions slow, and his stature commanding. In like manner, the elocution of a great intellect is great. His language expresses, not only his great thoughts, but his great self. Certainly he might use fewer words than he uses ; but he fertilizes his simplest ideas, and germinates into a multitude of details, and prolongs the march of his sen- tences, and sweeps round to the full diapason of his harmony, as if KvSti yaftav, rejoicing in his own vigor and richness of resource. I say, a narrow critic will call it verbiage, when really it is a sort FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 153 of fullness of heart, parallel to that which makes the merry boy whistle as he walks, or the strong man, like the smith in the novel, flourish his club when there is no one to fight with." Under this head of Augmentation are to be considered also Redundancy and Circumlocution, which may or may not be justi- fiable, according as they are the result of skillful intent or of mere carelessness. Redundancy. This consists of additions not essential to the sense, and beyond the requirements of the grammatical construc- tion. When it is merely a crude repetition of what is already im- plied, especially in unimportant words, it has no excuse. EXAMPLE. In the sentence, " They returned back again to the same city from whence they came forth," the five words in italics are redundant gram- matically : nor is there any excuse for them on the score of distinction. 62. "Redundancy is permissible," says Professor Bain, "for the surer conveyance of important meaning, for emphasis, and in the language of passion and poetic embellishment." EXAMPLES. " We have seen with our eyes ; we have heard with our ears." These redundancies give a real emphasis and distinction. Under this head come also many of the essential and decorative epithets of poetry ; see pages 56, 57- Circumlocution. The nature of this is indicated by the derived meaning of the word " talking around " ; it is a diffuse mode of speaking, which cannot be remedied by cutting out parts of the passage, but only by recasting. EXAMPLE. The commonly quoted example is a good example of needless circumlocution : " Pope professed to have learned his poetry from Dryden, whom, whenever an opportunity was presented, he praised through the whole period of his ex- istence with unvaried liberality; and perhaps his character may receive some illustration, if a comparison be instituted between him and the man whose pupil he was." This is intolerably diffuse, and may be condensed thus : " Pope professed himself the pupil of Dryden, whom he lost no opportunity of praising; and his character may be illustrated by a comparison with his master " 1 1 Cited from Bain's " English Composition and Rhetoric," pp. 71, 72. 154 FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 63. Circumlocution is sometimes employed to good advantage for humorous effect. In this use of it, however, there is required good taste and fine literary sense to keep it distinct from the vice of "fine writing." See preceding, page 45. EXAMPLE. The following, from Oliver Wendell Holmes, is spoken in the assumed character of a professor : " There is one delicate point I wish to speak of with reference to old age. I refer to the use of dioptric media which correct the diminished refracting powers of the humors of the eye, in other words, spectacles." 64. Circumlocution may be justifiable also when it is used for what is called Euphemism, that is, for the statement of an unpleas- ant or delicate fact in softened terms. 1 EXAMPLE. The following, which is an extreme example, suggests that it is easy to carry circumlocution for this purpose over the justifiable point, and make it ludicrous : " The only thing we ever heard breathed against his per- sonal character is the suggestion that his love of joyous intercourse with friends sometimes led him into a slight excess of conviviality." In plain words, he was inclined to drink too much. X. CONDENSATION. The same principle that leads the writer to augment some pas- sages leads him to condense others. Condensation may have different effects, according to the na- ture of the matter condensed. To some thoughts, thoughts im- portant in themselves, it adds strength, by concentrating their significance into small compass. On other thoughts, the compara- tively unimportant parts of the passage, condensation works an opposite effect ; it is a useful means of putting them in unobtru- sive form, that they may be passed over rapidly and not usurp the place of leading elements. It is essential that the writer habitually recognize and measure both of these effects, as occasion rises. Condensation for the Sake of Strength. There is a close alli- ance between brevity and strength ; as has been said previously, a 1 Circumlocution is not the only means, though perhaps the leading means, of euphemism. Expressions equally brief but of softened meaning may be used. FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES, 155 strong impression is ordinarily a quick impression. But in order that the quick impression should be strong, what is condensed should make up in directness and suggestiveness for what it loses in volume. 65. For expressing strongly and in little space, depend more on the noun and verb than on qualifiers. These main elements of the passage are what contain its movement and significance ; others limit or restrict, and by so much are apt to weaken the impression. EXAMPLES. " His life was gentle; and the elements So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, This was a man /" Consider how much more is really said than if Shakespeare had named his qualities "This was a patriotic, conscientious, single-hearted man." The following is quoted from Trevelyan's " Early History of Charles James Fox " : " Lord North . . . took occasion on the next day to express his assurance tliat Sir George had spoken in warmth. 'No,' said Savile; 'I spoke what I thought last night, and I think the same this morning. Honorable members have betrayed their trust. I will add no epithets, because epithets only weaken. I will not say they have betrayed their country corruptly, flagitiously, and scandalously; but I do say that they have betrayed their country, and I stand here to receive the punishment for having said so." 66. Another aid to that condensation which is also strength is to write in particular terms instead of general. People think in particulars ; and when an idea is expressed to them in a general and comprehensive term, their first interpretative process is to translate it into a particular exemplification. When, however, the term is particular to begin with, they are saved that process, while the class-idea for which the word stands readily suggests itself. EXAMPLE. Consider how much the particulars suggest, and accordingly how many more words it would take to say the same thing in general terms, in the following two stanzas from Tennyson : " God is law, say the wise ; O Soul, and let us rejoice, For if He thunder by law the thunder is yet His voice. Law is God, say some : no God at all, says the fool ; For all we have power to see is a straight staff bent in a pool." 156 FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. In the first stanza what is true of thunder is equally true of all natural opera- tions, and this we understand; so it really means, ' If He conducts the opera- tions of nature according to ascertainable laws, the laws are none the less His manner of working.' In like manner we read the second stanza thus, ' For all we can see is just the phenomena of nature; curious they are, as in the case of the refraction of light, but no God is revealed in them.' 67. Figures of speech, especially metaphor, synecdoche, and metonymy, are aids to condensation, expressing, as they generally do, much more than could be given in the same space and with equal suggestiveness by literal statement. EXAMPLES. To say, "The cares and responsibilities of a sovereign often disturb his sleep" is lengthy and not impressive; but say the same thing in synecdoche, " Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown," and it is simple, di- rect, and striking. Consider also how a well-chosen figure may open a suggestiveness that may stand for indefinitely more expressed in full; for example, from Lamb: "I confess myself utterly unable to appreciate that celebrated soliloquy in Hamlet, beginning 'To be or not to be,' or to tell whether it be good, bad, or indifferent, it has been so handled and pawed about by declamatory boys and men, and torn so inhumanly from its living place and principle of continuity in the play, till it is become to me a perfect dead member." 68. A certain strong abruptness is given to a thought by cutting away elements that merely connect or fill up, and by discarding conditional clauses and limitations. EXAMPLES. Some of the chief cases of this kind may be enumerated. 1. Cutting away conjunctions. When the conjunctional relation coo'rdi- native, adversative, or illative is obvious, the conjunction may often be omitted with advantage. For example : " So strength first made a way, Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, ^honor./^pleasure." "You say this; I deny it," is much stronger than "but I deny it," or, "I, on the other hand, deny it." 2. Omission of the article often gives compactness and strength to a pas- sage. For example : " Faster than ever/\mill-race we ran past them in our inexorable flight. Oh, Craving of hurricanes that must have sounded in their young ears at the moment of our transit ! " FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 157 3. The auxiliaries of a verb may sometimes be omitted to advantage; as, "The young man trembled not, nor shivered," instead of "The young man did not tremble, nor did he shiver." 4. What would naturally be given in a subordinate clause may be con- densed and strengthened by being put in the imperative or in a principal clause; as, "Strip Virtue of the awful authority she derives from the general reverence of mankind, and you rob her of half her majesty." This is equiva- lent to "T^you strip Virtue," etc. "The wind passeth over it, and it is gone," for, "As soon as" or "If the wind passeth over it," etc. Condensation for the Sake of Eapidity. Apart from the gen- eral desirability of writing some passages in more sententious style than others, there is also frequent occasion, in the same passage, to condense one part in comparison with another, in order that it may be more rapidly passed over. 69. Rapidity is gained and strength of impression lost by the use of a general and comprehensive term as equivalent for a num- ber of particulars. It gives a more inclusive idea, but correspond- ingly less vivid. The writer has therefore to choose between rapidity and vigor. EXAMPLES. " He devours literature, no matter of what kind." This general term is brief, and sufficient for a rapid touch. If, however, it is desired to make the statement emphatic and vivid, the term is naturally particularized : " Novels or sermons, poems or histories, no matter what, he devours them all." The question whether any sentence-element may best be written in a gen- eral term or in particulars is determined mostly by its importance or insignifi- cance. Some elements it would be pedantic to particularize; they are not important enough to bear it. For example, the phrase "in every British colony," would be ludicrous if paraphrased thus : " under Indian palm-groves, amid Australian gum-trees, in the shadow of African mimosas, and beneath Canadian pines." 70. For the sake of a lighter touch and more rapid movement the writer has often to cut down sentence-elements from the clause form to a word or a phrase. The habit of doing this whenever practicable is of great value, because it leads the writer to search for suggestive and significant words, and to prune down every superfluous construction. 158 FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. THE PRINCIPAL OCCASIONS OF THIS KIND ENUMERATED AND EXEMPLI- FIED. I. There are many adjectives in the language which have been coined as equivalents for clauses; these, of course, can be employed with great ad- vantage. For example : " The extent and fertility of the Russian territory are such as to furnish facilities of increase and elements of strength which no na- tion in the world enjoys." A single word may represent the last clause fully enough : " to furnish unparalleled facilities for the increase of her population and power." " The style of this book is of such a nature that it cannot be understood"; that is, unintelligible. "This is a cardinal feature of the insti- tution," says as much as, " This is a feature on which much depends." 2. Many parts of a statement, instead of being expressed in full, may be given by implication. For example : " Gladiatorial shows were first discour- aged, and finally put down, by the humanizing spirit of Christianity." This italicized part gives by implication both the agent and the means; it is equiva- lent to " The spirit of Christianity was humanizing, and therefore," etc., or " Christianity, being of a humanizing spirit, discouraged," etc. 3. A phrase-epithet, or a name of some kind constructed for the occasion, is often a valuable means both of condensation and suggestiveness; for example : " Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?" Here the name is equivalent by implication to a clause. The following sentence is lengthy : " Napoleon might be expected to hold different language when he was elated by the vic- tory of Austerlitz from what he held when he was depressed by his imprison- ment at St. Helena." By the construction of two epithets it is much condensed : " The conqueror of Austerlitz might be expected to hold different language from the prisoner of St. Helena" Observe, such epithets are not effective when chosen as mere finery; they must have close relation to the rest of the idea; for example, "The Merry Monarch died in the fifty-fourth year of his age." What significance in the name " Merry Monarch " here ? For phrase- epithets, see preceding, page 57. 4. The participial construction is a valuable means of cutting down a clause; see preceding, page 115, with the cautions there given against ambiguity. " This done {for when this was done}, he retired." "France at our doors (though France is at our doors), he sees no danger nigh." The mark of the conjunctional relation ("though") is here omitted by poetic license. The use of a participle with subject not a part of the principal sentence a con- struction parallel to the Ablative Absolute in Latin is foreign to the genius of English, and requires caution and moderation. 5. Sometimes two sentences may be condensed into one by apposition; for example, " We called at the house of a person to whom we had letters of introduction, a musician, and, what is more, a good friend to all young stu- dents of music." This is equivalent to, " He was a musician," etc. FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 159 6. A parenthesis may sometimes be used with advantage to brevity; for example, " We are all (and who would not be?) offended at the treatment we have received." It gives the question too much prominence, as well as more lengthiness, to append it in a separate sentence. Parentheses are, however, to be used with extreme care. 1 71. Another means of condensation is the ellipsis of such words as can be spared without impairing the clearness of the statement. Here, however, the writer needs to be sure of his reason for sparing a word. EXAMPLES. I. Ellipsis of the relative for condensation is common. It oc- curs most naturally when the relative clause is inside of a prepositional phrase or some other sentence-member already subordinate; for example: "We know the instructors were masters of the art /^ they taught." " but more beautiful yet when the rest is one of humility instead of pride, and the trust no more in the resolution ^ we have taken, but in the hand^we hold." For other exam- ples of omission of relative, see preceding, pages 51, 131. 2. The common subject of several verbs, and the common object of several verbs or prepositions, may often be given but once for all; for example, " He resided here many years, and, after he had won the esteem of all the citizens, y\ died." " He came to, and was induced to reside in, this city," is shorter than, " He came to this city, and was induced to reside in it." This construction, called technically the " splitting of particles," is to be used only with great caution, and with no long delay after the particle. Some writers condemn it altogether, on the ground, as one writer expresses by an example of the very fault condemned, that "Elegance prohibits an arrangement that throws the emphasis on, and thus causes a suspension of the sense at, a particle or other unimportant word." The following sentence, from Thackeray, illustrates both the above men- tioned means of condensation by ellipsis. " On Wednesday he (George IV.) was very affectionate with that wretched Brummel, and on Thursday forgot him; ^cheated him even out of a snuff-box which he owed the poor dandy;^ saw him years afterwards in his downfall and poverty, when the bankrupt Beau sent him another snuff-box with some of the snuff^he used to love, as a piteous token of remembrance and submission, and the king took the snuff, and ordered his horses and drove on, and had not the grace to notice his old companion, favorite, rival, enemy, superior." Observe how each ellipsis im- parts rapidity. l The above examples are mostly taken from Abbott's " How to Write Clearly.' 160 FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. XI. REPETITION. In some form or other repetition is one of the most constant necessities in writing. The objects sought thereby are various, according to the matter repeated. Repetition of Words for Clearness and Volume. Under this head we are to notice some of those less prominent elements of expression which are easily neglected but indispensable to clearness. 72. A word that is essential to the construction of different mem- bers of the sentence should be repeated with each member, when- ever its omission would cause ambiguity or obscurity. NOTE. The following are the principal cases of this kind to be noted : 1. The subject of several verbs should be repeated whenever any word comes between that could usurp the relation; for example : " He professes to be helping the nation, which in reality is suffering from his flattery, and (he? or which?) will not permit anyone else to give it advice." 2. Repeat a preposition after a new conjunction, if any word has intervened that could govern its object; for example : " He forgets the gratitude that he owes to those that helped all his companions when he was poor and uninflu- ential, and (to) his uncle in particular." 3. A conjunction introducing different clauses should be repeated when the clauses are long; for example: "When we look back upon the havoc that two hundred years have made in the ranks of our national authors and, above all, (when) we refer their rapid disappearance to the quick succession of new competitors we cannot help being dismayed at the prospect that lies before the writers of the present day." The omission of when here would make the second clause parenthetical, whereas it should be coordinate with the first when-clause. 1 73. When the first member of a sentence is long and complex, as for instance a subject of many details, or a series of conditional clauses, some summarizing word or clause has often to be used after it, as a brief repetition preparatory to the succeeding member. EXAMPLES. i. Repetition of subject. From Macaulay: "To write his- tory respectably that is, to abbreviate despatches, and make extracts from J The atwve examples are taken from Abbott's " HOW to Write Clearly," pp. 31, 32. FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 161 speeches, to intersperse in due proportion epithets of praise and abhorrence, to draw up antithetical characters of great men, setting forth how many con- tradictory virtues and vices they united, and abounding in 'withs' and 'with- outs ' all this is very easy." 2. Summary of several conditional clauses. From Burke : " If I have had my share in any measure giving quiet to private property and private con- science; if by my vote I have aided in securing to families the best posses- sion, peace; if I have joined in reconciling kings to their subjects, and sub- jects to their prince; if I have assisted to loosen the foreign holdings of the citizen, and taught him to look for his protection to the laws of his country, and for his comfort to the good-will of his countrymen; if I have thus taken my part with the best of men in the best of their actions, I can shut the book : I might wish to read a page or two more, but this is enough for my measure. I have not lived in vain." In both these examples the italicized parts are summaries for brief repe- tition. 74. In oratorical style repetition of some word is often employed merely to give requisite sound and volume to the expression, or to emphasize some important idea by iteration. EXAMPLES. i. For volume. The preceding quotation furnishes an exam- ple : " If I have had my share in any measure giving quiet to private property and private conscience." " A greater triumph of wisdom and faith and cour- age than even the English constitution or the English liturgy." The repetition of the italicized words in these examples is not for clearness, but because the repetition gives distinction and balance. 2. For emphasis. From Macaulay : " But what then ? Can you remove that distrust? That it exists cannot be denied. That it is an evil cannot be denied. That it is an increasing evil cannot be denied." From the same: "Now, therefore, while everything at home and abroad forbodes ruin to those who persist in a hopeless struggle against the spirit of the age; now, while the crash of the proudest throne of the continent is still resounding in our ears; now, while the roof of a British palace affords an ignominious shelter to the exiled heir of forty kings; now, while we see on every side ancient institu- tions subverted, and great societies dissolved; now, while the heart of Eng- land is still sound; wow, while old feelings and old associations retain a power and a charm which may too soon pass away; now, in this your accepted time, now, in this your day of salvation, take counsel, not of prejudice, not of party spirit, not of the ignominious pride of a fatal consistency, but of history, of reason, of the ages which are past, of the signs of thjs most portentous time," 162 FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. Repetition of Thoughts and Details. In every discourse there are numerous passages where the same thoughts have to reappear, it may be several times ; or where a series of details have to be repeated in order. The necessity of such repetition gives frequent occasion for the question, how to vary terms or order so that the repetition may not be too crude or too obtrusive. 75. But first it is to be noted that leading ideas, ideas whose expression has been reached with study, as the exactest possible, may best be repeated in identical terms, not varied. This needs to be said, because young writers are often too afraid of repetition, and leave many of their thoughts too vague in consequence. EXAMPLES. This mode of repetition may be exemplified from Matthew Arnold, whose perfect fearlessness in using the same terms again and again, as often as occasion rises, is one of the most characteristic features of his style. " Marcus Aurelius is not a great writer, a great philosophy-maker; he is the friend and aider of those who would live in the spirit. Emerson is the same. He is the friend and aider of those who would live in the spirit." "I remem- ber hearing him (Wordsworth) say that ' Goethe's poetry was not inevitable enough.' The remark is striking and true; no line in Goethe, as Goethe said himself, but its maker knew well how it came there. Wordsworth is right, Goethe's poetry is not inevitable; not inevitable enough. But Wordsworth's poetry, when he is at his best, is inevitable, as inevitable as Nature herself." 76. Oftener, however, the writer seeks some varied term, which may be understood for the same thing, and yet makes the fact of repetition less obtrusive. NOTE. This kind of repetition may assume various aspects. I. What in the preceding is given with a particular term may be repeated by a general ; or an individual may be referred to by the name of the class. For example : "There came a viper out of the heat and fastened on his hand. And when the barbarians saw the venomous beast hang on his hand, they said among themselves, No doubt this man is a murderer, whom, though he hath escaped the sea, yet vengeance suffereth not to live. And he shook off the beast \n\.o the fire, and felt no harm." "In civilized society law is the chim- ney through which all that smoke discharges itself that used to circulate through the whole house and put every one's eyes out. No wonder, there- fore, that the -vent itself should sometimes get a little sooty." FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 163 2. Repetition of narrative details may be made by mere variation of ex- pression; notice, for instance, how in the following the same thing is said in three different ways : "A day passed away and his mother was not there; another flew by, and she came not near him; a third evening arrived, and yet he had not seen her; and in four-and- twenty hours he was to be separated from her perhaps for ever." For other examples of variation in repetition, see preceding, pages 31, 32. 7 7. In the repetition of a series of details, the inverse order is sometimes taken, to disguise the iteration. EXAMPLES. "Make the heart of this people fat, and make their ears heavy, and shut their eyes; lest they see with their eyes, and hear with their ears, and understand with their heart, and convert, and be healed." " Yes, the time is come when the three faculties will be disunited, and their separa- tion destroy the social, religious and political body. What will happen ? Sen- sation will produce its false prophets, and they will laud sensation. Sentiment will produce false prophets, and they will praise sentiment. Knowledge will produce false prophets, and they will extol mind. The latter will be proud men, who resemble Satan; the second will be fanatics, ready to walk toward virtue, without judgment or rule ; the others will be what Homer says the companions of Ulysses became, when under the influence of Circe's ring. Follow neither of their three roads, which, taken separately, conduct, the first to the abyss of materialism, the second to mysticism, and the third to atheism." 78. It is very desirable that the thought should in some way grow in the repetition, or at least change its aspect ; and to this end a term that is emphasized in the first mention should take a subordinate place in the repetition, and vice versa, so that each part may in its turn receive proper distinction. EXAMPLES. "I had, indeed, begun the task, and had failed ; I had be- gun it a second time, and failing again, had abandoned my attempt with a sensation of utter distaste." Notice how in the following stress is laid first on the adverb, and then on the verb : " In the literary movement of the be- ginning of the nineteenth century the signal attempt to apply freely the modern spirit was made in England by two members of the aristocratic class, Byron and Shelley. . . . But Byron and Shelley did not succeed in their at- tempt freely to apply the modern spirit in English literature; they could not succeed in it." 164 FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. Repetition of Manner of Expression. This is desirable on the principle of economy of the reader's attention. 79. Elements of the thought that are paired together, or an- swer to each other, should have, if possible, a similar construction. EXAMPLES. Notice, in the following, how the amended constructions pro- mote the clearness and smoothness of the sentence: "He had good reason to believe that the delay was not an accident (accidental) hut premeditated, and for supposing (to suppose, or else, for believing, above) that the fort, though strong both by art and naturally (nature), would be forced by the treachery of the governor and the indolent (indolence of the) general to capitulate within a week." When there is a large number of details to make uniform in construction, they may with elegance be broken into different groups. Observe how this is done in the following, from Cardinal Newman. The groups of uniform clauses are indicated by lines. "He writes passionately, because he feels keenly; forcibly, because he conceives vividly ; | he sees too clearly to be vague ; he is too serious to be otiose; | he can analyze his subject, and therefore he is rich; he embraces it as a whole and in its parts, and therefore he is consistent; he has a firm hold of it, and therefore he is luminous. | When his imagination wells up, it overflows in ornament; when his heart is touched, it thrills along his verse." 80. Studious likeness of construction, aided frequently by anti- thesis, is a favorite means of giving special distinction to related thoughts, by setting them in sharp relief against each other. This is called Balanced Structure. NOTE. Balance may occur between phrases, clauses, and sentences. The following passages will exemplify it in different relations. 1. Phrases. "The daily contemplation of superior beings and eternal in- terests." " For his sake the Almighty had proclaimed his will by the pen of the Evangelist, and the harp of the prophet." 2. Clauses. " They habitually ascribed every event to the will of the Great Being, for -whose power nothing was too vast, for whose inspection nothing was too minute." " He remits his splendor, but retains his magnitude ; and pleases more, though he dazzles less." 3. Sentences. " If they were unacquainted with the works of philosophers and poets, they were deeply read in the oracles of God. If their names were nut found in the registers of heralds, they were recorded in the Book of Life. If their steps were not accompanied by a splendid train of menials, legions of ministering angels had charge over them." FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 165 Tautology. Tautology is the repetition of the same sense in different words. It generally betokens either carelessness or pov- erty of thought ; but in some cases it, or an approach to it, is admissible. EXAMPLES OF TAUTOLOGY. From Tillotson: " Particularly as to the af- fairs of this world, integrity hath many advantages over all the fine and artifi- cial ways of dissimulation and deceit; it is much the plainer and easier, much the safer and more secure way of dealing with the world ; it has less of trouble and difficulty, of entanglement and perplexity, of danger and hazard in it. The arts of deceit and cunning do continually grow weaker, and less effectual and serviceable to them that use them." 81. The coupling of synonymous words and phrases is admissi- ble when one word does not express the full sense intended, when greater stress is needed on some prominent part, or in impassioned language. EXAMPLES. i. " No two words," says Professor Bain, " are exactly synony- mous for all purposes; one has a shade that the other wants; and it may take both to give the whole meaning. Hence we are accustomed to such phrases as 'ways and means,' 'passing and transitory,' 'subject-matter.'" 2. For stress: " The head and front of his offending." "The end and de- sign" 3. Language of passion. From Pitt : " I am astonished, I am shocked to hear such principles confessed ; to hear them avowed in this house and in this country." 1 XII. INVERSION. In prose, as well as in verse, the writer has frequent occasion to invert the grammatical order of parts in a sentence, to put verbs before their subjects, objects and predicate adjectives before their verbs, or adverbial words and phrases at the beginning of the sentence. The purposes of such inversion are here discussed. Inversion for Emphasis. Every word in the sentence has its natural position, where it fulfills its function, but attracts no special attention. As soon, however, as the word, whatever it is, becomes 1 The above remarks and examples on Tautology are taken from Bain's Rhetoric, pp. 68-70. 166 FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. a predominating element of the thought, the impulse is natural to move it out of its ordinary position, toward the beginning or end of the sentence ; and the mere fact that it "is in an unwonted place gives it distinction. 82. Inversion for emphasis, being a feature more natural to impassioned style, should be employed sparingly and only with obvious justification ; otherwise it may easily make the style con- torted and artificial. EXAMPLES OF INVERSION. "Great is the mystery of space, greater is the mystery of time." Here the predicate adjective is made emphatic by being placed first. "Silver and gold have I none." Here the object of the verb is similarly emphasized. "Go I must"; "do it he shall." Here both the verbal root is emphasized by the unusual first place, and the auxiliary by being placed last. " Behold, now is the accepted time." Here emphasis is given by inversion to the adverb. "From the days of infancy still lingers in my ears this opening of a prose hymn by a lady then very celebrated." Here the adverbial phrase is emphasized by coming first, and the subject, " this open- ing," by coming after its verb " lingers." Inversion for Adjustment. By this is meant the change of order made in adjusting the ideas of one clause or sentence to another. The predominant idea of a preceding sentence exerts an attraction on the similar or correspondent idea in the following ; and naturally the latter is drawn to the beginning of its sentence. 83. Inversion for adjustment effects emphasis of the words dis- placed, as well as groups together related ideas ; and is thus a very valuable means of securing continuity and subordination in the thought. EXAMPLES. " His friends took the necessary steps for placing him as an apprentice at some shopkeeper's in Penrith. This he looked upon as an in- dignity, to which he was determined in no case to submit." Here the second sentence takes up the idea that the preceding laid down, and makes it the basis of the next assertion. From Cardinal Newman : " I do not claim for him (the great author), as such, any great depth of thought, or breadth of view, or philosophy, or sagacity, or knowledge of human nature, or experience of human life, though these additional gifts he may have, and the more he has of them the greater he is; but I ascribe to him, as his characteristic gift, in a large sense the faculty of Expression." Here the details in the first clause FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 167 attract the summary of them in the second to the beginning of its clause. From Ruskin : " We are all of us willing enough to accept dead truths or blunt ones; which can be fitted harmlessly into spare niches, or shrouded and coffined at once out of the way; we holding complacently the cemetery keys, and supposing we have learned something. But a sapling truth, with earth at its root and blossom on its branches; or a trenchant truth, that can cut its way through bars and sods; most men, it seems to me, dislike the sight or entertainment of, if by any means such guest or vision may be avoided." Here the attracted idea is a contrasted one. 84. Unless, however, some consideration of emphasis or adjust- ment calls for it, the mere attraction of one word for another is not a sufficient reason for inversion. EXAMPLES. " Little by little -were their apartments stripped of articles of ornament, piece by piece was their stock of furniture diminished; and the future offered them no hope." Here a partial inversion, so far, that is, as to place the adverbs first, is justifiable on the ground of emphasis; but to say fur- ther " were their apartments stripped," etc., instead of " their apartments were stripped," has no reason but the attraction of the adverb, and sounds artificial. Observe that in an impassioned sentence, where all attractions are stronger, the complete inversion is more natural ; s, " Gladly would I go, and freely would I offer myself for my country's welfare." XIII. EUPHONY. Although only a comparatively small proportion of literature is ever read or recited aloud, yet it should always be composed with due regard to its sound, and subjected continually to the test of articulation. Violations of euphony are due mostly to inadver- tence ; and it is indeed surprising how many infelicities of sound are admitted in hasty writing, or by an imperfectly trained ear. Sequence of Sounds. Cases where caution is especially needed in managing successions of sounds may be included under two rules. 85. The writer should be on his guard against sounds hard to )ronounce together, or making a harsh combination. When for ic sense a word containing a harsh sound must be adopted, special care should be devoted to relieving the harshness by the :hoice of the accompanying words. 168 FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. ILLUSTRATIONS. Some words, in themselves harsh, cannot well be avoided; as "inextricable," "pledged," "adjudged," "fifthly"; but when combinations of such words occur the harshness is intolerable. Try, for instance, such com- binations as the following: "stretched through"; "high-arched church"; "there is in the face an in^jr/licable expression of sadness"; "an inner indi- cation." The same fault of harshness is shown in a sequence of unaccented short syllables; as in "primarily," "peremptorily," " cursorily," " lowlily," " state- lily." As an illustration of the contrast between harsh and euphonious language, compare the following line, " 'T was thou that smooth'd'st the rough rugg'd bed of pain," l with the following, " Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns," or the following, " The light that never was, on sea or land, The consecration, and the poet's dream." 86. Care is needed also to avoid jingling recurrences of the same or similar sounds. An inadvertent rhyme is such a palpable indication of thoughtlessness that it can hardly escape being greeted with a smile. EXAMPLES. " As I gazed upon the mighty work, I said to myself, ' now Athens is indeed secure ; come Greek or come Persian, nothing will subdue Aer.'" "The river has its present name the same as the name the Indians gave it." " He felt afraid to mingle in such a fray." " There is an ordi- nance of nature at which men of genius are perpetually fretting, but which does more good than many laws of the universe that they praise; it is, that ordinary women ordinarily prefer ordinary men." Sound and Sense. A great many words in the language were evidently formed as the result of an effort to make sound corre- spond with sense, and be a kind of audible picture of it. Poetry deals with such words, and especially with combinations wherein movement and articulation produce this result together, more 1 On this line, which is ascribed to a certain Mr. Bowyer, De Quincey remarks, " ' Smooth'd'st ! ' Would the teeth of a crocodile not splinter under that word ? It seems to us as if Mr. Bowyer's verses ought to be boiled before they can be read." FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 169 largely than does prose ; yet for the latter also there is a consid- erable field for the employment of such words and combinations. 87. It is a fulfilment and not a transgression of euphony to make the sound correspond to the sense, even though it lead to the employment of harsh combinations to portray a correspond- ing idea. The difference is at once detected between a crude harshness and a skillful one. ILLUSTRATIONS. Observe what descriptive power the italicized words have in the following : "The hurricane had come by night, and with one fell swash had made an irretrievable sop of everything." Here the words answer in sound to the sense. The difference between such words and others may be seen in alternative expressions of the same idea. Compare for instance, " The water was boiling, and threw up a great fountain from its midst," with, "The spray was hissing hot, and a huge jet of water burst up from its midst." Notice how much more vividness there is in " He plunged into the river," than in " He threw himself into the river " ; in " The horse came galloping down the road," than in " The horse came quickly." Says Professor De Mille : " Such is the nature of lan- guage that, if the best possible word be chosen, it will often prove to be one of this description. This choice of the best word means precision, and hence the effort to be precise will often lead to excellence of another and very differ- ent kind." 1 For examples of this kind of usage in poetry, see preceding, page 62. XIV. RHYTHM. In speaking of the rhythm of prose, distinction must be made between rhythm and metre. The latter, which, as the name im- ports, is measured rhythm, is peculiar to verse ; but an unmeas- ured rhythm, ever varied, yet never neglected, is equally natural to artistic prose. The nature and limits of rhythm in prose are suggestively defined in the following words, from Robert Louis Stevenson : "The rule of scansion in verse is to suggest no measure but the one in hand ; in prose, to suggest no measure at all. Prose must be rhythmical, and it may be as much so as you will ; but it must not be metrical. It may be anything, but it must not be verse. A single heroic 1 De Nf ille, " Elements of Rhetoric," p. 273. 170 FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. line may very well pass and not disturb the somewhat larger stride of the prose style ; but one following another will produce an in- stant impression of poverty, flatness, and disenchantment." The points thus suggested may be followed out in a few practi- cal suggestions. Alternation of Accent and Pause. The beginnings of rhythm in prose are due to the simple effort to please the ear by the easy flow of accented and unaccented syllables, and by the musical regularity, yet variety, of the natural pauses. EXAMPLES OF RHYTHMICAL LANGUAGE. The following, from Burke, has much music of rhythm : " In the morning of our days, when the senses are unworn and tender, when the whole man is awake in every part, and the gloss of novelty fresh upon all the objects that surround us, how lively at that time are our sensations, but how false and inaccurate the judgments we form of things ! " And the following, from Cardinal Newman : " The season is chill and dark, and the breath of the morning is damp, and worshippers are few; but all this befits those who are by profession penitents and mourners, watchers and pil- grims. More dear to them that loneliness, more cheerful that severity, and more bright that gloom, than all those aids and appliances of luxury by which men nowadays attempt to make prayer less disagreeable to them. True faith does not covet comforts; they who realize that awful day, when they shall see Hun face to face, whose eyes are as a flame of fire, will as little bargain to pray pleasantly now as they will think of doing so then." 88. The writer needs to be on his guard against huddling accented syllables together. A succession of monosyllables, espe- cially, needs careful management, in order that the stress may not fall on too many words in succession. EXAMPLES. In the sentence, " Good Lord, give us bread now," all the words but " us " are emphatic, and the enunciation is heavy. So also the line, " Think not that strength lies in the big round word," though meant to be metrical, is really lumbering and unrhythmical because there is no distribution of emphasis. The monosyllabic line, "Bless the Lord of Hosts, for he is good to us," on the other hand, is not inharmonious; every second word is accented. 89. While it is very desirable to secure smoothness and rhythm in prose, the writer must shun the opposite fault of making the FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES. 171 rhythm too regular and uniform. The manner in which accents succeed one another, the tune, so to say, of the movement should be varied continually. ILLUSTRATION. Dickens was especially liable, in some highly-wrought passages to fall into metre; and wellnigh whole paragraphs of his may some- times be read as verse. For example : " The earth covered with a sable pall, As for the burial of yesterday ; I The clumps of dark trees, Its giant plumes of funeral feathers a Waving sadly to and fro : 2 All hushed, all noiseless, and in deep repose, Save the swift clouds that skim across the moon, And the cautious wind, As creeping after them upon the ground It stops to listen, and goes rustling on, And stops again, and follows, like a savage On the trail." " Here all the verses marked I are strict dramatic blank verse, while the couplet marked 2 has a decided trochaic effect." 1 The unfitness of such lan- guage for ordinary prose is manifest. Cadence. Rhythm, or the lack of it, is especially noticeable at the end of a sentence or paragraph. In such places the ear re- quires that the sense be brought to a gradual fall, not a sudden halt. 90. When a closing idea has been prepared for, by suspension or otherwise, rhythm requires that there should be volume of sound corresponding to its importance and emphasis. EXAMPLES. The following sentences illustrate the disagreeable sound of an abrupt ending: "Famine, epidemics, raged" ; "The soldier, transfixed by the spear, writhed" ; " Achilles, being apprised of the death of his friend, goes to the battlefield without armor, and, standing by the wall, shouts" All these endings are felt to be bad, not because they are inaccurate, but because they are too short; we naturally require more volume and more rhythm in words that in themselves are so important. 1 Example and remark quoted from Abbott and Seeley's " English Lessons for English People," p. 98. 172 THE SENTENCE. SECTION SECOND. THE SENTENCE. Definition. A sentence is a combination of words expressing a single, complete thought. "A sentence," says Professor Bascom, 1 "is the first complete, organic product of thinking, and, in its precision and strength, reveals the vigor of the process under which it has arisen. A com- pleteness of grammatical relations marks the sentence. It is a full circle of dependences. A few conjunctions imply a previous asser- tion, and a few pronouns seek their antecedents outside its limits ; aside from this, every relation must be finished within the complete sentence." The sentence may therefore be regarded as the unit of style ; that is, whatever problems and processes are involved in giving to style such qualities as it ought to have, in order to be perfectly adapted to its purpose, are satisfied for the most part, in the act of giving adequate expression to a single, complete thought. I. STRUCTURE OF THE SENTENCE. Elements of Structure. For the simplest expression of a single thought, two elements are requisite : the subject, that about which something is said ; and the predicate, that which is said about the subject. Reduced, then, to its most elementary form, the frame- work of a sentence consists of a substantive and a verb. Not often, however, do sentences remain with these elements in their simple form. The subject, or the predicate, or both, may be modified by words, phrases, or clauses ; one or both may be com- pounded ; or even other sentences, coordinate or subordinate, may be combined with the main assertion ; and so the whole sen- tence, while still essentially one thought, may acquire a high degree of complexity. 1 Bascom, " Philosophy of Rhetoric," p. 176. THE SENTENCE, 173 NOTE. The following sentence, quoted from Angus, " Handbook of the English Tongue," will illustrate the ways in which the structure of a sentence may be made complex. SUBJECT. PREDICATE. I. In Simple Form. "The amphitheatre was contemplated with awe; and enthusiasm broke forth." 2. Enlarged and Extended. " Reduced to its naked majesty the was contemplated with awe, by th Flavian amphitheatre barbarians of the north ; and their rude enthusiasm broke forth in a solemn proverbial expression, which is recorded in the eighth century, in the fragments of the venerable Bede : ' As long as the Coliseum stands, Rome shall stand.' " Gibbon. Here we see there are really two main sentences, the second of which, express- ing the direct consequence of the first, may be counted with it as belonging to the same comprehensive thought. Further, the modifying elements con- tain, besides words and phrases, two subordinated sentences, one a coordinate relative clause ("which is recorded," etc.), the other an appositive ("As long as the Coliseum stands," etc.) , both modifying an adverbial phrase (" in a solemn proverbial expression "). Finally it is to be noted that even this last sentence consists really of a main sentence and an adverbial modifying sen- tence. The whole structure, while perfectly legitimate, thus becomes very complex. Each phrase and clause that goes to amplify the simple elements of a sentence becomes in its turn a realm in itself, subject not only to the principles governing its relation to the main assertion, but also to all the laws of unity and emphasis that operate in the structure of any sentence. The laws of the sentence all grow out of this simple adjustment, of part to part, and of each part to the whole. It is of importance, therefore, that the writer in the whole work of composition keep close account of the skeleton structure of the sentence, " parse " it continually as he goes along ; and he will find himself greatly aided in giving a clear and well-balanced expression to his thought. 174 THE SENTENCE. The foregoing describes the elementary structure of a sentence. There are cases where this structure is transcended, and others where it is left incomplete. Pleonastic Structure. By this is meant a structure wherein for some purpose one of the main elements of the sentence is repeated. It has already been pointed out (see paragraph 73, page 160) that for the sake of clearness a complicated subject may be re- peated in a summarizing word, generally a demonstrative, which then is treated as if it were itself the subject of the sentence. This is necessary in the management of a number of details. EXAMPLE. "Gold and cotton, banks and railways, crowded ports and populous cities these are not the elements that constitute a great nation." Here so far as structure is concerned, the word " these " might be omitted, being grammatically superfluous; but for clearness it is valuable. A pleonastic structure is also frequently employed, in impas- sioned language, in order to give special distinction to some ele- ment of the sentence. EXAMPLES. "I know thee, -who thou art." " The boy, oh ! where was he ? " " He that hath ears to hear, let Aim hear." Under this head may also be mentioned those cases where the subject or the verb is made passionate by iteration; as, /, / must be counted guilty"; " Fallen, fallen is Babylon the great, and is become a habitation of devils, and a hold of every unclean spirit, and a hold of every unclean and hateful bird." Elliptical Structure. This term is applied to those cases where an essential part of the sentence, the subject or the verb, is left out. Of course no essential part could be safely left out if the reader could not at once mentally complete the structure, or if he were left uncertain exactly what to supply. But when a sentence merely gives details in the same line as suggested by the previous sentence, or when it stands like the answer to an implied question, the verb may sometimes be omitted ; and with advantage, because as the THE SENTENCE. 175 omitted part is not present to share the reader's attention, so much the more distinction is imparted to the elements remain- ing. EXAMPLES. I. The simplest ellipsis is where the part left out has already been given in a previous clause ; for example (from Matthew Arnold) : " With Raphael's character Byron's sins of vulgarity and false criticism would have been impossible, just as with Raphael's art Byron's sins of common and bad workmanship A." 2. The next is ellipsis on account of a negative (no or none), which seems to be strong enough in itself to dispense with the substantive verb ; for exam- ple (from John Morley) : " Voltaire entered too eagerly into the interests of the world, was by temperament too exclusively sympathetic and receptive and social, to place himself even in imagination thus outside of the common circle. Without capacity for this^no comedy of the first order. Without serious consciousness of contrasts, ^ no humor that endures." 3. But the substantive verb is easily left out, also, in carrying on a series of details; for example: " A grave and peaceful country is Warwickshire a land of great woods and heavy fallows, wide views and slow streams, big trees and rank meadows, fine old houses, and, I dare say, the prettiest vil- lages in all England. Withal^an air of settledness and abiding, which is very reposeful to the spirit of man in these restless days, although this tranquil atmosphere has its dangers too." 4. Finally, when the details are easily referred to a verb in the preceding sentence ; for example (again from John Morley) : " Who does not know this temper of the man of the world, that worst enemy of the world? (/^) His in- exhaustible patience of abuses, that only torment others; his apologetic word for beliefs that may perhaps not be so precisely true as one might wish, and institutions that are not altogether so useful as some might think possible; his cordiality towards progress and improvement in a general way, and his coldness or antipathy to each progressive proposal in particular; his pigmy hope that life will one day become somewhat better, punily shivering by the side of his gigantic conviction that it might well be infinitely worse." II. NECESSARY QUALITIES OF THE SENTENCE. In the management of a structure capable of such complexity as is indicated above, two main problems arise : how to preserve the unity of the sentence, and how to arrange all its parts according to their intrinsic emphasis and importance. 176 THE SENTENCE. I. Unity of the Sentence. However intricate the idea expressed, it is requisite that in a single sentence every part be subservient to one principal affirmation. Whether this affirmation is definitely expressed, as the central idea to which all the others are subordi- nate, or, as in a compound sentence, is the implied resultant of the several coordinate parts, in any case the sentence must pro- duce unity of impression. Faults to be avoided. In the question how to preserve unity, a caution is necessary on both sides. 1. Most common is the fault of running on the sentence care- lessly, admitting all collateral ideas that can be crowded in, until there are several distinct subjects of thought, and no one of para- mount importance to which all may be counted as subservient. Such a sentence is technically called heterogeneous. It is not the same as a long sentence ; it is rather a long sentence that fails to produce unity of effect. EXAMPLE. In the following sentence, quoted from Abbott, the distinct divisions of the thought are indicated by a mark. " This great and good man died on the lyth of September, 1683, leaving behind him the memory of many noble actions, and a numerous family, | of whom three were sons; | one of them, George, the eldest, heir to his father's virtues, as well as to his principal estates in Cumberland, where most of his father's property was situate, and shortly afterwards elected member for the county, | which had for several generations returned this family to serve in Parliament." Here there are as many as four distinct and equal subjects; to say nothing of the heterogeneous structure of the individual clauses. 2. Equally great, also, is the opposite fault of making each assertion into a distinct sentence. Apart from the disagreeable effect of a series of curt sentences, not all assertions will bear to be made so prominent. A statement merely explanatory or qualifying ought to be subordinated to others ; but when put into a sentence by itself it has all the indications of being coordinate in value. It is often necessary, therefore, to make a sentence contain a plu- THE SENTENCE. 177 rality of statements, in order to preserve the due subordination of what is subordinate in thought. EXAMPLE OF THE FAULT. From Emerson: "An individual is an encloser. Time and space, liberty and necessity, truth and thought, are left at large no longer. Now, the universe is a close or pound. All things exist in the man tinged with the manners of his soul. With what quality is in him, he infuses all nature that he can reach; nor does he tend to lose himself in vastness, but, at how long a curve soever, all his regards return into his own good at last. He animates all he can, and he sees only what he animates. He encloses the world, as the patriot does his country, as a material basis for his character, and a theatre for action.'''' Consider what a detour is made in the thought between the first and the last sentences, part of the intermediate statements being preliminary to these, or to each other, others apparently independent. A smaller number of sen- tences, with care to subordinate the parts, would make the thought clearer. Rules for Unity. The foregoing cautions would seem to make sentence unity a somewhat elastic quality ; and indeed, the only universal rule of unity that can be given is, to " beware of distract- ing from the effect of the main statement by particulars not imme- diately relevant." 1 A few further suggestions, general and particular, may, however, be given. 1. Determine first of all what is to be the central thought of the sentence, what the sentence is to exist for. If then there are to be coordinated ideas, look that they be so closely allied with the first as to form a larger unity ; if subordinated ideas are introduced, seek carefully the true manner and degree of subordination, by particles or position. Be careful, also, in making additions to the main assertion, to seek such ideas as may be legitimately subor- dinated. 2. When an added clause gives the consequence or the obverse of the principal ; when it explains, or exemplifies, or repeats the idea of the principal ; when it is one of a number of clauses having the same bearing ; it may be set off by a semicolon, but does not necessarily mar the unity of the sentence. 1 Minto, " Manual of English Prose Literature," p. ro. 178 THE SENTENCE. EXAMPLES. The following examples will illustrate relations of clauses. 1. Consequence. " Hence, in speculating on this question I shall take this as a reasonable assumption first of all, that the catastrophe of a state is ao cording to its antecedents, and its destiny according to its nature; and there- fore, that we cannot venture on any anticipation of the instruments or the conditions of its death, until we know something about the principle and the character of its life." 2. Obverse. "To learn from others, you must entertain a respect for them; no one listens to those whom he contemns." 3. Obverse and explanation. " He (Herodotus) has written something better, perhaps, than the best history; but he has not written a good history; he is, from the first to the last chapter, an inventor." 4. Clauses with common bearing, and consequence. " These principles do not come simply of theology; they imply no supernatural discernment; they have no special connection with Revelation; they almost arise out of the nature of the case; they are dictated even by human prudence and wisdom, though a divine illumination be absent, and they are recognized by common sense, even where self-interest is not present to quicken it; and, therefore, though true, and just, and good in themselves, they imply nothing whatever as to the religious profession of those who maintain them." 5. Repetition. " His gentleness is made beautiful by a granite will behind; ' out of the strong comes forth sweetness.' " 3. There are some kinds of sentences, however, that, from the nature of their material, cannot so well group their clauses by the logical associations of cause, effect, obverse, repetition, and the like. These are descriptive and narrative sentences, which deal with individual facts and details related often only by contiguity in space or time. For such sentences the laws of unity have to be some- what more elastic. It is often requisite to bring together in the same sentence several distinct facts, and thus make of it a kind of smaller paragraph. In such cases the only rule that can be ob- served is, to choose the larger breaks in the sense. EXAMPLE. In the following, from George W. Cable, the individual details are separately of too little consequence to occupy sentences by themselves, and yet taken together they have only the unity of occurring close together in time; a unity, however, sufficient for the kind of material. " And now up runs Baptiste, covered with slime, and prepares to cast his projectiles. The first one fell wide of the mark ; the schooner swung round THE SENTENCE. 179 into a long reach of water, where the breeze was in her favor ; another shout of laughter drowned the maledictions of the muddy man ; the sails filled ; Colossus of Rhodes, smiling and bowing as hero of the moment, ducked as the main boom swept round, and the schooner, leaning slightly to the pleasant influence, rustled a moment over the bulrushes, and then sped far away down the rippling bayou." II. Distribution of Emphasis. This important part of sentence construction may perhaps best be introduced by a general rule : Seek so to place words that they shall emphasize themselves ; and do not make the interpretation of a sentence depend on the manner in which it is read. This rule suggests one or two remarks. 1. If a word does not by its position emphasize itself, the writer makes but a poor apology for the fact by underlining. " In good prose," says Frederick Schlegel, " every word should be underlined " ; by which he means, every word should be the right word and in the right place. In proportion as writers acquire skill and fineness in the use of language they trust less to bringing out emphasis by the use of italics, and more to the cogency of perfect arrangement. 2. If the interpretation of a sentence is not to depend on a par- ticular manner of reading, it is of great importance that the writer be unerring in regard to the natural and right manner of reading. No better aid to the proper building of sentences can be mentioned than skill in interpretative reading, by which term is meant, reading that gives to every word, in itself and in its relations to other words, the power and stress most consonant with the writer's idea. I have known authors whose methods of sentence structure, elaborated with care yet radically vicious, could be traced directly to a false standard of interpretative reading. Emphatic Places of the Sentence. The distribution of empha- sis is first to be determined inside of the sentence or clause, and this by a recognition of the places where emphasis is most natu- rally concentrated. ISO THE SENTENCE. 1. The natural emphatic places of a sentence or clause are the beginning and the end, and it is here that we look for the most important words. The question how to give special distinction to some particular word generally resolves itself into the question how to make it occupy one of these positions. 2. Which of these positions a word must occupy, in order to be more than usually emphatic, depends upon the place it naturally occupies in the sentence. Thus, the principal subject, belonging naturally at the beginning, occupies that place as a matter of course, and when there has no special emphasis. To make the subject especially emphatic, therefore, we need to put it out of its usual position by driving it toward the end. Again, the predicate verb, adjective, or object, which belongs naturally in the latter part of the sentence, acquires especial distinction by being placed at the beginning. NOTE. The means employed for placing words out of their usual position have already been described and exemplified under Prospective Reference, Suspension, and Inversion. See preceding, pages 133, 146, 165. A few ad- ditional examples may be given here. 1. It is to be noted that when the subject is driven toward the end, it may sometimes become the grammatical object of a verb or preposition, and still remain the rhetorical subject, or subject of remark. The subject may be thus changed : By a prospective word : " On whatever side we contemplate Homer, what principally strikes us is his -wonderful invention." Here the word " what " is used provisionally for the subject, until the subject is expressed. By suspension : " On seeking for some clue to the law underlying these current maxims, we may see shadowed forth in many of them, the importance of economizing the reader's attention.' 1 '' Here the subject of remark has by the suspension become the grammatical object. By inversion : " The wages of sin is death." Here subject and predicate have changed places. 2. The same means may be used in displacing the predicate ; indeed, the same agency that emphasizes the one often emphasizes the other, in the same sentence. By simple inversion : " Flashed all their sabres bare." " Blessed are the merciful." The prospective there or it, which emphasizes the subject, also emphasizes THE SENTENCE. 181 the verb, by placing it before its subject ; for instance, " There is not, and there never was, on this earth, a work of human policy so well deserving of examination, as the Roman Catholic Church." Here both subject and verb are emphasized by their unusual position. 3. A conditional clause at the beginning of the sentence, being a means of securing suspense, refuses emphasis to itself, and merely accumulates emphasis for the succeeding. To give a conditional clause special distinction, therefore, place it last. EXAMPLES OF EMPHASIZED CONDITIONAL CLAUSE. " Of what conse- quence are all the qualities of a doctrine, if that doctrine be not communi- cated? and communicated it is not, if it be not understood." "This would seem to indicate that we may have nay, are already possessed of an American literature, composed of American materials, provided only that we consent to adopt the ' Saturday Review's ' conception of what literature is." 4. An adverbial word or phrase, whose unemphatic place is before its verb, is emphasized by being placed at the end, and still more by being placed at the beginning. EXAMPLES. I . Adverb at the end. " This procedure modifies the result considerably." " If he takes this course he will surely come to disaster in the end" 2. Adverb at the beginning. " Slowly and sadly we laid him down." " In no modern country has ideality been more retarded than in our own ; and I think that certain restrictions have peculiarly limited production in the field of Poetry, the chief of imaginative arts." Here the emphasis of the adverbial phrase is aided by inversion. 5. "It may sometimes be the nature of the clause to refuse em- phasis to itself; so that, though placed at the end, it does not inter- fere with the importance of a preceding clause." EXAMPLE. " In the sentence, ' Dissipation wastes health, as well as time,' the loose addition, ' as well as time,' cannot deprive ' health ' of the stress that would naturally be put upon it." * Dynamic Stress in Clauses and Sentences. Emphasis has also to be so distributed as to make clauses and sentences rightly an- 1 Remark and example taken from Bain's " English Composition and Rhetoric," P- 135- 182 THE SENTENCE. swer to each other ; and this is done by proper recognition of the dynamic stress. The term dynamic stress is here adopted to indicate the concen- tration of emphasis at some determinate point. Every sentence and every clause has its dynamic point, from which its power and significance are to be reckoned, which point should be accurately noted by the writer, in order to determine the proper relation of parts to each other. The following suggestions are of importance. 1 . When a clause or sentence takes its cue from some idea in the preceding, it is important that the preceding idea thus recog- nized should be made prominent by the dynamic stress. ILLUSTRATION. From Dickens : " It was remarkable, that although he (Barnaby Rudge) had that dim sense of the past, he sought out Hugh's dog, and took him under his care ; and that he never could be tempted into Lon- don." Here the first clause has not the right stress for clearness, because what follows derives its significance from the dimness of the vision, not the posses- sion of it ; and this fact of dimness is left subordinate. By making it promi- nent the succeeding is much better prepared for and explained ; thus : " It was remarkable that, although his sense of the past was so dim, he sought out Hugh's dog," etc. A frequent cause of vagueness is the coupling of a conjunctional relation, adversative or illative, on what is not the main idea but only a subordinate one, of the preceding clause. Example from General Grant's Memoirs : " I occupied a tug from which I could see the effect of the battle on both sides, within range of the enemy's guns ; but a small tug, without armament, was not calculated to attract the fire of batteries while they were being assailed themselves." Here the adversative takes its cue from "within range of the enemy's guns," which is too insignificantly placed for such a use of it. Notice the difference of, " The tug that I occupied, from which -I could see . . . was within range of the enemy's guns ; but" etc. Of course, if stress is needed on " I occupied," a different recast is to be sought. 2. When, in clauses or sentences of like construction, an ele- ment has once had a certain stress, there is no need of giving it the same stress again, except in cases where it is desirable to em- phasize by iteration. It is better to put the repeated idea in a subordinate relation, or change its order, so that the stress may be THE SENTENCE. 183 reserved for a new aspect of the thought. See preceding para- graph 78, page 163. EXAMPLES. From Canon Farrar : "That Dryden was a great poet is un- deniable ; that he desecrated his powers and burned them, like the incense of Israel, in unhallowed shrines, is no less certain." Here stress is laid on " is undeniable " in the first clause, and on " is no less certain " in the second, two corresponding elements of structure, and not needing to be made so prom- inent by the iteration. Having emphasized the predicate in the first clause, we may better lay the stress on a new element in the second ; thus : " That Dryden was a great poet is undeniable ; but it is no less certain that he dese- crated his powers and burned them, like the incense of Israel, in unhallowed shrines." Another example, from Anthony Trollope : " That some facts were stated inaccurately, I do not doubt; that many opinions were crude, I am quite sure; that I had failed to understand much which I attempted to explain, is possi- ble." Here the first two clauses may fitly stand as they are, being a climax; but a variation of stress would be of advantage in the third : " and it is quite possible that I had failed to understand," etc. 3. In a series of sentences the stress should be varied continu- ally, so as to come in the beginning of some sentences and at the end of others, regard being had always for the two considerations : variation of rhythm, and grouping of similar ideas together. EXAMPLE. In the following passage there is much monotony in the sen- tences from the fact that all are of nearly the same length, and that in all but one the stress is thrown toward the end by means of suspensive phrases placed at the beginning. The passage and an emendation are placed side by side. Centuries ago, before printed books Centuries ago, before printed books and newspapers were known, there and newspapers were known, there was an age of intellectual darkness was an age of intellectual darkness and confusion. Between ancient and and confusion. This dark period was modern civilizations, and separating the separating era between ancient the one from the other, this period of and modern civilizations. Justice and darkness extends. In a world where liberty were unknown terms in those justice and liberty could not be found, days ; the world's chief occupation quarreling and fighting were almost was quarreling and fighting. A man's the sole occupation. Physical strength power was determined by his physical and the possession of lands deter- strength, and by the lands he pos- mined a man's power. From the poor sessed. From the poor peasant to the 184 THE SENTENCE. peasant to the king, there was no king no person was secure ; plots and person secure in his position. In ad- insurrections disturbed every nation dition to the internal disorder, the from within, while from without fre- barbarians were making frequent in- quent invasions of barbarian hordes vasions and devastating the country. devastated the lands. True it is of literature as it is of liberty, that " eternal vigilance is the price " of a good style. Let the writer once content himself with setting down recurring thoughts merely as it happens, or neglect to calculate the relation of part to part in the whole tissue, and he is almost sure to fall into a monotonous, wooden style, with sen- tences all of one type, and with sameness of stress everywhere. The writer cannot be too sedulous in testing every passage by the ILLUSTRATION. In the following, taken from a leading newspaper, it will be seen that the sentences, with the sole exception of the second, are all con- structed in precisely the same way, each consisting merely of two assertions connected by and. "The death of Senator Anthony has been long expected, and it releases him from a suffering which was beyond remedy. He was a public man of long and honorable service, who filled every station to which he was called with dignity and grace. As the editor of the Providence Journal, and Gover- nor and Senator, he was the most important political figure in the State, and in his death Rhode Island loses the most successful politician in her history. " In other years Senator Anthony's crisp and pungent paragraphs in the Journal were very notable and influential, and his paper was one of the half- dozen leading journals in New England. It was by paragraphs rather than by elaborate editorial articles that he preferred to affect opinion, and in the Senate it was by his occasional brief speeches, which were often singularly felicitous, and not by participation in debate or by prolonged orations, that he took part in the proceedings. " He was a devoted party man, and his political experience and judgment made him a wise counsellor. At home he had the reputation of a shrewd manager, and his party will not easily find so well-trained a leader. Yet for a long time there have been complaints that his rule was too absolute, and that good politics required more freedom and independence than his sway permitted. Senator Anthony's social sympathies and his literary tastes made him a very pleasant companion, and his conversation was full of interesting political reminiscence. He had become the Father of the Senate, and no Sena- THE SENTENCE. 185 tor would be more sincerely mourned by his associates than this courteous gentleman and devoted and faithful legislator." III. KINDS OF SENTENCES. Under this head will be discussed the nature and advantages of long and short sentences, of periodic and loose sentences, and of the balanced sentence. The principles governing these have al- ready been given, in the section on Fundamental Processes ; it remains merely to give the application of them in sentence-struc- ture, and to show how style is affected by the prevailing use of any one kind of sentence. I. Long and Short Sentences. For the sake of variety in style, the writer needs to exercise care that short sentences be properly interspersed with long. It would of course be absurd to prescribe any definite limit for the length of sentences, or to say in what pro- portion long and short sentences should be combined. All this must be left to the writer's discretion and taste. Only it is to be remembered that a long succession of sentences of the same length, whether short or long, is wearisome ; and besides, it imparts to the style qualities not suited to the sense. When short sentences pre- dominate to excess, the style becomes flippant and abrupt, and the rhythm of it is lost. When long sentences are in excess, the diffi- culty of interpretation is increased, and the style becomes lumber- ing and heavy. NOTK. The following passage, from Macaulay, will illustrate the abrupt and disjointed effect of a series of short sentences. " We have had laws. We have had blood. New treasons have been crea- ted. The press has been shackled. The habeas-corpus act has been sus- pended. Public meetings have been prohibited. The event has proved that these expedients were mere palliatives. You are at the end of your pallia- tives. The evil remains. It is more formidable than ever. What is to be done?" The following, which it is no more than fair to quote also from Macaulay, will illustrate the more agreeable effect of setting long and short sentences in alternation with each other, and breaking thus the monotony of a long series 186 THE SENTENCE. "This mode of defending Bacon seems to us by no means Baconian. To take a man's character for granted, and then from his character to infer the moral quality of all his actions, is surely a process the very reverse of that which is recommended in the Novum Organum. Nothing, we are sure, could have led Mr. Montagu to depart so far from his master's precepts, except zeal for his master's honor. We shall follow a different course. We shall attempt, with the valuable assistance which Mr. Montagu has afforded us, to frame such an account of Bacon's life as may enable our readers correctly to estimate his character." Uses of each Kind. The tendency to write in long or in short sentences is partly individual, partly due to a prevailing mode ; but besides this, much is due to the natural requirements of the subject-matter. 1 . The short sentence, being easier to understand and remem- ber, is especially adapted to passages where important points have to be made, passages of definition and discrimination, or on which much of the thought hinges. The fundamental propositions that constitute the central nucleus of a course of thought, and passages of summary, are generally expressed in short sentences. The short sentence may often be used to advantage, also, for purposes of emphasis, the successive condensed assertions being like so many hammer-strokes. NOTE. What one would give in separate sentences, another would often give in sentence-members, which themselves, in all but punctuation, are like distinct sentences, and exhibit the brevity and crispness of a short sentence. Observe, for example, the effect of the following definitive passage, from Car- dinal Newman : "Thought and speech are inseparable from each other. Matter and expression are parts of one : style is a thinking out into language. Phis is what I have been laying down, and this is literature ; not things, not the verbal symbols of things ; not on the other hand mere -words; but thoughts expressed in language." Here the whole impression is of brevity. The pas- sage of short sentences from Macaulay quoted above is a good example of short sentences employed for emphasis. 2. The long sentence affords room to amplify the sense, by con- siderations ancillary to the main idea ; it is therefore serviceable for introducing details filling out a previously suggested thought. It is also better adapted to rhythm and cadence, and can be grad- uated more readily to a climax. THE SENTENCE. 187 NOTE. Observe how, in the following, the long second sentence gives simply the details amplificatory of the idea expressed in the first. The quota- tion is from Cardinal Newman. " And, while the many use language as they find it, the man of genius uses it indeed, but subjects it withal to his own pur- poses, and moulds it according to his own peculiarities. The throng and suc- cession of ideas, thoughts, feelings, imaginations, aspirations, which pass within him, the abstractions, the juxtapositions, the comparisons, the discriminations, the conceptions, which are so original in him, his views of external things, his judgments upon life, manners, and history, the exercises of his wit, of his hu- mor, of his depth, of his sagacity, all these innumerable and incessant creations, the very pulsation and throbbing of his intellect, does he image forth, to all does he give utterance, in a corresponding language, which is as multiform as this inward mental action itself and analogous to it, the faithful expression of his intense personality, attending on his own inward world of thought as its very shadow : so that we might as well say that one man's shadow is another's as that the style of a really gifted mind can belong to any but himself." 3. Between long sentences of detailed thought it is often neces- sary to insert short transitional sentences, suggesting the thought in sententious form, as a basis for the longer treatment. There is, perhaps, no more fruitful cause of " hard reading " than the neglect to supply such compendious means of transition and con- nection. EXAMPLE. In the following passage, from Burke, consider how much the clearness and easy progress of the thought are due to the short sentences inter- spersed. " Without force, or opposition, it (national chivalry) subdued the fierceness of pride and power; it obliged sovereigns to submit to the soft collar of social esteem, compelled stern authority to submit to elegance, and gave a domina- tion vanquisher of laws, to be subdued by manners. But now all is to be changed. All the pleasing illusions, which made power gentle, and obedience liberal, which harmonized the different shades of life, and which, by a bland assimilation, incorporated into politics the sentiments which beautify and soften private society, are to be dissolved by this new conquering empire of light and reason. All the decent drapery of life is to be rudely torn off. AH the superadded ideas, furnished from the wardrobe of a moral imagination, which the heart owns, and the understanding ratifies, as necessary to cover the defects of our naked shivering nature, and to raise it to dignity in our own estimation, are to be exploded as a ridiculous, absurd, and antiquated fashion." 188 THE SENTENCE, II. Periodic and Loose Sentences. The principle of the periodic sentence, which is the same as the suspended sentence, has been given, and its grammatical instruments exemplified, under the head of Suspension ; see preceding, page 146. From the section re- ferred to it will appear that a period is a sentence wherein the sig- nificant element is delayed till the close ; and that, in general, this structure is effected "by bringing on predicates before what they are predicated of, and, which is virtually a similar process, quali- fications before what they qualify ; letting us know descriptive adjuncts, results, conditions, alternatives, oratorical contrasts, of subjects, states, or actions, before we formally know the particular subjects, states, or actions, contemplated by the writer." 1 In a loose sentence the principle of suspense is not observed ; qualifying, explanatory, and preliminary elements are added as they occur to the mind, after the ideas to which they belong, with no apparent attempt at studied and artistic grouping. The test of a loose sentence is, that it may be stopped before the end, some- times in several places, and yet the part already given preserve complete grammatical sense. NOTE. Of modern writers, De Quincey makes the most copious use of the periodic sentence ; and the frequency of this structure imparts, more than does any other element, the stateliness that is noted as a distinguishing feature of his style. Two or three examples will illustrate this type of sentence in De Quincey. " Upon me, as upon others scattered thinly by tens and twenties over every thousand years, fell too powerfully and too early the vision of - " And if, in the vellum palimpsest, lying amongst the other diplomata of human archives or libraries, there is anything fantastic or which moves to laughter, as oftentimes there is in the grotesque collisions of those successive themes, having no natural connection, which by pure accident have consecu- tively occupied the roll, yet, in our own heaven-created palimpsest, the deep memorial palimpsest of the brain, there are not and cannot be such inco- herences." The loose sentence may be exemplified from Carlyle, with whom it is the prevailing type of structure. The places where it may be stopped, and yet 1 Minto, " Manual of English Prose Literature," p. 4. THE SENTENCE. 189 remain grammatically complete, are marked. " He (Burns) does not write from hearsay, but from sight and experience ; | it is the scenes that he has lived and labored amidst, that he describes : | those scenes, rude and humble as they are, have kindled beautiful emotions in his soul, | noble thoughts, and definite resolves ; | and he speaks forth what is in him, not from any outward call of vanity or interest, but because his heart is too full to be silent." Advantages of each Form, and Cautions to be observed. The fitness of either type of structure is to be determined partly by the subject-matter, and partly by the prevailing spirit of the passage. 1. The great advantage of the periodic form lies in the fact that it keeps up and concentrates the reader's attention. This makes it easier to place qualifying words rightly, and is thus favorable to unity of structure, because all is grouped with reference to the suspended idea. Its general effect, when employed in large pro- portion to other types, is to impart stateliness and dignity to weighty subjects, and to light subjects neatness and finish. In impassioned writing it is often useful as regulating and moderating the reader's emotion, by keeping the tension of mind uniform until the culminating idea is reached. The caution needed is, not to make the suspensive details too numerous or too abstruse ; for suggestions on this point, see pre- ceding, page 149. It is to be remembered also that weighty thought will, in general, bear the periodic structure better than light subjects ; care is needed in the latter, therefore, not to intro- duce the period too largely, for the mere sake of neatness. 2. The loose sentence has the advantage of being more like conversation, and hence more easy, less formal. It is thus espe- cially adapted to the more familiar kinds of discourse, to narra- tive, letter-writing, popular addresses ; literary forms in which any appearance of artificiality is out of place. The term loose conveys no reproachful sense : the loose sentence is a type of structure just as legitimate and just as susceptible of artistic finish as the periodic. But it is the loose structure that is most naturally happened upon without effort ; and the faults to be 190 THE SENTENCE. avoided in its use are the faults due to slipshod thinking and care- less workmanship, namely, rambling incoherence and tedious dilution of the thought. Combination of Forms. It is not to be supposed that either periodic or loose sentences make up the sole type of structure in any discourse. . As a matter of fact the actual number of periodic sentences is much smaller than the number of loose sentences ; and a comparatively small increase in their proportion is sufficient to impart the peculiar effect of the periodic style. 1. By the best writers periodic sentences are constantly relieved by loose ones ; it would indeed be hard to find more than two periods in succession, except in cases where for some reason it is desirable to make a series of sentences studiously alike in plan. The requirements of the dynamic stress, as already mentioned, would necessitate variation in structure. NOTE. Observe how the type of sentence is varied in the following : first a rather long period, then a short intermediate sentence, and thirdly a loose sentence. The passage is quoted from Dean Stanley. " And then, in the deep stillness of the desert air unbroken by falling stream, or note of bird, or tramp of beast, or cry of man came the whisper, of a voice as of a gentle breath of a voice so small that it was almost like silence. Then he knew that the moment was come. He drew, as was his wont, his rough mantle over his head; he wrapped his face in its ample folds; he came out from the sheltering rock, and stood beneath the cave to receive the Divine communications." 2. Nor is it often that sentences are found conforming rigidly throughout to the periodic structure. The same sentence, espe- cially if long, may begin with suspensive structure and remain periodic to a certain point, and then be finished loose ; and often clauses in a sentence may be loose while the general type is peri- odic, or vice versa. EXAMPLE. The following sentence, from Matthew Arnold, is strictly periodic as far as the word " opinion," and loose from that point on. " I think that in England, partly from the want of an Academy, partly from a national habit of intellect to which that want of an Academy is itself due, there exists too little of what I may call a public force of correct literary THE SENTENCE. 191 opinion, possessing within certain limits a clear sense of what is right and wrong, sound and unsound, and sharply recalling men of ability and learning from any flagrant misdirection of these their advantages." III. The Balanced Sentence. The principle of the balanced sen- tence has already been explained and exemplified under the head of Repetition (Repetition of Manner of Expression, page 164). When the different elements of a compound sentence are made to answer to each other and set each other off by similarity of form, the sentence is said to be balanced. The similarity of the balanc- ing clauses lies partly in the grammatical structure, and partly in the alternation of emphasis. Antithesis is often employed as an aid in setting clauses over against each other. NOTE. The Balanced Structure has been so fully exemplified that only an example or two need be given here. In the following sentence the balance is effected both by similarity of structure and antithesis : " He defended him when living, amidst the clamors of his enemies ; and praised him when dead, amidst the silence of his friends." In the following observe that the material for balanced structure is supplied in the first clause, and the succeeding clauses are then balanced against each other : " On the rich and the eloquent, on nobles and priests, they looked down with contempt : for they esteemed themselves rich in a more precious treasure, and eloquent in a more sublime language, nobles by the right of an earlier creation, and priests by the imposition of a mightier hand." Advantages and Disadvantages. The balanced structure is easy to interpret and remember, inasmuch as the similarly con- structed clauses lend emphasis to each other, and make it easy to fix the points that are of most importance. Besides, such a care- fully built sentence, with its parts so ingeniously conformed to each other, is a pleasure in itself. It is in the use of the balanced structure, however, that caution against excess is most necessary. Being the most artificial type of sentence, it should be used sparingly, and only where it is needed 192 THE SENTENCE. to give a particularly striking expression to an important thought. While it is prominent, and thus apt, when often employed, to fatigue the ear, it is also very enslaving to those who employ it unadvisedly. From the irresistible craving for the familiar meas- ure, there is a temptation not only to balance every thought, but to add tautological and otherwise questionable forms in order to fill out the sense. NOTE. The inherent peril of the balanced structure is due to the fact that when once the writer is enamored with it, neither he nor his reader can surely tell how much of the statement is fact and how much rhetoric. Take, for ex- ample, the following sentence from Macaulay: "The work which had been be- gun by Henry, the murderer of his wives, was continued by Somerset, the murderer of his brother, and completed by Elizabeth, the murderer of her guest." Can we trust ourselves to this finely-turned sentence, without the im- pulse to allow something for the curious balance of ideas? Balanced structure, antithesis (see preceding, page 102), and alliteration, are three devices of expression that may easily become a snare to the writer. The fanciful and artificial manner of writing called Euphuism, which had a great run in Queen Elizabeth's time, was a style in which these three devices ran riot. The following few sentences will give a little taste of the style of Euphues : " Therefore, my good Euphues, for these doubts and dumps of mine, either remove the cause or reveal it. Thou hast hitherto found me a cheer- ful companion in thy mirth, and now shalt thou find me as careful with thee in thy moan. If altogether thou mayest not be cured, yet mayest thou be comforted. If there be anything that either by thy friends may be procured, or by my life attained, that may either heal thee in part, or help thee in all, I protest to thee by the name of a friend, that it shall rather be gotten with the loss of my body, than lost by getting a kingdom. Thou hast tried me, there- fore trust me ; thou hast trusted me in many things, therefore try me in this one thing. I never yet failed, and now I will not faint. Be bold to speak and blush not ; thy sore is not so angry but I can salve it, the wound not so deep but I can search it, thy grief not so great but I can ease it. If it be ripe, it shall be lanced ; if it be broken, it shall be tainted ; be it never so desperate, it shall be cured." And so on, interminably. A good example of the artifi- ciality that is inevitable when the writer thinks of form before thought. TJfE PARAGRAPH. 193 SECTION THIRD. THE PARAGRAPH. Definition. A paragraph is a connected series of sentences constituting the development of a single topic. NOTE. Mechanically, a paragraph is distinguished, both in print and manu- script, by beginning on a new line, and by indenting, that is, withdrawing toward the middle of the line, the opening word. In narrating conversation between different persons, the form of a new paragraph is given to what each interlocutor says or does, irrespective of the amount or nature of the matter included. The amount and comprehensiveness of the material included in a paragraph varies greatly, according to the length and character of the discourse, the office of the paragraph, and the writer's indi- vidual taste. Of a short production a paragraph may make up a large enough proportion to be a main division of the plan ; oftener, however, it contains a much smaller section of the thought. And a paragraph that merely makes a transition, or proposes a single idea as basis for further development, would be much shorter than a paragraph of detail. What is of more importance than the length, however, every paragraph should have a definitive topic and structure, and not be left, as is too often done by writers otherwise good, to make itself. In determining the length of the paragraph, not only the topic included, but the ease of interpretation and the appearance of the page should be consulted. Every reader can recall how often he has been repelled from a book by the mere fact that whole solid pages occurred without paragraph breaks ; and how often he has been attracted by an open and easy-looking page. This is no mere whim. Extended paragraph topics are a needless burden to the reader's mind and memory ; and it is the feeling that too much is demanded of his interpreting powers that causes his dislike of a solid page. As a rule, paragraphs of over a page in length should be avoided. 194 THE PARAGRAPH. " On the other hand, the French fashion of making separate paragraphs of almost every sentence is yet more objectionable. The natural division of the subject is the proper guide." * I. QUALITIES AND STRUCTURE OF THE PARAGRAPH. The general laws, of selection, arrangement, and proportion, which govern the construction of the paragraph, are so similar to those governing the composition of an entire discourse, that, as we call the sentence the unit of style, so we may regard the paragraph as the unit of invention. And certain it is that care about the structure of the paragraph is one of the best of influences to induce care and skill in building the entire plan. The laws of paragraph structure, as well as the essential quali- ties of the paragraph, are implied in the definition given above. A paragraph, it is there said, constitutes the development of a single topic : hence, a fundamental quality is unity. This devel- opment is made by a connected series of sentences : hence, an- other requisite is continuity in the thought. And the fact that it is the orderly development of a topic implies systematic progress : hence a third requisite is proportion between the parts. I. Unity. The Paragraph-Subject. A paragraph is a distinct division of the discourse, related indeed to preceding and following, as a link in a larger chain, but complete in itself, and exhaustive of its topic. Its primary requisite, therefore, is unity ; and this unity is subserved by choosing for each paragraph a determinate subject, to which all parts of the structure are related as constituting ele- ments in its development. Prominence of the Subject. How prominent the paragraph- subject is to be made depends upon the character and office of the paragraph itself. When the paragraph is argumentative or expository, or when it embodies the treatment of some central 1 Bigclow, " Handbook of Punctuation," p. 38. THE PARAGRAPH. 195 thought, that thought appears in some part as a definite affirma- tion, and all the other statements are recognized as ancillary to this. When the paragraph is descriptive or narrative, or when it is merely an accumulation of details of any kind, the subject cannot so easily be reduced to a proposition, but must be gathered from the general bearing of the whole. In any case, however, the sub- ject, if not expressly stated, should be clearly determined in the writer's mind, and so definitely implied that the reader can feel the effect of the paragraph in a single utterance. It should have unity of impression ; and a good test of this is, its being so constructed that an abstract of it can be made in one phrase or sentence. This matter is dwelt upon here, because perhaps the most preva- lent fault of young writers is, leaving the topics of paragraphs inde- terminate or too diffusive. The production accordingly is lacking in character ; it seems to have no backbone, no rigor and sharp- ness of thought. The conforming of each paragraph sternly to a distinct topic goes farther than anything else to obviate this, one of the worst blemishes of composition. ILLUSTRATIONS. Two examples will suffice to show how the material of a paragraph exercises influence on the expression of its subject. 1. An argumentative paragraph, with subject stated in a definite assertion. The subject is proposed in the first sentence and repeated in the second. " It is a twice-told tale that the world is passing away from us. God has written it upon every page of his creation that there is nothing here which lasts. Our affections change. The friendships of the man are not the friend- ships of the boy. The face of the visible world is altering around us : we have the grey mouldering ruins to tell of what once was. Our laborers strike their ploughshares against the foundations of buildings which once echoed to human mirth skeletons of men to whom life was once dear urns and coins that remind the antiquarian of a magnificent empire. This is the history of the world, and all that is in it. It passes while we look at it. Like as when you watch the melting tints of the evening sky purple-crimson, gorgeous gold, a few pulsations of quivering light, and it is all gone. We are such stuff as dreams are made of." ROBERTSON. 2. A narrative paragraph, with subject implied as resultant of the whole. The subject, which is no less definite than the preceding, is " Hester Prynne on her way to the Pillory." 196 THE PARAGRAPH. " A lane was forthwith opened through the crowd of spectators. Preceded by the beadle, and attended by an irregular procession of stern-browed men and unkindly visaged women, Hester Prynne set forth towards the place appointed for her punishment. A crowd of eager and curious school-boys, understanding little of the matter in hand, except that it gave them a half-holiday, ran before her progress, turning their heads continually to stare into her face, and at the winking baby in her arms, and at the ignominious letter on her breast. It was no great distance, in those days, from the prison-door to the market-place. Measured by the prisoner's experience, however, it might be reckoned a jour- ney of some length; for, haughty as her demeanor was, she perchance under- went an agony from every footstep of those that thronged to see her, as if her heart had been flung into the street for them all to spurn and trample upon. In our nature, however, there is a provision, alike marvellous and merciful, that the sufferer should never know the intensity of what he endures by its present torture, but chiefly by the pang that rankles after it. With almost a serene deportment, therefore, Hester Prynne passed through this portion of her ordeal, and came to a sort of scaffold, at the western extremity of the market- place. It stood nearly beneath the eaves of Boston's earliest church, and appeared to be a fixture there." HAWTHORNE. Here the circumstances of time, place, and event, give unity to the topic, and there is no distraction of effect. Place of the Subject. The subject of a paragraph is often in- dicated in the opening sentence ; sometimes preceded, however, by a few words, obviously connective and preparatory. As the paragraph is not only a structure in itself but a component part of a larger unity, such preparation for the subject-sentence must not infrequently be made, by making a transition, or by summarizing what is previously given. In some exceptional cases the subject, instead of being stated at the beginning, is delayed until the close, somewhat after the analogy of the periodic structure in sentences. In such cases the body of the paragraph furnishes material fpr the subject, giving particulars before announcing the general truth deduced from them, or arguments before stating the proposition they prove. For statements that are not likely to be believed or understood unless they are led up to gradually and with every step made sure by reasons, this is a very effective type of structure. Important subjects are often repeated in another form, more THE PARAGRAPH. 197 particular, or more sententious, or in figurative language. Not infrequently, also, a subject is both stated at the beginning and repeated at the end of the paragraph. EXAMPLES OF EACH KIND. In the following examples the subject-sen- tence is indicated by italics. I. Subject in opening sentence. " I say then, if we would improve the intellect, first of all, we must ascend ; we cannot gain real knowledge on a level ; we must generalize, we must re- duce to method, we must have a grasp of principles, and group and shape our acquisitions by means of them. It matters not whether our field of operation be wide or limited ; in every case, to command it, is to mount above it. Who has not felt the irritation of mind and impatience created by a deep, rich coun- try, visited for the first time, with winding lanes, and high hedges, and green steeps, and tangled woods, and everything smiling indeed, but in a maze? The same feeling comes upon us in a strange city, when we have no map of its streets. Hence you hear of practised travellers, when they first come into a place, mounting some high hill or church tower, by way of reconnoitring its neighborhood. In like manner, you must be above your knowledge, not under it, or it will oppress you ; and the more you have of it, the greater will be the load. The learning of a Salmasius or a Burman, unless you are its master, will be your tyrant. 'Imperat aut servit'; if you can wield it with a strong arm, it is a great weapon ; otherwise, you will be overwhelmed, like Tarpeia, by the heavy wealth which you have exacted from tributary genera- tions." CARDINAL NEWMAN. 2. Subject only hinted at in the beginning and first definitely expressed at the end. The subject is the popularity of Cromwell's character. " But though his memory has not been taken under the patronage of any party, though every device has been used to blacken it, though to praise him would long have been a punishable crime, truth and merit at last prevail. Cowards who had trembled at the very sound of his name, tools of office who, like Downing, had been proud of the honor of lackeying his coach, might in- sult him in loyal speeches and addresses. Venal poets might transfer to the King the same eulogies, little the worse for wear, which they had bestowed on the Protector. A fickle multitude might crowd to shout and scoff round the gibbeted remains of the greatest prince and soldier of the age. But when the Dutch cannon startled an effeminate tyrant in his own palace, when the conquests which had been won by the armies of Cromwell were sold to pam- per the harlots of Charles, when Englishmen were sent to fight under foreign banners against the independence of Europe and the Protestant religion, many honest hearts swelled in secret at the thought of one who had never suffered 198 THE PARAGRAPH. liis country to be ill-used by any but himself. It must indeed have been diffi- cult for any Englishman to see the salaried Viceroy of France, at the most important crisis of his fate, sauntering through his harem, yawning and talk- ing nonsense over a dispatch, or beslobbering his brother and his courtiers in a fit of maudlin affection, without a respectful and tender remembrance of him before whose genius the young pride of Lewis and the veteran craft of Mazarin had stood rebuked, who had humbled Spain on the land and Holland on the sea, and whose imperial voice had arrested the sails of the Lybian pirates and the persecuting fires of Rome. Even to the present day his char- acter, though constantly attacked, and scarcely ever defended, is popular with the great body of our countrymen." MACAULAY. 3. Subject stated at the beginning, then, after amplification and illustration, repeated in another form at the end. " A man of polite imagination is let into a great many pleasures that the vulgar are not capable of receiving. He can converse with a picture, and find an agreeable companion in a statue. He meets with a secret refreshment in a description, and often feels a greater satisfaction in the prospect of fields and meadows than another does in the possession of them. It gives him a kind of property in everything he sees, and makes the most rude uncultivated parts of nature administer to his pleasures. So that he looks on the -world in another light, and discovers in it a multitude of charms that conceal themselves from the generality of mankind." ADDISON. II. Continuity. The Plan. Continuity requires that the sen- tences making up the paragraph should be so related to one another, in thought and structure, that they may be naturally rec- ognized as consecutive steps in a progressing thought. The para- graph has therefore a plan, in which every pertinent statement has a determinate place. What the Plan requires. By plan is not necessarily meant that the paragraph should be susceptible of arrangement in skeleton-form, with numbered headings ; though some paragraphs are as systematic as this. But all paragraphs should manifest a logical progress of thought, developing the suggestions of the sub- ject, from point to point, and without dislocations. Further, the bearing of one thought on another should be clearly indicated THE PARAGRAPH. 199 throughout ; and the topic should be brought to a complete and properly rounded conclusion. The principle on which the plan of a paragraph is constructed may be regarded as an extension of the principle of sentence-struc- ture, as laid down on pages 177-179. The same relations exist between sentences in the paragraph as between clauses in the sen- tence ; only the paragraph may contain more of them, and they may be followed to more minute and complicated applications. Generally speaking, then, any consideration, to be worthy of a place in the plan, should contribute directly to explain, or repeat, or illustrate, or prove, or apply the subject. Nor should these functions be unadvisedly mixed; but each manner of developing the subject should occupy its own place and proportion. The paragraph, embodying as it does typically the logical growth of its topic, seeks the order most natural to each stage of its development. It may be of assistance to the student, therefore, to present the following scheme of a typical paragraph structure : The subject proposed. I. Whatever is needed to explain the subject. Repetition. Obverse. Definition. II. Whatever is needed to establish the subject. Exemplification or detail. Illustration. Proof. III. Whatever is needed to apply the subject. Result or consequence. Enforcement. Summary or recapitulation. Of course this scheme is too extensive for any particular para- graph ; it merely represents the natural place for each manner of treatment adopted. Some parts may be condensed or altogether 200 THE PARAGRAPH. elided, others expanded so as to make up a prominent, even pre- dominating, proportion of the paragraph. Modifications of the above scheme are due to the various kinds of material, to the object of the paragraph, and to the comprehen- siveness of the topic. Thus, a descriptive or narrative subject ordinarily needs no explanation, and centres in such material as gives details or illustration ; while an expository subject centres in explanation, and an argumentative subject in exemplification and proof. Again, the object of a paragraph may be nothing else than to apply its subject, and accordingly the previous steps may be passed over. Still further, the subject proposed in a paragraph may sometimes be so comprehensive as to require more than one paragraph for its treatment ; so the first paragraph can only lay out and begin the subject. All such modifications, however, are easily referred to the type ; and it is of advantage to keep well in mind the proper function of every part. NOTE. The examples here given and analyzed are meant merely to show that paragraphs really have a carefully ordered plan, and to show how the plan may appear under different conditions. More than this cannot well be attempted here ; nor can these few examples profess to go minutely into such an intricate subject. Where necessary for convenience of reference, the sen- tences are numbered. I. The first example illustrates what may be regarded as the simplest type of paragraph. As the subject needs no explanation, nor enforcement, the paragraph is merely occupied with giving details and illustration. Subject: THE PARTS AND SIGNS OF GOODNESS. "The parts and signs of goodness are many. If a man be gracious and courteous to strangers, it shows he is a citizen of the world, and that his heart is no island cut off from other lands, but a continent that joins to them. If he be compassionate towards the afflictions of others, it shows that his heart is like the noble tree, that is wounded itself when it gives the balm. If he easily pardons and remits offences, it shows that his mind is planted above injuries, so that he cannot be shot. If he be thankful for small benefits, it shows that he weighs men's minds, and not their trash. But, above all, if he have St. Paul's perfection, that he could wish to be an anathema from Christ, for the salvation of his brethren, it shows much of a divine nature, and a kind of conformity with Christ himself." BACON. THE PARAGRAPH. 201 The plan of the above may be thus represented: The subject proposed signs of goodness. 1. Courtesy, and what it indicates. 2. Compassion, " " " 3. Magnanimity, " " " 4. Gratitude, " " " 5. Self-sacrifice, " " " The arrangement of these qualities is made with care, according to an ascend- ing scale of excellence. 2. The second example follows out a regular plan, as laid down in its de- finitive part. Subject: THE GRAND STYLE IN POETRY. " Let us try, however, what can be said, controlling what we say by exam- ples, (i) I think it will be found that the grand style arises in poetry, when a noble nature, poetically gifted, treats with simplicity or with severity a serious subject. (2) I think this definition will be found to cover all instances of the grand style in poetry which present themselves. I think it will be found to exclude all poetry which is not in the grand style. And I think it contains no terms which are obscure, which themselves need defining. (3 a) Even those who do not understand what is meant by calling poetry noble, will under- stand, I imagine, what is meant by speaking of a noble nature in a man. But the noble or powerful nature the bedeutendes individuum of Goethe is not enough. For instance, Mr. Newman has zeal for learning, zeal for think- ing, zeal for liberty, and all these things are noble, they ennoble a man ; (b) but he has not the poetical gift: there must be the poetical gift, the ' divine faculty,' also. (c~) And, besides all this, the subject must be a serious one (for it is only by a kind of license that we can speak of the grand style in comedy) ; and it must be treated with simplicity or severity. (4) Here is the great difficulty : the poets of the world have been many ; there has been wanting neither abundance of poetical gift nor abundance of noble natures ; but a poetical gift so happy, in a noble nature so circumstanced and trained, that the result is a continuous style, perfect in simplicity or perfect in severity, has been extremely rare. One poet has had the gift of nature and faculty in unequalled fulness, without the circumstances and training which make this sustained perfection of style possible. Of other poets, some have caught this perfect strain now and then, in short pieces or single lines, but have not been able to maintain it through considerable works; others have composed all their productions in a style which, by comparison with the best, one must call secondary." MATTHEW ARNOLD. 202 THE PARAGRAPH. Plan of the above. The subject brought over from preceding paragraph. 1. Definition of the grand style. 2. Adequacy of the definition. 3. The definition analyzed. a. A noble nature. b. Poetically gifted. c. Treating a serious subject with simplicity or severity. 4. Difficulty and rarity of this last endowment. 3. The third example occupies itself with giving a particular effect or appli- cation of the subject. Subject: ESTRANGEMENT OF FREDERICK THE GREAT AND VOLTAIRE. "And so there was an end, if not of correspondence, yet of that friendship, which after all had always belonged rather to the spoken order than to the deep unspeakable. There was now cynical, hoarse-voiced contempt on the one side, and fierce, reverberating, shrill fury on the other. The spectacle and the sound are distressing to those who crave dignity and admission of the serious in the relations of men with one another, as well as some sense of the myriad indefinable relations which encompass us unawares, giving color and perspective to our more definable bonds. One would rather that even in their estrangement there had been some grace and firmness and self-control, and that at least the long-cherished illusion had faded away worthily, as when one bids farewell to a friend whom a perverse will carries from us over unknown seas until a far day, and we know not if we shall see his face any more. It jars on us that the moon which has climbed into the night and moved like sound of music over heath and woodland, should finally set in a grey swamp amid the harsh croaking of amphibians. But the intimacy between Frederick and Vol- taire had perhaps been always most like the theatre moon." JOHN MORLEV. Anfc'ysis of the above by sentences. 1. Subject proposed: "And so there was an end of tha* friendship." 2. What followed. 3. How the spectacle affects the contemplator. 4. Contrasted with what he would rather have seen. 5. Effect illustrated by figure. 6. Figure varied to suit actual case. Here the paragraph centres in the applicator)- part, which is constructed sys- tematically, by statement, contrast, and illustration. Explicit Reference. To preserve continuity in the paragraph, the exact relation of the constituent sentences to one another, as THE PARAGRAPH. 203 also the relation between the paragraphs themselves, must be dis- tinctly indicated. This is perhaps the most important requisite of the paragraph. Says De Quincey : " It is in the relation of sen- tences, in what Horace terms their 'junctura,' that the true life of composition resides. The mode of their nexus, the way in which one sentence is made to arise out of another, and to prepare the opening for a third, this is the great loom in which the textile process of the moving intellect reveals itself and prospers." The following are the principal means by which explicit refer- ence is made from sentence to sentence. i. By conjunctions and conjunctional phrases. These are relied upon chiefly for changing the direction of the thought, or some- times for keeping it on in the same direction when a change would naturally be expected. NOTE. The leading kinds of conjunctional relation coordinating, subor- dinating, adversative, illative have already been described and exemplified ; see preceding, pages 138143. These relations may be expressed in all shades; and besides the regular conjunctions, there is a great variety of connective phrases. The following passage, from Cardinal Newman, will illustrate this means of explicit reference. It is unusually full of connectives, because the thought has to be carried on for some distance in one direction, and that obverse to what we are expecting. " It must not be supposed that, because I so speak, therefore I have some sort of fear of the education of the people : on the contrary, the more educa- tion they have, the better, so that it is really education. Nor am I an enemy to the cheap publication of scientific and literary works, which is now in vogue : on the contrary, I consider it a great advantage, convenience, and gain ; that is, to those to whom education has given a capacity for using them. Further, I consider such innocent recreations as science and literature are able to fur- nish will be a very fit occupation of the thoughts and the leisure of young per- sons, and may be made the means of keeping them from bad employments and bad companions. Moreover, as to that superficial acquaintance with chemistry, and geology, and astronomy, and political economy, and modern history, and biography, and other branches of knowledge, which periodical literature and occasional lectures and scientific institutions diffuse through the community, I think it a graceful accomplishment, and a suitable, nay, in this day a necessary accomplishment, in the case of educated men. Nor, lastly, am 2(H THE PARAGRAPH. I disparaging or discouraging the thorough acquisition of any one of these studies, or denying that, as far as it goes, such thorough acquisition is a real education of the mind. All I say is, call things by their right names, and do not confuse together ideas which are essentially different. A thorough knowl- edge of one science and a superficial acquaintance with many, are not the same thing ; a smattering of a hundred things or a memory for detail, is not a philosophical or comprehensive view. Recreations are not education; accom- plishments are not education." And so on. From this point to the end of the paragraph, as the thought lies all in the same direction, no connectives are used. It is a frequent error in young writers to change the direction of their thought too often, and thus burden their style with connectives. The following is a parody and of course an exaggeration of this tendency to shift thought. " ' Hard at it, Joshua ! ' he said. 'Yes, yes!' said Joshua, looking up through his steel-bosved spectacles. ' Hev to work hard to make a livin' though I don't know's I ought to call it hard neither ; and yet it is rather hard, too ; but then, on t'other hand, 'taint so hard as a good many other things though there's a good many jobs that's easier. That's so ! That's so ! " Must we be kerried to the skies On feathery beds of ease ? " Though I don' know's I oughter quote a hymn on such a matter; but then I don' know's there's any partic'lar harm iri't, neither.' " 2. By demonstrative words and phrases, and by repetition, either literally or in summary, of the part of the previous idea that is to be utilized in the reference. NOTE. Of demonstrative words, the personal and demonstrative pronouns are most relied on. The relative was formerly so used ; for example : " But he who was of the bond woman was born after the flesh ; but he of the free woman was by promise. Which things are an allegory : for these are the two covenants; the one from the mount Sinai, which gendereth to bondage, which is Agar." Nowadays, however, the relative is used only inside the sentence. Demonstrative phrases are for the most part the combination of a demon- strative pronoun with other words, so as to denote some adverbial relation ; as, in this case, under these circumstances, in this manner, after what has been said, and the like. The following paragraph, from Carlyle, will illustrate reference both by demonstratives and by repetition : " Friedrich does not neglect these points of good manners, along with which THE PARAGRAPH. 205 Something of substantial may be privately conjoined. For example, if he had in secret his eye on Jiilich and Berg, could anything be fitter than to ascertain what the French will think of such an enterprise? What the French ; and next to them, what the English that is to say, Hanoverians, who meddle much in affairs of the Reich. For these reasons and others he likewise, probably with more study than in the Bielfeld case, dispatches Colonel Camas to make his compliment at the French court, and in an expert way take soundings there. Camas, a fat, sedate, military gentleman of advanced years, full of observation, experience, and sound sense ' with one arm, which he makes do the work of two, and nobody can notice that the other arm resting in his coat-breast is of cork, so expert is he' will do in this matter what is feasible ; probably not much for the present. He is to call on Voltaire as he passes, who is in Hol- land again, at the Hague for some months back, and deliver him ' a little cask of Hungary wine,' which probably his Majesty had thought exquisite; of -which, and the other insignificant passages between them, we hear more than enough in the writing and correspondences of Voltaire about this time." 3. By modifying the structure of the succeeding sentence in obe- dience to the attraction exerted by a previous idea. This modifica- tion of structure has already been described, under the head of Inversion for Adjustment ; see preceding, page 166. Thus a series of sentences may be formed, in which words or turns of thought in each previous sentence may be taken as the starting-point or occasion for what follows. Skillfully managed, this manner of reference is very graceful and effective ; the writer needs, however, to keep his paragraph-subject well in mind, as well as the suggestion of the previous sentence ; otherwise there is danger of making too great excursions from the path of the thought. EXAMPLE. In the following, from De Quincey, observe how frequently the sentence is inverted through the influence, either similarity or contrast, of a previous idea. Other means of explicit reference, also, are marked. " All is finite in the present ; and even that finite is infinite in its velocity of flight towards death. But in God there is nothing finite ; but in God there is nothing transitory ; but in God there can be nothing that tends to death. Therefore, it follows, that_/0r God there can be no present. The future is the present of God, and to the future it is that he sacrifices the human present. Therefore it is that he works by earthquake. Therefore it is that he works by grief. O, deep is the ploughing of earthquake ! O, deep is the ploughing 206 THE PARAGRAPH. of grief! But oftentimes less would not suffice for the agriculture of God. Upon a night of earthquake he builds a thousand years of pleasant habita- tions for man. Upon the sorrow of an infant he raises oftentimes from human intellects glorious vintages that could not else have been. Less than these fierce ploughshares would not have stirred the stubborn soil. The one is needed for earth, our planet for earth itself as the dwelling-place of man ; but the other is needed yet oftener for God's mightiest instrument, yes, is needed for the mysterious children of the earth ! " 4. In a large proportion, perhaps in the majority of cases, how- ever, the foregoing means of explicit reference may be safely omitted. It is an advantage when this can be done, especially when thereby connective words and phrases are obviated, because connectives in general tend to load and encumber the composi- tion. The tendency of modern literary style is to dispense more and more with them. This discarding of connectives is due not to any tendency to leave the structure of thought imperfectly articulated, but to the greater directness of thought and expression, which makes the road plain and obvious without need of particles to point it out. For the absence of connectives has a meaning and justification as distinct as has their presence. When the thought, having been once clearly proposed, needs only to be kept on in the same direc- tion, each succeeding statement is its own guide. It is only when the direction is to be changed that a connective is needed. The chief cases where connectives may be omitted are : ( i ) When a sentence repeats, or explains, or illustrates, or particularizes what goes before. The nature of the reference is supposed to be shown by the context. (2) In the accumulation of details. "When a number of particulars are given in succession whether descrip- tive, narrative, or expository they are presumed, in the absence of any contrary indication, to have a common bearing." 1 (3) Sometimes in cases where they would more naturally be expressed, in order to make a more abrupt and forcible transition. In impassioned language this omission is often an aid to vivacity. 1 Bain, " English Composition and Rhetoric," p. 145. THE PARAGRAPH. 207 EXAMPLE. The following will illustrate the absence of connectives, and also stand as an example of the type of paragraph-structure namely, subject and proof that will best bear their absence. " When most disguised and repressed the wisdom of the gospel has been modifying our philosophy and teaching a loftier system of its own. A How- ard, sounding and circumnavigating the ocean of human misery, is only an obedient agent of its philanthropy. A Clarkson and a Wilberforce have only given utterance to its tender and righteous appeals for the slave. A Raikes, a Bell, and a Lancaster, have simply remembered its long neglected injunction, ' Suffer little children to come unto me.' " HARRIS. III. Proportion. The Relation of Parts. On the principle that all statements should have bulk and prominence according to their importance, a due proportion needs to be maintained between principal and subordinate ideas in the paragraph. Every part should be so treated as to show for just what it naturally is, in rank, and in its relation to the whole. Digressions. When a subordinate or illustrative idea is ex- panded, either in volume or emphasis, beyond its proportion, it becomes a digression, and distracts from the effect of the main topic. Digressions are to the paragraph or discourse what parentheses are to the sentence. They may sometimes be effectually intro- duced, as when, for instance, it is desirable to divert the reader's attention for a time from a strenuous and exacting argument, or from a highly- wrought and exciting passage, for the sake of recov- ering calmness and buoyancy of mind. The boundaries of a digression should, however, be carefully drawn, and its digressive character made and kept obvious. NOTE. Of modern authors the most digressive is De Quincey ; and noth- ing could justify his inveterate tendency to wander off from his subject, except his remarkable care and skill in explicit reference, which generally keeps him within returning distance of his main topic ; but even this does not pre- vent his discursiveness from becoming occasionally vexatious. 208 THE PARAGRAPH. Parallel Construction. We have seen that it is a help to the reader's attention when corresponding clauses and phrases are formed, as nearly as may be, on the same plan ; see paragraph 79, page 164. The same principle holds also, with a somewhat broader application, in the structure of the paragraph. Successive sentences dealing with the same subject should preserve the prom- inence of leading ideas by keeping the principal subject and the principal predicates, if possible, in corresponding places. In pur- suance of the same principle, subordinate or digressive ideas should receive a different distribution of emphasis, and not usurp the place where the main ideas are naturally looked for. NOTE. In the following paragraph, from De Quincey, it will be noticed that the principal subject of remark is kept well in the forefront throughout ; and that in the sentences where a new subject is introduced (marked here by square brackets) the new subject is kept consistently in a less prominent part of its sentence. The main subject is Our Lady of Tears. " Her eyes are sweet and subtile, wild and sleepy, by turns ; oftentimes ris- ing to the clouds, oftentimes challenging the heavens. She wears a diadem round her head. And I knew by childish memories that she could go abroad upon the winds, when she heard that sobbing of litanies, or the thundering of organs, and when she beheld the mustering of summer clouds. This sister, the elder, it is that carries keys more than papal at her girdle, which open every cottage and every palace. She, to my knowledge, sate all last summer by the bedside of the blind beggar, him that so often and so gladly I talked with, whose pious daughter, eight years old, with the sunny countenance, re- sisted the temptations of play and village mirth to travel all day long on dusty roads with her afflicted father. [For this did God send her a great reward. In the springtime of the year, and whilst yet her own spring was budding, he recalled her to himself. But her blind father mourns forever over her ; still he dreams at midnight that the little guiding hand is locked within his own; and still he wakens to a darkness that is now within a second and a deeper darkness.] This Mater Lachrymarum also has been sitting all this winter of 1844-5 w i tnm the bedchamber of the Czar, bringing before his eyes a daughter (not less pious) that vanished to God not less suddenly, and left be- hind her a darkness not less profound. By the power of her keys it is that Our Lady of Tears glides a ghostly intruder into the chambers of sleepless men, sleepless women, sleepless children, from Ganges to the Nile, from Nile to Mississippi. And her, because she is the first-born of her house, and has the widest empire, let us honor with the title of ' Madonna,' " THE PARAGRAPH. 209 Beginnings and Endings. On this subject not rules, but only general suggestions, can be given. The opening sentence of a paragraph, being either the subject- sentence or a transition from the preceding line of thought, is ordinarily a comparatively short sentence. Sometimes several of the opening sentences, when they serve to introduce and iterate the subject, are short, and then followed by longer sentences of detail. An example of this may be found in the quotation from Burke, page 106. The same character of the opening also dictates that its style be more concise, and less ornamented, than the style of succeeding sentences. The closing sentence of the paragraph, following the principle of climax, is quite generally long, often periodic, and with a some- what carefully rounded cadence. This is especially noticeable in impassioned passages, and in the conclusion of an oratoric dis- course. An exception to this structure is sometimes adopted to good effect (it was a favorite with Burke), when the idea which has been expanded and illustrated in the body of the paragraph is condensed at the end into a single terse and rememberable sentiment. EXAMPLES. i. The following, from Macaulay, will illustrate at once the short opening sentence and the long closing one. " A historian, such as we have been attempting to describe, would indeed be an intellectual prodigy. In his mind, powers scarcely compatible with each other must be tempered into an exquisite harmony. We shall sooner see an- other Shakespeare or another Homer. The highest excellence to which any single faculty can be brought would be less surprising than such a happy and delicate combination of qualities. Yet the contemplation of imaginary models is not an unpleasant or useless employment of the mind. It cannot indeed produce perfection; but it produces improvement, and nourishes that generous and liberal fastidiousness which is not inconsistent with the strongest sensibility to merit, and which, while it exalts our conceptions of the art, does not render us unjust to the artist." 2. The following, from Burke, illustrates the closing of a paragraph with a terse summarizing sentiment. " But power, of some kind or other, will survive the shock in which man- ners and opinions perish j and it will find other and worse means for its sup- 210 THE PARAGRAPH. port. The usurpation which, in order to subvert ancient institutions, has destroyed ancient principles, will hold power by arts similar to those by which it has acquired it. When the old feudal and chivalrous spirit of Fealty, which, by freeing kings from fear, freed both kings and subjects from the precautions of tyranny, shall be extinct in the minds of men, plots and assassinations will be anticipated by preventive murder and preventive confiscation, and that long roll of grim and bloody maxims, which form the political code of all power, not standing on its own honor, and the honor of those who are to obey it. Kings will be tyrants from policy when subjects are rebels from principle" II. KINDS OF PARAGRAPHS. It would serve no practical purpose to attempt an exhaustive classification of the different kinds of paragraphs : all that is under- taken here is to name those leading types wherein the office of the paragraph is apt to cause fundamental modifications of the structure. The Prepositional Paragraph. This is the common and nat- ural type ; indeed, the other kinds of paragraphs may perhaps be regarded merely as sections of an ideal structure represented by this form. In this type of paragraph, the subject is expressed in the form of a definite assertion, and then developed, by proof or illustration or some form of repetition. It is this kind that exhibits the most regular and ordered plan ; it is a united whole in itself, and re- quires submission to the laws of systematic and rounded arrange- ment. EXAMPLE. These different kinds of paragraphs may perhaps best be ex- emplified from Macaulay, who was a careful master of paragraph structure. The first is from his essay on Hallam's Constitutional History. " History, at least in its state of ideal perfection, is a compound of poetry and philosophy. It impresses general truths on the mind by a vivid represen- tation of particular characters and incidents. But, in fact, the two hostile elements of which it consists have never been known to form a perfect amal- gamation ; and at length, in our own time, they have been completely and professedly separated. Good histories, in the proper sense of the word, we have not. But we have good historical romances, and good historical essays. The imagination and the reason, if we may use a legal metaphor, have made THE PARAGRAPH. 211 partition of a province of literature of which they were formerly seized per my et per tout ; and now they hold their respective portions in severally, instead of holding the whole in common." The subject of this paragraph, which is gathered from the first two sen- tences, is The Two Functions of History ; and the sentences proceed system- atically to define them, as conjoined and as separated. The Amplifying Paragraph. Under this name are included paragraphs whose office it is to particularize or amplify some state- ment made previously, or to enumerate the details of a descrip- tion or narrative. It is the peculiarity of this type of paragraph that the subject is not definitely expressed but has to be gathered from the general bearing of the whole; and the plan has merely to seek such system as will make the most logical and progressive arrangement of coordinate facts. EXAMPLE. The following paragraph immediately succeeds the one last quoted, as a particularization of the same idea. " To make the past present, to bring the distant near, to place us in the society of a great man, or on the eminence which overlooks the field of a mighty battle, to invest with the reality of human flesh and blood beings whom we are too much inclined to consider as personified qualities in an allegory, to call up our ancestors before us with all their peculiarities of language, man- ners, and garb, to show us over their houses, to seat us at their tables, to rum- mage their old-fashioned wardrobes, to explain the uses of their ponderous furniture, these parts of the duty which properly belongs to the historian have been appropriated by the historical novelist. On the other hand, to extract the philosophy of history, to direct our judgment of events and men, to trace the connection of causes and effects, and to draw from the occurrences of former times general lessons of moral and political wisdom, has become the business of a distinct class of writers." Here two long sentences are devoted to developing, in order, the subject suggested in the preceding paragraph. Preliminary and Transitional Paragraphs. These two kinds are mentioned together here, because whatever is to be said of structure will apply equally to both. By a preliminary paragraph is meant a paragraph that gives merely the general theme of a chapter, essay, or section ; or lays 212 THE PARAGRAPH. out the plan of a succeeding course of thought. Paragraphs of amplification naturally follow. By a transitional paragraph is meant a short intermediate para- graph introduced between the principal divisions of a discourse, to mark the end of one line of thought and introduce another. Such a paragraph may also include a brief statement of plan. There is naturally little thought of a built structure in such par- agraphs as these ; the sole consideration being to do the work of introduction and transition in the plainest and directest way. A word may be said, however, concerning their serviceableness. They are as useful in the general tissue of a literary work as an occasional short and terse sentence is among longer ones. And too little care is generally devoted to supplying them. Important ideas, on which much depends, are too often sprung upon the reader abruptly, without warning of their significance, and without discrimination from what precedes. The landmarks of the dis- course need to be made plain at every step, by carefully supplied connecting links of this kind. EXAMPLES. i . The following preliminary paragraphs occur in Burke's Speech to the Electors of Bristol. " It has been said, and it is the second charge, that in the questions of the Irish trade I did not consult the interest of my constituents, or, to speak out strongly, that I rather acted as a native of Ireland than as an English member of Parliament." " In explaining to you the proceedings of Parliament which have been complained of, I will state to you, first, the thing that was done, next, the persons who did it, and lastly, the grounds and reasons upon which the legislature proceeded in this deliberate act of public justice and public pru- dence." 2. The following transition is made by Macaulay, in the middle of his essay on History. By it he passes from the consideration of ancient to the consideration of modern historians, and at the same time proposes a change in manner of treatment. " We begin, like the priest in Don Quixote's library, to be tired with taking down books one after another for separate judgment, and feel inclined to pass sentence on them in masses. We shall, therefore, instead of pointing out the defects and merits of the different modern historians, state generally in what THE PARAGRAPH. 213 particulars they have surpassed their predecessors, and in what we conceive them to have failed." Alternation of Kinds. By the best writers the same care is taken to secure variety in paragraphs as in sentences; and this variety is obtained by analogous means. Most natural and fre- quent is the alternation of length ; short or medium sized para- graphs setting off and relieving longer ones. Next in frequency is the alternation of thought, by which a lighter or merely illustra- tive paragraph is made to follow one of more severe or closely reasoned nature. Alternation of structure is closely connected with this. A long succession of prepositional paragraphs, for instance, would seem to overload the discourse with strenuous thought : they need to be judiciously relieved by paragraphs of detail or amplification. Further, in the same way as has been noticed regarding the alternation of periodic and loose sentences, and regarding dynamic stress, the distinctive or significant part of consecutive paragraphs should be varied between the beginning and the end, to avoid the monotony of the same rise and fall of emphasis. Final Suggestions on the Study of Style. Before we pass to the discussion of invention, two or three suggestions on the practi- cal use of the foregoing principles as means of discipline may be of service to the student. i . To be of real value these principles of expression must be so thoroughly grounded in the writer's mind that they will occur spontaneously whenever occasion for them rises. He needs to reach such assured touch as not to think of style and yet achieve a good style ; clear and clean expression must be so provided for in the very texture of his nature that it may secure itself unforced, while his energies are all absorbed in finding and moulding the subject-matter. This point may be reached, but only by acquiring a habitual interest in the details of expression for their own sake, and by patient training until the mastery of them has become second nature. 214 THE PARAGRAPH. 2. Care for the appearance of one's work, its punctuation and capitalization, its chirography and general mechanism, is closely connected with care for a clear and satisfying style. We may truly say all is of one. Not that the good author must necessarily be a good penman, that were too much to assert ; but in the passion for accuracy, which is the author's true attitude, the hand should so answer to the mind that no minute feature may be neglected or despised. The desire to make every word and letter plain consorts naturally with the desire to make thoughts plain ; and slovenliness in the one begets slovenliness in the other. 3. In this day of type-writers, stylographic pens, and various devices for increasing rapidity in writing, a word may profitably be said on the other side. It is quite possible to write too fast. Indeed, in any work higher than mere transcribing or taking notes mere rapidity should not be aimed at. The first conception of a thought seldom exists in the form it ought finally to take ; it must be pondered and tested and rounded until the form answers fully to the idea ; and this the writer can best do by compelling him- self to write so slowly that all questions of accuracy, clearness, consistency, fulness, and euphony may be settled in the interval between the first mental conception and its final form on paper. To write both well and rapidly is a desirable accomplishment ; but let the writer at all events seek to write well, never letting any ill-considered or careless work escape him, and then if by practice and experience rapidity also comes, it is worth something. The motto of the late George Ripley, who, it is said, made his use of the English language a matter of conscience, ought to be always in the writer's heart : " He who does not write as well as he can on every occasion will soon form the habit of not writing well at all." II. INVENTION. " Remember always, you have two characters in which all greatness of art consists: First, the earnest and intense seizing of natural facts; then the ordering those facts by strength of human intellect, so as to make them, for all who look upon them, to the utmost serviceable, memorable, and beautiful. And thus great art is nothing else than the type of strong and noble life; for, as the ignoble person, in his dealings with all that occurs in the world about him, first sees nothing clearly, looks nothing fairly in the face, and then allows himself to be swept away by the trampling torrent, and unescapable force, of the things that he would not foresee, and could not understand : so the noble person, looking the facts of the world full in the face, and fathom- ing them with deep faculty, then deals with them in unalarmed intelligence and unhurried strength, and becomes, with his human intellect and will, no unconscious nor insignificant agent, in consummating their good, and restrain- ing their evil." Ruskin, INVENTION. Scope of Invention. Invention, as applied to literary under- takings, comprehends the various procedures involved in finding, sifting, and ordering the material of discourse. These three processes, which may be regarded as the three logical stages of the inventive act, it is important briefly to define and discriminate. 1. The first stage, the finding of material by thought or obser- vation, is the fundamental and inclusive office of invention, the distinctive power that we designate in the popular use of the term. Herein lies obviously the heart and centre of literary production ; it is what the writer finds, in his subject or in the world of thought, that gauges his distinction as an author. Yet this is, of all pro- cesses, the one least to be invaded by the rules of the text-book. It is a work so individual, so dependent on the peculiar aptitude and direction of the writer's mind, that each one must be left for the most part to find his way alone, according to the impulse that is in him. This is but saying that each man must be left to his own way of thinking, whether it be spiritless and lean, or vigorous and suggestive. Such invention is incommunicable by teaching. Something of real value may be done for it indirectly, however, by general precepts for self-culture, and by inculcation of the mental habits that arouse the latent creative powers, and give them steadiness and self-consistency. 2. But a moment's thought makes it evident that the inventive act is by no means exhausted with the mere finding of material. Indeed, the material is not properly found, or at least ascertained to be what is needed, until it has been subjected to a rigorous process of testing, choosing, and rejecting. At every step it has 218 INVENTION. to be held up in the light of an unspoken standard in the writer's mind : the standard mainly of his own sense of fitness and pro- portion, but also conditioned largely by extraneous considerations, such as the character of the audience or public, the allotted time or scope of the production, the circumstances of utterance, the exactions of the literary form adopted. This stage of invention is only to a limited extent within the teacher's province. It belongs rather to the writer's native tact and logical sense, and to the de- mands of the individual occasion. 3. Even yet we discern an important step involved in the work of finding ; for until the material has been carefully ordered, with its parts skillfully adjusted to each other and to the whole, the ques- tion of retention or rejection, and therefore of discovering, is still open. The discourse is to be not a mere agglomeration of state- ments, but an organism, fitted to move as one thought, and be incorporated into the reader's mind. " In a good composition," says Ruskin, 1 " every idea is presented in just that order, and with just that force, which will perfectly connect it with all the other thoughts in the work, and will illustrate the others as well as receive illustration from them ; so that the entire chain of thoughts offered to the beholder's mind shall be received by him with as much delight and with as little effort as is possible. And thus you see design, properly so called, is human invention, consulting human capacity. Out of the infinite heap of things around us in the world, it chooses a certain number which it can thoroughly grasp, and presents this group to the spectator in the form best calculated to enable him to grasp it also, and to grasp it with delight." The ordering of discourse is the inventive process most suscep- tible to treatment in a text-book. To be sure, in the individual case the writer must still be left to his own ideas of the progress and proportion that he sees fitting to his work ; but also there are definite and ascertainable laws underlying the construction of any form of discourse, which no writer can afford to ignore. Accord- * Ruskin, " Two Paths," p. 44. INVENTION. 219 ingly, it shall be the main task of this second part to exhibit and exemplify these organic laws, as they appear both in the general structure of a work, and in the particular aspects of the various literary types. Of the eight chapters that make up the second half of this book, the first two are devoted to a discussion of the principles that belong to any literary work ; and the remaining six to the partic- ular applications of them, as seen in the leading forms of dis- course. 220 APTITUDES AND HABITS. CHAPTER I. THE BASIS IN MENTAL APTITUDES AND HABITS. IN discussing the general principles of literary invention, we must begin far back of the immediate occasion, and consider the writer's endowments, as bestowed by nature, and as developed by education and experience. For the author is both born and made ; and what he writes, if it has true worth, is a genuine ex- pression of his affluence of mind and life, as well as of his ac- quired constructive skill. Therefore each writer needs first of all to interrogate himself, and become aware of the nature, direction, and limits of his inborn aptitudes, in order that by obeying these his literary activity may follow its most congenial bent ; and upon these he needs to build habits of thought and self-culture which shall be a perpetual feeder to his inner resources, keeping them full and ready for use ; his mind not at the mercy of moods or subject to periods of barrenness, but alert, keen, quickly com- pliant to his will. I. INVENTION AS A NATURAL GIFT. The laws of literary invention are simply the laws of logical activity practically applied in transmitting ideas from one mind to others, with accompaniment, as occasion may dictate, of emotion or appeal. Such work as this, however, cannot be merely mechan- ical, nor can it result from training alone. It requires, to begin with, some degree of special aptitude : there must exist in the writer an originating and combining power as truly inborn as is the musician's natural ear for melody, and the artist's natural eye for form and color. However proficient he may become in acquired ability, there- fore, each writer must obey primarily a native ideal and individu- APTITUDES AND HABITS. 221 ality of origination and combination ; his success can be achieved only as he educates and disciplines what is already in him. Thus nature develops along the line of its own perfecting, into art; and the art itself is nature. "Art," says Professor Wilkinson, 1 "in the sense in which we are now using it, that is, to denote the pains bestowed by the artist on his work, is merely nature giving atten- tion to itself. It is nature in a mood of self-consciousness. Thus, to speak like a mathematician, it is limited to yield a higher power of nature" Marks of the Inventive Aptitude. More deeply seated than its individual peculiarities, we discern two native tendencies espe- cially characteristic of the inventive mind. 1. First of all, it is a natural ability to grasp facts and ideas in such combinations as give them organism and significance. To such a mind nothing is seen as isolated ; there are no disjecta membra in the sum of its thinking. Every fact has a relation and a suggestiveness by which it is allied with other facts and finds its place in the fabric of a greater unity. In such a mind things seem to fall into such order and proportion that a new interest is lent to them. This natural inventiveness is recognized in popular speech, when people are described as having " the gift to set out a story," or as being able to " get at the gist of a thing." 2. But we discern here more than the merely constructive fac- ulty. The inventive mind also habitually views facts and ideas as adapted to have power on others. It does not construct for itself alone ; it seeks by a natural instinct to conform its thinking to the capacity and standards of the people addressed. The inventive mind has a tact to get into the ways of other minds and direct their thoughts and interests. Thus we may say authorship starts from the desire in some degree to form and mold the minds of men ; it is this implicit desire that we trace most deeply in the skill and fine calculation that constitute the felicity of literary form. A person with such an aptitude is recognized not only by the 1 Wilkinson, " A Free Lance in the Field of Life and Letters," p. 200. 222 APTITUDES AND HABITS. literature he makes, but by his whole manner of looking at things. He has an independence and individuality of view that makes men take interest in his utterances. Analogy with the Painter's Art. The man of inventive aptitude possesses by nature, and of course develops to greater power and unerringness by experience, the same sense of a sub- ject's adaptability to literary treatment that the artist has of the fitness of a scene, in combination and balance of parts, for a pic- ture. The parallel is thus drawn by Walter Bagehot : l " There should be a word in the language of literary art to ex- press what the word ' picturesque ' expresses for the fine arts. Picturesque means fit to be put into a picture ; we want a word literatesque, ' fit to be put into a book.' An artist goes through a hundred different country scenes, rich with beauties, charms, and merits, but he does not paint any of them. He leaves them alone; he idles on till he finds the hundred-and-first a scene which many observers would not think much of, but which he knows by virtue of his art will look well on canvas, and this he paints and preserves. Susceptible observers, though not artists, feel this quality too ; they say of a scene, ' How picturesque ! ' meaning by this a quality distinct from that of beauty, or sublimity, or gran- deur meaning to speak not only of the scene as it is in itself, but also of its fitness for imitation by art ; meaning not only that it is good, but that its goodness is such as ought to be transferred to paper ; meaning not simply that it fascinates, but also that its fascination is such as ought to be copied by man. . . . Literature the painting of words has the same quality, but wants the analogous word. The word ' literatesque ' would mean, if we pos- sessed it, that perfect combination in the subject-matter of litera- ture, which suits the art of literature. ... As a painter must have not only a hand to execute, but an eye to distinguish as he must go here and there through the real world to catch the picturesque man, the picturesque scene, which is to live on his canvas so the poet must find in that reality the literatesque man, the literatesque 1 Bagehot, "Literary Studies," Vol. II. p. 341. APTITUDES AND HABITS. 223 scene, which nature intends for him, and which will live in his page." Thus to apply the above analogy we may say the mark of the inventive mind is an aptitude to discern literary capabilities in a subject, a native endowment of imagination and skill which in- tuitively chooses such facts as are effective and groups them in interesting combinations. Such endowment profits indefinitely by discipline, but its beginning is deeper than any discipline can reach. NOTE. An interesting example of what an inventive mind can make of a subject apparently meagre and commonplace in itself, may be seen in Irving's sketch of The Stout Gentleman in his " Bracebridge Hall." The sketch, which is certainly charming, owes absolutely all its interest to invention. Kinds of Inventive Ability. The implication of the above is that there are many who have no inventive gifts ; and this is doubt- less true ; but the lack is not so common as a hasty judgment might conclude, nor is it to be argued from a comparison of one mind with another. For inventive talent may be of infinitely varied kinds. No two persons would develop the resources of a subject in exactly the same way. Differences in plan, in illustra- tion, in argument, would evince minds moving in different regions of thought and feeling. Each mind must have its own world, dwell in its own congenial region, in order to see truth clearly and represent it with sincerity. So doubtless there is discoverable some range of ideas in which every man who may be educated at all may be to some extent an effective writer. But this he must find for himself; no other can prescribe it for him. Thus, to exemplify the kinds of invention. One writer deals most naturally with simple, concrete facts ; his ijnpulse is to make a plain, unembellished statement, with clearness and method, of what he has seen and heard. A good example of this is found in the Personal Memoirs of General Grant, a book which, in its valu- able characteristic of striking directly for the important points, saying neither too much nor too little, shows inventive ability of a high order. Another writer thinks spontaneously in figures, cov- 224 APTITUDES AND HABITS. ering every topic with imaginative and poetic suggestion, and fill- ing plan and portrayal with a delicate grace. Examples of this may be seen in the works of Hawthorne and Lowell. A third has an aptitude for abstract thinking ; he moves naturally among gen- eral principles and large reaches of philosophy. This kind of invention may be seen in the works of Bacon, Jonathan Edwards, Emerson. These examples suggest that every man has his place, or rather makes his place according to his individual endowment, in the world of literary achievement ; and that it is not the kind of invention that determines his rank, but merely excellence in the kind most natural to his powers. Grades of Invention. Quite distinct from the manner in which the inventor's mind works, there are recognized grades of power in the writer's chosen field, which designate the nature of his genius or talent. i . First and highest of all is what may be called the originative invention. By this is meant that masterly power of insight and imagination which creates new scenes, new characters, new systems of ideas. Its work is best represented in the great productions of poetry and fiction, and in those masterpieces of science and phi- losophy which, because they open new regions of achievement in their sphere, the Germans expressively name bahnbrechende (road- breaking) works. The greatest works in this grade of invention are associated with the supreme names of literature and discovery ; with such names as Shakespeare in poetry, Scott in fiction, New- ton in science, Bacon in philosophy. It is the kind of invention recognized in the name TTOO/TT/S (maker) which the Greeks gave to their leading writers ; a name that means more than our derived word poet, in that it makes the writer's merit centre in his power to create new worlds of ideas, images, and events, which power is now divided between poetry and fiction. Every poet and nov- elist may be regarded as a practitioner in this grade of invention, though in the grade his work may fill a humble place. It is, in general, the kind of invention that distinguishes " the born seers men who see for themselves and who originate." APTITUDES AND HABITS. 225 2. The second grade, which is perhaps the most widely useful, may be called the reproductive invention. Not aiming at strict origination, this inventive activity is exerted to put common ideas into new shapes and combinations, to restate abstruse thought in popular form, to make clear what is obscure, to make interesting what is dry and commonplace, to make definite what is scattered or hinted, to put into order and system what is vague. The products of this mode of invention appear in oratory, in popular treatises and text-books, and in the numerous essays, critiques, and discussions with which periodical literature abounds. Writers of this class are in an honorable sense the middle-men between the deeply originative thinkers and the common mind ; taking as they do the masterpieces of thought, and by simplification and illustra- tion giving it currency among ordinary people. 3. The third and lowliest grade may be called the methodizing invention. Under this head comes what Matthew Arnold calls the "journeyman work" of literature; such work as compiling and translating, editing and annotating, arranging and adapting information in books of reference, tabular views, and the like. Work of this kind, though but moderately inventive, has very real usefulness, and contributes incalculably to the wider extension of general knowledge. These grades represent degrees of greatness in work, not degrees of honorableness. Any grade of work, well done, not only has the distinction of excellence in its class, but may receive such a mas- terly touch as will give to the class itself a new dignity. All grades are susceptible to genius. "It not infrequently happens, espe- cially in philosophy and science, that the man of talent may con- fer a lustre on the original invention ; he takes it up a nugget and lays it down a coin." 1 Finding One's Sphere in Authorship. Since the field of use- ful literature is so large, and the scope of invention so varied, it is precarious for the student to conclude hastily that authorship is beyond him. This may indeed be the case ; but also it may be 1 George Henry Lewes, in Fortnightly Review, Vol. I. p. 196. 226 APTITUDES AND HABITS. that his peculiar powers are merely latent, awaiting the occasion that is to call them forth. Many writers, beginning in some pre- scribed or beaten track of composition, wherein their interest lan- guishes and their work is but commonplace, give little evidence and are as little aware, of what is in them ; but when they find the work they are best endowed to do, they leap at once to natural- ness and enthusiasm, striking out a new and congenial line and finding it productive. It is generally when they are brought face to face with responsibility that men truly discover themselves ; when they are brought to feel that living and important issues depend upon their work, and when they can throw their whole nature into utterance. At such time their inventive powers re- ceive their deepest impulse to development. But though every writer must find in himself powers peculiar to himself, and though these powers oftenest awake at the call of real experience, the discovery is best made through training and guidance. What at the beginning exists crude and unapt must and may be raised to fine issues and abilities ; and the sooner this preliminary stage is provided for, the better. There may be much in the man, but running wild and useless for lack of discipline. And the more there is, the more kindly he takes to the rules and precepts of the literary art, the more he thrives on the sober, severe canons already formulated for his guidance. It is only the conceited that despise counsel. II. THE MENTAL HABITS THAT PROMOTE INVENTION. Gifted as the writer may be, his native endowments are of little solid use, and may indeed be a positive snare, unless they are brought by discipline to the point where they may be infallibly relied upon, and not be the sport of mood and chance. This point is reached only by conscientious self-culture. The writer needs to form regular habits of observation, reading, and thought congenial to the peculiar bent of his mind, and thus a second nature in the determination of his literary activities. Such habits, APTITUDES AND HABITS. 227 rightly farmed, not only train and steady the suggestive faculty, but do much to call it out when latent. Under the heads of observation, thought, and reading, we will ' here discuss the chief of these desirable mental habits, and en- deavor to trace their influence on the writer's powers of invention. I. Habits of Observation. The most potent stimulus and aid to original production is the keen and intelligent use of the eyes and ears. In a sense all the activities of authorship are reducible to this. It is as applicable to the work of gathering results by reading and thought as to the work of noting facts of nature. For just as one person may be listless and insensible to what is in the world about him while another is keenly alive to every sight and sound, so one in the same manner gathers little or nothing from a printed page, while to another it is luminous with suggestion. It is not the eye, but the mind behind the eye, the observing faculty and tendency, that makes the difference. This observing faculty it is, "the harvest of a quiet eye," that makes the world worth infinitely more to its possessor than it is to the listless. Whatever, there- fore, quickens and develops this faculty has signal value for all the operations of literary invention. Let us here notice the elements of the observing activity most to be cherished and developed as a habit. Mental Alertness. "A faculty of wise interrogating," says Lord Bacon, 1 " is half a knowledge. For as Plato saith, ' Whoso- ever ^seeketh, knoweth that which he seeketh for in a general notion : else how shall he know it when he hath found it ? ' And therefore the larger your anticipation is, the more direct and com- pendious is your search." By mental alertness is meant this " large anticipation" : it is simply keeping the mind ready to receive ideas, directed actively to what is around us and before us, in the atti- tude of constant interrogation. 1 Bacon, "Advancement of Learning," Book II. 228 APTITUDES AND HABITS. Every man's calling contributes in its one direction 4o mental alertness. The objects that enter his daily work and calculation become the centre of his observing capacity, so that he has keen- ness of vision and sense preeminently for such things. The artist, for instance, has a quick eye for color and outline ; the mechanic is prompt to detect marks of ingenuity and skillful con- trivance ; the farmer sees with interest what pertains to crops and soil. Consider how differently the same scene would affect these three men, and how much more acute each is in his own line than any person outside his calling. Minutiae that are invisible to others are to him of cardinal significance. Each has come to have mental alertness in his particular realm of ideas ; his manner of life has developed in him a special sense. It is the privilege and advantage of the writer to educate him- self into a kind of universal special sense. For the truth he is seeking he can lay every realm of thought and activity under cqn- tribution, and be sure that no minuteness of attention can be amiss. Such liveliness of interest, such ready response to whatever is significant in nature and life, brings surprising harvests of sug- gestion and illustration to the inventive faculty ; so that much of the rudimentary work of invention gets itself done without effort ; and especially that important initial step, finding the germs of new ideas, becomes more and more spontaneous, no longer a drudgery but a delight. Catholicity of Taste and Interest. The author is the true cosmopolitan in thought. Seeking to make ideas plain and inter- esting to all kinds of men, he must be able in some sense to look at the world through each man's eyes, to find what aspect of truth is most living from each man's point of view. It is important, therefore, not only that his observing faculty be alert, but that it approach with interest a wide and varied range of subjects. The value of such catholicity of interest lies both in subject and in method. In subject : for the various regions of life and fact yield all of them suggestive ranges of view ; in method, too : for each single object of thought or observation maybe variously significant APTITUDES AND HABITS. 229 according to the view, matter-of-fact, or scientific, or poetic. It is for the writer's complete furnishing not to insulate himself in one narrow outlook, but to welcome all phases of contemplation, so far as he can educate his nature thereto. And the value of a general education in many things, as distinguished from a mere specialist's training, is here evident ; for each subject, though but outlined, opens a new region of ideas. 1 The cultivation of such varied ways of looking at things brings good to the writer in several important respects. In the first place, it makes any view of truth more satisfying and conclusive to combine it, whether implicitly or avowedly, with other views. No object's significance can be exhausted from a single direction or angle. Just as in viewing natural objects, our judgment of their solidity and distance is due to the fact that our two eyes are directed upon them from slightly different angles ; so in contemplating objects of the mind, we need to see more than one side in order rightly to see one side. Secondly, such catholicity of interest renders an important ser- vice to the writer in freeing him from the mere standard of likes and dislikes. He learns to like men for what is likeable in them ; to judge facts and systems from their own intrinsic points of view. Not that he thereby becomes less positive in his judgments of right and wrong ; nor need he become insincere and weakly tolerant of everything. But he learns to form judgments and reach conclu- sions un warped by prejudices. Tolerant and charitable he indeed becomes, but wisely so ; and at the same time he is ever in readi- ness to correct himself when he finds himself in error. Thirdly, such acquaintance with various sides is a potent influ- ence against what is recognized as a deplorable tendency in men of every profession, the tendency, as it is called, to " talk shop." By this is meant adhering in everything only to the narrow and technical dialect of one's own calling. Many a clergyman or law- yer or business man is as unapt at accommodating his mind to what lies outside of his narrow beat as was the gardener who 1 See Bulwer, " Hints on Mental Culture," Caxtoniana, Essay X. 230 APTITUDES AND HABITS. was found splitting wood with a spade. To such men the whole world has only a theological or legal or mercantile aspect ; they must " talk shop " if they "talk at all. In like manner the literary man may fall inadvertently into a certain formal literary dialect. He needs continually to seek the universal vernacular, to com- mend himself to every man by his ability to express truth as that man would fain express it, with the added wealth of his broader and deeper culture. Test of Truth at First Hand. Mental alertness and catholi- city of interest, good in themselves, may after all produce a mere luxuriance of grotesque opinions, without the wholesome correc- tive, always at hand, of subjecting all discoveries to the test of hard- headed common sense. With all his achievements in observation and the inferences derived therefrom, the writer needs to cherish a healthy spirit of conservatism and caution, returning continually to views at first hand and to the plain appearance of things, so as not to be misled by hearsay, or by a specious profundity, or by an exuberant fancy. NOTE. A good illustration of what is here inculcated is the following anecdote of Webster and Choate, related by E. G. Parker, in his " Golden Age of American Oratory " : " We heard Webster once, in a sentence and a look, crush an hour's argu- ment of the curious workman; it was most intellectually wire-drawn and hair- splitting, with Grecian sophistry, and a subtlety the Leontine Gorgias might have envied. It was about two car-wheels, which to common eyes looked as like as two eggs; but Mr. Choate, by a fine line of argument between tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee, and a discourse on the ' fixation of points ' so deep and fine as to lose itself in obscurity, showed the jury there was a heaven-wide differ- ence between them. ' But,' said Mr. Webster, and his great eyes opened wide and black, as he stared at the big twin wheels before him, ' Gentlemen of the jury, there they are, look at 'em'; and as he pronounced this answer, in tones of vast volume, the distorted wheels seemed to shrink back again into their original similarity, and the long argument on the ' fixation of points' died a natural death." Let us notice some of the ways in which this habit of testing truth at first hand influences the writer for good. APTfl UDES AND HABITS. 231 In the first place, a writer habituated to common-sense judg- ments is kept from the barren pedantry of mere bookishness. He is determined to see things for himself and to portray as he sees ; and this spirit of honest sincerity aerates his learning, and gives his work the natural color. "The reason why so few good books are written," says Walter Bagehot, 1 " is that so few people that can write know anything. In general an author has always lived in a room, has read books, has cultivated science, is acquainted with the style and sentiments of the best authors, but he is out of the way of employing his own eyes and ears. He has nothing to hear and nothing to see. His life is a vacuum. . . . The habits best fitted for communicating information, formed with the best care, and daily regulated by the best motives, are exactly the habits which are likely to afford a man the least information to com- municate. . . . The critic in the ' Vicar of Wakefield' lays down that you should always say that the picture would have been better if the painter had taken more pains ; but in the case of the prac- tised literary man, you should often enough say that the writings would have been much better if the writer had taken less pains. He says he has devoted his life to the subject the reply is, 'Then you have taken the best way to prevent your making anything of it.' Instead of reading studiously what Burgersdicius and ^Enoe- sidemus said men were, you should have gone out yourself, and seen (if you can see) what they are." Secondly, this sober common-sense judgment is a regulator to the writer's constructive faculty. It often happens that an imper- fectly balanced mind, once awake to the wealth and interest of its world, finds its very constructiveness and suggestiveness a snare. Ideas are adopted and maintained not so much because they are true as because they are striking. Observation has become keen, but it has not been subjected to its necessary corrective. It is important, therefore, to form the habit of testing truth at first hand, as a rational and sobering palliative of the unruly imagination ; not for the sake of less vividness, but for the sake of more and solider 1 Bagehot, " Literary Studies," Vol. I. p. 137. 232 APTITUDES AND HABITS. truth. Such a habit is in no way a check on freedom of thought and fancy ; it supplies rather the conservative and sincere quality which gives the work permanent value. II. Habits of Thought. It cannot well be proposed under this head to enter the region of individual abilities, so different in differ- ent men ; the intention is rather to mention certain practical habits of thought needed by every writer, whatever the peculiar bent of his mind, to steady and invigorate the approaches to literary com- position ; habits that, far from eclipsing any mental talent, make all the writer's gifts more assured and self-perfecting. The Habit of seeking Clearness. First both in order and in importance is to be named the habit of sternly thinking the vague- ness and obscurity out of a subject, and committing one's self only to what can be made plain. The sincere writer will move only in the region where his vision is clear. Of course not all subjects are equally susceptible of clearness; there are some in which the thought itself requires a special sense or scholarship to comprehend. But such thought finds its own readers, and the writer who can wield it finds his appointed sphere. But inside his sphere, whatever it is, he has a duty, to use terms definitely, unambiguously, and consis- tently, and to be sure the thought he represents is such as he can, to his own mind at least, work out into a lucid presentation. Let us trace some of the good effects of this habit. In the first place, the habit of seeking clearness keeps the writer from being content with hasty or ill-considered work. Many a course of thought has imposed on both author and reader by a kind of mysterious obscurity, wherein some indeterminate idea, very large and lofty, seemed involved and almost revealed ; whereas, if the thought were relentlessly analyzed, it would prove neither new nor remarkable. Such learned obscurity is one favorite means of literary charlatanism. There is vagueness, also, due to indo- lence ; it is easier to set down a thing only half cleared up than it APTITUDES AND HABITS. 233 is to probe it sternly to the bottom. But such half-done thinking cannot be sincere, nor can it be permanent. Writing that has life has a conscience. Secondly, the habit of seeking clearness is an influence to keep the writer from attacking subjects that are beyond him. This is a frequently mentioned tendency of young writers. Easily carried away by the surface-ideas of a new subject, they soon find them- selves committed beyond their depth. The strenuous resolve to be clear, to subject every thought rigorously to the test of intelligi- bility, will do much to keep the writer within his own sphere. The note appended to Milton's unfinished poem on The Passion is a suggestive indication how justly he estimated his own youthful powers : " This Subject the Author finding to be above the years he had when he wrote it, and nothing satisfied with what was begun, left it unfinished." The Habit of seeking Order. Closely akin to the foregoing is the habit of striking for the central and nucleus thoughts of a sub- ject, round which whatever is subordinate or illustrative may range itself, and thus lay the foundation of a logical plan. Plan in invention begins farther back than the individual project. To be natural and unlabored it requires a formed habit. Let the writer train his mind in weighing thoughts, seeking where they begin and end, how they are grounded, what are their component parts and what their progress ; and the work of planning in an individual case is in large part provided for. The subject strikes naturally into the logical order and proportion ; the plan makes itself, being born in a mind that can tolerate only order and system. This and the previously mentioned habit, once thoroughly formed, are a potent influence against the superficial tendencies due to rapid writing. Rapid composition is not necessarily shal- low, any more than careful and labored authorship is ipso facto thorough. Both qualities are more the result of habit than of the presence or lack of opportunity. It is the trained intellect, fitted to approach every subject in an orderly and keenly analytic way, 234 APTITUDES AND HABITS. that contributes most to permanent and satisfying work. Let this antecedent culture be once established, and the desirable virtue of rapidity is an easily developed ability, while its evil tendencies are forestalled and avoided. The Habit of seeking Independent Conclusions. By this is meant that the writer should rely on his own mind's achievements rather than on hearsay. The view of truth that he adopts should be a conviction on which he can lean his whole weight. Of course he must get many of his facts from what others have written, nor should he neglect these ; but he should so verify them in experi- ence and vivify them in the realizing imagination that they shall become his own possession and represent his genuine conviction. As far as it has come to a new life in his own discovery, so far let him assert, no farther. He may not see so much, nor so vividly, nor so comprehensively, as another ; but what he sees he sees independently. And this is truly invention, because it is thought fused anew in a sincere mind ; but when a man writes beyond the focus of his real vision, he is only an echo of other men's asser- tions. Along with this the writer needs to develop confidence in his own judgment and his own well-considered conclusions. This is very hard for young writers. They are too timid to strike out for themselves, and are argued out of or into any belief by the last article they have read. A fact natural enough, perhaps, and a wholesome bar to foolhardy rashness of assertion. But it is to be remembered that the significance of one's writing at all lies in his reaching some new landing-place in the onward sweep of thought. He who depends on manufacturing a patchwork out of other men's views soon becomes so at the mercy of others that he has no opinion of his own ; while on the other hand he who has reached most confidence in the well-tested deliverances of his own judgment is most benefited by others' ideas as well as most satis- fying to his readers. Ability to hold Judgments in Abeyance. The merit of youth- ful writers is vigor and directness ; their fault, to be overcome by APTITUDES AND HABITS. 235 ripening judgment, is rashness and one-sided assertion. To such minds it is peculiarly painful to be in want of decision or of defi- nite opinions ; it seems to indicate weakness and vacillation. And of course there is an excess of painful incertitude to be deprecated. But there are many things that will not bear to be settled by snap- judgment and dismissed as if the last word were said. They re- quire patience, cautious investigation, stern repression of hasty opinion, determination to be wary of first appearances. It is often a real strength of mind and true moral courage to hold decisions in abeyance, to confess uncertainty, to acknowledge how slender are the grounds for a conclusion. The ripened judgment that enables one to tolerate an uncertain conclusion, is the fruit both of sound culture and of extended experience. It succeeds the heats of youth ; and, so far from being inimical to vigor and directness, it leads, rightly developed, to a calmer strength, to a conviction moving when it moves with the momentum of depth and thoroughness. The foregoing considerations will serve to show how truly the author's career is made up not only of endeavor and achievement, but equally of travail and self-denial. He must learn repression as well as expression. And his only basis of lasting excellence is the recognition, in all his work, that the instruction of men through literature imposes a solemn responsibility, demanding the best employment of all that he can become, by natural endowments and by sound discipline. III. Habits of Reading. It is not the purpose here to speak of books and reading in general, nor yet to speak directly of what is called " reading up " for some particular literary task ; the object is rather to consider habits of reading as an aid to invention. Creative Heading. " Reading," says Burke, " and much read- ing, is good. But the power of diversifying the matter infinitely in your own mind, and of applying it to every occasion that arises, 236 APTITUDES AND HABITS. is far better." To be an aid to invention, reading must be con- ducted, according to the suggestion of this quotation, in the atti- tude of invention ; that is, while the reader is receptive, while he is being acted upon by what he is reading, he is at the same time originative, vigorously acting on the same subject-matter, shaping it into a new product, according to the color and capacity of his own mind. To such active reading may be given the name, bor- rowed from Emerson, of " creative reading." Mr. Emerson says : l " One must be an inventor to read well. As the proverb says, ' He that would bring home the wealth of the Indies, must carry out the wealth of the Indies.' There is then creative reading as well as creative writing. When the mind is braced by labor and invention, the page of whatever book we read becomes luminous with manifold allusion. Every sentence is doubly significant, and the sense of our author is as broad as the world." The habit of reading creatively is what distinguishes the scholar from the book-worm, and the thinker from the listless absorber of print. It is the increasing predominance of this latter class of readers that makes the present enormous multiplication of liter- ature a doubtful blessing. Reading can easily become a mental dissipation. There is many a full mind, charged to the brim with printed matter, crammed with vast stores of book-lore ; which mind, nevertheless, so far as fruitful thought is concerned, is worth- less, being only an insatiable absorber, and having no impulse to creation. Reading may be carried on in such a way as to leave the mind inert and actually deadened, by so much unassimilated knowledge. Browning's figure describes such a mind well : 2 " For I say, this is death and the sole death, When a man's loss comes to him from his gain, Darkness from light, from knowledge ignorance; . . . A lamp's death when, replete with oil, it chokes; A stomach's when, surcharged with food, it starves." 1 Emerson, Oration on " The American Scholar." 2 Browning, " A Death in the Desert." APTITUDES AND HABITS. 237 In view of this fact, it is of the first importance that the intended author train himself thoroughly in the attitude of reading, so as to bring to it habitually the active, inventive mind. It is only to such a mind that books bring true blessing. On this point let Emerson again speak. " Books," he says, 1 " are the best of things, well used ; abused, among the worst. What is the right use ? What is the one end, which all means go to effect ? They are for nothing but to inspire. I had better never see a book, than to be warped by its attraction clean out of my own orbit, and made a satellite instead of a system. The one thing in the world, of value, is the active soul. This every man is entitled to ; this every man contains within him, although, in almost all men, obstructed, and as yet unborn. The soul active sees absolute truth ; and utters truth, or creates. In this action it is genius ; not the privilege of here and there a favorite, but the sound estate of every man." Creative reading, as thus defined, is simply mental alertness applied to books, and set in the direction of invention. It is the scholar's privilege to make this power so thoroughly a second nature that the creative attitude may invigorate all his reading, however rapidly or even cursorily it may be carried on, or for whatever purpose. The ways in which the writer may conduct his reading, as re- lated to the kind of matter read and the purpose he has in view, may perhaps be best suggested by a well-known passage in Bacon's essay on Studies. "Some Bookes," he says, "are to be Tasted, Others to be Swallowed, and Some Few to be Chewed and Digest- ed : That is, some Bookes are to be read onely in Parts ; Others to be read but not Curiously ; And some Few to be read wholly, and with Diligence and Attention." These different ways of reading require some discussion and application ; accordingly they will be taken up individually, but in inverse order. 1. Disciplinary Reading. This designation may be applied, for the inventor's sake, to the reading of "some few books," which 1 Emerson, Oration on " The American Scholar." 238 APTITUDES AND HABITS. are " to be chewed and digested, that is, read wholly, and with diligence and attention." How may I acquire the ability to read creatively? is a question naturally suggested by the foregoing paragraphs ; and this habit of disciplinary reading is inculcated first, because it contains the answer to the question. The surest and directest way to arouse the inventive impulse in reading is the way of simple interpreta- tion. That is, the writer should train himself to read thoroughly, patiently, repeatedly, resolving allusions, following out hints and suggestions, tracing thought and sentiment, as the phrase is, "be- tween the lines " ; until he is thoroughly imbued with the power and spirit of the work. By such minute interpretation a great creative mind is followed through the paths and by-paths of his invention ; and the mind that follows is in some degree stimulated and skilled to take such steps for itself. The complete study, in this way, of one or two masterpieces of literature, provided they are well chosen, is an invaluable aid to literary creativeness. It not only gives the student a store of valuable thought, but bends his mind to a habit and flow of thinking ; so that, without being an imitator, he is refined and toned up to the companionship of a master. In order to make such reading an effective discipline, it is well for the student to have at hand some great work of literature, to which he may give a little thorough and minute study every day. Let him study this work over and over again, sometimes slowly, sometimes rapidly, now with special attention to one aspect of it, again with special attention to another ; until it has become fully inwoven with the fibre of his mind. To keep such discipline as this continually going, even though only a little at a time, is a valu- able influence to keep the mind from being dissipated on many things or becoming flippant and shallow through superficial reading. It is the means by which the student's mental powers maintain their tone and grasp. Of course not all books can or should be read in this manner. It is only " some few books," the masterpieces of original inven- APTITUDES AND HABITS. 239 tion, such as do not yield their whole secret at the first perusal, that will really bear such treatment. In this class may be instanced the works of Shakespeare, Bacon, Milton, Wordsworth, Browning, all of which reveal new depths at each new perusal ; also the Greek and Latin classics, which in addition to their intrin- sic worth, compel the student to slower and carefuller work by the necessity of translation. For the value of translation in itself, as a means of mental discipline, see below, page 320. Much of the effectiveness of such disciplinary reading depends on its regular- ity. Naturally only a limited proportion of the student's time is available for it ; but a little, conscientiously devoted each day, will give his mind tone and scholarliness, and the results in the long run will count up surprisingly. A book that has once set the scholar's mind in vigorous inven- tive action retains its power to stimulate, and may at any time revive the influence it once exerted. Accordingly, it has always been a very prevalent custom of the great masters of literature to keep at hand their favorite authors, to read as an immediate stim- ulus to and preparation for their own literary tasks. NOTE. " Let it be added," says Professor Austin Phelps, " that the method in question is supported by the practice of many eminent authors. Voltaire used to read Massillon as a stimulus to production. Bossuet read Homer for the same purpose. Gray read Spenser's ' Faerie Queene ' as the preliminary to the use of his pen. The favorites of Milton were Homer and Euripides. Fenelon resorted to the ancient classics promiscuously. Pope read Dryden as his habitual aid to composing. Corneille read Tacitus and Livy. Clarendon did the same. Sir William Jones, on his passage to India, planned five differ- ent volumes, and assigned to each the author he resolved to read as a guide and an awakener to his own mind for its work. Buffon made the same use of the works of Sir Isaac Newton. With great variety of tastes, successful authors have generally agreed in availing themselves of this natural and facile method of educating their minds to the work of original creation." 2. Rapid Reading. Every writer must do much rapid read- ing ; for a great proportion of the books that he has to consult are books that are " to be swallowed, that is, read but not curi- 240 APTITUDES AND HABITS. ously." Books that require such treatment are, in general, such as give broad and compendious information, as popular treatises in history, science, philosophy ; also, works of fiction, travels, descriptive works, and the like. Books of this kind, used in the right proportion, supply a very important element in the scholar's culture ; they lay the broad basis for more minute investigation afterwards, give the general setting of information or thought that enables him to estimate rightly the significance and relation of particular points. A general survey of a subject is as indispensable as a minute knowledge ; and this it is that such books supply. The important question regarding such rapid reading is, How to be so cultured as to do it with most profit ? It is obvious that to gain real benefit from a rapid perusal requires a mind especially endowed with alertness, incisiveness, and grasp. Whatever devel- ops these qualities, then, is the true preparation for the ability to gain a rapid knowledge of books. And indeed there is nothing so potent to this end as what has been already recommended, a previous thorough training in disciplinary reading. He who by patient interpretation of literary masterpieces has acquired a quick eye for minute suggestions can readily find what will serve him in a rapid survey. His creative faculty has become awake and keen, and the activity of thought thus developed enables him to arrest and assimilate what he needs. Like is attracted to like. Hunger for knowledge of any kind is quick to grasp the knowledge wherever found. It is eminently true of the reader, as it is of others, that " whosoever hath, to him shall be given." 3. Reading by Topics. It is equally necessary, for the writer who has to investigate, to consult many books more rapidly still, discarding all but the small portion in immediate demand for his purpose ; books that are " to be tasted, that is, read only in parts." The books that require such consultation are works of exhaustive research, special treatises, reports, documents, and the like ; works that may be regarded as the original sources of mi- nute and thorough information. APTITUDES AND HABITS. 241 Such repositories of information it would often be a positive dis- advantage, to say nothing of the labor, to read through. Their subject-matter is in too diffuse and cumbrous form for that. They contain materials for literature, not literature itself. They are therefore merely to be interrogated on those particular points which in other reading have revealed themselves as in need of greater fulness and corroboration. The art of reading by topics is the art of thus consulting a book, of striking at the cardinal points and letting what is merely illustrative and amplifying go. This requires sharp and quick discrimination between principal and subordinate elements, and the ability to group detached thoughts readily into system. The consulter acquires by practice a kind of instinct, which enables him at a glance to separate out what he needs. By this means a book may often be read largely by its table of contents and chapter-headings ; while the one main or minor point that gives the consultation present significance is unerringly detected and retained. In the same way the ability to use a whole library, to accumulate rapid information from a large number of books, becomes easy. It all rises from the habit of ready and accurate analysis, vigorous interpretation of what one reads. A natural and very useful accompaniment of such rapid reading is the acquirement of interest in details of bibliography, and in catalogues, prefaces, and the like. The dryest of matters for the unscholarly, such details as these become among the most fasci- nating for him who gets to feel thoroughly at home among books. By such means the reader acquires almost insensibly a store of practical knowledge ; he learns where information is to be found, what form it is in, and who are the authorities in any department of learning. NOTE. The following incident, from Boswell's Life of Johnson, illustrates the feeling of the scholarly man regarding such knowledge of books. " No sooner had we made our bow to Mr. Cambridge, in his library, than Johnson ran eagerly to one side of the room, intent on poring over the backs of the books. Sir Joshua observed, aside, ' He runs to the books as I do to 242 APTITUDES AND HABITS. the pictures; but I have the advantage. I can see much more of the pictures than he can of the books.' Mr. Cambridge, upon this, politely said, ' Dr. Johnson, I am going, with your pardon, to accuse myself, for I have the same custom which I perceive you have. But it seems odd that one should have such a desire to look at the backs of books.' Johnson, ever ready for contest, instantly started from his reverie, wheeled about and answered, ' Sir, the rea- son is very plain. Knowledge is of two kinds. We know a subject ourselves, or we know where we can find information upon it. When we inquire into any subject, the first thing we have to do is to know what books have treated of it. This leads us to look at catalogues, and the backs of books in libra- Along with topical reading, the taking of notes is of course indispensable. The manner of doing this, and the copiousness of the notes taken, must be left to the individual writer. This, however, ought to be said : notes too often fail of permanent value through being too carelessly and indefinitely taken ; when they are mere catch-words and fleeting hints they soon fail to call up the associations and connections that gave them their first useful- ness. Even hastily taken notes should never be exempted from care as to style ; the writer should make them express complete thoughts, sufficient to be understood at any time afterward, with- out need of help from remembered associations. Commonplace-books, indices rerum, and scrap-books are of variable usefulness, according to the character of the reader's mind, and his faithfulness in keeping them up. The fact that the great majority of such undertakings are soon discontinued is not necessarily a reproach ; it may merely indicate that the reader's inventive talent does not adapt itself so readily to the storing of knowledge as to the immediate and vigorous use of it. A more prevalent reason for such abortive attempts is the fact that they are allowed to supersede the active exercise of the mind on the topics accumulated, and thus become mere repositories of dead facts. It is the making of them that is of special value, even more than the possession of them when made ; much depends, therefore, on the reader's being constantly en rapport with them, increasing their stores and fertilizing them with his own thought. APTITUDES AND HABITS. 243 To this end the material introduced into them should be special ; that is, not compendious or generalized rudiments of knowledge in any department, which are soon outgrown, but contributions to particular aspects or illustrations of the departments of knowl- edge with which the student is already in a general way ac- quainted. 4. Reading more broadly and deeply than the Immediate Occasion demands. This is a matter of especial importance when the author is so situated that he must write statedly and fre- quently. Too many in such case read, so to say, merely from hand to mouth, that is, only so far as is needed for immediate reproduction. This custom is narrowing, fatal to originality, and precludes improvement. By reading always broadly and deeply, the writer masters not only his immediate subject, but such an ample sphere of thought and fact as contains the material and suggestion of many allied subjects. This comprehensive method of reading is valuable on two principal accounts. First, the immediate subject is better understood and more satisfactorily presented when in the work of investigation its whole department of thought, with its limits and relations, has been studied. Although only one small aspect may be given, what is presented takes a depth and a color due to the writer's greater knowledge of its connexions with more comprehensive thought. Secondly, by reading beyond and below each subject the writer stores and stimulates his mind for future work. He is taking measures to maintain a reserve of resources. There is thus no danger of his writing himself out, because the fountain, though drawn from continually, is kept full by the very preparation for drawing ; while the depth and quality of his knowledge improves steadily with use. His literary work is thus made a liberal educa- tion. When the writer must be frequently ready with some literary production, it is of great advantage for him to cultivate the ability to keep several definite topics of meditation rounding and ripen- 244 APTITUDES AND HABITS. ing in his mind at once. Such ability may easily become a fixed and spontaneous habit, which will endow his whole sphere of obser- vation with greatly increased significance. Whatever he reads, even casually, is almost sure to contain something that either clusters round some nucleus of thought already in his mind, or, no less frequently, establishes a new thought centre therein. ORDERING OF MATERIAL. 245 CHAPTER II. GENERAL PROCESSES IN THE ORDERING OF MATERIAL. As has already been shown, it is almost exclusively the ordering of material, the sifting of it mainly as involved in the ordering, and hardly at all the actual finding of it, that a treatise on inven- tion can discuss with hope of imparting direct practical aid. All the rest must be left to the writer's individual genius. On the discussion of this accessible stage of invention we now enter ; and first of all by considering, as the task of the present chapter, the processes included in the general construction of discourse, pro- cesses common, therefore, with certain modifications, to all literary forms. The Order of Discourse not Arbitrary. That is, it is not de- termined by the mere willfulness of the writer's constructive fancy, but rather by the nature of the material, as interpreted by the exactions of present adaptedness. The writer's whole quest is to find the simple and natural progress of the thought, from begin- ning to culmination, to follow that one order which answers best to what has been well called " the self-movement of the subject." A self-evident ideal this; and yet there are tendencies, not uncommon among authors, which make against it. i. Unless the writer takes especial care to diversify his inven- tive methods, there is a strong tendency after some experience to run into a certain stereotyped way of planning every subject; exemplified by the clergyman who said he always made his ser- mons consist of "two points and an application." This is evi- dently an unconscious surrender to the tyranny of a mental habit ; and the result is that the writer does not submit implicitly to the guidance of his subject, but seeks to manipulate the thought by a preconceived scheme devised and imposed from without, Not 246 ORDERING OF MA TERIAL. always so undisguised as this, the same tendency may manifest itself in a craving after an equal number of subdivisions under each main heading, or after some mechanical symmetry between part and part of the plan. But however manifested, it is some- thing against which the writer needs to be so on his guard as to distrust any structure not obviously dictated, or at least made natural, by the suggestion of the subject. NOTE. There have been periods in the history of literature when such artificial methods prevailed as a vogue; as when old divines would in their discourses adopt a three-fold division, because there are three persons in the Trinity, or four-fold because there are four elements of matter, or seven-fold because seven is the perfect sacred number. Herodotus divided his history into nine books, which he named after the nine muses; and Goethe followed his example in the nine cantos of his " Hermann and Dorothea." The nota- tion of these works is of course arbitrary ; though the division may have corre- sponded with the natural articulation of the subject, and been named thus as an afterthought. The arbitrary rule that tragedy must invariably have five acts, " Neve minor, neu sit quinto productior actu Fabula " may have its rationale in the natural rise, culmination, and denouement of a plot. So also in every plan there are steps that, being founded in the nature of a course of thinking, are too organic for arbitrariness. 2. A writer's mental activities may be naturally abstruse, or made so by exclusive working in profound subjects ; again a writer's mind may be impelled by nature to move in odd and eccentric sequences of thought. The latter may perhaps indulge his propensities in humorous writing; but apart from the ac- knowledged privileges of this kind of composition, the writei should be conscientious in comparing his own mind's habitual working with the capacities and tendencies of ordinary men. Accordingly, he should consult not himself alone but more espe- cially his readers, seeking always if there may be discerned a self- movement of the subject along the lines most easily followed by them. Not all subjects are capable of a simple plan ; but in all cases the writer should work for the utmost simplicity possible for ORDERING OF MATERIAL. 247 the adequate presentation of his subject, and be ready to deny his personal preferences, if necessary, for his readers' sake. NOTE. The poet Browning has often been reproached as ordering his thought in willfully abstruse sequences. Not willfully, as he has himself avowed; but it must be acknowledged that sometimes the intricate dodgings and windings of his thought are needlessly difficult for readers, even when allowance is made for the exceptionally profound nature of his subject-matter. He has been confessedly too unmindful of the art that seeks to make thought plain and pleasant for ordinary capacities. Of the eccentrically working mind the humorist Charles F. Browne (" Arte- mus Ward ") may be mentioned as a remarkable example. It is said that no idea ever presented itself to him as it would to any other person; he could see only the ludicrous side of things; and the prevailing principle of his humor lies in odd and quaintly twisted sequences of thought. The Unit of Structure. In a preceding section the para- graph has been named as the unit of invention. By this is meant that in the proper construction of a paragraph there are suggested in miniature the main problems involved in the construction of an entire discourse. And indeed there is one case, the editorial paragraph, wherein this smallest section of discourse has come to be recognized as a distinct literary form, a discourse in itself. Referring then to the section on The Paragraph, and especially to the scheme of paragraph structure laid down on page 199, we see that a paragraph must have a subject, a plan, a proportion of parts ; that its progress must be obvious and continuous from one part to another ; that, beginning with what explains its topic, it moves on to what establishes, by proof or otherwise, and finally to what applies and gives results. In every production, whatever its form or scope, this unit of structure may be traced, modified of course by particular requirements, and with its elements in vary- ing proportions, but easily recognizable when the circumstances of writing and the nature of the subject-matter are taken into con- sideration. The Form of Discourse here chosen as Norm. By reason of its brevity no single paragraph would be likely to represent all the elements of structure in the typical fullness desirable for study. 248 THE THEME. Some would be merely suggested rather than expressed, while others would perhaps be elided altogether. A form better adapted to this purpose is found in the essay or short treatise, as it appears in the best review articles of the day. Apart from its convenient length, which makes it easy to trace the relation of its parts to one another and to the whole idea, the essay presents the most normal and rounded type of structure, because, being more purely a work of the intellect, it depends more entirely on the writer's constructive powers. This we see by comparing various literary forms. In a narrative, for instance, the plan is guided mainly by the order of time ; in a description by the order of place ; argument follows the logical necessities of the proof; oratory modifies the logical order more or less by the emotional. The essay, which belongs predominantly to the ex- pository form (see below, page 403), presents a more purely intellectual product, built according to the laws that control the constructive powers of the mind ; it is here chosen, therefore, as uniting in one production normal structure and convenient limits. The general processes included in the ordering of material may be grouped under three sections : on the determination of the theme ; on the construction of the plan ; and on amplification, SECTION FIRST. DETERMINATION OF THE THEME. Definition. The theme, which in some form underlies the structure of every literary work, may be briefly defined as the working-idea of the discourse. The fundamental requirement of the theme is sufficiently indi- cated in the derivation of the word, from the Greek Oep.a (riB^fjn), something placed or laid down, that is, as a basis for treatment. As such a working-basis, the theme must be an idea so definite and clear-cut that the writer can resort to it for every step of his THE THEME. 249 work. It is that nucleus-thought, expressed or implicit, which must be in his mind as a central point of reference, a constant determinator and suggester of the scope and limits of his subject. It is thus the germ of the whole work, the sum of the thought reduced to its briefest and most condensed statement. Obviously, if the theme is an element from which so much is to be evolved, accurate and minute care is imperative in the first place regarding what is to be Evolved in it. And indeed this is what makes the determination of the theme the most important single step in the ordering of material ; for, being the process of concentrating the whole thought into unity and shapeliness of idea, it compels a thorough meditation, analysis, and test of all its main features. By the time the working-idea is accurately determined the material of the discourse is easily in the writer's control. The theme of a discourse is not synonymous with the subject. It is necessary here, therefore, before examples are adduced, to discriminate the two. The Theme as related to the Subject. The subject is the general or class-idea on which the production is based, the most unrestricted answer to the question, What shall I write about? Thus, for example, one may write about the Anglo-Saxons, or about Self-Reliance, or about Free Trade, or about Modern Fiction; these are subjects. Evidently such subjects as these, as they exist unmodified, are too comprehensive, too general, for treat- ment. They contain no hint of one kind of treatment more than another ; no indication of fitness to place, public, or form of dis- course ; no suggestion of limits or direction. It is clear that they are not as yet in shape to guide the writer as his working-idea. Having chosen or received such a subject as the above, the writer's first natural question, How shall I treat this subject? leads, as the initial step of invention, to the deduction of a theme ; that is, his first impulse is to re-state the subject in a practical form for use. Thus, for example, the first of the above-named subjects suggests naturally a treatment that merely gives information ; further, if the form is to be an essay instead of a volume, the sub- 250 THE THEME. ject covers too much ground ; it should be regarded in one limited aspect ; so it becomes, we will say, Domestic Life of the Anglo-Saxons, or, National Traits of the Anglo-Saxons. For the second subject a hortatory treatment would be natural; so it becomes, Incitement to Self- Reliance, or, How Self- Reliance en- riches Character. The third may be viewed as an issue, to be decided, affirmatively or negatively, by argument ; so broad also that it needs to be narrowed to a particular application ; so per- haps it becomes, Considerations for (or against) the Adoption of a Free-Trade Policy by the American People. The fourth suggests naturally a critical exposition ; so it becomes, The Methods and the Spirit of Modern Fiction. From this it appears that the theme is the subject concentrated, by means of directive limitations, upon a single issue, so that it shall contain one principle of division, one definite indication of treatment, one suggestion of scope and limits. Observe, then, the theme is not a part of the subject; it is the whole subject turned in a certain determinate direction. The whole subject is acting through the theme ; but its action is defined and regulated to suit the circumstances of the present writing. NOTE. The necessity of following the suggestion of a theme instead of writing random thoughts on a general subject is exemplified in the following passage, by Cardinal Newman. It occurs in a lecture of his on " Elementary Studies," and takes the form of remarks on an imaginary thesis written by a young candidate for admission to the University. It will be noticed that what he calls by the popular designation the subject " Fortes Fortuna Adju- vat" is rather what we are here denning as the theme, while the subject, which the young man persists in treating as unrestricted, is more truly expressed by " Fortuna." " ' Now look here,' he (the critic, a supposed Mr. Black) says, ' the subject is "Fortes fortuna adjuvat"; now this is a proposition ; it states a certain general principle, and this is just what an ordinary boy would be sure to miss, and Robert does miss it. He goes off at once on the word " fortuna." " For- tuna" was not his subject; the thesis was intended to guide him for his own good; he refuses to be put into leading strings; he breaks loose, and runs off in his own fashion on the broad field and in wild chase of " fortune," instead of closing with a subject, which, as being definite, would have supported him. THE THEME. 251 " ' It would have been very cruel to have told a boy to write on "fortune"; it would have been like asking him hio opinion of " things in general." For- tune is " good," " bad," " capricious," " unexpected," ten thousand things all at once (you see them all in the Gradus), and ^ne of them as much as the other. Ten thousand things may be said of it : give me one of them, and I will write upon it; I cannot write on more than one; Robert prefers to write upon all. "'"Fortune favors the bold;" here is a very definite subject: take hold of it, and it will steady and lead you on : you will know in what direction to look.' " Deduction of Theme from S bject. This, in any given case, must of course be left to the writer's tact and natural suggestive faculty. A few general directions may, however, be of service. i . Obviously the same general subject, being capable of many applications, may contain an indefinite number of themes or work- ing-ideas. What particular direction shall be given to the subject in the individual case is determined for the most part by the writer's view of what needs to be said and what he can best say ; but also largely by present circumstances, as, for instance, how the subject has been treated before, for whom it is intended now, and what are the exactions of time, place, and form of discourse. EXAMPLES. The following aspects of the general subject " Literature " are selected from three columns of such titles in Poole's Index to Periodical Literature : Advantages of Literature; Ancient and Modern Literature; Literature and the People; Literature and Style; Literature as a Profession; Aspects of Contemporary Literature; Caprices and Laws of Literature; Cheap Litera- ture; Effect of War upon Literature; Ephemeral Literature; Literature in Social Life; Individuality in Literature; Nationality in Literature; Principles of Success in Literature; Recreative Use of Literature; Toils and Rewards of Literature; Vital Principle of Literature. The following are some of the titles under the article " Socrates " : Socrates an Ecstatic; Socrates and Aristophanes; Socrates and Christ; Socrates and the Doctrine of Ideas; Socrates and his Philosophy; Socrates and Plato; Socrates and the Sophists of Athens; Socrates as a Teacher; Character of Socrates; Daemon of Socrates; Defense of Socrates; Socrates' Place in Greek Philosophy; Theology of Socrates. 252 THE THEME. 2. The subject being chosen, an important question here aris- ing is, How is the deduction of the theme related to the accumu- lation of material ? Does it precede or follow ? It both follows and precedes. Before the theme is determined, the writer studies to get a point of view : by rapid discursive read- ing and meditation he collects a store of ideas related in different degrees of intimacy to his subject, but not yet classified and assigned to their relative rank. On these miscellaneous materials he is to pass a careful analytical judgment, in order to determine what he can use and what he must reject, and in order to ascer- tain their most significant direction for his use. Then after the theme is determined, the writer is seeking to fortify its various points ; his reading therefore is by topics, and definitely applied to what is ascertained to be lacking. 3. Not infrequently the writer's later reading and thought what Dr. Bushnell calls "the arrival of fresh light" may lead him essentially to modify the view he has originally taken of the subject. If so, he should not humor his indolence, as too many do, and tack on new and incongruous material as it happens : he should re-open the whole process of determining the theme, in order to get such a unity from the outset as will accommodate his latest views. It is due both to the reader's convenience of inter- preting and the writer's sharpness of meditation that the theme should be exactly commensurate with the subject-matter. 4. A peculiar relation of subject and theme is found in the composition of sermons ; where the subject, instead of being em- bodied in a word or phrase, is held in solution, so to say, in a text of Scripture. In this case the text, interpreted with reference to context, circumstances, parallel passages, and the like, contains not only the suggestion of the theme but also the condensed em- bodiment of material and often of illustration. EXAMPLE OF THE DEDUCTION OF A SERMON THEME. The following, quoted from Dr. Bushnell, who was renowned for his skill in drawing out the suggestion of a text, illustrates the text, the theme, both as title and proposi- tion, and the process of deduction. The opening paragraph of the sermon is quoted. THE THEME. 253 Text, Luke ix. 13: "But He said unto them, Give ye them to eat." Theme: DUTY NOT MEASURED BY OUR OWN ABILITY. " When Christ lays it thus upon his disciples, in that solitary and desert place, to feed five thousand men, he cannot be ignorant of the utter impossi- bility that they should do it. And when they reply that they have only five loaves and two fishes, though the answer is plainly sufficient, he is nowise diverted from his course by it, but presses directly on in the new order, that they make the people sit down by fifties in a company, and be ready for the proposed repast. Debating in themselves, probably, what can be the use of such a proceeding, when really there is no supply of food to be distributed, they still execute his order. And then when all is made ready, he calls for the five loaves and the two fishes, and, having blessed them, begins to break, and says to them Distribute. Marvellous loaves ! broken, they are not diminished ! distributed, they still remain ! And so returning, again and again, to replen- ish their baskets, they continue the distribution, till the hungry multitude are all satisfied as in a full supply. In this manner the original command Give ye them to eat is executed to the letter. They have made the people sit down, they have brought the loaves, they have distributed, and he at every step has justified his order, by making their scanty stock as good as a full supply. " This narrative suggests and illustrates the following important principle " That men are often, and properly, put under obligation to do that for which they have, in themselves, no present ability" Here the text expresses merely the kernel or lesson of the passage in which it occurs, and its teaching is made clear by a summary of the whole narrative, which summary is concentrated upon the lesson. The example is a more formal deduction of a theme than is usual in sermons nowadays; but the principle remains the same, however concealed. Statement of the Theme. Being the working-idea, the theme must exist primarily for the use of the writer alone. This requisite is entirely apart from the question whether it is to appear definitely stated in the complete production or not ; which question is to be decided affirmatively or negatively by circumstances. For his own use the theme ought in all cases to be determined in a definite and painstaking statement; for unless such a sharply defined nucleus exists, to which the writer may at all points refer as a means of estimating the bearings of his thought, the production becomes vague, rambling, out of symmetry and proportion. 254 THE THEME. In the production as presented to the reader, then, the theme may be either expressed or implicit. When expressed, it ordi- narily takes a somewhat expanded form, which is by some called the proposition, by others the status. There is no need of sepa- rating in idea, as some do, the status or proposition from the theme ; it is the theme merely put in a form suitable for public expression. ILLUSTRATIONS. I. The example quoted above from Dr. Bushnell appears both in theme and proposition; the former as a title, the latter as an affirma- tion. Observe that the latter statement is more extended, though not less carefully expressed. 2. In Herbert Spencer's essay on "The Social Organism," the theme is expressed, in popular form. Compared with the working-idea, as deducible from the study of the essay, it presents an equivalent thought, being merely the nucleus of the essay condensed to a single proposition. Working-Idea : ANALOGY BETWEEN THE BODY POLITIC AND LIVING BODILY ORGANISMS. Expressed Theme or Status : " That under all its aspects and through all its ramifications, society is a growth and not a manufacture" This merely puts the definition of organism in the place of the word, and presents it in connection with its contrasted idea. 3. In Macaulay's essay on " History," the theme is implicit; but, though nowhere brought to the definite form of an expressed proposition, the writer's idea and purpose are apparent throughout, conditioning every part. The theme may be stated thus : THE ART OF HISTORICAL COMPOSITION : WHAT IT HAS BEEN AND IS, AND WHAT IT SHOULD BE. As to the manner of expressing the theme, the following direc- tions are of importance. i. The leading aim in determining its expression is exactness : that is, every word should be so accurately weighed, so sharply defined, and its relations so closely discriminated, that it may safely stand as the beginning of a vista of thought in the plan of the discourse. This is necessitated by the ideal of involving in the nucleus what is to be evolved in the completed production. EXAMPLE OF REGARD FOR ACCURACY. In an essay on "The Study of Mathematics as an Exercise of Mind," Sir William Hamilton thus defines his THE THEME. 255 theme, emphasizing by italics and small capitals the fact that it should be worded just so and not otherwise : " The question does not regard the value of mathematical SCIENCE considered in itself, or in its objective results, but the utility of mathematical STUDY, that is, in its subjective effect, as an exercise of mind." What is here indicated by the somewhat excessive use of printers' devices is merely what a writer of clear and careful mind will determine for himself: his accuracy will be real, if not so apparent. 2. A second aim is what may be called suggestiveness : that is, words and phraseology should be so chosen that every main re- lation of the thought may be provided for, and that no smallest feature of the theme may lack significance. The ideal that the theme be exactly commensurate with the subject-matter, neither too broad nor too narrow dictates that every word of the theme have its meaning, and every main element in the scope of the pro- duction its nucleus. EXAMPLES. It may be well to illustrate this, perhaps, by an example that would seem, if any, to be careless of such a requisite, being an informal and popular production, Lowell's essay " On a Certain Condescension in For- eigners." The first word of the title, " On," indicates, as to the manner of treatment, that the writer promises merely remarks, discursive or casual, but not necessarily exhaustive of the subject, or scientifically ordered. Then, " a certain condescension " implies not the spirit of condescension in general, but a particular manifestation of it, which it is the business of the essay to define and illustrate. Thus the title, though not containing more than a promise of the working-idea, suggests exactly, as far as it goes, the actual scope and treatment of the subject. A certain clergyman's study of the text, John vii. 17, "If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doctrine," revealed the important fact that in the original Greek the verb translated " will do " is not a simple future but indicates volition; which fact he judged should be suggested in the expression of his working-idea; so he adopted as his theme the sentence, rather strikingly aphoristic, " Will to do is wit to know." 3. A third aim in properly expressing the theme is brevity. It is of advantage to employ the briefest and crispest expression pos- sible, because this favors unity of idea and subordination of parts. A word may stand for a whole main division ; an epithet may suggest 256 THE THEME. important limitations and applications. The working-idea may indeed be stated in less condensed expression ; but in the theme the object is rather so to state it as to concentrate it on one point, and this dictates that the point be not obscured by superfluous words. NOTE. The utility of a briefly stated theme is perhaps best illustrated in the literature of the pulpit, where the theme has to be compacted from a text of Scripture. Consider, for instance, how the subject is brought into concen- trated shape in the following theme of a sermon by Rev. Alexander Maclaren. From the text 2 Corinthians iii. 1 8, "We all, with open face beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image," he deduces the simple theme, " Transformation by Beholding," thus concentrating the thought on a single object (transformation), which is to be gained by a single means (beholding). This brief theme is just commensurate with the text. Form of the Theme as related to Kind of Discourse. No kind of discourse can safely dispense with a theme ; but it is to be noted that in the essay, which we are here studying as norm, 1 the theme appears in its most distinctly articulated shape ; while in some other kinds of discourse, though still inlaid in the structure as a definite working-idea, it may sometimes seem almost dissipated into a vague and elusive suggestion. Not so to the writer, how- ever ; though the kind of subject-matter and the aim of the dis- course make the theme sometimes less palpable to the reader. It is in narrative writing, perhaps, that the theme is most nearly formless, being merely that principle of unity which is called the conception of the story. By the conception is meant the central principle, or sentiment, or lesson embodied in the story and giving it a reason for existing; a character to which all its parts are nearly or remotely related. See below, p. 359. EXAMPLES. Balzac's novels generally have a very palpable theme. His " Pere Goriot," for instance, might be entitled, Paternal love as an overmaster- ing and invincible passion; and his "Csar Birotteau" is a study of simple business integrity that will take no subterfuges of law, a theme similar to that 1 Some of the themes quoted by way of example have indeed been taken from sermons, which belong rather to oratory ; but this only in cases where the theme was not essentially modified by the hortatory aim of the work, THE THEME. 257 of Howells' " Rise of Silas Lapham." Not always, indeed, is the conception of a story so clear or so single; but if it have none at all, it is sure to incur reproach. In descriptive writing, also, the theme is hard to reduce to words, being a conception hidden in the author's mind and be- coming revealed only through the whole course of the work. It is his conception of the character of the thing described, a con- ception that reveals not only the nature of the thing itself, but his own individuality and skill in portrayal. EXAMPLES. Thus, Ruskin's description of the interior of St. Mark's, Ven- ice, centres in characteristics of color and symbolic decoration; Carlyle's description of Silesia centres mainly in topography; Edgar's description of Dover Cliff in Shakespeare's King Lear emphasizes its dizzy height; Motley's account of the character of William of Orange, being a catalogue description, is more discursive, but still centres quite decidedly in the qual- ities of greatness and purity. An expository theme takes naturally the form of a phrase em- bodying the idea expounded, with suggestion of the means of exposition employed. It is under this form of discourse that most essay themes would be reckoned. EXAMPLES. Thus, the theme of Martineau's essay on " Revelation What it is not, and What it is" suggests exposition by definition and contrast; Spen- cer's essay, already mentioned, on " the body politic compared to a living or- ganism," suggests exposition by analogy, and so on. In argumentation the theme is a proposition, so carefully ex- pressed and guarded that two opponents may be agreed on the statement of it. So important is it that an essential preparation, ordinarily, for an argumentative discussion is the settlement of the terms and nature of the question, in other words, determining the theme. EXAMPLE. Thus, in the arguments on liberal education, elective studies, the place of Latin and Greek in educational courses, and the like, which ap- pear so frequently in periodical literature, much of the work is definition of terms and limits, as well as close discrimination of the author's own position. 258 THE THEME. In oratory, the basis of which is the appeal to the will or per- suasion, the theme cannot be satisfied, at least in the author's mind, with being a mere articulated subject. He must choose an object rather than a subject; and the working-idea, expressing something that may be acted on, should be reducible to a single imperative utterance. EXAMPLES. Thus, the earliest preachers said not merely, " The kingdom of heaven is at hand," but also, " Repent"; and the modern statesman, while he labors to convince his audience that this or that view of a public measure is the true one, throws the whole power of his address into the imperative, "Give your suffrage and allegiance to this truth." The Title. The theme and the title of a work are related to each other as inner and outer. In the theme the subject exists as determined for the writer's own guidance. In the title the sub- ject takes the name by which it is to be introduced to the world. In form, the title sometimes coincides with the theme, some- times with the unrestricted subject. Oftenest, however, it has a form of its own, dictated by the circumstances of publication, or by the writer's own fancy. The following are the main considerations governing the choice of a title. i. The title should give a clue, correct and adequate, to the main idea of the work. This main idea may, however, be approached in different ways. When the work is of the purely intellectual type, that is, when the reader is to peruse it for mere information or argument, the title expresses its main DIDACTIC idea. Sometimes, however, when the work embodies a strong emotional element, or is intended to arouse readers to the importance and significance of its subject- matter, it may be better to make the title indicate the SPIRIT or SENTIMENT of the work. EXAMPLES. i. Didactic titles. Herbert Spencer's "The Principles of Sociology " ; Lecky's " History of European Morals, from Augustus to Charle- magne"; Dowden's " Shakspere, his Mind and Art." THE THEME. 259 2. Titles indicating the spirit of a work. Mrs. Helen Hunt Jackson's " A Century of Dishonor " is a history of the United States government's dealings with the Indians, and the title reveals its animus. In Charles Reade's " Put Yourself in his Place " the title embraces the moral lesson taught throughout the story. 2. As a published work must be not only made but sold, and as people must have some inducement to take up a new work, the title needs to have an attractiveness and interest in itself. This requisite often makes the choice of a title, especially in more purely literary productions, a matter of much difficulty ; and with all the pains taken, the fate of a title not infrequently seems like mere chance. No one can calculate unerringly just what will strike the public taste. ' The endeavor to attract readers leads often to the choice of figurative titles, alliterative and epigram- matic titles, scraps of quotation, proverbs, and the like ; which reveal, more or less pleasurably, the writer's fancy and taste. EXAMPLES. I. A figurative title should of course suggest, and not obscurely, the literal idea that justly characterizes the work. Johnson's " Rambler " has been mentioned as faulty in this respect. Carlyle's " Sartor Resartus " (The Tailor Re-fitted) is founded throughout on an extended metaphor, which the title sufficiently suggests. " Mosses from an Old Manse " is the graceful name that Hawthorne gives to a volume of short stories written in the old manse, his residence in Concord. " Suspiria de Profundis " contains some of De Quincey's confessions regarding his deplorable opium habit, with the strange and often exceedingly sad visions induced thereby. 2. Examples of gracefully or quaintly worded titles are, " Sights and In- sights," a volume of travels by Mrs. Whitney; "Sunny Memories of Foreign Lands," a similar work by Mrs. Stowe; "Buds and Bird-voices," a volume of nature sketches by John Burroughs; "Aftermath" is the name given by Longfellow to one of the later volumes of his poems. 3. "All's Well that Ends Well" is a popular proverb used for a title; so is Charles Reade's "Never too Late to Mend." "Far from the Madding Crowd," "Airy Fairy Lilian," "The Wooing o't," "A Counterfeit Present- ment," are titles of popular stories, all scraps of quotation. 3. While the title may well arouse pleasurable anticipations of the interest of the work, it should not promise more than the work can fulfill. A modest claim makes a better impression. 260 THE PLAN. EXAMPLES. One of Burke's great political works bears the modest title, "Thoughts on the Cause of the Present Discontents"; another is entitled " Reflections on the Revolution in France." An important essay of Carlyle's is entitled simply, " Characteristics." 4. When the title is not sufficiently suggestive, or when it is de- sirable to combine some of the above-named requisites, a second or sub-title is often added to the main one. The same office is some- times filled by a motto. EXAMPLES. "The Unseen Universe; or, Physical Speculations on a Future State." In the introduction to Sir Walter Scott's "Waverley; or, Tis Sixty Years Since," is a very interesting discussion of the suggestiveness of both members of the title. In Jevons's " Principles of Science; a Treatise on Logic and Scientific Method," the second part of the title is necessary to the right suggestiveness of the first. SECTION SECOND. CONSTRUCTION OF THE PLAN. IN the process of determining his theme, if for this purpose he has analyzed his material carefully, the writer has obtained a tolerably definite idea of the general course of his thought ; he is at least aware of its inclusion and manner of treatment, and sometimes of the main stages of its progress. As yet, however, it remains for the most part unclassified. The next step, therefore, is to examine anew the various hints and shades of suggestion that lie involved in the theme, and systematize these into a plan of discourse, in which the accumulated material shall appear in properly subordinated, proportioned, and progressive sequence. In all the art of composition there is perhaps no more frequent source of misapprehension, on the part of young writers, than this matter of the plan. The structure of a finished literary work, as it lies before them for perusal, seems so natural, so inevitable, that they easily get the idea that it never was made, but sprang mature from the author's brain, as Pallas sprang from the brain of Jove. THE PLAN. 261 And so they imagine they have only to surrender their thinking to its own unguided vagaries, trusting that earnestness and enthusi- asm will make everything come out right. But thought does not shape itself spontaneously. Nor will it find its natural order without the trained and vigorous working of the writer's best calculating powers. This is the universal testi- mony of those who have achieved eminence in writing. And rigid analysis of any literary work that leaves a definite and remember- able impression on the reader's mind reveals the invariable fact of a skillfully laid plan ; that is, it is found that both main and minor thoughts follow one another according to natural laws of associa- tion, and bear the marks of intentional and studious arrangement. I. GENERAL MECHANISM OF THE PLAN. Every writer must find his own plan, and his own natural way of planning ; this is as necessary as that he should find his own thought. A treatise on invention cannot, therefore, legislate for any individual case. It can, however, point out those general laws of arrangement which are found to underlie every coherent literary production ; laws which cannot be transgressed without throwing the composition into crudeness and confusion. So much can be done, though the application of them must be left to the writer himself. How Material, of Different Kinds, lends itself to Planning. Some kinds of material fall into order more naturally than others, and consequently require less pains in planning, or rather require pains in solving problems of a different kind ; for no kind of mate- rial is exempt from the utmost carefulness in planning. As related to facility of arrangement material may be roughly divided into two classes. i . Such as contains naturally suggested its own method. Under this head comes first of all narrative material, 1 which generally has 1 " Considered as an Author, Herr TeufelsdrSckh has one scarcely pardonable fault, doubtless his worst : an almost total want of arrangement. In this remarka- ble Volume, it is true, his adherence to the mere course of Time produces, through the Narrative portions, a certain show of outward method ; but of true logical method and sequence there is too little." Carlyle, " Sartor Resartus." 262 THE PLAN. merely to follow the order of time ; then in less degree descriptive material, which, when it deals with objects of sight, may generally be guided as to method by the order of objects in space. It is to be noted that where the order suggests itself the difficulties of arrangement, released from the problem of sequence, lie more in problems of proportion and perspective. 2. Such as, originating in human thought, must submit itself to the laws of thought ; whose method, therefore, is not so much found as made by the writer's logical sense and power of perspicu- ous arrangement. Under this head comes expository, argumenta- tive, and hortatory material ; of all which the leading problem is, how to find a sequence that shall lead the reader naturally forward and be easily retained in his memory. The difficulties of planning belong mostly to material of this second class. They are simply the difficulties of finding, so to say, common ground between human minds; that is, of invent- ing a logical order in which the author may be sure he has successfully consulted the thinking and retaining powers of his readers. Requisites of Construction. It would be precarious to say that every course of thought has an ideally best order, to which each individual writer approximates more or less closely. Dr. Johnson thinks, indeed, that the steps of a logically ordered thought are commonly interchangeable. He says, 1 " Of all homogeneous truths at least, of all truths respecting the same general end, in whatever series they may be produced, a concatenation by inter- mediate ideas may be formed, such as, when it is once shewn, shall appear natural ; but if this order be reversed, another mode of connection equally specious may be found or made." And again, " As the end of method is perspicuity, that series is suffi- ciently regular that avoids obscurity; and where there is no obscurity it will not be difficult to discover method." There are, however, some requisites of construction necessary to keep the stages of the plan, however ordered, from obscurity. 1 Johnson, Life of Pope. THE PLAN. 263 The three most important of these may here be defined and exem- plified. 1. The first requisite is distinction. This requires that the im- portant thoughts of a production be well discriminated, and that they be distinguished from each other by expression whose strik- ingness corresponds to the significance of the thought so marked. By brief definitive sentences, which may be heightened by antith- esis and epigram, the cardinal ideas should be made to stand out from their surroundings, as landmarks in the course of thought, thus keeping the reader aware what are to be the principal objects of his attention. NOTE. Some writers are more particular about this requisite than others; and in proportion to their care in observing it is the reader's satisfaction in the plan and articulation of their thought. Among those who have an emi- nent sense of form in this respect may be mentioned Macaulay and Ruskin. 2. The second requisite is sequence. This requires that the successive thoughts of a production should, as far as possible, grow out of each other, each suggested and prepared for by its pre- ceding, without breaks and dislocations. The ideal is to make such a thread of continuity extend through the whole as will give it somewhat the movement of a story, with a like obviousness of cause and effect or other associative affinities between the thoughts. See below, page 273. NOTE. The narrative which, tracing events from cause to effect and from point to point in time, contains the most natural and easy means of sequence, is the ideal and norm of sequence in every discourse. The nearer we can come to such continuity of movement the less the main thoughts will appear like a catalogue and the more like an organism. 3. The third requisite is climax. This requires that the thought as it advances should rise in interest and evident importance with each successive step, until the culmination concentrates in itself in some sense the significance of all that has gone before. Such a requisite is involved in the idea that true discourse is a growth. 264 THE PLAN. NOTE. The importance of climax as a law of style see preceding, pages 105 to 107 is even exceeded by its importance as a law of invention. It is a principal element in imparting to discourse the quality of movement. Climax is largely involved in sequence. For if any succeeding thought is what it is by the influence and preparation of the preceding, it takes into itself the double significance of the preceding and itself, and its progress is thus an ascent. The Outline Structure, or Skeleton. In order to preserve due distinction, sequence, and climax in the thoughts, it is ordi- narily necessary, and always of great advantage, to set them down, stated in their most condensed form, in a tabular view, with their progress and subordination indicated by numerals or letters. This for the writer's own assistance in planning, not necessarily for the reader. " A skeleton," says Professor Phelps, 1 " is not a thing of beauty ; but it is the thing which, more than any other, makes the body erect and strong and swift. John Quincy Adams says that ' divis- ions belong to the art of thinking.' They are fundamental, then, to the art of uttering thought. To the same purpose is the old Roman proverb, Qui bene distingnit, bene docet" This point is here emphasized because young writers need to overcome the dis- like, which almost universally they have, of a skeleton plan in liter- ary work. Such an outline is an indispensable auxiliary to finished and accurate thought-building. The making of it stimulates and sharpens meditation, and cultivates the logical sense. It will prob- ably be time saved in any literary task if the young writer, whose aptitudes in this respect are in course of education, spends half the time at his disposal in constructing and reconstructing his outline plan. It would not be of practical service here to recommend any particular manner of tabulating thoughts ; every one can work best in his own harness. Whatever the form adopted, each writer should, in planning, work for these three qualities : i . Simplicity the main divisions few and obvious, instead of many and abstruse ; 1 Phelps, " Theory of Preaching," p. 425. THE PLAN. 265 2. Concise and clear-cut expression of each thought its lim- its and its central significance carefully determined ; 3. Proportion the relative rank of thoughts closely estimated, and the part each is to play in the discourse indicated by divisions and subdivisions. The minuteness of such calculation should, of course, be carried in the writer's study much farther than would ever be displayed for the reader. How far the Skeleton should be Visible in the Completed Work. This is a point to be determined partly by the nature of the thought, and partly by the occasion of its presentation. 1. The more a subject taxes the mind, and the less obvious its laws of sequence, the more carefully must its steps be marked for the help of the reader. Abstruse subjects, therefore, and in general subjects that depend for their movement on logical sequences, have the most need of a visible structure, indicated by numerals or other such devices. 2. Spoken discourse has ordinarily to be richer in such external indications of plan than written discourse. The reason is obvious : because the thought has to be made clear and marked enough to be received and retained by a single hearing. It is to be acknowledged, however, that such display of the skele- ton plan, indispensable though it often is, is at the best a make- shift, due to the necessities of the case. If the writer so plans his subject that his reader may receive it and be clearly aware of its progress without thinking of its framework, he has achieved a greater success. But to this end the reader must be spared all dislocations and abruptness ; the turnings and transitions of the thought must be easily perceivable ; and much care must be given to preparatory and introductory thoughts. Let therefore these internal indications of plan be first attended to, and then let the external marks be used merely so' far as they are indispensable. It is of importance that headings expressing the same rank in the thought whether main divisions or subdivisions should have a similar form of expression ; and equally, that the form of expression chosen for subdivisions differ from the form chosen for 266 THE PLAN. main divisions. Like construction between headings is as impor- tant as like construction between clauses of a sentence. EXAMPLES. A heading may be stated either in the prepositional form, declaratory, interrogative, imperative, or in the titular form, by a word or phrase. The prepositional form is found predominantly in sermons. The following plan of a sermon by Dr. Herrick Johnson, on Proverbs xxiii. 23 " Buy the truth, and sell it not " is a series of affirmations : I. Truth costs; it must be bought. II. Truth is worth all it costs. III. Though truth is worth so much, it is sometimes sold. The following, from Rev. Newman Hall's sermon on " The Penitent Thief," Luke xxiii. 42, 43, illustrates the difference of construction between divisions and subdivisions. The former employs the titular form, the latter, the preposi- tional. The sermon thus abruptly begins : " These words bring before us a remarkable illustration both of a sinner's repentance and of the Saviour's grace. Let us consider, I. The repentance of the dying thief. How indicated : 1. He manifested reverence toward God. 2. He manifested contrition for sin, and confessed it. 3. He appreciated the goodness of Christ. 4. He bore public witness to Christ. 5. He manifested strong faith. 6. He prayed. 7. He exhibited zealous concern for others. II. The Saviour's grace. How shown in his promise : 1. The promise of Jesus referred to place 'in paradise.' 2. The promise of Jesus related to companionship ' with me.' 3. The promise of Jesus related to time ' to-day.' " In cases where the theme is not expressed, the headings are either left un- marked or are indicated by a mere numeral. II. THE THREE FUNDAMENTAL ELEMENTS OF THE PLAN. These, which in some form and proportion must appear in every literary work, are the introduction, the development, and the con- clusion. Each of these requires some detailed discussion. THE PLAN. 267 I. The Introduction. The introduction comprises whatever is necessary to make proper approach to the theme. NOTE. The natural place to state the theme, therefore, when it is ex- pressed, is at the end of the introduction. This is exemplified in the quota- tion from Dr. Bushnell on page 253, where the introduction leads up to and culminates in a proposition. Sometimes to the statement of the theme there is added a brief indication of the plan, but only of its leading heads. Rationale of the Introduction. The fundamental object of the introduction is to call in the subject from the various surroundings and associations extraneous to the present treatment and concentrate it on a single point, which point is the main idea of the production. Or, to put it in other words, the introduction is to furnish such preliminary information as is needed to put the reader in possession of the subject, the point of view, and the manner of the treatment. This object may require different procedures, according to the type of discourse. i . When the type of discourse is merely intellectual or didactic, that is, when the writer's object is to inform, instruct, or convince, it is generally sufficient for the introduction to define the setting of the theme : in time, if the work is historical ; in space, if descrip- tive ; in some system of ideas, if expository. It enters the general region of fact or thought to which the work belongs, and determines as plainly and directly as possible a particular point or section, to which present attention is to be directed. EXAMPLES. I. This primary object of the introduction is well illustrated in the introduction to Gibbon's History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, the openjng paragraph of which is as follows : " In the second century of the Christian Era, the empire of Rome compre- hended the fairest part of the earth, and the most civilized portion of man- kind. The frontiers of that extensive monarchy were guarded by ancient renown and disciplined valor. The gentle but powerful influence of laws and manners had gradually cemented the union of the provinces. Their peaceful inhabitants enjoyed and abused the advantages of wealth and luxury. The image of a free constitution was preserved with decent reverence; the Roman 268 THE PLAN. senate appeared to possess the sovereign authority, and devolved on the emperors all the executive powers of government. During a happy period of more than fourscore years, the public administration was conducted by the virtue and abilities of Nerva, Trajan, Hadrian, and the two Antonines. It is the design of this and of the two succeeding chapters, to describe the prosperous condition of their empire; and afterwards, from the death of Marcus Antoni- nus, to deduce the most important circumstances of its decline and fall; a revolution which will ever be remembered, and is still felt by the nations of the earth." A work so comprehensive as a great history requires a correspondingly great introduction; three chapters are needed in this to give the proper set- ting of the theme, preparatory to tracing out the distinctive path of the work. 2. Sometimes the setting most needed for the theme relates to such ques- tions as manner of present treatment or state of the subject. Thus in an essay by F. W. H. Myers on "Greek Oracles," the introduction of which com- prises eleven paragraphs, the first nine make a somewhat elaborate approach, largely of this character, to the following theme : "I have in this Essay endeavored to trace, by suggestion rather than in detail, but with constant reference to the results of recent science, the develop- ment and career in Greece of one remarkable class of religious phenomena which admits to some extent of separate treatment." The remaining two paragraphs then sketch the plan of treatment proposed in the essay with a division into two historical periods. 2. When, however, the discourse con tains an emotional element, as for instance in oratory or works of sentiment, the introduction has sometimes, though not always, to seek more objects than this. In addition to making a setting for the theme, it may have also to arouse interest, overcome prejudice, and the like. Cicero's defini- tion covers such cases. He says the introduction (and he refers to the oratorical introduction) has for object, " Reddere auditores benevolos, attentos, dociles," to make the hearers Benevolos, well-disposed ; that is, by securing good-will toward the speaker. Ancient orators used to speak much of themselves, and a personal introduction of this kind was considered very impor- tant ; but in modern times it is in less favor, being accounted necessary only in exceptional cases. THE PLAN. 269 Attentos, attentive ; that is, by rousing interest in the subject- matter. Special inventive tact is needed in making approach to a subject that is worn and common, or that is generally accounted dry ; some preliminary energy must be employed in gaining a hear- ing, and dispelling indifference. Dociles, teachable ; that is, by overcoming prejudice and opposi- tion ; when, for instance, the subject is unpopular, or finds the hearers already possessed of an opposite view. Before actual ad- vance can be made with the discourse they must be brought to listen candidly. EXAMPLES. I. Some words intended to make the hearers well-disposed toward the speaker are found in the introduction to Webster's speech on The Murder of Captain Joseph White : " I am little accustomed, Gentlemen, to the part which I am now attempt- ing to perform. Hardly more than once or twice has it happened to me to be concerned on the side of the government in any criminal prosecution what- ever; and never, until the present occasion, in any case affecting life. But I very much regret that it should have been thought necessary to suggest to you that I am brought here to ' hurry you against the law and beyond the evidence.' I hope I have too much regard for justice, and too much respect for my own character, to attempt either; and were I to make such attempt, I am sure that in this court nothing can be carried against the law, and that gentlemen, intelligent and just as you are, are not, by any power, to be hurried beyond the evidence." Etc. 2. The opening of Mr. Froude's lecture on The Science of History illus- trates how, by a familiar and colloquial style, attention and interest are secured for a rather forbidding subject : " LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I have undertaken to speak to you this even- ing on what is called the Science of History. I fear it is a dry subject; and there seems, indeed, something incongruous in the very connection of such words as Science and History. It is as if we were to talk of the color of sound, or the longitude of the Rule-of-three. Where it is so difficult to make out the truth on the commonest disputed fact in matters passing under our very eyes, how can we talk of a science in things long past which come to us only through books? It often seems to me as if History was like a child's box of letters with which we can spell any word we please. We have only to pick out such letters as we want, arrange them as we like, and say nothing about those which do not suit our purpose. I will try to make the thing intel- 270 THE PLAN. ligible, and I will try not to weary you ; but I am doubtful of my success either way." Etc. 3. A good example of the introduction conciliatory, designed and adapted to secure a candid hearing to a subject that is likely to offend, is found in the opening of St. Paul's speech at Athens : 1 "YE MEN OF ATHENS: All things which I behold bear witness to your carefulness in religion. For as I passed through your city and beheld the objects of your worship, I found amongst them an altar with this inscription, To THE UNKNOWN GOD. Whom, therefore, ye worship, though ye know Him not, Him declare I unto you." The formal introduction is indeed sometimes omitted; but when this is the case, there is generally something in the occasion itself which furnishes introduction to the theme. The subject may have been opened by a previous speaker, or it may be so general a topic of discussion that the public are already in posses- sion of the approaches to it ; and as to interest, it may be so near the hearts and lives of the people that any formal attempt to ground and justify it would be superfluous. In such cases the introduction is already made. Form and Style of the Introduction. The suggestions given under this head must of necessity be somewhat general. The relation between the introduction and the development may in a sense be regarded as a relation of contrast ; the contrast, namely, between the general and the particular, between the ab- stract and the concrete, between what is new and what is well known. For instance, when the discourse deals with concrete, particular facts, the introduction naturally seeks some general set- ting for them, or some larger region of thought to which all the facts are related as parts or exemplifications. And again, when the discourse deals with a general truth, the introduction often seeks as starting-point some particular application of it ; and this gives rise to the frequent practice of starting with some incident 1 Acts xvii. 22, 23. The above is Conybeare and Howson's translation, given here because it represents more truly than does the Authorized Version the courtesy of the speech. THE PLAN. 271 or illustration, some quotation or figure of speech, and less directly, with mention of circumstances and occasion, devices which, rightly used, are intended to embody or suggest, in concrete form, the principle under discussion. EXAMPLE. At the beginning of Mr. Lowell's essay " On a Certain Conde- scension in Foreigners" an incident and some discursive remarks seem to approach the theme from a very remote point; still we find that all has its office. The author begins by describing a summer evening walk that he took soon after the civil war had ended; during which walk his meditations centred in the thought that our country, with its quiet scenes, its heroic men, its young associations, is as worthy of its children's love as are older countries. While thus musing, he is interrupted by a voice inquiring in German if he is " Herr Professor Doctor So-and-So." The speaker is a German beggar, who has tracked him out in order to solicit money. His request is refused, whereupon he launches into a supercilious criticism of America and American affairs, thus exemplifying the " certain condescension " which is the subject of the essay. This introduction, which accords in style with the conversational and dis- cursive character of the essay, contributes several valuable suggestions to the thought : a. The whole furnishes a concrete exemplification of the general fact under discussion. b. The mendicancy of the German is a fine satire on his presumption in set- ting himself up as a critic, and in general on the real qualifications of those who are so apt to be condescending. c. The thought, embodied in the author's meditation, of how much our home and country is worth, is valuable as a background and offset to the criti- cisms that condescending foreigners make. All this shows that the whole, though seemingly quite unguided and digres- sive, really contributes in every part (unless we except the fourth paragraph) directly to the better understanding and realization of the theme. In planning the introduction the most prevalent error, perhaps, is the tendency to begin the approach from too remote a point, and thus make the introduction too long and indirect. It will not do to include all that is interesting, or even pertinent ; the inquiry must rather be restricted rigorously to what is indispensable. 272 THE PLAN. NOTE. Washington Irving satirizes such long and roundabout introduc- tions by beginning his Knickerbocker's History of New York with the creation of the world. And then at the end of this elaborate introduction he thus im- plies its uselessness : "But hold; before I proceed another step, I must pause to take breath, and recover from the excessive fatigue I have undergone, in preparing to begin this most accurate of histories. And in this I do but imitate the example of a renowned Dutch tumbler of antiquity, who took a start of three miles for the purpose of jumping over a hill, but having run himself out of breath by the time he reached the foot, sat himself quietly down for a few moments to blow, and then walked over it at his leisure." Though the introduction of a work is to be written first, accord- ing to its suggested order, the planning of it comes more naturally after a definite idea is obtained of what the production is to in- clude and how it is to be developed. " The last thing that we find in making a book," says Pascal, " is to know what we must put first." As to style, the introduction should aim merely at plainness and directness. It is not the place for pretentious or impassioned lan- guage ; it should start rather on the subdued and unassuming plane where the reader or hearer can begin and keep pace with it. It can be simple and plain, and at the same time arouse interest and anticipation : this is its ideal. Exceptions to this simple char- acter must be found in exceptional circumstances. II. The Development. What the introduction has called in from its general surroundings and concentrated on a single point or theme, it is now the business of the development, or body of the discourse, to separate into its component parts, and follow out into the various aspects and stages necessary to present treatment. The suggestions of the theme are to be examined anew and classi- fied in a continuous and progressive course of thought. Of course we cannot invade the writer's individual ways and aptitudes by laying down rules for developing the resources of any THE PLAN. 273 particular theme or class of themes. We must confine ourselves to noting general procedures and their effects, leaving the rest to the writer's choice. And these general procedures suggest them- selves as the answer to two main questions here arising : how to give ideas such grouping as shall make them cohere in the reader's mind and memory ; and how to give them such movement as shall make them work a desired effect. 1. Grouping. Laws of Association. It is the reader's mem- ory, most of all, that we are to consult : in developing the thoughts that compose our theme we are to choose such natural and sequent order as shall be convenient for him to retain and recall. What this order is we may best ascertain by noting the laws according to which we ourselves recall ideas. There are such laws, the so- called laws of association ; that is, certain principles of grouping, natural to every mind's working, by which one idea of a train has the power, when recalled, of bringing with it the rest. Psychologists note three general ways in which facts and ideas, cohering in one mind, may most naturally be made to cohere in another. i . By the law of contiguity. That is, we may count on the co- herence of ideas that lie naturally next to each other, in space, or in time, or in a continuous system of thought. Thus, for instance, in remembering and so in imagining a landscape, the mind travels spontaneously from point to point of its general features, dis- tance, middle distance, foreground. In like manner with the in- cidents making up an event or a history ; sometimes one so natu- rally suggests its neighbor that much of the whole can be taken for granted. Obviously a large proportion of the narrative and descriptive facts with which the writer has to deal must be grouped simply according to their contiguity. EXAMPLES. A biographical essay most naturally groups its facts on the principle of contiguity, events following each other in order of time. Thus Carlyle's essay on " Count Cagliostro" ; in the early part of which, though his historic materials are very scanty, the author draws on his imagination, by observing the order of things naturally predicated of childhood Infancy, 274 THE PLAN. Boyhood, Schooling, First Introduction to the World, etc. and applying them to the known native character of the subject. Macaulay follows the same principle in the main divisions of his essay on "History," and in the subdivisions of his first main division; thus: I. Characteristics of Ancient Historical Composition. II. Characteristics of Modern Historical Composition. And because these main divisions are the two great stages in the general theme that " history begins in novel and ends in essay," his plan, tracing the gradual evolution of historical composition from one of these extremes to the other, is in the main chronological: Herodotus, Thucydides, Xenophon, Polybius, Plutarch, Livy, Caesar, Tacitus, etc. The chief principle of grouping, therefore, is contiguity in time. 2. By the law of similarity and contrast. That is, we may count on the coherence of facts and ideas that are alike, or that are in striking contrast, when grouped together. Thus, for in- stance, one character in history, or characteristic event, naturally suggests its like or contrast in some other period or country. This law underlies the whole work of illustration, and accordingly is much observed in exposition and in popular appeal. EXAMPLES. I. An instance of a thought developed on the principle of similarity occurs in Burke's Speech to the Electors of Bristol. He thus plans his defense of his conduct in answer to the second charge against him. " It has been said, and it is the second charge, that in the questions of the Irish trade I did not consult the interest of my constituents, or, to speak out strongly, that I rather acted as a native of Ireland than as an English member of Parliament." (Plan of the answer) : I. My conduct in the Irish matter itself. 1. True to my invariable principle, I advocated conciliation. 2. Conciliatory policy rejected by the English. Sequel Irish demands and English disgraceful concessions. 3. Conduct that such a state of affairs demanded. II. Compared with my like conduct in connection with the American war. 1. Toward America also I advocated conciliation. 2. Conciliation likewise rejected by the English. Sequel American scorn and English disgraceful proposals of concession. 3. My conduct in such a state of affairs vindicated. The aim of this second half of the defense was avowedly " to read what was THE PLAN. 275 approaching in Ireland in the black and bloody characters of the American war"; and it will be observed that not only is the second main division made carefully similar to the first, but the order and subjects of the subdivisions are studiously parallel. 2. The close of Thackeray's lecture on George IV. contains a striking example of contrast employed to develop a thought. Two contrasted scenes dating from the same month and year are given: the opening of Carleton House by Prince George, and the resignation of his commission by General George Washington ; whereupon the writer asks : "Which was the most splendid spectacle ever witnessed; the opening feast of Prince George in London, or the resignation of Washington ? Which is the noble character for after ages to admire; yon fribble dancing in lace and spangles, or yonder hero who sheathes his sword after a life of spotless honor, a purity unreproached, a courage indomitable, and a consummate vic- tory? Which of these is the true gentleman?" (The sentences immediately succeeding are quoted on page 98.) 3. By the law of cause and effect. That is, we can count on the coherence of any two facts when we can show that one is the cause of the other. No impulse in thought is more spontaneous than the impulse to inquire after causes and consequences. In philosophical history, in argument, and in some forms of exposi- tion, this principle of grouping is very extensively employed. It is the most intimate way in which ideas may be associated, and hence is much depended on in abstruse material whose sequence, being logical, is hard to follow. EXAMPLES. I . To portray a principle or a state of things, and then trace its cause, was a frequent method of F. W. Robertson's in planning his sermons. For example, a sermon, " The Faith of the Centurion," on the text Matt. viii. 10, is thus planned : I. The faith which was commended. II. The causes of the commendation. So again in a sermon on " Worldliness," on the text I John ii. 15-17, the main points of the development are : I. The nature of the forbidden world. II. The reason for which it is forbidden. 2. Ruskin's lecture on " The Deteriorative Power of Conventional Art over Nations," is, as the title indicates, built on the principle of cause and effect. 276 THE PLAN. combined with contrast; its purpose being to draw the effects of conventional art, and contrast the effects of honest art. Of course these laws of association may be combined in many ways, even in the same work. The main divisions may follow one law, subdivisions another. While the nature of the material may cause one grouping principle to predominate, others may occa- sionally be employed, for distinction, or for variety, or for a more searching presentation of the idea. Thus in the application and diversification of these laws the writer has the utmost freedom ; but he has no freedom to discard them altogether. Unless some law of association can be clearly traced, the construction seems arbi- trary and crude, not being conformed to the natural working of the mind. 2. Movement. Two Orders of Thought-Building. Inde- pendently of the principles by which ideas are associated, there are two contrasted orders in which a structure of thought may be built, which, to give names indicative of their character, we may call the order of investigation and the order of enforcement. i. The order of investigation, otherwise called the inductive order, is somewhat analogous to the suspended or periodic sen- tence. That is, beginning with the statement of individual facts or truths, it gradually evolves from the grouping and classification of these a general conclusion giving the significance of the whole. Thus it works from particulars to generals, from facts to principles, from what is known and acknowledged to what is unknown and sought. The advantage of this order is that it gives the evidence before it draws the conclusion ; so that the conclusion, when it comes, is already substantiated. This fact suggests the kind of truths to which the inductive order is best adapted ; namely, truths new and strange, or truths that, merely asserted and not proved, would rouse doubt and opposition. " If my object," says George Henry Lewes, 1 " is to convince you of a general truth, or to impress you 1 In Fortnightly Review, Vol. II. p. 701. THE PLAN. 277 with a feeling, which you are not already prepared to accept, it is obvious that the most effective method is the inductive, which leads your mind upon a culminating wave of evidence or emotion to the very point I aim at." The difficulty of this order is that, like the periodic sentence, it compels more attention and greater effort of the memory to hold facts whose significance and application are not yet apparent. In using it, therefore, the writer should work with this difficulty in mind, and seek as far as may be to foster such expectancy as will enable the reader to overcome it. EXAMPLE. An interesting example of this order occurs in the middle of Macaulay's essay on History, where, after having asserted that modern histo- rians far surpass the ancients in the philosophy of history, an assertion which he defends at some length, he thus inquires after the cause : " To what is this change to be attributed ? Partly, no doubt, to the dis- covery of printing, a discovery which has not only diffused knowledge widely, but, as we have already observed, has also introduced into reasoning a pre- cision unknown in those ancient communities, in which information was, for the most part, conveyed orally. There was, we suspect, another cause, less obvious, but still more powerful." What this cause was, however, does not become apparent for nine para- graphs, the intervening space being devoted to detailing the facts that go to make it intelligible. The following plan of those paragraphs will show this inductive structure : I. The spirit of ancient nations was exclusive. p. (a. The Greeks cared only for themselves. ( b. The Romans cared only for themselves and the Greeks. P ff ( a. This produced narrowness and monotony of thought. ( b. Aggravated to intellectual torpor by despotism of Caesars. II. The torpor of intellect broken by two revolutions. a. The moral revolution Christianity. I. Facts: b. Relapse into worse intellectual barrenness. c . The political revolution invasion of northern nations. 1a. Invasion threw the countries open to each other. b. Thus opening broader field for study of political facts and principles. Conclusion : " Hence it is that, in generalization, the writers of modern times have far surpassed those of antiquity. The historians of our own coun- 278 THE PLAN. try are unequalled in depth and precision of reason; and even in the works of our mere compilers, we often meet with speculations beyond the reach of Thucydides or Tacitus." Here, with only a vague hint that " there was another cause," we start at a remote point and advance, each step adding a little to the preceding, until at the end the cause comes into view. 2. The order of enforcement, otherwise called the deductive order, takes a direction opposite to the above. That is, begin- ning with the general truth or principle it would enforce, it proves and applies by giving the minor principles, examples, facts, that make for it, until down to the minutest application it is made clear and cogent. Thus this order works from generals to par- ticulars, from principles to facts, from a truth which though known is not sufficiently observed to unexpected applications in familiar experience. The advantage of this order is that from the outset the truth to be illustrated is known ; so that at every step the bearing of every part is obvious. It is especially adapted, therefore, to the treat- ment of important practical truths of life and conduct, truths that people are not so much inclined to dispute as to neglect, and whose significance centres in their application. "The 1 deductive method is best when I wish to direct the light of familiar truths and roused emotions upon new particulars, or upon details in un- suspected relation to those truths ; and when I wish the attention to be absorbed by these particulars which are of interest in them- selves, not upon the general truths which are of no present interest except in as far as they light up these details." A disadvantage to be guarded against in this order is the fact that, the truth in discussion being known, there is no stimulus of interest in anticipating what is unknown, but this can be overcome by giving freshness and vigor to the details. EXAMPLE. The following section from Burke's Speech on the East India Bill illustrates the deductive order, by beginning with the most general and inclusive consideration, which it divides into headings less general, and these 1 Quoted also from George Henry Lewes, as on page 276. THE PLAN. 279 again into still less general, until it reaches the most particular state- ments : II. Whether the East India Company's abuse of their trust be an abuse of great atrocity. A. Their conduct viewed in its political light. 1. As to abuse of external federal trust. a. They have sold the native princes, states, and officials. b. They have broken every treaty. c. They have ruined all who confided in them. 2. As to abuse of internal administration. a. They have been only a curse, not an advantage, to the country. b. Their rule has reacted to the hurt of society at home. c. Their rule has been an abuse to tributary governments. B. Their conduct viewed in its commercial light. The tests of mer- cantile dealing by which they have failed : 1. Buying cheap and selling dear. 2. Strictness in driving bargains. 3. Watchfulness over honesty of clerks. 4. Exactness in accounts. 5. Care in estimating and providing for profits. 6. Care in readiness to meet bills. Here all the subdivisions lead out toward individual applications or illustra- tions of the general assertion made at the beginning. In a word, then, " a growing thought requires the inductive ex- position, an applied thought the deductive." The two orders may be combined in the same discourse ; that is, while the main divisions proceed in one order, subdivisions may take the other ; or the manner of procedure may be shifted in the various sections of the work, according to the writer's sense of what will be most effective. III. The Conclusion. The object of a formal conclusion at the end of a literary work is to gather together the various threads of argument, thought, or appeal, and so to apply them as to leave on 280 THE PLAN. the reader's mind a unity of impression corresponding to the aim of the discourse. It is important that there be one comprehen- sive effect, one central truth, by which the work shall be remem- bered. Relation of the Conclusion to the Body of Discourse. While the body of discourse has tended to diversity, following as it did the radiations of the thought into its various divisions and aspects, the conclusion, like the introduction, works to a unity ; and thus, in a sense, the discourse ends where it began. But it does not end as it began. The introduction, as we have seen, called in the thought from its surroundings and concentrated it on the theme ; the conclusion now gathers up the theme anew from its various components, and concentrates it on an application, or dynamic point, corresponding to the spirit and design of the whole work. Form and Style of the Conclusion. As of other elements, we have also of the conclusion, to note different characters, according as the work is of the intellectual type, or of the impassioned. i. In discourse of the intellectual type, the conclusion is gen- erally a summary of preceding arguments and facts. This sum- mary is made, where the individual arguments are important and distinct, by a recapitulation, sometimes in the same order in which they were given, sometimes in inverse order. In other cases the last argument or division may form the conclusion ; but only when it gathers into itself the force and significance of all that has gone before. The ideal way, no doubt, is to construct the dis- course in such climax or augmenting interest that its very momen- tum shall bear it onward to a natural, not labored or artificial, conclusion. EXAMPLES. I. An example of simple recapitulation by way of conclusion is found in Herbert Spencer's essay on "The Social Organism," whose theme has already been given, page 254. " Such, then, is a general outline of the evidence which justifies, in detail, the comparison of societies to living organisms. That they gradually increase in mass; that they become little by little more complex; that at the same THE PLAN. 281 time their parts grow more mutually dependent; and that they continue to live and grow as wholes, while successive generations of their units appear and disappear ; are broad peculiarities which bodies politic display in common with all living bodies; and in which they and living bodies differ from every- thing else. And on carrying out the comparison in detail, we find that these major analogies involve many minor analogies, far closer than might have been expected. To these we would gladly have added others. We had hoped to say something respecting the different types of social organization, and some- thing also on special metamorphoses; but we have reached our assigned limits." 2. Macaulay's essay on " History," whose plan is partly described on page 274 above, gathers up at the end the significance of the whole thought by describing the perfect historian. Five paragraphs are devoted to this descrip- tion, the last of which is as follows : " A historian, such as we have been attempting to describe, would indeed be an intellectual prodigy. In his mind, powers scarcely compatible with each other must be tempered into an exquisite harmony. We shall sooner see another Shakespeare or another Homer. The highest excellence to which any single faculty can be brought would be less surprising than such a happy and delicate combination of qualities. Yet the contemplation of imaginary models is not an unpleasant or useless employment of the mind. It cannot indeed produce perfection; but it produces improvement, and nourishes that generous and liberal fastidiousness which is not inconsistent with the strong- est sensibility to merit, and which, while it exalts our conceptions of the art, does not render us unjust to the artist." 2. In the impassioned type, the conclusion gathers into itself more the spirit of the discourse, or its significance as related to life and conduct. In summarizing or recapitulating arguments it takes them up by their practical application, aiming to leave the impression of appeal. Or some new application, kept in view but not mentioned before, may hold up the thought in an unexpected light, and thus form the culmination of the discourse. EXAMPLES. i. A magnificent example of the impassioned conclusion, too well known to need quoting here, is the close of Webster's Reply to Hayne. 2. The following, which is the conclusion of Ruskin's lecture on Conven- tional Art, at once recapitulates the two main divisions and gives them an application in conduct : " Make, then, your choice, boldly and consciously, for one way or other it must be made. On the dark and dangerous side are set, the pride which de- lights in self-contemplation the indolence which rests in unquestioned forms 282 THE PLAN. the ignorance that despises what is fairest among God's creatures, and the dull- ness that denies what is marvellous in His working : there is a life of monotony for your own souls, and of misguiding for those of others. And, on the other side, is open to your choice the life of the crowned spirit, moving as a light in creation discovering always illuminating always, gaining every hour in strength, yet bowed down every hour into deeper humility ; sure of being right in its aim, sure of being irresistible in its progress; happy in what it has securely done happier in what, day by day, it may as securely hope; happi- est at the close of life, when the right hand begins to forget its cunning, to remember, that there never was a touch of the chisel or the pencil it wielded, but has added to the knowledge, and quickened the happiness of mankind." As to its style, the conclusion has not the motive for plainness that we have noticed in the introduction. It takes influence from the character of the discourse preceding it ; and thus, if there is emotion or depth of thought to warrant, it may fittingly adopt imagery, rhythm, somewhat longer and more rolling sentence- structure, in a word, an elevated style ; being indeed a kind of extended cadence. If it is important that a sentence should not end with some insignificant element, it is much more important that the conclusion of the whole work should maintain its distinc- tion to the last. NOTE. The elaborately suspended sentence quoted from Cardinal New- man on page 147 above, which forms the conclusion of his lecture on " Litera- ture," illustrates the style that a conclusion may take when it gathers momentum from what has gone before. So does the conclusion just quoted from Ruskin. Even in the purely intellectual type, the style of the conclusion is not infre- quently heightened to a considerable degree. III. MEANS OF PRESERVING CONTINUITY. Before closing our discussion of the plan of discourse, a few words need to be said about the means employed to foster unity and continuity of structure, and to make the progress of the thought clear from point to point. Transitions. A transition, as the name indicates, is a passage over from one division of the thought to another. It is an interme- diate statement, in \vhich is found something retained from what THE PLAN. 283 precedes, and something anticipatory of what follows. But fur- ther, it should be a distinct thought in itself, not a mere catch- word ; otherwise it does not truly make a bridge between thoughts. The graceful management of transitions is one of the most deli- cate and difficult of the writer's achievements. There are many occasions for transition, great and small, in the course of a literary work. Concerning almost every new thought the skillful writer will consider whether it ought to have some preparation, some intermediate aspect supplied, in order to add itself naturally to what precedes. The greater transitions occur between the main divisions, and especially, between the three fundamental elements. To launch a course of thought success- fully, after the introduction, so as not to leave the transition abrupt or arbitrary, is perhaps hardest of all. EXAMPLES. An example of a transitional paragraph, from Macaulay, has already been given, on page 212. In an essay on " Race and Language," by Edward A. Freeman, the leading thought is that " the new lines of scientific inquiry which have been opened in modern times [namely, regarding race and language] have had a distinct and deep effect upon the politics of the age." This is introduced by an incident " of a deputation of Hungarian students going to Constantinople to present a sword of honor to an Ottoman general," on the ground of ancient kindred between the Magyar and Ottoman races. The transition from this introduc- tion to the development is thus made : "To allege the real or supposed primeval kindred between Magyars and Ottomans as a ground for political action, or at least for political sympathy, in the affairs of the present moment, is an extreme case some may be inclined to call it a reductio ad absurdum of a whole range of doctrines and sentiments which have in modern days gained a great power over men's minds." By this intermediate consideration, uniting the concrete illustration with the general statement, the way is now open for the leading thought cited above. Indications of Structure. It is not alone by numerals that the successive steps of a plan are indicated. These can at best mark merely the main divisions, and may very easily be made heavy and pedantic. But in well articulated discourse frequent and un- 284 THE PLAN. obtrusive signs of structure abound, in the form of connectives, words of transition, inversions for adjustment, and the like ; devices that lead the reader onward, and keep him aware of the stages of progress, without seeming to do so. These are the " internal indications of plan," which have already been mentioned (page 265) as demanding the first care in determining the structure. Such indications of structure are elements of discourse in which we find increasing care and copiousness as writers gain more experience of the interpreting capacities of their readers. Young writers are too apt to neglect them, and their work becomes blind and vague in consequence. Older writers see better the helpfulness, and are less sensitive to the formality, of laying out their thoughts as thoroughly as may be useful for clearness and definiteness. ILLUSTRATIONS. I. The following, from De Quincey, will of course be recognized as rather overdoing the matter : " Under this original peculiarity of Paganism, there arose two consequences, which I will mark by the Greek letters a and /3. The latter I will notice in its order, first calling the reader's attention to the consequence marked a, which is this," etc. 2. Consider, on the other hand, the helpfulness of the following indica- tions of structure, in a chapter on " The Mountain Villa," in Ruskin's Poetry of Architecture. There are no numerals employed; but the transitional para- graphs, together with the opening sentences from several successive paragraphs, will show how the progress of the thought is marked. "We have contemplated the rural dwelling of the peasant; let us next con- sider the ruralized domicile of the gentleman : and here, as before, we shall first determine what is theoretically beautiful, and then observe how far our expectations are fulfilled in individual buildings. But a few preliminary observations are necessary. " Man, the peasant, is a being of more marked national character, than man, the educated and refined. [Paragraph of amplification.] " Again : man, in his hours of relaxation, when he is engaged in the pur- suits of mere pleasure, is less national than when he is under the influence of any of the more violent feelings which agitate every-day life. [Paragraph of amplification.] "Without further preface, therefore, let us endeavor to ascertain what would be theoretically beautiful, on the shore, or among the scenery of the AMPLIFICATION. 285 Larian Lake, preparatory to a sketch of the general features of those villas which exist there, in too great a multitude to admit, on our part, of much individual detail. " For the general tone of the scenery, we may refer, etc. " Now, as to the situation of the cottage, we have already seen, etc. . . . but we cannot have this extreme humility in the villa, etc. " As regards the form of the cottage, we have seen, etc. . . . But . . . the villa must be placed where, etc. " We shall now proceed to the situation and form of the villa. As regards situation, etc. " We shall now consider the form of the villa." Etc. Thus, for page after page, the reader is conducted through a consecutive and naturally developing thought. SECTION THIRD. AMPLIFICATION. IN the construction of the plan, the main ideas of the discourse have been determined, in their mutual relations, from beginning to end. As yet, however, they are expressed only in germ. They need to be taken up anew and endowed with life ; to be clothed in a fitting dress of explanatory, illustrative, and enforcing thought. This is the office of rhetorical amplification. Amplification, the final process of composition, is the meeting- ground of invention and style ; the process, that is, wherein ques- tions of matter and manner must share equally the writer's atten- tion. Whatever, therefore, is introduced at this stage into the production must stand a double test ; and the question how a thing shall be said is as vital to the life of the production as is the question what the thing said shall be. The Writer's Mood in Amplification. To carry on the work of amplification requires a different mood from that in which the plan was made. That required severe discriminating thought ; this requires fervid thinking. That was the work of intellect and judgment, gathering, weighing, and distributing the main thoughts 286 AMPLIFICA TION. of the discourse, with a view to their logical order and effective- ness. This requires also that the writer enter into his work with heart and feeling ; he must himself be fired with the emotion he would impart to others, or inspired with the greatness and impor- tance of his thought, else his work will be but tedious and lifeless. Having determined on his plan, let him surrender himself fearlessly to the current of his thought ; let him be filled and fired with it anew, as if it had not been coldly analyzed. Nor should he be the slave of his own prearranged plan of discourse ; that is, he should not let it chill the glow of his thinking. The mind often works more vigorously in amplification than in planning ; and so the progress of actual composition may suggest a better arrange- ment of some points. If so, let the work of planning be re- opened ; and let not the writer shun the rewriting and rearrang- ing thus necessitated. Let every smallest part, as it passes under the creative process, be for the time as important as the whole dis- course, until every detail can be viewed as adapted to promote its own purpose and the purpose of the whole. > I. USES OF AMPLIFICATION. Amplification not always of Advantage. It is not always necessary to the life and distinction of a thought that it be fol- lowed out in detailed, amplified form. Not infrequently the very opposite treatment is more effective. Some ideas, from their nature or from the part they play in the composition, should be expressed as tersely and sententiously as possible, or should be merely hinted and left to work their way by suggestion. It gives vigor to the work when a considerable proportion of such con- densed material is interspersed with the rest ; and indeed it may be said that all the leading ideas, if expanded in some places, should be contracted to a brief and telling statement in others. " The art of putting things," so that much shall be said in little space, is a very valuable accomplishment. 1 1 " Every expedient which reduces circumlocutory expression promotes the power and the habit of condensed thinking. A taste for short words, for Saxon words AMPLIFICA TION. 287 An indication of the estimate people set on unamplified thought is seen in the fact that every nation has its distinct body of gnomic or aphoristic literature, in the shape of popular proverbs, bans mots, pregnant phrases, and the like. These all represent practi- cal thought and precept reduced to its most sententious form; and there is perhaps no other form of literature that exerts more influence, and gives more universal pleasure. NOTE. Some of the best known collections of aphoristic truth are : The Book of Proverbs, Pascal's Thoughts, Poor Richard's Sayings, Hare's Guesses at Truth, and Helps's Thoughts in the Cloister and the Crowd. Besides these the works of such writers as Bacon, Landor, and Emerson are valued as being especially rich in wise and pithy sayings. The fact that amplification may or may not be of advantage dictates that in the articulation of his work the writer keep con- stantly in mind the demands of proportion. Not all ideas will bear to be repeated and particularized, without overbalancing their true proportionate importance. Some should be dispatched in a mere suggestion, or occupy only the subordinate clause of a sen- tence ; while others may require several sentences, or even be worthy of a digression or excursus. The maintenance of a true proportion in the relative bulk and prominence of ideas is one of the most delicate problems of invention. NOTE. In McMaster's " History of the American People," which aims in five volumes to delineate our country's progress from the Revolution to the Civil War, the description of our forefathers' domestic surroundings, interest- ing and valuable though it is, would seem to be carried to disproportionate minuteness in the following : " In the corners of the rooms, or on the landing of the stairs, stood the high clocks of English make, many of which yet remain to attest the excellence of the manufacture. Some were surmounted by an allegorical representation of for unqualified substantives, for crisp sentences, helps the thinking power to work in close quarters. A writer who acquires a fondness for speaking brevities learns to think in brevities. Happy is the man whose habit it is to think laconically. There are few things in which the reaction of style on thought and on the thinking force is so obvious as in the growth of this condensing power." Phelps, " Theory of Preaching," p. 447. 288 AMPLIFICA TION. Time. Others had a moving disk to illustrate the phases of the moon and show when it was crescent, when in the second quarter, and when full. Still others at the final stroke of every hour chimed forth a tune which, when the Sabbath came round, was such a one as our grandfathers sang to their hymns in meeting." If in all parts the detail were carried down to so fine a point as the classifi- cation of clocks in private dwellings, where would the history be at the end of the fifth volume ? Why Amplify at All ? Of course the foregoing praise of sen- tentious expression contemplates only one side of the literary art. Amplification also has its indispensable uses ; it is by no means synonymous with platitude, nor is it mere dilution of the thought. Detailed thought is as necessary in its place as laconic thought. What purpose then does amplification subserve ? Three principal uses may be noted and exemplified. 1 . To give the true extent, limits, and applications of the idea. As briefly given or indicated, an assertion may be too sweeping ; or it may be a half-truth needing to be guarded and supplemented ; or its present application may be unusual, needing therefore to be defined. To provide for such relations of the idea is the office of amplifying comment. ILLUSTRATION. This use of amplification may be exemplified by the begin- ning of Carlyle's essay on " Characteristics," of which the sententia, or ground assertion is, THE HEALTHY KNOW NOT OF THEIR HEALTH, BUT ONLY THE SICK. The writer's first step with this is to broaden its application, for his present purpose : " this is the Physician's Aphorism ; and applicable in a far wider sense than he gives it. We may say it holds no less in moral, intellectual, political, poetical, than in merely corporeal therapeutics ; that wherever, or in what shape soever, powers of the sort which can be named -vital are at work, herein lies the test of their working right or working wrong." 2. To give body to an idea, by dwelling on it long enough for the reader's mind to grasp and realize it. " Time must be given," says De Quincey, * " for the intellect to eddy about a truth, and to 1 De Quincey, Essay on " Style," Part I. AMPLIFICA T10N. 289 appropriate its bearings. There is a sort of previous lubrication, such as the boa-constrictor applies to any subject of digestion, which is requisite to familiarize the mind with a startling or a com- plex novelty." The mere fact that by amplification the idea gains bulk and time is one important reason for dwelling upon it. ILLUSTRATION. The above-quoted thought from Carlyle, in the second step of amplification, is dwelt upon as follows : " In the Body, for example, as all doctors are agreed, the first condition of complete health is, that each organ perform its function unconsciously, un- heeded ; let but any organ announce its separate existence, were it even boast- fully, and for pleasure, not for pain, then already has one of those unfortunate ' false centres of sensibility ' established itself, already is derangement there. The perfection of bodily wellbeing is, that the collective bodily activities seem one ; and be manifested, moreover, not in themselves, but in the action they accomplish. If a Dr. Kitchener boast that his system is in high order, Die- tetic Philosophy may indeed take credit ; but the true Peptician was that Countryman who answered that, ' for his part, he had no system." " All this, whatever else it accomplishes, gives the reader time to realize the significance of the aphorism proposed at the beginning. 3. To give an idea its fitting and designed power ; that is, to give it a guise adapting it to act, according to its nature and pur- pose, upon the sensibilities, or the understanding, or the will. Some thoughts that, reasoned out, would have comparatively little effect, might appeal strongly to the imagination ; others might have special power in motive and conduct. It is on the appropri- ate amplification that we must depend, to make each thought fulfil its destined mission in the reader's mind. ILLUSTRATION. A third step of amplification, in the above-cited thought of Carlyle's, is to give the idea an imaginative and poetic turn, so that it is fitted to impress the reader by its beauty. " In fact, unity, agreement is always silent, or so ft- voiced; it is only discord that loudly proclaims itself. So long as the several elements of Life, all fitly adjusted, can pour forth their movement like harmonious tuned strings, it is a melody and unison; Life, from its mysterious fountains, flows out as in celestial music and diapason, which also, like that other music of the spheres, even because it is perennial and complete, without interruption and without imperfection, might be fabled to escape the ear. Thus too, in some 290 AMPLIFICA TION. languages, is the state of health well denoted by a term expressing unity; when we feel ourselves as we wish to be, we say that we are whole." II. MEANS OF AMPLIFICATION. It would of course be useless in any case to say that thought of such and such kind should be amplified in such and such a way. The self-reliant literary instinct would not only scorn to be bound by such rules, but would evince independent genius in expanding thought by unwonted methods. It is within our province, how- ever, to examine to some extent the natural suggestiveness of ideas, and to gather therefrom the leading means of amplification. The thoughts which in the plan exist in outline may be ampli- fied: 1. By breaking up General Statements into Particulars. It is from particular facts that a comprehensive truth is generalized in the first place. The writer has the advantage of seeing both the truth and the facts; to put his reader, therefore, into the same state of understanding that he occupies he must separate the gene- ral idea into its components, if we may so express it, before the reader's eyes. i. A general fact is most naturally amplified by enumeration of particulars enough to make a conclusive ground for the asser- tion of it. An important consideration, then, is the number of particulars. NOTE. Take for instance such a general fact as this: 'The past hundred years have been prolific in important inventions.' Here the natural impulse is simply to particularize, giving names of enough inventions to substantiate the statement. The method therefore is enumeration, with the aim of accumu- lating a number of details. An example of such enumerative amplification is given on page 207 above, in the paragraph quoted from Harris. Another example occurs in Morley's "Edmund Burke"; where, in speaking of the characteristics of Burke's age, he makes the statement : " In every order of activity a fresh and gigantic impulse [to progress] was given." This he amplifies by enumerating, "In the Spiritual order; in the Industrial order; in the Speculative and Scientific order; in the Political order "; and devoting a paragraph to each. AMPLIFICA TION. 291 2. A general principle is most naturally amplified by example, in which the object is not so much to substantiate by the number of details as to illustrate by the character of them. Much depends therefore on having the example well chosen. EXAMPLE. In the following, from Bacon, a single example is sufficient to illustrate adequately the principle enunciated at the beginning. " The inclination to goodness is imprinted deeply in the nature of man, insomuch that if it issue not towards men, it will take unto other living creat- ures; as it is seen in the Turks, a cruel people, who nevertheless are kind to beasts, and give alms to dogs and birds ; insomuch, as Busbechius reporteth, a Christian boy in Constantinople had like to have been stoned for gagging in a waggishness a long-billed fowl." 3. In this means of amplification it is to be noted that not only does the particular and concrete illustrate the general and abstract, but the general and abstract illustrate equally, when the particular fact is the basis of the thought. " Thus, " says Pascal, 1 " when we wish to illustrate a general principle, we must exhibit the particular rule of a case ; but if we wish to illustrate a particular case, we must begin with the general rule." EXAMPLE OF THE GENERAL USED TO ILLUSTRATE THE PARTICULAR. In Macaulay's essay on Hallam's Constitutional History, one section is devoted to tracing in detail the change in the character of the English Parliament since the Revolution ; and he illustrates by a paragraph beginning thus : " Perhaps it may be laid down as a general rule that a legislative assembly, not constituted on democratical principles, cannot be popular long after it ceases to be weak." This principle, after a little expansion and definition, is applied to the illus- tration of the series of facts that he has been adducing. 2. By employing Some Form of Repetition. This kind of amplification is used in cases where the significance of a term is to be fixed, or where an important assertion is to be im- pressed. " A man who should content himself," says De Quincey, 2 "with a single condensed enunciation of a perplexed doctrine, 1 Pascal, " Thoughts," Chap. IX. section III. 2 De Quincey, Essay on " Style," Part I. 292 AMPLIFICA TION. would be a madman and a felo-de-se, as respected his reliance upon that doctrine." Of course, by repetition here is not meant mere reiteration. Reiteration does not amplify. The meaning is rather what the old rhetoricians called interpretatio ; which, as defined by Archbishop Whately, 1 is : " to repeat the same sentiment and argument in many different forms of expression ; each, in itself brief, but all, together, affording such an expansion of the sense to be conveyed, and so detaining the mind upon it, as the case may require." Such repetition takes various aspects. 1. Its simplest aspect is where definitive and descriptive terms and phrases are appended to the central idea, until the store of expressions thus accumulated elucidates the idea from many sides. EXAMPLE. A very marked instance of this form of repetition occurs in Burke's description of National Chivalry, in his Reflections on the Revolu- tion in France, in which passage he employs no fewer than nine equivalent expressions for the term Chivalry : " But the age of chivalry is gone. That of sophisters, economists, and cal- culators, has succeeded; and the glory of Europe is extinguished for ever. Never, never more, shall we behold that generous loyalty to rank and sex, that proud submission, that dignified obedience, that subordination of the heart, which kept alive, even in servitude itself, the spirit of an exalted freedom. The unbought grace of life, the cheap defense of nations, the nurse of manly sentiment and heroic enterprise, is gone ! It is gone, that sensibility of prin- ciple, that chastity of honor, which felt a stain like a wound, which inspired courage whilst it mitigated ferocity, which ennobled whatever it touched, and under which vice itself lost half its evil, by losing all its grossness." 2. A second aspect is, while repeating virtually the same asser- tion or argument, to disguise the repetition by giving the thought in obverse, or breaking it into parts, or presenting it in different degrees of concreteness ; with care to make the idea grow in the repetition, until it is sufficiently impressed. EXAMPLES. i. An example of such repetition occurs in Burke's Letters on a Regicide Peace, where he speaks of war and the motives to it : " But never can a vehement and sustained spirit of fortitude be kindled in 1 Whately, " Elements of Rhetoric," p. 302, AMPLIFICA TION. 293 a people by a war of calculation. It has nothing that can keep the mind erect under the gusts of adversity. Even where men are willing, as sometimes they are, to barter their blood for lucre, to hazard their safety for the gratification of their avarice, the passion which animates them to that sort of conflict, like all the short-sighted passions, must see its objects distinct and near at hand. The passions of the lower order are hungry and impatient. Speculative plun- der ; contingent spoil ; future, long adjourned, uncertain booty ; pillage which must enrich a late posterity, and which possibly may not reach to posterity at all ; these, for any length of time, will never support a mercenary war. The people are in the right. The calculation of profit in all such wars is false. On balancing the account of such wars, ten thousand hogsheads of sugar are pur- chased at ten thousand times their price. The blood of man should never be shed but to redeem the blood of man. It is well shed for our family, for our friends, for our God, for our country, for our kind. The rest is vanity; the rest is crime." 2. Repetition of this kind needs to be carefully managed, or it will merely mark time without advancing. Compare, for instance, the following, from Blair's Sermons : "No individual can be happy unless the circumstances of those around him be so adjusted as to conspire with his interest. For, in human society, no hap- piness or misery stands unconnected and independent. Our fortunes are inter- woven by threads innumerable. We touch one another on all sides. One man's misfortune or success, his wisdom or his folly, often by its consequences reaches through multitudes." On this passage Mr. E. J. Payne ' thus comments : " Here the same proposition is repeated five times, without any material addition or illustration, the impression left being that of great poverty of thought." 3. A favorite means of amplification with Macaulay was the obverse, 2 that is, the negative of his proposition in some aspect; and this obverse, through his tendency to antithesis, he very generally put first. The manner of doing this has already been pointed out, page 138 above. The following, from his essay on Boswell's Life of Johnson, shows an aspect of this : he is setting out to speak of unpardonable mannerism, but speaks of pardonable mannerism first : "Mannerism is pardonable, and is sometimes even agreeable, when the manner, though vicious, is natural. Few readers, for example, would be will- ing to part with the mannerism of Milton or of Burke. But a mannerism which does not sit easy on the mannerist, which has been adopted on princi- ple, and which can be sustained only by constant effort, is always offensive. 1 Introduction to " Burke's Select Works," Vol. I. p. xli. On all this section his introduction to Burke has been very suggestive. 2 See Minto, " Manual of English Prose Literature," pp. 88, 99. 294 AMPLIFICA TION. And such is the mannerism of Johnson." Some interesting remarks are made on this passage, Minto, p. 99. 3. A very serviceable management of this kind of repetition consists in expanding the sense until the thought is exhibited on its various sides, and then contracting it into its most compendious and striking form. Of this method Dr. Whately 1 says, "The hearers will be struck by the forcibleness of the sentence which they will have been prepared to comprehend ; they will under- stand the longer expression, and remember the shorter." EXAMPLES. A paragraph illustrating this form of repetition has been quoted from Burke on page 209 preceding. The following is another instance from the same author : " It signifies very little how this matter may be quibbled away. Example, the only argument of effect in civil life, demonstrates the truth of my proposi- tion. Nothing can alter my opinion concerning the pernicious tendency of this example, until I see some man for his indiscretion in the support of power, for his violent and intemperate servility, rendered incapable of sitting in par- liament. For as it now stands, the fault of overstraining popular qualities, and, irregularly if you please, asserting popular privileges, has led to disquali- fication; the opposite fault never has produced the slightest punishment. Re- sistance to power has shut the door of the House of Commons to one man ; obsequiousness and servility, to none" Mr. Payne thus analyzes this paragraph : " This paragraph should be noticed as a conspicuous example of Burke's method. He begins by an axiom paren- thetically introduced. He goes on to put the case in the strongest light, by altering its conditions to their polar opposites. The conclusion is then stated clearly at length; and as a final blow, this conclusion is repeated with a double antithesis, in the most concise and striking form attainable." For discussion of Repetition in its relations to Diction and Style, see pre- ceding, pages 30, 1 60. 3. By adding Illustrative and Vivifying Details. Not all illustration is in the nature of example ; nor is it always employed merely to make the reader understand more fully. Some material produces its proper effect only by being realized in the imagination ; and the amplification applied to it must be of a heightening and vivifying character. l Whately, " Elements of Rhetoric," p. 351. AMPLIFICA TION. 295 Some of the aspects that such amplification takes may here be noted. 1. Much of the detail in narrative and descriptive writing is invented or observed for the purpose of giving not only more body to the account, but more life and reality. EXAMPLE. The following paragraph, from Parkman, narrates the discov- ery of the Wisconsin river by Joliet and Marquette : " After carrying their canoes a mile and a half over the prairie and through the marsh, they launched them on the Wisconsin, bade farewell to the waters that flowed to the St. Lawrence, and committed themselves to the current that was to bear them they knew not whither, perhaps to the Gulf of Mexico, perhaps to the South Sea or the Gulf of California. They glided calmly down the tranquil stream, by islands choked with trees and matted with entangling grape vines; by forests, groves, and prairies, the parks and pleasure-grounds of a prodigal nature; by thickets and marshes and broad bare sand-bars; under the shadowing trees, between whose tops looked down from afar the bold brow of some woody bluff. At night, the bivouac, the canoes inverted on the bank, the flickering fire, the meal of bison-flesh or venison, the evening pipes, and slumber beneath the stars : and when in the morning they embarked again, the mist hung on the river like a bridal veil; then melted before the sun, till the glassy water and the languid woods basked breathless in the sultry glare." Here the attempt is evidently made by amplification to render the impor- tance of the event more palpable. Nor is the scene merely imaginary, but recorded from actual observation, as a foot-note says, " The above traits of the scenery of the Wisconsin are taken from personal observation of the river during midsummer." 2. Figures of speech, principally the figures of simile, meta- phor, and analogy, are much depended on in cases where a complex thought needs to be made clear, or an important consideration needs to be enforced. Often they are the briefest as well as the most luminous means of expanding an idea. EXAMPLES. i . Consider how much the figures in the following, from Glad- stone's essay on " Kin beyond Sea," effect in making the thought lucid. He is speaking of the relations between Sovereign and Ministry, and the relations of both to the people : " For this concentration of power, toil and liability, milder realities have now been substituted; and Ministerial responsibility comes between the Mon- 296 AMPLIFICATION. arch and every public trial and necessity, like armor between the flesh and the spear that would seek to pierce it; only this is an armor itself also fleshy, at once living and impregnable. It may be said by an adverse critic, that the Constitutional Monarch is only a depository of power, as an armory is a depos- itory of arms; but that those who wield the arms, and those alone, constitute the true governing authority. And no doubt this is so far true," etc. 2. The following, from Cardinal Newman, is a very vigorous and telling en- forcement of its thought : " Quarry the granite rock with razors, or moor the vessel with a thread of silk; then may you hope with such keen and delicate instruments as human knowledge and human reason to contend against those giants, the passion and the pride of man." 3. Incidents and anecdotes are a frequent means of illustrative amplification, especially in popular discourse. They may be re- garded as a free form of exemplification. In using them the writer should be sure he has a definite point to make, and that his illustration has an equally definite point to be brought in contact with it. To make a discourse of stories that illustrate nothing is to make it all confectionery and no food. And indeed, to admit any part of a story that does not definitely aid in the illustration is to tolerate so much superfluous lumber. Illus- trative stories are told not for themselves but for their point ; unnecessary details should therefore be rigorously pruned away, in order to leave the point conspicuous. EXAMPLE. Consider how the incidents introduced into the following, from Lowell, give a peculiar interest to the thought enunciated at the beginning : " As I see more of material antiquity, I begin to suspect that my interest in it is mostly factitious. The relations of races to the physical world (only to be studied fruitfully on the spot) do not excite in me an interest at all propor- tionate to that I feel in their influence on the moral advance of mankind, which one may as easily trace in his library as on the spot. ... As for antiquity, after reading history, one is haunted by a discomforting suspicion that the names so painfully deciphered in hieroglyphic or arrow-head inscriptions are only so many more Smiths and Browns masking it in unknown tongues. Moreover, if we Yankees are twitted with not knowing the difference between big and great, may not those of us who have learned it turn round on many a monument over here with the same reproach? I confess I am beginning to sympathize with a countryman of ours from Michigan, who asked our Minister AMPLIFICATION. 297 to direct him to a specimen ruin and a specimen gallery, that he might see and be rid of them once for all. I saw three young Englishmen going through the Vatican by catalogue and number, the other day, in a fashion which John Bull is apt to consider exclusively American. ' Number 300 ! ' says the one with catalogue and pencil, ' have you seen it?' 'Yes,' answer his two comrades, and, checking it off, he goes on with Number 301. Having witnessed the una- vailing agonies of many Anglo-Saxons from both sides of the Atlantic in their effort to have the correct sensation before many hideous examples of antique bad taste, my heart warmed toward my business-like British cousins, who were doing their aesthetics in this thrifty auctioneer fashion." The foregoing are the principal means of amplification, so far as they may be enumerated generally ; other means are to be re- ferred more especially to the specific literary forms. III. ACCESSORIES OF AMPLIFICATION. Besides the direct means of amplification, there are to be men- tioned certain accessories that, rightly employed, do much to impart life and interest to the thought. Quotation. " He that borrows the aid of an equal under- standing," says Burke, " doubles his own ; he that uses that of his superior elevates his own to the stature of that he "contemplates." The corroborative quotations introduced into a literary work may often be made very valuable features of it. Some rules and cautions regarding the use of quotation need, however, to be observed. i. In employing quotation to corroborate any statement, the writer should be sure that it expresses an idea in the exact line of his thinking. If it is a little aside, or looks toward a different con- clusion, it but confuses the work ; and all the more if only a little out of the way. Such inexactness is the most frequent error in quoting. EXAMPLE. The following quotations, which occur in the midst of a pas- sage inculcating painstaking in composition, turn the thought, as will be observed, a little aside : " Our best poets have been equally painstaking. Ben Jonson declared, con- 298 AMPLIFICA TION. trary to the popular opinion, ' that a good poet's made, as well as born.' So, also, Wordsworth : ' O many are the poets that are sown By nature, men endowed with highest gifts, The vision and the faculty divine : Yet wanting the accomplishment of verse, Which, in the docile season of their youth, It was denied them to acquire through lack Of culture, and the inspiring aid of books.' " From this point onward the subject of painstaking is resumed, without warning or transition, as if the thought had been unbroken. 2. It is important, in introducing a quoted expression, to give the quotation in its exact words, without having to accommodate it to another grammatical structure, or to take any liberties with the expression. Not always, perhaps, can this be easily done ; but in most cases the writer can adjust his own construction to that of the borrowed passage. Poetry should be quoted in lines, if more than one line is quoted ; if only one line, or part of a line, the writer should judge whether, from its close or looser connex- ion with his thought, it will better appear in the body of the text or in a line by itself. ILLUSTRATION. The awkwardness of the following is evident : " Yet he did know that ' Christ and Him crucified ' was now his all in all; and this knowledge thrilled every fibre of his body." The sentence ought to be recast so that faithfulness and grammatical structure should coincide ; e.g. " Yet he did know that his all in all was summed up in 'Christ and Him crucified '; and this knowledge," etc. The following will illustrate Cardinal Newman's scrupulousness, in quoting, to mark all that he quotes and only that : "The disputants are men of education and ability: the clergyman orthodox, serious, amiable; his opponent a man of candor and good sense; and 'the whole ' correspondence professes to be sent to the press ' faithfully, without com- ment, without altering a word or syllable ' on one side or on the other." Allusion. By this is meant indirect suggestion of or reference to something that the reader may be trusted to understand, some in- AMPLIFICA TION. 299 cident, expression, or custom in history or literature or life. If the reader profits by the allusion, the idea thus becomes a double one ; and the indirectness of the association is a graceful compli- ment to the reader's culture. Fertility of allusion is one of the most charming embellishments of literature. EXAMPLES. The following, from John Morley, is an allusion to the inci- dent recorded in I Kings xviii. 44 : " A statesman may well be pardoned for not discerning the germs of new things about his feet : he too often fails to see them even when they have grown breast high. It is but little reproach to him not to have descried the small cloud on the remote horizon no bigger than a marts hand, when he so often moves in serene unconsciousness of the tempest ready to burst over his head." The following, from Bulwer, is an allusion to the old myth of Cadmus and the dragon's teeth : " So he dismissed them, if with churlish words, With royal presents, and to festal pomps. But one, by Median law Nearest his throne, the chief priest of the Magi, " Having heard all with not unprescient fears, Followed the Prince and urged recall of words Which, sent from king to king, Are fraught with dragon seeds, -whose growth is armies," Of course the prosperity of an allusion depends entirely on the reader's ability to resolve it. Macaulay, whose writings are espe- cially rich in allusion, had the useful custom of incidentally explain- ing each allusion far enough so that the reader could profit by it whether he was familiar with the original alluded to or not. An instructive indication this, of Macaulay's prevailing passion for clearness. EXAMPLE. The following not only alludes, but tells enough of the story to make the allusion plain : " The spell loses its power; and he who should then hope to conjure witk it would find himself as much mistaken as Cassim in the Arabian tale, when he stood crying, ' Open Wheat,' ' Open Barley,' to the door which obeyed no sound but ' Open Sesame.' " 300 AMPLIFICATION. Suggestion. Many a thought is much moire effectually treated when it is merely hinted ; when the reader is, as it were, put on the track of it and stimulated to carry it on for himself. " You must be careful," says Henry Ward Beecher, 1 "not to surfeit people ; leave room for their imagination and spirit to work. Don't treat them as sacks to be filled from a funnel. Aim to make them spiritually active, self-helpful." The relation of suggestiveness in style to economy of the read- er's interpreting power has already been mentioned, page 27. EXAMPLE. Consider how the end of the following, from Walter Savage Landor, is fitted by its suggestiveness to leave the reader in the attitude of imagining for himself. It occurs in his " Dream of Petrarca " : "'And Love! ' said I, 'whither is he departed? If not too late, I would propitiate and appease him.' " ' He who cannot follow me, he who cannot overtake and pass me,' said the Genius, ' is unworthy of the name, the most glorious in earth or heaven. Look up ! Love is yonder, and ready to receive thee.' " I looked : the earth was under me : I saw only the clear blue sky, and some- thing brighter above it." 1 Beecher, " Yale Lectures on Preaching," First Series, p. 224. REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT. 301 CHAPTER III. REPRODUCTION OF THE THOUGHT OF OTHERS. BEFORE entering upon the study of the specific literary forms, we need to devote a chapter to the discussion of a kind of work which, though not strictly inventive, calls for the ability to trace accurately and intelligently the various processes included in in- vention. Reproduction of the thought of others, by some work- ing-over process, such as abstract, paraphrase, or translation, is often inculcated as a valuable means of discipline to the writer. It is this, and more. It is a distinct form of literary work, for which every author has frequent occasion ; and the need of thor- ough and conscientious training in the principles of it, is evident from the fact that there is no more prolific source of recrimination between authors than blundering or unfair interpretations of each other's statements. Ability to reproduce thought accurately is needed also as the indispensable requisite for criticism. Not often is a critic actually dishonest in his representations of an author's work ; but it is just as bad as being dishonest if he makes up his judgment from a hasty impression, or if he lacks the acumen to give a true and searching account of the production he is review- ing. Every critic owes it therefore both to his author and his own reputation to qualify himself by a determinate discipline looking to this particular end, before he presumes upon the responsible office of passing judgment on the creations of other men's minds. Considered in its relation to invention, reproduction of the thought of others may be regarded as an exercise in which the material is supplied ; in which, therefore, the writer's skill is con- centrated on the form. What form it shall take, whether con- densed or expanded, whether a full reproduction or merely select- 302 REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT. ive, is determined by its object and occasion. Four main aspects of such reproduction are discussed in the present chapter : inter- pretation, abstract, paraphrase, and translation. I. INTERPRETATION. Scope of Interpretation. This form of reproduction is dis- cussed first, because it is the necessary basis of all others : any process by which thought already existent is worked over and pre- sented in another guise is fundamentally interpretation of that thought. The preliminary procedure in all cases is to get clearly in mind the exact idea of the original. This once accom- plished, the distinctive form of the reproduction is a comparatively easy matter to settle, depending on the particular purpose that the writer has in view. The scope that is open to the work of interpretation is far more comprehensive than any mechanical rules can cover. For the truest interpretation is not mechanical ; it is creative, following with insight and sympathy the same constructive lines that were laid down in the author's mind and heart, and vivifying the work anew. Interpretation begins indeed with the humblest procedures, with verbal criticism and patient analysis of the grammatical fea- tures of expression ; nor can the interpreter afford on occasion to neglect any minutest detail of these. It is the possible potency of a word or a letter to determine the whole bearing of a passage which imparts all honorableness to the exact scholarship of the verbal critic. At the same time, that interpretation which stops with such minute work is as inadequate as that which ignores it. Stopping with it, interpretation becomes mere dryasdust com- ment, missing all that gives life and spirit to the original ; ignoring it, it becomes wild, fantastic, hopelessly alloyed with the critic's own vagaries. There is both a minute interpretation and a liberal ; an interpretation that centres in the smallest things, and an inter- pretation that reaches indefinitely up along the loftier lines of thought and fancy involved in the original. Between these two REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT, 303 kinds the critic will choose according to his insight. What in- spires but dull " gerund-grinding " to one will to another be full of " the light that never was, on sea or land." Every individual must find his own most congenial manner of interpreting; and often he must reach results through processes too subtle to be described. Whatever the processes, however, it is to be remem- bered that the more sternly and conscientiously the exact verbal investigation is held to as a basis, the surer is the critic of being honest with his original. Purposes of Interpretation. As regards the purpose for which it is made, two aspects of interpretation are to be distinguished. i. Interpretation for its own sake, which is the staple of that considerable body of writing found in commentaries, critical edi- tions, explications, and the like. In such work the original deter- mines the whole thought, and the object of the interpretation is simply to give, on some determinate scale or principle, a fair and full account of what is involved in the original. It is the highest merit of such interpretation that the interpreter efface himself, and let the thought of the original be perfectly transmitted, through the new medium, to the reader. NOTE. A conscientious interpreter, being concerned merely that the truth become clear, will not infrequently give more than one view, and leave the decision to the judgment of his reader. The following note, for example, is Prof. Henry N. Hudson's comment on the expression, Hamlet, Act I., scene 2, " A little more than kin, and less than kind " : "The King is 'a little more than kin' to Hamlet, because, in being at once his uncle and his father, he is twice kin. And he is ' less than kind,' because his incestuous marriage, as Hamlet views it, is unnatural or out of nature. The poet repeatedly uses kind in its primitive sense of nature. Professor Himes, however, of Gettysburg, Penn., questions this explanation, and writes me as follows : ' It seems to me that, since Hamlet has just been addressed as cousin and as son, he is still the object of thought, and the words quoted must be referred by the Prince to himself, and not to the King. In other words, it is Hamlet who is "a little more than kin, and less than kind." If we take kin as a substitute for cousin, and kind as a substitute for son, Hamlet is a little more than the first, for he is nephew, and a little less than the second, for he is only a step-son, Hamlet's aside is thus a retort upon the 304 REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT. King's words; as though he said, "I am neither the one nor the other, a little more than the one, and not so much as the other." ' 2. Interpretation employed incidentally, the main thought of the production being other but needing to use the matter inter- preted, either to confirm or to confute it. Such use of interpreta- tion is extensively made in argumentative and expository literature ; and the fair treatment of another's thought, whether in agreement or in opposition, is one of the strongest indications of a sound and honorable mind. Thought can so easily be distorted, explained away, inflated, given a wrong coloring, that the interpreter cannot be too strenuously cautioned to use another's thought fairly or not at all. It is related of John Stuart Mill that he was so scrupulously fair in controversy that he often stated the opponent's position better than did the opponent himself; and certainly he gained more than he lost by such a course. EXAMPLE. A quaint example of a passage interpreted word by word for a particular purpose occurs in Latimer's " Sermon on the Ploughers " : " Oh that our prelates woulde be as diligente to sowe the corne of good doctrine as Sathan is, to sowe cockel and darnel. And this is the deuilyshe ploughinge, the which worcketh to haue things in latine, and letteth the frute- ful edification. But here some man will saie to me, what sir are ye so priuie of the deuils counsell that ye know al this to be true? Truli I know him to wel, and haue obeyed him a little to much in condescentinge to some follies. And I knowe him as other men do, yea, that he is euer occupied and euer busie in folowinge his plough. I know bi saint Peter which saieth of him. Sicut leo rugiens circuit querens quern deuoret. He goeth aboute lyke a roaringe lyon seekynge whome he maye deuoure. I woulde haue thys texte wel vewed and examined euerye worde of it. Circuit, he goeth aboute in euerye corner of his dioces. He goeth on visitacion daylye. He leaueth no place of hys cure vnuisited. He walketh round aboute from place to place and ceaseth not. Sicut leo, as a Lyon that is strongly, boldly, and proudlye straytelye and fiercelye with haute lookes, wyth hys proude countenaunces, wyth hys stately braggynges. Rugiens, roaringe, for he letteth not slippe any occasion to speake or to roare out when he seeth his tyme. Querens, he goeth about seekyng and not sleepyng, as oure bishoppes do, but he seketh dili- gently, he searcheth diligently al corners, wheras he may haue his pray, he roueth abrode in eueri place of his dioces, he standeth not styl, he is neuer at reste, but euer in hande wyth his plough that it may go forwarde," REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT. 305 Requisites of Interpretation. From what has been said it is evident that interpretative judgment of an author's work, to be adequate, must be communion with the author's mind ; it is trac- ing the current of his invention from its final result back to its be- ginnings. The requisites of interpretation, therefore, are simply the requisites of a sympathetic and congenial, but at the same time keen and critical, understanding of a creative intellect ; with power also to enter into whatever the work contains of passion or imagination. Let us, however, examine a little more in detail what these requisites involve. i . First of all, the critic needs to develop by training a severe analytical judgment. This he needs in order to answer faithfully and accurately the initial questions : exactly what things are in the original, expressed and suggested, and how they are com- bined. Without the disposition to such conscientious work at the be- ginning, any criticism is sure to be inconclusive. Vague impres- sions, without definite details to back them, are a too shadowy basis for solid interpretation. This is evident when we consider how much is really included in any masterly course of thought. For besides what is explicitly stated, much is given by implication and suggestion. Further, it makes a good deal of difference whether a statement is a principal element in the passage, or is thrown into subordinate relation ; whether it is made absolutely or conditioned by something else. Some facts are expressed in the barest and directest style ; others are disguised in figure and allusion ; and surely these so different manners must indicate some subtle difference in their significance. All such features as these, while they suggest how careful the interpreter should be in order to deal truly with his original, suggest also how easy it is, whether from lack of skill or deliberate unfairness, to give the thought a wrong coloring, or in some way to misinterpret it. Every one thinks he can give a true report of what another has said or writ- ten ; it is only here and there the trained and exact mind that actually does it, 306 REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT. 2. To the analytical judgment must be added, for all the higher achievements of criticism, a vigorous imagination. This is the realizing faculty, the faculty by which the interpreter puts him- self side by side with the original author, and shares by a kind of sympathy in his creative processes. Looking thus through the author's eyes, and communing with his secret heart, the interpre- ter reproduces his inner feelings, motives, ideals ; can divine what is only hinted ; can run ahead of his words, and enlighten what the original has left vague and obscure. By this faculty of imagination the interpreter becomes associated with his author as a fellow-creator. " Imagination," says Lowell, 1 " where it is truly creative, is a faculty, and not a quality ; it looks before and after, it gives the form that makes all the parts work together harmoniously toward a given end, its seat is in the higher reason, and it is efficient only as a servant of the will." True as this is of the originative imagination, it equally demon- strates its truth when imagination is applied to the work of think- ing an author's thoughts after him. 3. Another requisite, needed by way of regulative, is accurate control of what may be called " the personal equation." In as- tronomical observations made by different persons, allowance has to be made for the fact that some have a quicker eye than others, and consequently can note the instant of a star's transit more exactly; and this allowance for discrepancies between different observers is called the personal equation. With equal pertinence it may be said that there is a personal equation to be allowed for in criticism. That is, there is a tendency, greater or less, to read into the original one's own ideas, or to give the original a coloring not accurately its own, by prejudices and preconceptions. Some imaginative interpreters are utterly untrustworthy on this account. And no interpreter can be unerring without some de- terminate culture designed to efface his own conceptions in the presence of his author's. The conscientious critic will keep strict watch of such tendency in himself, and labor to reduce the per- Lowell, " Among my Books," First Series, p. 176. REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT. 307 sonal error to a minimum. The ideal for him is to be a perfectly transparent, unrefracting medium for the transmission of the orig- inal author's thought ; and in making an interpretation not infre- quently he may have to work over his transcript many times, with utmost solicitude, in order to make sure of retaining no distorting elements due to his own personal views. The self-culture needed to develop and confirm these requisites makes the work of interpretation one of the most valuable of ex- ercises for giving the writer control of inventive processes, and for making his reading and observation valuable to him. This aspect of interpretation has already been discussed to some extent, under Disciplinary Reading, page 237. II. ABSTRACT. Abstract, or precis-writing, is the name given to that process of discourse wherein the thought of a literary work is reproduced in narrower compass. Occasion and Method. As the object in making abstract is to reduce the thought to a scale more convenient for present use, it is evident that the process is employed merely in cases where not so much depends on the style of the thought as upon its bulk ; cases where the original will bear to be cut down without losing its distinctive character. Some kinds of discourse, poetry for instance, do not easily lend themselves to abstract ; nor is it ordi- narily needed except in such work as condensing narrative, giving the main points in argument and exposition, and the like. In making abstract the scale may be reduced to any desired degree, the general endeavor being to condense all parts uni- formly, and to get the most possible in the chosen space. The ideal, then, is a concise and compact style, without ornament and without superfluities. In pursuance of this ideal, abstract employs, according to the character of the thought, two main processes : selection and condensation. i. Selection is the prevailing process where the thought is artic- ulated in propositions and proofs, or in generals and details; 308 REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT. where, in a word, there is a traceable distinction between the main thoughts and the amplification. A selective abstract, on the narrowest scale, may take the form of a mere schedule of head- ings ; and from this it may exhibit various degrees of fullness, up to a complete presentation of every unamplified thought. EXAMPLE. It was a custom of Carlyle's to give at the end of his books a brief resume of his various chapters by way of summary. The method was selection, and the abstract gave only the nucleus of each paragraph. The fol- lowing will exhibit the general proportion of original and abstract : " Of Rousseau and his Heroism I cannot say so " Rousseau, a morbid, much. He is not what I call a strong man. A excitable, spasmodic man ; morbid, excitable, spasmodic man; at best intense intense rather than strong, rather than strong. He had not ' the talent of Si- Had not the invaluable lence,' an invaluable talent; which few Frenchmen, ' talent of Silence.' " or indeed men of any sort in these times, excel in ! The suffering man ought really ' to consume his own smoke ' ; there is no good in emitting smoke till you have made it into fire, which, in the metaphorical sense too, all smoke is capable of be- coming ! Rousseau has not depth or width, not calm force for difficulty; the first characteristic of true greatness. A man is not strong who takes convulsion-fits; though six men cannot hold him then. He that can walk under the heaviest weight without staggering, he is the strong man. We need forever, especially in these loud-shrieking days, to remind ourselves of that. A man who cannot hold his peace, till the time come for speaking and act- ing, is no right man." Here it will be observed that the part left is merely the amplification of the idea how important is silence, while the nucleus of that thought is selected for abstract. The whole section on Rousseau is represented in about the same proportion; thus: (2) "His Face, expressive of his character. (3) His Egoism : Hungry for the praises of men. (4) His books : Passionate appeals, which did once more struggle towards Reality: A Prophet to his Time; as he could, and as the Time could. (5) Rosepink, and artificial bedizenment. (6) Fretted, exasperated, till the heart of him went mad : He could be cooped, starving, into garrets; laughed at as a maniac; but he could not be hindered from setting the world on fire." REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT. 309 2. Condensation is the prevailing process where, as in the case of narration, the bearing of the thought is gathered from the whole, and where accordingly every part must share proportion- ally in the abridgement. It is generally combined with selection, being employed for cutting down the amplified parts so that the thought may still be particularized and readable, though contain- ing fewer and less minute details. This form of abstract is exem- plified in abridged histories. NOTE. This form of abstract, or abridgement, cannot well be exemplified alongside of its original, in the space here at command; but an illustration of the skillful condensation of a narrative into very brief space may be quoted from Macaulay : " You remember Gulliver's adventures. First he is shipwrecked in a coun- try of little men; and he is a Colossus among them. He strides over the walls of their capital : he stands higher than the cupola of their great temple : he tugs after him a royal fleet : he stretches his legs ; and a royal army, with drums beating and colors flying, marches through the gigantic arch : he de- vours a whole granary for breakfast, eats a herd of cattle for dinner, and washes down his meal with all the hogsheads of a cellar. In his next voyage he is among men sixty feet high. He who, in Lilliput, used to take people up in his hand, in order that he might be able to hear them, is himself taken up in the hands and held to the ears of his masters. It is all that he can do to defend himself with his hanger against the rats and mice. The court ladies amuse themselves with seeing him fight wasps and frogs : the monkey runs off with him to the chimney-top : the dwarf drops him into the cream jug and leaves him to swim for his life. Now, was Gulliver a tall or a short man ? Why, in his own house at Rotherhithe, he was thought a man of the ordinary stature. Take him to Lilliput ; and he is Quinbus Flestrin, the Man Mountain. Take him to Brobdingnag, and he is Grildrig, the little Mannikin." This is introduced by Macaulay into one of his speeches in order to illus- trate a thought; and it represents, perhaps, the kind of abstract that there is most frequent occasion to make, in real literature. * Value of Abstract as a Disciplinary Exercise. In common with the other processes detailed in the present chapter, while in itself a distinct literary form, abstract has also special value as a means of frequent discipline to the writer. 310 REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT. Its value is perhaps best expressed in the following words of Dr. Arnold of Rugby l to one of his former pupils : " I am very glad that you continue to practice composition, but above all I would advise you to make an abstract of one or two standard works. One, I should say in philosophy ; the other in history. I would not be in a hurry to finish them, but keep them constantly going on, with one page always clear for notes. The abstract itself practices you in condensing and giving in your own words what another man has said ; a habit of great value, as it forces one to think about it, which extracting merely does not. It further gives a brevity and simplicity to your language, two of the greatest merits which style can have." As an exercise in interpretation, abstract is valuable as training the writer in selecting the cardinal thoughts of a work and sepa- rating them from what is of less importance. Rules of Abstract. From the above remarks and examples, we ascertain that skillful writers of abstract observe the following rules : x. Give nothing in the reproduction that is not in the original. 2. Give merely what is essential to the main current of the thought, omitting illustrative, repetitionary, and amplifying details. 3. Observe the laws of condensation (see preceding, page 154), in giving comprehensive and general statements instead of particulars, word-modifiers instead of clause-modifiers, suggestive and pointed terms instead of detailed language. 4. In general, aim to be accurate, distinct, concise, without repeti- tion and without ornament. III. PARAPHRASE. Paraphrase is the reproduction of an author's complete thought, both main and subordinate, in other language. When it is also a change from the poetic form to prose, it is called Metaphrase. Utility of Paraphrase. Paraphrase is often spoken of in re- proachful terms, as if it were nothing but a dilution of the thought. 1 Stanley, " Life of Arnold," Vol. I. p. 334. REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT, 311 Any well-written production, it is said, is expressed in masterly style already ; besides, it so reflects the author's individual traits and felicities that any change in the language must necessarily destroy its distinctive character. " The one apt word " cannot be exchanged for another but for the worse. All this is true enough ; but it does not consider that paraphrase, when legitimately employed, has a distinctive object. If it were merely tinkering with expression, mere manipulation of words for idle whim, or even for exercise, the reproach would hold. But this does not give the true use of paraphrase. Paraphrase has one clear object, namely, to explain. The one quality it seeks to enhance is clearness. Now from various causes this quality may be lacking, even in masterly works. The material may be too condensed to be easily understood ; or its abstruseness may re- quire simplifying terms ; or it may be an old work, and expressed in a diction too antique for present usage. It needs to be worked over, restated in fuller or simpler or more modern idiom. Para- phrase, therefore, is essentially a means of interpretation. It does not replace the original but explains it ; and it is naturally em- ployed only in cases where the new expression will gain more by its greater clearness than it loses in felicity of diction. In a word, then, the special use of paraphrase is to bring out the latent sense or significance of a passage, by stating in new terms points that would otherwise be missed or misunderstood. EXAMPLES. The following, from Matthew Arnold, well illustrates the utility of paraphrase. So far from diluting the original, it is really a very felicitous explanation effected by mere change of expression : " ' I was alive without the law once,' says Paul; the natural play of all the forces and desires in me went on smoothly enough so long as I did not attempt to introduce order and regulation among them." Dean Stanley, in his Commentary on Corinthians, employs paraphrase throughout, in addition to translation and notes, in order to represent the thought in full, as freed from the peculiar difficulties of St. Paul's style. He thus justifies his procedure: "The Paraphrase is intended to bring out the meaning of the respective Sections, as explained in the preceding annotations. The risk, thus incurred, of diluting, and, it may be feared, at times lowering 312 REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT. the dignity and simplicity of the original, is obvious. But the convenience of presenting the argument in a brief summary is such as to overweigh the con- trary disadvantages." As an illustration of paraphrase in its most justifiable use, we may here place side by side the passage I Corinthians, xv. i-n, and Dean Stanley's re- production of it in more modern guise. I. Moreover, brethren, I declare unto you the gospel which I preached unto you, which also ye have received, and wherein ye stand; 2. By which also ye are saved, if ye keep in memory what I preached unto you, unless ye have believed in vain. 3. For I delivered unto you first of all that which I also received, how that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures; 4. And that he was buried, and that he rose again the third day ac- cording to the Scriptures; 5. And that he was seen of Cephas, then of the twelve : " I now call to your remembrance, in conclusion, the substance of the glad tidings which I announced to you, and the mode in which I told it; glad tidings indeed of which you hardly need to be reminded, since you not only received it from me, but have made it the foundation of your lives ever since; and not only have made it the foundation of your lives, but are to be saved by it now and here- after, if only you hold it fast in your recollection, if your conversion was anything more than a mere transitory impulse. Yes, you must remember it; for it was among the very first things which I told to you, as it was among the very first which I learned myself. It was : That Christ died for our sins, fulfilling in His death the proph- ecies concerning One who was to be wounded for our transgressions and bruised for our iniquities, and whose soul was to be an offering for sin. That He was laid in the sepulchre, and that out of that sepulchre He has been raised up and lives to die no more, again fulfilling the words in the Psalms, which declare that His soul should not be left in the grave, and that the Holy One should not see cor- ruption. I told you also, as a proof of this, that He appeared to Kephas, chief of the Apostles, and then to the REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT. 313 6. After that, he was seen of above five hundred brethren at once ; of whom the greater part remain unto this present, but some are fallen asleep. Apostles collectively. Next came the great appearance to more than five hundred believers together, the ma- jority of whom are still living to tes- tify to it, though some few have car- ried their testimony with them to the grave. Then again came a two-fold appearance ; this time not to Kephas, but to his great colleague, James, and afterwards, as before, to the Apostles collectively. Last of all, when the roll of Apostles seemed to be com- plete, was the sudden appearance to me; a just delay, a just humiliation for one whose persecution of the con- gregation of God's people did indeed sink me below the level of the Apos- tles, and rendered me unworthy even of the name, and makes me feel that I owe all to the undeserved favor of God. A favor indeed which was not bestowed in vain, which has issued in a life of exertion far exceeding that of all the Apostles, from whose num- ber some would wish to exclude me; but yet, after all, an exertion not the result of my own strength, but of this same Favor toiling with me as my constant companion. It is not, how- ever, on any distinction between my- self and the other Apostles, that I would now dwell. I confine myself to the one great fact of which we all alike are the heralds, and which was alike to all of you the foundation of your faith." In the above paraphrase two main objects seem to be in view : to bring out more closely the shades of meaning, as suggested in the involvements of the original words ; and to bridge over abruptnesses in the connexion of the thought, so as to make the narrative more continuous. An interesting exam- ple of paraphrase employed to reproduce an argument occurs in the same Commentary on Corinthians, page 324. 7. After that, he was seen of James; then of all the apostles. 8. And last of all he was seen of me also, as of one born out of due time. 9. For I am the least of the apos- tles, that am not meet to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God. 10. But by the grace of God I am what I am : and his grace which was bestowed upon me was not in vain; but I labored more abundantly than thev all : yet not I, but the grace of God which was- with me. 1 1 . Therefore, whether it were I or they, so we preach, and so ye believed. 314 REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT. Value of Paraphrase as a Discipline. As a disciplinary ex- ercise for the writer, paraphrase is valuable, constructively, as a means of acquiring copiousness and flexibility in language. Its principal value, however, is critical, as a means of evolving the latent significance of a passage. The skillful paraphrast has a quick eye for all the fine and undeveloped shades of meaning ; he penetrates to the kernel of thought lying obscured in vague hints or expressions ; he is patient to interpret all the joints and turnings of the thought, as expressed in particles and connectives. Thus paraphrasing ministers to fineness of scholarship ; it can be con- ducted successfully only by one who is " Keen thro' wordy snares to track Suggestion to her inmost cell." Rules of Paraphrase. From the above remarks and examples the following rules of paraphrase may be deduced : 1. Seek to reproduce what is involved in the original, and no more. Observe that an allusion, or a phrase-epithet, or the suggestiveness of a par- ticle, belongs legitimately to what is involved in the passage, and must in some way be accounted for in the reproduction. 2. Let all changes be made for the sake of greater clearness. If this one object is kept well in mind, the writer will not be likely to per- petrate those fantastic or tasteless or pedantic reproductions, the like of which have done so much to bring paraphrase into reproach. 3. Guard against weakening the thought of the original. This is the main evil tendency of paraphrase; and is best to be met by be- coming so permeated with the importance of the thought that any reproduc- tion of it shall contain also the original vigor and incisiveness. 4. Endeavor to maintain unimpaired the tone and spirit of the original. Compare what has already been said on the maintenance of the tone of discourse, page 83 above. This last rule has an especial application in the case of meta- phrase, where a poetic spirit and feeling is to be guarded and REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT. 315 cherished. True poetry is poetic in thought as well as in ex- pression ; and any reproduction that lowers the tone of the orig- inal, or makes a prosaic impression upon the reader, is not an honest reproduction. No rule can be given for effecting this ; it depends on the writer's capacity to appreciate poetry ; but if the original does not thrill him, according to its true intention, he has no business with it. NOTE. The following facetious comment on a stanza of Tennyson does not damage the poet at all; it merely reveals that the critic takes refuge in satire because his nature is too prosaic to appreciate the original. The stanza is: " So might I find, ere yet the morn Breaks hither over Indian seas, That Shadow waiting with the keys, To cloak me from my proper scorn." On this the sapient critic remarks : " Lately we have heard much of keys both from the Flaminian Gate and Piccadilly, but we back this verse against Hobbs. We dare him to pick it. Mr. Moxon may hang it up in his window, with a 200 /. prize attached, more safely than a Bramah. That a Shadow should hold keys at all, is a noticeable circumstance; but that it should wait with a cloak ready to be thrown over a gentleman in difficulties, is absolutely amazing." A gentleman in difficulties, is not this poetic? IV. TRANSLATION. In translation the writer's task is to reproduce the thought in exactly equivalent expression, neither expanded nor abridged, in another language. It is to be remembered at the outset that we are here speaking of translation as literature, not of the hasty and slipshod oral re- production too often dignified, in the class-room, by that name. It is the well-meditated and written translation that represents the writer's best powers ; such patient work as is recorded of Rufus Choate, of whom it is said, 1 " He would return day after day to the same passage, until he had exhausted the resources of the 1 Neilson, " Memories of Rufus Choate," p. 67. 316 REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT. language in giving to the sentence exactness, strength, and ele- gance." Not infrequently an author who has pursued such an ideal has gained an honorable place in literature merely as " the translator " of some classic work. Requisites of a Perfect Translation. These need to be re- counted as the translator's ideal standard ; though a perfect transfer of both thought and style from one language to another, at least in works of literary eminence, is exceedingly difficult, perhaps im- possible. What these requisites are, may be gathered from the rules of translation, to which will be added some remarks on their limits and applications. i. The paramount requisite of translation, of course, is that there be made an exact and literal equivalent, in word and phrase, of the original. This requisite has its necessary limitations. No two languages are furnished throughout with exactly equivalent terms. For all the common objects of life, indeed, objects of sense and everyday experience, languages are nearly enough parallel ; but when it comes to fine mental discriminations, ideas and customs wherein nations differ, or portrayal of things strange or obsolete, it is found that languages occupy different spheres, and are the congenial medium of different shades of ideas. It is for this reason that we say the German language is especially adapted to abstruse and philosophic thought ; that the French is the language of polite and witty society ; and that the English is an excellent medium for practical and straightforward business. Where one language is richly furnished another may be somewhat awkward and meagre. To make a complete transfer of ideas, then, from one language to another, often requires that words be used in slightly accommo- dated senses, or that parts be somewhat paraphrased instead of literally reproduced ; and sometimes with the most studious efforts translators have to content themselves with only an approximate transfer of the sense. Such necessity it is that leads to the gradual but constant adoption of words from foreign languages ; so that REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT. 317 through the exigencies of translation the languages are accommo- dating themselves more and more to one another. 2. Mere literalness of translation, however, is adequate only in material of the purely intellectual type. The translation, in order to be faithful, must reproduce in some equivalent form the spirit and feel- ing of the original, a task increasingly difficult according to the orig- inal writer's individuality and the prevalence of the emotional element in the production. The significance of this element of translation may best be defined, perhaps, in the words of Dr. Tayler Lewis. 1 " A perfect translation," he writes, " is one that conveys to the mind of the reader, without either excess or deficiency, the thought as it lay in the mind of the writer. The two constituent elements of every thought thus expressed are the idea and the emotion. Both must be transferred, the one neither enlarged nor diminished, the other neither strengthened nor weakened. They are addressed to two departments of the soul, the one to the intel- lect as something to be known, the other to the affections as something to be felt. They are logically separable, though indi- visible m fact. The idea can never be clearly given without the emotion ; the emotion can never be felt in its spiritual heartiness without accuracy in the accompanying idea. " When the first element predominates, translation is compara- tively easy. It is in such case mainly the transfer of the force of single equivalent words from one language to another. Such equivalents may always be found, or periphrases that do not change the sense ; since what would affect the strength may not impair the fullness or clearness of a sentence. When the second element, of emotion, so prevails as to give character to the passage, transla- tion becomes far more difficult ; a perfect translation is sometimes impossible. The reason of this is that the emotion of a sentence, as distinguished from the fact or knowledge conveyed, rests mainly i Article on "The Emotional Element in Hebrew Translation," Methodist Quarterly Review, 1862, p. 85. 318 REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT. in some peculiar collocation of the words, giving rise to emphasis and surprise, or in some peculiar effect of those parts of speech we style the particles. 1 It resides, sometimes, in the very absence of words, paradoxical as such an assertion may at first appear. It may dwell in an ellipsis, from which it would be driven out by any attempt at filling up. The tender breath of its being is conveyed in the delicate implication of some connective particle, and it perishes the moment we attempt to reduce that particle to a thought, or to render it by any word containing a distinct logical statement. These little words are the emotional germs of a sen- tence. They are called particles {particular) merely in reference to the diminutive space they occupy ; but this mere quantitative term is far wide of their spiritual significance. They are rather articles, the articulations or joints of a sentence, without which all its bone and muscle of nouns and verbs would have no power of moving or of being moved. Without these, or idiomatic con- structions having a similar power, there would be nothing in lan- guage but a siccum lumen, a dry intelligence. They are the nerves, the nervous pulsations ; they are the cells of life, yea, the very life itself." 3. What is peculiar to one language, is to be reproduced, where possible, by what is correspondingly peculiar to the other. This applies to idioms, colloquial peculiarities, and order of words. An idiom, as is evident from what is said on page 46, is, strictly speaking, untranslatable ; but not infrequently there may exist in the other language some idiom that, though not a literal equiva- lent, produces the same effect, and is used in a corresponding spirit. It is a boon to the translator when such an equivalent can be found, because it adds greatly to the life and naturalness of the production. NOTE. This is illustrated in the case of popular proverbs and expressions, which are generally idiomatic. Take for instance two or three of the German 1 On what is here said of particles, compare preceding, pp. 67, 68. REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT. 319 equivalents for English proverbs. " A fool's bolt is soon shot " is represented in German by " A fool's wit is soon ended." " To kindle fire with snow " is represented by "to hitch the horse behind the wagon." The expression " doom's-day in the afternoon " is in German " St. Never's day." Colloquialisms, slang, provincialisms, and the like, have to be represented by something that belongs to the same tone or stratum of discourse, something that, whether literal or not, consists with the same freedom and neglige of spirit. It is a translation of mood more than of definite thought. For the differences in the tone of discourse, see preceding, page 83. EXAMPLE. In the Acharnians of Aristophanes, one of the characters, a Megarian pig-seller, talks in a very broad provincial dialect, which the trans- lator, Walsh, has represented by the medium of the Lowland Scotch. Thus, a passage which, literally translated, is as follows, " Is it not shameful ? See the incredulity of the man ! He says this is not a pig. But sooth, if you will, make a wager with me now for salt flavored with thyme, if this is not a pig after the usage of the Greeks " he translates in verse thus, " This is maist shamefu' ! What an infidel He is ! He says this is nae pig aval Weel, an ye like, I'se wad some thymit saut, That this wee thing is ca'd a pig in Greek." This is quoted, not as justifying the present translation, but as illustrating the translator's shifts to reproduce certain characteristics of his original. The order of words, in like manner, cannot be slavishly fol- lowed : what would be emphatic at the beginning of a clause in one language, for instance, would perhaps best be brought out by being placed at the end, in a language of different genius. To a limited extent the idiomatic peculiarities of one language may gradually be transplanted to another, and thus be adopted like new words. The translation of the Bible, for instance, has enriched the English language with many figures and turns of expression from the Hebrew, which are now so thoroughly natural- ized, even in the commonest usage, that no sense is felt of their strangeness. 320 REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT. Translation as a Discipline. The high estimate set upon translation as a means of literary discipline, and the reasons for it, may perhaps best be illustrated by quoting remarks of eminent authors. " Wherever it is attended to," says Dr. Arnold, 1 " it is an exer- cise of exceeding value ; it is, in fact, one of the best possible modes of instruction in English composition, because the constant comparison with the different idioms of the languages, from which you are translating, shows you in the most lively manner the pecu- liar excellences and defects of your own." " The practice of translation," says James Russell Lowell, 2 " by making us deliberate in the choice of the best equivalent of the foreign word in our own language, has likewise the advantage of continually schooling us in one of the main elements of a good style, precision; and precision of thought is not only exem- plified by precision of language, but is largely dependent on the habit of it." "Translation," says Rufus Choate, 3 " should be pursued to bring to mind, and to employ, all the words you already own, and to tax and torment invention and discovery, and the very deepest mem- ory for additional, rich, and admirably expressive words. In trans- lating, the student should not put down a word until he has thought of at least six synonyms, or varieties of expression, for the idea. I would have him fastidious and eager enough to go, not unfre- quently, half round his library pulling down books to hunt up a word the word." The Untranslatable. As has already been intimated, in all the higher achievements of literature there must necessarily remain a great deal that, in spite of the utmost skill, cannot be adequately reproduced in another language. " The thought may indeed sur- vive, though marred and mutilated, but the subtle spiritual aroma, the emotional essence, perishes in the transmission." 1 Stanley, " Life of Arnold," Vol. II. p. 112. 2 Lowell, " Democracy and Other Addresses," p. 126. 8 Neilson, " Memories of Rufus Choate," p. 67. REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT. 321 This is preeminently true of the translation of poetry ; and what- ever is said, therefore, of the translation of poetry will be true of the untranslatable anywhere. In elucidating this important sub- ject, we cannot do better than transcribe the very suggestive re- marks and examples of George Henry Lewes, 1 given in his " Life of Goethe." " Several times in these pages," he says, " I have felt called upon to protest against the adequacy of all translation of poetry. In its happiest efforts, translation is but approximation; and its efforts are not often happy. A translation may be good as trans- lation, but it cannot be an adequate reproduction of the original. It may be a good poem ; it may be a good imitation of another poem ; it may be better than the original ; but it cannot be an adequate reproduction ; it cannot be the same thing in another language, producing the same effect on the mind. And the cause lies deep in the nature of poetry. ' Melody,' as Beethoven said to Bettina, ' gives a sensuous existence to poetry ; for does not the meaning of a poem become embodied in melody? ' The mean- ings of a poem and the meanings of the individual words may be reproduced ; but in a poem meaning and form are as indissoluble as soul and body ; and the form cannot be reproduced. The effect of poetiy is a compound of music and suggestion ; this music and this suggestion are intermingled in words, to alter which is to alter the effect. For words in poetry are not, as in prose, simple rep- resentatives of objects and ideas : they are parts of an organic whole they are tones in the harmony ; substitute other parts, and the result is a monstrosity, as if an arm were substituted for a wing ; substitute other tones or semitones, and you produce a discord. Words have their music and their shades of meaning too delicate for accurate reproduction in any other form ; the sug- gestiveness of one word cannot be conveyed by another. Now all translation is of necessity a substitution of one word for another : the substitute may express the meaning, but it cannot accurately i Lewes, " Life of Goethe," 2d ed. p. 466. The value of the passage will more than atone, I am sure, for the length of the quotation. 322 REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT. reproduce the music, nor those precise shades of suggestiveness on which the delicacy and beauty of the original depend. " Words are not only symbols of objects, but centres of asso- ciations ; and their suggestiveness depends partly on their sound. Thus there is not the slightest difference in the meaning expressed when I say The dews of night began to fall, or The nightly dews commenced to fall. Meaning and metre are the same ; but one is poetry, the other prose. Wordsworth paints a landscape in this line : The river wanders jjjpts own sweet will. Let us translate it into other words : The river runneth free from all restraint. We preserve the meaning, but where is the landscape? Or we may turn it thus : The river flows, now here, now there, at will, which is a very close translation, much closer than any usually found in a foreign language, where indeed it would in all proba- bility assume some such form as this : The river self-impelled pursues its course. In these examples we have what is seldom found in translations, accuracy of meaning expressed in similar metre ; yet the music and the poetry are gone ; because the music and the poetry are organically dependent on certain peculiar arrangements of sound and suggestion. Walter Scott speaks of the verse of a ballad by Mickle which haunted his boyhood ; it is this : The dews of summer night did fall; The moon, sweet regent of the sky, Silvered the walls of Cumnor Hall, And many an oak that grew thereby. REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT. 323 This verse we will rearrange as a translator would rearrange it : The nightly dews commenced to fall; The moon, whose empire is the sky, Shone on the sides of Cumnor Hall, And all the oaks that stood thereby. Here is a verse which certainly would never have haunted any one ; and yet upon what apparently slight variations the difference of effect depends ! The meaning, metre, rhymes, and most of the words, are the same ; yet the difference in the result is infinite. Let us translate it a little more freely : Sweetly did fall the dews of night; The moon, of heaven the lovely queen, On Cumnor Hall shone silver bright, And glanced the oaks' broad boughs between. I appeal to the reader's experience whether this is not a transla- tion which in another language would pass for excellent; and nevertheless it is no more like the original than a wax rose is like a garden rose. "To conclude these illustrations, I will give one which may serve to bring into relief the havoc made by translators who adopt a different metre from that of the original. Wordsworth begins his famous Ode : There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore; Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more. The translator, fully possessed with the sense of the passage, makes no mistakes, but adopting another metre, we will suppose, para- phrases thus : 324 REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT. A time there was when wood, and stream, and field, The earth, and every common sight, did yield To me a pure and heavenly delight, Such as is seen in dream and vision bright. That time is past; no longer can I see The things which charmed my youthful reverie. " These are specimens of translating from English into English, and show what effects are produced by a change of music and a change of suggestion. It is clear that in a foreign language the music must incessantly be changed, and as no complex words are precisely equivalent in two languages, the suggestions must also be different. Idioms are of course untranslatable. Felicities of expression are the idioms of the poet ; but as on the one hand these felicities are essential to the poem, and on the other hand untranslatable, the vanity of translation becomes apparent. I do not say that a translator cannot produce a fine poem in imitation of an original poem ; but I utterly disbelieve in the possibility of his giving us a work which can be to us what the original is to those who read it." The above remarks will serve to exhibit the subtle relations and delicacies of literature, and what they depend on ; and the effect will be enhanced if the student is induced thereby to seek those relations for himself. The effort to make the best translation pos- sible, stern as are the limitations of such work, is an invaluable means of acquiring power over the fine resources of his native tongue. NOTE. For other suggestive remarks on translation, see Newman, " Idea of a University," pages 285-290. The classic treatise on translating poetry, alike valuable in matter and attractive in style, is Matthew Arnold's course of lectures delivered before the University of Oxford, " On Translating Homer." Having in the foregoing three chapters traced the laws and processes that belong to invention in general, we are now to discuss, in the rest of Part II., the particular forms that inven- REPRODUCTION OF THOUGHT. 325 tion adopts, as it has to deal with material of various kinds, and the extension and combination of these forms in the leading types of literature. This discussion will be comprised under the follow- ing heads : Chapter IV. Invention dealing with Objects ; Description. Chapter V. Invention dealing with Events ; Narration. Chapter VI. Invention dealing with Generalizations ; Expo- sition. Chapter VII. Invention dealing with Truths ; Argumentation. Chapter VIII. Invention dealing with Issues ; Persuasion. 326 DESCRIPTION, CHAPTER IV. INVENTION DEALING WITH OBSERVED OBJECTS: DESCRIPTION. As revealed in the early literatures of all nations, the most prim- itive and natural impulse to literary utterance manifests itself in men's efforts to report what they observe in the world around them, either as simply perceived or as vivified and embellished by imagination. This impulse is equally spontaneous whether the objects observed be at rest or in action, whether things or events ; and thus this simplest inventive effort results in two forms of dis- course, description and narration ; forms generally found in some proportion together, but distinct in principle, and therefore need- ing for purposes of study to be examined separately. The first of these will be discussed in the present chapter. I. DESCRIPTION IN ITS PRINCIPLES. In common with the procedure adopted for the other specific forms of invention, we are first to consider description in its prin- ciples, as it exists unmixed, and afterward to notice the greater literary types in which description constitutes the predominating element. I. Definition of Description. Description is the portrayal of concrete objects, material or spiritual, by means of language. i. Observe in this definition, first, that description is portrayal. It is much more, therefore, than the mere enumeration of the parts and qualities of an object. Such enumeration has indeed its frequent occasion : the bare demand for information requires DESCRIPTION. 327 often only a catalogue of details ; but this is only the unsifted material for description, not the description itself. Description is such a treatment of an object, as a whole and in its parts, as pro- duces a unified and consistent picture of it, aiding the reader to reproduce it in imagination with something of the vividness with which the writer originally perceived it. In this respect descrip- tion is analogous to painting ; it seeks to accomplish by language what painting seeks to accomplish by pencil and pigments. Like painting, therefore, it must arrange the details of its picture into a composition; there must be a balance and relation of parts, a background and foreground, a predominating unity that gives meaning and character to all its diverse elements. 2. Observe, secondly, that the objects with which description deals are concrete ; that is, not generalized classes of objects, but particular individuals of a class. In this respect description is the contrast to exposition. The aim of the latter is to generalize and classify; to give therefore, by definition, example, and the like, only such qualities as belong to a whole group of objects. The aim of description, on the other hand, is to give the qualities wherein one object is individualized, unlike other objects ; and has nothing to do with the class except in so far as referring it to a class may serve to localize it. 3. Observe, thirdly, that the range of description includes not only the kinds of objects best adapted to portrayal, namely, mate- rial objects, such as are seen and heard and handled, but also spiritual objects, that is, mental states and qualities, character, and such like. This range necessitates different procedures in the structure of description, according as the plan is suggested by the natural arrangement of parts, or has to be shaped by the writer's logical sense. It makes an essential difference whether he has to find his plan or make it. These main characteristics of description suggest to what points attention must be especially directed : namely, to the structure of description in general, to special means of making it concrete and vivid, and to the exactions imposed upon it by the object. 328 DESCRIPTION. II. Mechanism of Description. The aim of description, namely, to produce in the reader's imagination the same vivid conception of the object described that the writer himself has ; and the mate- rial with which description has to work, namely, individual details associated in space or in thought ; give rise to two main problems of structure, the problem of selection, and the problem of group- ing. 1. The problem of selection, how to estimate and choose particulars. A difficult problem : for on the one hand, the num- ber of individual details belonging to an object of any complexity is very great ; and on the other, to enumerate more than a very limited number crowds and confuses, not vivifies, the portrayal. To clear description it is imperative, therefore, that the details selected be only such as are the most characteristic, and that they be in the smallest number consistent with adequate presentation. And of course in proportion to the smallness of the number should be their vividness in arousing the reader's imagination to reproduce the described object for himself. 2. The problem of grouping, how to make unity of effect out of diversity of material. The nature of this problem is thus ex- plained by Lessing : 1 " The details, which the eye takes in at a glance, he (the describer) enumerates slowly one by one, and it often happens that, by the time he has brought us to the last, we have forgotten the first. Yet from these details we are to form a picture. When we look at an object the various parts are always present to the eye. It can run over them again and again. The ear, however, loses the details it has heard, unless memory retain them. And if they be so retained, what pains and effort it costs to recall their impressions in the proper order and with even the moderate degree of rapidity necessary to the obtaining of a tolera- ble idea of the whole." It is necessary, therefore, to have the description modelled on strongly marked and definite lines of l Lessing, " Laocoon" (Ellen Frothingham's translation), p. 102. DESCRIPTION. 329 structure, in order that the reader may refer the details as he goes along to the underlying type or framework which supports them. These two problems necessitate careful attention to the following elements of structure. 1. The Point of View. As the first step the writer needs to define in his mind and to indicate in his work the point of view from which the object is to be contemplated. This determines the scale of the description. It makes a great difference whether the point from which one is looking is near or remote, above or below, situated in a direct line or obliquely ; the details introduced, as to character, number, and minuteness, depend principally on this. A river fifteen rods away would not have been described as " like a silver thread running through the landscape," if the writer had been mindful of his point of view. The analogy of descrip- tion to painting comes to mind here again : it is the working from a definite and constant point of view that balances the picture, regulates its leading features, its light and shade, its masses of color, its perspective. Objects of thought too, as well as objects of sight, must have what corresponds to the point of view. A character, for instance, has a summarizing trait, a central unity, for the describer ; a men- tal state has its occasion and impulsion ; and these are the points from which the writer forms his portrayal. Not that the point of view must in all cases be explicitly laid down. Very often the reader can instinctively feel his position relatively to the object, and sometimes the character of the details serves to adjust it without further indication ; but if this is the case, it is all the more indicative of the care with which the point is chosen by the writer, and the consistency with which he refers every part to it. It is the having a point of view, and having one point of view, that makes the picture a unity and a composition. ILLUSTRATIONS. The description of the continent of Europe by Ruskin, par- tially quoted on page 73 above, is a good example of a carefully indicated point of view. He wishes to give an idea of " that variegated mosaic of the world's surface, that difference between the district of the gentian and of the olive 330 DESCRIPTION. which the stork and the swallow see far off, as they lean upon the sirocco wind." For this purpose, he thus defines his position : " Let us, for a moment, try to raise ourselves even above the level of their flight, and imagine the Mediterranean lying beneath us like an irregular lake," etc. Occupying this point of view his vision traverses in imagination the European continent from south to north, noticing merely such general features of land, water, moun- tains, vegetation as can be discerned from such a distance. Then he begins at the starting-point and describes the same region again from a nearer point of view, which he thus indicates : "And, having once traversed in thought this gradation of the zoned iris of the earth in all its material vastness, let us go down nearer to it, and watch the parallel change in the belt of animal life," etc. This enables him to describe the animals, men, and works of men, of the same region, in connection with the more comprehensive features already recounted. In a description of Chartres Cathedral, Mr. Henry James thus indicates a somewhat disadvantageous point of view : " The little square that surrounds it is deplorably narrow, and you flatten your back against the opposite houses in the vain attempt to stand off and survey the towers. The proper way to look at them would be to go up in a balloon and hang poised, face to face with them, in the blue air. There is, however, perhaps an advantage in being forced to stand so directly under them, for this position gives you an overwhelming impression of their height. I have seen, I suppose, churches as beautiful as this one, but I do not remember ever to have been so fascinated by superpositions and vertical effects. The endless upward reach of the great west front," etc. The whole description thus harmonizes, in scale and detail, with this point of view. The adoption, in certain cases, of a shifting or " traveller's point of view " will be explained further on. 2. The Comprehensive Outline. Having determined his point of view, and with it the scale of description, the writer's next step is to give in a brief outline the most characterizing feature or features of the object described, as a kind of framework for the whole picture. This he does at the outset in order to have a unifying nucleus of description round which the various details may be grouped. The kind of features that constitute such outline are, in a material object, the name of its class, its shape, size, and position, or some indication of what it is like ; and in spiritual objects, predominating motive, summary of qualities, characterizing trait. An outline like DESCRIPTION. 331 this is, for writer and reader alike, the central point of reference, the working-idea; being in a sense, therefore, analogous to the theme in more comprehensive literary works. Compare preced- ing, page 257. EXAMPLES. i. Victor Hugo's description of the Battle of Waterloo begins with the following elaborate outline description of the battle-field : "Those who would get a clear idea of the battle of Waterloo have only to lay down upon the ground in their mind a capital A. The left stroke of the A is the road from Nivelles, the right stroke is the road from Genappe, the cross of the A is the sunken road from Ohain to Braine PAlleud. The top of the A is Mont Saint Jean, Wellington is there; the left hand lower point is Hougo- mont, Reille is there with Jerome Bonaparte; the right hand lower point is La Belle Alliance, Napoleon is there. A little below the point where the cross of the A meets and cuts the right stroke, is La Ilaie Sainte. At the middle of this cross is the precise point where the final battle word was spoken. There the lion is placed, the involuntary symbol of the supreme heroism of the Imperial Guard. The triangle contained at the top of the A, between the two strokes and the cross, is the plateau of Mont Saint Jean. The struggle for this plateau was the whole of the battle." 2. The following is the antithetic framework on which J. R. Green, in his " History of the English People," constructs a description, seven pages long, of the character of Queen Elizabeth : " The issue of the Scotch war revealed suddenly to Europe the vigor of the Queen and the strength of her throne. What her ability really was, no one, save Cecil, had as yet suspected. There was little indeed in her outward de- meanor to give any indication of her greatness. To the world about her the temper of Elizabeth recalled in its strange contrasts the mixed blood within her veins. She was at once the daughter of Henry and of Anne Boleyn. From her father she inherited her frank and hearty address, her love of popularity and of free intercourse with the people, her dauntless courage and her amaz- ing self-confidence. Her harsh, manlike voice, her impetuous will, her pride, her furious outbursts of anger, came to her with her Tudor blood. . . . Strangely in contrast with these violent outlines of her father's temper stood the sensuous, self-indulgent nature she drew from Anne Boleyn. Splendor and pleasure were with Elizabeth the very air she breathed." In cases where the description is not the main element of the production but ancillary to something else, it generally consists merely of the comprehensive outline; to which is sometimes 332 DESCRIPTION. added a more detailed account of the part or quality that is of special significance for the principal work. EXAMPLES. i. Carlyle thus portrays in outline the environs of Zorndorf, which are of importance merely as the scene of a battle : "Such is the poor moorland tract of country; Zorndorf the centre of it, where the battle is likely to be : Zorndorf and environs, a bare quasi-island among these woods; extensive bald crown of the landscape, girt with a frizzle of fir-woods all round." 2. The following is an outline description of a person, from George Eliot : " She had time to remark that he was a peculiar-looking person, but not insignificant, which was the quality that most hopelessly consigned a man to perdition. He was massively built. The striking points in his face were large clear gray eyes and full lips." 3. The Sequence of Details. Having outlined his description, the writer has finally to begin at some easily-imagined starting- point and supply the characteristic features, in regular and associ- able order, from point to point. To arrange these details lucidly, he needs to inquire at every point in what order one would most naturally think of them. In material objects, such as landscapes, buildings, and persons, there is a natural suggestiveness on which he can generally best rely ; he has but to follow the law of con- tiguity. 1 In spiritual objects he must make a plan of his own, arranging according to some marked law of sequence, such as similarity or contrast of qualities, or cause and effect. And what- ever the principle of arrangement, it is to be remembered that, on account of the natural looseness of the details, a descriptive plan has to be strongly marked in order to be easily followed. EXAMPLES. I. The description of Chartres Cathedral, by Henry James, whose point of view is given on page 330, proceeds in easily traced order, from bottom to top of the facade, then the towers, then other features. " The doors are rather low, as those of the English cathedrals are apt to be, but (standing three together) are set in a deep framework of sculpture rows of arching grooves, filled with admirable little images, standing with their heels on each other's heads. The church, as it now exists, except the northern tower, 1 For the explanation of these laws of association, see preceding, page 273 sq. DESCRIPTION. 333 dates from the middle of the thirteenth century, and these closely-packed fig- ures are full of the grotesqueness of the period. Above the triple portals is a vast round-topped window, in three divisions, of the grandest dimensions and the stateliest effect. Above this window is a circular aperture, of huge circum- ference, with a double row of sculptured spokes radiating from its centre and looking on its lofty field of stone as expansive and symbolic as if it were the wheel of Time itself. Higher still is a little gallery with a delicate balustrade, supported on a beautiful cornice and stretching across the front from tower to tower; and above this is a range of niched statues of kings fifteen, I believe, in number. Above the statues is a gable, with an image of the Virgin and Child on its front, and another of Christ on its apex. In the relation of all these parts there is such a high felicity that while on the one side the eye rests on a great many large blanks there is no approach on the other to poverty. . . The two great towers of the cathedral are among the noblest of their kind. They rise in solid simplicity to a height as great as the eye often troubles itself to travel, and then suddenly they begin to execute a magnificent series of feats in architectural gymnastics. This is especially true of the northern spire, which is a late creation, dating from the sixteenth century. The other is relatively quiet; but its companion is a sort of tapering bouquet of sculptured stone. Statues and buttresses, gargoyles, arabesques and crockets pile themselves in successive stages, until the eye loses the sense of everything but a sort of architectural lacework. The pride of Chartres, after its front, is the two por- tals of its transepts great dusky porches, in three divisions, covered with more images than I have time to talk about. Wherever you look, along the sides of the church, a time-worn image is niched or perched. The face of each flying buttress is garnished with one, with the features quite melted away." 2. The plan pursued in Green's description of the character of Queen Eliza- beth, the outline of which is given on page 331, is mainly a series of antithe- ses. It may be tabulated thus : 1. Outline contrasted traits inherited from her parents. a. From Henry VIII. frankness, love of popularity, courage, self- confidence. b. From Anne Boleyn gaiety, sensuousness, self-indulgence. 2. Intellectual qualities keenness, sagacity, versatility. 3. Moral qualities indifference, absence of either love or hate. 4. As to aims in policy directness, steadiness, tenacity. 5. As to means tortuousness, ingenuity, unscrupulousness. 6. Summary Yet in its very contrasts the character for the age. 334 DESCRIPTION. III. Subdual of Descriptive Details. The details belonging natu- rally to an object of description are so loosely connected that the problem of management, or as it is here termed subdual, becomes very important. It is mostly a problem of parsimony : how to effect the result with the fewest particulars possible, and how to make each particular count for the most possible. In this sub- dual of details three main types of description are occasioned, according to the number and grouping of parts. 1. Circumstantial Description. There are kind's of descriptive work that will not bear any great reduction of details ; these are descriptions where the aim is not so much vividness as informa- tion. The various parts of the object must be given, as well as the character of it as a whole ; the work has to be, in truth, a kind of skillfully constructed catalogue, in which as lucid order as is possible must be sought for what is after all rather intractable ma- terial. For such circumstantial description the procedure already de- scribed under Sequence of Details is most applicable ; namely, making the most possible of the natural suggestiveness of the object, to group the parts in the manner judged most practical and serviceable to the reader. EXAMPLES. The description of Chartres Cathedral, already quoted, is of the circumstantial type; and the following shorter description, from Parkman, shows the same character, in the regular and natural succession of parts : " The cliff called ' Starved Rock,' now pointed out to travellers as the chief natural curiosity of the region, rises, steep on three sides as a castle wall, to the height of a hundred and twenty-five feet above the river. In front, it overhangs the water that washes its base; its western brow looks down on the tops of the forest trees below; and on the east lies a wide gorge or ravine, choked with the mingled foliage of oaks, walnuts, and elms; while in its rocky depths a little brook creeps down to mingle with the river. From the rugged trunk of the stunted cedar that leans forward from the brink, you may drop a plummet into the river below, where the cat-fish and the turtles may plainly be seen gliding over the wrinkled sands of the clear and shallow current. DESCRIPTION. 335 The cliff is accessible only from behind, where a man may climb up, not with- out difficulty, by a steep and narrow passage. The top is about an acre in extent." 2. Dynamic Description. This name may be adopted for that kind of description in which the details are massed according to the power they have or the impression they are fitted to make. Its method is the arrangement of parts in accordance with their similarity of effect in bringing out a certain character. Professor David Pryde thus delineates it : 1 " In studying any interesting scene, let your mind look carefully at all the details. You will then become conscious of one or more effects or impressions that have been made upon you. Discover what these impressions are. Then group and describe in order the details which tend to pro- duce each of the impressions. You will then find that you have comprised in your description all the important details of the scene." NOTE. Professor Pryde thus illustrates his idea : " As an instance, let us suppose that a writer is out in the country on a morning toward the end of May, and wishes to describe the multitudinous objects which delight his senses. First of all, he ascertains that the general impressions produced on his mind by the summer landscape are the ideas of luxuriance, brightness, and joy. He then proceeds to describe in these groups the details which produce these impressions. He first takes up the luxuriant features : the springing young crops of grain completely hiding the red soil ; the rich, living carpet of grass and flowers covering the meadow ; the hedge-rows on each side of the way, in their bright summer green; the trees bending gracefully under the full weight of their foliage ; and the wild plants, those waifs of nature, flourishing every- where, smothering the woodland brook, filling up each scar and crevice in the rock, and making a rich fringe along the side of every highway and footpath. He then descants upon the brightness of the landscape : the golden sunshine ; the pearly dew-drops hanging on the tips of every blade of grass, and sparkling in the morning rays ; the clusters of daisies dappling the pasture-land ; the dandelion glowing under the very foot of the traveller ; the chestnut trees, like great candelabra, stuck all over with white lights, lighting up the wood- lands ; and lilacs, laburnums, and hawthorns in full flower, making the farm- er's garden one mass of variegated blossom. And last of all, he can dwell 1 Pryde, " Highways of Literature," Chap. VIII. 336 DESCRIPTION. upon the joy that is abroad on the face of the earth : the little birds so full of one feeling that they can only thrill it forth in the same delicious monotone ; the lark bounding into the air, as if eager and quivering to proclaim his joy to the whole world ; the humble-bee humming his satisfaction as he revels among the flowers ; and the myriads of insects floating in the air, and poising, and darting with drowsy buzz through the floods of golden sunshine. Thus we see that, by this habit of generalizing, the mind can grasp the details of almost any scene." It is obvious that this is a very effective way of subduing the numerous details of a description. Nor has the principle of it been overlooked by writers. It is perhaps the prevailing method in the more finished literary portrayals, where vividness rather than information is the aim. A strong and definite impression is the object for which there is most occasion, not a multitude of partic- ulars. EXAMPLES. The following, from Dickens, is constructed so as to bring out two impressions. The old house here described is, first, of a peculiar bulg- ing appearance, and secondly, spotlessly clean. Round these two characteris- tics the details are grouped. " At length we stopped before a very old house bulging out over the road ; a house with long low lattice-windows bulging out still farther, and beams with carved heads on the ends bulging out too, so that I fancied the whole house was leaning forward, trying to see what was passing on the narrow pavement below. It was quite spotless in its cleanliness. The old-fashioned brass knocker on the low arched door, ornamented with carved garlands of fruit and flowers, twinkled like a star ; the two stone steps descending to the door were as white as if they had been covered with fair linen ; and all the angles and corners, and carvings and mouldings, and quaint little panes of glass, and quainter little windows, though as old as the hills, were as pure as any snow that ever fell upon the hills." Shakespeare's description of Dover Cliff, in " King Lear," gives merely such details and accessories as serve to impress its dizzy height : " Come on, sir; here's the place : stand still. How fearful And dizzy 'tis to cast one's eyes so low ! The crows and choughs that wing the midway air Show scarce so gross as beetles : halfway down Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade ! Methinks he seems no bigger than his head : The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, DESCRIPTION. 337 Appear like mice ; and yond tall anchoring bark, Diminish'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy Almost too small for sight : the murmuring surge, That on th' unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes, Cannot be heard so high. I'll look no more; Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight Topple down headlong." Other examples are Shelley's description of the ravine near Petrella, in " The Cenci," Act III. Scene I., which impresses the terrific gloom of the scene ; and Ruskin's description of the interior of St. Mark's, Venice (already mentioned on page 257), which centres in the characteristics of color and symbolic deco- ration. Thus we see there is room even to give bewildering masses of detail in description, if bewilderment is the impression to be conveyed. May not this effect be in part sought in Ruskin's description of the exterior of St. Mark's? 3. Portrayal without Detail. Of any common object the great mass of characteristics are already so familiar that the thought of the object necessarily recalls them. All that is needed, in the majority of cases, is merely to rouse in the reader's mind a vivid conception or recollection of what he has already seen ; and this can often be done by a flash of picturesque expression, or by a telling epithet, much better than by recounting details. A single word opens the whole vision ; and the reader is delighted by its picturing power. Strictly speaking this is not description ; it is suggestion. But the scene described must be in the writer's mind and heart, so living and inspiring that he can see it in solution in one word ; and to find this word is perhaps the rarest power in literature. It comes only from an intense realization of the object in emotion and imagination ; its inspirer is, in truth, the spirit of poetry. NOTE. Of Coleridge's " Ancient Mariner," Lowell says : " And how pic- turesque it is in the proper sense of the word. I know nothing like it. There is not a description in it. It is all picture. Descriptive poets generally con- fuse us with multiplicity of detail ; we cannot see their forest for the trees ; but Coleridge never errs in this way. With instinctive tact he touches th right chord of association, and is satisfied, as we also are," 338 DESCRIPTION. Let us verify these remarks by two or three citations. In the stanza " All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody Sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the Moon," what could be more expressive than the epithet copper ; and how the whole pictures the tropic calm. And could a more intensely real picture be made than is painted in the following stanza? " It ceased ; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune." Carlyle had this picturing power, in his portraits of men ; witness, for instance, his study of Dante's portrait, in " Hero- Worship " : " Lonely there, painted as on vacancy, with the simple laurel wound round it ; the deathless sorrow and pain, the known victory which is also deathless ; significant of the whole history of Dante ! I think it is the mournfulest face that ever was painted from reality; an altogether tragic, heart-affecting face," etc. Observe how in the following, from George Eliot, a single touch brings the whole scene before us : " The rush of the water, and the booming of the mill, bring a dreamy deafness, which seems to heighten the peacefulness of the scene. They are like a great curtain of sound, shutting one out from the world beyond." IV. Accessories of Description. In spite of all care in planning and grouping, description remains the kind of discourse most liable to be tedious, on account of the difficulty of managing a multitude of loosely connected details. Some ways of sub- duing this intractable material we have just noticed. The same need of subdual gives importance to the accessories of descrip- tion ; which, though auxiliary, belong to the essential working-tools of the art. Description, being in principle picturing, is an appeal to the reader's imagination. It seeks to produce in him a kind of illu- sion, to make him realize the picture as if he saw it. We find DESCRIPTION. 339 accordingly that it freely employs imaginative diction (see pre- ceding, pages 55, 73), in the form of heightened expression, picturesqueness, and imagery; only here these heightening ele- ments are not so much for elegance as for clearness. The ne- cessity of rousing a definite image often gives to a plain prose description some of the characteristics of poetry. The following are the commonest accessories of description. Figurative Language. The advantage of figures for making an object real and definite is obvious; they both illustrate and vivify. Figures that are eminent in these qualities are the most frequent and useful. 1. Simile is extensively employed, principally in the outline part of extended description, to give definiteness for the succeed- ing treatment ; also in brief picturesque portrayal. EXAMPLES. i. The following similes, in Carlyle's description of Schlesien, illustrate his care in constructing a definite outline : " Schlesien, what we call Silesia, lies in elliptic shape, spread on the top of Europe, partly girt with mountains, like the crown or crest to that part of the Earth highest table-land of Germany or of the Cisalpine Countries, and send- ing rivers into all the seas. ... It leans sloping, as we hinted, to the East and to the North ; a long curved buttress of mountains (fRiesengebirge, Giant- Mountains, is their best-known name in foreign countries) holding it up on the South and West sides. This Giant-Mountain Range . . . shapes itself like a bill-hook (or elliptically, as was said) : handle and hook together may be some 200 miles in length. ... A very pretty Ellipsis, or irregular Oval, on the sum- mit of the European Continent, 'like the palm of a left-hand well stretched-out, with the Riesengebirge for thumb ! ' said a certain Herr to me, stretching out his arm in that fashion toward the northwest Palm well stretched-out, measur- ing 250 miles, and the crossway 100." 2. The following, from Balzac, will show how simile is used to hit off a char- acter or quality picturesquely : " The president, who looked like a rusty iron nail, felt that his courtship was progressing." " ' Just so,' said the notary, pulling out his old watch, which was two inches thick and looked like a Dutch man-of-war? 2. Metaphor and personification are very striking means of giving vigor and action to a scene or object. Sometimes they are followed out at length, in an elaborated picture. 340 DESCRIPTION. EXAMPLES. The following is from Charles Egbert Craddock : " Stretching out laterally from a long oblique line of the Southern Allegha- nies are two parallel ranges, following the same course through several leagues, and separated by a narrow strip of valley hardly half a mile in width. As they fare along arm in arm, so to speak, sundry differences between the close com- panions are distinctly apparent. One is much the higher, and leads the way; it strikes out all the bold curves and angles of the course, meekly attended by the lesser ridge ; its shadowy coves and sharp ravines are repeated in minia- ture as its comrade falls into the line of march ; it seems to have its companion in charge, and to conduct it away from the majestic procession of mountains that traverses the State." The following, from Mrs. Stowe, describes the preparation, in a country home, for Thanksgiving cheer : " In the corner of the great kitchen, during all these days, the jolly old oven roared and crackled in volcanic billows of flame, snapping and gurgling as if the old fellow entered with joyful sympathy into the frolic of the hour, and then, his great heart being once warmed up, he brooded over successive gen- erations of pies and cakes, which went in raw and came out cooked, till but- teries and dressers and shelves and pantries were literally crowded with a jos- tling abundance." 3. Antithesis, or contrast, is an effectual means of bringing out into relief what is distinctive or surprising in the object described. Contrast in the broader sense is here meant; as, for instance, between appearance and reality, or between anticipation and ful- filment. EXAMPLE. Green, in his " History of the English People," thus sets off the character of James I. by contrast : " In outer appearance no sovereign could have jarred more utterly against the conception of an English ruler which had grown up under Plantagenet or Tudor. His big head, his slobbering tongue, his quilted clothes, his rickety legs, stood out in as grotesque a contrast with all that men recalled of Henry or Elizabeth as his gabble and rhodomontade, his want of personal dignity, his buffoonery, his coarseness of speech, his pedantry, his personal cowardice. Under this ridiculous exterior indeed lay no small amount of moral courage and of intellectual ability. James was a ripe scholar, with a considerable fund of shrewdness, of mother-wit, and ready repartee. His canny humor lights up the political and theological controversies of the time with quaint incisive phrases, with puns and epigrams and touches of irony which still retain their savor. His reading, especially in theological matters, was extensive ; and he DESCRIPTION. 341 was already a voluminous author on subjects which ranged from predestination to tobacco. But his shrewdness and learning only left him, in the phrase of Henry the Fourth of France, ' the wisest fool in Christendom.' He had in fact the temper of a pedant, a pedant's conceit, a pedant's love of theories, and a pedant's inability to bring his theories into any relation with actual facts. It was this fatal defect that marred his political abilities." Etc. Epithet and Word-Painting. These characteristics of imagi- native and poetic diction are very spontaneous in descriptive writ- ing, being the form that language takes in its attempt to use the picturing power of words. They are used both in portrayal with- out detail and in more extended description. i. Epithet is perhaps the most common and serviceable means of condensing a picture into a word ; this is, indeed, the business of epithet (see pages 56-58, preceding). If the conception of an object can be flashed into the reader's imagination by a single apt word, the word is better than a page of inventory description. NOTE. Epithet is Ruskin's prevailing means of describing natural scen- ery, as is illustrated on page 74. It is also Carlyle's principal method in the vivid portrayal of personal characteristics. Consider, in the following, how powerfully the latter sets off Daniel Webster's personal appearance by the epi- thets he freely employs : "Not many days ago," he wrote to Emerson in 1839, " I saw at breakfast the notablest of all your Notabilities, Daniel Webster. He is a magnificent specimen ; you might say to all the world, This is your Yankee Englishman, such limbs we make in Yankeeland ! As a Logic-fencer, Advocate, or Parlia- mentary Hercules, one would incline to back him at first sight against all the extant world. The tanned complexion, that amorphous crag-like face ; the dull black eyes under their precipice of brows, like dull anthracite furnaces, needing only to be blown ; the mastiff-mouth, accurately closed : I have not traced as much of silent jBerserkir-r&ge, that I remember of in any other man. . . . Webster is not loquacious, but he is pertinent, conclusive ; a dignified, per- fectly bred man, though not English in breeding : a man worthy of the best reception from us ; and meeting such, I understand." In his reply to this, Emerson describes by epithet Carlyle's word-painting power : " And now those thirsty eyes, those portrait-eating, portrait-painting eyes of thine, those fatal perceptions, have fallen full on the great forehead which I followed about all my young days, from court-house to senate-chamber, from caucus to street." 342 DESCRIPTION. 2. Word-painting is closely connected with epithet. Indeed, the two are generally found together ; but to the picturing power of single words word-painting adds flow and rhythm of the sen- tence, adaptation of sound to sense, alliteration, word-play, and the like. NOTE. This has already been illustrated liberally on pages 55, 62, 74. The following, from Ruskin, will show how epithet and word-painting together add to the picturesqueness of description : " And there the river ripples, and eddies, and murmurs in an utter solitude. It is passing through the midst of a thickly peopled country ; but never was a stream so lonely. The feeblest and most far-away torrent among the high hills has its companions : the goats browse beside it ; and the traveller drinks from it, and passes over it with his staff; and the peasant traces a new channel for it down to his mill-wheel. But this stream has no companions : it flows on in an infinite seclusion, not secret or threatening, but a quietness of sweet daylight and open air, a broad space of tender and deep desolateness, drooped into repose out of the midst of human labor and life ; the waves plashing lowly, with none to hear them ; and the wild birds building in the boughs, with none to fray them away ; and the soft fragrant herbs rising, and breathing, and fading, with no hand to gather them ; and yet all bright and bare to the clouds above, and to the fresh fall of the passing sunshine and pure rain." The following, from Thackeray, will show how alliteration may be used to intensify some quality of an object described : " What muscle would not grow flaccid in such a life a life that was never strung up to any action an end- less Capua without any campaign all fiddling, and flowers, and feasting, and flattery, and folly?" Indication of Effects. "One of the strongest and most suc- cessful modes," says Canon Mozley, 1 " of describing any powerful object, of any kind, is to describe it in its effects. When the spectator's eye is dazzled, and he shades it, we form the idea of a splendid object ; when his face turns pale, of a horrible one ; from his quick wonder and admiration we form the idea of great beauty ; from his silent awe, of great majesty." EXAMPLES. Description, or rather suggestion, by effects is much used by Shakespeare in strongly emotional passages, and especially where the awe and 1 Mozley, " Essays Historical and Theological," Vol. II. p. 190. DESCRIPTION. 343 terror of the supernatural are to be indicated. We have already had a touch of it, in the description of Dover cliff, page 336 : " I'll look no more; Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight Topple down headlong." In " Macbeth " too, where the ghost of Banquo appears, Macbeth is repre- sented as almost beside himself so long as he sees the apparition : " Macb. Avaunt ! and quit my sight ! let the earth hide thee I Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold ; Thou hast no speculation in those eyes Which thou dost glare with ! Lady M. Think of this, good peers, But as a thing of custom ; 'tis no other ; Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. Macb. What man dare, I dare : Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger; Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves Shall never tremble : or be alive again, And dare me to the desert with thy sword ; If trembling I inhabit then, protest me The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow ! Unreal mockery, hence ! [Ghost disappears. Why so : being gone, I am a man again. Pray you, sit still." In fact, a scene gathers such added significance from the mood in which it is viewed, or the kind of person that views it, that in literary descriptions indications of this kind are often supplied as a kind of setting. This leads us to speak of the two kinds of description, objective and subjective. In objective description, the writer holds him- self rigorously to giving what is in the object and no more ; exhib- iting every detail in what Lord Bacon calls " dry light," without allowing it to be " infused and drenched " with his emotions and personal peculiarities. In subjective description, the writer's feel- ing is made to some extent the determinator of the portrayal ; that is, his emotion operates to robe the external world in the qualities of his own soul, so that the scene is gloomy or joyful or 344 DESCRIPTION. tranquil or grewsome, not necessarily as so in itself, but because he is. This kind of description Ruskin reprehends as a tendency to take liberties with nature, which tendency he calls the " pathetic fallacy." It is thus indicated in a recent poem : " If winds have wailed and skies wept tears, To poet's vision dim, 'Twas that his own sobs filled his ears, His weeping blinded him." '' EXAMPLES OF SUBJECTIVE DESCRIPTION. It is a touch of the subjective when, in representing a man as rolling a bowlder down a mountain side in order thereby to crush his enemy, Charles Egbert Craddock says of the sound, " The echoes rang with a scream of terror." The following bit of subjective description occurs in one of Carlyle's letters : " The Scaur water, the clearest I ever saw except one, came brawling down, the voice of it like a lamentation among the winds, answering me as the voice of a brother wanderer and lamenter, wanderer like me through a certain por- tion of eternity and infinite space. Poor brook ! yet it was nothing but drops of water. My thought alone gave it an individuality. It was 7 that was the wanderer, far older and stronger and greater than the Scaur, or any river or mountain, or earth, planet, or thing." In Shakespeare's " Hamlet " occurs an interesting example of resistance to the tendency to make description subjective. Hamlet is determined to de- scribe things as they are, in spite of their guise to his disordered mind : "I have of late but wherefore I know not lost all my mirth, foregone all custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition, that this goodly frame, the Earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most ex- cellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majes- tical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors." Narration. Description is so closely allied to narration that the two are very extensively used as accessories of each other. Indeed, there are some forms of discourse wherein narrative and descriptive elements are so evenly balanced that it is difficult to determine which has the predominance. It is a natural tendency, when an object is vividly conceived, to endow it with life and motion. We see this in personification and in allegory. The employment of narration as an accessory to description belongs to the same tendency. DESCRIPTION, 345 1. And it is shown in almost every description, first of all, by narrative touches, such as verbs of motion used to portray objects at rest, the action involved in figurative description, and the like ; devices which, belonging intrinsically to the recounting of events, serve to enliven the scene more than the reader is aware. EXAMPLE. Observe how the italicized words, which are at once metaphor and verbs of action, enliven the description in the following, from Tenny- son: " So till the dusk that follow'd evensong Rode on the two, reviler and reviled ; Then after one long slope was mounted, saw, Bowl-shaped, thro' tops of many thousand pines A gloomy-gladed hollow slowly sink To westward in the deeps whereof a mere, Round as the red eye of an Eagle-owl, Under the half-dead sunset glared" 2. Something of narrative character in description is often com- pelled by the element of time entering in. The description of a storm, for instance, or of a sunrise, must recognize the changes of aspect during the continuance of the scene ; and thus the por- trayal is also a kind of story. A battle may be treated descrip- tively or narratively ; that is, the principle of treatment may lie predominantly in the picturing of scenes or in the development of action ; but in either case there must necessarily be a large admixture of the other form of discourse. * EXAMPLE. The following, from one of Edward Everett's orations, shows what magnificence of language may be lent by a master to a very common subject : " I had occasion, a few weeks since, to take the early train from Providence to Boston; and for this purpose rose at two o'clock in the morning. Every thing around was wrapt in darkness and hushed in silence, broken only by what seemed at that hour the unearthly clank and *ush of the train. It was a mild, serene, midsummer's night, the sky was without a cloud, the winds were whist. The moon, then in her last quarter, had just risen, and the stars shone with a spectral lustre but little affected by her presence. Jupiter, two hours high, was the herald of the day; the Pleiades, just above the hori- 346 DESCRIPTION. zon, shed their sweet influence in the east; Lyra sparkled near the zenith; Andromeda veiled her newly-discovered glories from the naked eye in the south; the steady pointers, far beneath the pole, looked meekly up from the depths of the north to their sovereign. " Such was the glorious spectacle as I entered the train. As we proceeded, the timid approach of twilight became more perceptible; the intense blue of the sky began to soften; the smaller stars, like little children, went first to rest; the sister-beams of the Pleiades soon melted together; but the bright constellations of the west and north remained unchanged. Steadily the won- drous transfiguration went on. Hands of angels, hidden from mortal eyes, shifted the scenery of the heavens ; the glories of night dissolved into the glories of the dawn. The blue sky now turned more softly gray; the great watch-stars shut up their holy eyes ; the east began to kindle. Faint streaks of purple soon blushed along the sky; the whole celestial concave was filled with the inflowing tides of the morning light, which came pouring down from above in one great ocean of radiance ; till at length, as we reached the Blue Hills, a flash of purple fire blazed out from above the horizon, and turned the dewy tear-drops of flower and leaf into rubies and diamonds. In a few seconds, the everlasting gates of the morning were thrown wide open, and the lord of day, arrayed in glories too severe for the gaze of man, began his state." 3. The element of comprehensiveness in a scene may also com- pel the use of narrative resources ; as in a panoramic landscape, whose features of interest cannot all be seen from one point of view. In such a case the description is regulated by what is called " the traveller's point of view " ; that is, the describer is represented as going from one point to another and portraying successive aspects ; and the effect is both descriptive and narrative. EXAMPLE (quoted from McElroy's " Structure of English Prose"). "The plan has been successfully pursued by M. Taine in his Tour through the Pyre- nees : "'The carriage leaves Eaux Bonnes at dawn. The sun is scarcely yet risen, and is still hidden by the mountains. Pale rays begin to color the mosses on the western declivity. These mosses, bathed in dew, seem as if awakening under the first caress of the day. Rosy hues, of an inexpressible softness, rest on the summits, then steal down along the slopes. One could never have believed that these gaunt old creatures were capable of an expression so timid and so tender. The light broadens, heaven expands, the air is filled with joy DESCRIPTION. 347 and life. A bald peak in the midst of the rest, and darker than they, stands out in an aureole of flame. All at once, between two serrate points, like a dazzling arrow, streams the first ray of the sun.' " Subsequent sections describe the country beyond Pau, and the towns of Coarraze, Lestelle with its chapel, Saint Pe, and Lourdes. Here and there appears a thread of narrative, like the first sentence in the paragraph quoted ; but oftener the mere mention of a new place keeps up the sense of movement." V. Exactions of the Object. Of the objects, material and spirit- ual, with which description deals, some, as has been intimated, contain a suggestion of structure in the natural arrangement of their parts, while in treating others the plan has to be constructed according to the writer's logical sense. Further, some objects require a greater dependence on accessories of description than others. A rough classification of objects may here be made, according to these natural exactions. i. The easiest task for the descriptive invention, perhaps, is furnished by those objects in which description consists essentially of an enumeration of parts. Such objects comprise: objects in space, such as buildings, towns, scenery, works of art and mech- anism ; personal portraiture ; and objects related to time, such as natural phenomena, weather, and the like. In all these, when the description is of any length, the imagination ranges naturally from point to point, either according to the simple contiguity of parts to each other, or according to the dynamic impression they make on the describer. Accessories may be employed, but they are secondary ; the multiplicity of details requires that the basis of treatment, even if the treatment is dynamic, be a definitely con- ceived and natural plan. The leading aim is to let the order of treatment, as far as may be, be determined by the object itself, in its natural suggestiveness. NOTE. This has been abundantly illustrated in the extended descriptions already cited; as for instance, in the description of Chartres cathedral, on page 332, and in the description of Starved Rock, on page 334. 348 DESCRIPTION. 2. Next in difficulty to the foregoing are those objects in which the description consists in the recounting and portrayal of Qual- ities. Such objects comprise : character, individual and collec- tive ; national conditions and traits ; scientific accounts of natural phenomena and characteristics, and the like. In all these the plan has to be made rather than found; and its clearness and completeness depend therefore on the writer's logical and classi- fying powers. Accessories are secondary, as in the foregoing ; and the necessity of a strongly marked order is even more im- perative. NOTE. An example has been given in the plan of the description of Queen Elizabeth's character, on page 333. Another example, which has been called " one of the great delineations of history," is Motley's description of the char- acter of William the Silent, in the first volume of his " Rise of the Dutch Republic." A famous example of description of a nation's condition, and masterly in its way, is the third chapter of Macaulay's " History of England," which portrays the state of England at the time his history opens. 3. The most difficult, and least adapted to description, are those objects which appeal not to the reader's sense-perception but to his consciousness of his own inner experience. Such are mental states, mental processes, and emotions. Obviously these are hard to describe ; because if the reader has no experience of, or sus- ceptibility to, the state or emotion portrayed, any attempt by words to put him in possession of it is in vain. The author feels most vividly his own inner states, and to him they are profoundly signifi- cant ; but to impart a feeling of them, with any approach to vivid- ness, is quite another matter. And because it is so difficult, it is especially liable to be tedious. Of the management of such description, Bulwer-Lytton says, 1 " A few words will often paint the precise state of emotion as faithfully as the most voluminous essay ; and in this department condensation and brevity are to be carefully studied. Conduct us to the cavern, light the torch, and startle and awe us by what you 1 Bulwer-Lytton, " Pamphlets and Sketches," p. 343. DESCRIPTION. 349 reveal ; but if you keep us all day in the cavern, the effect is lost, and our only feeling is that of impatience and desire to get away." The skillful writer, however, will seldom attempt to describe mental states and emotions directly. He falls back on the accesso- ries of description, seeking to impart by such means something of the vividness of an object of sense. The accessories become therefore the predominating means of portrayal. Among these are especially to be mentioned : description by metaphor ; descrip- tion by narrative ; and especially description by effects, in counte- nance, mien, gesture, and the like. EXAMPLES. I . In the following the description of a mental state is effected by means of metaphor. The examples are quoted from Henry James. A vagabond mind. " It had lately occurred to her that her mind was a good deal of a vagabond, and she had spent much ingenuity in training it to a military step, and teaching it to advance, to halt, to retreat, to perform even more complicated manoeuvres, at the word of command. Just now she had given it marching orders, and it had been trudging over the sandy plains of a history of German Thought." An over-active imagination. " Her imagination was by habit ridiculously active; if the door were not open to it, it jumped out of the window. She was not accustomed, indeed, to keep it behind bolts ; and, at important mo- ments, when she would have been thankful to make use of her judgment alone, she paid the penalty of having given undue encouragement to the faculty of seeing without judging." 2. The following examples will illustrate description of emotions and men- tal states by their effects. The first is from Sir Walter Scott : Anger. "The Countess stood in the midst of her apartment like a juvenile Pythoness, under the influence of the prophetic fury. The veins in her beauti- ful forehead started into swoln blue lines through the hurried impulse of her articulation her cheek and neck glowed like scarlet her eyes were like those of an imprisoned eagle, flashing red lightning on the foes whom it cannot reach with its talons. Were it possible for one of the Graces to have been animated by a Fury, the countenance could not have united such beauty with so much hatred, scorn, defiance, and resentment. The gesture and attitude corresponded with the voice and looks, and altogether presented a spectacle which was at once beautiful and fearful ; so much of the sublime had the energy of passion united with the Countess Amy's natural loveliness." 350 DESCRIPTION. Listless despair. The following is from Wordsworth : " A sad reverse it was for him who long Had filled with plenty, and possessed in peace, This lonely Cottage. At the door he stood, And whistled many a snatch of merry tunes That had no mirth in them ; or with his knife Carved uncouth figures on the heads of sticks ; Then, not less idly, sought, through every nook In house or garden, any casual work Of use or ornament ; and with a strange, Amusing, yet uneasy novelty, He mingled, where he might, the various tasks Of Summer, Autumn, Winter, and of Spring." II. DESCRIPTION IN LITERATURE. The extent to which description is employed in works of litera- ture, and the forms in which it occurs, are a rather curious indica- tion of incongruity, or at least of difficult relation, between objects and means. The objects to be described are just those in which men take easy and universal interest, those objects, all around us in the world and in life, which form for the most part the mate- rial for the painter's art. But the means, namely language, can be but with difficulty adapted to pictorial purposes ; and it is only the few who can employ it with eminent success. The multitude of details to be managed are an unwieldly material, and peculiarly liable to tediousness. Even with the greatest skill, therefore, brevity, a quick impression, combined with corresponding defi- niteness and strikingness, becomes an imperative necessity. Another consideration goes to determine the position of descrip- tion in literature, namely, men's tendency to make practical demands. Readers are easily wearied with a portrayal, however vivid, that stops with itself; their unspoken demand is that it contribute to explain or enforce or prove something. As long as it is subordinate to something else, it is interesting ; but let it exist for itself alone, and most plain people will regard it as unpractical trifling. This is no doubt the reason why poetry, which is largely descriptive and imitative, must ever appeal to the few, not to the multitude. DESCRIPTION. 351 These considerations enable us to understand the fact that, while to a greater or less extent description pervades all forms of literature, and is highly valued for its fitness to set off other forms, comparatively little is made of it as a form by itself. It is esteemed, and justly, as a delicate indication of the writer's skill and taste ; it has employed the most minute and conscientious pains on the part of the greatest writers ; but its worth is recog- nized, for the most part, only as it fulfils the office of a handmaid to the more independent and practically serviceable forms. We may here recount, however, the types of which description forms the principal basis, and the modifications it undergoes. In Prose Literature. Leaving further consideration of descrip- tion as it exists in passages designed to serve something else, we may mention two types of prose literature of which description is the leading element. i. Description is employed with the purpose of imparting plain information, and with no attempt to shun what may be dry and inventory-like, in books, and more commonly in periodical articles, whose object is to give an account of some building, work of art, natural phenomenon, or country's resources. In such descriptions the imaginative element is little regarded : interest centres in measurements, accurate details, statistics, and the like. Thorough- ness and clearness are the predominating aims ; the subject is supposed to contain its own interest, and not to need the vivi- fying power of language to heighten it. Such work may indeed profit by a vigorous and lively style, so far as this does not in- terfere with its practical aim; but the practical aim must first be satisfied. EXAMPLES. A standard work of this kind is Wallace's "Russia." In periodical literature may be mentioned such articles as those in Harper's Weekly describing The Congressional Library, the new Courthouse at Pitts- burg, and the State Capitol of Colorado ; Professor Harris's article in the Journal of Speculative Philosophy on Michael Angelo's picture of the Three Fates ; the article in the North American Review on the resources of Texas ; and many others. 352 DESCRIPTION. 2. A more ambitious and literary use of description is seen in books and sketches of travel, works that form a very popular feature of magazine literature, as well as the staple of many favor- ite books. In these works description, while remaining the element for which the book or article exists, employs also narrative ele- ments, in the shape of incidents and details of travel ; it also assumes generally a light, lively, conversational style. The aim is to impart information but at the same time to afford enjoyment. It does not ordinarily seek the thoroughness and minuteness of the foregoing class of literature ; being occupied rather with the endeavor to sketch scenery, towns, customs, and national types, in an enjoyable and realistic manner. EXAMPLES. Kinglake's " Eothen " is a brilliant book of Eastern travel. Bayard Taylor's " Views Afoot " made for him a reputation which, strength- ened by numerous later books of travel, gave him a recognized position as one of the greatest travellers and most popular writers. A rather thoughtful and philosophic example is Emerson's " English Traits." Hawthorne's " Our Old Home " is lighter and more graceful. Only a mention need be made of the numerous magazine articles on countries and places of interest ; for example, S. G. W. Benjamin's articles, recently put into book form, from the Century and Harper's, on " Persia." In Poetry. Poetry, being fundamentally an imaginative art, is much better adapted to description than prose. Its imagery, its concreteness, its liberty to revel in beautiful forms undisturbed by the limitations of sober didactics, all contribute to make its picturing power its predominating feature. Accordingly we find that description plays a more important part in poetry than in prose literature ; the passages where it occurs may be longer, more elaborate, less hampered by the lia- bility to tediousness. In poetry readers expect to enjoy beautiful and vivid images for their own sake ; this is largely what they read poetry for. In spite of this fact, however, we find that distinctively descrip- tive poetry occupies a somewhat less esteemed position than other types. It seems to encounter the same prejudice against DESCRIPTION. 353 the non-utilizable that we have noticed regarding prose. Descrip- tion still has to be employed mostly in aid of some sentiment, or story, or emotion, in which the true significance of the poem centres. In proportion to other types, therefore, the number of descriptive poems is comparatively small ; though it is to be noticed that among these are found some of the most valued and undying treasures of our English literature. EXAMPLES OF DESCRIPTIVE POEMS. Thompson's " Seasons " and " Castle of Indolence"; Milton's "L' Allegro" and "II Penseroso"; Keats's "En- dymion"; Beattie's "Minstrel"; Burns's " Cotter's Saturday Night"; Gold- smith's "Traveller" and "Deserted Village"; Tennyson's "Palace of Art"; Browning's " Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came." 354 NARRATION. CHAPTER V. INVENTION DEALING WITH EVENTS: NARRATION. OF men's natural impulse, mentioned at the beginning of the last chapter, to report what they observe in the world around them, narration, the report of action, is by far the most prevalent out- come ; it is the most natural and obvious of literary forms. The reason of this is easy to find. When we inquire what ordinary men, men of the street and of common life, are interested in and talk about, we find that it is almost sure to be some manifestation of action ; a race, a contest, a feat of bodily prowess, a practi- cal joke, always something involving energy and movement. Such things can be observed without learning and without painful thought; moreover, the very progress of them is a stimulus to sustained attention. The spirited account of such things, accord- ingly, is the kind of literature that appeals most easily to all classes of men. Another reason there is for the naturalness of narrative : it deals with the kind of material best adapted to portrayal by language. We have seen that description is at a disadvantage in this respect ; because it must work with material that is itself at rest, by a medium that must move in a succession. In narrative, as in no other literary form so well, medium answers spontaneously to ma- terial ; both the expression and the event expressed are moving forward. How natural it is to run into narrative form is shown in the employment of allegory (see preceding, page 95), and in the use of narration as an accessory of description. Narrative is the kind of discourse whose plan is least artificial and labored, comes nearest to making itself. NARRATION. 355 I. SIMPLE NARRATION. We will discuss first the laws, procedures, and cautions of nar- ration pure and simple, without the admixture of elements that go to make the greater literary types of which it is the basis compos- ite, sometimes very complex, productions. I. Definition of Narration. Narration is the recounting, in suc- cession, of the particulars that make up a transaction. Let us in a few words analyze this definition. 1. Observe, first, that the word transaction, which expresses the subject-matter of narration, implies at least a rounded and self- contained series of particulars ; and thus far it suggests something of the aim in planning a narrative. A way of recounting is to be sought which shall maintain a distinctive character, and which shall have a beginning, an end, a culmination of interest. The fact that narration is the form of discourse wherein the plan most nearly makes itself by no means precludes the finest and minutest constructive skill. Indeed, there is perhaps no other kind of lit- erature so sensitive to extraneous elements, and so dependent for its felicity on the accurate balance of parts, as narration. 2. Observe, secondly, that narration, like description, deals with particulars, not with generalizations ; with the concrete, not with abstractions. This imposes on it the same task involved in de- scription, of seeking out those parts and characteristics of the object which are most individual, most unlike those of the class to which it belongs. There is something in every transaction which makes its interest unique ; and this is most to be sought. 3. Observe, thirdly, that the recounting of particulars follows a law of succession. What that law shall be is a question to be de- termined by the complexity of the occasion. The basis of narration is indeed the simplest kind of succession, namely, progress or contiguity in time ; and this predominates in unskilled narrative. As, however, greater constructive power and regard for interest 356 NARRA TION. enter, this law is supplemented and reenforced by the law of cause and effect : particulars are related not merely because they oc- curred at such a time, but because they grew out of preceding particulars, and form with the preceding an undivided tissue. A skillful narrator will seek that any incident, as related to what goes before, shall be not only post hoc but also, as far as possible, prop- ter hoc. II. Method of Narration. The transaction to be narrated may be real or fictitious ; in either case, however, the procedure is es- sentially the same. If real, it is still to be related with skillful progression and proportion of parts ; if fictitious, it is still to have verisimilitude, as if it were real. And in either case the story, as a story, is an invention ; l it is to follow the lines of construction that obtain in fiction, to give to the material it finds the same skill and freedom of movement as if it were at liberty to create its own material. That the right telling of a story is no accident but the result of artistic skill and tact, is illustrated by contrast in the narratives of the untutored. Walter Bagehot, referring to Coleridge, thus elu- cidates this point : 2 " He (Coleridge) observes that in the narrations of uneducated people in Shakespeare, just as in real life, there is a want of prospectiveness and a superfluous amount of regressive- ness. People of this sort are unable to look a long way in front of them, and they wander from the right path. They get on too fast with one half, and then the other hopelessly lags. They can tell a story exactly as it is told to them (as an animal can go 1 Of Macaulay's narrative method it is said: " No historian before him ever re- garded his task from the same point of view, or aimed with such calm patience and labor at the same result ; no one, in short, had ever so resolved to treat real events on the lines of the novel or romance. Many writers before Macaulay had done their best to be graphic and picturesque, but none ever saw that the scattered frag- ments of truth could, by incessant toil directed by an artistic eye, be worked into a mosaic, which for color, freedom, and finish, might rival the creations of fancy." Morison, " Macaulay " (English Men of Letters), p. 143. 2 Bagehot, " Literary Studies," Vol. I. p. 145. NARRATION. 357 step by step where it has been before), but they can't calculate its bearings beforehand, or see how it is to be adapted to those to whom they are speaking, nor do they know how much they have thoroughly told and how much they have not. ' I went up the street, then I went down the street ; no, first went down and then but you do not follow me ; I go before you, sir.' Thence arises the complex style usually adopted by persons not used to narration. They tumble into a story and get on as they can." EXAMPLE. In illustration of his remarks, Mr. Bagehot quotes the passage where Hostess Quickly tells Sir John Falstaff why she will not admit his swag- gering companion Pistol to her inn (Shakespeare, King Henry IV. Part Sec- ond, Act II. scene IV.) : " Tilly-fally, Sir John, ne'er tell me : your ancient swaggerer comes not in my doors. I was before Master Tisick, the deputy, t'other day; and, as he said to me, 'twas no longer ago than Wednesday last, ' Neighbor Quickly,' says he ; Master Dumb, our minister, was by then ; ' Neighbor Quickly,' says he, ' receive those that are civil ; for,' saith he, ' you are in an ill name ' : now, he said so, I can tell whereupon ; ' for,' says he, ' you are an honest woman, and well thought on ; therefore take heed what guests you receive ; receive,' says he, ' no swaggering companions.' There comes none here : you would bless you to hear what he said : no, I'll no swaggerers." Here, in three places, the narrator returns on herself (" it was no longer ago," etc.; " Master Dumb, our minister," etc.; " you would bless you," etc.); and the circumstance she mentions (" I can tell you whereupon ") to authenti- cate Master Tisick's words to Sir John, is indeed associated in her mind, by contiguity, with the rest ; but for Sir John's purpose it is quite irrelevant. The foregoing remarks and example suggest the following es- sential features of narrative method. The Prime Requisite : Forecast of the Whole. It is essen- tial in narrative, first of all, that the end be in view from the beginning, and that every part be shaped and proportioned with more or less direct reference to both. " Keeping the beginning and the end in view," says Professor David Pryde, 1 " we set out from the right starting-place and go straight towards the right des- tination ; we introduce no event that does not spring from the 1 Pryde, " Studies in Composition," p. 26. 358 NARRATION. first cause, and tend to the great effect ; we make each detail a link joined to the one going before and the one coming after ; we make, in fact, all the details into one entire chain, which we can take up as a whole, carry .about with us, and retain as long as we please." This is illustrated in the method of the professional raconteur, who may be regarded as representing the art of story-telling in its most fundamental elements. The anecdotes that he relates are treated as embodying a point or sentiment in which their whole significance is concentrated ; and to this point he subordinates everything, passing over preliminaries with a rapid touch, cutting out everything that is not indispensable to the main interest, using description with utmost parsimony ; so that the end for which the story exists strikes the hearers with all possible clearness and directness. EXAMPLE. An instance of an anecdote so told as to lead by the simplest and directest lines to a foreseen culmination occurs in one of F. W. Robert- son's lectures on Poetry. It illustrates the truth that " through the physical horrors of warfare, Poetry discerns the redeeming nobleness " : " I will illustrate this by one more anecdote from the same campaign to which allusion has been already made Sir Charles Napier's campaign against the robber tribes of Upper Scinde. " A detachment of troops was marching along a valley, the cliffs overhang- ing which were crested by the enemy. A sergeant, with eleven men, chanced to become separated from the rest by taking the wrong side of a ravine, which they expected soon to terminate, but which suddenly deepened into an impas- sable chasm. The officer in command signalled to the party an order to return. They mistook the signal for a command to charge ; the brave fellows answered with a cheer, and charged. At the summit of the steep mountain was a trian- gular platform, defended by a breastwork, behind which were seventy of the foe. On they went, charging up one of those fearful paths, eleven against seventy. The contest could not long be doubtful with such odds. One after another they fell ; six upon the spot, the remainder hurled backwards ; but not until they had slain nearly twice their own number. "There is a custom, we are told, amongst the hillsmen, that when a great chieftain of their own falls in battle, his wrist is bound with a thread either of red or green, the red denoting the highest rank. According to custom, they stripped the dead, and threw their bodies over the precipice. When their NARRATION. 359 comrades came, they found their corpses stark and gashed ; but round both wrists of every British hero,was twined the red thread ! " Here evidently the end is foreseen from the beginning, and not a particular is introduced but that contributes some essential toward it. The Twofold Interest. From the above remarks and exam- ple it appears that in forecasting a story the writer is to provide for two kinds -of interest, the interest of plot and incident, and the interest of purpose. 1. He is to seek the interest of plot and incident, that is, the interest that the reader derives from a skillfully managed mechan- ism. As already said, he is to construct the narrative and foster the reader's attention with reference to the end, or as it is techni- cally called the denouement ; this is what plot requires. Accord- ingly, incidents and circumstances are introduced not merely for the interest that belongs to them individually, but for their value in contributing to the larger interest. To belong rightly to the story each incident must advance by one step the general aim. NOTE. Just as a short story is a series of incidents, so a longer story must generally be largely a series of scenes. These may be widely separated, and contain wholly different characters ; but each takes its place to contribute some real thing toward the foreseen end. Of course the incidents of a short story must be more closely connected with the end, and contribute more directly, in proportion, than the scenes of a long story; but the same principle must underlie both. 2. He is to seek the interest of purpose ; that is, the end of his story should be important enough and worthy enough, both struc- turally and morally, to justify all the preparation made to reach it. Every story ought really to teach something. " Some central truth," says Leslie Stephen. 1 " should be embodied in every work of fiction, which cannot indeed be compressed into a definite formula, but which acts as the animating and informing principle, i Stephen, " Hours in a Library," First Series, p. 204. Bulwer-Lytton says this tendency to make a story embody a moral purpose " has been a striking character- istic of the art of our century " ; see " Caxtoniana," p. 316. This purpose is what he elsewhere calls the Conception ; see " Pamphlets and Sketches," p. 333. 360 NARRATION. determining the main lines of the structure and affecting even its trivial details." Despite the popular clamor against stories with a moral purpose, this is the unspoken demand of every reader ; we are impatient of a story that leads nowhere. It must be more than picturesque or exciting ; it must also embody a motive and conception through which it shall add to the wisdom and moral vigor of its readers. The failure to conduct the action to a worthy culmination is what Horace satirizes in his well-known verses : l "Quid dignum tanto feret hie promissor hiatu? Parturient monies, nascetur ridiculus mus." Not that this purpose is to be so obtrusive as to make the story a sermon in disguise ; nor is it to be appended as a moral. It is rather to pervade the production, never absent, never asserting itself ; something " to be divined by the reader, not explained by the author." "A high truth," says Hawthorne, 2 "fairly, finely, and skillfully wrought out, brightening at every step, and crowning the final development of a work of fiction, may add an artistic glory, but is never any truer, and seldom any more evident, at the last page than at the first." NOTE. "Thus," says Bulwer-Lytton, "in Goethe's novel of 'Wilhelm Meis- ter,' besides the mere interest of the incidents, there is an interest in the inward signification of an artist's apprenticeship in art, of a man's apprentice- ship in life. In 'Transformation' ('The Marble Faun'), by Mr. Hawthorne, the mere story of outward incident can never be properly understood, unless the reader's mind goes along with the exquisite mysticism which is symbolized by the characters. In that work, often very faulty in the execution, exceed- ingly grand in the conception, are typified the classical sensuous life, through Donate; the Jewish dispensation, through Miriam; the Christian dispensa- tion, through Hilda, who looks over the ruins of Rome from her virgin cham- ber amidst the doves." Instances of stories with strongly emphasized purpose, though not so as to interfere with the artistic construction of the work, are found in Mrs. H. B. Stowe's " Uncle Tom's Cabin," and Mrs. Helen Hunt Jackson's " Ramona." 1 Horace, Epistola ad Pisones de Arte Poetica, 138. 2 Hawthorne, " House of Seven Gables," Preface. NARRA TJON. 361 In some of the stories of Dickens and Charles Reade the moral purpose is so prominent as to impair the artistic structure and incur the reproach of being lugged in; as instanced in "Bleak House," which attacks the defects of the English Chancery courts, and " Little Dorrit," which in a similar way attacks the English red-tape systems in affairs of government and justice. Kinds of Succession in Details. The narrative plan is espe- cially exacting with regard to the succession of details : its parts must be a palpable and regularly advancing series, from beginning to end. In general, therefore, that order is to be sought in which each earlier particular will best prepare for and lead to what suc- ceeds. 1 . The general basis of every narrative must be chronological, the order of time. Whatever transgression of this order there may be in minor points, this must be the general progress recalled by the reader, as he endeavors to recollect the whole. 2. It is sometimes wiser, however, in a complex narrative, to make the order of time yield in some parts to the order of depend- ence. Events separated by a considerable period may still be cause and effect; and accordingly the true significance of the story may demand that intervening events be reserved to some point out of chronological order, while the details belonging to one series are grouped together. NOTE. In Motley's " Dutch Republic " occurs the following remark : " To avoid interrupting the continuity of the narrative, the Spanish campaign has been briefly sketched until the autumn of 1557, at which period the treaty between the Pope and Philip was concluded. It is now necessary to go back to the close of the preceding year." Longfellow thus justifies this occasional liberty of narration : " Nor let the Historian blame the Poet here, If he perchance misdate the day or year, And group events together, by his art, That in the Chronicles lie far apart ; For as the double stars, though sundered fax, Seem to the naked eye a single star, So facts of history, at a distance seen, Into one common point of light convene." 362 NARRATION, 3. Sometimes also, in order to secure a more effective incep- tion, the narrator begins the story at some point along in the plot, and then brings up what preceded in the form of an expla- nation, or as related by some personage of the story. NOTE. In Carlyle's " French Revolution," which is strictly chronological, several books of the history precede that incident where the courtier answers Louis XVI., "No, Sire, it is a revolution "; while M. Taine takes this incident as a dramatic beginning to his history, and then brings up the causes of the revolution to that point. In Homer's Odyssey, Books ix.-xii. are taken up with Ulysses' story of his earlier wanderings, related by him to the Phseacians. In Virgil's ^Eneid, also, ^Eneas relates, in Books ii. and iii., his previous adventures to Queen Dido. George Eliot, in the beginning of " Daniel Deronda," introduces her heroine at the gaming-table, and afterwards, when the incidents immediately connected with that scene are disposed of, goes back and relates how the heroine came to such a position. Episodes. The word episode, from the Greek eVe/o-oSos, a coming in besides (f-rrt and etcroSos) , is a term used more especially in connection with the action of an epic poem, to denote a sub- ordinate action, separable from the main story yet connected with it, an action brought in to give greater variety to the incidents of the poem. The purpose of the episode demands that its char- acter be so different from the rest as to offer a decided relief, that it be not so long or so elaborate as to usurp the interest of the main action, and yet that it be so carefully finished as to compen- sate by its beauty for the reader's impatience at being interrupted. The episodes of the great epics are often the parts on which the writers have laid out their greatest skill. NOTE. Instances of episode are, the parting of Hector and Andromache, in the Iliad, Book vi., a beautiful home scene coming between and relieving scenes of warlike contest; and the Archangel Michael's prophecy to Adam of what shall befall his posterity, in Paradise Lost, Books xi. and xii., affording consolation for the bitter agony of man's fall. Modern invented narrative is ordinarily very intolerant of episodes. It demands that every part description, action, and dialogue NARRA TION. 363 contribute more or less directly to bring about the denouement. "There should be," says Anthony Trollope, 1 "no episodes in a novel. Every sentence, every word, through all those pages, should tend to the telling of the story. Such episodes distract the attention of the reader, and always do so disagreeably. Who has not felt this to be the case, even with 'The Curious Impertinent,' and with the ' History of the Man of the Hill ' ? And if it be so with Cervantes and Fielding, who can hope to succeed? Though the novel which you have to write must be long, let it be all one. And this exclusion of episodes should be carried down into the smallest details." NOTE. The above remarks are of course not applicable to literary works of loose construction like "The Pickwick Papers," which aim only subordi- nately at plot, and are intended as a repository of all kinds of description and incident. In these the detached stories introduced are no more episode, as related to the whole, than are many of the adventures. The object for which episodes are employed, namely the relief afforded by alternating one scene with another of less severe or exciting character, is effected to better purpose by the changes due to interwoven plots ; concerning which latter something will be said further on. 2 III. Movement in Narration. The life of a narrative as a whole, and the relative significance of its parts, depend on the manner in which the events are made to move forward to their culmination. For in a skillful narrative there are many kinds of movement : in one place, perhaps, the events of a long period summarized in a few swift words, in another elaborate and slow labor devoted to the action of moments. Description may enter every narrative, but only in the right place ; it must not retard a movement that should advance quickly and without interruption. Some important parts, 1 Trollope, " Autobiography," p. 214. 8 See below, p. 373. 364 NARRA TION. on the other hand, will not bear to be disposed of quickly ; they must receive attention according to their importance. To provide for such requirements as these, and be unerring, makes the man- agement of a story's movement the most delicate problem in narration. Movement Retarded or Accelerated. The following are the principal means and occasions of giving the narrative either slow- ness or rapidity of movement. i. Movement is retarded by accumulating circumstances and dwelling on the successive stages and aspects of the incident; also by employing descriptive and interpretative elements, in order that the incident may stand out as a central feature of interest. Such slowness of movement is needed for the principal stages and dramatic points of the story, in order to detain and impress the reader's attention according to their importance. EXAMPLE. A well-known scene in Scott's " Talisman " relates how, when Richard Coeur de Leon was making a friendly visit to Sultan Saladin, on being requested to show his far-famed strength, he clove in two an iron bar by a single blow of his sword; whereupon the Sultan, in turn, severed with his scimitar first a cushion of down, standing unsupported on its end, and then a gauze veil laid across the weapon in mid air. Now in this scene it is evident that the cardinal incidents are the blows with the sword and the scimitar. Observe in what slow movement, and with what accumulation of circumstances these are related : "The glittering broadsword, wielded by both his hands, rose aloft to the King's left shoulder, circled round his head, descended with the sway of some terrific engine, and the bar of iron rolled on the ground in two pieces, as a woodsman would sever a sapling with a hedging-bill." Similarly the act of Saladin : " ' Mark, then,' said Saladin; and tucking up the sleeve of his gown, shewed his arm, thin indeed and spare, but which con- stant exercise had hardened into a mass consisting of nought but bone, brawn, and sinew. He unsheathed his scimitar, a curved and narrow blade, which glittered not like the swords of the Franks, but was, on the contrary, of a dull blue color, marked with ten millions of meandering lines, which shewed how anxiously the metal had been welded by the armorer. Wielding this weapon, apparently so inefficient when compared to that of Richard, the Soldan stood resting his weight upon his left foot, which was slightly advanced; he balanced himself a little as if to steady his aim, then stepping at once forward, drew the NARRA TION. 365 scimitar across the cushion, applying the edge so dexterously, and with so little apparent effort, that the cushion seemed rather to fall asunder than to be divided by violence." Such retarded movement on a large scale, with the alternating rapidity and brevity of dispatch in less significant parts, is called historical perspective ; being the means adopted in historical writ- ing for making events appear in their true relative rank, whether important or insignificant. NOTE. In the preface to the " History of the United Netherlands," Motley thus indicates his observance of perspective : " The materials for the volumes now offered to the public were so abundant that it was almost impossible to condense them into smaller compass without doing injustice to the subject. It was desirable to throw full light on these prominent points of the history, while the law of historical perspective will allow long stretches of shadow in the succeeding portions, in which less important objects may be more slightly indicated." 2. Movement is accelerated by giving only the main outlines of the action, and rejecting descriptive and amplifying details. The specially significant aspects of the incident alone are given, and these merely named, not dwelt upon. Such rapidity of move- ment has two principal uses : expressed in strong and trenchant terms, it portrays the life and vigor of a stirring incident ; ex- pressed in general and comprehensive terms, it passes briefly over unimportant periods of the action. 1 EXAMPLES. i . Rapid movement to suit a stirring scene is well exemplified in the following paragraph, from " Tom Brown at Oxford," describing a boat- race : " There it comes, at last the flash of the starting gun. Long before the sound of the report can roll up the river, the whole pent-up life and energy which has been held in leash, as it were, for the last six minutes, is loose, and breaks away with a bound and a dash which he who has felt it will remember for his life, but the like of which, will he ever feel again? The starting ropes drop from the coxswain's hands, the oars flash into the water, and gleam on the feather, the spray flies from them, and the boats leap forward." 1 For the expression of such movement, see what is said on Condensation, pp. IS4-I59- 366 NARRATION. 2. The following, from De Quincey, illustrates how an action whose details are less important than its general effect is crowded together into rapidly suc- ceeding pictures : " A redoubt, which has fallen into the enemy's hands, must be recaptured at any price, and under circumstances of all but hopeless difficulty. A strong party has volunteered for the service ; there is a cry for somebody to head them; you see a soldier step out from the ranks to assume this dangerous leadership; the party moves rapidly forward; in a few minutes it is swallowed up from your eyes in clouds of smoke; for one half hour, from behind these clouds, you receive hieroglyphic reports of bloody strife fierce repeating signals, flashes from the guns, rolling musketry, and exulting hurrahs advanc- ing or receding, slackening or redoubling. At length all is over; the redoubt has been recovered; that which was lost is found again; the jewel which had been made captive is ransomed with blood." Toward the end of a narrative, as it nears its culmination, as also in corresponding degree toward any important and evidently approaching crisis in the story, there is a tendency to accelerated movement which the writer should heed. When the reader's anticipation is aroused, the action should hasten by the shortest route to the promised end. Accordingly, such a point is not the place for extended description ; and the dialogue needs to be telling and brief. Whatever is necessary to the understanding of the action should be already in the reader's possession. It is on this account that the introduction of a new character in order to complete the denouement is regarded as a blemish in the structure. Movement Emphasized. Apart from the question of rapidity or slowness, there are various means, very naturally employed, of making the important stages of a narrative pointed and striking. i. By contrast. It is a natural impulse to make calm scenes alternate with stormy or exciting ones, to set people of contrasted character or appearance over against each other, to give opposite moods of the same person in striking succession. Life as well as literature is full of such antitheses. EXAMPLE. A good example of such contrast is the scene in Scott's " Kenilworth " where Queen Elizabeth discovers her favorite Leicester's treachery to Amy Robsart : NARRA TION. 367 " If, in the midst of the most serene day of summer, when all is light and laughing around, a thunderbolt were to fall from the clear blue vault of heaven, and rend the earth at the very feet of some careless traveller, he could not gaze upon the smouldering chasm, which so unexpectedly yawned before him, with half the astonishment and fear which Leicester felt at the sight that so suddenly presented itself. He had that instant been receiving, with a political affectation of disavowing and misunderstanding their meaning, the half ut- tered, half intimated congratulations of the courtiers upon the favor of the Queen, carried apparently to its highest pitch during the interview of that morning; from which most of them seemed to augur, that he might soon arise from their equal in rank to become their master. And now, while the sub- dued yet proud smile with which he disclaimed those inferences was yet curl- ing his cheek, the Queen shot into the circle, her passions excited to the uttermost; and supporting with one hand, and apparently without an effort, the pale and sinking form of his almost expiring wife, and pointing with the finger of the other to her half dead features, demanded in a voice that sounded to the ears of the astounded statesman like the last dread trumpet-call, that is to summon body and spirit to the judgment-seat, ' Knowest thou this woman? ' " 2. By climax. There is a natural feeling that important steps in the action ought in some way to be prepared for ; the prelim- inary circumstances being given with such increasing intensity of interest that the reader may be aware when he is approaching some important disclosure. EXAMPLE. In the scene between Richard and Saladin, already cited, the following bit of conversation, introduced after Richard has placed the iron bar ready for the blow of his sword, would seem to be intended to lead up to a more vivid realization of the King's tremendous feat : "The anxiety of De Vaux for his master's honor led him to whisper in English ' For the blessed Virgin's sake, beware what you attempt, my liege ! Your full strength is not as yet returned give no triumph to flle infidel.' 'Peace, fool ! ' said Richard, standing firm on his ground, and casting a fierce glance around ' thinkest thou that I can fail in his presence?' " The feat that Saladin performs is similarly prepared for, by a climax in- volving a suggested antithesis. 3. By surprise. Such preparation for an event as is implied in climax can easily be overdone. There is a way of leading on the reader without letting him guess what is coming ; while he is kept 368 NARRATION. alert and in suspense, yet successive developments are brought on where they will produce their most powerful effect by unexpect- edness, or where they will throw a sudden light on what has hitherto been mysterious. NOTE. The working of this principle is mostly to be discerned on too large a scale to permit of quotation here. Mr. Wilkie Collins, who is an especially skillful constructor of narrative plots, is a master in the art of unex- pected effects; in "The Moonstone," for instance, while important junctures in the story are fully prepared for, the intricate plot always turns in the way least to be foreseen. 4. By suggestion. Sometimes, when an important event has been so fully anticipated that it suggests itself, it is left to the reader's imagination to complete. This is especially the case when it is an event whose details would be disagreeable or pro- duce a feeling of horror. EXAMPLE. The close of Dickens's "Tale of Two Cities" is a scene of the Terror in France, where many victims of the guillotine are executed, their numbers told off one by one by the knitting-women. The death of the hero is thus left to suggestion : "She kisses his lips; he kisses hers; they solemnly bless each other. The spare hand does not tremble as he releases it; nothing worse than a sweet, bright constancy is in the patient face. She goes next before him is gone; the knitting-women count Twenty-Two. " ' I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord : he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live : and whosoever liveth and be- lieveth in me shall never die.' " "The murmuring of many voices, the upturning of many faces, the pressing on of many footsteps in the outskirts of the crowd, so that it swells forward in a mass, like one great heave of water, all flashes away. Twenty-Three . . . " They said of him about the city that night, that it was the peacefullest man's face ever beheld there. Many added that he looked sublime and prophetic." IV. What Narration owes to Description. The intimate con- nection of narration and description, which has been already men- tioned, gives rise to some forms of discourse wherein it is hard to NARRA TION. 369 determine which of the two predominates. Nor perhaps would there be any practical good in attempting a distinction ; though in general it may be said that where the narrative or story-telling feeling predominates it leads to a more or less carefully constructed plot ; while the descriptive feeling in predominance is content with the moving portrayal of a series of scenes, without special care for the interaction of events. The following are the aspects most noticeable in the mixture of the two forms of discourse. Narration convoyed by Description. Every extended nar- rative must rely on description for some essential features of its structure ; or, as is here expressed, it must be convoyed by de- scription. The main offices of description in narration may be described under two heads. 1. Description prepares the scene. The introductory part of any narrative, whether real or fictitious, must be largely an account of the setting of dates, places, customs, characters. Economy requires that just so much description of this kind be given as is needed to explain the succeeding narrative, and no more than can be fully utilized by it. A descriptive beginning labors under the disadvantage of delay- ing the action, and thus not seizing promptly on the reader's interest ; this is evinced in the remark often made that one " can- not get started" in reading a story. This disadvantage cannot always be avoided without incurring greater ones ; but sometimes a striking beginning is made, by dialogue or some narrative ele- ment, and the story is carried on in this way until interest is well aroused ; whereupon the descriptive introduction is given in a kind of pause, or, less often, by some of the interlocutors. Another way is to give the descriptive introduction piecemeal, in connec- tion with the successive steps of the action or dialogue. 2. Description is the expositor of the narrative. That is, the bearing of events on one another, the significance of characters, the junctures and turning-points of the action, the importance of minute features that would otherwise escape notice, are brought 370 NARRATION. out mainly by means of description. It is thus an element of great importance for keeping the balance and perspective of the whole. Authors differ greatly in the prominence they give to this de- scriptive element in narration. With some it is the strong point, and a lack of completeness in the plot is made up by its means ; with others it is cut down to a very subordinate office, while the plot absorbs the interest. In all this the writer must follow his individual aptitude ; the caution is, not to introduce description so as to disturb the proper movement of the passage, as for instance, stopping to portray a character or admire a scene in a place where the reader is waiting in eager suspense for a denoue- ment. The story should be kept moving, according to the ideal pace, rapid or slow, required by its underlying sentiment. Discursive Narration. This name may be given to narrative in which the descriptive feeling predominates. Its characteristic is that the story is not plotted, does not conduct the action to a denouement, but goes merely where the descriptive element leads it, or is bounded by the natural lapse of time. The account of an excursion, or a race, or a contest, would come under this head ; such accounts are popularly called descriptions as often as they are called narratives. The fact that in such narration interest is centred not in a plot but in a scene leads to an important modification of the style. When, as in a plot, the action is exciting and absorbing, the manner of recounting should be simple ; the interest does not require the aid of highly-wrought expression. When, however, it is the scene that absorbs the attention, the language has to be more the language of description ; it needs to be rapid, spirited, picturesque, to answer to the life and spirit of the scene, or to portray intense energy in action ; or again, it has to be meditative, flowing, charged with sentiment, to answer to the more tranquil emotions. Thus what the account loses in plot it makes up in vividness or in imaginative power. Sections of discursive narration are often introduced into the midst of plotted narrative, and have partially the effect of an epi- NARRATION. 371 sode, while at the same time they contribute by some secondary incident or feature to the progress of the main story. NOTE. A striking instance of this, though not purely narrative, is the account of the Battle of Waterloo, in Victor Hugo's " Cosette " (" Les Mise- rables"), whose nineteen chapters contribute to the plot of the story only a single incident, and that a minor one. Another example, illustrating well the spirited style of discursive narration, is the account of the boat race, in "Tom Brown at Oxford," Chapter XIII. II. COMBINATION OF NARRATIVES. In almost every narrative work that is built on an extended scale, history for example, the writer has to meet the problem how to manage concurring streams of narrative, a problem arising from the fact that many incidents taking place in widely separated scenes, and many characters wholly unknown to each other, may yet be contributing at the same time to bring about a common culmination of events. Synchronism of Events. This, as the name implies, is the treatment of events belonging to different departments of the work in such a way that the reader may realize that they are contempo- raneous with each other, though in the narration one must precede. There are several ways hi which the events of different streams of narrative may concur. In fiction the concurrence is a work of pure invention, being due to the relations of interwoven plots to each other. Of this something will be said further on. In history a transaction may have antagonistic sides, each of which, for com- pleteness, must be represented in turn ; this is seen when opposed forces engage in battle, or when political parties are arrayed against each other in state policy. A broader concurrence is seen in the different departments of a nation's history; as for instance, its constitutional history, its social development, its religious progress, its literature ; all of which, as they must be the material of narra- tives more or less distinct, necessitate a complex point of view. Each department must be presented both as it is in itself, and as it is related to other departments. 372 NARRA TION. Two general means of synchronizing events are chiefly in use, which we may call the literary and the mechanical. i. In synchronizing by the literary means, the writer chooses as basis of the whole the narrative most significant for his purpose or most fruitful in important events ; to this he gives the fullest move- ment, noting, in its course events that stand out as important land- marks for more than one department of the work, and personages that in the part they play serve to connect one story with another. In this way groundwork is laid for constructing history from more than one point of view. When now another narrative, contem- poraneous with the first, is taken up, it is constructed as a kind of reverse, giving in summary or rapid reference what the other has given in full, and enlarging on those points which the other has designated as landmarks. In this way the reader is kept aware how the different streams of events touch each other. An important process in such synchronizing is the management of changes of scene. The scene should not be changed except at the significant turning-points of the history, where one narrative can be trusted to wait for the other ; and the change should be distinctly announced as well as kept consistently in view. EXAMPLES. i. In his " History of our own Times," Justin McCarthy, after having traced the great political, social, religious, and scientific events of Queen Victoria's reign, thus summarizes, preparatory to giving a survey of the Literature of the Reign : " The close of the Crimean War is a great landmark in the reign of Queen Victoria. This, therefore, is a convenient opportunity to cast a glance back upon the literary achievements of a period so markedly divided in political interest from any that went before it. The reign of Queen Victoria is the first in which the constitutional and Parliamentary system of government came fairly and completely into recognition. It is also the reign which had the good fortune to witness the great modern development in all that relates to practical invention, and more especially in the application of science to the work of making communication rapid between men. On land and ocean, in air and under the sea, the history of rapid travel and rapid interchange of message coincides with that of the present reign. Such a reign ought to have a distinctive literature. So in truth it has. Of course it is somewhat bold to predict long and distinct renown for contemporaries or contemporary NARRA TION. 373 schools. But it may perhaps be assumed without any undue amount of speculative venturesomeness that the age of Queen Victoria will stand out in history as the period of a literature as distinct from others as the age of Elizabeth or Anne, although not perhaps equal in greatness to the latter, and far indeed below the former." On this as a background, the great literary men and events are sketched one by one, with frequent reference to the landmarks of the general history, just as in the latter there have been frequent references to the literary events in their place. 2. In Carlyle's account of the Battle of Prag, which may illustrate what may be called synchronism at close quarters, there is noticeable care evinced in the changes of scene. It is from Friedrich's point of view that he gives the narration, and his account of Friedrich's preparations, and of the ground on which the battle is to be fought, is given as seen from the Prussian's posi- tion. Then, in order to describe the Austrians' preparation, he changes scene, in the following words : " Let us step across, and take some survey of that Austrian ground, which Friedrich is now surveying from the distance, fully intending that it shall be a battle-ground in few hours; and try to explain how the Austrians drew up on it, when they noticed the Prussian symptoms to become serious more and more." At the end of this description he returns to his original standing-point, in the following words : " Friedrich surveys dili- gently what he can of all this, from the northern verge. We will now return to Friedrich ; and will stay on his side, through the terrible Action that is coming." 2. Mechanical means of showing the synchronism of events are often used to supplement the literary, or are employed along with them. The chief of these are : The careful division of the narrative into periods, with reference of various departments to their proper positions therein. The frequent and copious use of summaries. The construction of charts, tabular views, statistics, and the like, which serve to exhibit many parallel events in one view. Interwoven Plots. The name plot is applied, in fiction or the drama, to the intricate series of events that are to be unrav- elled, generally by unexpected means, at the end. Not often, in an extended work, does such a series remain single, or transacted in one scene. Incidents and scenes of subordinate significance may be woven in with the main thread of the story ; or two or 374 NARRA TION. more equally important plots, existing at first side by side, may come to be gradually incorporated with each other, until at the end all prove equally necessary to the total effect. NOTE. An interesting example of this latter is seen in Shakespeare's " Merchant of Venice," where the story of Portia and the Caskets, and the story of Antonio and Shylock have entirely different scenes and are derived from widely separated sources, their sole connecting link, at first, being the character of Bassanio. The money that he must borrow, in order to prosecute his suit with Portia, is made the motif for interweaving the plots; and as the action progresses, various characters Lorenzo and Jessica, Gratiano and Salarino, and Launcelot Gobbo are transferred from one scene to the other, until at the end the two stories are equally integral parts of a unified whole. It is obvious that in the interweaving of different threads of narrative, so that one homogeneous tissue shall be produced at the end, there is room for the minutest and subtlest skill in planning. 1 All the means described under Synchronism of Events are freely drawn upon to mark and emphasize the unity in diversity mani- fested in the various elements. Besides this, there are to be noted two especial lines in which constructive skill is to be exerted. First, care is to be taken that each constituent narrative have features that give it a distinctive character, so that its agency in working out the whole effect may be clearly evident. Secondly, care is to be taken, in laying down one scene and taking up another, to secure well-marked alternations or contrasts of effect, so that the reader's mind may be relieved from the strain of too long continuance in one kind of thought. A well-managed transi- 1 Macaulay applied this skill, with consummate effect, to the interweaving of different threads of historical narrative. Morison, in his " Macaulay " (English Men of Letters), p. 145, thus describes it: " In the ' ordering of parts,' which cost him so much labor, his equal will not easily be found. Each side of the story is brought forward in its proper time and place, and leaves the stage when it has served its purpose, that of advancing by one step the main action. Each of these subordinate stories, marked by exquisite finish, leads up to a minor crisis or turn in events, where it joins the chief narrative with a certain eclat and surprise. The interweaving of these well-nigh endless threads, the clearness with which each is kept visible and distinct, and yet is made to contribute its peculiar effect and color to the whole texture, constitute one of the great feats in literature." NARRA TIOM 375 tion from one narrative to another has all the good effect of an episode, without its disadvantages ; see preceding, page 363. ILLUSTRATION. The main story of Dickens's " Barnaby Rudge " is a stormy and tragic historic event, the Gordon Riots of 1 780. With this, however, is interwoven a story of markedly contrasted character, illustrating all that is good and simple and peaceful, as truly as the other illustrates the stormy passions of men, the story, namely, of Barnaby and his mother. These contrasted tales give fine opportunities, of which the author is not slow to avail himself, for contrast in the transitions from one section to another. The following transition, for example, follows immediately on a scene of conspiracy and brutality: "While the worst passions of the worst men were thus working in the dark, and the mantle of religion, assumed to cover the ugliest deformities, threatened to become the shroud of all that was good and peaceful in society, a circumstance occurred which once more altered the positions of two persons from whom this history has long been separated, and to whom it must now return." These two persons are Barnaby Rudge and his mother, who are sojourning in a small country town. III. NARRATION IN LITERATURE. All the most wide-spread and popular forms of literature have for their basis narration ; which, however, rarely appears unmixed, but reenforces itself, on occasion, by other processes of discourse. The following, briefly described, are the leading forms thus founded on narration. History. This is to be regarded as first in importance, be- cause, being the recounting of actual events, it represents the primitive and ideal use of narration. All the intricate modern art of historical composition is the outcome of a primitive impulse to tell the story of noteworthy deeds. It will be sufficient here to mention briefly the qualifications of the historian, and the kinds of history. i. As to qualifications, the writer of history must combine in himself two very distinct characters. " ' Stern Accuracy in inquir- ing, bold Imagination in expounding and filling up ; these,' says my friend Sauerteig, ' are the two pinions on which history soars.' " 1 1 Carlyle, Miscellanies : Essay on " Count Cagliostro." 376 NARRATION. First, and long before he begins the actual composition, he must have the most unwearied patience in detail and investigation, shrinking not from the dryest and minutest researches, in his determination to ascertain and verify every smallest fact that may throw light on his story. To him there is nothing forbidding, nothing unimportant ; a small and obscure incident may change the color of a whole epoch. NOTE. The tendency to extreme minuteness and patience in this respect is one of the characteristic aspects of modern scholarship and scientific method. First eminently exemplified, perhaps, in Gibbon, it has become the necessary mark of the standard historian, and is especially illustrated by such names as Hallam, Carlyle, Macaulay, Motley, and Bancroft. But secondly, through all this unwearied drudgery he must have the vision of a rounded and readable history, as the sculptor sees the statue in the stone ; and to this end he must seek by a vigor- ous and living imagination to realize the very form and body of past events, and make them live anew in the portrayal. The facts as he gathers them are disjointed, vague, orderless ; it is only by a powerful imagination that he can so present them as to transport the reader into the realization of them. NOTE. Macaulay complains that this art of moving presentation is neg- lected in modern times, as compared with ancient; and his efforts in histori- cal writing were principally directed to make history more readable. His success in this respect was phenomenal ; and, as no unworthy compeers of his, may be mentioned Carlyle, in his way, Motley, and Parkman. It is to be noticed that, in qualifications and achievements alike, American historians have taken a very eminent position. 2. As to the forms that historic composition may take, we may perhaps best borrow the classification of De Quincey. " History, as a composition," he says, 1 "falls into three separate arrange- ments, obeying three distinct laws, and addressing itself to three distinct objects. Its first and humblest office is to deliver a naked, unadorned exposition of public events and their circumstances. l De Quincey, Essay on " Charlemagne," Works, Vol. VI. p. 138. NARRATION. 377 This form of history may be styled the purely Narrative; the second form is that which may be styled the Scenical ; and the third the Philosophic." Each of these forms requires a word of exposition. The purely narrative form of history is based on annals and chronicles. But while, like these, it aims merely to display the actual facts of a nation's life, it imports into the work something of the proportion, the light and shade, the perspective, that belong to a well invented plot. It is this constructive skill that raises it from the mere raw material to real history ; makes a readable story of what would otherwise be the disjecta membra of a story. EXAMPLES. Of this less pretentious kind of history examples may be found in Hume's History of England, Helps's Spanish Conquest, and Gold- smith's compilations of ancient and English history for popular use. Of the older histories may be mentioned Clarendon's History of the Rebellion, and Burnet's History of my own Time. The object of the second form, the scenic, is defined in the words of Macaulay, already quoted on page 211. It is history written with a view to vividness ; and to accomplish this purpose narration is combined liberally with description. " Histories of this class," says De Quincey, " proceed upon principles of selec- tion, presupposing in the reader a general knowledge of the great cardinal incidents, and bringing forward into especial notice those only which are susceptible of being treated with distinguished effect." EXAMPLES. De Quincey himself instances, as illustrative of this class, Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Other examples are Car- lyle's French Revolution, Kinglake's Invasion of the Crimea, Macaulay's History of England, and the several histories of Prescott and Parkman. The third form, the philosophic, combines with the fundamental narrative exposition and induction. It views the course of events in the relations of cause and effect, and as subject to the working of ascertainable laws of human and physical nature. "Under whatever name," says De Quincey, " it is evident that philosophy, 378 NARRATION. or an investigation of the true moving forces in every great train and sequence of national events, and an exhibition of the motives and the moral consequences in their largest extent which have concurred with these events, cannot be omitted in any history above the level of a childish understanding." This manner of treating history, as Macaulay has pointed out, is distinctively the modern manner ; and the present prevalence of the scientific method in all departments of study has greatly enhanced the esteem in which it is held. A favorite definition of history is, " philosophy teaching by example." EXAMPLES. Of historic works eminently philosophic may be mentioned Buckle's History of Civilization, Lecky's History of European Morals, and Hallam's Constitutional History of England. Works combining the narrative and scenic with the philosophic are Green's History of the English People, Bancroft's History of the United States, and Motley's History of the Rise of the Dutch Republic. Biography. This is closely connected with history, and calls for the same qualifications. It is one of the most valued, as well as one of the most instructive, forms of literature. "I have remarked," says Carlyle, 1 " that a true delineation of the smallest man, and his scene of pilgrimage through life, is capable of inter- esting the greatest man; that all men are to an unspeakable degree brothers, each man's life a strange emblem of every man's ; and that Human Portraits, faithfully drawn, are of all pictures the welcomest on human walls." Two principal methods of constructing biography are to be noted. i . Corresponding best, perhaps, with its original idea, biography may be written as an account of the subject's life in the author's own words throughout, and embodying his judgments of the sub- ject's character and achievements. This manner of treatment is most favorable to making a homogeneous work of art, and gives best opportunity for a skillful narrative. On the other hand, it is 1 Carlyle, " Life of Sterling," Chap. I. NARRATION. 379 liable to become either over-eulogistic or over- critical, being sub- ject to the author's errors of judgment or inability rightly to esti- mate his subject's character and motives. To execute both sides fairly and successfully, therefore, is an achievement reserved for the few masters in this work. EXAMPLES. This treatment of biography is exemplified, with greater or less success in Plutarch's Lives, Johnson's Lives of the Poets,. Carlyle's Life of Sterling, and Lewes's Life of Goethe. Our literature contains also some notable autobiographies, among which may be mentioned Gibbon's Autobiography, Franklin's Autobiography, and 'the Personal Memoirs of General Grant. 2. The modern ideal of biography, however, requires that the writer efface himself as far as possible, and employ all means for making the subject tell his own story; and to this end much prominence is given to letters, journals, conversations, and the like. Such biography gains in permitting the subject to portray his own inner life. It suffers correspondingly in being less homo- geneous, and generally in including much that is of very subordi- nate interest. It imposes also a very delicate task on the writer's taste, in excluding what would give offence, or what would present the subject in an unjust or unfortunate light. EXAMPLES. In biographies of this class our literature is rich, and the number of creditable performances in this kind of writing is rapidly increas- ing. The most noteworthy ones are : Boswell's Life of Johnson, Lockhart's Life of Sir Walter Scott, Trevelyan's Life of Macaulay, and Stanley's Life of Dr. Arnold. A modification of this latter method of writing biography has recently been attempted by Mr. J. W. Cross, in his life of George Eliot (Marian Evans Cross) ; which is little more than a mosaic of extracts from her letters and journals, pieced together so as to form, as nearly as may be, a continuous narrative. It is ingenious, but its success is problematical. Fiction. Under this head are included all the varieties of purely invented narrative, narrative free to construct and modify 380 NARRA TION. its own plan, according to the requirements of an effective plot. The laws of fiction are much discussed nowadays ; in the present brief glance it will be sufficient to speak of the nature of the work and of its main divisions. i. As to the nature of the work, fiction has its peculiar liberties and limitations, which must be borne in mind. The liberties of fiction inhere with the fact that it is written for effect. According to its object, which may be merely to enter- tain, as in the ordinary novel, to teach some lesson, or advocate some cause, as in the didactic novel, to portray the depths of character, as in the psychological novel, it is free to construct such a story as will embody its conception, and to group the parts by historical perspective so as to lay the stress on what is important to its end. There are no actual facts to stand in its way, by compelling insertion or omission ; it is the story-teller's world, which he is at liberty to create and people according to laws of its own. At the same time fiction has its limitations. It must preserve verisimilitude ; and to this end it must deal not with the excep- tional but with the probable. The maxim that " truth is stranger than fiction " is no epigram but a literal fact ; and there are many things in actual experience too strange to be tolerated in an in- vented story. 1 Fiction can incorporate only what, under given circumstances, we feel might be true ; the monstrous, the lusus natures or lusus historic, must be left to that exceptional region the actual where alone they occur. Otherwise it cannot be recognized that the story is consistent with itself; it does not obey the laws that the human mind is used to. 1 " The common saying that truth is stranger than fiction should properly be expressed as an axiom that fiction ought not to be so strange as truth. A marvel- lous event is interesting in real life, simply because we know that it happened. In a fiction we know that it did not happen ; and therefore it is interesting only as far as it is explained. Anybody can invent a giant or a genius by the simple process of altering figures or piling up superlatives. The artist has to make the existence of the giant or the genius conceivable." Leslie Stephen, "Hours in a Library," First Series, p. 256. NARRATION. 381 2. As to the main divisions of fiction, we will here notice merely its two cardinal aspects, the romance and the novel. Romance obeys the tendency to emphasize the liberties of fic- tion. It deals with scenes and events outside the sphere of commonplace life, with adventure, mystery, striking contrasts, surprising incident ; or if with common scenes, it seeks to invest them with a hue and picturesqueness not of our everyday existence. It is generally concerned not so much with minute shades of char- acter and motive as with the more violent and elementary passions, love, revenge, jealousy, hatred, self-sacrificing courage. It is the result of an endeavor to create an imagined world more inter- esting and more striking than our common round of experience. EXAMPLES. Scott's "Ivanhoe," Cervantes' "Don Quixote," Bulwer's " Last Days of Pompeii," Victor Hugo's " Les Miserables." Examples of stories made romantic by poetic treatment of common scenes, are found in Hawthorne's " Scarlet Letter," " House of Seven Gables," and " Marble Faun." In the preface to "The House of Seven Gables" are some interest- ing remarks on Romance. The novel holds itself more strictly inside the limitations of fiction. Confining itself to the characters and manners of ordinary life, it aims merely " to hold the mirror up to nature," so that each reader may see reflected therein something parallel to his own experience. It is often concerned with finer shadings and traits of character than the romance exhibits ; and these it finds in such histories as are passing every day all around us. EXAMPLES. George Eliot's "Adam Bede" and "Mill on the Floss"; Thackeray's "Vanity Fair" and "The Newcomes"; Howell's " Rise of Silas Lapham." The tendency at present is more to novel than to romance. Drama. This is to be regarded as narrative wherein the char- acters speak for themselves, making the story, as it were, before our eyes ; while all the descriptive background is portrayed by means of scenery, or incidentally through the action and dialogue. The plot of the drama must be more rigorous and strictly pro- gressive, less tolerant of episodes, than that of any other form of 382 NARRA TION. story. Every part must contribute clearly and obviously to the completed whole, and the action must keep moving. The pas- sions and characters, moreover, must be more sharply defined and manifest themselves by more pointed language than in the novel, partly because the spoken style demands it, and partly because they have not the benefit of the author's interpretative comments but must reveal themselves entirely through their own words. Further, the drama must make obvious to its audience the con- stant working of cause to effect. It is not sufficient that an event occur ; we must be able to see what previous conditions or cir- cumstances brought it about. Consequently the element of acci- dent is excluded from the drama ; any event, to be dramatic, must have its cause, whether intended or not, in some way indi- cated before our eyes. 1 1 For some very suggestive remarks on the distinctions between the novel and the drama, see Bulwer-Lytton, " Pamphlets and Sketches," pp. 343-352. EXPOSITION. 383 CHAPTER VI. INVENTION DEALING WITH GENERALIZATIONS: EXPOSITION. To describe objects seen and heard, or to recount occurrences, is indeed man's most primitive and spontaneous literary impulse ; but for the thinking mind the observation therein involved natu- rally becomes the basis of something deeper. From the percep- tion of individual things, the mind readily advances to the thought of classes of things : detecting throughout the world resemblances and contrasts, laws and principles, causes and effects, it begins to group things together, to generalize, to discover qualities essen- tial and qualities accidental, to form, in a word, scientific concep- tions of things. Thus is opened the field of notions or generalized ideas, ideas to be identified, defined, classified ; and the various processes employed to set such matter forth in literary form are included under the term Exposition. The broad scope of literary exposition is not unjustly indicated in the derivation of the term and in ordinary popular usage. By exposition people generally understand setting forth the meaning of things ; and this we may regard as its fundamental office. It is not concerned primarily with establishing the truth or falsity of a thing ; it seeks rather what the thing is, what is its real nature, its scope, its relations. Exposition is thus the handmaid of all accurate and clearly-cut thought. The remark is often made of disputants that they could soon come to agreement if they would define their terms : exposition devotes itself to the business of defining terms, or rather, more broadly, of defining and other- wise exhibiting ideas, as generalized in the mind. Such work as this underlies the whole field of serious and stren- uous thought, as manifested in science and didactic writing ; the 384 EXPOSITION. field in which the human mind makes its most difficult yet most glorious achievements. And it is safe to say that the glory gained and the difficulty overcome are commensurate with the power evinced in the mastery of the few elements that lie at the founda- tion of exposition. Let us therefore first investigate these elements ; and afterwards we will see how exposition appears in literature. I. EXPOSITION IN ITS ELEMENTS. However elaborate its literary form and setting, the value of an exposition is peculiarly dependent on strenuous fidelity to its simplest and most fundamental elements. Anything that disguises or obscures these, whatever its graces otherwise, is but worthless and misleading. The keynote of good exposition, we may say, is plainness, clearness, simplicity ; we cannot afford, by any literary device, to cover up these qualities. I. The Object Expounded. Exposition, as intimated above, is invention dealing with ideas or generalizations. The distinctive character of such material, and the literary procedure necessitated in treating it, require at the outset some explanation. i. A generalized object is an object regarded as representative of a class ; the contemplation of which therefore includes merely such features as are common to all objects bearing that name. Our notion of an animal, for instance, is concerned only with such qualities as are essential to every animal, whether an elephant or an eagle or a crawfish, whether in America or in Borneo ; the quali- ties of organism, life, sensation, voluntary motion, must be as true of one as of another. A particular or individual object, on the other hand, takes the class characteristics for granted ; the name is sufficient to indicate these ; while we merely contemplate its individual features. We know without stopping to think that the EXPOSITION. 385 State- House at Boston contains all the qualities belonging essen- tially to the notion house ; but as it is an individual object, we are concerned merely with those peculiarities, architectural and other, that make it unique. In the treatment of these two classes of objects, therefore, we pursue courses exactly opposite. A partic- ular object or event, which is the subject of description or narra- tion, we portray by singling out the features wherein it is most unlike every other; a generalized object, which is the subject of exposition, we set forth by naming the features wherein all individuals of its class are alike. EXAMPLES OF CONTRASTED TREATMENT. The difference of procedure in the cases of description and exposition may be illustrated by the following extracts, which both deal with the same object, the one as an individual, the other as a notion. 1. In Tennyson's " Merlin and Vivien," an oak is thus described: " A storm was coming, but the winds were still, And in the wild wood of Broceliande, Before an oak, so hollow, huge, and old It look'd a tower of ruin'd mason-work, At Merlin's feet the wily Vivien lay." Here the qualities named are indeed true of some oaks, but not necessarily true; an oak is just as truly an oak if it is neither hollow nor huge nor old. 2. Compare with this the following from an encyclopaedia article on the oak : "Most of the trees belonging to the oak family are remarkable for their thick and rugged bark and for the great abundance of tannin which it con- tains. They have large and strong roots, penetrating very deeply or extend- ing very far horizontally. The trunks are distinguished for their massiveness, and for the weight, strength, and in most cases, the durability of their wood. Their branches are strong and irregular, and form a broad head. The buds are fitted for a climate with severe winters, the plaited or folded leaves being covered by imbricate external scales, and often still further protected by a sep- arate downy scale surrounding each separate leaf. The leaves are plane and alternate, and usually supported by a footstalk, at the base of which are two slender scales or stipules, which for the most part fall off as the leaf expands." Here the information given is merely such as can be predicated of any and every oak-tree; it must be like this to be an oak. 386 EXPOSITION. 2. Objects exist in nature only as individuals; the generaliza- tion, which groups different objects by like characteristics, thus including many under one name, is in reality a creation of the human mind, and owes its completeness to the observer's acumen and thoroughness. It is not meant by this that generalization is an uncertain or arbitrary process. The qualities and resemblances from which it is made up really exist, and it is a real interpretation of what is in the nature of things. Only we are to remember that in exposition we are dealing not with an object whose parts and peculiarities are displayed in space before us, as in descrip- tion ; nor with an event, whose incidents succeed each other in time, as in narration; but with a man-made concept, whose aspects and divisions are discerned by the laws of thought and association that exist in human minds. By as much, then, as the object fails to suggest its own plan of treatment, by so much it is incumbent on the writer to take the more pains that his presenta- tion be well articulated, distinctly marked, adapted to average minds. 3. An object to be expounded expresses either an idea or the relation between ideas. Hence its form is either a term or a proposition. Though exposition may be applied to any object, an object described, or an event narrated, as well as an object thought, yet in its state as a concept or generalization, the object must be reduced to one of these forms ; it must either name an idea, or make an assertion regarding it. EXAMPLES. I. Of terms. Scientific terms and subjects, as gravitation, evolution, law, polity, biology, psychology, eschatology ; multitudes of terms used in common discussion, as nature, art, literature, criticism, public opinion, reform, common-sense, culture, orthodoxy. Many of these terms are too vaguely used on account of the lack of careful and sharp exposition. 2. Of propositions. Many of the maxims, proverbs, and terse assertions in frequent use are subject to exposition as well as argument; that is, their meaning and scope, as well as their truth or error, require to be established. For instance: "Curiosity is but vanity"; "the poet is born, not made"; " the style is the man " ; " no man is a hero to his valet." Indeed, it may be said that every proposition needs to be examined as to its meaning before it is EXPOSITION. 387 tested as to its truth; this is the first logical step. Under this head are to be reckoned the texts of sermons, which are taken as embodying some moral idea or lesson to be expounded. All exposition, whether of terms or of propositions, may be reduced fundamentally to two processes : analysis of ideas as to their depth or intension ; and analysis of ideas as to their breadth or extension. II. Exposition Intensive, or Definition. Adopting the broad meaning suggested in the derivation of the word, we may say that to define a thing is to determine its limits (fines) ; and it is in this broad sense that the process of definition is here regarded as one of the fundamental instruments of exposition. Whatever goes to determine in language the limits of an idea, whether it be strict logical definition or the literary figures and illustrations that serve to make those limits clear to ordinary minds, belongs in the large sense to the definition of the idea. Such definition may be called exposition intensive ; the kind of exposition, that is, in which the meaning of the idea is determined in the direction of its depth, what the idea intrinsically signifies as one of a class, rather than how extended is its application as a class in itself. Thus, in expounding intensively the term litera- ture, we define what literature of any and every sort is, without reference to the question how many kinds of literature there are. Let us first see what definition is in its narrowest and rigidest use ; for it is this kind of definition that should underlie and inform every effort to expound ideas. Logical Definition. By this is meant a concise statement of the character or characters most essential to an object. In its strict construction it is reducible to two processes : first, identify- ing its object with a class of objects, which class is technically called the genus ; and secondly, determining the object's particu- lar place in the class, which distinctive character is called the differentia. 388 EXPOSITION, EXAMPLES. When we define a circle as " a plane figure contained by one line everywhere equidistant from a point within called the centre," we first identify it with the class of plane figures, and then we determine its place in that class by the characteristic that the line by which it is bounded is at every point equidistant from a point within, a characteristic that no other plane figure possesses. Let us test a few other definitions by the same analysis : ELASTICITY is LITERATURE is MATHEMATICS is FAITH is Genus, the power of bodies the written record of valu- able thought the science certitude Differentia. to recover their form after compression. having other than merely practical purposes. of quantity. with respect to matters in which verification is un- attainable. Such are logical definitions ; but also the more extended and literary defi- nitions are generally capable of the same analysis by genus and differentia ; take for example the following from E. J. Payne : " By CONSERVATISM is meant that preference for and in- dulgence to that faith in and that distrust of what is already established, what has been tried, what exists only in specula- tion, which never wholly forsakes every sound politician, of whatever party." The three necessary requisites of a logical definition are : that it should cover all cases or individuals of the idea defined ; that it should exclude all objects not bearing the same name ; and that it should be expressed in terms simpler and less obscure than the term that designates the defined object. To these should ordinarily be added, as a secondary requisite, brevity : that is, the expositor should endeavor to name the smallest number of attributes that will be adequate to make the idea intelligible, and these should be the most essential, most characteristic possible. To this end the writer needs to test his definition in every available aspect. EXPOSITION. 389 Nothing in literature is more difficult to originate than an accu- rate definition. For this reason a good definition is one of the most valued achievements of thought ; an achievement that, according to its excellence, takes its place at once in the standard currency of thinking minds. And many of the most familiar conceptions, though they are perfectly well known and felt, and though the greatest intellects have attempted to reduce them to strict limits, have to be acknowledged as indefinable. NOTE. Among these last mentioned are such concepts as poetry, inspira- tion, revelation, eloquence. They are the despair of logical definers, not because their terms are vague, but because they are so complex and contain so much suggestion. A felicitous definition may become famous and make its author famous. Such is Buffon's epigrammatic definition of style, " The style is the man him- self," and Dean Swift's definition of it as " proper words in proper places." Nothing is said here, by the way, of the adequacy of these definitions, only of their celebrity, Such also is Matthew Arnold's definition of criticism, " a disinterested endeavor to learn and propagate the best that is known and thought in the world"; and his definition of his concept of God as "the enduring power not ourselves, which makes for righteousness." Such dicta become the centres of much discussion for and against. Matthew Arnold's writings, it may here be said, are especially stimulating in the quality of clearly cut and closely discriminated thinking; he has a defining mind. The Definition Amplified. For literary and popular purposes logical definition is only the nucleus of intensive exposition. Im- portant though it is, it is too severe and compact to be impres- sive ; it has ordinarily to be prepared for or supplemented by some amplifying matter that may serve to detain the reader's mind upon it, and direct his attention to its various aspects. The following are the principal ways in which the definition may be amplified. i. By exegesis of terms. The most natural way, perhaps, to get at the exact significance of an idea is to examine the terms in which it is expressed. This is an important preliminary to defini- tion. According to the light that such study will throw upon the discussion, the word is examined as to its derivation and history ; 390 EXPOSITION. or compared with other terms, synonymous or contrasted ; or freed from any ambiguities or vaguenesses of use into which it may have fallen. EXAMPLES. I . In the following, Professor Shairp arrives at the definition of Culture by first examining the term, and comparing various words that designate the idea : " But what do we mean by this fine word Culture, so much in vogue at present ? What the Greeks naturally expressed by their iratdeia, the Romans by their humanitas, we less happily try to express by the more artificial word Culture. The use of it in its present sense is, as far as I know, recent in our language, forced upon us, I suppose, by the German talk about ' Bildung.' And the shifts we have been put to, to render that German word, seem to show that the thing is with us something of an exotic, rather than native to the soil. When applied to the human being, it means, I suppose, the ' educing or drawing forth all that is potentially in a man,' the training all the energies and capacities of his being to the highest pitch, and directing them to their true ends." 2. The following, from Matthew Arnold, is a kind of swift glance at expo- sition, suggested by the derivation of the italicized word : " For, not having the lucidity of a large and centrally placed intelligence, the provincial spirit has not its graciousness; it does not persuade, it makes war; it has not urbanity, the tone of the city, of the centre, the tone which always aims at a spiritual and intellectual effect, and not excluding the use of banter, never disjoins banter itself from politeness, from felicity." 3. In the definition of Faith given on page 388 above, much depends on rightly discriminating between the word certitude and the almost synonymous word certainty. " Certitude is distinguished from certainty as subjective from objective. ' Certitude,' says Cardinal Newman, ' is a state of mind : certainty is a quality of propositions.' " When therefore we say that ' faith is certitude with respect to matters in which verification is unattainable,' we need to be sure we have the right conception of this defining term. 2. By following out at length, with such explication as is needed, the various parts and statements of the definition. Some of its terms, though the most exact, contain their meaning in so condensed form that attention has to be directed to what they imply and involve ; and its more important statements may have to be dwelt upon in order that their significance as related to the rest may be brought out. EXPOSITION. 391 EXAMPLES. A striking example of a definition thus amplified is the para- graph on the grand style in poetry, quoted from Matthew Arnold on page 201 above. The definition is taken up in regular order point by point, and either defined more closely or emphasized by iteration. Several examples of such explication occur also in this book ; see, for instance, the definition of Description, with the remarks thereon, page 326. 3. By logical description. By this is meant portrayal of a gen- eralized object by giving more qualities and characteristics than are strictly necessary to determine its class and nature. It is distinguished from ordinary description in that it gives general characteristics instead of individual ; and it is distinguished from logical definition in that it gives "a characteristic and derived property, not a generating and primitive one." EXAMPLES. Logical description can best be exemplified by comparing it with a definition. Take for instance the scientific definition of a steam-engine which gives only its essential character, and put by the side of it a description, which, while culminating in the- same essential feature, gives more easily understood and interesting characteristics : Definition: "A steam-engine Description : "The name steam-engine to is a machine in which the elas- most persons brings the idea of a machine tic force of steam is the motive of the most complex nature, and hence to power." Gage, be understood only by those who will devote much time to the study of it; but he that can understand a common pump may under- stand a steam-engine. It is, in fact, only a pump in which the fluid passing through it is made to impel the piston instead of being impelled by it, that is to say, in which the fluid acts as the power, instead of being the resistance." Arnott. Such description is much employed in the sciences, to supplement and follow out in detail the definitions on which science must be based. In popu- lar language, too, description takes the place often of definition : the follow- ing, for instance, is quoted from a prayer-meeting speech : " This is not a definition of prayer, but it is a most fitting and blessed description of it to say that it is talking with the risen Jesus." Similarly, it is description and not definition when Emerson says that eloquence is " a taking sovereign posses- sion of the audience." 392 EXPOSITION. Besides the logical definition, with its accessories of amplifica- tion, several other processes belonging to definition in the broad sense need here to be explained and exemplified. Exposition by Antithesis. One of the most effectual means of fixing the exact limits and fine distinctions of an idea is to compare it with some idea closely related, either in likeness or contrast. The ideas thus compared may or may not be in actual opposition to each other; indeed, they may coincide in almost every point. The aim of the comparison, however, is to find the point where they are in antithesis, which point will be found to contain the most distinctive feature of each. EXAMPLES. i . That ideas almost synonymous may have some point of complete antithesis is shown in the two ideas certitude and certainly, which have already been discriminated as subjective and objective. 2. The following, from John Stuart Mill, reduces the distinction between poetry and eloquence to a serviceable antithesis : " Poetry and eloquence are both alike the expression or utterance of feel- ing : but, if we may be excused the antithesis, we should say that eloquence is heard, poetry is overheard. Eloquence supposes an audience. The pecu- liarity of poetry appears to lie in the poet's utter unconsciousness of a listener. Poetry is feeling confessing itself to itself in moments of solitude, and embody- ing itself in symbols which are the nearest possible representations of the feeling in the exact shape in which it exists in the poet's mind. Eloquence is feeling pouring itself out to other minds, courting their sympathy, or endeav- oring to influence their belief, or move them to passion or to action." 3. The following, from Dr. Horace Bushnell, shows by a skillful exegesis of terms that happiness and joy, though ideas almost wholly coincident, have a point of exact antithesis : " Now there is even a distinction of kind between the two, a distinction beautifully represented in the words themselves. Thus HAPPINESS, according to the original use of the term, is that which happens, or comes to one by a haf , that is, by an outward befalling, or favorable condition. Some good is conceived, out of the soul, which comes to it as a happy visitation, stirring in the receiver a pleasant excitement. It is what money yields, or will buy ; dress, equipage, fashion, luxuries of the table ; or it is settlement in life, independence, love, applause, admiration, honor, glory, or the more conven- tional and public benefits of rank, political standing, victory, power. All these stir a delight in the soul, which is not of the soul, or its quality, but from without. Hence they are looked upon as happening to the soul and, in EXPOSITION. 393 that sense, create happiness. . . . But JOY differs from this, as being of the soul itself, originating in its quality. And this appears in the original form of the word ; which, instead of suggesting a hap, literally denotes a leap, or spring. . . . The radical idea then of joy is this ; that the soul is in such order and beautiful harmony, has such springs of life opened in its own blessed virtues, that it pours forth a sovereign joy from within. The motion is out- ward and not toward, as we conceive it to be in happiness. It is not the bliss of condition, but of character. There is, in this, a well-spring of triumphant, sovereign good, and the soul is able thus to pour out rivers of joy into the deserts of outward experience. It has a light in its own luminous centre, where God is, that gilds the darkest nights of external adversity, a music charming all the stormy discords of outward injury and pain into beats of rhythm, and melodies of peace." Here the antithesis is : happiness comes from without; joy springs up from within. Exposition by Iteration, and by Obverse Iteration. This manner of exposition is of special value in expounding proposi- tions : an important affirmation is seldom allowed to stand alone, but its sentiment is iterated in various forms, more familiar or more figurative or more terse, until it is sufficiently impressed. A natural accompaniment is obverse iteration, or denial of the counter proposition ; which gives additional clearness by making known what the principle in question is not, as well as what it is. EXAMPLES. An example, from Cardinal Newman, already cited on page 197, will show how an assertion is presented in various statements: Proposition : " If we would improve the intellect, first of all, we must ascend ; Obverse : we cannot gain real knowledge on a level ; Proposition iterated in explanatory forms : we must generalize, we must reduce to method, we must have a grasp of principles, and group and shape our acquisitions by means of them." The Book of Proverbs abounds in principles stated both in affirmation and in obverse: this is indeed one of its prevailing forms of exposition; thus: "A wise son maketh a glad father; " A soft answer turneth away wrath ; " He that covereth his sins shall not prosper; but a foolish son is the heaviness of his mother." but grievous words stir up anger." but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them shall have mercy." 394 EXPOSITION. Sometimes an essay or treatise is written in order to expound a subject both from its affirmative and its negative side; for instance, one of Martineau's essays is entitled " Revelation : What it is not, and What it is." Exposition by Exemplification. "The meaning of an abstrac- tion is best sought for in the concrete of an universal in the particular." For this reason it is of special importance in expo- sition to illustrate its generalizations, wherever possible, by particu- lar instances, or examples, which, embodying the idea in an indi- vidual and tangible type, take away its abtruseness and translate it, so to say, into familiar language. EXAMPLE. Cardinal Newman's " Grammar of Assent" is a masterly work of exposition; and its prevailing method is exemplification. An instance may here be cited : " I have already given various illustrations of Real Assent; I will follow them up here by some instances of the change of Notional Assent into Real. . . . " Twenty years ago, the Duke of Wellington wrote his celebrated letter on the subject of the national defences. His authority gave it immediate circula- tion among all classes of the community; none questioned what he said, nor as if taking his words on faith merely, but as intellectually recognizing their truth; yet few could be said to see or feel that truth. His letter lay, so to say, upon the pure intellect of the national mind, and nothing for a time came of it. But eleven years afterwards, after his death, the anger of the French colonels with us, after the attempt upon Louis Napoleon's life, transferred its facts to the charge of the imagination. Then forthwith the national assent became in various ways an operative principle, especially in its promotion of the volunteer movement. The Duke, having a special eye for military matters, had realized the state of things from the first; but it took a course of years to impress upon the public mind an assent to his warning, deeper and more ener- getic than the reception it is accustomed to give to a clever article in a news- paper or a review." An example, in order to be an effectual illustration of an idea, should be chosen with reference to two qualities : its embodiment of the idea or property in question should be striking; and it should be as far as possible pure and typical, free from extraneous or exceptional elements. A perfect example is almost as valuable, in the realm of generalizations, as a perfect definition. EXPOSITION. 395 NOTE. If, for instance, we were seeking to exemplify crystallization by exhibiting a real crystal, we should look for one as free as possible from imperfections, and we should leave out of account the breaks and distortions that are found in the majority of specimens. So also, in exemplifying intricate subjects, it is advisable to illustrate, as far as may be, one thing at a time ; an example may easily become confusing merely by being too complex. Exposition by Analogy. Analogy, by which is meant simi- larity of relation in diversity of subject, is obviously an important accessory in expounding the relation between ideas. Taking obscure and remote relations, it makes them familiar by identify- ing them with relations such as we see all around us ; and thus the abstruse becomes simple. NOTE. Analogy differs from simile in that it is concerned not with the simple resemblance of objects, but with the resemblance or identity of rela- tions between objects. Thus, when Emerson, speaking of the orator's art, says, " Him we call an artist, who shall play on an assembly of men as a mas- ter on the keys of the piano," he does not mean to liken an assembly to a piano, nor an orator to a pianist ; he is merely saying that the relation of the pianist to his instrument is like the relation of the orator to his audience. It is often remarked that analogy, as a form of argument, is precarious. This is true ; and in the next chapter we shall see why. 1 As an instrument of exposition, however, analogy is of very great value. Its distinctive function is to illustrate ; and though we have to be cautious about depending upon it as estab- lishing the truth of a position, yet not infrequently it may so clearly define the position that the truth of it may be seen as self- evident. But in order that analogy may truly illustrate, we need to be sure that the relation is not fanciful, but real and definite. EXAMPLES. Bulwer-Lytton thus illustrates the proposition that every one must view the truth in his own individual way : " When thou gazest on the track of light which the moon makes on the ocean, that track to thy vision seems the one luminous path through the measureless waste of the darkness around it ; but alter the course of thy bark, and the track shifts with the course those waves illumined which before 1 See below, page 422. 396 EXPOSITION. were rayless, and those in darkness which before were bright. For the dark and the light vary still with thine own point of vision ; and, in truth, the moon favors not one wave more than another. Truth makes on the ocean of nature no one track of light every eye looking on finds its own." The following, from George Eliot, is a plain man's analogy to illustrate how it is that not every one can see a ghost : " ' But,' said the farrier, ' I'm afraid o' neither man nor ghost, and I'm ready to lay a fair bet, / arn't a turn-tail cur.' ' Ay, but there's this in it, Dowlas,' said the landlord, speaking in a tone of much candor and tolerance. 'There's folks, i' my opinion, they can't see ghos'es, not if they stood as plain as a pike-staff before 'em. And there's reason i' that. For there's my wife, now, can't smell, not if she'd the strong- est o' cheese under her nose. I never see'd a ghost myself ; but then I says to myself, " Very like I haven't got the smell for 'em." I mean, putting a ghost for a smell, or else contrairiways. And so I'm for holding with both sides ; for, as I say, the truth lies between 'em. And if Dowlas was to go and stand and say he'd never seen a wink o' Cliffs Holiday all the night through, I'd back him ; and if anybody said as Cliffs Holiday was certain sure for all that, I'd back him too. For the smell's what I go by.' The landlord's analogical argument was not well received by the farrier, a man intensely opposed to compromise. ' Tut, tut,' he said, setting down his glass with refreshed irritation ; ' what's the smell got to do with it ? ' " The foregoing means of exposition may of course be employed and combined in infinitely varied ways ; but it is important that at the basis of every expository work the writer determine in his own mind, whether for expression or not, a definition as exact as possi- ble of what he would expound. If this were always done, litera- ture would be much less infested with sloppy and ill-digested thought. Such careful defining is really determining the theme, and gives point and significance to every illustration and every stroke of description. III. Exposition Extensive, or Division. The foregoing processes have regarded the expounded idea as one of a class, the duty being to determine its individual place therein. We come now to the kind of exposition that begins with the class itself; and the EXPOSITION. 397 task is to ascertain how the system of ideas is to be divided and subdivided until the scope of its application is accurately deter- mined. Such division or distribution of ideas may be called exposition extensive ; the kind of exposition in which the meaning of the concept is determined in the direction of its breadth, or the field over which its application extends. Thus, just as we have viewed the notion animal 1 intensively, as containing the qualities of organism, life, sensation, voluntary motion, so we may view it extensively, as including the various kinds and classes, orders, genera and species, that make up the vast animal kingdom. Division ranges through all grades of intricacy, from the simple partition of a subject for practical purposes up to the complex ramifications of a complete system of thought. Its higher aspects, included under the term Classification, belong more to logic and science than to literature. In that higher rank of division the aim is to ascertain the idea in its fullness, and it is a virtue to make the classification as minute and exhaustive as there is any possible occasion for in nature. In literary division, however, the aim is not only to ascertain the truth but also to adapt results to the requirements of a reader or hearer ; and this double aim impels in an opposite direction, toward simplicity instead of toward com- plexity. The principles of division, and the mental endowment necessary to it, remain the same, however intricate the problem. It is the object here not to trace division into its logical technical- ities, but merely to set forth the procedures and cautions attending the use of division in general literary undertakings. The Principle of Division. Every division of an idea must be based on a definite principle ; that is, there must be a partic- ular way of looking at the subject to which all the dividing mem- bers are equally related. What the principle shall be, in any given case, depends on the writer's aim in making the exposition. Thus, a moralist would classify mankind on one principle, a political economist on another, an ethnologist on another, a stu- dent of comparative religions on another. The same original 1 See page 384, above. 398 EXPOSITION. notion is capable of being divided in an indefinite variety of ways, according to the principle adopted. Every division must not only have a principle, but must adhere throughout to one principle ; otherwise it is no true division, that is, the dividing members cross each other. NOTE. Thus, if literature were classified into prose, verse, history, fiction, and religious literature, the first two divisions would be according to its expression, the third and fourth according to its kind of material, and the fifth according to its aim or sentiment. But fiction may also be verse, and must be either verse or prose, and any of these kinds may be religious ; in fact, the apparent division is no division at all; it is, as would be popularly expressed, " all mixed up." An author may make in turn different divisions of his subject on different principles. Thus, Mr. Mulford, in his book on "The Nation," treating of Rights, first classifies them as they belong to man as man : " The primary distinction of rights is of Natural and of Positive Rights. Rights are natural, as laid in the nature of man ; rights are positive, as defined in the nation. Rights are natural, as immanent in the nature of man; rights are positive, as emanent in the nation." He then goes on to classify rights as they belong to man as a citizen. " Natural rights in their positive determination, are further defined as they are determined in the Civil or the Political process in the nation. Civil rights belong to the jural; political rights to the moral organiza- tion of the nation"; etc. Still other principles of division he takes up and examines later in the chapter under the head " Rights as defined in legal and political forms," where he criticises the following classifications : " a. Original and acquired rights ; b. Absolute and relative rights ; c. Rights of persons and things." Completeness of Division. A division needs to be complete and exhaustive, both as regards its comprehensiveness and as regards its minuteness. i. As regards its comprehensiveness, the dividing members taken together should be exactly commensurate with the divided whole ; otherwise the division leaves the feeling that something may have been forgotten that if known might invalidate the whole process. This is easy to propound ; not so easy to reduce to rule. In general, however, it may be said, that by careful and cautious habit in judging the scope and limits of ideas the writer almost EXPOSITION. 399 insensibly develops the ability to construct a full and symmetrical circle of thought ; there is something in the form of the distribu- tion by which we are made aware that all the aspects of the thought, on that chosen scale, are provided for. NOTE. The strictest logical guarantee of completeness in division is what is called " bifurcate classification," that is, classification that divides by a positive and a negative quality. Thus, by this classification angles would be classified as follows : 1. Right angles. 2. (Not right) Oblique angles j Acute ( less than ri ht )' ( Obtuse (more than right). So also Lord Bacon's classification of natural history would appear thus : 1. Nature in course creatures. 2. Nature not in course \ Perverted - marvels. ( Improved arts. Literary use, however, need not be so rigid. It bears to our minds equally the feeling of completeness if we take Lord Bacon's classification in his own words : " History of nature is of three sorts : of nature in course; of nature erring or varying; and of nature altered or wrought; that is, history of crea- tures, history of marvels, and history of arts." Here we cannot easily think of any aspect of nature not included in these three divisions. The same feel- ing of a complete circle of thought arises on contemplating his division of general history : " History, which may be called just and perfect history, is of three kinds, according to the object which it propoundeth or pretendeth to represent : for it either representeth a time, or a person, or an action. The first we call chronicles, the second lives, and the third narrations or relations." 2. As regards its minuteness. Of course, on any principle of division the idea is subject to subdivision, sub-subdivision, and so on ; the classification proceeding by successive steps from the more general to the more particular. Here the writer has to form the habit of accurately estimating the relative distance of any division from the main division, and of measuring divisions and subdivisions by each other to ascertain their relative rank. The ability to do this becomes increasingly a matter of insight, or at least of the application of undefined criterions. A division may be complete as far as it goes, and complete 400 EXPOSITION. enough for the purpose in hand, though not carried to the minute- ness of which it is capable. The wise writer will not divide more minutely than he has occasion to employ the classification ; it confuses more than it helps if he does. NOTE. We may append here as an example Mr. Mulford's subdivision of the idea of Rights, previously cited. Rights are 1. Civil rights. a. The right of life. b. The right of liberty. c. The right of property. d. The right of equality before the law. 2. Political rights. a. The right of citizenship. b. The right of participation in national progress. c. The right of personal action as a power in the nation. d. The right of protection in moral relations. Laws of Division. In addition to what is involved in the above considerations, the following laws of division should be observed : 1. Every member of a division should be as complete and distinctly bounded in itself as is the divided whole ; that is, the dividing members should exclude each other. Thus, if a classification of geometrical figures should contain plane figures, parallelograms, rectangles, and polygons, the members would not be mutu- ally exclusive, for plane figures would include all the others, and parallel- ograms would include also rectangles. The old colloquial description of something nondescript or anomalous, that it is " neither fish nor flesh nor good red herring " derives its point from the fact that the first member includes also the third. 2. In dividing, work for simplicity, that is, for few and fundamental distinctions instead of for many and minute ones. A broad and deep distinction justifies itself. To classify animals, for instance, according to the number of legs, into bipeds, quadrupeds, etc., would lead only to complexity and confusion, and would reveal no fundamental distinction; the true division must look for principles that determine more deeply the life and nature of the animal. EXPOSITION. 401 3. Seek to find the distinctions wholly in the nature of the idea ; and beware of fanciful analogies or arbitrary preconceptions of symmetry in the subject. It is easy for the fancy, once allowed the control, to make brilliant but essentially unreal distinctions. NOTE. The following divisions from Lord Bacon are perhaps true enough, but the similitudes by which they are illustrated provoke the inquiry whether it was not fancy rather than insight that suggested them : " For civil history, it is of three kinds; not unfitly to be compared with the three kinds of pictures or images. For of pictures or images, we see some are unfinished, some are perfect, and some are defaced. So of histories we may find three kinds, memorials, perfect histories, and antiquities; for memo- rials are history unfinished, or the first or rough draughts of history; and antiquities are history defaced, or some remnants of history which have casu- ally escaped the shipwrecks of time." "The knowledge of man is as the waters, some descending from above, and some springing from beneath; the one informed by the light of nature, the other inspired by divine revelation. The light of nature consisteth in the notions of the mind and the reports of the senses: for as for knowledge which man receiveth by teaching, it is cumulative and not original; as in a water that besides his own spring-head is fed with other springs and streams. So then, according to these two differing illuminations or originals, knowledge is first of all divided into divinity and philosophy." Partition of a Subject. Distinction is to be made between the division of an idea and the mere partition of a subject. Divis- ion is made in the interests of completeness, and is worthless unless there are dividing members enough to make up exactly the divided whole, each being a true part of the whole. Partition is made for the conveniences of present treatment ; accordingly it may stop with any limitation of the aspects of the subject, and its divisions, while they are component parts of the subject, may or may not relate to the subject as species to genus. So also in par- tition a striking or figurative division is not excluded, and may indeed be an advantage as a mnemonic to hold the real division in mind. NOTE. The remarks already made on The Outline Structure, pages 264- 266, and on The Development, pages 272-279, bear closely on Partition. A 402 EXPOSITION. passage from Burke's East India Bill speech l may here be quoted to show Burke's extraordinary care in dividing his subjects : " My second condition, necessary to justify me in touching the charter, is, whether the Company's abuse of their trust, with regard to this great object, be an abuse of great atrocity. I shall beg your permission to consider their conduct in two lights : first, the political, and then the commercial. Their political conduct (for distinctness) I divide again into two heads : the exter- nal, in which I mean to comprehend their conduct in their federal capacity, as it relates to powers and states independent, or that not long since were such; the other internal, namely, their conduct to the countries either immediately subject to the Company, or to those who, under the apparent government of native sovereigns, are in a state much lower, and much more miserable, than common subjection. " The attention, sir, which I wish to preserve to method will not be consid- ered as unnecessary or affected. Nothing else can help me to selection, out of the infinite mass of materials which have passed under my eye, or can keep my mind steady to the great leading points I have in view." II. EXPOSITION IN LITERATURE. Exposition in some form is one of the most prevalent modes of literary endeavor. It covers broadly all the work of informing the intellect, just as description and narration cover broadly the work of arousing and satisfying the imagination. The great body of literature that imparts knowledge, opinion, and counsel, may be included under the comprehensive term exposition. Let us name a little more particularly the great divisions of lit- erature in which exposition is the basis. Science and Systematized Thought. Under this head may be comprised the various literary works that aim to present important subjects of knowledge or philosophy or speculation, in a thorough and carefully ordered manner. A very large proportion of pub- lished works belongs here. Text-books in science ; treatises on subjects philosophical, political, economic ; monographs on im- portant questions of the day ; all are predominantly works of ex- position. Other forms of discourse, and especially argumentation, 1 The plan of this passage has already been drawn out, p. 279, to illustrate the deductive order of development. EXPOSITION. 403 may enter in to afford help ; but the primary impulse that deter- mines the work is the impulse to set forth in order what the author has thought out or deduced from investigation. Such expository work takes two principal forms, the treatise and the essay. 1. The treatise, which generally takes the compass of a volume or more, aims to present its subject in all parts and with a thorough and finished treatment. In some cases it is very elaborate, giving all the processes of thought and investigation by which results are obtained ; in other cases it gives results only. EXAMPLES. Lyell's "Principles of Geology"; Darwin's "Origin of Spe- cies"; Bacon's " Advancement of Learning"; Mill's treatise on " Liberty "; Tylor's "Primitive Culture"; Newman's "Grammar of Assent"; Jevons's " Principles of Science." 2. The essay presents its material in briefer compass, in a style more adapted to popular apprehension, and as a consequence with a less exhaustive treatment ; its office being, as John Morley defines it, " merely to open questions, to indicate points, to suggest cases, to sketch outlines." l Owing to the tendency, now so prevalent, to discuss matters of all kinds in periodical publications, the essay has developed into a character quite different from what it had originally, when it was modestly named essay that is, trial, or attempt. Or rather, while some essayists have adhered to the original type, others, and those the majority, have obeyed the tendency to make it a more comprehensive form for periodical writing ; and thus have arisen two distinct types of essay. 2 The first, which is the prevailing modern type, may be called the didactic. It aims at careful plan, lays down a definite prop- osition to be established by logical exposition and reasoning, and addresses itself rigidly to the understanding. In such a work 1 Morley, " On Compromise," preface. 2 This classification of essay-writing is taken from Bulwer-Lytton, " Caxtoniana," p. 141 sq. 404 EXPOSITION. the interest centres in the subject-matter, and the writer's own personality disappears, or at least is not asserted and made prominent. EXAMPLES. Such essays as these are exemplified in the great body of articles that appear each month in such reviews as the Edinburgh, the Nine- teenth Century, the Contemporary, the Fortnightly, and the North American. Also by such names as Macaulay and Carlyle, De Quincey and Hazlitt, Marti- neau and Leslie Stephen, Hutton and Dowden, Bagehot and Whipple, each of whom is best known by a considerable body of critical, historical, and mis- cellaneous essays. It is the structure of such essays as these that has been studied as the norm of literary structure, in the chapter on General Processes in the Ordering of Material. The second, which more nearly answers to the original type, may be called the personal essay, because in it the writer more freely reveals his own fancies and feelings, whims and peculiarities. Studied plan, and formal processes of exposition and argument, are avoided ; the essay seeks more the free confidence and the wayward course of private conversation. EXAMPLES. The most noted representative of this type of essay is Mon- taigne, who is regarded as the father of the essay. Others are Cowley, the essayists of the Spectator, Charles Lamb, and Thackeray. In all these we feel a special interest in the writers; to read the essays is like having a chat with a personal friend, who is endeavoring to entertain rather than to instruct us. Criticism. This is to be regarded as a kind of exposition ; its aim being to find the principles that should determine a work of literature or art or polity, and pass judgment on it according as it fulfils or transgresses those principles. Criticism is not merely fault-finding. The popular use of the word in this sense indicates that the mission of criticism has been too predominantly misinterpreted, and that what is really a noble science is near to falling into disrepute. Its office is to find the good as well as the bad ; to lay down fair and deep principles ; and to determine its awards never by prejudice or favor, but by EXPOSITION. 405 the rigorous application of sound standards of judgment. Such work as this demands peculiar endowments on the part of the critic. He must have a large and thorough knowledge not only of what he criticises, but of its whole sphere of ideas and techni- calities ; he must have the ability to enter, without disturbing pre- possessions, into the thought and feeling of others, so as to see through their eyes and judge by their standards ; and finally, he must maintain fixed standards of his own, which, while they do not preclude fair judgment, give him a definite point of view, and give his criticisms an individual conviction and value. Criticism so determined is in the broadest sense interpretation of life, art, literature ; or, to adopt Matthew Arnold's definition, 1 it is " a dis- interested endeavor to learn and propagate the best that is known and thought in the world, and thus to establish a current of fresh and true ideas." NOTE. It may be well to mention some of the names most identified with criticism. In literary criticism the name of Saint-Beuve, Matthew Arnold, Walter Bagehot, Professor Dowden, Leslie Stephen, and James Russell Low- ell; in art-criticism preeminently the name of John Ruskin, who has almost created the sphere in which his artistic knowledge expresses itself. Some of the earlier critics are Francis Jeffrey, William Hazlitt, Sydney Smith, and Lord Brougham. Popular Exposition. Under this head may be mentioned a class of literary productions, usually in the form of essays, some- times in brief paragraphs or aphorisms, which aims to give in attractive and readable style important advice for the everyday conduct of life, or remarks on manners, morals, foibles and follies of the day. and the like. Such works do not pretend to scien- tific completeness in the presentation of any line of thought; their aim is merely to rouse thought or give needed counsel in a style of conversational simplicity such as shall secure it a reading by the ordinary people for whom it is intended. 1 Arnold, " Essays in Criticism," p. 37. The above qualifications of the critic are condensed from Wilkinson, " A Free Lance in the Field of Life and Letters," pp. 108-111. Compare also preceding, pp. 302-307. 406 EXPOSITION. EXAMPLES. This class of literature is well represented by a large propor- tion of the essays of the Spectator and Rambler, and in general by essays of the personal type. In the present day it is represented by such works as Dr. Holland's " Gold Foil " and " Timothy Titcomb's Letters," and perhaps by the essays of Emerson; also by many of Sir Arthur Helps's works. ARC UMENTA TION, 407 CHAPTER VII. INVENTION DEALING WITH TRUTHS: ARGUMENTATION. IN making exposition of an idea, the writer is for the time being concerned merely with the meaning and content of it, the question whether it is true or false being waived. It may be an idea so clear and sound, so obviously accordant with fact, that when once it is fully expounded the truth or error of it is plain enough with- out further treatment ; or, on the other hand, it may still be debatable, questionable, that is, may still require some test or proof, before the reader can be regarded as satisfied of its con- clusiveness. The various means by which such test of the truth of things is made are comprised under the head of Argumentation. Argumentation may deal either with ideas or with facts, that is, either with truths generalized into notions, such as are the subjects of exposition, or with individual and particular truths, such as are the subjects of narration and description. And in thus handling truths, it comes to the same whether the writer is concerned with proving a thing true or with proving it false ; for at any rate, if he is honest, he is endeavoring to ascertain where the truth is, and any negative process of finding where it is not is in reality only secondary thereto. Reasoning as a science belongs to logic rather than to rhetoric ; we are here concerned merely with reasoning as it appears in liter- ature, that is, reasoning contemplating readers or hearers, and adapting itself as an art to their capacities and requirements. It is to this rhetorical art that we give the distinctive name argu- mentation. Our object therefore is not to trace out the technical minutiae of processes of reasoning, in themselves considered ; we 408 AR G UMENTA TION. are rather to inquire how reasoning can be adapted to clear and effective communication of thought, and what forms of argument are most useful and prevalent in ordinary literary tasks. In establishing truth there are two main forms of attack : either to set the truth directly before the mind and adduce facts and arguments to substantiate it ; or to attack some erroneous position which, being demolished, will leave the truth in question free to assert itself. Under these two heads we will arrange the various forms of argument. I. PROOF OF TRUTH DIRECTLY. In seeking how to arrange the various ways of proving truth directly, we may perhaps best follow the logical order in which knowledge is obtained. There are three principal ways. First of all, there is the direct observation and discovery of facts ; secondly, from the accumulation of these discovered facts there is the infer- ence of other facts or of general principles ; and finally, there is inference from general principles or truths to other truths, general or particular. These three ways of obtaining knowledge are the basis of three types of argument. I. Discovery of Facts : Testimony and Authority. Of the primary and fundamental means of discovering facts, our own per- sonal observation, enough, perhaps, has already been said. 1 It is, however, only a small proportion of the facts we must use, that we can obtain in this way. We must depend very largely on what others report to us. And of the evidence they furnish we discern two kinds. There is first, simple affirmation of what the witness has himself observed, which we name Testimony ; and secondly, there is the report of what the observer, by special judgment or research or skill, has shaped into a trustworthy opinion ; and this we name Authority. 1 See preceding, pages 227 sqq. ARGUMENT A TION. 409 Testimony. It would seem at first thought a very simple mat- ter to obtain the report of a witness as to what he has seen and heard. There are involved in it, however, questions of no little intricacy, in determining the value of a witness's testimony to the case, and in evolving the real truth from inconsistent or conflict- ing reports. i. In estimating the value of any testimony, regard is had to the character and circumstances of the witness. First, is he a man of reputed honesty and veracity? Secondly, is he a man of ability to testify, can he observe accurately, remember truly, and make intelligent report of what he has observed? Thirdly, are the cir- cumstances under which he testifies favorable to the truthfulness of his testimony or not that is, has he any motive to be other than honest, and is he testifying for or against his own interest? A reluctant testimony, or a testimony that prejudices the pros- pects of the witness himself, is regarded as especially likely to be true. Many centuries ago the ideal citizen was characterized as one " that sweareth to his own hurt, and changeth not." ILLUSTRATIONS. In his speech on the murder of Captain Joseph White, Daniel Webster thus compares the claims of two witnesses to veracity: "These two witnesses, Mr. Coleman and N. P. Knapp, differ entirely. There is no possibility of reconciling them. No charity can cover both. One or the other has sworn falsely. If N. P. Knapp be believed, Mr. Coleman's testimony must be wholly disregarded. It is, then, a question of credit, a question of belief between the two witnesses. As you decide between these, so you will decide on all this part of the case. " Who is Mr. Coleman ? He is an intelligent, accurate, and cautious wit- ness; a gentleman of high and well-known character, and of unquestionable veracity; as a clergyman, highly respectable; as a man, of fair name and fame. ... It is a misconstruction of Mr. Coleman's motives, at once the most strange and the most uncharitable, a perversion of all just views of his conduct and intentions the most unaccountable, to represent him as acting, on this occasion, in hostility to any one, or as desirous of injuring or endangering any one. He has stated his own motives, and his own conduct, in a manner to command universal belief and universal respect. "The relation in which the other witness stands deserves your careful con- sideration. He is a member of the family. He has the lives of two brothers 410 ARC UMENTA TION. depending, as he may think, on the effect of his evidence; depending on every word he speaks. I hope he has not another responsibility resting upon him. . . . Compare the situation of these two witnesses. Do you not see mighty motive enough on the one side, and want of all motive on the other? I would gladly find an apology for that witness, in his agonized feelings, in his distressed situation; in the agitation of that hour, or of this. I would gladly impute it to error, or to want of recollection, to confusion of mind, or dis- turbance of feeling. I would gladly impute to any pardonable source that which cannot be reconciled to facts and to truth; but even in a case calling for so much sympathy, justice must yet prevail, and we must come to the con- clusion, however reluctantly, which that demands from us." 2. The next thing to be considered is, the character of the tes- timony. Does it look probable on the face of it, that is, is it consistent with ordinary experience? Is it consistent with the facts already known concerning the case in question ? Above all, is it consistent with itself, that is, does the witness tell a straight- forward and homogeneous story, or does he contradict himself? and when he repeats statements, are there irreconcilable variations in the repetition? It is for the purpose of testing the witness's evidence in regard to its self-consistency that cross-examination is instituted in legal trials. Some kinds of testimony are regarded as of special value. Such are undesigned testimony, by which is meant what the witness inadvertently or incidentally gives, without realizing its possible bearing on the case ; negative testimony, or " the failure of the witness to mention a fact so striking that he must have noticed it had it occurred" ; and hostile testimony, that is, the honest con- cession of some fact that makes against the witness's position or prospects. 1 ILLUSTRATION. The following, from Erskine's speech in behalf of Lord George Gordon, will illustrate how testimony, as well as the witness's charac- ter, is sifted and scrutinized : " The first witness to support this prosecution is William Hay a bankrupt in fortune he acknowledges himself to be, and I am afraid he is a bankrupt in conscience. Such a scene of impudent, ridiculous inconsistency would have 1 See Gilmore's " Outlines of Rhetoric," p. 57. ARGUMENTATION. 411 utterly destroyed his credibility in the most trifling civil suit; and I am, there- fore, almost ashamed to remind you of his evidence, when I reflect that you will never suffer it to glance across your minds on this solemn occasion. " This man, whom I may now, without offense or slander, point out to you as a dark Popish spy, who attended the meetings of the London Association to pervert their harmless purposes, conscious that the discovery of his charac- ter would invalidate all his testimony, endeavored at first to conceal the activ- ity of his zeal, by denying that he had seen any of the destructive scenes imputed to the Protestants. Yet, almost in the same breath, it came out, by his own confession, that -there was hardly a place, public or private, where riot had erected her standard, in which he had not been; nor a house, prison, or chapel, that was destroyed, to the demolition of which he had not been a wit- ness. He was at Newgate, the Fleet, at Langdale, and at Coleman Street; at the Sardinian Ambassador's, and in Great Queen Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields. What took him to Coachmaker's Hall? He went there, as he told us, to watch their proceedings, because he expected no good from them; and to justify his prophecy of evil, he said, on his examination by the Crown, that, as early as December, he had heard some alarming republican language. What language did he remember ? ' Why, that the Lord Advocate of Scotland was called only Harry Dunclas ! ' Finding this too ridiculous for so grave an occasion, he endeavored to put some words about the breach of the King's coronation oath into the prisoner's mouth, as proceeding from himself; which it is notorious he read out of an old Scotch book, published near a century ago, on the abdi- cation of King James the Second." The testimony is subjected thus to scrutiny step by step; as Dr. Good- rich remarks, " Nothing could be finer than the way in which Mr. Erskine sifts this evidence and detects its falsehood." There is room, however, to quote only a sentence of his summary : "It may be asked, are these circumstances material? and the answer is obvious: they are material; because, when you see a witness running into every hole and corner of falsehood, and, as fast as he is made to bolt out of one, taking cover in another, you will never give credit to what that man relates, as to any possible matter which is to affect the life or reputation of a fellow-citizen accused before you. God forbid that you should." 3. Finally, when there is more than one witness to the same facts, the different testimonies are carefully compared together. If there are such grave discrepancies between them that all cannot be true, resort must be had to comparison of the characters and motives of witnesses, as already illustrated. If the testimonies 412 AH G UMENTA T10N. agree in all essential particulars, the presumption of their substan- tial truth is strong. It is not to be expected, however, that there should be complete concurrence in minute and secondary details ; differences in points of view and observing powers of witnesses would preclude that. Accordingly, if the agreement is too minute, the testimony is weakened ; because it indicates that there must have been some previous collusion between the witnesses to manu- facture a consistent story. 1 ILLUSTRATION. Some years ago Professor Greenleaf, of the Harvard Law School, published an " Examination of the Testimony of the Four Evangelists, by the Rules of Evidence administered in Courts of Justice." The following is quoted from his remarks on the substantial agreement of their reports : " In the third place, as to their number and the consistency of their testi- mony. The character of their narratives is like that of all other true wit- nesses, containing, as Dr. Paley observes, substantial truth, under circumstan- tial variety. There is enough of discrepancy to show that there could have been no previous concert among them; and at the same time such substantial agreement as to show that they all were independent narrators of the same great transaction, as the events actually occurred. . . . The discrepancies between the narratives of the several evangelists, when carefully examined, will not be found sufficient to invalidate their testimony. Many seeming con- tradictions will prove, upon closer scrutiny, to be in substantial agreement; and it may be confidently asserted that there are none that will not yield, under fair and just criticism. If these different accounts of the same transac- tions were in strict verbal conformity with each other, the argument against their credibility would be much stronger. All that is asked for these witnesses is, that their testimony may be regarded as we regard the testimony of men in the ordinary affairs of life. This they are justly entitled to; and this no honorable adversary can refuse. ... If the evidence of the evangelists is to be rejected because of a few discrepancies among them, we shall be obliged to discard that of many of the contemporaneous histories on which we are accustomed to rely. Dr. Paley has noticed the contradiction between Lord Clarendon and Burnet and others in regard to Lord Strafford's execution; the former stating that he was condemned to be hanged, which was done on the same day; and the latter all relating that on a Saturday he was sentenced to the block, and was beheaded on the following Monday. Another striking instance of discrepancy has since occurred, in the narratives of the different members of the royal family of France, of their flight from Paris to Varennes, 1 See Campbell's " Philosophy of Rhetoric," pp. 76-78. ARC UMENTA TION. 413 in 1792. These narratives, ten in number, and by eye-witnesses and personal actors in the transactions they relate, contradict each other, some on trivial and some on more essential points, but in every case in a wonderful and inex- plicable manner. Yet these contradictions do not, in the general public estimation, detract from the integrity of the narrators, nor from the credibility of their relations. In the points in which they agree, and which constitute the great body of their narratives, their testimony is of course not doubted; where they differ, we reconcile them as well as we may; and where this cannot be done at all, we follow that light which seems to us the clearest." Authority. An important distinction is to be made between testimony as to matters of observation and testimony as to matters of opinion. In estimating the former we have regard to the wit- ness's honesty and capability to observe ; in estimating the latter, we take into account his soundness of judgment and the special knowledge or skill that enables him to form a true opinion. And these qualities make him more than an observer ; he is a gener- alizer ; and what he says is to be taken as something that only specially qualified persons are competent to assert, that is, as authority. NOTE. Archbishop Whately 1 thus states and illustrates this distinction between observation and opinion : " When the question is as to a Fact, it is plain we have to look chiefly to the honesty of a witness, his accuracy, and his means of gaining information. When the question is about a matter of Opinion, it is equally plain that his ability to form judgment is no less to be taken into account. But though this is admitted by all, it is very common with inconsiderate persons to overlook, in practice, the distinction, and to mistake as to what it is, that, in each case, is attested. Facts, properly so called, are, we should remember, individuals ; though the term is often extended to general statements; especially when these are well established. 2 And again the causes or other circumstances con- 1 Whately, " Elements of Rhetoric," p. 81. 2 Here it seems much more accurate, in opposition to Dr. Whately, to take t term fact in its more extended application. That a certain stratum constantly bears coal is as truly a fact as that it bears coal in one place; though the gen, fact is not verified in the same way as the individual. It would have been mud more philosophical if the author had made his antithesis not between fa* Opinion but between observation and opinion. 414 ARC U ME NT A TION. nected with some event or phenomenon, are often stated as a part of the very fact attested. If for instance, a person relates his having found coal in a cer- tain stratum; or if he states, that in the East Indies he saw a number of per- sons who had been sleeping exposed to the moon's rays, afflicted with certain symptoms, and that after taking a certain medicine they recovered, he is bearing testimony as to simple matters of fact: but if he declares that the stratum in question constantly contains coal; or, that the patients in ques- tion were so affected in consequence of the moon's rays, that such is the general effect of them in that climate, and that that medicine is a cure for such symptoms, it is evident that his testimony however worthy of credit is borne to a different kind of conclusion ; namely, not an individual, but a general, conclusion, and one which must rest, not solely on the veracity, but also on the judgment, of the witness." Such recourse to authority presents itself under two aspects. i. A form of authority much depended on. in the courts is what is known as the testimony of experts, that is, testimony not as to the actual facts in the case but as to such interpretation of facts as could be made only by one specially educated in the sphere of knowledge to which the facts belong. Thus, to be able to say that death was due to the administering of a certain drug requires a special knowledge of the workings of that drug, a knowledge so generalized as to be authoritative. NOTE. A writer on Expert Testimony 1 thus defines the principle of it : " Extra knowledge on questions of science, skill, trade, business, or other matters requiring special knowledge, qualifies the person thus informed to give opinions in courts of justice; this is contrary to the general rule that the witness must confine himself to facts, and leave the conclusion of those facts to be determined by court or jury under oath. An opinion is the judgment which the mind forms on any proposition, statement, theory, or event, the truth or falsehood of which is supported by a degree of evidence that renders it probable, but does not constitute absolute knowledge, truth, or certainty. These opinions, or conclusions of judgment, which make up such opinions of experts, are the same in substance as the verdict of a jury or judgment of a court, which is nothing more than the opinion of such jury or court, as to what is established by the facts in the case. This conclusion or opinion, in the latter case, is given under the sanction of an oath; so is that of the expert." 1 Quoted in the Boston Medical and Surgical Journal, Vol. CXV. p. 494. AR G UMENTA TION. 415 2. In every realm of thought or doctrine there is recognized a body of works or documents to which final appeal may be made, or to which at least very great weight may be ascribed, as the work of men whose ability and learning give them authority. Thus, in law, appeal is made to the body of recorded cases and precedents, with the opinions of learned judges ; in theology, reference is made to the Bible ; in politics, to the constitution of the nation, and to the body of enactments ; in science, philosophy, and economics, to the works and sayings of those men who have by -study made themselves a name in that department of thought. ILLUSTRATIONS. The following, from Macaulay's speech on Education, exemplifies appeal to authority on a political subject : "This being admitted, can it be denied that the education of the common people is a most effectual means of securing our persons and our property? Let Adam Smith answer that question for me. His authority, always high, is, on this subject, entitled to peculiar respect, because he extremely disliked busy, prying, interfering governments. He was for leaving literature, arts, sciences, to take care of themselves. He was not friendly to ecclesiastical establishments. He was of opinion, that the State ought not to meddle with the education of the rich. But he has expressly told us that a distinction is to be made, particularly in a commercial and highly civilized society, between the education of the rich and the education of the poor. The education of the poor, he says, is a matter which deeply concerns the commonwealth. Just as the magistrate ought to interfere for the purpose of preventing the leprosy from spreading among the people, he ought to interfere for the pur- pose of stopping the progress of the moral distempers which are inseparable from ignorance. Nor can this duty be neglected without danger to the public peace. If you leave the multitude uninstructed, there is serious risk that religious animosities may produce the most dreadful disorders. The most dreadful disorders ! Those are Adam Smith's own words; and prophetic words they were." The following anecdote of Daniel Webster, related by E. P. Whipple, illus- trates not only Webster's weight of character, but also the great deference paid in courts of justice to eminent authority. " Whenever," says Mr. Whip- pie, " he gives emphasis to the personal pronoun the reader feels that he had as much earned the right to make his opinion an authority, as he had earned the right to use the words he employs to express his ideas and sentiments. Thus, in the celebrated Smith Will trial, his antagonist, Mr. Choate, quoted a decision of Lord Chancellor Camden. In his reply, Webster argued against 416 ARC UMENTA TION. its validity as though it were merely a proposition laid down by Mr. Choate. ' But it is not mine, it is Lord Camden's,' was the instant retort. Webster paused for half a minute, and then, with his eye fixed on the presiding judge, he replied : ' Lord Camden was a great judge; he is respected by every Ameri- can, for he was on our side in the Revolution; but, may it please your honor, / differ from my Lord Camden.' There was hardly a lawyer in the United States who could have made such a statement without exposing himself to ridicule; but it did not seem at all ridiculous when the 'I' stood for Daniel Webster." II. Inference from Particulars : Induction. The mere discovery of facts, though indispensable as a basis of knowledge, remains ordinarily but the first process in arriving at truth. It is for an ulterior purpose that such pains are taken and such tests employed in obtaining details. The facts thus discovered are to be put together, and from them inferences are to be drawn, either of other particular facts yet unknown, or of general truths to which all the details have relation. Such inference from particulars is called Induction. The basis of the inductive argument, in any of its forms, is the hypothesis. By this we mean a provisional conclusion, or theory, adopted to account for the various related facts whose explanation is sought. Thus, in accounting for a death by violence, the most reasonable hypothesis may seem to be that the deceased committed suicide ; adopting this provisionally, then, and carefully scrutiniz- ing all the facts and indications known to us, we are finally either fully confirmed in our theory, or compelled to abandon it as un- tenable and adopt a new one. Induction is thus a conjecture confirmed by facts that render it probable ; sometimes it is the resultant of a series of conjectures tried and modified until a hypothesis is found which accounts for all the facts. The particulars from which the induction is made are not to be regarded as proofs of the conclusion ; they are merely indications, good as far as they go, and some going further than others, to show that such a conclusion is probable. Thus, the redness of the even- AR G UMENTA TION. 417 ing sky is a commonly accepted indication, but not a proof, that the weather will be fair to-morrow ; the weight of the atmosphere, as shown by the barometer, is another indication, but not a proof; the two indications taken together make fair weather probable, and more probable than one indication alone would do ; but still they do not prove fair weather. A large number of indications would put the conjectured fact beyond reasonable doubt, and still more certain it would be if in a long series of observations these phe- nomena were followed, without exception, by fair weather. Thus in time this conjunction of facts might come to be regarded as in- variable, and even treated as a general law ; still, strictly speaking, it is only a probable conclusion, not absolute, and its certainty depends on the completeness of the induction. This points to the great source of error against which the inductive reasoner needs to guard himself, namely, too hasty inference from insufficient data. His true attitude is caution, patience, and accuracy. It is obvious that the indications that constitute the premises of an induction may have very different degrees of conclusiveness. Some may be so slight and indirect as to have no real value alone, but only in connection with stronger ones ; others may have so determinative a connection with the conclusion as almost of them- selves to amount to proof. The strong indications are evidently the backbone of an inductive argument ; to be sought therefore first of all, while others are to be regarded as merely corrobora- tive. The following are the principal forms of inductive argument, given in the order of their conclusiveness. When the Particulars constitute actual Cause or Effect: a Priori and a Posteriori. The most decisive indications, and therefore the most valuable, are those which are connected with the conclusion as its cause or effect. Having ascertained the ex- istence of the one, we take the other very naturally as our conclu- sion, which we say is thus rendered antecedently probable. Such an indication is therefore generally the first sought. The kind of argument that accounts for an effect by finding its 418 ARGUMENTA TION. cause, is called a priori. The kind of argument that infers a yet unknown cause from observed facts recognized as effects is called a posteriori. EXAMPLES. I. If for instance a crime has been committed and a certain person is suspected of it, inquiry is made as to his supposable motive. If a motive is discovered strong enough, with his known character, to constitute a real cause, that is, to impel him to the crime, his authorship of the deed is made probable. The following, from Daniel Webster, is an example : "Joseph Knapp had a motive to desire the death of Mr. White, and that motive has been shown. He was connected by marriage with the family of Mr. White. His wife was the daughter of Mrs. Beckford, who was the only child of a sister of the deceased. The deceased was more than eighty years old, and had no children. His only heirs were nephews and nieces. He was supposed to be possessed of a very large fortune, which would have descended, by law, to his several nephews and nieces in equal shares ; or, if there was a will, then according to the will. But as he had but two branches of heirs, the children of his brother, Henry White, and of Mrs. Beckford, each of these branches, according to the common idea, would have shared one half of his property. This popular idea is not legally correct. But it is common, and very probably was entertained by the parties. According to this idea, Mrs. Beckford, on Mr. White's death without a will, would have been entitled to one half of his ample fortune ; and Joseph Knapp had married one of her three children." 2. A good instance of arguing from an observed effect to an unknown cause is found in the induction by which the planet Neptune was discovered. The following, from Johnson's Cyclopoedia, is a partial account of it : "The discovery of this planet is justly regarded as the most remarkable astronomical achievement of the century. Up to about the beginning of the present century it was found that the motions of all the planets could be per- fectly accounted for by the attraction of the sun and their mutual attraction on each other. But when, about 1820, Banvard proceeded to construct tables of Uranus, then the outermost known planet, an apparent exception presented itself, and the observations could not be reconciled with the motions computed from the attraction of the sun, Jupiter, and Saturn. ... It was soon found that the planet began to deviate from the tables much more rapidly than could be accounted for by the necessary uncertainty of the data on which the tables were founded. The cause of this deviation was a subject of consideration among astronomers, and it seems to have occurred to several that it might be due to the action of an unknown planet beyond Uranus. But the problem of finding this planet was one which for some time no one ventured to attack." AR G UMENTA TION. 419 The account, which is too long to quote further, goes on to show that two observers, Adams and Leverrier, taking these ascertained effects as the basis of mathematical computations, located the position of the supposed planet, which thereafter was actually discovered in its place according to their pre- dictions. Caution is needed not to estimate too highly the antecedent probability established by an a priori argument. It is safer to underestimate than to overestimate it. To be conclusive, an argument of this kind must show That an actual cause exists ; That it is sufficient to produce the effect contemplated ; That there are no opposing circumstances sufficient to counter- act it. NOTE. The motive ascribed in the quotation from Webster above, for instance, ought not to be regarded as sufficient in itself to prove the prisoner's guilt : he must be shown to have possessed an unscrupulous character, and positive circumstances must be adduced to corroborate what at this stage is only one element of probability. It may be a cause, but it is not a sufficient cause. When the Particulars are merely Accompaniments : Circum- stantial Evidence. Indications ordinarily less conclusive singly than the preceding, but which may be accumulated until together they create a high probability, are those which give accompa- nying circumstances, which are taken as signs 1 of the conclusion though not determinatively connected with it. Thus, redness of the evening sky is no cause of fair weather ; it is only a circum- stance that accompanies such a state of the atmosphere as pro- duces fair weather. The accumulation of such secondary signs toward the decision l Arguments of this kind are technically called Arguments from Sign, which term is sometimes used in a narrow sense, to designate arguments from circum- stance, but oftener, and more properly, to designate any form of inference from particulars. Sometimes, indeed, the term has been taken to include also testimony. the existence of the testimony being regarded as a sign of the thing testified ; but this vague use of it seems to me merely the shift of one who is in straits for a clas- sification. 420 ARC UMENTA TION. of a case is called Circumstantial Evidence, and is ordinarily regarded .as not fully conclusive without additional indications, of cause or motive, or some evidence more positive. The con- viction of a criminal on circumstantial evidence alone is quite exceptional. EXAMPLE. The following paragraph, from the same plea quoted from Webster above, recounts the circumstances that go to show that Joseph White was murdered not by a single person but by several conspirators : " Let me ask your attention, in the first place, to those appearances, on the morning after the murder, which have a tendency to show that it was done in pursuance of a preconcerted plan of operation. What are they? A man was found murdered in his bed. No stranger had done the deed, no one unac- quainted with the house had done it. It was apparent that somebody within had opened, and that somebody without had entered. There had obviously and certainly been concert and cooperation. The inmates of the house were not alarmed when the murder was perpetrated. The assassin had entered without any riot or any violence. He had found the way prepared before him. The house had been previously opened. The window was unbarred from within, and its fastening unscrewed. There was a lock on the door of the chamber in which Mr. White slept, but the key was gone. It had been taken away and secreted. The footsteps of the murderer were visible, out- doors, tending toward the window. The plank by which he entered the window still remained. The road he pursued had been thus prepared for him. The victim was slain, and the murderer had escaped. Every thing indicated that somebody within had cooperated with somebody without. Every thing proclaimed that some of the inmates, or somebody having access to the house, had had a hand in the murder. On the face of the circumstances, it was apparent, therefore, that this was a premeditated, concerted murder ; that there had been a conspiracy to commit it." When the Particulars establish a Parallel State of Things : Example and Analogy. A third class of inductive indications are those which are drawn from some parallel state of things in other relations. Thus, from what has occurred in the past we argue to what under similar conditions will occur in the future ; or from what has taken place under a certain set of conditions we conjecture that an analogous thing will take place under a similar set of conditions elsewhere. The use of indications of this kind gives rise to the arguments from example and analogy. AR G UMENTA TION. 421 i. The argument from example takes instances of what has occurred at other times or in other places, as indication of what may be expected to occur again. To be of value, an example must reveal not only a parallel state of things but conditions also, parallel to what now exist. Further, examples should be numer- ous or clear enough to make the case more than a coincidence ; to be conclusive they must establish a law. EXAMPLE. The following, from Professor Jevons, argues a future truth from a series of past examples : " We may rely upon it that indefinite, and to us inconceivable, advances will be made by the human intellect, in the absence of any unforeseen catas- trophe to the species or the globe. Almost within historical periods we can trace the rise of mathematical science from its simplest germs. We can prove our descent from ancestors who counted only on their fingers, but how almost infinitely is a Newton or a Laplace above these simple savages. Pythagoras is said to have sacrificed a hecatomb when he discovered the Forty-seventh Proposition of Euclid, and the occasion was worthy of the sacrifice. Archi- medes was beside himself when he first perceived his beautiful mode of deter- mining specific gravities. Yet these great discoveries are the simplest ele- ments of our school-boy knowledge. Step by step we can trace upwards the acquirement of new mental powers. What could be more wonderful and unexpected than Napier's discovery of logarithms, a wholly new mode of calculation which has multiplied perhaps a hundred-fold the working powers of every computer, and indeed has rendered easy calculations which were before almost impracticable. Since the time of Newton and Leibnitz whole worlds of problems have been solved which before were hardly conceived as matters of inquiry. In our own day extended methods of mathematical rea- soning, such as the system of quaternions, have been brought into existence. What intelligent man will doubt that the recondite speculations of a Cayley or a Sylvester may possibly lead to some new methods, at the simplicity and power of which a future age will wonder, and yet wonder more that to us they were so dark and difficult. May we not repeat the words of Seneca : ' Veniet tempus, quo ista quse nunc latent, in lucem dies extrahat, et longioris aevi diligentia : ad inquisitionem tantorum aetas una non sufncit. Veniet tempus, quo posteri nostri tarn aperta nos nescisse mirentur.' " A favorite use of the argument from example, especially in oratory, is the argument technically called a fortiori, which rea- sons that if a certain principle is true in a given case, much more 422 ARC UMENTA TION. will it be true in a supposed case wherein the conditions are more favorable. / EXAMPLES. Many of the assertions of Scripture are put in the form of an argument a fortiori ; for example : " Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith ? " The following, from Burke, advocates sympathy with the Irish Roman Catholics, as mure natural and fitting, for the English, than the sympathy which was actually given to the Americans in the time of the Revolution : " I confess to you freely that the sufferings and distresses of the people of America in this cruel war have at times affected me more deeply than I can express. I felt every gazette of triumph as a blow upon my heart, which has an hundred times sunk and fainted within me at all the mischiefs brought upon those who bear the whole brunt of war in the heart of their country. Yet the Americans are utter strangers to me : a nation among whom I am not sure that I have a single acquaintance. Was I to suffer my mind to be so unaccountably warped, was I to keep such iniquitous weights and measures of temper and of reason, as to sympathize with those who are in open rebel- lion against an authority which I respect, at war with a country which by every title ought to be, and is, most dear to me, and yet to have no feeling at all for the hardships and indignities suffered by men who by their very vicinity are bound up in a nearer relation to us, who contribute their share, and more than their share, to the common prosperity, who perform the common offices of social life, and who obey the laws, to the full as well as I do?" 2. The argument from analogy takes relations that exist in one sphere of life or experience as indications of what may be regarded as true of another sphere whose relations are similar. It has been said in a previous chapter 1 that analogy, while valuable as a means of exposition, is precarious as an argument. The reason is that relations which seem alike in different spheres are so apt to be merely accidental or fanciful that, though they may present a striking coincidence, they do not constitute a real indication. An analogy can have the force of an argument only where it can be shown not only that the relations are' alike but that they are due to the same or like causes. 1 See preceding, p. 395. AR G UMENTA TION. 423 EXAMPLES. In the following Cardinal Newman argues from the analogy of bodily health that culture of the intellect is a good in itself, apart from its practical use : " You will see what I mean by the parallel of bodily health. Health is a good in itself, though nothing came of it, and is especially worth seeking and cherishing ; yet, after all, the blessings which attend its presence are so great, while they are so close to it and so redound back upon it and encircle it, that we never think of it except as useful as well as good, and praise and prize it for what it does, as well as for what it is, though at the same time we cannot point out any definite and distinct work or production which it can be said to effect. And so as regards intellectual culture, I am far from denying utility in this large sense as the end of Education, when I lay it down, that the culture of the intellect is a good in itself and its own end ; I do not exclude from the idea of intellectual culture what it cannot but be, from the very nature of things ; I only deny that we must be able to point out, before we have any right to call it useful, some art, or business, or profession, or trade, or work, as resulting from it, and as its real and complete end. The parallel is exact : As the body may be sacrificed to some manual or other toil, whether moderate or oppressive, so may the intellect be devoted to some specific profession ; and I do not call this the culture of the intellect. Again, as some member or organ of the body may be inordinately used and developed, so may memory, or imagination, or the reasoning faculty; and this again is not intellectual culture. On the other hand, as the body may be tended, cher- ished, and exercised with a simple view to its general health, so may the intel- lect also be generally exercised in order to its perfect state ; and this is its cultivation." Example and analogy are of value mainly in those cases where the parallel conditions are broad and easily traced, and where the object is to make an argument at once simple and impressive. They are best applied to those general truths which do not require to be verified so much as to be illustrated ; their office, even in argument, is mainly expository. Hence we find them most em- ployed in enforcing the large and cogent principles of conduct, polity, morals, practical life ; oratory is their most congenial field. Of example Burke says that it is "the only argument of effect in civil life." Its power in its proper field is due to the fact that, as Burke asserts in another place, "example is the school of man- kind, and they will learn at no other." 424 AR G UMENTA TION. III. Inference from Generals: Deduction. Our knowledge of the world and of life is not wholly dependent on discovery of indi- vidual facts and on inferences drawn by induction from them. A long history of such inferences has developed in us an insight for general conclusions ; for truths which, though the result of induc- tion, are accepted as beyond the need of that process for con- firmation; truths which our long experience of them has made practically self-evident. When one of these general truths is made the basis of an argument, and from it is inferred another truth, general or particular, the process is called Deduction. As to its principle, the deductive argument may be briefly defined as the proof of truth by premise and conclusion. A premise (from pramitto, to send before) is a preliminary fact, judgment, or principle, laid down as ground for holding that some- thing else is true, which latter is called the conclusion. Thus, if we predict that there will be fair weather to-morrow because the sky this evening is red, we take the present fact of redness as our premise for concluding what to-morrow's weather will be. 1 The Syllogism. The basis of deductive reasoning, which indeed is more or less implicated as a norm in all processes of argumentation, is the syllogism. This consists of three parts : the major premise, which is a general truth laid down as the ground for holding that something else is true ; the minor premise, which identifies that something with the general truth of the major ; and finally, the conclusion, which draws the inference apparent in the relation of the two premises. To illustrate by an example : Major premise : All men are mortal. Minor premise : Augustus is a man. Conclusion : Therefore, Augustus is mortal. 1 The use of this same fact on page 416 as a particular from which to build an induction, shows that premises enter as truly into inductive arguments as into deductive. In popular usage, however, we do not call such a fact a premise so long as it is regarded as a mere indication, among others, to determine an hypothe- sis ; to be called a premise a truth must be significant enough to be in itself a reason for the conclusion. ARGUMENTATION. 425 Such is the syllogism in its bald logical form, the inner frame- work of every argument that is founded on a general principle. To keep this framework in mind, therefore, in every process of reasoning, and to separate it clearly in thought from the various elements that tend to obscure it, is the surest guarantee of a valid argument. , EXAMPLE. The following, from Cardinal Newman, shows how the syl- logism may be used, and with what rhetorical modifications of expression, in popular literature : " It is the fashion just now, as you very well know, to erect so-called Uni- versities, without making any provision in them at all for Theological chairs. Institutions of this kind exist both here [Ireland] and in England. Such a procedure, though defended by writers of the generation just passed with much plausible argument and not a little wit, seems to me an intellectual absurdity; and my reason for saying so runs, with whatever abruptness, into the form of a syllogism : A University, I should lay down, by its very name professes to teach universal knowledge : Theology is surely a branch of knowledge : how then is it possible for it to profess all branches of knowledge, and yet to exclude from the subjects of its teaching one which, to say the least, is as important and as large as any of them? I do not see that either premise of this argument is open to exception." It is seldom, however, that the syllogism appears unmodified in literature. Various elements enter in to cover up and disguise its affirmations ; and for this reason the syllogistic form of argument, though very simple in itself, is peculiarly liable to fallacy. It is important therefore to trace here the principal modifications that the syllogism undergoes in literary usage. The Syllogism in Enthymeme. It is only occasionally neces- sary to express both the premises of a syllogism. One of them will be obvious enough to be safely taken for granted. If such is the case it would be a literary disadvantage to express it, for it would have the flat and commonplace effect of a truism. Some- times the major premise is thus omitted, sometimes the minor. Thus, to illustrate from the syllogism given above : it is so obvi- ously true that all men are mortal that we may let it go without saying, and assert that Augustus will die because he is a man, 426 A R G UMENTA TION. thus omitting the major premise. Or again, the fact that Augus- tus is a man is so evident a truism that we may say Augustus will die because all men are mortal, thus omitting the minor premise. A syllogism with one of its premises suppressed is technically called an enthymeme. 1 Arguments with a premise taken for granted are very common. " Nature sufficiently prompts all men," says De Quincey, " to that sort of ellipsis." It may be said generally, that whenever an asser- tion is made with the reason for it (because so-and-so), or when- ever an assertion is made with an inference from it (therefore so-and-so), there is pretty sure to be involved a syllogism, in which one premise is assumed as unquestionable. EXAMPLES. I . The following, from Charles James Fox, exhibits how a syllogistic argument may be involved in a statement with its reason : " I have always deprecated universal suffrage, not so much on account of the confusion to which it would lead, as because I think that we should in reality lose the very object which we desire to obtain; because I think it would, in its nature, embarrass and prevent the deliberative voice of the country from being heard. I do not think that you augment the deliberative body of the people by counting all the heads; but that, in truth, you confer on individuals, by this means, the power of drawing forth numbers, who, without deliberation, would implicitly act upon their will." The syllogism involved in this argument may be expressed thus : Major premise : Whatever enables demagogues to wield an undeliberative mass of men as a power in the state is to be deprecated. Minor premise .' Universal suffrage confers such ability. Conclusion : Hence, universal suffrage is to be deprecated. 2. The following, from Canon Mozley, exhibits how a syllogism may be involved in a statement with its inference : " Generosity is more tried by an equal than it is by an inferior, for the same reason that it is so with humility viz., that you are in competition with your equals, and not in competition with your inferiors. We know that the great obstruction to generosity in our nature is jealousy at least with regard to such advantages as touch our pride. It would be easy to be gener- 1 Such is the formal and technical use of the term. As applied to the subject- matter of arguments, however, De Quincey broadens the signification of it to denote those probable truths and reasons which are the proper material of persuasion ; see his Essay on " Rhetoric." ARGUMENTATION. 427 ous to the intellectual claims of other people, to their merits, to their char- acter, were there no element of jealousy in ourselves. But compassion is relieved from this trial; compassion cannot be jealous; its work is with one who lies at its feet, who deprecates the slightest comparison. How generous then will a man be to the fallen; but let the man get on his legs again, and it will sometimes be hard to him who has been so superabundantly generous even to be barely just. It is thus that generosity to an equal is more difficult than generosity to an inferior." The syllogism here involved may be expressed thus : Major premise : Where jealousy is prevalent generosity is peculiarly hard. Minor premise : Jealousy is prevalent in the relation between equals. Conclusion : Hence, generosity to equals is peculiarly hard. The Syllogism amplified. A premise that is a truism ought indeed to be omitted ; but, conversely, no premise can be safely omitted whose meaning or whose truth is open to question. Ac- cordingly we find that when a point is argued out in full it is as much for the purpose of establishing the premises, by exposition or argument, as of establishing the conclusion. In the course of an important argument various subordinate arguments, illustrations, definitions, are introduced wherever needed ; and thus the whole line of argumentation may easily become very complicated. The importance of thus guarding and strengthening the premises of an argument is very great. No syllogism is more conclusive than its weakest premise. If then any premise is left ill-defined and ill-considered, if it is assumed as unquestionable when in reality it is lame, the whole argument, however keen the process otherwise, is made in corresponding degree inconclusive. This then may be laid down as a practical rule : Be careful of your premises ; be cautious as to what you assume. EXAMPLES. The syllogism quoted from Cardinal Newman on page 425 is given in full in order that its premises may be taken up and tested for themselves. Thus, the first premise, "A University, by its very name pro- fesses to teach universal knowledge," provokes the question, Is this true? To which the author answers, that if we take the term in its popular sense, as denoting a place where the whole circle of knowledge is taught, we have abundant authority (from which he quotes Dr. Johnson and the historian Mosheim) for taking this as the real definition of a university; and if we take 428 AR G UMENTA TION. it in a less prevalent but still occasional sense, as denoting merely a place where invitation is given to students of every kind, it still comes to the same thing, for " if certain branches of knowledge were excluded, those students of course would be excluded also, who desired to pursue them." The second premise, "Theology is a branch of knowledge," requires a more elaborate proof; indeed, the establishment of this premise, rather than of the conclusion, is the real object of the discourse. He thus lays out the argument : " But this, of course, is to assume that Theology is a science, and an important one : so I will throw my argument into a more exact form. I say, then, that if a University be, from the nature of the case, a place of instruction, where universal knowledge is professed, and if in a certain Uni- versity, so called, the subject of Religion is excluded, one of two conclusions is inevitable, either, on the one hand, that the province of Religion is very barren of real knowledge, or, on the other hand, that in such University one special and important branch of knowledge is omitted. I say, the advocate of such an institution must say this, or he must say that ; he must own, either that little or nothing is known about the Supreme Being, or that his seat of learning calls itself what it is not. This is the thesis which I lay down, and on which I shall insist as the subject of this Discourse." From this point he goes on to an elaborate proof that Theology is not only a science but the most important of all sciences. The Chain of Reasoning. A frequent employment of the syl- logistic argument, in full or in enthymeme, is, to make one argu- ment whose conclusion is then taken as the premise of a second, and the conclusion of this for a third, and so on through a succes- sion of steps, to a final supreme conclusion. Such a chain of reasoning, involving as it does the thorough confirmation of every step, produces a peculiar effect of cogency and conclusiveness. EXAMPLE. The following, from Professor Morris's monograph on " The Study of Latin in the Preparatory Course," summarizes such a chain of reasoning : " I need only briefly recapitulate the argument which would be based upon it. " I. The current thinking, for a share in which we are to be prepared in college, is scientific in tone. " 2. The studies of the advanced college course are therefore, whatever be their subject, to be studied and taught after scientific methods. "3. As a preparation for such work, the student needs daily drill in the fundamental scientific processes. ARC UMENTA TION. 429 " 4. Philology is a science, and its clearness and adaptability to what may be called laboratory work recommend it strongly to a place in the prepara- tory course." Each of these propositions is a step in a deductive argument involving the syllogistic form of reasoning. II. PROOF OF TRUTH BY DISPROOF OF ERROR. The fact that a subject is susceptible of argument indicates that it has two sides, the true and the erroneous ; and while generally by the direct establishment of the truth error falls of itself, there are cases where an indirect method has desirable advantages, where by attacking and destroying the error the truth is left free to assert itself. This indirect means of establishing the truth presents itself under two main aspects. I. By reducing the Issue to an Alternative. Some questions are of such a nature as to possess only a certain limited number of aspects, of which only one can be true. If then these aspects can be so accurately determined as to show unquestionably for the only ones, the work of ascertaining which one is true can be done indirectly as well as directly. There are several forms of argument that depend for their validity on the principle of alternative. Reductio ad Absurdum. This argument, starting from a single alternative, that is, that one of two things and only one must be true, shows that the false side of the alternative, assumed true for argument's sake, leads to conclusions that are manifestly untenable. As compared with the direct form of reasoning, the reductio ad absurdum is likely to be fully as strong, and sometimes stronger, because it shows not merely that a thing may be true but that it must be true. On the other hand, the direct argument is generally richer and more satisfying, because it exhibits the conclusion with all the premises and considerations that go to establish it. 430 ARC UMENTA TTON. EXAMPLES. The following example of reductio ad absurdum is taken from Hepburn's " Manual of Rhetoric " : " If the thesis is, Man is a free agent, then the antithesis is, Man is not a free agent. . . . The indirect proof would take some such form as this : Man is either free or he is not free. Let us assume that he is not free. If he is not free, he can not, in cases of conflicting motives, choose, but must blindly follow one of the impulses. But we know from consciousness that he can decide between conflicting motives; therefore it is false that he is not free. He must therefore be free." The following argument, from Greenleaf, to prove that the testimony of the Evangelists is true, is really a statement of the absurdities that would follow if it were supposed false : " It [namely the supposition of falsehood] would also have been irrecon- cilable with the fact that they were good men. But it is impossible to read their writings, and not feel that we are conversing with men eminently holy, and of tender consciences, with men acting under an abiding sense of the presence and omniscience of God, and of their accountability to him, living in his fear, and walking in his ways. Now, though, in a single instance, a good man may fall, when under strong temptations, yet he is not found persisting, for years, in deliberate falsehood, asserted with the most solemn appeals to God, without the slightest temptation or motive, and against all the opposing interests which reign in the human breast. If, on the contrary, they are supposed to have been bad men, it is incredible that such men should have chosen this form of imposture; enjoining, as it does, unfeigned repentance, the utter forsaking and abhorrence of all falsehood and of every other sin, the practice of daily self-denial, self-abasement and self-sacrifice, the crucifixion of the flesh with all its earthly appetites and desires, indifference to the honors, and hearty contempt of the vanities of the world; and inculcating perfect purity of heart and life, and intercourse of the soul with heaven. It is incredible, that bad men should invent falsehoods, to promote the religion of the God of truth. The supposition is suicidal. If they did believe in a future state of retribution, a heaven and a hell hereafter, they took the most certain course, if false witnesses, to secure the latter for their portion. And if, still being bad men, they did not believe in future punishment, how came they to invent falsehoods, the direct and certain tendency of which was to destroy all their prospects of worldly honor and happiness, and to ensure their misery in this life? From these absurdities there is no escape, but in the per- fect conviction and admission that they were good men, testifying to that which they had carefully observed and considered, and well knew to be true." ARGUMENTATION. 431 Dilemma. When the issue is reduced to an alternative both sides of which are untenable, the argument is called a dilemma, and the two sides are called the horns of the dilemma. Of course a dilemma is wholly negative ; it tears down, but does not build up. If its premises are admitted it is unanswerable ; the only recourse, therefore, in the face of it, is either to abandon the posi- tion or to show that the alternative was not correctly taken. EXAMPLES. In his speech to the electors of Bristol, Burke attacks the . custom of imprisonment for debt, and its only existing remedy or rather miti- gation, Acts of Grace, by reducing both to dilemmas. The first shows the injustice of imprisoning a debtor at the will and instigation of his creditors : "The next fault is, that the inflicting of that punishment is not on the opinion of an equal and public judge, but is referred to the arbitrary discre- tion of a private, nay, interested and irritated, individual. He who formally is, and substantially ought to be, the judge, is in reality no more than minis- terial, a mere executive instrument of a private man, who is at once judge and party. Every idea of judicial order is subverted by this procedure. If the insolvency be no crime, why is it punished with arbitrary imprisonment? If it be a crime, why is it delivered into private hands to pardon without dis- cretion, or to punish without mercy and without measure?" The second dilemma shows that an Act of Grace, which is merely an arbitrary release of debtors from prison, principally, it would seem, because the prisons are overcrowded, is equally opposed to justice : " If the creditor had a right to those carcasses as a natural security for his property, I am sure we have no right to deprive him of that security. But if the few pounds of flesh were not necessary to his security, we had not a right to detain the unfortunate debtor, without any benefit at all to the person who confined him. Take it as you will, we commit injustice." The Method of Residues. This name is given to that form of argument which, first enumerating all the possible aspects of the question, then proceeds to eliminate, one by one, until only the true aspect is left. There is a broadness and comprehensiveness in this method which make it often a very effective instrument of reasoning. For the successful employment of this method the alternatives should be thoroughly classified and limited hi number ; to clear away too many false positions complicates the argument and gives 432 ARC UMENTA TION. rise to a feeling of insecurity lest the true state of the case should, after all, have been overlooked. EXAMPLE. A good example of this form of argument occurs in Burke's Speech on Conciliation with America. Having described the enthusiastic spirit of liberty that exists in the Colonies, he thus proposes the true method of dealing with it : " Sir, If I were capable of engaging you to an equal attention, I would state, that, as far as I am capable of discerning, there are but three ways of proceeding relative to this stubborn Spirit, which prevails in your Colonies, and disturbs your Government. These are To change that Spirit, as incon- venient, by removing the Causes. To prosecute it as criminal. Or, to com- ply with it as necessary. I would not be guilty of an imperfect enumeration ; I can think of but these three. Another has indeed been started, that of giv- ing up the Colonies; but it met so slight a reception, that I do not think myself obliged to dwell a great while upon it. It is nothing but a little sally of anger; like the frowardness of feverish children; who, when they cannot get all they would have, are resolved to take nothing." The first two named of these are then examined in an argument of several pages and proved impracticable; whereupon he thus summarizes: " If then the removal of the causes of this Spirit of American Liberty be, for the greater part, or rather entirely, impracticable; if the ideas of Criminal Process be inapplicable, or if applicable, are in the highest degree inexpedi- ent; what way yet remains? No way is open, but the third and last to com- ply with the American Spirit as necessary; or, if you please, to submit to it as a necessary Evil." The event was, as we know, that the British nation would not consent to the conciliation here advocated, and the fourth course mentioned, that of giv- ing up the colonies, had to be submitted to. - II. By Refutation. Refutation is the opposite of confirmation. Its office is purely negative, being devoted to tearing down what is wrongly held or erroneously argued ; and as such, it is merely pre- paratory, clearing the ground for a better establishment of the truth afterward. It does not prove truth therefore ; though it serves the cause of truth by removing the obstacles that prevent a fair view of it. A word may here be said regarding the spirit in which refuta- AR G UMENTA TION. 433 tion should be conducted. It is to be remembered that the writer is concerned ideally with the establishment of truth, not merely with the triumph of a cause. If argument in any form is used \ insincerely and for sophistry, it is perverted from its true use. Refutation, then, cannot always mean complete demolition of an opponent's position. Sometimes it can succeed only in transfer- ring the preponderance of probability to the other side. It is more honest, and in the long run really stronger, if it recognizes whatever truth exists on both sides, and seeks not so much to be triumphant as to be fair. The following are the main features of refutation to be noted in literary argumentation. Analysis of the Opposed Position. This is of the first impor- tance in refutation. The most prevalent reason why fallacies creep into arguments and mislead both reasoner and audience is that the underlying processes and principles of the thought are so overlaid with repetition, illustration, and digression, that its central move- ment cannot well be discerned ; in the language of the proverb, "we cannot see the wood for trees." Countless are the ways in which the argument may thus fail of the exact and squarely encoun- tered truth. It may, and often does, involve false premises. Or it may be lacking merely in the right emphasis and perspective, may put first what should be subordinate, or ignore something that is of determining significance for the result. In any case, the needed preliminary step is analysis : exact investigation, and if need be statement, of what the argument really is. 1 The logical order in which such analysis of the opponent's posi- tion may be conducted in the following. i. Examine the conclusion and tendency of the opponent's plea. Oftener than not when the principle that really underlies an erroneous position, or the tendency that is its natural outcome, is stripped of its obscuring verbiage and held up in its true light, no counter argument is needed ; it refutes itself. 1 For general suggestions as to the conduct of such analysis, see Interpretation, in the chapter on Reproduction of the Thought of Others, pages 302-307. 434 ARC UMENTA TION. EXAMPLES. I. The following, from Burke, condenses into one epigram- matic sentence the real significance of what his opponent advocates : " He asserts, that retrospect is not wise; and the proper, the only proper, subject of inquiry, is ' not how we got into this difficulty, but how we are to get out of it.' In other words, we are, according to him, to consult our inven- tion, and to reject our experience. The mode of deliberation he recommends is diametrically opposite to every rule of reason and every principle of good sense established amongst mankind. For that sense and that reason I have always understood absolutely to prescribe, whenever we are involved in diffi- culties from the measures we have pursued, that we should take a strict review of those measures, in order to correct our errors, if they should be cor- rigible; or at least to avoid a dull uniformity in mischief, and the unpitied calamity of being repeatedly caught in the same snare." 2. The following, from Webster, portrays by a masterly chain of reasoning the tendency of the position he is refuting : " Such, Sir, are the inevitable results of this doctrine. Beginning with the original error, that the Constitution of the United States is nothing but a compact between sovereign States; asserting, in the next step, that each State has a right to be its own. sole judge of the extent of its own obligations, and consequently of the constitutionality of laws of Congress: \ in the next, that it may oppose whatever it sees fit to declare uncon .tonal, and that it decides for itself on the mode and measure of redress, the argument arrives at once at the conclusion, that what a State dissents from, it may nullify; what it opposes it may oppose by force; what it decides for itself it may execute by its own power; and that, in short, it is itself supreme over the legislation of Congress, and supreme over the decisions of the national judica- ture; supreme over the constitution of the country, supreme over the supreme law of the land." 2. The next step, if analysis is carried further, is to show that, admitting the opponent's premises, the conclusion he draws does not naturally or- necessarily follow ; in other words, that his argu- ment is not logically constructed. Such a fallacy in argument is called a non sequitur. EXAMPLE. In his refutation of the Nullification doctrine, Webster thus shows that even if the Constitution is to be regarded as a mere compact be- tween sovereign states, that fact does not confer on an individual state the right to nullify it at pleasure : " I have admitted, that, if the Constitution were to be considered as the creature of the State governments, it might be modified, interpreted, or con- AR G UMENTA TION. 435 strued according 'to their pleasure. But even in that case, it would be neces- sary that they should agree. One alone could not interpret it conclusively; one alone could not construe it; one alone could not modify it Yet the gen- tleman's doctrine is, that Carolina alone may construe and interpret that com- pact which equally binds all, and gives equal rights to alL " So, then, Sir, even supposing the Constitution to be a compact between the States, the gentleman's doctrine, nevertheless, is not maintainable; because, first, the general government is not a party to that compact, but a government established by it, and vested by it with the powers of trying and deciding doubtful questions; and secondly, because, if the Constitution be regarded as a compact, not one State only, but all the States, are parties to that compact, and one can have no right to fix upon it her own peculiar construction." 3. The next step, if the erroneous argument requires and invites it, is to attack the premises or principles on which the argument is founded. If these can be proved erroneous, of course the argu- ment must fall. EXAMPI .' -Thus, Webster follows up the forecited refutation by retracting the admissiu at he had made for the purpose of argument, and showing that even that premise is untenable : " So much, Sir, for the argument, even if the premises of the gentleman were granted, or could be proved. But, Sir, the gentleman has failed to main- tain his leading proposition. He has not shown, it cannot be shown, that the Constitution is a compact between State governments. The Constitution itself, in its very front, refutes that idea; it declares that it is ordained and established by the people of the United States. So far from saying that it is established by the governments of the several States, it does not even say that it is established by the people of the several States ; but it pronounces that it is established by the people of the United States, in the aggregate. The gen- tleman says, it must mean no more than the people of the several States. Doubtless, the people of the several States, taken collectively, constitute the people of the United States; but it is in this, their collective capacity, it is as all the people of the United States, that they establish the Constitution. So they declare; and words cannot be plainer than the words used." Some of the ways in which the premises or elements of the different forms of argument may be attacked need here to be noted and illustrated. Jn a deductive argument the major premise is perhaps most 436 ARC UMENTA TION. carefully to be tested, because, being oftenest omitted, it is most naturally passed by as unquestionable. Whereas, it may fail in the universality that is essential to such a premise, or if admitted it may prove too much. It is on these lines that it is open to refu- tation. The minor premise may be refuted by showing that it is not really a case under the general rule that is laid down as major. ILLUSTRATIONS. I. Dr. Johnson's famous retort to a man of dishonorable calling who, on being remonstrated with, urged as if it were an unquestion- able truth, " But a man must live ! " " Sir, I do not see the necessity of it," is really a denial of the universality of a major premise, as may be seen by supplying the implicit syllogism : ' Whatever a man's calling tne world owes him a living; I am a man; therefore the world owes me a living irrespective of my calling.' The major premise is not so unquestionable as it would seem. 2. Macaulay, in his refutation of the argument of Gladstone's essay on " Church and State," thus points out a major premise that proves too much : " Mr. Gladstone's whole theory rests on this great fundamental proposition, that the propagation of religious truth is one of the principal ends of govern- ment, as government. If Mr. Gladstone has not proved this proposition, his system vanishes at once." This is refuted by showing that if true it is as true of every body of men organized for a particular purpose as it is of a govern- ment. He then makes this comment : " The truth is, that Mr. Gladstone has fallen into an error very common among men of less talents than his own. It is not unusual for a person who is eager to prove a particular proposition to assume a major of huge extent, which includes that particular proposition, without ever reflecting that it includes a great deal more. . . . He first resolves on his conclusion. He then makes a major of most comprehensive dimensions, and having satisfied himself that it contains his conclusion, never troubles himself about what else it may contain : and as soon as we examine it we find that it contains an infinite number of conclusions, every one of which is a monstrous absurdity." 3. Webster's refutation cited on page 434 is really a refutation of the minor premise, as we may see by reconstructing the syllogism : ' A compact between equal parties is subject to the pleasure of all or each, to interpret, construe, or modify; The Constitution is such a compact between equal and sovereign States; Hence, the Constitution is subject to the pleasure of the individual States, to interpret, construe, or modify.' This he refutes by showing that it is established by the people, not by the States as such ; and in another speech he maintains that it is not, strictly speaking, a compact. ARGUMENTATION. 437 In an inductive argument the inquiry of the refuter is whether the circumstances adduced are conclusive enough, and in sufficient number, to make an adequate induction. Is an alleged example real, that is, does it belong to a parallel state of things? Does an argument from analogy evince the working of a cause that would be decisive for the present case, or is it merely a coincidence ? ILLUSTRATIONS. I. Many popular superstitions are merely circumstances too vague and inconclusive to form a real induction, yet they are so used. For instance, seeing the new moon over the left shoulder was doubtless first noticed in connection with ill luck ; then several coincident occurrences of this kind gave rise to a general belief that ill luck was necessarily portended. 2. Macaulay thus demolishes an argument from example : " What facts does my honorable friend produce in support of his opinion ? One fact only ; and that a fact which has absolutely nothing to do with the question. The effect of this Reform, he tells us, would be to make the House of Commons all- powerful. It was all-powerful once before, in the beginning of 1649. Then it cut off the head of the King, and abolished the House of Peers. There- fore, if it again has the supreme power, it will act in the same manner. Now, Sir, it was not the House of Commons that cut off the head of Charles the First; nor was the House of Commons then all-powerful. It had been greatly reduced in numbers by successive expulsions. It was under the absolute dominion of the army. A majority of the House was willing to take the terms offered by the King. The soldiers turned out the majority; and the minority, not a sixth part of the whole House, passed those votes of which my honorable friend speaks, votes of which the middle classes disapproved then, and of which they disapprove still." 3. George Henry Lewes thus refutes an analogical argument of Dr. John- son : " Dr. Johnson was guilty of a surprising fallacy in saying that a great mathematician might also be a great poet : ' Sir, a man can walk east as far as he can walk west.' True, but mathematics and poetry do not differ as east and west; and he would hardly assert that a man who could walk twenty miles could therefore swim that distance." Arguments from testimony and authority are refuted either by adducing counter evidence, or by showing the dishonesty or incon- sistency of the evidence given. Cross-examination in courts of justice is essentially an instrument of refutation. Refutation as adapted to Popular Apprehension. It is an unspoken axiom of popular discourse that the speaker, as De 438 ARGUMENT A TION. Quincey expresses it, " cannot rely on any sort of attention that would cost an effort." This is especially to be remembered in refutation, on the effectiveness of which very important issues often depend. Hence any kind of refutation that compels the hearer to follow fine and subtle distinctions of thought is precarious ; it may strike special thinkers, but it cannot be relied on for average peo- ple. It must be so pointed as to show its drift at once ; its dis- tinctions must be so broad that no one can fail to see them ; and technicalities should if possible be avoided. 1. Hence, in cases involving the intricate relations of premises and conclusions, the clearest refutation will be made by means of parallel arguments, that is, arguments involving the same principles of reasoning, but applied to more familiar subjects and leading to manifestly untenable conclusions. This form of refutation was a special favorite with Macaulay. 2. Forms of argument especially adapted to popular refutation are reductio ad absurdum and dilemma. It is to be remarked also that the argument from analogy is a more effective instrument for reply than for an original argument. While it may be of precarious value taken as a proof, it may be decisive as related to some falla- cious argument that it is designed to overthrow. Need of Wisdom in Refutation. Refutation, being the attack of an opponent's position, must recognize the opponent as already in possession of the field ; and indeed the reasoner's handling of his opponent betrays his own estimate of the latter's strength. It is of much importance, therefore, that he be wise in so adapting himself to the opponent's position as accurately to accomplish his purpose, both in his statements and in his implications. On this point a few suggestions may be made. i. The refutation should, as to its strength, be wisely adapted to the exact force of the opposed argument, neither belittling nor exaggerating it. It is manifestly unwise to underrate the oppo- nent's position ; the refutation must be stronger if it is to act as a real refutation. On the other hand, it is equally unwise to spend superfluous energy in refuting a weak position ; the very exertion AR G UMENTA TION, 439 put forth advertises the opposed position as strong. In this respect, then, nice calculation is needed to estimate the exact power requisite to dispossess the hearer of an erroneous argu- ment. 2. The reasoner needs also to be alert against allowing his energy to be drawn off to secondary issues. If he spends his time on them, the citadel of the opponent's position is still intact ; while if he strikes directly for the central error and refutes that, second- ary points will fall of themselves. 3. The limits of refutation are to be kept in mind. It is often effective merely as invalidating the opponent's course of reasoning, while his conclusion may nevertheless be true and establishable by other arguments. The refuter needs therefore to recognize just how much or how little he has done. And the only safe place in which to leave a refutation is in a new argument. Let the true reasoning for which the refutation has cleared the way not fail to be brought forward ; otherwise the effect of what is after all a mere negative process will soon vanish. III. THE BODY OF ARGUMENTS. The unity which, in a greater or less degree, is a requisite of every work of literature, is an especially imperative quality of an argumentative work : its parts, if detached and digressive, are not merely inoperative ; they are a distracting and damaging element. Not only must the various arguments be a chain, with every link in place, but whatever is introductory or transitional must contrib- ute its influence toward absolute oneness of effect. Some consid- erations, therefore, regarding the body of arguments belong to an adequate discussion of our subject. I. What Argumentation owes to Exposition. Inseparably con- nected both with the structure of individual arguments and with the articulation of the whole course of reasoning are the various 440 ARGUMENTATION. processes of exposition. They often work, when rightly employed, to make extended reasoning superfluous. The following are the principal uses of exposition in the body of arguments that make up a discussion. 1. By exposition the question at issue is stated and explained. This is a most indispensable part of the work. Whatever in the question is obscure is to be put into accurate and lucid language ; whatever is hard is to be defined ; whatever is of secondary im- portance is to be distinguished from the main issue ; and, in a word, the clearest and exactest statement possible is to be sought as the basis of discussion. NOTE. The value of a good statement of the question at issue is illus- trated in the following, descriptive of Abraham Lincoln's methods as a lawyer, from Nicolay and Hay's " Life of Lincoln " : " His more usual and more successful manner was to rely upon a clear, strong, lucid statement, keeping details in proper subordination and bringing forward, in a way which fastened the attention of court and jury alike, the essential point on which he claimed a decision. ' Indeed,' says one of his col- leagues, ' his statement often rendered argument unnecessary, and often the court would stop him and say, " if that is the case, we will hear the other side." ' " 2. By exposition the nature and extent of the question are de- termined. Whether the issue is one of fact or of principle ; whether of right or of expediency ; whether admitting of certain decision or only probable ; whether of universal or of limited application ; such questions as these must be at the outset decided, and if nec- essary expressed, by a careful exposition. ILLUSTRATION. The following, from Macaulay's Speech on Copyright, will exemplify this office of exposition : " The first thing to be done, Sir, is to settle on what principles the question is to be argued. Are we free to legislate for the public good, or are we not ? Is this a question of expediency, or is it a question of right ? Many of those who have written and petitioned against the existing state of things treat the question as one of right. The law of nature, according to them, gives to every man a sacred and indefeasible property in his own ideas, in the fruits of his own reason and imagination. The legislature has indeed the power to take ARGUMENTATION. 441 away this property, just as it has the power to pass tin act of attainder for cut- ting off an innocent man's head without a trial. But, as such an act of at- tainder would be legal murder, so would an act invading the right of an author to his copy be, according to these gentlemen, legal robbery. " Now, Sir, if this be so, let justice be done, cost what it may. I am not prepared, like my honorable and learned friend, to agree to a compromise between right and expediency, and to commit an injustice for the public con- venience. But I must say, that his theory soars far beyond the reach of my faculties. It is not necessary to go, on the present occasion, into a meta- physical inquiry about the origin of the right of property; and certainly noth- ing but the strongest necessity would lead me to discuss a subject so likely to be distasteful to the House." Etc. By a paragraph of such exposition he fixes the exact issue, and then says, " We may now, therefore, I think, descend from these high regions, where we are in danger of being lost in the clouds, to firm ground and clear light. Let us look at this question like legislators." 3. Exposition plays a large part, often as large as argumentation itself, in the course of reasoning. A premise may depend for its clearness on the definition of a term, and the limits and relations of principles may need merely to be set forth accurately, for the question to argue itself. NOTE. In a series of articles, by Cardinal Newman, entitled " Who's to Blame?" the argument is carried on almost entirely by exposition. The fun- damental proposition, " That the British Constitution is made for a state of peace, and not for a state of war," is first expanded ; then the terms ' govern- ment ' and ' constitution ' are defined and illustrated ; then the distinctions obtained out of that definition are applied to the British nation ; so that when we thus see just where the constitution belongs, what is the weakness and what the strength of its fundamental character, we are ready to admit the proposition. II. Suggestions on Order of Arguments. There is no other form of invention in which an effective order is of so fundamental im- portance as in argumentation. This because argumentation is more closely and pointedly an organism planned for immediate effect on men. It aims not merely to entertain and inform, but to change opinion and overcome error. It must address the man 442 ARC UMENTA TION. more deeply and centrally ; and hence its rhetorical requisite of adaptation is more stern, less tolerant of distraction of effect. All must count toward an absolute unity of result ; and all must be finely calculated to meet and move the convictions of men. On the subject of order, however, important as it is, only general suggestions can be ventured. It must be left for the most part to the tact of the reasoner, to the character of the audience, to the state of feeling and knowledge regarding the question, and many other considerations that can be determined only in the individual case. As regards Kind of Argument. In general it may be remarked that arguments that have an explanatory character, or that estab- lish a fundamental principle on which much depends, naturally occupy the leading place ; being somewhat of expository nature, and therefore making further steps more clear and cogent. This would dictate that, in determining questions of fact, the leading place should be given to the a priori argument and in gen- eral to whatever tends to establish an antecedent probability of the case. This becomes the basis of procedure, the hypothesis ; and whatever is added by testimony comes in then either to strengthen the probability or to compel modification. Thus the order is from the more general to the more particular. If the opposite order were observed, the argument from probability would seem to betray the reasoner's sense that positive testi- mony is inadequate and must be buttressed up by something else. As regards Relative Strength of Arguments. Several con- siderations contribute to make the order of a series of arguments something of a problem. An argumentative work, like all works of literature, should have the effect of climax, the power and cogency of the parts increasing steadily to a culmination. This would seem to favor beginning with the weakest argument ; and yet certainly that would be precarious, for much depends, in a work intended to produce or to modify conviction, on the first impres- sion. The first argument should, on this latter consideration, be ARC UMENTA TION. 443 one that will have influence to induce a favorable hearing for the succeeding. It should be strong, and also obvious. The last ar- gument should be strong, and also comprehensive, gathering into a final plea the strength of what has preceded. Such, then, would seem to be the most philosophical arrange- ment of a body of arguments : begin with the consideration that is most near and natural, that derives its strength from its self- evident character; then make the climax in the direction of breadth and comprehensiveness, until the last argument stands as a rounder-off and finisher of the whole structure. Arguments relatively weak are thus to occupy the intermediate place, with bulk and prominence graduated to their intrinsic value. Another fact may here aid the reasoner. An argument weak in itself may so act with other arguments as both to give and to receive more, perhaps, than its intrinsic strength. Isolated, it may be insignificant ; supplementing or preparing the way for another, it may have decisive importance. This rule, then, may be applied to the minor considerations : when an argument has less relative value in itself, seek what can be done for it by skillful arrangement. Order of Refutation. The order that refutation should occupy in the course of reasoning depends on the strength of the position refuted, and on the prominence it already has in the mind of the public addressed. When the opposed idea holds full possession of the field, the first business must be to dislodge it ; there is no room for a new argument until the old is cleared away. In such case, then, refutation belongs first; and the procedure "may be exempli- fied by Webster's speech on " The Constitution not a Compact between Sovereign States," the first half of which is an elaborate refutation of the widely received Nullification doctrine. On the other hand, when the refuted position is insignificant, the order of refutation should recognize its insignificance ; the refutation may come in incidentally, as a corollary of the argument most potent to overthrow the error. In Burke's Bristol Speech, where the refutation is merely an answer to objections, it comes in as a sup- plementary part added in the interests of completeness. 444 AR G UMENTA TION. IV. DEBATE. This form of discourse, which is a personal contest between combatants, wherein the larger aim is truth and the immediate end victory, has its system of procedure and tactics, too intricate to be detailed to any great extent here. It may be of service, however, to give some "of the more important features of debate in the form of practical rules, with brief comments thereon. i. Make sure of your question its interpretation, its limits and extent, its exact point at issue. The ideal, in the preparation of the question, is to find the point where the contestants are at one, so that all may have a common basis of reference clearly determined by definition and enunciation. Of course this is not always equally possible, and sometimes it is not possible at all ; but even thus, the fact that the issue lies in great part in the definition of terms or the determina- tion of the question is of the utmost importance to discover. It is each debater's business at the outset, therefore, to fix his own position firmly ; and thereafter he should hold to it consistently. a. Regulate your work by locating justly the burden of proof. Whoever proposes an innovation, or asserts some fact or prin- ciple not generally held, must take upon himself the labor, or burden, of proving it ; he must make the attack. The other side, the side of the established order of things, or of reigning public opinion, has the advantage of the defensive, or as we say, has the presumption in its favor. A man is presumed innocent until he is proved guilty. A custom is presumed good until it is demon- strated to be bad. This makes it an important matter, deter- mining as it does the method of procedure, to locate rightly the burden of proof. In some questions, questions of speculative truth or of expediency, there is practically no burden of proof; while in others it has a cardinal significance. ARGUMENT A TION. 445 3. Concede where you safely can, and not grudgingly but gener- ously. A wise concession not only makes the appearance of fairness greater, but fixes more definitely and pointedly the issue. On conceded points there is no contest ; if then they are dismissed, the scene of the contest is better bounded. It is not infrequently wise to yield to your opponent in every point except the one wherein you would make him yield to you. 4. Waive whatever is irrelevant, that the argument may be confined to one simple and clear course. To waive is not the same as to concede. It is simply postpon- ing some consideration which, though not yielded, is not in place here. This is often an important matter. An unscrupulous oppo- nent may seek no better fortune than to involve the debater in some irrelevant discussion ; it may often serve him the good pur- pose of preserving a lame cause from attack. 5. Be fair and honest toward the position and arguments of your opponent. This applies both to the statement of an opponent's views and to the estimate of an opponent's argument. Scrupulous fairness in statement, without attempt to modify the opponent's words in order to favor one's own side, is the only pro- cedure that pays in the long run. It pays for your own argument ; for if the opponent's position is strong, to whittle at it is only to attempt evasion and thus indirectly to confess that you are baffled ; whereas it demands a fair encounter. It pays also in fortifying your position ; for if in representing your antagonist you leave some unrecognized point, some underrated principle, it will work to your discomfiture. So also, when an opponent's argument is found impregnable, honesty requires that the fact be fairly acknowledged. Subterfuge and evasion in the face of an evident truth may be the natural 446 ARC UMENTA TION. impulse of a wounded pride, but they are ruinous tactics for a broad and noble cause. 6. Finally, bear in mind the sound principle of literary ethics, that truth is worth more than victory. A victory in defiance of truth and conviction is sure to be transitory ; the logic of events will sweep away its fruits and the reasoner with them. In literature, as in life, the only safe resource is a stern alliance with the results of the deepest convic- tions of truth ; mistaken such convictions may indeed be, but they should be honestly held, not repressed. This naturally suggests a very important question. Ought then a lawyer to argue a side that he knows to be unjust? Is it not rather his business to defend whoever will employ him, whether in a good or in a bad cause ? Concerning this question one impor- tant concession is to be made. Every cause has certainly the right to be represented so far as it is just ; every accused person is entitled to as much defence as lies really in his case. The truth is seldom found wholly on either side ; and even after the fact of guilt is established, there still remains the question of its degree. So far as he sees truth and valid defence every one may certainly go ; if he goes deliberately further he has merely the right that any man has to belie his convictions and do the truth a wrong, no more and no less. PERSUASION. 447 CHAPTER VIII. INVENTION DEALING WITH PRACTICAL ISSUES: PERSUASION. " IF to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages princes' palaces." Argument can demonstrate with all clearness what were good to do ; it can convince the intellect that the truth of a question is here or there ; but when it comes to the actual doing, argument alone supplies no impulse. To the satisfaction of the intellect something must be added that shall awaken feeling and interest, and so inspire the will to embody the truth in action. To impart this impulse is the business of persuasipn. Persuasion, like argumentation, deals with truths ; but with truths of a particular kind. Practical truths, such as have a defi- nite issue in character and action, personal truths, that come home to men's business and bosoms, such are the material with which persuasion works ; nor can it be truly potent except as it can fasten on a practical point, and make the whole thought concen- trate itself on that. In a word, the whole sphere of duty, interest, privilege, happiness, conduct, is open to the work of persuasion ; no small sphere indeed, for conduct, as Matthew Arnold is fond of saying, is three-fourths of life. NOTE. A reasoner who is endeavoring to demonstrate that the planet Mars is inhabited is indeed handling an intricate argumentative problem ; he is seeking to find a truth, or at least a balance of probability ; but if he solves the problem ever so clearly the answer cannot in the smallest degree appeal to the hearer's will. An interesting thing it is to know, but there is no point that can be a claim on him to do. On the other hand, when Demosthenes ceases presenting to his audience a truth which is also an appeal, and has given it the requisite power of diction and delivery, his hearers cry, "Up! let 448 PERSUASION. us march against Philip ! " The truth has taken possession of their will, and wrought its purpose in an impulse to action. Such material, with such an object, enters like a rightful sover- eign every domain of literary presentation. The splendors of description, the grace of narrative, the accuracy of exposition, the sternness of argument ; employing the highest resources of diction, whether plain, impassioned, or imaginative ; all that will arouse interest and concentrate attention, is according to occasion the proper handmaid of persuasion. For in persuasion thought is brought up to a determinate issue between man and man. So here we reach the very centre and sum of the art of rhetoric. If in general rhetoric means adaptation to the requirements of a reader or hearer, here it means such adaptation in its highest and most intimate sense. For it must be adaptation to the whole man, not to his mind alone, but to mind and heart and will. The work is great ; great also must be the resource. Whatever is necessary to rouse men from indifference, turn them from prejudice or opposition, sober them from unhealthy excitement to wise and thoughtful action, belongs to the comprehensive sphere of persuasion. As in previous chapters, we will discuss this subject of persua- sion first in its principles, and then as it is employed in works of literature. I. THE PRINCIPLES OF PERSUASION. " To be a persuasive speaker," says Professor Bain, 1 "it is neces- sary to have vividly present to the view all the leading impulses and convictions of the persons addressed, and to be ready to catch at every point of identity between these and the propositions or projects presented for their adoption. The first-named qualifica- tion grows out of the experience and study of character ; the other is the natural force of similarity, which has often been exemplified in its highest range in oratorical minds." 1 Bain, " The Senses and the Intellect," p. 543. PERSUASION. 449 These two requisites of persuasive speaking will furnish perhaps the most convenient basis on which to discuss the principles of persuasion. i. The Speaker's Alliance with his Audience. It will be ob- served that we here employ a single pair of terms, speaker and audience, instead of giving, as heretofore, the alternative to speaker or writer, audience or public. This is done of intent. Persuasion is so predominantly the work of oral communication, it so almost necessarily requires the close contact of personal pres- ence, that the alternative hardly comes into the account. Persua- sion presupposes a speaker at close quarters with his audience. And first of all, as it is here expressed, he is to make an alliance with his hearers. In some respects we may regard his task as siege and victory, for he is indeed to overcome their opposition or indifference ; but in a truer sense he is to enlist their sympathies and energies in a common cause with him, is to make them will- ingly adopt his views and identify with them their own interests. Hence the attitude that he assumes and endeavors fully to realize is that of a friend. It is a veritable alliance. In Personal Character. Such alliance goes more deeply than mere intellectual agreement. In order to persuade men, the speaker must make them tacitly recognize him as one to be trusted, so far as the issue before them requires trust ; as one who has earnestly at heart their interests as well as his own cause. The first relation to be established between speaker and hearer, a relation without which no real progress can be made in persuasion, is the relation of mutual trust and respect. i. Of such trust and respect the initiative must be taken by the speaker. Not with cringing or flattery, not with any brow-beating air of superiority, but with a manly, self-respecting frankness, he is to approach his audience as men occupying a common ground with himself, as having rights, abilities, opinions, that are to be respected and conciliated. Let them once recognize this as his 450 PERSUASION. genuine attitude toward them, and he has their ear not only for things agreeable, but for sharp and searching, even reproving truths ; he can declare to them his whole counsel and count on its being at least fairly weighed, which is surely the first requisite to its being followed. NOTE. This friendly relation with the audience may be strikingly illus- trated from the career of Abraham Lincoln as a public speaker. Of his method he himself once said, " I always assume that my audience are in many things wiser than I am, and I say the most sensible thing I can to them. I never found that they did not understand me." His biographers, Xicolay and Hay, say of him : " He assumed at the start a frank and friendly relation with the jury which was extremely effective. He usually began, as the phrase ran, by ' giving away his case ' ; by allowing to the opposite side every possible advantage that they could honestly and justly claim. Then he would present his own side of the case, with a clearness, a candor, an adroitness of statement which at once flattered and convinced the jury, and made even the bystanders his partisans." 2. To the establishment of such friendly relation the most effec- tual bar, perhaps, is the appearance of any kind of artifice. If such is detected by the audience, the speaker's efforts are as good as futile ; it is such artifice, such tricks of flattery and argument, that have given an unjust reproach to the rhetorical art in general. The hearers are looking for a man ; if they find but a persuading machine, laying arts to entrap their sympathies and wills, they are embittered against not only his cause but his whole profession. After all, it is only genuine character and sincere conviction that can be safely relied on before an audience. NOTE. The following anecdote, related by Professor Phelps, will illustrate the futility of an evident artifice : " Patrick Henry thought to win the favor of the backwoodsmen of Virginia by imitating their colloquial dialect, of which his biographer gives the follow- ing specimen from one of his speeches : ' All the larnin upon the yairth are not to be compared with naiteral pairts.' But his hearers, backwoodsmen though they were, knew better than that; and they knew that a statesman of the Old Dominion ought to speak good English. They were his severest critics." " If," says Professor Mathews, " the orator can make his hearers believe PERSUASION. 451 that he is not only a stranger to all unfair artifice, but even destitute of all persuasive skill whatever, he will persuade them the more effectually; and if there ever could be an absolutely perfect orator, no one would (at the time, ,it least) discover thai he was so." 3. The fact must also be acknowledged that true persuasion, that is, a real influence on men's wills, is almost inevitably denied to the habitual " funny man." Men will consent to be amused by him ; they will come in crowds to laugh at his wit and drollery ; but when he attempts to exhort them earnestly they cannot easily realize that he is not joking. They have measured his character by a lightness of standard that he cannot easily surmount. This is not said as against the use of humor in public address ; it merely refers to the use of humor as the staple of the address. It should be known that if one aspires to reputation as a funny man, he has to pay for it by sacrificing something that he may afterwards wish he had cherished. NOTE. Of literary men Sydney Smith may be mentioned as one whose reputation for wit has greatly obscured a real depth and earnestness of thought. One of the eminent thinkers of the age, he is for the most part remembered merely as one of its laugh-makers. Here perhaps a word should be said to students. In the college world, too, men inevitably find their level. I have seen men whose rising to speak on any topic before their classmates only produced a broad grin, the broader as the speaker attempted to be more earnest. These men had been too content to be class buffoons ; and when they assumed the solemn role their classmates judged that their specific gravity was too light to sustain such character, and they would none of it. Unjust judgment, perhaps, but it was natural retribu- tion. Some men's only refuge is a funny debate. In Sagacity and Tact. Besides the general qualifications of character, which are to be cherished and evinced independently of the immediate occasion, there is necessary to persuasion also such a knowledge of human nature, and such readiness of resource, as shall enable the speaker infallibly to adapt himself and his cause to an audience. This is a power which in its higher exercise amounts to the loftiest genius. Emerson ' thus describes 1 Emerson, Essay on " Eloquence." 452 PERSUASION. " Him we call an artist, who shall play on an assembly of men as a master on the keys of a piano, who, seeing the people furious, shall soften and compose them, shall draw them, when he will, to laughter and to tears. Bring him to his audience, and, be they who they may, coarse or refined, pleased or displeased, sulky or savage, with their opinions in the keeping of a confessor, or with their opinions in their bank-safes, he will have them pleased or humored as he chooses ; and they shall carry and exe- cute that which he bids them. . . . This is a power of many degrees, and requiring in the orator a great range of faculty and experience, requiring a large composite man, such as Nature rarely organizes." Let us analyze this power over men a little more in detail. i. This power requires first of all an intuitive knowledge of men, as to what may be attempted with them. The skillful orator notes, in the physiognomy and general appearance of his audience, signs that indicate how he may best approach them ; he is aware how much he can accomplish or how little ; he singles out in mind whom he may best conciliate as leaders of influence. In one rapid glance, it may be, he reads the predominating spirit of the audi- ence before him, and shapes his plan of procedure accordingly. NOTE. On this point Henry Ward Beecher makes some very suggestive remarks, in his " Lectures on Preaching." Speaking of the study of men's appearance, he says : " For example, you assume that a man's brain is the general organ of the spiritual and intellectual functions. " I see a man with a small brow and big in the lower part of his head, like a bull, and I know that man is not likely to be a saint. All the reasoning in the world would not convince me of the contrary, but I would say of such a man, that he had very intense ideas, and would bellow and push like a bull of Bashan. Now, practically, do you suppose I would commence to treat with such a man by flaunting a rag in his face ? My first instinct in regard to him is what a man would have if he found himself in a field with a wild bull, which would be to put himself on good manners, and use means of conciliation, if possible. " On the other hand, if I see a man whose forehead is very high and large, but who is thin in the back of the head, and with a small neck and trunk, I PERSUASION. 453 say to myself, That is a man probably, whose friends are always talking about how much there is in him, but who never does anything. He is a man who has great organs, but nothing to drive them with. He is like a splendid loco- motive without a boiler. "Again, you will see a man with a little bullet-head, having accomplished more than that big-headed man, who ought to have been a strong giant and a great genius. The bullet-headed man has outstripped the broad-browed man in everything he undertook ; and people say, ' Where is your phrenology ? ' In reply, I say, ' Look at that bullet-headed man, and see what he has to drive his bullet-head with ! ' His stomach gives evidence that he has natural forces to carry forward his purposes. Then look at the big-headed man. He can't make a spoonful of blood in twenty-four hours, and what he does make is poor and thin. Phrenology classifies the brain regions well enough, but you must understand its relations to physiology, and the dependence of brain-work upon the quantity and quality of blood that the man's body makes. "You may ask, 'What is the use of knowing these things?' All the use in the world. If a person comes to me, with dark, coarse hair, I know he is tough and enduring, and I know that, if it is necessary, I can hit him a rap to arouse him ; but if I see a person who has fine silky hair, and a light com- plexion, I know that he is of an excitable temperament, and must be dealt with soothingly. Again, if I see one with a large blue watery eye, and its accompanying complexion, I say to myself that all Mount Sinai could not wake that man up. I have ^een men of that stamp, whom you could no more stim- ulate to action, than you could a lump of dough by blowing a resurrection trump over it." The following, from Professor Mathews, is related of Rufus Choate : " No advocate ever scanned more watchfully the faces of his hearers while speaking. By long practice he had learned to read their sentiments as read- ily as if their hearts had been throbbing in glass cases. In one jury address of five hours, he hurled his oratorical artillery for three of them at the hard- headed foreman, upon whom all his bolts seemed to be spent in vain. At last, the iron countenance relaxed, the strong eyes moistened, and Choate was once more master of the situation." 2. A second requisite of such power is sagacity to approach men according to the ideas and motives most operative with them. Professor Bain l thus illustrates this : " Persuasion implies that some course of conduct shall be so described, or expressed, as to coincide, or be identified, with the 1 Bain, "The Senses and the Intellect," p. 542, 454 PERSUASION. active impulses of the individuals addressed, and thereby com- mand their adoption of it by the force of their own natural dispo- sitions. A leader of banditti has to deal with a class of persons whose ruling impulse is plunder ; and it becomes his business to show that any scheme of his proposing will lead to this end. A people with an intense, overpowering patriotism, as the old Ro- mans, can be acted on by proving that the interests of country are at stake. The fertile oratorical mind is one that can identify a case in hand with a great number of the strongest beliefs of an audience ; and more especially with those that seem, at first sight, to have no connection with the point to be carried. The discov- ery of identity in diversity is never more called for, than in the attempts to move men to adopt some unwonted course of pro- ceeding." NOTE. The value of this knowledge of human nature, and of the con- siderations that will be most potent with the hearers, is strikingly illustrated in the speeches of Brutus and Antony, in Shakespeare's " Julius Caesar." Brutus, who presents to the mob high considerations of patriotism and honor, obtains for the most part only a vague admiration for his person, as is indicated in their answers : " Citizens. Live, Brutus ! live, live ! / Cit. Bring him with triumph home unto his house. 2 Cit. Give him a statue with his ancestors. 3 Cit. Let him be Caesar. 4 Cit. Caesar's better parts Shall now be crown'd in Brutus. / Cit. We'll bring him to his house with shouts and clamors." On the other hand Antony, who speaks in the concrete, who dwells on Gesar's kindness and regard for them, who rouses their pity for his wounds and appeals to their cupidity by mentioning his will, in which he has remem- bered them, raises a fury that only desperate deeds can quell : " Citizens. Revenge, about, seek, burn, fire, kill, slay, let not a traitor live ! . . . i Cit. Come, away, away ! We'll burn his body in the holy place, And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. Take up the body. PERSUASION. 455 2 Cit. Go fetch fire. j Cit. Pluck down benches. 4 Cit. Pluck down forms, windows, anything. [Exeunt Citizens with the body. Ant. Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot, Take thou what course thou wilt ! " % Antony knows what chords to strike in a mob; Brutus judges all men by the same lofty standards that are potent with himself. Of course a man with giant's power is not always to use it like a giant; if Antony had been endowed with Brutus's uprightness, how his knowledge of human nature could have wrought for conciliation ! 3. A third requisite of such power is tact to adapt one's self to unforeseen circumstances and make them bend to one's purposes. This of course is merely the knowledge of human nature already mentioned, combined with a presence of mind that enables the orator, when one resource fails, to try another. NOTE. An interesting illustration of such tact in handling a turbulent multitude is seen in Henry Ward Beecher's Address at Liverpool, in the time of our Civil War. There were in Liverpool many sympathizers with secession, and these made such an uproar that he could hardly proceed ; but seizing his first opportunity to make a plea for the peculiarly British sentiment of fair play, he secured the ear of the audience. The following is part of his intro- duction : " Now, personally, it is a matter of very little consequence to me whether I speak here to-night or not. [Laughter and cheers.] But, one thing is very certain, if you do permit me to speak here to-night you will hear very plain talking. [Applause and hisses.] You will not find a man [interruption] you will not find me a man that dared to speak about Great Britain three thousand miles off, and then is afraid to speak to Great Britain when he stands on her shores. [Immense applause and hisses.] And if I do not mistake the tone and temper of Englishmen, they had rather have a man who opposes them in a manly way [applause from all parts of the hall] than a sneak that agrees with them in an unmanly way. [Applause, and " Bravo ! "] Now, if I can carry you with me by sound convictions, I shall be immensely glad [applause] ; but if I cannot carry you with me by facts and sound arguments, I do not wish you to go with me at all; and all that I ask is simply FAIR PLAY. [Applause, and a voice : " You shall have it too."] " 456 PERSUASION. II. The Speaker's Achievement of his Object. It will be ob- served here that we speak of the achievement of an object, instead of, as heretofore, the treatment of a subject or theme. This fact merits attention. The man who would persuade chooses an object rather than a subject. That is, the central aim and idea of his discourse takes in his mind the form of something to be put into practical action, something appealing to the will. The outcome of the discourse, so far as it is a work of persuasion, may be ex- pressed in a single imperative proposition. What the object of persuasion is, in general, we have already seen : to make the hearer see and feel that his interest and duty lie in the adoption of a certain prescribed line of conduct or be- lief. Emerson 1 thus summarizes it : " The Koran says, ' A moun- tain may change its place, but a man will not change his disposi- tion ' ; yet the end of eloquence is, is it not ? to alter in a pair of hours, perhaps in a half-hour's discourse, the convictions and habits of years." Now, in order to achieve such an object, the speaker must en- list the whole man on his side ; must make him at once see, feel, and will the truth. In discussing, therefore, the procedures neces- sary to this end, we must take up each side of the human nature in turn, and consider what manner of address is most naturally adapted to it. 1 . Address to the Intellect. By this is meant the speaker's determinate adaptation of his thought to the thinking and inter- preting powers of his hearer. This of course is the staple of every form of literature ; there are, however, certain special aspects of it as related to persuasion that need to be considered. i. And first it is important to observe, that no persuasive or hortatory discourse can dispense with a solid, predominating basis of ordered thought. If men are urged to act, it is before all things essential that the nature and mode of the proposed action, 1 Emerson, Essay on " Eloquence." PERSUASION. 457 its grounds and consequences, be clearly set forth and explained to their minds. To be sure, so far as it is merely thought, merely of the brain, it supplies no impulse ; but, being the basis, it be- comes the controller and regulator of the impulse when the latter is supplied. And when exhortation works on men without such regulative of solid thought, the sequel is but the wild, unguided frenzy of a mob. If men are to be persuaded, they must be directed to something definite, something in which the rational intellect will still be the guide of action. NOTE. Mark Antony, in the scene already cited, was but too willing to rouse passions without thought. The mob rushed blindly forth to destroy, fell upon Cinna the poet and tore him in pieces merely because he bore the same name with Cinna the conspirator, were wholly uncontrollable in their mad fury; while Antony, well pleased, satisfied himself with saying, " Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot, Take thou what course thou wilt ! " Another remarkable instance of passions aroused without a basis of rea- son is recorded in Acts xix. 23-41, where certain designing people lash a mob to frenzy by an appeal to their cupidity. " Some therefore cried one thing, and some another : for the assembly was confused ; and the more part knew not wherefore they were come together." And when Alexander attempted to explain matters to them, " all with one voice about the space of two hours cried out, ' Great is Diana of the Ephesians.' " 2. From this it appears that in every persuasive discourse there are two elements, the didactic and the hortatory. In old-fashioned oratory these two elements occupied different sections of the dis- course ; but nowadays it is generally considered better to have them interwoven, so far as may be, throughout, so that a fact or argument may have the power of an appeal, and an appeal have the solidity of information or truth. These two elements may have, however, varying emphasis and proportion, according as the address is concerned more with the end of action or with the means. When men are indifferent to the end proposed, exhorta- tion is needed to rouse them to a sufficient sense of its impor- tance ; when, though earnest in pursuit of the end, men are not 458 PERSUASION. sufficiently informed as to the means, the didactic element must predominate, in order to make their action rational and wise. NOTE. In the late Civil War, for instance, when throughout the land orators were urging men to enlist and serve their country's need, the question of means was but subordinate, and the principal element of discourse was exhortation. On the other hand, in a large proportion of pulpit discourse, that which is addressed to those who have already complied with the general end of obeying Christ as Lord, the predominating element must be educative, setting forth the means and involvements of a Christian life. 3. Of the different forms of discourse, the address to the intel- lect has to employ predominantly the argumentative, because the grounds of action are mostly established as truths and principles. But exposition also is largely employed, because many truths need only explanation to be made obvious. Narration and description are less prominent, and when used serve as a means of ordering questions of fact so as to make some theory of them more self- consistent and reasonable. NOTE. This use of narration and description is oftenest exemplified in courts of justice, where the elaborate machinery of taking testimony, cross- examination, and so forth, may in one light be regarded as accumulating mate- rial for a story of the event in question; and the lawyer's argument often consists largely in reconstructing the story according to his interpretation of the evidence. A good example of this is Webster's account of the murder of Captain Joseph White, which begins his masterly speech in that case. 4. Concerning the general management of the address to the intellect, two remarks should be made. First, it should aim to conserve, with especial rigor, economy of the hearer's interpreting power. 1 For, as all the energy that must be expended on understanding the .thought leaves the hearer so much less in realizing it, much more will it leave him at disadvan- tage in acting upon it. The simplicity, the plainness, the direct- ness, of all that goes to explain or prove the truth presented must be as nearly as possible absolute. 1 See preceding, p. 26. PERSUASION. 459 Secondly, for purposes of persuasion thought should be pre- sented copiously. It is a case where repetition and richness of amplification are of especial service. For the hearer's mind has not merely to catch and understand the thought ; he needs to be, so to say, saturated with it, so that he may act with it as his work- ing consciousness. The thought has therefore to be held up to view in many aspects, vivified with many details, enforced with many repetitions. NOTE. For the necessary characteristics of spoken diction, as distinguished from written, see preceding, p. 77. A condensed and antithetic style is therefore not favorable to persuasion, at least as the staple of a discourse; it may come in with good effect as single sentences, introduced to give crispness and point to what is elsewhere ampli- fied. The comparative futility of such condensed style may be illustrated in the speech of Brutus, in Shakespeare's "Julius Cesar." 2. Address to the Feelings. By this is meant such use of language, voice, and action, as shall have power to move the emotions of the hearers. Popularly it is often understood to mean making hearers weep or laugh ; but, much more deeply than this, it is to be regarded as a legitimate instrument of per- suasion, whereby men are roused from their too prevailing impas- siveness to feelings of pathos or sympathy in view of some juncture of circumstances worthy to enlist their sensibilities. i. An important distinction is to be noted between the address to the feeling in persuasion, and pathetic situations, adapted to draw tears, in the drama or fiction. These latter exist merely for themselves ; they have no ulterior object. Noble emotions they may indeed arouse, emotions that elevate and chasten ; but they have no call to fix the emotion in will and conduct ; they are por- trayal, not persuasion. Oratorical address to the feelings, on the other hand, is merely a means to an end ; it starts laughter or tears, not for their own sake, but because thereby the hearer is made sympathetic, alert, sensitive to appeal. It bears the same relation to actual persuasion that overcoming inertia does to the working of a machine : once get the wheels in motion, and it is 460 PERSUASION. comparatively easy to keep them going until the motion is directed to a useful function. Address to the feelings as an instrument of persuasion always contemplates action. 2. We have seen that argument and exposition predominate in presenting the thought to the intellect; to rouse the emotions, however, the particularizing forms, description and narration, are mostly depended on. In order to be felt, a situation must be vividly realized in imagination ; therefore the portrayal must be concrete, picturesque, impassioned ; while special skill is to be devoted to putting in strong relief the moving points of the scene, those points which are especially adapted to come close home to the hearer. ILLUSTRATION. No better exemplification of consummate skill in working on men's emotions could be found than Mark Antony's speech over Caesar's dead body, as given by Shakespeare. Familiar though it is, let us quote a part of it, and note the concrete, vivid, amplified portrayal : " If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle: I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on ; "Twas on a Summer's evening, in his tent, That day he overcame the Nervii. Look, in this place ran Cassius' dagger through: See what a rent the envious Casca made : Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabbed; And, as he plucked his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it, As rushing out of doors, to be resolved If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no ; For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel : Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him ! This was the most unkindest cut of all ; For, when the noble Caesar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, Quite vanquish'd him: then burst his mighty heart; And, in his mantle muffling up his face, Even at the base of Pompey's statua, Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell." 3. In addressing the feelings the speaker has to consult wisely the taste and culture of the persons addressed. Uneducated peo- PERSUASION. 461 pie are more easily swayed by pathos or humor ; but at the same time more palpable and striking,, more coarse-grained means, have to be used. The jokes must be of the knock-down kind ; the pathos must be almost, or quite, melodrama. Educated people, on the other hand, act more from judgment than from sympathy, and hence are less susceptible to emotional appeals ; but when they are moved, it is likelier to be by a pathetic touch, or by some stroke on the subtler chords of human nature, than by a broad joke or a display of tears. NOTE. Such a passage as the following from Ruskin, by its suggestive beauty of language, is more potent with many to rouse a pensive emotion than any amount of painting with the big brush : " I have paused, not once nor twice, as I wrote, and often have checked the course of what might otherwise have been importunate persuasion, as the thought has crossed me, how soon all Architecture may be vain, except that which is not made with hands. There is something ominous in the light which has enabled us to look back with disdain upon the ages among whose lovely vestiges we have been wandering. I could smile when I hear the hopeful exultation of many, at the new reach of worldly science, and vigor of worldly effort ; as if we were again at the beginning of days. There is thunder on the horizon as well as dawn. The sun was risen upon the earth when Lot entered Zoar." 4. It is to be remarked that, though we can observe the mechan- ical means, in style or delivery, by which the hearer's emotions are moved, yet after all there can be no rule for manufacturing emotion. The feeling must first exist in the speaker himself, and then by the spontaneous vigor of his diction, the energy of his action, the expression of his countenance, the emotion flows natu- rally from heart to heart. All this was long ago laid down by Horace, in the oft-quoted lines, " Si vis me flere, dolendum est Primum ipsi tibi ; tune tua me infortunia laedent." 5. This requisite is quite independent of the question how much feeling one ought to show. The speaker should be readier to suppress than to foster his emotions ; and then if in a supreme 462 PERSUASION. moment they break from him and betray themselves, they are exhibited to real purpose. Illustrating this from the case of Webster, Professor George P. Marsh says : 1 "It was a maxim of Webster's, that violence of language was indicative of feebleness of thought and want of reasoning power, and it was his practice rather to understate than overstate the strength of his confidence in the soundness of his own arguments, and the logical necessity of his conclusions. He kept his auditor constantly in advance of him, by suggestion rather than by strong asseveration, by a calm exposition of considerations which ought to excite feeling in the heart of both speaker and hearer, not by an undignified and theat- rical exhibition of passion in himself." NOTE. After this account of Webster's habitual moderation and self- repression, it will be interesting to note one instance in his career when his emotion mastered him in spite of repression. Dr. Goodrich thus described the scene at the close of his speech in defence of his Alma Mater, Dartmouth College : " ' It is, Sir, as I have said, a small college. And yet there are those who love it ' " Here, the feelings, which he had thus far succeeded in keeping down, broke forth. His lips quivered ; his firm cheeks trembled with emotion ; his eyes were filled with tears, his voice choked, and he seemed struggling to the utmost simply to gain that mastery over himself which might save him from an unmanly burst of feeling. I will not attempt to give you the few broken words of tenderness in which he went on to speak of his attachment to the college. The whole seemed to be mingled throughout with the recollections of father, mother, brother, and all the privations and trials through which he had made his way into life. Every one saw that^ it was wholly unpremedi- tated, a pressure on his heart, which sought relief in words and tears. " The court-room during these two or three minutes presented an extraordi- nary spectacle. Chief- Justice Marshall, with his tall and gaunt figure bent over, as if to catch the slightest whisper, the deep furrows of his cheek expanded with emotion, and his eyes suffused with tears ; Mr. Justice Washington at his side, with his small and emaciated frame, and countenance more like marble than I ever saw on any other human being, leaning forward with an eager, troubled look ; and the remainder of the court, at the two extrem- ities, pressing, as it were, towards a single point, while the audience below 1 Marsh, " Lectures on the English Language," p. 235. PERSUASION. 463 were wrapping themselves round in closer folds beneath the bench, to catch each look and every movement of the speaker. If a painter could give us the scene on canvas, those forms and countenances, and Daniel Webster as he there stood in the midst, it would be one of the most touching pictures in the history of eloquence. One thing it taught me, that the Pathetic depends not merely on the words uttered, but still more on the estimate we put upon him who utters them. There was not one among the strong-minded men of that assembly who could think it unmanly to weep, when he saw standing before him the man who had made such an argument melted into the tender- ness of a child." 3. Address to the Will. As has been repeatedly intimated, this is the element in which persuasion culminates, the element that makes the form of address distinctively persuasive. The address to the intellect and to the feelings, as we have seen, merely employs the literary forms already defined argument, exposition, narration, description. In the address to the will, however, we reach a distinctive form, which we may term Appeal.' By it the speaker identifies the matter and sentiment of his discourse with the active principles of human nature, that is, with the motives that every man owns it incumbent on him to be gov- erned by. i. The relation of the address to the will to the address to the feelings has been already indicated. To rouse the feelings without utilizing them for action is merely theatrical, melodramatic. It is the speaker's duty rather, having touched the springs of enthusi- asm, sympathy, or pathos, to give these emotions an immediate impulse and direction ; the practical outcome of them is the answer to the question, What shall we do ? NOTE. Dr. John Brown, in his " Spare Hours," in speaking of the appar- ent hardness of medical students, thus draws the distinction between emotions directed and emotions undirected : " Don't think them heartless ; they are neither better nor worse than you or I ; they get over their professional horrors, and into their proper work ; and in them pity, as an emotion, ending in itself or at best in tears and a long- drawn breath, lessens, while pity, as a motive, is quickened, and gains power and purpose. It is well for poor human nature that it is so." 464 PERSUASION. 2. Such impulse to the will is, however, communicated indi- rectly. People are not apt to respond to a direct assault on their will ; it is too much like compulsion. They will maintain their action free ; and in doing what the speaker wills they will please themselves with doing what they themselves will. Hence the proposed action must be so placed before them as to coincide with their own desires and interests ; not by itself, but through certain intermediate active principles called motives. It is in the skillful appeal to motives that the orator has the secret of influence with his audience. For motives are the univer- sally recognized springs of moral action, the causes of which deeds are the effects. Men cannot escape them, nor is it in the power of the soul deliberately to forswear them. Every earnest man is desirous to have his conduct manifest some worthy source and impulsion ; and men will manufacture or profess good motives if jn their secret hearts they have them not. To say then that it is desirable to appeal to motives is not enough; it is futile not to base conduct or proposed action on motive. NOTE. Hence it is that in investigating the actions of men, motives are necessarily taken for granted. In criminal cases, for instance, arguments from sign and circumstance seek to substantiate themselves by finding some ten- dency in the man, good or bad, sufficient to cause the deed ; and if a sufficient motive to a strange act cannot be found, or is obviously wanting, the fact throws doubt on the sanity of the perpetrator. Thus in the universal practical mind of men, motiveless ideas either belong to the irresponsible vagaries of madness, or are the mere riot of invention, " Fantastic beauty ; such as lurks In some wild Poet, when he works Without a conscience or an aim." 3. Leaving out of view evil motives, which of course it would be the deserved destruction of any cause to avow, there are good motives of all degrees and kinds, to which the orator may appeal as a universal currency of human nature. These cannot here be described in detail ; but we may get an idea of their scope from PERSUASION. 465 the classes into which they may be divided. They may be com- prised under three heads : Duty to ourselves, self-respect, prudence, reputation, integrity, and the like ; Duty to our kind, which includes also duty to country and common weal ; Duty to God, which comprises the highest and worthiest spiritual virtues. If a hearer will not respond to such considerations as these, the disgrace lies with him who refuses to obey, not with the speaker who fails to persuade him. The appeal to motive takes several aspects. First, and most common, it is a direct identification of the pro- posed action with principles that ought to be potent for conduct. The scale of worthiness in such recognition of motives may com- prehend various degrees, from simple worldly prudence up to the highest consciousness of relation with God ; and the appeal should be to the highest that can be counted on for effect. EXAMPLE. In the following, from Macaulay's Speech on the Reform Bill, the motive appealed to is solicitude for a nation's stability and welfare : " I am far indeed from wishing that the Members of this House should be influenced by fear, in the bad and unworthy sense of that word. But there is an honest and honorable fear, which well becomes those who are intrusted with the dearest interests of a great community; and to that fear I am not ashamed to make an earnest appeal. It is very well to talk of confronting sedition boldly, and of enforcing the law against those who would disturb the public peace. No doubt a tumult caused by local and temporary irritation ought to be suppressed with promptitude and vigor. Such disturbances, for example, as those which Lord George Gordon raised in 1780, should be instantly put down with the strong hand. But woe to the Government which cannot distinguish between a nation and a mob ! Woe to the Government which thinks that a great, a steady, a long continued movement of the public mind is to be stopped like a street riot ! This error has been twice fatal to the great House of Bourbon. God be praised, our rulers have been wiser. The golden opportunity which, if once suffered to escape, might never have been retrieved, has been seized. Nothing, I firmly believe, can now prevent the passing of this noble law, this second Bill of Rights," 466 PERSUASION. But secondly, the appeal to worthy motive is not always explicit. It is often made even more effective by being pervasive, permeat- ing structure and style, phrase and word, so that the hearer is at every step inspired by lofty standards and aims. It is this that makes a true oration preeminently ethical : it is an embodied appeal to what is righteous in man. EXAMPLE. Consider, for instance, the lofty and yet potent sentiment that pervades the following passage, from Burke's Conciliation Speech : " Deny them [the Americans] this participation of freedom, and you break that sole bond, which originally made, and must still preserve, the unity of the Empire. Do not entertain so weak an imagination, as that your registers and your bonds, your affidavits and your sufferances, your cockets and your clear- ances, are what form the great securities of your commerce. Do not dream that your letters of office, and your instructions, and your suspending clauses, are the things that hold together the great contexture of the mysterious whole. These things do not make your government. Dead instruments, passive tools as they are, it is the spirit of the English communion that gives all their life and efficacy to them. It is the spirit of the English Constitution, which, infused through the mighty mass, pervades, feeds, unites, invigorates, vivifies every part of the empire, even down to the minutest member. "Is it not the same virtue which does everything for us here in England? Do you imagine then, that it is the Land Tax Act which raises your revenue ? that it is the annual vote in the Committee of Supply which gives you your army? or that it is the Mutiny Bill which inspires it with bravery and discipline? No! surely no! It is the love of the people; it is their attachment to their government, from the sense of the deep stake they have in such a glorious institution which gives you your army and your navy, and infuses into both that liberal obedience, without which your army would be a base rabble, and your navy nothing but rotten timber." This is as truly appeal to motive, though indirect, as when the orator says later : " We ought to elevate our minds to the greatness of that trust to which the order of Providence has called us." Thirdly, such appeal may in strong cases take the form of invec- tive, which is simply appeal in negative ; that is, it endeavors to shame the hearers out of unworthy motives and acts, in favor of motives more consonant with the cause and the men. Just as one may appeal to justice, patriotism, honesty, benevolence, so he may inveigh against wrong, cowardice, meanness, selfishness. The PERSUASION. 467 urgency of the occasion, together with the vehemence or tact of the speaker, determines the method. It should be observed, that from the beginning the drift of sentiment has been more and more against using personalities ; it is principles, rather than men, that should be attacked. EXAMPLE. The following, from Charles James Fox, convicts Mr. Pitt of public dishonesty and lack of faith, as part of the refutation of his posi- tion : " Sir, I will not say that in all this he was not honest to his own purpose, and that he has not been honest in his declarations and confessions this night ; but I cannot agree that he was honest to this House or honest to the people of this country. To this House it was not honest to make them counteract the sense of the people, as he knew it to be expressed in the petitions upon the table, nor was it honest to the country to act in a disguise, and to pursue a secret purpose unknown to them, while affecting to take the road which they pointed out. I know not whether this may not be honesty in the political ethics of the right honorable gentlemen ; but I know that it would be called by a very different name in the common transactions of society, and in the rules of morality established in private life. I know of nothing in the history of this country that it resembles, except, perhaps, one of the most profligate periods the reign of Charles II., when the case of Dunkirk might probably have been justified by the same pretense. That monarch also declared war against France, and did it to cover a negotiation by which, in his difficulties, he was to gain a ' solid system of finance.' " Fourthly, it is not infrequently in the orator's skill to balance between a lower motive and a higher; and the decision rests largely on the nature of the effect that he would produce. A lower motive, as for instance expediency, or pecuniary interest, generally produces a more immediate effect, and on a larger though lower class; a higher motive is more flattering to the audience and produces a worthier effect, though not so wide- spread. It is the business of reforms and of advancing civilization to bring men to a higher plane of motive ; while the favorite plea of those who oppose such movements is that the motives, though good, are too high to be practical, that the world will not thrive on " Sunday-school politics," An assertion, surely, whose truth is too little tested, 468 PERSUASION. The wise orator, therefore, who can seize the occasion, will seek to base his cause on motives that are both good and practical ; if he cannot give potency to the highest motive that can be, he will use the highest that can produce the effect he desires, and in the way he desires. NOTE. The difference of level in motives, and the kind of motives that prove of practical effect, are strikingly illustrated by the history of the abolition of the Licensing Act. Milton, in his " Areopagitica," had argued against submitting literature to a licensing body, but without effect because, as Profes- sor Bain 1 says, " the motives appealed to are not those of ordinary English- men, and are in some instances mere poetic fancies." When, however, the Act was repealed, the reasons against it were put on a much lower plane. Macaulay thus describes it : " Clarke delivered to the Lords in the Painted Chamber a paper containing the reasons which had determined the Lower House not to renew the Licens- ing Act. This paper completely vindicates the resolution to which the Com- mons had come. But it proves at the same time that they knew not what they were doing, what a revolution they were making, what a power they were calling into existence. They pointed out concisely, clearly, forcibly, and some- times with a grave irony which is not unbecoming, the absurdities and iniqui- ties of the statute which was about to expire. But all their objections will be found to relate to matters of detail. On the great question of principle, on the question whether the liberty of unlicensed printing be on the whole, a blessing or a curse to society, not a word is said. The Licensing Act is con- demned, not as a thing essentially evil, but on account of the petty grievances, the exactions, the jobs, the commercial restrictions, the domiciliary visits, which were incidental to it. ... Such were the arguments which did what Milton's Areopagitica had failed to do." II. ORATORY. As has been intimated throughout the foregoing section, the form that persuasion takes in literature, being almost altogether oral address, is oratory. The principles of oratory are therefore for the most part identical with the principles of persuasion, which have just been traced. A little further analysis is needed, however, of oratory as a type of literature. 1 See the account of this transaction, Bain's " Rhetoric," pp. 220-223^ PERSUASION. 469 Oratory has already been named (see page 3) as one of three broad literary types, distinct from didactic prose on the one hand, and from poetry on the other, yet partaking largely of both. It is the type which, for success, calls for the largest resources, being an address to the whole man intellect and feeling, culminating in appeal to the will, and therefore utilizing most fully the highest powers of the rhetorical art. I. Characteristics of Oratory in General. The sphere of truths in which oratory moves, and the fact that these truths must be brought home for immediate effect upon an audience, make im- perative some characteristics of oratory which, though they have already been intimated, need to be here briefly recapitulated. Eloquence, the Sum of the Oratorio Style. To define elo- quence, in the fullness of its idea, is as hard as it is to define poetry. Mechanically, it may be described as impassioned prose, 1 obeying the laws and liberties of spoken discourse. 2 But this brings us only a little way toward a definition. To true eloquence so many things are essential the character of the orator, his skill in sway- ing the emotions and sentiments of an audience, the greatness of subject and occasion that a brief definition is impossible. Per- haps we can do no better than to take Daniel Webster's descrip- tion of eloquence, inwoven as it is throughout with the quality he is defining. He says : 3 " When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous occa- sions, when great interests are at stake, and strong passions excited, nothing is valuable in speech farther than as it is connected with high intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness are the qualities which produce conviction. True elo- quence, indeed, does not consist in speech. It cannot be brought 1 See preceding, p. 71. 2 See preceding, p. 76. 8 Webster, Oration on "Adams and Jefferson." 470 PERSUASION. from far. Labor and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be marshalled in every way, but they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may aspire to it ; they cannot reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men, when their own lives, and the fate of their wives, their chil- dren, and their country, hang on the decision of the hour. Then words have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even genius itself then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities. Then patriotism is eloquent ; then self-devotion is eloquent. The clear conception, outrunning the deductions of logic, the high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward to his object, this, this is eloquence; or rather, it is something greater and higher than all eloquence, it is action, noble, sublime, godlike action." From the above paragraph let us endeavor to draw some practi- cal conclusions for our benefit in oratory. 1 . Eloquence is not synonymous with an ambitious or preten- tious style, nor is it unfriendly to the plainest language. It is sim- ply wise to take advantage of occasion. When the occasion itself is eloquent, then eloquence shows its genuineness by silence ; and it knows when homeliness and even bareness of statement works with the occasion to have power on men. 2. Eloquence does, however, exclude considerations that are subtle and far-fetched, hair-splitting discriminations of thought, over-literary phrase and imagery ; because these are ill adapted to the transparency of spoken style, and do not appeal to the manner of thinking of average people, for whom oratory exists. 3. Eloquence, dealing with common men, moves most naturally PERSUASION. 471 among common thoughts, grounds itself on everyday motives and principles, and is indeed embodied common-sense. Its ideal is dignified conversation, grappling closely and earnestly with the important issues of life. 4. When on occasion eloquence rises into splendor of style and imagery as it has full liberty to do, it is still at the impulsion of a practical end. Such flights cannot be mechanical, and if not com- pelled by the subject they are but bombast and fustian. There must be a man and a cause underneath them, so informing that they shall appear as inevitable. Exactions of the Popular Element in Oratory. Oratory is, in the truest sense, popular literature ; that is, it exists for the people, for low as well as high. This fact has a very determining influence on the general structure of the oration, and on the kinds of argu- ments and considerations most to be relied on for effect. 1. As to general structure, the oration is, of all literary forms, most dependent on the qualities of unity and simplicity. It will not do for the orator to content himself lazily with saying " some- thing about " his chosen subject. He needs first of all to resolve his thought into absolute unity of aim and effect, rejecting merci- lessly all that distracts from this or unduly delays it. Then for working this effect, let him depend on a few points so clearly articulated and so strongly maintained that no hearer can mistake their drift. 1 2. As to the kinds of argument most relied on in oratory, we may say, in general, they are the arguments wherein there is only one step from premise to conclusion. Such are, preeminently, argu- ments from example and analogy, which may almost be called the distinctive oratorical forms. Long trains of inductive reasoning are perhaps least fitted for oratory ; and, in general, no kind of argument should be used where the end is long uncertain, or where the premises are meaningless without their conclusion. It 1 For some excellent rules and remarks on the management of a popular ad- dress, see Thomas Wentworth Higginson's little handbook, "Hints on Writing and Speech-Making." 472 PERSUASION. is not safe to leave any loop-holes for a remission of attention ; nor, on the other hand, to leave places which, if remitted, will in- validate what succeeds. Every argument should contain, as far as possible, its own prac- tical application ; should, by its very form and nature, be so living with appeal that no further adjustment to conduct will be needed by way of application. II. Kinds of Oratory. According to the various spheres of ac- tion with which persuasion has to deal, we recognize certain broad classes of oratory. As persuasion, which is the distinctive element of orator)', im- plies incitement to a determinate issue in conduct, such public lectures and addresses as seek merely to give information or enter- tainment do not properly come under the head of oratory. The accident of their public oral delivery demands that they conform to the requisites of spoken style, as already shown on page 79 ; further than this they belong merely to didactic or descriptive literature in its ordinary types. Oratoric discourses that do seek a determinate issue may be divided into two classes, according as the issue is immediate and definite or remote and unlimited. 1. Determinate Oratory. This name we may give to oratory that contemplates direct and immediate action as its result ; that is, action that may express itself in a vote, or in a verdict, or more generally in a change and improvement of life. Oratory of this kind may be grouped under three heads. i. Oratory of the law, or forensic oratory, is concerned with the general end of justice and right. It is the most direct and prac- tical kind of oratory, dealing with plain facts and principles, and laboring to secure an immediate verdict on the truths brought to light. The staple of it therefore is ordinarily very simple and direct ; but there is also room for occasional efforts of the highest eloquence. PERSUASION. 473 2. Oratory of legislative assemblies or parliamentary oratory, is concerned with the general end of public weal and political expe* diency. Its range of resources is very great, having for its sphere whatever may influence political action for the future, and all motives from lowest to highest. The modern taste in oratory of this class is unfriendly to the elaborate efforts of antiquity, or even of a century ago ; and parliamentary debate is becoming more and more a matter of business. A more popular form of such oratory, and sometimes more fiery and ambitious, is seen in platform polit- ical speaking, which labors for the end of influencing votes and shaping public opinion. 3. Oratory of the pulpit, or sacred oratory, is concerned with the general end of inducing men to follow Christ, and by conse- quence of reforming and developing their moral and spiritual life. In seeking such a lofty and comprehensive issue, it must both work for immediate effect, in the case of those whose first duty is to yield to divine claims, and for a remoter compliance, in the case of those whose spiritual life needs education and enlighten- ment. It fails, however, when it wanders too far from a definite and immediate issue ; just as it is more glorified in proportion as it comes close home to people and speaks in the language of their daily business. 2. Demonstrative Oratory. This name may be given to that class of orations wherein no defined end is directly proposed, but wherein none the less the demands of persuasion are pres- ent, in a general impulsion toward noble, patriotic, and honor- able sentiments, and toward a large and worthy life. Oratory of this kind may be exemplified in such addresses as Webster's at Bunker Hill and on the First Settlement of New England, Ever- ett's oration on The Character of Washington, and Elaine's eulogy of President Garfield. Much of the better class of platform speak- ing, when the country is in the grasp of great public questions, partakes largely of this character. There is a field for such demonstrative oratory much more im- portant than people ordinarily realize. It is, or may be made, a 474 PERSUASION. great educator. The people, in whose hands is the government, need just and lofty ideas on great issues, need continually to be lifted to a higher plane of public opinion. And this is needed not only when a vote hangs directly on the orator's effort, but also when the people can with leisurely mind and without partisan excitement consider large ideas in their true light. The work is now mostly done by journalism, and great and salutary is the influ- ence ; but the orator's field is by no means closed, nor will it be, so long as men delight in the living voice, the warmth of elo- quence, and the presence of influential men. INDEXES. INDEX OF SUBJECTS. [The titles o! main divisions, chapters, and sections, are set in small capitals.] Abeyance of judgments, 234. Ablative absolute, equivalent of, 158. ABSTRACT, 307 ; occasion and method of, 307; rules of, 310; value of as discipline, 309. Abstract and concrete, relations of in am- plification, 291. ACCESSORIES OF AMPLIFICATION, 297; of description, 338. Accurate use of words, 29. Achievement of object, the speaker's, 456. Adaptation, the task of rhetoric, i ; ways of in discourse, 2. Adjective, placing of, 117. Adverb, placing of, 119. Adjustment, inversion for, 166. Adversative conjunctional relation, 142. A fortiori argument, 421. Alertness, mental, 227. Allegory, 94. Alliance with audience, the speaker's, 449- Alliteration, 60; use of in ' description, 342. Allusion, 298. Alternation of types in diction, 75. Alternative as basis of argument, 429. AMPLIFICATION, 285; ACCESSORIES OF, 297 ; MEANS OF, 290 ; of syllogism, 427; not always desirable, 286; the writer's mood in, 285 ; USES OF, 286; why needed, 288. Amplifying paragraph, the, 211. Amplitude of style, 151. Analogy, argument from, 422 ; exposition by, 395- Analysis, as instrument of refutation, 433- Analytical judgment in interpretation, 305. Anecdotes, use of in amplification, 296. Antecedent, discrimination of, 123; rec- ognition of nature of, 132. Anti-climax, 106. Antique diction, 82. Antithesis, 102; exposition by, 392; use in description, 340. Aphoristic literature, 287. A posteriori argument, 417. Apostrophe, 98. Appeal, distinctive of persuasion, 463; to motives, explicit, 465; implicit, 466. A priori argument, 417. Aptitude, as related to art, 4 ; marks of inventive, 221. Archaic terms, affectation of, 38. Archaisms, poetic, 52. Argument a fortiori, 421 ; a posteriori, 417; a priori, 417; deductive, 424; from analogy, 422; from example, 421 ; inductive, 416 ; kinds of, in ora- tory, 471. ARGUMENTATION, 407; theme in, 257; what it owes to exposition, 439. Argumentative form predominant in ora- tory, 458. Arguments from sign, 419; order of, 441 ; THE BODY OF, 439. Arrangement of words in prose, 66. Art and science discriminated, 4. Article, etc., placing of, 118. Artifice, futility of, in persuasion, 450. Association, laws of, 273. Assonance, 61. Audience, speaker's alliance with, 449. Augmentation, 150. Authority, 413. 478 INDEX OF SUBJECTS. Balanced sentence, 191. Balanced structure, 164. Bathos, 106. Beauty of style, 23. Beginnings and endings, paragraph, 209. Bibliography, use of interest in, 241. Biography, 378. Bookishness, antidote to, 231. Brevity, poetic, 50. Burden of proof, \\\. Cadence, 171. Cant, 48. Catholicity of taste, 228. Cause and effect, law of, 275. Chain of reasoning, the, 428. Character, personal, in persuasion, 449. CHOICE OF WORDS, 29; in prose, 64. Chronological order in narrative, 361. Circumlocution, 153. Circumstantial description, 334. Circumstantial evidence, 419. Classical derivatives, use of, 43. Classification, 397. Clauses, placing of, 121. Clearness, elements of, 19 ; FIGURES PRO- MOTING, 87; habit of seeking, 232. Climax, 105; as emphasizing narrative movement, 367 ; in plan, 263. Coinage of new terms, 36. Collective noun, concord of, 112. Collocation, 117. Colloquial diction, 82. Commonplace books, use of, 242. Comparison by than, as, etc., 136. COMPOSITION, 108. Compounds, poetic fondness for, 51. Comprehensive outline, in description, 330- Concession, in debate, 445. Conclusion, 279 ; form and style of, 280 ; relation to body of discourse, 280. Concord of subject and verb, no. Concrete and abstract in amplification, 291. CONCRETENESS, FIGURES PROMOTING, 87. Condensation, 154; as means of ab- stracting, 309; for rapidity, 157; for strength, 154. Condensed expression, value of, 286. Conditional clauses, 140, 147. Conjunctional relation, 138. Connexion of words in prose, 67. CONSTRUCTION OF THE PLAN, 260; re- quisites of, 262. Contiguity, law of, 273. Continuity in the paragraph, 198 ; MEANS OF PRESERVING, 282. Contrast, as emphasizing narrative move- ment, 366 ; law of, 274 ; principle of, 103 ; use in description, 340. Conversation, report of, 127. Coordinating conjunctions, 139. Coordination of antecedent, 127. Correlation, 135. Creative reading, 235. Criticism, 404; its initial requirement, 3S- Cumulative conjunctions, 139. DEBATE, 444. Deduction, 424. Deductive order, 278. Definition, 387; amplified, 389; logical, 387- Demonstrative, placing of, 118. Demonstratives, use of, 124. Dependence, order of, in narration, 361. Derivation and history of words, impor- tance of knowing, 33. DESCRIPTION, 326; accessories of, 338; as aid to narration, 369 ; circumstan- tial, 334 ; definition of, 326 ; dynamic, 335; IN ITS PRINCIPLES, 326; IN LITERATURE, 350 ; logical, 391 ; mechanism of, 328 ; objective and subjective, 343 ; theme in, 257. Detail, portrayal without, 337. Details, sequence of, in description, 332 ; subdual of, 334. Development, the, 272. Dialect diction, 82. DICTION, 28; antique, foreign, etc., 82; AS DETERMINED BY OBJECT AND OCCASION, 76; definition of, 28; POETIC, CHARACTERISTICS OF, 48 ; PROSE, CHARACTERISTICS AND TYPES OF, 63; spoken, 76; written, 80 ; written for public delivery, 79. INDEX OF SUBJECTS. 479 Didactic element in oratory, 457. Didactic prose, 3. Digressions, 207. Dilemma, 431. Directness and emphasis in prose ar- rangement, 66. Disciplinary reading, 237. Discourse, definition of, i. Discovery of facts, 408. Discursive narration, 370. Distinction in headings of plan, 263. Division , 396 ; comprehensiveness of, 398 ; laws of, 400 ; minuteness of, 399 ; prin- ciple of, 397. Drama, 381. Dynamic description, 335. Dynamic stress in sentences, 181. Economy, principle of, 25 ; as related to persuasion, 458. Effects, Description by, 342. Ellipsis for rapidity, 159. Elliptical sentence structure, 174. Eloquence, 469. Emotion, exhibition of in persuasion, 461 ; manufactured, futility ot, 461. Emotions, forms of discourse adapted to, 460 ; in different people, 460 ; in ora- tory, 459. Emphasis, distribution of, 179; FIGURES THAT PROMOTE, 96; inversion for, 165. Enforcement, order of, in thought-build- ing, 278. Enthymeme, 425. Enumeration in amplification, 290. Epigram, 104. Episodes, 362. Epithet, kinds of, 56 ; use of in descrip- tion, 341 ; use of in poetry, 56. Essay, the, 403. Euphemism, 154. Euphony, 167 ; poetic regard for, 60. Example, argument from, 421 ; use of, in amplification, 291. Exclamation, 97. Exegesis of terms, 389. Exemplification, exposition by, 394. Expert testimony, 414. Explicit reference, 202. Expounded object, nature and form of, 384. EXPOSITION, 383; by analogy, 395; by antithesis, 392; by exemplification, 394 ; by iteration and obverse, 393 ; extensive, 396; IN ITS ELEMENTS, 384; IN LITERATURE, 402; inten- sive, 387; popular, 405; what argu- mentation owes to, 439. Expository theme, the, 257. Failure in writing, sources of, 4. Feelings, address to the, in oratory and drama distinguished, 459 ; in persua- sion, 459; how men respond to, 460. Fiction, 379. Figurative language, in description, 339. FIGURES OF SPEECH, 85; use of as amplifiers, 295 ; THAT PROMOTE CLEARNESS AND CONCRETENESS, 87 ; THAT PROMOTE EMPHASIS, 96. " Fine writing," 45. Force in style, elements of, 21. Forecast of story, in narration, 357. Foreign diction, 82. Foreign terms, use of, 41. Form of discourse predominant in per- suasion, 458, 460. FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES, 109. " Funny man," the, in persuasion, 451. Generalization, nature of, 384. GENERAL PROCESSES IN THE ORDER- ING OF MATERIAL, 245. Gnomic literature, 287. Grammar distinguished from rhetoric, 2. Grouping of descriptive details, difficulty of, 328 ; of thoughts, 273. HABITS THAT PROMOTE INVENTION, 226. Heterogeneous sentence, 176. Historian, qualification of the, 375. Historic present, the, 113. History, 375 ; forms of, 376. Hortatory element in oratory, 457. Human nature, knowledge of, in per- suasion, 452. Hyperbole, 99. Hypothesis, 416. 480 INDEX OF SUBJECTS. Idioms, 46. Illative conjunctional relation, 143. Illustrative details in amplification, 294. Imagination, function of, in criticism, 306 ; in historical composition, 376. Imaginative type of prose diction, 73. Impassioned type of prose diction, 71. Incidents and anecdotes, in amplification, 296. Indeed, etc., as particles of concession, 138. Independent conclusions, habit of seek- ing, 234. Indices rerum, use of, 242. Induction, 416. Inductive order, 276. Intellect, address to, in persuasion, 456 ; management of, 458. Intellectual element, importance of, in persuasion, 456. Intellectual type of prose diction, 69. Intelligible use, of words, 39. Infinitives, use of, 116. Interpretatio, significance of, 292. INTERPRETATION, 302; purposes of, 303 ; requisites of, 305 ; scope of, 302. Interpreting power, economy of reader's, 26. Interrogation, 97. Interwoven plots, 373. Introduction, 267 ; form and style of, 270 ; rationale of, 267. INTRODUCTORY, i. Invective, 466. INVENTION, 215; AS A NATURAL GIFT, 220 ; as grand division of rhetoric, 7; BASIS IN MENTAL APTITUDES AND HABITS, 220; grades of ,224; scope of, 217. Inventive ability, kinds of, 223. Inversion, 165; for adjustment, 166; for emphasis, 165 ; in prose diction, 66. Investigation, order of, 276. Irony, 100. Iteration, exposition by, 393. It, prospective and retrospective, 134. Knowledge of human nature, in per- suasion, 452. Literature, three broad types of, 3. Litotes, 145. Logic, as distinguished from rhetoric, 2. Logical description, 391. Long and short sentences, 185 ; uses of, 186. Loose sentences, 188. Metaphor, 90 ; use of, in description, 339. Metonymy, 88. Motives, appeal to, in persuasion, 464; balancing between, 467; what may be appealed to, 464. Movement, emphasized, 366; in narra- tion, 363; in plan, 276; retarded or accelerated, 364. NARRATION, 354; as accessory of de- scription, 344; definition of, 355; convoyed by description, 369; dis- cursive, 370; IN LITERATURE, 375; method of, 356; movement in, 363; SIMPLE, 355; what it owes to de- scription, 368. Narrative form of history, 377. Narrative theme, the, 256. NARRATIVES, COMBINATION OF, 371. Negation, 144; of climax, 107. Negative, double, 145. New formations, coinage of, 36. New words, 35. Newspaper and colloquial terms, 37. Non-colloquialisms, poetic, 53. Non sequitur, 434. Notes, taking, 242. Not only . . . but also, 137. Novel, the, 381. Object, exactions of, in description, 347 ; the speaker's, in persuasion, 456. Objective and subjective description, 343. Observation, habits of, 227. Obverse iteration, exposition by, 393. Obverse, repetition by, 293. Old terms, use of, 38. Only, position of, 119. Opponent, treatment of, in debate, 445. Or, nor, either, neither, use of, 137. Oration, general structure of, 471. Oratoric repetition, 161. INDEX OF SUBJECTS. 481 ORATORY, 468 ; demonstrative, 473 ; de- terminate, 472; forensic, 472; gen- eral characteristics of, 469 ; kinds of 472 ; parliamentary, 473 ; sacred, 473 ; theme in, 258, 456. Order, chronological, in narration, 361. Order, habit of seeking, 233; of argu- ments, 441 : of dependence in narra- tion, 361 ; of refutation, 443. ORDERING OF MATERIAL, GENERAL PROCESSES IN THE, 245. Orders of thought-building, two, 276. Outline structure of discourse, 264. Outline, the comprehensive, in descrip- tion, 330. PARAGRAPH, THE, 193; parallel con- struction in, 208; plan of, 198; pre- liminary, 211 ; proportion in, 207; prepositional, 210; QUALITIES AND STRUCTURE OF, 194; TRANSITION- AL, 211. PARAGRAPHS, KINDS OF, 210. Paragraph-subject, the, 194. Parallel construction in paragraph, 208. PARAPHRASE, 310; rules 0^314; utility of, 310; value of as discipline, 314. Participles, use of, 115. Particles, importance of, in prose, 67; poetic abbreviation of, 50; signifi- cance of, in translation, 318 ; split- ting of, 159. Particularization, as means of amplifying, 290. Partition of a subject, 401. Periodic structure, 146 ; in sentences, 188. Personal character, in persuasion, 449. Personal equation, 306. Personification, 94 : use of, in description, 339- Perspicuity, in style, 20. PERSUASION, 447; personal character in, 449; PRINCIPLES OF, 448. Philosophic history, 377. Phrases, placing of, 120. Picturesqueness, in prose, 65; poetic, 55. PLAN, CONSTRUCTION OF THE, 260; FUNDAMENTAL ELEMENTS OF, 266; GENERAL MECHANISM OF, 261 ; of paragraph, 198. Planning, adaptedness of material to, 261. Pleonastic structure in sentences, 174. Plot and incident, interest of, in narra- tion, 359. Plots, interwoven, 373. Poetic changes in meaning of words, 59. POETIC DICTION, CHARACTERISTICS OF, 48. Poetry, description in, 352. Point of view in description, 329. Popular element, exactions of the, in oratory, 471. Popular exposition, 405. Portrayal without detail, 337. Possessive, placing of, 118; poetic use of, 51. Precision, in style, 19. Precis-writing, or abstract, 307. Prefaced statement, 150. Preliminary paragraphs, 211. Premise, definition of, 424. Premises, in deduction, 424 ; in induction, 417, 424. Present use, in choice of words, 35. Presentive words, 67. Prominence, law of, 125. PROOF OF TRUTH DIRECTLY, 408; BY DISPROOF OF ERROR, 429. Proportion, in paragraph structure, 207 ; demands of, in amplification, 287. Propositional paragraph, the, 210. Prose, defined, 63. PROSE DICTION, CHARACTERISTICS OF, 64 ; TYPES OF, 68. Prospective reference, 133. Proverbs and condensed expression, 287. Provincialisms, 39. Proximity, law of, 125. Purpose in narration, 359. Quaint terms, affectation of, 38. Qualities of style, summary of, 25. Question, fixing nature and extent of, 440, 444; statement and explanation of, 440. Quotation, as accessory of amplification, 297. Raconteur, method of the, 358. Rapidity, condensation for, 157. 482 INDEX OF SUBJECTS. Rapid reading, 239. Reading broadly and deeply, 243; by topics, 240 ; creative, 235 ; disciplin- ary, 237 ; habits of, 235 ; rapid, 239. Reasoning, as science, 407; chain of, 428. Reductio ad absurdum, 429. Redundancy, 153. Reference, explicit, 202 ; prospective, 133 ; retrospective, 122. Refutation, 432; as adapted to popular apprehension, 437 ; need of wisdom in, 438 ; of deductive argument, 435 ; of inductive argument, 437 ; of testi- mony and authority, 437; order of, 443- Relative, coordinating and restrictive, 127 ; equivalents for, 130 ; omissions of, in poetry, 51. Repetition, in amplification, 291 ; in style, 160; of words for clearness and volume, 160 ; of thoughts and details, 162; of manner of expression, 164. REPRODUCTION OF THE THOUGHT OF OTHERS, 301. Residues, method of, 431. Restriction, of antecedent, 128. Retrospective reference, 122. Rhetoric, definition of, i ; initial difficul- ties of, 5 ; on what sciences founded, 2; province and distribution of, 6; two kinds of, 4. Rhetorical study, order of, n. Rhythm, in prose, 169. Romance, 381. Sagacity and tact, in persuasion, 451 ; in divining motives, 453. Saxon derivatives, use of, 43. Scenic history, 377. Scholarly use, in choice of words, 42. Science and systemized thought, 402. Scrap-books, use of, 242. Selection, as means of abstracting, 307 ; of descriptive details, difficulty of, 328. Sensibilities, economy of reader's, 27. SENTENCE, THE, 172; balanced, the, 191; NECESSARY QUALITIES OF, 175 ; STRUCTURE OF, 172. SENTENCES, KINDS OF, 185 ; long, 185 ; loose, 188 ; periodic, 188 ; short, 185. Sequence, a requisite of structure, 263 ; of details, in description, 332. Shall and will, 113. Short sentences, uses of, 186. Sign, arguments from, 419. Similarity, law of, 274. Simile, 89 ; use of, in description, 339. Skeleton of discourse, the, 264. Slang, influence of, on written style, 38. Sound and sense, 168 ; in poetry, 61. Spencer's law of economy in style, 25. Spoken discourse, diction of, 76. Strength, condensation for, 154, Stress, dynamic, 181. Structure, indications of, 283 ; unit of, in ' invention, 247. STYLE, n ; adaptations of, 17; as grand division of rhetoric, 7 ; communica- ble features of, 16 ; definition of, 13 ; individuality of, 15 ; IN GENERAL, 13; necessary qualities of, 19; rela- tion of, to survival of a work, 15. Subject and theme, relations of, 249 ; the paragraph, 194. Subjective and objective description, 343. Subordinating conjunctions, 140. Succession in details, kinds of, in narra- tion, 361. Suggestion, as accessory of amplification, 300 ; in narrative movement, 368. Surprise, element of, in narration, 367. Suspension, 146. Syllogism, 424; amplified, 427 ; inenthy- meme, 425. Symbolic words, 67, 68. Synchronism of events, 371 ; literary means of effecting, 372; mechanical means of effecting, 373. Synecdoche, 88. Synonyms, importance of study of, 31. Syntax, principles of, to be observed in rhetoric, no. Tact in persuasion, 455. Taking notes, 242. "Talking shop," 229. Taste, catholicity of, 228. Tautology, 165. INDEX OF SUBJECTS. 483 Technical terms, use of, 40. Tense, rules concerning, 112. Test of truth at first hand, 230. Testimony, 409 ; concurrent, 411 ; of ex- perts, 414 ; scrutiny of its character, 410. Theme, the, defined, 248 ; as related to kind of discourse, 256 ; as related to subject, 249 ; deduction of from sub- ject, 251 ; DETERMINATION OF, 248 ; in sermons, 252 ; statement of, 253. Thought, habits of, 232. Thought-building, two orders of, 276. Title, the, 258. Tone of discourse, maintenance of, 83. Topics, reading by, 240. Transitional paragraphs, 212. Transitions, 282. TRANSLATION, 315 ; requisites of a per- fect, 316 ; as a discipline, 320. Treatise, the, 403. Trust, mutual, of speaker and audience, 449- Truth versus victory, in debate, 446. Unit of structure, in invention, 247; of style, 172. Unity, of paragraph-structure, 194; of sentence-structure, 176. Untranslatable, the, 320. Usage, study of, in literature, 34. Utility, dictator in prose choice of words, 64. Varied expression, 30. Verbal criticism, 302. Vivifying details in amplification, 294. Waiving irrelevancies in debate, 445. Will, address to, 463 ; relation of, to emo- tion, 463. Witness, scrutiny of character of, 409. Word-painting in description, 342; in poetry, 55. WORDS, CHOICE OF, 29 ; collocation of, 117. Written discourse, diction of, 80; for public delivery, 79. PRESSWORK BY GINN & COMPANY, BOSTON. INDEX OF THE PRINCIPAL QUOTATIONS. Abbott, How to Write Clearly, 116, 137, 150, 159, 160, 176. Shakespearian Grammar, 87. Abbott and Seeley, English Lessons for English People, 65, 171. Addison, Spectator, 198. Angus, Handbook of the English Tongue, 173- Aristophanes, Acharnians, 319. Arnold, George, Why Thomas was Dis- charged, 75. Arnold, Matthew, A French Critic on Milton, 32. Emerson, 162. Function of Criticism, 389, 390, 4S- Heinrich Heine, 163. Literary Influence of Academies, 190. Literature and Dogma, 389. On Translating Homer, 149, 201. Preface to Byron, 175. Preface to Wordsworth, 162. St. Paul and Protestantism, 311. Arnold, Thomas (of Rugby), Letters, 310, 320. Arnott, Physics, 391. Bacon, Advancement of Learning, 227, 399- 401. Of Goodness and Goodness of Nature, 200, 291. Of Studies, 237. Bagehot, Shakespeare, 231, 356. Thomas Babington Macaulay, 65. Wordsworth, Tennyson, and Brown- ing, 222. Bain, Composition Grammar, 112, 124, 137. English Composition and Rhetoric, 150, 153, 165, 468. The Senses and the Intellect, 448, 453. Balzac, Eugenie Grandet, 339. Bascom, Philosophy of Rhetoric, 172. Beecher, Address at Liverpool, 455. Lectures on Preaching, 300, 452. Bible, 99, 128, 135, 140, 142, 151, 152, 158, 162, 163, 204, 270, 393, 422, 457. Bigelow, Handbook of Punctuation, 194. Birrell, Obiter Dicta, 101. Blair, Sermons, 293. Boston Medical and Surgical Journal, 414. Boswell, Life of Johnson, 18, 48, 241. Brown, Spare Hours, 118, 463. Browning, A Death in the Desert, 236. Ferishtah's Fancies, 67. The Ring and the Book, 51. Bryant, The Past, 59. Bulwer-Lytton, Caxtoniana, 360, 395, 403. Lost Tales of Miletus, 299. Pamphlets and Sketches, 348. Bunyan, Pilgrim's Progress, 43, 95. Burke, American Taxation, 434. Bristol Speech, 98, 161, 212, 274, 422, 431- Conciliation with America, 432, 466. East India Bill, 279, 402. Letters, 235. Reflections on the Revolution in France, 106, 187, 209, 292. Regicide Peace, 292. Sublime and Beautiful, 170. Thoughts on the Cause of the Present Discontents, 294. Bushnell, Sermons for the New Life, 253, 392- Byron, Childe Harold, 53. 486 INDEX OF THE PRINCIPAL QUOTATIONS. Cable, Posson Jone, 178. Carlyle, Boswell's Johnson, 33. Burns, 189. Characteristics, 288, 289. Count Cagliostro, 375. Frederick the Great, 204, 332, 339, 373. French Revolution, 125. Hero- Worship, 33, 144, 308, 338. Letters, 344. Life of Sterling, 378. Sartor Resartus, 91, 261. Carlyle and Emerson, Correspondence, 341. Carpenter, Comparative Physiology, 40. Chaucer, Canterbury Tales, 14. Coleridge, Ancient Mariner, 338. Craddock, Charles Egbert, In the Ten- nessee Mountains, 340, 344. Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains, 101. De Mille, Elements of Rhetoric, 169. De Quincey, Autobiographic Sketches, 366. Charlemagne, 376, 377. Christianity as an Organ of Political Movement, 284. Coleridge and Opium-Eating, 168. Confessions of an Opium-Eater, 99. John Keats, 29. Lessing, 43. Murder as a Fine Art, 107. Rhetoric, 426. Style, 288, 291. Suspiria de Profundis, 188, 205, 208. Dickens, Barnaby Rudge, 45, 182, 375. David Copperfield, 45, 113, 336. Nicholas Nickleby, 37, 81. Pickwick Papers, 37, 90. Tale of Two Cities, 368. Uncommercial Traveller, 104. Drummond, Natural Law in the Spiritual World, 36. Dryden, Preface to Dramatic Writing, 93. Earle, Philology of the English Tongue, 117. Eliot, George, Felix Holt, 332. Middlemarch, 106. Mill on the Floss, 338. Silas Marner, 396. Elwell on Expert Testimony, 414. Emerson, Character, 177. Correspondence with Carlyle, 341. Eloquence, 452, 456. Nature, 41. The American Scholar, 236, 237. Erskine, Speech in Behalf of Lord George Gordon, 410. Everett, The Uses of Astronomy, 345. Examiner, The (N. Y.), 149. Farrar, With the Poets, 183. Fox, Parliamentary Reform, 426. Rejection of Bonaparte's Overtures, 78, 467. Freeman, Race and Language, 283. Froude, The Science of History, 269. Gage, Physics, 391. Gibbon, Autobiography, 114. Decline and Fall of the Roman Em- pire, 34, 267. Gilmore, Outlines of Rhetoric, 410. Gladstone, Kin beyond Sea, 295. Goodrich, Dartmouth College Case, 462. Select British Eloquence, 411. Grant, Personal Memoirs, 182. Green, History of the English People, 331, 333. 34. Greenleaf, Testimony of the Four Evan- gelists, 412, 430. Hall, Sermons, 266. Hamilton, The Study of Mathematics, 255- Harper's Weekly, 184. Harris, Sermons, 207. Hawthorne, House of Seven Gables, 46, ico, 360. Scarlet Letter, 196. Helps, Brevia, 126. Hepburn, Manual of Rhetoric, 430. Higginson, Atlantic Essays, 44, 63. Hill, A. S., Principles of Rhetoric, 116. Hodgson, Errors in the Use of English, 1 20. Holmes, Autocrat of the Breakfast Table, 41, 106, 154. Horace, De Arte Poetica, 360, 461. INDEX OF THE PRINCIPAL QUOTATIONS. 487 Howells, Rise of Silas Lapham, 36, 92. Hudson, Harvard Shakespeare, 303. Hughes, Tom Brown at Oxford, 365. Hugo, Les Miserables, 331. Hunt, Principles of Written Discourse, 39- Interior, The, 134. Irving, Knickerbocker, 272. James, Portrait of a Lady, 349 (bis). Portraits of Places, 330, 332. Jevons, Principles of Science, 91, 421. Johnson, Life of Pope, 262. Johnson's Cyclopaedia, 385, 418. Keats, Isabella, 58. Lamia, 57. Lamb, Old Benchers of the Middle Tem- P'e, 59- On the Plays of Shakespeare, 156. Landor, Imaginary Conversations, 47, 83, 300. Langland, Vision of Piers Plowman, 61. Latimer, Sermon on the Ploughers, 304. Lessing, Laocoon, 328. Lewes, Life of Goethe, 321. Principles of Success in Literature, 225, 276, 278, 437. Lewis, Tayler, The Emotional Element in Hebrew Translation, 317. Longfellow, New England Tragedies, 361. Lowell, Democracy and Other Addresses, 320- 337- Fireside Travels, 14, 42, 296. John Dryden, 33, 34. Legend of Brittany, 83. On a Certain Condescension in For- eigners, 255, 271. Shakespeare once More, 306. Lyly, Euphues, 192. McCarthy, History of our own Times, 372. Macaulay, Bacon, 186. Boswell's Johnson, 293. Gladstone on Church and State, 436. Hallam's Constitutional History, 101, 192, 197, 210, 211, 291. History, 106, 138, 160, 209, 212, 274, 277, 281. History of England, 102, 468. Milton, 145, 164, 299. Macaulay, Speech on Copyright, 440. Education, 415. Literature of Britain, 309. Reform Bill, 161, 185, 437, 465. McElroy, Structure of English prose, 346. McMaster, History of the American Peo- ple, 287. Marsh, Lectures on the English Lan- guage, 462. Mathews, Oratory and Orators, 450, 453. Mill, Dissertations and Discussions, 392. Milton, On the Passion, 233. Paradise Lost, 62, 90, 99. Paradise Regained, 60. Minto, Manual of English Prose Litera- ture, 177, 188. Morison, Macaulay, 356, 374. Mookerjee, Onoocool Chunder, Life of, 84. Moore, Nonsense, 148. Morley, Edmund Burke, 290, 299. On Compromise, 403. On the Study of Literature, xiv. Voltaire, 175 (bis), 202. Morris, E. P., On the Study of Latin, 428. William, Sigurd the Volsung, 53. Motley, History of the United Nether- lands, 365. Rise of the Dutch Republic, 103, 127, 148, 361. Mozley, Essays, 342. University Sermons, 426. Mulford, The Nation, 398, 400. Myers, Greek Oracles, 268. Wordsworth, 147. Neilson, Memories of Rufus Choate, 315, 320. Newman, Discussions and Arguments, 441- Grammar of Assent, 390, 394. Idea of a University, 147, 152, 164, 166, 186, 187, 197, 203, 250, 296, 298, 393, 423, 425, 427. Sermons, 79, 170. 488 INDEX OF THE PRINCIPAL QUOTATIONS. Nicolay and Hay, Life of Lincoln, 440, 450. North American Review, 13. Parker, Golden Age of American Oratory, 230. Parkman, Discovery of the Great West, 295. 334- Pascal, Thoughts, 102, 291. Payne, Introduction to Burke's Select Works, 293, 388. Phelps, English Style in Public Discourse, 45- Men and Books, 239. Theory of Preaching, 264, 286. Pope, Essay on Criticism, 58 (bis). Pryde, Highways of Literature, 335. Studies in Composition, 357. Reade, How to Write English, 297. Roe, Barriers Burned Away, 100. Robertson, Lectures, 358. Sermons, 195. Ruskin, Modern Painters, 342. Poetry of Architecture, 284. Roadside Songs of Tuscany, Introduc- tion to, 4. Seven Lamps of Architecture, 461. Stones of Venice, 73, 329. Two Paths, 90, 125, 167, 216, 218, 281. Russell, Jack's Courtship, 37. Sand, George, Countess of Rudolstadt, 163. Scott, Kenilworth, 349, 367. Talisman, 364, 367. Shairp, Culture and Religion, 390. Studies in Poetry and Philosophy, 39- Shakespeare, Hamlet, 97, 344. Henry IV., 357. Julius Caesar, 155, 454, 457, 460. King Lear, 336, 343. Macbeth, 343. Measure for Measure, 91. Merchant of Venice, 54, 374, 447. Richard II., 86, 87. Southey, Letters, 115. Life of Nelson, 70. Spencer, Philosophy of Style, 26, 88. The Social Organism, 254, 280. Stanley, History of the Jewish Church, 190. Life of Arnold, 310, 320. On Corinthians, 311. Stedman, Poets of America, 125. Victorian Poets, n. Stephen, Hours in a Library, 359, 380. Stevenson, On Style in Literature, 169. Stowe, Oldtown Folks, 126, 340. Swinburne, When the Hounds of Spring, 61. Taine, Tour through the Pyrenees, 346. Tennyson, Coming of Arthur, 35. Dora, 49. Gareth and Lynette, 59, 345. Godiva, 103. Higher Pantheism, 155. In Memoriam, 62, 94, 315, 464. Lancelot and Elaine, 102. Lotos Eaters, 55. Love and Duty, 59. Merlin and Vivien, 385. Passing of Arthur, 141. Ulysses, 130. Thackeray, Four Georges, 98, loo, 159, 275- 342. Times, London, 315. Trevelyan, Early History of Charles James Fox, 155. Tribune, New York, 120. Trollope, Autobiography, 82, 183, 363. Warner, On Prison Reform, 126. Webster, Adams and Jefferson, 469. Bunker Hill Oration, 71. First Settlement of New England, 98. Murder of Captain Joseph White, 269, 409, 418, 420. Reply to Hayne, 434, 435, 436. The Constitution not a Compact, 434. Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, 292, 294, 4*3- Whipple, Daniel Webster as a Master of English Style, 152, 415. White, Words and their Uses, 114. Whitney, Bonnyborough, 37. Wilkinson, A Free Lance, 221, 405. Wordsworth, Excursion, 298, 350. Michael, 51. Ode on Immortality, HI, 323. HIGHER ENGLISH. also Classics for Children, pages 2 to 6.) Minto's Manual of English Prose Literature. Designed mainly to show characteristics of style. By WILLIAM MIXTO, M.A., Professor of Logic and English Literature in the University of Aberdeen, Scotland. 12mo. Cloth. 566 pages. Mailing Price, $1.65; Introduction, $1.50. E main design is to assist in directing students in English composition to the merits and defects of our principal writers of prose, enabling them, in some degree at least, to acquire the one and avoid the other. The Introduction analyzes style : elements of style, qualities of style, kinds of composition. Part First gives exhaustive analyses of De Quincey, Macaulay, and Carlyle. These serve as a key to all the other authors treated. Part Second takes up the prose authors in historical order, from the fourteenth cen- tury up to the early part of the nineteenth. H. C. De Motte, Pres. of Chaddock College, Quincy, III.: We are de- lighted with it. It is one of the most serviceable books I have seen on the subject. I shall recommend it for our work here. (Sept. 23, 1886.) Hiram Corson, Prof, of English Literature, Cornell Univ., Ithaca, N. T. : Without going outside of this book, an earnest student could get a knowledge of English prose styles, based on the soundest principles of criticism, such as he could not get in any twenty volumes which I know of. (May 14, 1886.) Minto's Characteristics of the English Poets, from Chaucer to Shirley. By WILLIAM MINTO, M.A., Professor of Logic and English Literature in the University of Aberdeen, Scotland. 12mo. Cloth. xi + 483 pages. Mailing Price, $2.15 ; for Introduction, $2.00. rpHE chief objects of the author are : (1) To bring into clear light the characteristics of the several poets ; and (2) to trace how far each was influenced by his literary predecessors and his contemporaries. HIGHER ENGLISH. 13 Hudson's Expurgated Shakespeare. For Schools, Clubs, and Families. Revised and enlarged Editions of twenty-three Plays. Carefully expurgated, with Explanatory Notes at the bottom of the page, and Critical Notes at the eiid of each volume. By H. N. HUDSON, LL.D., Editor of The Harvard Shakespeare. One play in each volume. Square 16mo. Varying in size from 128-253 pages. Mailing Price of each: Cloth, 50 cents; Paper, 35 cents. Intro- duction Price: Cloth, 45 cents; Paper, 30 cents. Per set (in box), $12.00. (To Teachers, $10.00.) O OME of the special features of this edition are the convenient size and shape of the volumes ; the clear type, superior press- work, and attractive binding; the ample introductions; the ex- planatory notes, easily found at the foot of the page; the critical notes for special study; the judicious expurgation, never mangling either style or story; the acute and sympathetic criticism that has come to be associated with Dr. HUDSON'S name ; and, finally, the reasonableness of the price. Oliver Wendell Holmes: An edi- tion of any play of Shakespeare's to which Mr. Hudson's name is affixed does not need a line from anybody to commend it. Cyrus Northrop, Prof, of English Literature, Yale College : They are convenient in form and edited by Hudson, two good things which I can see at a glance. Hiram Corson, Prof, of Rhet. and Eng. Lit., Cornell University : I con- sider them altogether excellent. The notes give all the aid needed for an understanding of the text, without waste and distraction of the student's mind. The introductory matter to the several plays is especially worthy of approbation. (Jan. 28, 1887.) C. P. P. Bancroft, Prin. of Phil- lips Academy, Andover, Mass. : Mr. Hudson's appreciation of Shake- speare amounted to genius. His editing accordingly exhibits more than learning and industry, it re- veals insight, sympathy, and convic- tion. He leads the pupil into the very mind and heart of " the thou- sand-souled Shakespeare." Byron Groce, Master in Public Latin School, Boston : The amended text is satisfactory; the typography is excellent; the notes are brief, al- ways helpful, not too numerous, and put where they will do the most good ; the introductions are vigorous, in- spiriting, keenly and soundly critical, and very attractive to boys, especially on account of their directness and warmth, for all boys like enthusi- asm. (Jan. 22, 1887.) C. T. Winchester, Prof, of English, Wesleyan University : The notes and comments in the school edition are admirably fitted to the need of the student, removing his difficulties by stimulating his interest and quicken- ing his perception. (Feb. 10, 1887.) A. C. Perkins, Prin. of AAelphi Academy, Brooklyn: In the prepa- ration of the School Shakespeare, Mr. Hudson met fully the capacities and needs of students in our schools and colleges. (Feb. 4, 1887.) 14 HIGHER ENGLISH. The series consists of the twenty-three plays enumerated below We furnish of the Old Edition, in paper covers, the plays starred in the following list (Mailing Price, 20cents ; Introduction, 15 cents): *A Midsummer-Night's Dream. 3 *Henry the Fifth. 2 *The Merchant of Venice. 1 *Henry the Eighth. 2 *Much Ado About Nothing. 3 *Romeo and Juliet. 3 *As You Like It. 1 ""Julius Caesar. 1 Twelfth Night. 1 "Hamlet. 1 *The Tempest. 2 *King Lear. 2 The Winter's Tale. 2 *Macbeth. 2 King John. Antony and Cleopatra. 1 Richard Second. *Othello. 3 Richard Third. 2 Cymbeline. 8 *Henry Fourth, Part First. 1 *Coriolanus. 8 Henry Fourth, Part Second. 1 Hudson's Three-Volume Shakespeare. For Schools, Families, and Clubs. With Introductions and Notes on each Play. 12mo. Cloth. 636-678 pages per volume. Mailing Price, per volume, $1.40; Introduction, $1.25. The plays included in the three volumes respectively are Indicated by figures in the above list. The Harvard Edition of Shakespeare's Complete Works. By HENRY N. HUDSON, LL.D., Author of the Life, Art, and Characters of Shakespeare, Editor of School Shakespeare, etc. In Twenty Volumes; 12mo ; two plays in each volume ; also in Ten Volumes, of four plays each. RETAIL PRICES. Twenty-vol. edition, cloth . $25.00 Half -calf 55.00 Ten-vol. edition, cloth . . $20.00 Half-calf ..... 40.00 B^jp^" Buyers should be careful in ordering not to confound the Har- vard Shakespeare u-ith an Old Edition made in 1851, and sold under another name. rPHIS is pre-eminently the edition for libraries, students, and general readers. The type, paper, and binding are attractive and superior, and the notes represent the editor's ripest thought. HIGHER ENGLISH. 15 An obvious merit of this edition is, that each volume has two sets of notes; one mainly devoted to explaining the text, and placed at the foot of the page ; the other mostly occupied with matters of textual comment and criticism, and printed at the end of each play. This arrangement is particularly suited to the con- venience of the general student, who does not wish to hunt for an explanation ; and to the wants of the special student, who desires extended discussion of a difficulty. E. P. Whipple, The Noted Critic : Hudson's is tiie most thoughtful and intelligent interpretative criticism which has, during the present cen- tury, been written, either in English or German. N. Y. Evening Express : The most satisfactory and complete edition we have. N. Y. Tribune: As an interpreter of Shakespeare, imbued with the vital essence of the great English dramatist, and equally qualified by insight and study to penetrate the deepest significance of his writings, it would be difficult to name an Eng- lish or American scholar who can be compared with the editor of this edition. Hudson's Life, Art, and Characters of Shake- speare (Revised Edition, 1882). By HEXRY N. HUDSON, LL.D., Editor of The Harvard Shakespeare, etc. In 2 vols. 12mo. 969 pages. Uniform in size with The Harvard Shake- speare, and matches it in the following bindings : Cloth Half -calf Retail Price, $4.00 per set. " " 8.00 " fTlHESE two volumes contain: The Life of Shakespeare; An Historical Sketch of the Origin and Growth of the Drama in England; Shakespeare's Contemporaries; Shakespeare's Art, discus- sing under this head, Nature and Use of Art, Principles of Art, Dramatic Composition, Characterization, Humour, Style, Moral Spirit; Shakespeare's Characters, containing critical discourses on twenty-five of the Plays. London Athenaeum : They deserve to find a place in every library de- voted to Shakespeare, to editions of his works, to his biography, or to th works of commentators. 16 HIGHER ENGLISH. Hudson's Classical English Reader. For High Schools, Academies, and the upper grades of Grammar Schools. 12mo. Cloth. 425 pages. Mailing Price, $1.10 ; Introduction, $1.00 ; Allowance for old book in use, 30 cents. TT contains selections from Bryant, Burke, Burns, Byron, Car- lyle, Coleridge, Cowley, Cowper, Dana, Froude, Gladstone, Goldsmith, Gray, Helps, Herbert, Hooker, Hume, Irving, Keble, Lamb, Landor, Longfellow, Macaulay, Milton, Peabody, Scott, Shakespeare, Southey, Spenser, Talfourd, Taylor, Webster, Whit- tier, Wordsworth, and other standard authors, with explanatory and critical foot-notes. This is a book that seems to merit a place in every school of advanced grade below the college. F. J. Child, Prof, of English in are good for any thing generally know Harvard University : A boy who their readers, might almost be said knew this book as well as boys who to be liberally educated. Essays on Education, English Studies, and Shahe- speare. By HENRY N. HUDSON, LL.D., the Eminent Shakespearian. IGmo. Paper. 118 pages. Mailing Price, 25 cents. Square rpHE volume contains : The Preface to the new edition of Ham- let, An Essay on " English in Schools," " Shakespeare as a Text-Book," "How to Use Shakespeare in Schools." Hudson's Text-Book of Poetry. By H. N. HUDSON, LL.D. 12mo. Cloth. 694 pages. Mailing Price, $1.40 ; Introduction, $1.25. SELECTIONS from Wordsworth, Coleridge, Burns, Beattie, ^ Goldsmith, and Thomson. With sketches of the authors' lives, and instructive foot-notes, historical and explanatory. Hudson's Text-Booh of Prose. By H. N. HUDSON, LL.D. 12mo. Cloth. 636 pages. Mailing Price, $1.40; Introduction, $1.25. "TIROM Burke, Webster, and Bacon. With sketches of the authors' lives, and foot-notes, historical and explanatory. HIGHER ENGLISH. 17 Hudson's Selections of Prose and Poetry. Annotated. 12mo. Paper. Mailing Price of each, 20 cents ; Introduc tion Price, 15 cents. Edmund Burke. SECTION 1. Fire Speeches and ten Papers. SEC- TION 2. A Sketch of his Life. A Letter to a Noble Lord, and eleven extracts. Daniel Webster. SECTION 1. The Reply to Hayne, and six extracts. SECTION 2. A Sketch of his Life, and extracts from twenty-five Speeches. Lord Bacon. A Sketch of his Life, and extracts from thirty Essays. Wordsworth. SECTION I. Life of Wordsworth, the Prelude, and thirty- three Poems. SECTION II. Sixty Poems and Sonnets, accompanied by foot-notes, historical and explanatory. Coleridge and Burns. Biographies of the Poets, and forty -five Poems. Addison and Goldsmith. A Life of each, fifteen Papers from Addison, and eleven Prose Selections from Goldsmith, with The Deserted Village. Craih's English of Shakespeare. Illustrated in a Philological Commentary on Julius Caesar. By GEORGE L. CRAIK, Queen's College, Belfast. Edited, from the third revised London edition, by W. J. KOLFE, Cambridge, Mass. 16mo. Cloth. 386 pages. Mailing Price, 1.00 ; Introduction, 'JO cents. A N exposition in regard both to the language or style of Shake- *^ speare, and to the English language generally. Shakspere's Versification. Notes on Shakspere's Versification, with Appendix on the Verse Tests, and a short Descriptive Bibliography. By GEORGE H. BROWNE, A.M. 12mo. Paper. 34 pages. Price, interleaved, 25 cents. Shakespeare and Chaucer Examinations. Edited, with some remarks on the " Class-Room Study of Shakespeare," by WILLIAM TAYLOR THOM, M.A., Professor of English in Houins In- stitute, Va. Square IGmo. Cloth. 346 pages. Mailing Price, $1.10; for introduction, $1.00. rpHIS is a revised and enlarged edition of the Two Shakespeare Examinations, published several years and very much liked by teachers of English Literature. That book contained two exami- 18 HIGHER ENGLISH. nations held at Hollins Institute in 1881, on Hamlet; in 1882, on Macbeth, for the annual prize by the New Shakespeare Society of England. Besides these, there are in the new edition the Exami- nations on King Lear (1883), on Othello (1884), on The Merchant of Venice (1886) ; a Chaucer Examination (1886), set chiefly by Professor Child, of Harvard University, and based upon the " Pro- logue," " The Knight's Tale," and the " Nun's Priest's Tale " of the Canterbury Tales ; and some additional remarks on the Study of Shakespeare in Schools and in Shakespeare Reading Clubs. W. M. Baskervill, Prof, in Van- derbilt University, in the "Nashville American": Many essays, newspaper articles, lectures, and papers on the teaching of English have in the last ten or fifteen years appeared, but we do not hesitate to give the palm to this book. It is eminently practical. Professor Thorn has availed himself of all the hints, suggestions, and methods offered by Hale, Hudson, Abbott, Rolfe, and others, and by means of a burning enthusiasm has, as every true teacher must do in order to win the highest success, shaped theory and practice into a perfect system of his own, from which he gets the best results. These ex- aminations give the high-water mark of the study of English in the col- leges of this country. . . . We heartily recommend these examinations to teachers. They are full of sugges- tive information. They will serve as admirable models. Edward S. Joynes, Prof, of Eng- lish, South Carolina College, Colum- bia : This beautiful book is an honor to American scholarship. I hope that American scholars will show a just appreciation of it. Frank Roane, Teacher of English Literature, High School, Lynchburg, Va. : I found the first edition of tkis little book most valuable and sug- gestive, and from even a cursory examination I am assured of the en- hanced value of this one. For teach- ers and pupils just entering the field of Shakespearian study, a class largely on the increase in our land, this book will be found almost in- dispensable. Francis J. Child, Prof, of English, Harvard University : No one can fail to see that literature is taught at the Hollins Institute in a way altogether admirable. All the papers show knowledge, taste, and thought, and if anything remains to be added, it is that they are all well written. I agree with the author in all the important points of his paper on the study of Shakspere. Literature is the one indispensable study for women and for men, and Shakspere in literature. I mean by Shakspere about half his plays. John F. Genung, Prof, of Rhet- oric, Amherst College : The great problem in the teaching of English literature is, how to combine the req- uisite thoroughness in detail on the one hand with the larger interest due to the spirit of the literature on the other. Professor Thorn's book outlines a method that, in my judg- ment, very happily solves this prob- lem ; and the really remarkable examination papers here published prove that the method has succeeded. HIGHER ENGLISH. 19 Arnold's English Literature. Historical and Critical. With an Appendix on English Metres, and Summaries of the Different Literary Periods. By THOMAS ARNOLD, M.A., of University College, Oxford. American edition. Revised. 12mo. Cloth. 558 pages. Mail- ing Price, $1.65; Introduction (with or without the following pamphlet), $1.50' Allowance for old book, 40 cents. The Anglo-Saxon and Norman Periods have been republished, from the fourth revised English edition, and can be furnished in paper bind- ing. Mailing Price, 30 cents; Introduction, 25 cents. rPHE student of this manual will receive just impressions of the relative value of names and books, as well as political and re- ligious influences. Indeed, the adjustment and arrangement of ma- terial are managed with wonderful dexterity and analytic clearness. H. H. Morgan, Prin. of High School, St. Louis, Mo.: I should most fully recommend it to any one whose interest in literature was that of the student ; for he would find much which could otherwise be obtained only by extensive read- ing. First Two Boohs of Milton's Paradise Lost; and Milton's Lycidas. By HOMER B. SPRAGUE, PhD., formerly Principal of the Girls' High School, Boston. 12mo. Cloth. 198 pages. Mailing Price, 55 cents; In- troduction, 45 cents. edition furnishes convenient and suggestive notes, with excellent type and arrangement, and presents an approved formula for conducting class exercises. It omits fifteen or twenty objectionable lines. William F. Warren, President of Boston University : It seems to me admirably adapted to its pur- pose. A Hand-Booh of Poetics. For Students of English Verse. By FRANCIS B. GUMMERE, Ph.D., Head Master of the Swain Free School, New Bedford, Mass., and for- merly Instructor in English in Harvard College. 12mo. Cloth, vi + 250 pages. Mailing Price, $1.10; for Introduction, $1.00. nPHE book has three divisions, Subject-Matter, Style, Metre. Each is treated from two points of view, the historical, trac- ing the growth of different kinds of subject, of expression, or of 20 HIGHER ENGLISH. rhythm; and the theoretical, stating clearly the principles and laws of the matter discussed. P. A. March, Prof, of English Lit- erature, Lafayette College: An ex- cellent book : a work of good sense and good taste, and much learning in small compass. J. M. Garnett, Prof, of English Literature, University of Virginia : It has fulfilled my anticipations, and it supplies a real deficiency in text- books. I do not know, anywhere in English, of a better treatment f the subject. F. J. Child, Prof, of English, Har* vard College: I think you have an exceedingly fine book in Mr. Gum- mere's Poetics. Outlines of the Art of Expression. By J. H. GILMORE, Professor of Logic, Rhetoric, and English, in the University of Rochester, N.Y. 12mo. Cloth. 117 pages. Mailing Price, 65 cents ; Introduction, 60 cents. A TREATISE on English Composition and Rhetoric, designed "^ especially for Academies, High Schools, and the Freshman Class in Colleges. Fulton and Trueblood's Choice Readings. From Popular and Standard Authors. Compiled and arranged by ROBERT I. FULTON and THOMAS C. TRUE- BLOOD, Associate Founders and Directors of the University School of Oratory, Kansas City, Mo., and Teachers of Elocution in the Univ. of Mich., the Ohio Wesleyan Univ., the Kentucky Univ., and the Missouri State Univ. 12mo. 722 pages. By Mail, $1.65; Introduction, $1.50. Presentation edition, stamped cover, full gilt, fine paper, $4.00 retail. TTS distinctive feature is the number, variety, and interest of the pieces, classified according to their character, and covering the entire range of available selections. Indices are given to the best scenes from all the plays of Shakespeare, 139 choice readings from the Bible, and 159 hymns, all classified. A com- plete diagram of the principles of vocal expression is added. Wm. B. Chamberlain, Instructor J. W. Churchill, Pro/, of Elocu- tion, Theological Seminary, An- dover, Mass. : The excellent purpose of the authors has been very success- fully accomplished, both in the ex- pository and illustrative material. The selections are interesting some- times through novelty, but more pf ten because of their intrinsic worth. in Elocution, Oberlin College, 0.: They are choice indeed. I think I do not know of any collection repre- senting so many good authors and so well arranged. The indices, espe- cially that to scenes from Shake- speare, form a very valuable addition to the volume. (June 11, 1885.) HIGHER ENGLISH. 21 Fulton & Trueblood's Chart. Illustrating the Principles of Vocal Expression. By ROBERT I. FULTON & T. C. TRUEBLOOD, compilers of Fulton & Trueblood's Choice Readings. Printed on extra tough paper, 36x60 inches, bound on the edges, and mounted. Retail price, $2.00. Special introduction terms on application. rPHE chart presents a complete system of vocal culture and elo- " cution at a glance, thus avoiding the necessity of turning the leaves of a book or a series of charts. The principles are scien- tifically arranged and supplemented with diagrams, exercises, and illustrative sentences. The chart is recommended to professional elocutionists, no mat- ter what school or system they represent ; to all students of vocal culture and expression, as an invaluable aid in private practice, suggesting a regular, systematic, and judicious drill the most imperative condition of success ; and to the teachers in the public schools, enabling them to develop the voices of children and im- press upon them the principles of correct expression. F. H. Sargent, Prin. New York School of Acting: I find it an ex- ceedingly good exposition of the Rush system of voice training. I shall be glad to recommend it as I have op- portunity. (Jan. 14, 1888.) A Method of English Composition. By T. WHITING BANCROFT, Professor of Rhetoric and English Litera- ture in Brown University. 12mo. Cloth. 96 pages. Mailing Price, 55 cents ; Introduction Price, 50 cents. rpHE author's intention is to furnish to colleges, academies, and high schools a brief system of instruction in the preparation of essays or compositions. The second part consists of lists of classified themes, with specimens of plans of compositions, etc. E. E. Smith, Prof, of English and History, Purdue University, Lafay- ette, Ind. : I have used it with an advanced class to decided advan- tage. The divisions and the sug- gestive arrangement of the various kinds of subjects that may be treated in essays, orations, and debates, is such, I found, as to remove unneces- sary obstacles, and at the same time to require thought on the student's part. Lee's Graphic Chart of English Literature. By Y. P. LEE, of Yale College. Printed on tough manilla paper 24 x 39 in size. Mailing Price, 30 cents; for introduction, 25 cents. REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A 000144498 3