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} + + /* italic poetry */ + .pi { font-style: italic; } + + /* poem titles */ + .poem h4 { margin-left: 6em; } + + /* stanza numbers */ + .poem h5 { margin-left: 10em; + margin-bottom: -0.5em; } + + /* vertical break between stanzas */ + .poem .stanza { margin-top: 1em; } + + /* default line */ + .poem p { margin-bottom: 0; + margin-top: 0; + text-indent: 0; } + + /* p or span indents */ + .poem .i1 {display: block; margin-left: 1em;} + .poem .i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem .i3 {display: block; margin-left: 3em;} + .poem .i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} + .poem .i5 {display: block; margin-left: 5em;} + .poem .i6 {display: block; margin-left: 6em;} + .poem .i7 {display: block; margin-left: 7em;} + .poem .i8 {display: block; margin-left: 8em;} + .poem .i9 {display: block; margin-left: 9em;} + + /* vertical break in mid-line */ + .poem .caesura { vertical-align: -200%; } + + /* for rhyming triplets */ + .poem table { margin: 0 0 0 0; + border-collapse: collapse; } + .poem .trip { font-size: 3em; + vertical-align: top;} + +/* + Rhythm-marked poetry + table.rthm special spacing + td.lbord black left border + td.rbord black right border +*/ + table.rthm { border: 0 none; + border-spacing: 0 0; + border-collapse: collapse; + margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + blockquote table.rthm { font-size: 90%; } + table.rthm tr { text-align: center; } + td.lbord { border-left: 1px solid black; } + td.rbord { border-right: 1px solid black; } + + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 0em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + border: solid black; + height: 5px; } + pre {font-size: 85%; + font-family: courier, monospace; } +</style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook of English: Composition and Literature, by W. +F. (William Franklin) Webster</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: English: Composition and Literature</p> +<p>Author: W. F. (William Franklin) Webster</p> +<p>Release Date: February 16, 2009 [eBook #28097]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ENGLISH: COMPOSITION AND LITERATURE***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Carl Hudkins, Fred Robinson,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="pagei" id="pagei">i</a></div> + +<h1>ENGLISH:</h1> +<h2 class="nomarg">COMPOSITION AND LITERATURE</h2> +<h3>BY</h3> +<h2 class="nomarg">W. F. WEBSTER</h2> +<p class="ctr"><b>PRINCIPAL OF THE EAST HIGH SCHOOL<br /> +MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA</b></p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h3>HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY</h3> +<p class="ctr smcap">Boston: 4 Park Street; New York: 85 Fifth Avenue<br /> +Chicago: 378-388 Wabash Avenue</p> +<p class="ctr script">The Riverside Press Cambridge</p> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="pageii" id="pageii">ii</a></div> + +<p class="ctr">COPYRIGHT, 1900 AND 1902, BY W. F. WEBSTER<br /> +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="pageiii" id="pageiii">iii</a></div> + +<h2>PREFACE</h2> + +<p>In July, 1898, I presented at the National Educational +Association, convened in Washington, a Course +of Study in English. At Los Angeles, in 1899, the +Association indorsed the principles<a class="ftnt" id="footref_1" name="footref_1" href="#footnote_1">1</a> of this course, and +made it the basis of the Course in English for High +Schools. At the request of friends, I have prepared +this short text-book, outlining the method of carrying +forward the course, and emphasizing the principles +necessary for the intelligent communication of ideas.</p> + +<p>It has not been the purpose to write a rhetoric. The +many fine distinctions and divisions, the rarefied examples +of very beautiful forms of language which a young +pupil cannot possibly reproduce, or even appreciate, +have been omitted. To teach the methods of simple, +direct, and accurate expression has been the purpose; +and this is all that can be expected of a high school +course in English.</p> + +<p>The teaching of composition differs from the teaching +of Latin or mathematics in this point: whereas +pupils can be compelled to solve a definite number of +problems or to read a given number of lines, it is not +possible to compel expression of the full thought. The +full thought is made of an intellectual and an emotional +element. Whatever is intellectual may be compelled +<a class="pgnm" name="pageiv" id="pageiv">iv</a> +by dint of sheer purpose; whatever is emotional must +spring undriven by outside authority, and uncompelled +by inside determination. A boy saws a cord of wood +because he has been commanded by his father; but he +cannot laugh or cry because directed to do so by the +same authority. There must be the conditions which +call forth smiles or tears. So there must be the conditions +which call forth the full expression of thought, +both what is intellectual and what is emotional. This +means that the subject shall be one of which the writer +knows something, and in which he is interested; that +the demands in the composition shall not be made a +discouragement; and that the teacher shall be competent +and enthusiastic, inspiring in each pupil a desire +to say truly and adequately the best he thinks and +feels.</p> + +<p>These conditions cannot be realized while working +with dead fragments of language; but they are realized +while constructing living wholes of composition. +It is not two decades ago when the pupil in drawing +was compelled to make straight lines until he made +them all crooked. The pupil in manual training began +by drawing intersecting lines on two sides of a board; +then he drove nails into the intersections on one side, +hoping that they would hit the corresponding points on +the other. Now no single line or exercise is an end in +itself; it contributes to some whole. Under the old +method the pupil did not care or try to draw a straight +line, or to drive a nail straight; but now, in order that +he may realize the idea that lies in his mind, he does +care and he does try: so lines are drawn better and nails +<a class="pgnm" name="pagev" id="pagev">v</a> +are driven straighter than before. In all training that +combines intellect and hand, the principle has been +recognized that the best work is done when the pupil’s +interest has been enlisted by making each exercise contribute +directly to the construction of some whole. +Only in the range of the spiritual are we twenty years +behind time, trying to get the best construction by +compulsion. It is quite time that we recognized that +the best work in composition can be done, not while +the pupil is correcting errors in the use of language +which he never dreamed of, nor while he is writing ten +similes or ten periodic sentences, but when both intellect +and feeling combine and work together to produce +some whole. Then into the construction of this whole +the pupil will throw all his strength, using the most +apt comparisons, choosing the best words, framing adequate +sentences, in order that the outward form may +worthily present to others what to himself has appeared +worthy of expression.</p> + +<p>There are some persons who say that other languages +are taught by the word and sentence method; then why +not English? These persons overlook the fact that we +are leaving that method as rapidly as possible, and +adopting a more rational method which at once uses a +language to communicate thought. And they overlook +another fact of even greater importance: the pupil +entering the high school is by no means a beginner in +English. He has been using the language ten or +twelve years, and has a fluency of expression in English +which he cannot attain in German throughout a high +school and college course. The conditions under which +<a class="pgnm" name="pagevi" id="pagevi">vi</a> +a pupil begins the study of German in a high school +and the study of English composition are entirely dissimilar; +and a conclusion based upon a fancied analogy +is worthless.</p> + +<p>It is preferable, then, to practice the construction of +wholes rather than the making of exercises; and it is +best at the beginning to study the different kinds of +wholes, one at a time, rather than all together. No +one would attempt to teach elimination by addition and +subtraction, by comparison and by substitution, all together; +nor would an instructor take up heat, light, +and electricity together. In algebra, or physics, certain +great principles underlie the whole subject; and these +appear and reappear as the study progresses through +its allied parts. Still the best results are obtained by +taking up these several divisions of the whole one after +another. And in English the most certain and definite +results are secured by studying the forms of discourse +separately, learning the method of applying to each the +great principles that underlie all composition.</p> + +<p>If the forms of discourse are to be studied one after +another, which shall be taken up first? In general, +all composition may be separated into two divisions: +composition which deals with things, including narration +and description; and composition which deals with +ideas, comprising exposition and argument. It needs +no argument to justify the position that an essay which +deals with things seen and heard is easier for a beginner +to construct than an essay which deals with ideas +invisible and unheard. Whether narration or description +should precede appears yet to be undetermined; +<a class="pgnm" name="pagevii" id="pagevii">vii</a> +for many text-books treat one first, and perhaps as +many the other. I have thought it wiser to begin with +the short story, because it is easier to gain free, spontaneous +expression with narration than with description. +To write a whole page of description is a task for a master, +and very few attempt it; but for the uninitiated amateur +about three sentences of description mark the limit +of his ability to see and describe. To get started, to +gain confidence in one’s ability to say something, to acquire +freedom and spontaneity of expression,—this is +the first step in the practice of composition. Afterward, +when the pupil has discovered that he really has +something to say,—enough indeed to cover three or +four pages of his tablet paper,—then it may be time +to begin the study of description, and to acquire more +careful and accurate forms of expression. Spontaneity +should be acquired first,—crude and unformed it may +be, but spontaneity first; and this spontaneity is best +gained while studying narration.</p> + +<p>There can be but little question about the order of +the other forms. Description, still dealing with the +concrete, offers an admirable opportunity for shaping +and forming the spontaneous expression gained in narration. +Following description, in order of difficulty, +come exposition and argument.</p> + +<p>I should be quite misunderstood, did any one gather +from this that during the time in which wholes are being +studied, no attention is to be given to parts; that +is, to paragraphs, sentences, and words. All things +cannot be learned at once and thoroughly; there must +be some order of succession. In the beginning the +<a class="pgnm" name="pageviii" id="pageviii">viii</a> +primary object to be aimed at is the construction of +wholes; yet during their construction, parts can also +be incidentally studied. During this time many errors +which annoy and exasperate must be passed over with +but a word, in order that the weight of the criticism +may be concentrated on the point then under consideration. +As a pupil advances, he is more and more competent +to appreciate and to form good paragraphs and +well-turned sentences, and to single out from the multitude +of verbal signs the word that exactly presents +his thought. The appreciation and the use of the +stronger as well as the finer and more delicate forms +of language come only with much reading and writing; +and to demand everything at the very beginning is +little less than sheer madness.</p> + +<p>Moreover there never comes a time when the construction +of a paragraph, the shaping of a phrase, or +the choice of a word becomes an end in itself. Paragraphs, +sentences, and words are well chosen when they +serve best the whole composition. He who becomes +enamored of one form of paragraph, who always uses +periodic sentences, who chooses only common words, +has not yet recognized that the beauty of a phrase +or a word is determined by its fitness, and that it is +most beautiful because it exactly suits the place it fills. +The graceful sweep of a line by Praxiteles or the glorious +radiancy of a color by Angelico is most beautiful +in the place it took from the master’s hand. So +Lowell’s wealth of figurative language and Stevenson’s +unerring choice of delicate words are most beautiful, +not when torn from their original setting to serve as +<a class="pgnm" name="pageix" id="pageix">ix</a> +examples in rhetorics, but when fulfilling their part in +a well-planned whole. And it is only as the beauties +of literature are born of the thought that they ever +succeed. No one can say to himself, “I will now +make a good simile,” and straightway fulfill his promise. +If, however, the thought of a writer takes fire, +and instead of the cold, unimpassioned phraseology of +the logician, glowing images crowd up, and phrases +tipped with fire, then figurative language best suits the +thought,—indeed, it is the thought. But imagery +upon compulsion,—never. So that at no time should +one attempt to mould fine phrases for the sake of the +phrases themselves, but he should spare no pains with +them when they spring from the whole, when they harmonize +with the whole, and when they give to the +whole added beauty and strength.</p> + +<p>It is quite unnecessary at this day to urge the study +of literature. It is in the course of study for every +secondary school. Yet a word may be said of the +value of this study to the practice of composition. +There are two classes of artists: geniuses and men of +talent. Of geniuses in literature, one can count the +names on his fingers; most authors are simply men of +talent. Talent learns to do by doing, and by observing +how others have done. When Brunelleschi left Rome +for Florence, he had closely observed and had drawn +every arch of the stupendous architecture in that ancient +city; and so he was adjudged by his fellow citizens +to be the only man competent to lift the dome of +their Duomo. His observation discovered the secret +of Rome’s architectural grandeur; and the slow accumulation +<a class="pgnm" name="pagex" id="pagex">x</a> +of such secrets marks the development of +every art and science. Milton had his method of writing +prose, Macaulay his, and Arnold his,—all different +and all excellent. And just as the architect stands +before the cathedrals of Cologne, Milan, and Salisbury +to learn the secret of each; as the painter searches +out the secret of Raphael, Murillo, and Rembrandt; +so the author analyzes the masterpieces of literature to +discover the secret of Irving, of Eliot, and of Burke. +Not that an author is to be a servile imitator of any +man’s manner; but that, having knowledge of all the +secrets of composition, he shall so be enabled to set +forth for others his own thought in all the beauty and +perfection in which he himself conceives it.</p> + +<p>One thing further. A landscape painter would not +make a primary study of Angelo’s anatomical drawings; +a composer of lyric forms of music would not +study Sousa’s marches; nor would a person writing a +story look for much assistance in the arguments of +Burke. The most direct benefit is derived from studying +the very thing one wishes to know about, not from +studying something else. That the literature may give +the greatest possible assistance to the composition, the +course has been so arranged that narration shall be +taught by Hawthorne and Irving, description by Ruskin +and Stevenson, exposition by Macaulay and Newman, +and argument by Webster and Burke. Literature, +arranged in this manner, is not only a stimulus to renewed +effort, by showing what others have done; it is +also the most skillful instructor in the art of composition, +by showing how others have done.</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="pagexi" id="pagexi">xi</a> +It would be quite impossible for any one at the present +time to write a text-book in English that would not +repeat what has already been said by many others. +Nor have I tried to. My purpose has been rather to +select from the whole literature of the subject just those +principles which every author of a book on composition +or rhetoric has thought essential, and to omit minor +matters and all those about which there is a difference +of opinion. This limits the contents to topics already +familiar to every teacher. It also makes it necessary +to repeat what has been written before many times. +Certain books, however, have treated special divisions +of the whole subject in a thorough and exhaustive manner. +There is nothing new to say of Unity, Mass, and +Coherence; Mr. Wendell said all concerning these in +his book entitled “English Composition.” So in paragraph +development, Scott and Denney hold the field. +Other books which I have frequently used in the classroom +are “Talks on Writing English,” by Arlo Bates, +and Genung’s “Practical Rhetoric.” These books I +have found very helpful in teaching, and I have drawn +upon them often while writing this text-book.</p> + +<p>If the field has been covered, then why write a book +at all? The answer is that the principles which are +here treated have not been put into one book. They +may be found in several. These essentials I have repeated +many times with the hope that they will be +fixed by this frequent repetition. The purpose has +been to focus the attention upon these, to apply them +in the construction of the different forms of discourse, +paragraphs, and sentences, and to repeat them until it +<a class="pgnm" name="pagexii" id="pagexii">xii</a> +is impossible for a student to forget them. If the book +fulfils this purpose, it was worth writing.</p> + +<p>Acknowledgments are due to Messrs. Charles Scribner’s +Sons for their kind permission to use the selections +from the writings of Robert Louis Stevenson +contained in this book; also, to Messrs. D. Appleton +& Co., The Century Co., and Doubleday & McClure +Co. for selections from the writings of Rudyard Kipling.</p> + +<p class="rtj">W. F. WEBSTER.</p> +<p class="noind smcap">Minneapolis, 1900.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="pagexiii" id="pagexiii">xiii</a></div> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class="toc"> +<p><a href="#page1">Chapter I.—Forms of Discourse</a></p> +<ul> +<li><a href="#page1">Composition</a></li> +<li><a href="#page1">English Composition</a></li> +<li><a href="#page2">Composition, Written and Oral</a></li> +<li><a href="#page2">Conventions of Composition</a></li> +<li><a href="#page3">Five Forms of Discourse</a></li> +<li><a href="#page4">Definitions</a></li> +<li><a href="#page4">Difficulty in distinguishing</a></li> +<li><a href="#page6">Purpose of the Author</a></li> +</ul> + +<p><a href="#page8">Chapter II.—Choice of Subject</a></p> +<ul> +<li><a href="#page8">Form and Material</a></li> +<li><a href="#page8">Author’s Individuality</a></li> +<li><a href="#page9">Knowledge of Subject</a></li> +<li><a href="#page10">Common Subjects</a></li> +<li><a href="#page11">Interest</a></li> +<li><a href="#page11">The Familiar</a></li> +<li><a href="#page12">Human Life</a></li> +<li><a href="#page12">The Strange</a></li> +</ul> + +<p><a href="#page13">Chapter III.—Narration</a></p> +<ul> +<li><a href="#page13">Material of Narration</a></li> +<li><a href="#page14">In Action</a></li> +<li><a href="#page14">The Commonest Form of Discourse</a></li> +<li><a href="#page15">Language as a Means of Expression</a></li> +<li><a href="#page15">Without Plot</a></li> +<li><a href="#page16">Plot</a></li> +<li><a href="#page20">Unity, Mass, and Coherence</a></li> +<li><a href="#page20">Main Incident</a></li> +<li><a href="#page21">Its Importance</a></li> +<li><a href="#page21">Unity</a></li> +<li><a href="#page23">Introductions and Conclusions</a></li> +<li><a href="#page23">Tedious Enumerations</a></li> +<li><a href="#page24">What to include</a></li> +<li><a class="pgnm" name="pagexiv" id="pagexiv">xiv</a> + <a href="#page25">Consistency</a></li> +<li><a href="#page26">An Actor as the Story-teller</a></li> +<li><a href="#page27">The Omniscience of an Author</a></li> +<li><a href="#page28">The Climax</a></li> +<li><a href="#page29">Who? Where? When? Why?</a></li> +<li><a href="#page29">In what Order?</a></li> +<li><a href="#page32">An Outline</a></li> +<li><a href="#page32">Movement</a></li> +<li><a href="#page32">Rapidity</a></li> +<li><a href="#page33">Slowness</a></li> +<li><a href="#page34">Description and Narration</a></li> +<li><a href="#page35">Characters few, Time short</a></li> +<li><a href="#page36">Simple Plot</a></li> +<li><a href="#page38">Suggestive Questions and Exercises</a></li> +</ul> + +<p><a href="#page49">Chapter IV.—Description</a></p> +<ul> +<li><a href="#page49">Difficulties of Language for making Pictures</a></li> +<li><a href="#page50">Painting and Sculpture</a></li> +<li><a href="#page50">Advantages of Language</a></li> +<li><a href="#page52">Enumeration and Suggestion</a></li> +<li><a href="#page54">Enumerative Description</a></li> +<li><a href="#page55">Suggestive Description</a></li> +<li><a href="#page55">Value of Observation</a></li> +<li><a href="#page56">The Point of View</a></li> +<li><a href="#page58">Moving Point of View</a></li> +<li><a href="#page58">The Point of View should be stated</a></li> +<li><a href="#page59">Mental Point of View</a></li> +<li><a href="#page63">Length of Descriptions</a></li> +<li><a href="#page64">Arrangement of Details in Description</a></li> +<li><a href="#page70">The End of a Description</a></li> +<li><a href="#page73">Proportion</a></li> +<li><a href="#page74">Arrangement must be natural</a></li> +<li><a href="#page75">Use Familiar Images</a></li> +<li><a href="#page77">Simile, Metaphor, Personification</a></li> +<li><a href="#page78">Choice of Words. Adjectives and Nouns</a></li> +<li><a href="#page79">Use of Verbs</a></li> +<li><a href="#page81">Suggestive Questions and Exercises</a></li> +</ul> + +<p><a href="#page89">Chapter V.—Exposition</a></p> +<ul> +<li><a href="#page89">General Terms difficult</a></li> +<li><a href="#page91">Definition</a></li> +<li><a href="#page91">Exposition and Description distinguished</a></li> +<li><a class="pgnm" name="pagexv" id="pagexv">xv</a> + <a href="#page91">Logical Definition</a></li> +<li><a href="#page92">Genus and Differentia</a></li> +<li><a href="#page93">Requisites of a Good Definition</a></li> +<li><a href="#page94">How do Men explain? First, by Repetition</a></li> +<li><a href="#page95">Second, by telling the obverse</a></li> +<li><a href="#page96">Third, by Details</a></li> +<li><a href="#page97">Fourth, by Illustrations</a></li> +<li><a href="#page98">Fifth, by Comparisons</a></li> +<li><a href="#page99">The Subject</a></li> +<li><a href="#page100">The Subject should allow Concrete Treatment</a></li> +<li><a href="#page100">The Theme</a></li> +<li><a href="#page102">The Title</a></li> +<li><a href="#page102">Selection of Material</a></li> +<li><a href="#page104">Scale of Treatment</a></li> +<li><a href="#page108">Arrangement</a></li> +<li><a href="#page108">Use Cards for Subdivisions</a></li> +<li><a href="#page109">An Outline</a></li> +<li><a href="#page110">Mass the End</a></li> +<li><a href="#page112">The Beginning</a></li> +<li><a href="#page114">Proportion in Treatment</a></li> +<li><a href="#page115">Emphasis of Emotion</a></li> +<li><a href="#page116">Phrases indicating Emphasis</a></li> +<li><a href="#page116">Coherence</a></li> +<li><a href="#page118">Transition Phrases</a></li> +<li><a href="#page119">Summary and Transition</a></li> +<li><a href="#page121">Suggestive Questions and Exercises</a></li> +</ul> + +<p><a href="#page128">Chapter VI.—Argument</a></p> +<ul> +<li><a href="#page129">Induction and Deduction</a></li> +<li><a href="#page129">Syllogism Premises</a></li> +<li><a href="#page129">Terms</a></li> +<li><a href="#page130">Enthymeme</a></li> +<li><a href="#page130">Definition of Terms</a></li> +<li><a href="#page131">Undistributed Middle</a></li> +<li><a href="#page131">False Premises</a></li> +<li><a href="#page132">Method of Induction</a></li> +<li><a href="#page133">Arguments from Cause</a></li> +<li><a href="#page134">Arguments from Sign</a></li> +<li><a href="#page135">Sequence and Cause</a></li> +<li><a href="#page137">Arguments from Example</a></li> +<li><a href="#page138">Selection of Material</a></li> +<li><a href="#page138">Plan called The Brief</a></li> +<li><a class="pgnm" name="pagexvi" id="pagexvi">xvi</a> + <a href="#page139">Climax</a></li> +<li><a href="#page140">Inductive precedes Deductive</a></li> +<li><a href="#page140">Cause precedes Sign</a></li> +<li><a href="#page141">Example follows Sign</a></li> +<li><a href="#page141">Refutation</a></li> +<li><a href="#page142">Analysis of Burke’s Oration</a></li> +<li><a href="#page148">Suggestive Questions</a></li> +</ul> + +<p><a href="#page151">Chapter VII.—Paragraphs</a></p> +<ul> +<li><a href="#page151">Definition</a></li> +<li><a href="#page151">Long and Short Paragraphs</a></li> +<li><a href="#page157">Topic Sentence</a></li> +<li><a href="#page161">No Topic Sentence</a></li> +<li><a href="#page162">The Plan</a></li> +<li><a href="#page163">Kinds of Paragraphs</a></li> +<li><a href="#page163">Details</a></li> +<li><a href="#page165">Comparisons</a></li> +<li><a href="#page167">Repetition</a></li> +<li><a href="#page169">Obverse</a></li> +<li><a href="#page171">Examples</a></li> +<li><a href="#page173">Combines Two or More Forms</a></li> +<li><a href="#page173">Unity</a></li> +<li><a href="#page174">Need of Outline</a></li> +<li><a href="#page174">Mass</a></li> +<li><a href="#page175">What begins and what ends a Paragraph?</a></li> +<li><a href="#page178">Length of opening and closing Sentences</a></li> +<li><a href="#page179">Proportion</a></li> +<li><a href="#page180">Coherence and Clearness</a></li> +<li><a href="#page181">Two Arrangements of Sentences in a Paragraph</a></li> +<li><a href="#page187">Definite References</a></li> +<li><a href="#page188">Use of Pronouns</a></li> +<li><a href="#page190">Of Conjunctions</a></li> +<li><a href="#page192">Parallel Constructions</a></li> +<li><a href="#page195">Summary</a></li> +<li><a href="#page196">Suggestive Questions</a></li> +</ul> + +<p><a href="#page200">Chapter VIII.—Sentences</a></p> +<ul> +<li><a href="#page200">Definition and Classification. Simple Sentences</a></li> +<li><a href="#page200">Compound Sentences</a></li> +<li><a href="#page204">Short Sentences</a></li> +<li><a href="#page204">Long Sentences</a></li> +<li><a href="#page205">Unity</a></li> +<li><a class="pgnm" name="pagexvii" id="pagexvii">xvii</a> + <a href="#page207">Mass</a></li> +<li><a href="#page208">End of a Sentence</a></li> +<li><a href="#page210">Effect of Anti-climax</a></li> +<li><a href="#page211">Use of Climax</a></li> +<li><a href="#page212">Loose and Periodic</a></li> +<li><a href="#page212">The Period</a></li> +<li><a href="#page214">Periodic and Loose combined</a></li> +<li><a href="#page215">Which shall be used?</a></li> +<li><a href="#page217">Emphasis by Change of Order</a></li> +<li><a href="#page219">Subdue Unimportant Elements</a></li> +<li><a href="#page221">The Dynamic Point of a Sentence</a></li> +<li><a href="#page223">Good Use</a></li> +<li><a href="#page224">Clearness gained by Coherence</a></li> +<li><a href="#page226">Parallel Construction</a></li> +<li><a href="#page227">Balanced Sentences</a></li> +<li><a href="#page228">Use of Connectives</a></li> +<li><a href="#page231">Suggestive Questions</a></li> +</ul> + +<p><a href="#page235">Chapter IX.—Words</a></p> +<ul> +<li><a href="#page236">Need of a Large Vocabulary</a></li> +<li><a href="#page237">Dictionary</a></li> +<li><a href="#page238">Study of Literature</a></li> +<li><a href="#page240">Vulgarisms are not reputable</a></li> +<li><a href="#page240">Slang is not reputable</a></li> +<li><a href="#page242">Words must be National. Provincialisms</a></li> +<li><a href="#page242">Technical and Bookish Words</a></li> +<li><a href="#page243">Foreign Words</a></li> +<li><a href="#page244">Words in Present Use</a></li> +<li><a href="#page245">Words in their Present Meaning</a></li> +<li><a href="#page245">Words of Latin and Saxon Origin</a></li> +<li><a href="#page248">General and Specific</a></li> +<li><a href="#page249">Use Words that suggest most</a></li> +<li><a href="#page250">Synecdoche, Metonymy</a></li> +<li><a href="#page250">Care in Choice of Specific Words</a></li> +<li><a href="#page253">Avoid Hackneyed Phrases</a></li> +<li><a href="#page253">“Fine Writing”</a></li> +<li><a href="#page254">In Prose avoid Poetical Words</a></li> +</ul> + +<p><a href="#page257">Chapter X.—Figures of Speech</a></p> +<ul> +<li><a href="#page257">Figurative Language</a></li> +<li><a href="#page259">Figures based upon Likeness</a></li> +<li class="i1"><a href="#page260">Metaphor</a></li> +<li class="i1"><a href="#page260">Epithet</a></li> +<li class="i1"><a href="#page260">Personification</a></li> +<li class="i1"><a class="pgnm" name="pagexviii" id="pagexviii">xviii</a> +<a href="#page261">Apostrophe</a></li> +<li class="i1"><a href="#page261">Allegory</a></li> +<li class="i1"><a href="#page261">Simile</a></li> +<li><a href="#page262">Figures based upon Sentence Structure</a></li> +<li class="i1"><a href="#page262">Inversion</a></li> +<li class="i1"><a href="#page262">Exclamation</a></li> +<li class="i1"><a href="#page262">Interrogation</a></li> +<li class="i1"><a href="#page262">Climax</a></li> +<li class="i1"><a href="#page262">Irony</a></li> +<li><a href="#page263">Metonymy</a></li> +<li><a href="#page263">Synecdoche</a></li> +<li><a href="#page263">Allusion</a></li> +<li><a href="#page263">Hyperbole</a></li> +<li><a href="#page264">Exercises in Figures</a></li> +</ul> + +<p><a href="#page269">Chapter XI.—Verse Forms</a></p> +<ul> +<li><a href="#page269">Singing Verse</a></li> +<li><a href="#page272">Poetic Feet</a></li> +<li><a href="#page273">Kinds of Metre</a></li> +<li><a href="#page275">Stanzas</a></li> +<li><a href="#page276">Scansion</a></li> +<li><a href="#page276">Variations in Metres</a></li> +<li><a href="#page281">First and Last Foot</a></li> +<li><a href="#page284">Kinds of Poetry</a></li> +<li><a href="#page286">Exercises in Metres</a></li> +</ul> + +<p>APPENDIX</p> +<ol> +<li><a href="#appendixA">Suggestions to Teachers</a></li> +<li><a href="#appendixB">The Form of a Composition</a></li> +<li><a href="#appendixC">Marks for Correction of Compositions</a></li> +<li><a href="#appendixD">Punctuation</a></li> +<li><a href="#appendixE">Supplementary List of Literature</a></li> +</ol> +</div> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="pagexix" id="pagexix">xix</a></div> + +<h2>A COURSE OF STUDY</h2> + +<h3 class="nomarg">IN LITERATURE AND COMPOSITION</h3> + +<p>The Course of Study which follows is presented, not because +it is better than many others which might be made. +For the purposes of this book it was necessary that some +course be adopted as the basis of the text. The principles +which guided in arranging this course I believe are sound; +but the preferences of teachers and the peculiarities of environment +will often make it wise to use other selections from +literature. Of this a large “supplementary list” is given at +the back of the book.</p> + +<p>It is now a generally accepted truth that the study of English +should continue through the four years of a high-school +course. The division of time that seems best is to take Narration +and Description in the first year. In connection with +Description, Figures of Speech should be studied. The next +year, Exposition and Paragraphs form the major part of the +work. This may be pleasantly broken by a study of Poetry, +following the outline in the chapter on Verse Forms. In the +third year, while the work in literature is mainly the Novel and +the Drama, Sentences and Words should be studied in composition, +with a review of the chapters on Narration and Description. +Towards the close of the year, Exposition should be reviewed +and the study of Argument taken up. The fourth year should +be devoted to the study of such College Requirements as have +not been taken in the course, and to the study of the History +of English Literature as given in some good text book.</p> + +<p>In some instances, it will be found impossible to give so +much time to the study of English. In such cases, the amount +of literature to be studied should be decreased, and the work +in the text book should be more rapidly done. The sequence +of the parts should remain the same, but the time should be +modified to suit the needs of any special environment.</p> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="pagexx" id="pagexx">xx</a></div> + +<h3>NARRATION.</h3> + +<p class="ctr smcap">Composition.</p> + +<p class="ctr"><i>To give Spontaneity.</i></p> +<div class="outline Ia1"> +<ol> +<li><span class="smcap">External Form of Composition</span> (p. <a href="#page296">296</a>).</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Marks for the Correction of Compositions</span> (p. <a href="#page300">300</a>).</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Simple Rules for Punctuation</span> (pp. <a href="#page301">301</a>-<a href="#page309">309</a>).</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Forms of Discourse. Definitions</span> (pp. <a href="#page1">1</a>-<a href="#page7">7</a>).</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Choice of Subject</span> (pp. <a href="#page8">8</a>-<a href="#page12">12</a>).</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Study of Narration</span> (pp. <a href="#page13">13</a>-<a href="#page48">48</a>). + <ol> + <li>Definition and General Discussion.</li> + <li>Narration without Plot.<br /> + Interest the Essential Feature.</li> + <li>Narration with Plot. + <ol> + <li>Selection of Main Incident of first Importance.<br /> + <span class="i4" style="font-size: smaller;">It gives to the story<br /></span> + Unity,<br /> + <span class="i4" style="font-size: smaller;">ridding it of<br /></span> + <span class="i1">Long Introductions and Conclusions,<br /></span> + <span class="i1">Tedious Enumerations, and<br /></span> + <span class="i1">Irrelevant Details.</span></li> + <li>Arrangement of Material.<br /> + Close of Story contains Main Incident.<br /> + Opening of Story contains Characters, Place, + and Time.<br /> + Incidents generally follow in Order of Time.</li> + <li>Movement.</li> + <li>Use of Description in Narration.</li> + <li>Some General Considerations.</li> + </ol> + </li> + </ol> +</li> +</ol> +</div> + +<p class="ctr smcap">Literature.</p> + +<p class="litlist">The Great Stone Face, The Gentle Boy, The Gray Champion, +Roger Malvin’s Burial, and other Stories. <i>Hawthorne.</i></p> + +<p class="litlist">Tales of a Wayside Inn. <i>Longfellow.</i></p> + +<p class="litlist">The Gold Bug. <i>Poe.</i></p> + +<p class="litlist"><a class="pgnm" name="pagexxi" id="pagexxi">xxi</a> +Marmion, or The Lady of the Lake. <i>Scott.</i></p> + +<p class="litlist">A Christmas Carol, or The Cricket on the Hearth. <i>Dickens.</i></p> + +<p class="litlist">The Vision of Sir Launfal, and other Narrative Poems. +<i>Lowell.</i></p> + +<p class="litlist">An Incident of the French Camp, Hervé Riel, The Pied +Piper, How they brought the Good News from Ghent to +Aix. <i>Browning.</i></p> + +<p class="outd">Meaning of the Author, calling for<br /> + A Study of Words.<br /> + Outline of Story.<br /> + Turning Points in the Story.<br /> + Central Idea, or Purpose of the Story.</p> + +<p class="outd">Method of the Author.<br /> + Is there a Main Incident?<br /> + Do all other Incidents converge to it?<br /> + Is the Order a Sequence of Time alone?<br /> + Is the Interest centred in Characters or Plot?</p> + +<p class="outd">Style of the Author.<br /> + Compare the Works of the Author.</p> + +<h3>DESCRIPTION.</h3> + +<p class="ctr smcap">Composition.</p> + +<p class="ctr"><i>To secure Accuracy of Expression</i> (pp. <a href="#page49">49</a>-<a href="#page88">88</a>).</p> +<div class="outline Ia1"> +<ol> +<li><span class="smcap">Definition and General Discussion.</span><br /> + Difficulties in Language as a Means of Picturing.<br /> +Value of Observation.</li> + +<li><span class="smcap">Structure of Whole.</span><br /> + <ol> + <li>To secure Unity.<br /> + Select a Point of View.</li> + + <li>To secure Coherence.<br /> + Arrange Details in Natural Order.</li> + + <li>To secure Emphasis.<br /> + Arrange and proportion Treatment to effect + your Purpose.</li> +</ol> +</li> +<li><a class="pgnm" name="pagexxii" id="pagexxii">xxii</a><span class="smcap">Paragraph Structure.</span><br /> + Definition.<br /> + Length of Paragraphs.<br /> +Development of Paragraphs.</li> + +<li><span class="smcap">Words.</span><br /> + Specific rather than General.<br /> +Adjectives, Nouns, and Verbs.</li> + +<li><span class="smcap">Figures Of Speech</span> (pp. <a href="#page257">257</a>-<a href="#page268">268</a>).<br /> + Based on Likeness.<br /> + Based on Sentence Structure.<br /> +Miscellaneous Figures.</li> +</ol> +</div> + +<p class="ctr smcap">Literature.</p> +<p class="litlist">The Old Manse, The Old Apple Dealer. <i>Hawthorne.</i></p> +<p class="litlist">An Indian-Summer Reverie, The Dandelion, The Birch, The +Oak, and other Descriptive Poems. <i>Lowell.</i></p> +<p class="litlist">The Fall of the House of Usher. <i>Poe.</i></p> +<p class="litlist">The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, Selections from the Sketch +Book. <i>Irving.</i></p> +<p class="litlist">Selections from Childe Harold. <i>Byron.</i></p> +<p class="litlist">The Deserted Village. <i>Goldsmith.</i></p> +<p class="litlist">Julius Cæsar. <i>Shakespeare.</i></p> +<p class="litlist">Poems selected from Palgrave’s Golden Treasury.</p> + +<p class="outd">Meaning of the Author (as under Narration).</p> + +<p class="outd">Method of the Author.<br /> + Does the Author keep his Point of View?<br /> + Are the Details arranged in a Natural Order?<br /> + Has any Detail a Supreme Importance?<br /> + Are the Details treated in Proper Proportion?<br /> + Has the Whole a Unity of Effect? Do you see the + Picture distinctly?<br /> + For what Purpose has the Author used Description?<br /> +Does the Author employ Figures?</p> + +<p class="outd">Style of the Author.</p> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="pagexxiii" id="pagexxiii">xxiii</a></div> + +<h3>EXPOSITION, PARAGRAPHS, VERSE FORMS.</h3> + +<p class="ctr smcap">Composition.</p> + +<p class="ctr"><i>To encourage Logical Thinking and Adequate Expression</i> +(pp. <a href="#page89">89</a>-<a href="#page127">127</a>).</p> + +<p class="ctr"><i>Exposition.</i></p> +<div class="outline Ia1"> +<ol> +<li><span class="smcap">Definition and General Considerations.</span></li> + +<li><span class="smcap">Exposition of Terms. Definition.</span></li> + +<li><span class="smcap">Exposition of Propositions.</span> + <ol> + <li>Clear Statement of the Proposition in a “Key + Sentence.”<br /> + <span class="i4" style="font-size: smaller;">This will limit</span></li> + <li>The Discussion. + <ol> + <li>What shall be included?</li> + <li>What shall be excluded?</li> + <li>How shall Important Matters be emphasized?<br /> + <span class="i1">Mass and Proportion.<br /></span> + <span class="i1">Expansion and Condensation.<br /></span> + <span class="i4" style="font-size: smaller;">To effect these ends use an</span></li> + <li>Outline.</li> + </ol> + </li> + </ol> +</li> +</ol> +</div> + +<p class="ctr"><i>Paragraphs</i> (pp. <a href="#page151">151</a>-<a href="#page199">199</a>).</p> +<div class="outline Ia1"> +<ol> +<li><span class="smcap">Definition.</span></li> + +<li><span class="smcap">Length of Paragraphs.</span></li> + +<li><span class="smcap">Development of Paragraphs.</span></li> + +<li><span class="smcap">Principles of Structure.</span><br /> + <span class="i1">Unity.<br /></span> + <span class="i1">Mass.<br /></span> + <span class="i1">Coherence.</span></li> +</ol> +</div> + +<p class="ctr"><i>Verse Forms</i> (pp. <a href="#page269">269</a>-<a href="#page291">291</a>).</p> + +<p class="noind">Poetry Defined.<br /> +Kinds of Feet.<br /> +Number of Feet in a Verse.<br /> +Substitutions and Rests.<br /> +Kinds of Poetry.</p> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="pagexxiv" id="pagexxiv">xxiv</a></div> + +<p class="ctr smcap">Literature.</p> + +<p class="litlist">Essay on Milton. <i>Macaulay.</i></p> +<p class="litlist">Essay on Addison. <i>Macaulay.</i></p> +<p class="litlist">Commemoration Ode. <i>Lowell.</i></p> +<p class="litlist">The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. <i>Coleridge.</i></p> +<p class="litlist">Intimations of Immortality, and other Poems. <i>Wordsworth.</i></p> +<p class="litlist">Selections from Palgrave’s Golden Treasury.</p> +<p class="litlist">The Bunker Hill Oration, or Adams and Jefferson. <i>Webster.</i></p> +<p class="litlist">Sesame and Lilies. <i>Ruskin.</i></p> + +<p class="outd">Meaning of the Author.<br /> + Outline showing the Main Thesis with the Dependence<br /> + of Subordinate Propositions.</p> + +<p class="outd">Method of the Author.<br /> + Does he hold to his Point and so gain Unity<br /> + Does he arrange his Material so as to secure Emphasis?<br /> + Does one Paragraph grow out of another?<br /> + Does each Paragraph treat a Single Topic?<br /> + Are the Sentences dovetailed together?<br /> + Does the Author use Figures?<br /> + Are the Figures Effective?<br /> + Are his Words General or Specific?</p> + +<p class="outd">Style of the Author.<br /> + Is it Clear?<br /> + Has it Force?<br /> + Is the Diction Elegant?<br /> + How has he gained these Ends?</p> + +<h3>SENTENCES, WORDS, ARGUMENT.</h3> + +<p class="ctr smcap">Composition.</p> + +<p class="ctr"><i>Sentences</i> (pp. <a href="#page200">200</a>-<a href="#page234">234</a>).</p> +<div class="outline Ia1"> +<ol> +<li><span class="smcap">Definition and Classification.</span></li> + +<li><span class="smcap">Principles of Structure.</span> + <ol> + <li>Unity.</li> + <li>Mass. + <ol> + <li><a class="pgnm" name="pagexxv" id="pagexxv">xxv</a> + Prominent Positions in a Sentence.</li> + <li>Periodic Sentences.</li> + <li>Loose Sentences.</li> + </ol> + </li> + <li>Coherence. + <ol> + <li>Parallel Constructions.</li> + <li>Connectives.</li> + </ol> + </li> + </ol> +</li> +</ol> +</div> + +<p class="ctr"><i>Words</i> (pp. <a href="#page235">235</a>-<a href="#page256">256</a>).</p> + +<p class="noind">Reputable Words.<br /> +Latin or Saxon Words.<br /> +General or Specific.<br /> +Figures of Speech.<br /> +The One Rule for the Use of Words.</p> + +<p class="ctr"><i>Narration and Description Reviewed.</i></p> + +<p class="ctr"><i>Exposition Reviewed.</i></p> + +<p class="ctr smcap">Literature.</p> + +<p class="ctr"><i>Argument</i> (pp. <a href="#page128">128</a>-<a href="#page150">150</a>).</p> +<div class="outline Ia1"> +<ol> +<li><span class="smcap">Kinds of Argument.</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Order of Arguments.</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Refutation.</span></li> +</ol> +</div> + +<p class="litlist">Sir Roger de Coverley Papers. <i>Addison.</i></p> +<p class="litlist">The Vicar of Wakefield. <i>Goldsmith.</i></p> +<p class="litlist">Silas Marner. <i>Eliot.</i></p> +<p class="litlist">Ivanhoe. <i>Scott.</i></p> +<p class="litlist">Macbeth, The Merchant of Venice, A Midsummer Night’s +Dream. <i>Shakespeare.</i></p> +<p class="litlist">Conciliation with the Colonies. <i>Burke.</i></p> + +<h3>COMPOSITION.</h3> + +<p>In the last year of the course, the compositions should be +such as will test the maturer powers of the pupil. They +should be written under the careful supervision of the teacher. +<a class="pgnm" name="pagexxvi" id="pagexxvi">xxvi</a> +They should be of all forms of discourse, and the subjects +should be drawn from the subjects of study in the high +school, especially from the literature.</p> + +<h3>LITERATURE.</h3> + +<p class="ctr"><i>Difficult Selections.</i></p> + +<p class="litlist">L’Allegro, Il Penseroso, Comus, and Lycidas. <i>Milton.</i></p> +<p class="litlist">Paradise Lost. Two Books. <i>Milton.</i></p> +<p class="litlist">Essay on Burns. <i>Carlyle.</i></p> +<p class="litlist">In Memoriam, The Princess, and other Poems. <i>Tennyson.</i></p> +<p class="litlist">Selections. <i>Browning.</i></p> +<p class="litlist">Selections. <i>Emerson.</i></p> +<p class="litlist">A History of English Literature</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div style="margin-top: 1em;"><a class="pgnm" name="page1" id="page1">1</a></div> + +<h2>ENGLISH:</h2> + +<h3 class="nomarg">COMPOSITION AND LITERATURE</h3> + +<hr class="small" /> + +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> + +<p class="ctr"><b>FORMS OF DISCOURSE</b></p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Composition.</span> +Composition, from the Latin words <i>con,</i> meaning together, +and <i>ponere,</i> meaning to place, signifies +a placing together, a grouping or arrangement +of objects or of ideas. This arrangement is generally +made so that it will produce a desired result. +Speaking accurately, the putting together is the composition. +Much of the desired result is gained by care +in the selection of materials. Placing together a well-worn +book, a lamp, and a pair of heavy bowed spectacles +makes a suggestive picture. The selection and +grouping of these objects is spoken of as the composition +of the picture. So in music, an author composes, +when he groups certain musical tones and phrases so +that they produce a desired effect. In literature, too, +composition is, strictly speaking, the selection and arrangement +of materials, whether the incidents of a story +or the details of a description, to fulfill a definite purpose.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">English Composition.</span> +In practice, however, English composition has come +to include more than the selection and arrangement +of the materials,—incidents, objects, +or ideas, as the case may be; the term +has been extended to include the means by which the +<a class="pgnm" name="page2" id="page2">2</a> +speaker or writer seeks to convey this impression to +other persons. As a painter must understand drawing, +the value of lights and shades, and the mixing of +colors before he can successfully reproduce for others +the idea he has to express, so the artist in literature +needs a knowledge of elementary grammar and of the +simpler usages of language in order clearly to represent +to others the idea which lies in his own mind. As commonly +understood, then, <i>English composition</i> may be +defined as <i>the art of selecting, arranging, and communicating +ideas by means of the English language.</i></p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Composition, Written and Oral.</span> +The term “English composition” is now generally +understood to mean written composition, and +not oral composition. At first thought they +seem to be the same thing. So far as the +selection and arrangement of matter is concerned, +they are the same. Moreover, both use words, +and both employ sentences; but here the likeness ends. +If sentences should be put upon paper exactly as they +were spoken, in most instances they would not convey to +a reader the same thought they conveyed to a listener. +It is much more exacting to express the truth one +wishes to convey, by silent, featureless symbols than +by that wonderful organ of communication, the human +voice. Now, if to the human voice be added eyes, features, +gestures, and pose, we easily understand the great +advantage a speaker has over a writer.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Conventions of Composition.</span> +Moreover, there are imposed upon a writer certain +established rules which he must follow. He +must spell words correctly, and he must use +correctly marks of punctuation. These things +need not annoy a speaker; yet they are conditions +which must be obeyed by a writer. A man +who eats with a knife may succeed in getting his food +to his mouth, yet certain conventions exclude such a +<a class="pgnm" name="page3" id="page3">3</a> +person from polite society. So in composition, it is +possible for a person to make himself understood, +though he write “alright” instead of “all right,” and +never use a semicolon; still, such a person could hardly +be considered a highly cultured writer. To express +one’s thoughts correctly and with refinement requires +absolute obedience to the common conventions of good +literature.</p> + +<p>The study of composition includes, first, the careful +selection of materials and their effective arrangement; +and second, a knowledge of the established conventions +of literature: of spelling; of the common uses of the +marks of punctuation,—period, question mark, exclamation +point, colon, semicolon, comma; of the common +idioms of our language; and of the elements of +its grammar. From the beginning of the high school +course, the essay, the paragraph, the sentence, the word, +are to be studied with special attention to the effective +use of each in adequately communicating ideas.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Five Forms of Discourse.</span> +All written composition may be arranged in two +classes, or groups. The first group will include +all composition that deals with actual +happenings and real things; the second, all +that deals with abstract thoughts and spiritual ideas. +The first will include narration and description; the +second, exposition, argument, and persuasion. All +literature, then, may be separated into five classes,—narration, +description, exposition, argument, and persuasion.</p> + +<p>Narration tells what things do; description tells how +things look. Narration deals with occurrences; description +deals with appearances. Exposition defines +a term, or explains a proposition; argument proves the +truth or falsity of a proposition; persuasion urges to +action upon a proposition. Exposition explains; argument +<a class="pgnm" name="page4" id="page4">4</a> +convinces; persuasion arouses. These are the +broad lines of distinction which separate the five forms +of discourse.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Definitions.</span> +<i>Narration is that form of discourse which recounts +events in a sequence.</i> It includes stories, +novels, romances, biographies, some books of +travel, and some histories.</p> + +<p><i>Description is that form of discourse which aims +to present a picture.</i> It seldom occurs alone, but it +is usually found in combination with the other forms +of discourse.</p> + +<p><i>Exposition is that form of discourse which seeks to +explain a term or a proposition.</i> Text-books, books of +information, theses, most histories, many magazine articles, +and newspaper leaders are of this class of literature.</p> + +<p><i>Argument is that form of discourse which has for +its object the proof of the truth or falsity of a proposition.</i></p> + +<p><i>Persuasion is that form of discourse the purpose of +which is to influence the will.</i></p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Difficulty in distinguishing.</span> +Though these definitions seem to set apart the great +classes of literature, and to insure against any +danger of confusion, it is not always easy to +place individual pieces of literature in one of +these divisions. Whittier’s “Barbara Frietchie” and +Stevenson’s “Treasure Island” are narrative beyond +any question; but what about “Snow-Bound” and +“Travels with a Donkey” by the same authors? Are +they narration or description? In them the narrative +and descriptive portions are so nearly equal that one +hesitates to set them down to either class; the reader +is constantly called from beautiful pictures to delightful +stories. The narrative can easily be separated +from the descriptive portions; but when this has been +<a class="pgnm" name="page5" id="page5">5</a> +done, has it been decided whether the whole piece is +narration or description?</p> + +<p>When a person takes up the other forms of discourse, +the difficulty becomes still greater. Description and +narration are frequently used in exposition. If a boy +should be asked to explain the working of a steam +engine, he would, in all likelihood, begin with a description +of an engine. If his purpose was to explain how +an engine works, and was not to tell how an engine +looks, the whole composition would be exposition. So, +too, it is often the easiest way to explain what one +means by telling a story. The expression of such +thoughts would be exposition, although it might contain +a number of stories and descriptions.</p> + +<p>Narration and description may be found in a piece +of exposition; and all three may be employed in argument. +If a person should wish to prove the dangers +of intemperance, he might enforce his proof by a story, +or by a description of the condition of the nervous system +after a drunken revel. And one does not need to +do more than explain the results of intemperance to a +sensible man to prove to him that he should avoid all +excesses. The explanation alone is argument enough +for such a person. Still, is such an explanation exposition +or argument? If the man cared nothing about +convincing another that there are dangers in intemperance, +did not wish to prove that the end of intemperance +is death and dishonor, the composition is as much +exposition as the explanation of a steam engine. If, +on the other hand, he explained these results in order +to convince another that he should avoid intemperance, +then the piece is argument.</p> + +<p>Persuasion introduces a new element into composition; +for, while exposition and argument are directed to +a man’s reason, persuasion is addressed to the emotions +<a class="pgnm" name="page6" id="page6">6</a> +and the will. Its purpose is to arouse to action. One +can readily imagine that a simple explanation of the +evils of intemperance might be quite enough to convince +a man that its dangers are truly great,—so great +that he would determine to fight these evils with all his +strength. In such a case explanation alone has convinced +him; and it has aroused him to do something. +Is the piece exposition, or argument, or persuasion? +Here, as before, the answer is found in the purpose of +the author. If he intended only to explain, the piece +is exposition; if to convince, it is argument; if to +arouse to action, it belongs to the literature of persuasion.</p> + +<p>It must now be plain that few pieces of literature are +purely one form of discourse. The forms are mingled +in most of our literature. Hardly a story can be found +that does not contain some descriptions; and a description +of any considerable length is sure to contain some +narrative portions. So, too, narration and description +are often found in exposition, argument, and persuasion; +and these last three forms are frequently combined.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Purpose of the Author.</span> +It must also be evident that the whole piece of literature +will best be classified by discovering +the purpose of the author. If his purpose is +simply to tell a good story, his work is narration; +if the purpose is merely to place a picture before +the reader’s mind, it is description; if to explain conditions +and nothing more, it is exposition; if to prove +to the reason the truth or falsity of a proposition, it is +argument; while, if the writer addresses himself to the +emotions and the will, no matter whether he tells anecdotes +or paints lurid pictures, explains conditions or +convinces of the dangers of the present course,—if he +does all these to urge the reader to do something, the +<a class="pgnm" name="page7" id="page7">7</a> +composition belongs to the literature of persuasion. The +five forms of discourse are most easily distinguished by +discovering the purpose of the author.</p> + +<p>One addition should be made. Few novels are written +in which there is nothing more than a story. Nearly +all contain some teaching; and it is a safe conclusion +that the authors have taught “on purpose.” In “Baa, +Baa, Black Sheep,” Kipling has shown the imperative +necessity of a “real, live, lovely mamma;” in “The +Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” Irving has placed before us +a charming picture of rural life in a dreamy Dutch +village on the Hudson; and in his “Christmas Carol,” +Dickens shows plainly that happiness is not bought +and sold even in London, and that the only happy man +is he who shares with another’s need. Yet all of these, +and the hundreds of their kind, whatever the purpose +of the authors when writing them, belong to the +“story” or “novel” class. The purpose <i>in telling</i> +the story is secondary to the purpose <i>to tell</i> a story. +They are to be classified as narration.</p> + +<p>English composition, then, is a study of the selection +and arrangement of ideas, and of the methods of using +the English language to communicate them. All composition +is divided into five great classes. These classes +have broad lines of distinction, which are most easily +applied by determining the purpose of the author.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="page8" id="page8">8</a></div> + +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> + +<p class="ctr"><b>CHOICE OF SUBJECT</b></p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Form and Material.</span> +From the considerations in the preceding chapter +may be derived several principles regarding +the choice of subject. If the composition is to +be narrative, it should be upon a subject that +readily lends itself to narrative form. One can tell a +story about “A Day’s Hunt” or “What We did Hallowe’en;” +but it would try one’s powers of imagination +to write a story of “A Tree” or “A Chair.” The latter +subjects do not lend themselves to narration, but they +may be described. Josiah P. Cooke has written a brilliant +exposition of “Fire” in “The New Chemistry;” +yet a young person would be foolish to take “Fire” as +a subject for exposition, though he might easily write a +good description of “How the Fire looked from My +Window,” or narrate “How a Fireman rescued My +Sister.” So in all work in composition, <i>select a subject +that readily lends itself to the form of discourse +demanded; or, conversely, select the form of discourse +suitable for presenting most effectively your +material.</i></p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Author’s Individuality.</span> +If an author is writing for other purposes than for +conscious practice, he should choose the form +of discourse in which he can best work, and +to which he can best shape his material. Some +men tell stories well; others are debaters; while yet +others are wonderfully gifted with eloquence. Emerson +<a class="pgnm" name="page9" id="page9">9</a> +understood life thoroughly. He knew man’s feelings, +his motives, his hopes, his strength, his weakness; yet +one cannot imagine Emerson shaping this material into +a novel. But just a little way down the road lived a +wizard who could transmute the commonest events of +this workaday world to the most beautiful shapes; no +one wishes that Hawthorne had written essays. The +second principle guiding in the choice of a subject is +this: <i>Select a subject which is suited to your peculiar +ability as an author.</i></p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Knowledge of Subject.</span> +The form, then, should suit the matter; and it should +be the form in which the author can work. +There is a third principle that should guide +in the choice of a subject. <i>It should be a +subject of which the author knows something.</i> Pupils +often exclaim, “What can I write about!” as if they +were expected to find something new to write. An +exercise in composition has not for its object the proclaiming +of any new and unheard-of thing; it is an +exercise in the expression of things already known. +Even when the subject is known, the treatment offers +difficulties enough. It is not true that what is thoroughly +understood is easily explained. Many excellent +scholars have written very poor text-books because +they had not learned the art of expression. A necessary +antecedent of all good composition is a full and +accurate knowledge of the subject; and even when one +knows all about it, the clear expression of the thought +will be difficult enough.</p> + +<p>To demand accurate knowledge of the subject before +an author begins work upon it narrows the field from +which themes may be drawn. Burroughs is an authority +on all the tenants of our groves; “Wake-Robin,” +“Pepacton,” and his other books all show a master’s +certain hand. So Stedman is an authority in matters +<a class="pgnm" name="page10" id="page10">10</a> +relating to literature. But Burroughs and Stedman +alike would find difficulty in writing an essay on “Electricity +in the Treatment of Nervous Diseases.” They +do not know about it. A boy in school probably +knows something of fishing; of this he can write. A +girl can tell of “The Last Parlor Concert.” Both could +write very entertainingly of their “First Algebra Recitation;” +neither could write a convincing essay on “The +Advantages of Free Trade.”</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Common Subjects.</span> +This will seem to limit the list of subjects to the +commonplace. The fact is that in a composition +exercise the purpose is not to startle +the world with some new thing; it is to learn the art +of expression. And here in the region of common +things, things thoroughly understood, every bit of +effort can be given to the manner of expression. The +truth is, it does not require much art to make a book +containing new and interesting material popular; the +matter in the book carries it in spite of poor composition. +Popular it may be, but popularity is not immortality. +Columns of poorly written articles upon +“Dewey” and “The Philippines” have been eagerly +read by thousands of Americans; it would require a +literary artist of great power to write a one-column +article on “Pigs” so that it would be eagerly read by +thousands. Real art in composition is much more +manifest when an author takes a common subject and +treats it in such a way that it glows with new life. +Richard Le Gallienne has written about a drove of pigs +so beautifully that one forgets all the traditions about +these common animals.<a class="ftnt" id="footref_2" name="footref_2" href="#footnote_2">2</a> Choose common subjects, then,—subjects +that allow every particle of your strength to +go into the manner of saying what you already know.</p> + +<p>The requirement that the subject shall be common +<a class="pgnm" name="page11" id="page11">11</a> +does not mean that the subject shall be trivial. “Sliding +to First,” “How Billy won the Game,” with all +of this class of subjects, at once put the writer into a +trifling, careless attitude toward his work. The subjects +themselves seem to call forth a cheap, slangy vocabulary +and the vulgar phrases of sporting life. An equally +common subject could be selected which would call +forth serious, earnest effort. If a boy knew nothing +except about ball games, it would be advisable for him +to write upon this subject. Such a condition is hardly +possible in a high school. <i>Choose common subjects, +but subjects that call for earnest thinking and dignified +expression.</i></p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Interest.</span> +Interest is another consideration in the choice of a +subject. It applies equally to writer and +reader. <i>Choose subjects that are interesting.</i> +Not only must an author know about the subject; +he must be interested in it. A pupil may have accurate +knowledge of the uses of a semicolon; but he +would not be likely to succeed in a paragraph about +semicolons, largely because he is not much interested +in semicolons. This matter of interest is so important +that it is well to know what things all persons, authors +and readers alike, are interested in. What, then, is +generally interesting?</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">The Familiar.</span> +First, <i>the familiar is interesting.</i> When reading a +newspaper each one instinctively turns to the +local column, or glances down the general +news columns to see if there is anything from his home +town. To a former resident, Jim Benson’s fence in +Annandale is more interesting than the bronze doors of +the Congressional Library in Washington. For the +same reason a physician lights upon “a new cure for +consumption,” a lawyer devours Supreme Court decisions, +while the dealer in silks is absorbed in the process +<a class="pgnm" name="page12" id="page12">12</a> +of making silk without the aid of the silkworm. +Each is interested in that which to him is most familiar.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Human Life.</span> +Second, <i>human life in all its phases is interesting.</i> +The account of a fire or of a railroad accident +takes on a new interest when, in addition to +the loss of property, there has been a loss of life. +War is horribly fascinating, not so much because there +is a wanton destruction of property, as because it involves +the slaughter of men. Stories about trees and +animals are usually failures, unless handled by artists +who breathe into them the life of man. Andersen’s +“Tannenbaum” and Kipling’s “Jungle Books” are +intensely interesting because in them trees and animals +feel and act just as men do.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">The Strange.</span> +Third, <i>the romantic, the unique, and the impossible +are interesting.</i> A new discovery, a new invention, +a people of which little is known,—anything +new is interesting. The stories of Rider +Haggard and Jules Verne have been popular because +they deal with things which eye hath not seen. This +peculiar trait of man allows him to relish a good fish +story, or the latest news from the sea-serpent. Just +for the same reason, children love to hear of Little +Red Riding Hood and Cinderella. Children and their +parents are equally interested in those things which are +entirely outside of their own experience.</p> + +<p>These, then, are the general conditions which govern +the choice of a subject. It shall easily lend itself to +the form of discourse chosen; it shall be suited to the +peculiar ability of the author; it shall be thoroughly +understood by the author,—common, but not trivial; +it shall be interesting to both reader and author.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="page13" id="page13">13</a></div> + +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> + +<p class="ctr"><b>NARRATION</b></p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Material of Narration.</span> +Narration has been defined as the form of discourse +which recounts events in a sequence. +It includes not only letters, journals, memoirs, +biographies, and many histories, but, in addition, +that great body of literature which people generally include +in the comprehensive term of “stories.”</p> + +<p>If this body of literature be examined, it will be +found that it deals with things as opposed to ideas; +incidents as opposed to propositions. Sometimes, it is +true, the author of a story is in reality dealing with +ideas. In the fable about “The Hare and the Tortoise,” +the tortoise stands for the idea of slow, steady plodding; +while the hare is the representative of quick wits which +depend on their ability to show a brilliant burst of +speed when called upon. The fable teaches better than +an essay can that the dullness which perseveres will arrive +at success sooner than brilliancy of mind which +wastes its time in doing nothing to the purpose. Andersen’s +“Ugly Duckling,” Ruskin’s “King of the +Golden River,” and Lowell’s “Sir Launfal” stand for +deep spiritual ideas, which we understand better for +this method of presentation. In an allegory like “Pilgrim’s +Progress,” the passions and emotions, the sins +and weaknesses of men are treated as if they were real +persons. Ideas are represented by living, breathing +persons; and we may say that all such narratives deal, +not with ideas, but, for want of a better word, with +things.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">In Action.</span> +<a class="pgnm" name="page14" id="page14">14</a> +Not only does narration deal with things, but with +things doing something. Things inactive might +be written of, but this would be description. +It is necessary in narration that the things be in an +active mood; that something be doing. “John struck +James,” then, is a narrative sentence; it tells that +John has been doing something. Still, this one sentence +would not ordinarily be accepted as narration. +For narration there must be a series, a sequence of +individual actions. <i>Recounting events in a sequence +is narration.</i></p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">The Commonest Form of Discourse.</span> +Narration is the most popular form of discourse. +Between one fourth and one third of all +books published are stories; and more than +one half of the books issued by public libraries +belong to the narrative class. Such a +computation does not include the large number of +stories read in our papers and magazines. In addition +to being the most popular form of discourse, it is the +most natural. It is the first form of connected discourse +of the child; it is the form employed by the +uncultured in giving his impressions; it is the form +most used in conversation. Moreover, narration is the +first form found in great literatures: the Iliad and +the Odyssey, the songs of the troubadours in France, +and the minnesingers in Germany, the chronicles and +ballads of England,—all are narrative.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Language as a Means of Expression.</span> +Narration is especially suited to the conditions imposed +by language. Men do not think in single +words, but in groups of words,—phrases, +clauses, and sentences. In hearing, too, men +do not consider the individual words; the mind waits +until a group of words, a phrase, or a simple sentence +perhaps,—which expresses a unit of thought, has been +uttered. In narration these groups of words follow in +<a class="pgnm" name="page15" id="page15">15</a> +a sequence exactly as the actions which they represent +do. Take this rather lurid bit from Stevenson:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“He dropped his cutlass as he jumped, and when he felt +the pistol, whipped straight round and laid hold of me, roaring +out an oath; and at the same time either my courage +came again, or I grew so much afraid as came to the same +thing; for I gave a shriek and shot him in the midst of the +body.” (“Kidnapped.”)</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Each phrase or clause here is a unit of thought, and +each follows the others in the same order as the events +they tell of occurred. On the other hand, when one attempts +description, and exposition too in many cases, he +realizes the great difficulties imposed by the language +itself; for in these forms of discourse the author not +infrequently wishes to put the whole picture before the +reader at once, or to set out several propositions at the +same time, as belonging to one general truth. In order +that the reader may get the complete picture or the complete +thought, he must hold in mind often a whole paragraph +before he unites it into the one conception the +author intended. In narration one action is completed; +it can be dropped. Then another follows, which can +also be dropped. They need not be held in mind until +the paragraph is finished. Narration is exactly suited +to the means of its communication. The events which +are recorded, and the sentences which record them, both +follow in a sequence.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Without Plot.</span> +The sequence of events in narration may be a simple +sequence of time, in which case the narrative +is without plot. This is the form of +narration employed in newspapers in giving the events +of the day. It is used in journals, memoirs, biographies, +and many elementary histories. It makes little +demand upon an author further than that he shall +<a class="pgnm" name="page16" id="page16">16</a> +say clearly something that is interesting. Interesting +it must be, if the author wishes it to be read; readers +will not stay over dull material. Newspapers and +magazines look out for interesting material, and it is +for the matter in them that they are read. So memoirs +and biographies are read, not to find out what happens +at last,—that is known,—but to pick up information +concerning an interesting subject.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Plot.</span> +Or the sequence may be a more subtle and binding +relation of cause and effect. This is the +sequence employed in stories. One thing +happens because another thing has happened. Generally +the sequence of time and the sequence of cause +and effect correspond; for effects come after causes. +When, however, more than one cause is introduced, +or when some cause is at work which the author hides +until he can most advantageously produce it, or when +an effect is held back for purposes of creating interest, +the events may not be related exactly in the order in +which they occurred. When any sequence is introduced +in addition to the simple sequence of time, or +when the time sequence is disturbed for the purpose of +heightening interest, there is an arrangement of the +parts which is generally termed plot.</p> + +<p>Plot is a term difficult to define. We feel, however, +that Grant’s “Memoirs” have no plot, and we feel +just as sure that “King Lear” has a plot. So, too, +we say that “Robinson Crusoe” has little, almost no +plot; that the plot is simple in “Treasure Island,” and +that “Les Misérables” has an intricate plot. A plot +seems to demand more than a mere succession of events. +<i>Any arrangement of the parts of a narrative so that +the reader’s interest is aroused concerning the result +of the series of events detailed is a plot.</i></p> + +<p>It often occurs that a book which, as a whole, is +<a class="pgnm" name="page17" id="page17">17</a> +without a plot, contains incidents which have a plot. +In “Travels with a Donkey,” by Stevenson, no one +cares for the plot of the whole book,—in fact there +is none; yet the reader is interested in the purchase +of the “neat and high bred” Modestine up to the +“last interview with Father Adam in a billiard-room +at the witching hour of dawn, when I administered the +brandy.” This incident has a plot. The following is +a paragraph from “An Autumn Effect” by Mr. Stevenson. +The simple events are perfectly ordered, and +there is a delightful surprise at the end. This paragraph +has a plot. Yet the thirty pages of “An Autumn +Effect” could not be said to have a plot.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Bidding good-morning to my fellow-traveler, I left the +road and struck across country. It was rather a revelation +to pass from between the hedgerows and find quite a bustle +on the other side, a great coming and going of school-children +upon by-paths, and, in every second field, lusty horses +and stout country-folk a-ploughing. The way I followed took +me through many fields thus occupied, and through many +strips of plantation, and then over a little space of smooth +turf, very pleasant to the feet, set with tall fir-trees and +clamorous with rooks, making ready for the winter, and so +back again into the quiet road. I was now not far from the +end of my day’s journey. A few hundred yards farther, +and, passing through a gap in the hedge, I began to go down +hill through a pretty extensive tract of young beeches. I was +soon in shadow myself, but the afternoon sun still colored +the upmost boughs of the wood, and made a fire over my +head in the autumnal foliage. A little faint vapor lay +among the slim tree-stems in the bottom of the hollow; and +from farther up I heard from time to time an outburst of +gross laughter, as though clowns were making merry in the +bush. There was something about the atmosphere that +brought all sights and sounds home to one with a singular +purity, so that I felt as if my senses had been washed with +<a class="pgnm" name="page18" id="page18">18</a> +water. After I had crossed the little zone of mist, the path +began to remount the hill; and just as I, mounting along +with it, had got back again from the head downwards, into +the thin golden sunshine, I saw in front of me a donkey tied +to a tree. Now, I have a certain liking for donkeys, principally, +I believe, because of the delightful things that Sterne +has written of them. But this was not after the pattern of +the ass at Lyons. He was of a white color, that seemed to +fit him rather for rare festal occasions than for constant +drudgery. Besides, he was very small, and of the daintiest +proportions you can imagine in a donkey. And so, sure +enough, you had only to look at him to see he had never +worked. There was something too roguish and wanton in +his face, a look too like that of a schoolboy or a street Arab, +to have survived much cudgeling. It was plain that these +feet had kicked off sportive children oftener than they had +plodded with freight through miry lanes. He was altogether +a fine-weather, holiday sort of a donkey; and though +he was just then somewhat solemnized and rueful, he still +gave proof of the levity of his disposition by impudently +wagging his ears at me as I drew near. I say he was somewhat +solemnized just then; for with the admirable instinct +of all men and animals under restraint, he had so wound +and wound the halter about the tree that he could go neither +back nor forwards, nor so much as put his head down to +browse. There he stood, poor rogue, part puzzled, part +angry, part, I believe, amused. He had not given up hope, +and dully revolved the problem in his head, giving ever and +again another jerk at the few inches of free rope that still +remained unwound. A humorous sort of sympathy for the +creature took hold upon me. I went up, and, not without +some trouble on my part, and much distrust and resistance +on the part of Neddy, got him forced backwards until the +whole length of the halter was set loose, and he was once +more as free a donkey as I dared to make him. I was +pleased (as people are) with this friendly action to a fellow-creature +in tribulation, and glanced back over my shoulder +to see how he was profiting by his freedom. The brute was +<a class="pgnm" name="page19" id="page19">19</a> +looking after me; and no sooner did he catch my eye than +he put up his long white face into the air, pulled an impudent +mouth at me, and began to bray derisively. If ever +any one person made a grimace at another, that donkey +made a grimace at me. The hardened ingratitude of his +behavior, and the impertinence that inspired his whole face +as he curled up his lip, and showed his teeth and began to +bray, so tickled me and was so much in keeping with what +I had imagined to myself of his character, that I could not +find it in my heart to be angry, and burst into a peal of +hearty laughter. This seemed to strike the ass as a repartee, +so he brayed at me again by way of rejoinder; and we went +on for awhile, braying and laughing, until I began to grow +a-weary of it, and shouting a derisive farewell, turned to +pursue my way. In so doing—it was like going suddenly +into cold water—I found myself face to face with a prim, +little old maid. She was all in a flutter, the poor old dear! +She had concluded beyond question that this must be a lunatic +who stood laughing aloud at a white donkey in the +placid beech-woods. I was sure, by her face, that she had +already recommended her spirit most religiously to Heaven, +and prepared herself for the worst. And so, to reassure her, +I uncovered and besought her, after a very staid fashion, to +put me on my way to Great Missenden. Her voice trembled +a little, to be sure, but I think her mind was set at rest; and +she told me, very explicitly, to follow the path until I came +to the end of the wood, and then I should see the village +below me in the bottom of the valley. And, with mutual +courtesies, the little old maid and I went on our respective +ways.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Books of travel, memoirs, and biographies, as whole +books, are generally without any arrangement serious +enough to be termed a plot; yet a large part of the +interest in such books would be lost were the incidents +there collected not well told, with a conscious attempt +to set them out in the very best fashion; indeed, if +each incident did not have a plot. In “Vanity Fair” +<a class="pgnm" name="page20" id="page20">20</a> +with its six hundred pages, in “Silas Marner” with +its two hundred pages, in the short stories of our best +magazines, in the spicy little anecdotes in the “Youth’s +Companion,”—in the least bit of a good story as well +as the three-volume novel, the authors have used the +means best suited to retain the interest to the end. +They have constructed plots.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Unity, Mass, and Coherence.</span> +In the construction of any piece of composition +there are three principles of primary importance: +they are Unity, which is concerned +with the material itself; and Mass and Coherence, +which are concerned with the arrangement +of the material. A composition has unity when all +the material has been so sifted and selected that each +part contributes its share to the central thought of +the whole. Whether of a sentence, a paragraph, or a +whole composition, all those parts must be excluded +which do not bring something of value to the whole; +and everything must be included which is necessary to +give a clear understanding of the whole. Mass, the +second principle of structure, demands that those parts +of a composition, paragraph, or sentence which are +of most importance shall be so placed that they will +arrest the attention. By coherence is meant that principle +of structure which, in sentences, paragraphs, and +whole compositions, places those parts related in thought +near together, and keeps separate those parts which are +separated in thought.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Main Incident.</span> +For the construction of a story that will retain the +reader’s interest to the end, for the selection +of such material as will contribute to a central +thought, for the arrangement of this material so +that the most important matter shall occupy the most +important position in the theme, one simple rule is of +value. It is this: <i>First choose the main incident</i> +<a class="pgnm" name="page21" id="page21">21</a> +towards which all the other incidents converge, and +for the accomplishment of which the preceding incidents +are necessary. A few pages will be given to +the application of this rule, and to the results of its +application.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Its Importance.</span> +There should be in each story, however slight the +plot, some incident that is more important +than the others, and toward which all the +others converge. A reader is disappointed if, after +reading a story through, he finds that there is no worthy +ending, that all the preparation was made for no +purpose. If, in “Wee Willie Winkie,” Kipling had +stopped just before Miss Allardyce started across the +river, it would have been a poor story. It would have +had no ending. It is because a story gets somewhere +that we like it. Yet not just somewhere; it must +arrive at a place worthy of all the preparation that has +preceded. A very common fault with the compositions +of young persons is that they begin big and end +little. It is not infrequent that the first paragraph +promises well; the second is not quite so good; and +the rest gradually fall off until the end is worthless. +The order should be changed. Have the first paragraph +promise well, make the second better, and the +last best of all. The main incident should be more +important than each incident that precedes it. Get +the main incident in mind before beginning; be sure +it is the main incident; then bend all your energies +to make it the most important incident toward which +all the other incidents converge.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Unity.</span> +The choice of a main incident will determine what +incidents to exclude. The world is full of +incidents—enough to make volumes more +than we now have. A phonograph and a camera could +gather enough any day at a busy corner in a city +<a class="pgnm" name="page22" id="page22">22</a> +to fill a volume; yet these pictures and these bits of +conversation, interesting as each in itself might be, +would not be a unit,—not one story, but many. Few +persons, indeed, would write anything so disjointed as +the report made by this phonograph; yet good writers +are often led astray by the brilliancy of their own +ideas. They have so many good stories on hand which +they would like to tell, that they force some of them +into their present story, and so spoil two stories. In the +very popular “David Harum,” it would puzzle any one +to know why the author has introduced the ladies from +the city and the musical party at the lake. The episode +is good enough in itself; but in this story it has +not a shadow of excuse. There is a phrase of Kipling’s +that should ring in every story-teller’s ears. Not once +only, but a number of times, this prince of modern +story-tellers catches himself—almost too late sometimes—and +writes, “But that is another story.” One +incident calls up another; paragraph follows paragraph +naturally. It is easy enough to look back and trace the +road by which the writer arrived at his present position; +yet it would be very hard to tell why he came hither, +or to see how the journey up to this point will at all +put him toward his destination. He has digressed; +he has left the road. And he must get back to the +road. By this digression he has wasted just as much +time as it has taken to come from the direct road to +this point added to the time it will take to go back. +Do not digress; tell one story at a time; let no incident +into your story which cannot answer the question, +“Why are you here?” by “I help;” keep your eye +on the main incident; things which do not unquestionably +contribute something to the main incident should +be excluded.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Introductions and Conclusions.</span> +The choice of the main incident towards which all +<a class="pgnm" name="page23" id="page23">23</a> +other incidents converge will rid compositions of worthless +introductions and trailing conclusions. +A story should get under way at once; and +any explanations at the beginning, the introduction +of long descriptions or tedious paragraphs of +“fine writing,” will be headed off if the pupil keeps +constantly in mind that it must all lead directly toward +the main incident. Again, if everything converges to +the main incident, when that has been told the story is +finished. After that there must be no explanations, +no moralizing, nothing. When the story has been told +it is a good rule to stop.</p> + +<p>An excellent example of a short story well told is +“An Incident of the French Camp,” by Robert Browning. +Only the absolutely necessary has been introduced. +The incidents flash before the reader. Nothing +can be said after the last line. “Hervé Riel” is a +vivid piece of narrative too. Such an exhibition of +manliness appeals to all. Was it necessary to attach +the last stanza? If this poem needed it, why not the +other? If the story has no moral in it, no man can +tie it on; if there is one, the reader should be accounted +intelligent enough to find it without any help.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Tedious Enumerations.</span> +Making all the incidents converge to one main +incident will avoid tiresome enumerations of +inconsequential events, which frequently fill +the compositions of young pupils. Such +essays generally start with “a bright, clear morning,” +and “a party of four of us.” After recounting +a dozen events of no consequence whatever, “we +came home to a late supper, well repaid for our day’s +outing.” These compositions may be quite correct in +the choice of words, sentences, and paragraphs, and with +it all be flat. There is nothing to them; they get the +reader nowhere. Pick out one of the many incidents. +<a class="pgnm" name="page24" id="page24">24</a> +Work it up. Turn back to the paragraph from Stevenson +and notice how little there is to it when reduced to +bare outline. He has worked it up so that it is good. +Always remember that a short anecdote well told is +worth pages of aimless enumeration.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">What to include.</span> +The selection of the main incident will guide in +determining what to include; for every detail +must be included that is necessary to +make the main incident possible. A young pupil +wrote of a party in the woods. The girls had found +pleasant seats in a car and were chatting about their +friends, when they felt a sudden lurch, and soon one +of the party was besmeared by slippery, sticky whites +of eggs. Now, if eggs were in the habit of clinging +to the roofs of cars and breaking at unfortunate +moments, there would be no need of any explanation; +but as the cook forgot to boil the eggs and the girl +had put them up into the rack herself, some of this +should have been told. Enough at least should be told +to make the main incident a possibility. Stories are +full of surprises, but they can be understood easily +from the preceding incidents; or else the new element +is one that happens frequently, and of itself is nothing +new. In the paragraph from Stevenson, the entrance +of the “prim, little old maid” is a surprise, but it is a +very common thing for ladies to walk upon a public +highway. Any surprise must be natural,—the result +of causes at work in the story, or of circumstances +which are always occurring and by themselves no surprises. +If the story be a tangled web of incidents +culminating in some horror, as the death of the beautiful +young wife in Hawthorne’s “Birthmark,” all the +events must be told that are necessary to carry the +reader from the first time he beholds her beauty until +he sees her again, her life ebbing away as the fairy hand +<a class="pgnm" name="page25" id="page25">25</a> +fades from her cheek. In “Baa, Baa, Black Sheep” it +would be impossible to pass directly from the sweet +boy of the first chapter to the little liar of the last; +something must be told of those miserable days that +intervene, and their telling effect on the little fellow. +So a reader could not harmonize his idea of old Scrooge +gained in the first chapter with generous Mr. Scrooge +of the last without the intermediate chapters. Keeping +the main incident in mind, include all that is necessary +to make it possible.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Consistency.</span> +This same rule more than any other will make a +story consistent. If incidents are chosen with +relation to the one main incident, they will all +have a common quality; they can scarcely be inconsistent. +It is much more essential that a story be consistent +than that it be a fact. Indeed, facts are not +necessary in stories, and they are dangerous. Ian +Maclaren says that the only part of his stories that has +been severely criticised is a drowning episode, which +was a fact, and the only one he ever used. Yet to +those who have read “The Bonnie Brier Bush,” the +old doctor is as well known as any person who lives +across the street; he is real to us, though he never +lived. “Old Scrooge” and “Brom Bones” are better +known than John Adams is. A good character or +a good story need not be drawn from facts. Indeed, +in literature as in actual life, facts are stubborn things, +and will not accommodate themselves to new surroundings. +Make the story consistent; be not too careful +about the facts.</p> + +<p>A story may be good and be entirely contrary to +all known facts. “The Ugly Duckling” is as true as +Fiske’s “History of the United States,” and every +whit as consistent. “Alice in Wonderland” is an excellent +story; yet it contains no facts. The introduction +<a class="pgnm" name="page26" id="page26">26</a> +of a single fact would ruin the story; for between the +realm of fact and the region of fancy is a great gulf +fixed, and no man has successfully crossed it. Whatever +conditions of life and action are assumed in one +part of a story must be continued throughout. If walruses +talk and hens are reasonable in one part of the +story, to reduce them to every-day animals would be +ruinous. Consistency, that the parts stand together, +that the story seem probable,—this is more essential +than facts. And to gain this consistency the surest +rule is to test the material by its relation to the main +incident.</p> + +<p>The choice of the main incident, then, will determine +to a great degree what to exclude and what to include; +it will assist in ridding compositions of countless enumerations, +aimless wanderings, and flat endings; it will +help the writer to get started, and insure a stop when +the story is told; and it will give to the story the quality +most essential for its success, consistency.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">An Actor as the Storyteller.</span> +There is yet another condition that enters into the +selection of materials: it makes a difference +who tells the story. If the story be told in +the first person, that is, if one of the actors +tell the story, he cannot be supposed to know all that +the other persons do when out of sight and hearing, +nor can he know what they think. To take an illustration +from a pupil’s essay. A girl took her baby +sister out upon the lake in a rowboat. A violent +storm arose, lashing the lake into a fury. The oars +were wrenched from her hands. Helpless on the water, +how was she to be saved? Here the essayist recited +an infinite amount of detail about the distress at home, +giving the conversation and the actions. These things +she could not have known in the character she had +assumed at the beginning, that of the chief actor. All +<a class="pgnm" name="page27" id="page27">27</a> +of that should have been excluded. When Stevenson +tells of the fight in the round house, though he knew +what those old salts were doing outside, matters of +great interest to the reader, he does not let David say +anything except what he could see or hear, and a very +little of what he “learned afterwards.” Stevenson +knew well who was telling the story; David is too good +a story-teller to tell what he could not know. In the +pupil’s essay and in “Kidnapped,” all such matters +would have a direct bearing on the main incident; they +could be included without destroying the unity of the +story. But they cannot be included when the story is +told by one of the actors.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">The Omniscience of an Author.</span> +Many stories, probably most stories, are told in the +third person. In this case the author assumes +the position of an omniscient power who +knows everything that is done, said, or +thought by the characters in his story. Not only what +happens in the next room, but what is thought at the +other side of the world, is comprehended in his omniscience. +This is the position assumed by Irving in +“The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” by Kipling in the +series of stories included with “Wee Willie Winkie,” +by Scott in “Marmion,” and by most great novelists. +Omniscience is, however, a dangerous prerogative +for a young person. The power is so great +that the person who has but recently come into possession +of it becomes dizzy with it and uncertain in his +movements. A young person knows what he would do +under certain conditions; but to be able to know what +some other person would do and think under a certain +set of circumstances requires a sure knowledge of character, +and the capability of assuming entirely different +and unaccustomed points of view. It is much safer +for the beginner to take the point of view of one of the +<a class="pgnm" name="page28" id="page28">28</a> +actors, and tell the story in the first person. Then +when the grasp has become sure from this standpoint, +he may assume the more difficult role of the omniscient +third person.</p> + +<p>To sum up what has been said about the selection of +materials: only those materials should be admitted to +a story which contribute to its main incident, which +are consistent with one another, and which could have +been known by the narrator.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">The Climax.</span> +When the materials for a story have been selected, +the next consideration is their arrangement. +If the materials have been selected to contribute +to the main incident and converge toward it, +it will follow that <i>the main incident</i> will come last +in the story; it <i>will be the climax</i> towards which +the several parts of the story are directed. Moreover, +it should be last, in order to retain the interest +of the reader up to that time. This is in accordance +with the demands of the second great principle +of structure, Mass. An essay is well massed if the +parts are so arranged that things of importance will +arrest the attention. In literature to be read, to arrest +the attention is almost equivalent to catching the +eye. The positions that catch the eye, whether in sentence, +paragraph, or essay, are the beginning and the +end. Were it not for another element which enters +into the calculation, these positions would be of nearly +equal importance. Since, however, the mind retains +the most vivid impression of the thing it received +last, the impression of the end of the sentence, paragraph, +or essay is stronger than the impression made +by its beginning. The climax of a story should come +at the end, both because it is the result of preceding +incidents, and because by this position it receives the +additional emphasis due to its position.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Who? Where? When? Why?</span> +<a class="pgnm" name="page29" id="page29">29</a> +The beginning is the position of second importance. +What, then, shall stand in this place? A story resembles +a puzzle. The solution of the puzzle is given at +the end; the thing of next importance is the conditions +of the puzzle. In “Baa, Baa, Black Sheep” the story +culminates in the surprise of a devoted mother +when she discovers that her boy is a +secretive little liar, who now deserves to be +called “Black Sheep.” This is the end; what was the +beginning,—the conditions necessary to bring about +this deplorable result? First, they were <i>the persons;</i> +second, <i>the place;</i> third, <i>the time.</i> In many stories +there is introduced the reason for telling the story. +These conditions, answering the questions Who? +Where? When? and Why? are all, or some of them, +introduced at the beginning of any narrative, and as +soon as it can be done, they ought all to be given. In +a short essay, they are in the first paragraph; in a +novel, in the first chapters. In “Marmion” the time, +the place, and the principal character are introduced +into the first canto. So Irving begins “The Legend +of Sleepy Hollow” with the place and time, then follow +the characters. In all stories the beginning is +occupied in giving the conditions of the story; that is, +the principal characters, the time, and the place.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">In what Order?</span> +Having the end and the beginning clearly in mind, +the next question is how best to get from one +to the other. Shall the incidents be arranged +in order of time? or shall other considerations govern? +If it be any narrative of the journal form, whether a +diary or a biography, the chronological arrangement +will direct the sequence of events. Again, if it be a +simple story with a single series of events, the time +order will prevail. If, however, it be a narrative which +contains several series of events, as a history or a novel, +<a class="pgnm" name="page30" id="page30">30</a> +it may be wise, even necessary, to deviate from the +time sequence. It would have been unwise for Scott +to hold strictly to the order of time in “Marmion;” +after introducing the principal character, giving the +time and the setting, it was necessary for him to bring +in another element of the plot, Constance, and to go +backward in time to pick up this thread of the story. +The really essential order in any narrative is the order +of cause and effect. As causes precede effects, the +causal order and the time order generally coincide. In +a single series of events, that is, where one cause alone +produces an effect, which in turn becomes the cause of +another effect, the time order is the causal order. In +a novel, or a short story frequently, where there are +more than one series of incidents contributing to and +converging towards the main incident, these causes +must all be introduced before the effect, and may +break the chronological order of the story. In “Roger +Malvin’s Burial,” it would be impossible to tell what +the stricken father was doing and what the joyous +mother was thinking at the same time. Hawthorne +must leave one and go to the other until they meet in +their awful desolation. The only rule that can be +given is, introduce causes before effects. In all stories, +short or long, this will result in an approximation to +the order of time; in a simple story it will invariably +give a time sequence.</p> + +<p>There is one exception to this rule which should +be noted. It is necessary at the very beginning to +have some incident that will arrest the attention. This +does not mean that persons, place, and time shall not +come first. They shall come first, but they shall be +so introduced as to make an interesting opening to +the story. The novels of some decades ago did not +sufficiently recognize the principle. One can frequently +<a class="pgnm" name="page31" id="page31">31</a> +hear it said of Scott’s stories, “I can’t get started +with them; they are too dry.” The introductory +chapters are often uninteresting. So much history is +introduced, so much scenery is described before the +author sets out his characters; and all this is done before +he begins the story. Novelists of to-day realize +that they must interest the reader at the beginning; +when they have caught him, they are quite certain +that he will bear with them while they bring up the +other divisions of the story, which now have become interesting +because they throw light on what has already +been told. Even more than novelists, dramatists recognize +this principle. When the curtain rises on the +first act, something interesting is going on. The action +frequently begins far along in the time covered by the +story; then by cleverly arranged conversation all circumstances +before the time of the opening that are +necessary to the development of the plot are introduced. +The audience receives these minor yet essential +details with no impatience, since they explain in +part a situation already interesting. The time order +may be broken in order to introduce at the beginning +of the story some interesting situation which will immediately +engage the reader’s attention.</p> + +<p>In arranging the materials of a story, the main considerations +are Mass and Coherence. Mass demands +important matters at the beginning and at the end of +a story. Coherence demands that events closely related +shall stand close together: that an effect shall immediately +follow its cause. Beginning with some interesting +situation that will also introduce the principal +characters, the time, and the setting, the story follows +in the main the order of time, and concludes with the +main incident.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">An Outline.</span> +One practical suggestion will assist in arranging the +<a class="pgnm" name="page32" id="page32">32</a> +parts of a story. Use an outline. It will guard +against the omission of any detail that may +afterward be found necessary, and against the +necessity of offering the apology, inexcusable in prepared +work, of “forgetting to say;” it will help the +writer to see the best arrangement of the parts, to +know that causes have preceded effects. The outline +in narration should not be too much in detail, nor +should it be followed if, as the story progresses, new +light comes and the writer sees a better way to proceed. +The writer should be above the outline, not its +slave; but the outline is a most valuable servant of +the writer.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Movement.</span> +<i>Movement is an essential quality of narrative;</i> a +story must advance. This does not mean +that the story shall always go at the same +rate, though it does mean that it shall always go. If +a story always had the rapidity and intensity of a climax, +it would be intolerable. Music that is all rushing +climaxes is unbearable; a picture must not be a +glare of high lights. The quiet passages in music, the +grays and low tones in the background of the picture, +the slow chapters in a story, are as necessary as their +opposites; indeed, climaxes are dependent on contrasts +in order to be climaxes.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Rapidity.</span> +The question of movement resolves itself into these +two: how is rapidity of movement obtained, +and how can the writer delay the movement. +Rapidity is gained by the omission of all unnecessary +details, and the use of the shortest, tersest sentences to +express the absolutely essential. Dependent clauses +disappear; either the sentences are simple, just one +sharp statement, or they are made of coördinate +clauses with no connectives. Every weight that could +clog the story is thrown away, and it runs with the +<a class="pgnm" name="page33" id="page33">33</a> +swiftness of the thought. At such a time it would be +a waste of good material to introduce beautiful descriptions +or profound philosophy. Such things would be +skipped by the reader. Everything must clear the +way for the story.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Slowness.</span> +What has been said of rapidity will indicate the +answer to the second question. Slowness of +movement is obtained by introducing long +descriptions, analyses of characters, and information regarding +the history or customs of the time. Sentences +become long and involved; dependent clauses abound; +connective words and phrases are frequent. Needless +details may be introduced until the story becomes +wearisome; it has almost no movement.</p> + +<p>Very closely connected with what has been said +above is another fact concerning movement. Strip +the sentences as you may, there are still the verbs remaining. +Verbs and derivatives from verbs are the +words which denote action. If other classes of words +be taken out, the ratio of verbs to the other words in +the sentence is larger. Shorter sentences and an increased +ratio of verbs mark the passages in which the +movement is more rapid. In “Baa, Baa, Black Sheep” +the sentences average twenty-five words in the slower +parts; in the intenser paragraphs the sentences have an +average of fifteen words. Poe’s “Gold-Bug“ changes +from thirty-eight to twenty-one. Again, Stevenson’s +essays have a verb to eight words, while the fight at the +round house has a verb to about five and a half words. +One of Kipling’s stories starts in with a verb to eight +and a half words, and the climax has a verb in every four +words. These figures mean that as the sentences are +shortened, adjectives, adverbs, phrases, connectives, disappear. +Everything not absolutely necessary is thrown +away when the passage is to express rapid movement.</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page34" id="page34">34</a> +No person should think that, by eliminating all dependent +clauses, cutting away all unnecessary matters, +and putting in a verb to every four words, he can gain +intensity of expression. These are only accompanying +circumstances. Climaxes are in the thought. When +the thought moves rapidly, when things are being done +with a rush, when the climax has been reached, then +the writer will find that he can approach the movement +of the thought most nearly by using these means.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Description and Narration.</span> +<i>A valuable accessory to narration is description;</i> in +truth, description for its own sake is not frequently +found. The story must be somewhere; and it is more +real when we know in what kind of a place +it occurs. Still it is not wise to do as Scott +so often has done,—give chapters of description +at the beginning of the story. Rather the setting +should be scattered through the story so that it is +hardly perceptible. At no time should the reader halt +and realize that he is being treated to a description. +Even in the beautiful descriptions by Stevenson quoted +in the next chapter, the work is so intimately blended +with the story that the reader unfortunately might pass +over it. A large part of the pleasure derived from the +best stories is supplied by good descriptions, giving a +vivid picture of the setting of the story.</p> + +<p>Description has another use in narration beside giving +the setting of the story; it is often used to accent +the mood of the action. In “The Fall of the House of +Usher” by Poe, much of the gloomy foreboding is caused +by the weird descriptions. Hawthorne understood well +the harmony between man’s feelings and his surroundings. +The Sylvan Dance in “The Marble Faun” is wonderfully +handled. Irving, in “The Legend of Sleepy +Hollow,” throws about the story a “witching influence,” +and long before the Headless Horseman appears, +<a class="pgnm" name="page35" id="page35">35</a> +the reader is quite sure that the region abounds in +“ghosts and goblins,” dwelling in its “haunted fields, +and haunted brooks, and haunted bridges, and haunted +houses.” The danger in the use of description for this +purpose is in overdoing it. The fact is, as Arlo Bates +says, “the villains no longer steal through smiling +gardens whose snowy lilies, all abloom, and sending +up perfume like incense from censers of silver, seem to +rebuke the wicked.” Yet when handled as Stevenson +and Irving handled it, description assists in accenting +the mood of the action.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Characters few, Time short.</span> +<i>The number of characters should be few</i> and the +time of the action short. Pupils are not able +to handle a large number of persons. There +is, however, a stronger reason for it than incapacity. +A young person would have great trouble +in remembering the large number of persons introduced +into “Little Dorrit.” Many of them would +always remain entire strangers. Such a scattering of +attention is unfavorable to a story. To focus the interest +upon a few, to have the action centred in these +few, increases the movement and intensity of the narrative. +The writers of short stories in France (perhaps +the best story-tellers of the present), Kipling, Davis, +Miss Wilkins, and some others of our best authors, +find few characters all that are necessary, and they +gain in intensity by limiting the number of characters.</p> + +<p>For the same reason <i>the time should be short.</i> If +all the incidents chosen are crowded into a short period +of time, the action must be more rapid. The reader +does not like to know five years have elapsed between +one event and the next, even if the story-teller does +not try to fill up the interim with matters of no consequence +to the narrative. One exception must be +made to this rule. In stories whose purpose is to portray +<a class="pgnm" name="page36" id="page36">36</a> +a change of character, a long time is necessary; +for the transformation is not usually the result of +a day’s experience, but a gradual process of years. +“Silas Marner” and “Baa, Baa, Black Sheep” demand +time to make naturally the great changes recounted. +In general, however, the time should be short.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Simple Plot.</span> +Moreover, <i>the plot should be simple.</i> This is not +saying that the plot should be evident. No one is +quite satisfied if he knows just how the story will turn +out. There are, however, so many conditions in a story +that the accentuation of one or the subordination +of another may bring about something +quite unexpected, yet perfectly natural. Complicated +plots have had their day; simple plots are now in +vogue. They are as natural as life, and quite as unfathomable. +In Davis’s “Gallegher” there is nothing +complicated; one thing follows another in a perfectly +natural way; yet there are many questions in the +reader’s mind as to how the little rascal will turn out, +and whether he will accomplish his mission. Much +more cleverness is shown by the sleight-of-hand trickster, +who, unassisted and in the open, with no accessories, +dupes his staring assembly, than by him who, on the +stage, with the aid of mirrors, lights, machines, and a +crowd of assistants, manages to deceive your eyes. A +story that by its frank simplicity takes the reader into +its confidence, and brings him to a conclusion that is +so natural that it should have been foreseen from the +beginning, has a good plot. The conclusion of a story +must be natural,—the result of the causes at work in +the story. It must be an expected surprise. If it +cannot be accounted for by the causes at work in +the story, the construction is faulty. In the world of +fiction there is not the liberty one experiences in +the world of fact. There things unexpected and unexplainable +<a class="pgnm" name="page37" id="page37">37</a> +occur. But the story-teller has no such +privilege. Truth is stranger than fiction dare be. A +simple, natural story, with few characters and covering +but a short period of time, has three elements of success.</p> + +<p>Paragraph structure, sentence structure, and choice +of words are taken up in subsequent chapters. Of +paragraphs it may be wise to say that there will be as +many as there are divisions in the outline; and sometimes, +by reason of the length of topic, a subdivision +may be necessary. The paragraph most common in +narration is the paragraph of details, the first form +presented in the chapter on paragraphs. What needs +to be said of sentences has already been said when +treating of movement. Of words one thing may be +suggested. Choose live words, specific words, words +that have “go” in them.</p> + +<p>It should be remembered that everything cannot be +learned at once. The study of the whole is the principal +occupation just now. Select the main incident; +choose other incidents to be consistent with it; start +out at once giving the conditions of the story; proceed +now fast, now slow, as the thought demands, arriving +at a conclusion that is an expected surprise, the result +of forces at work in the story.</p> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="page38" id="page38">38</a></div> + +<p class="ctr"><br/><b>SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS AND EXERCISES</b></p> + +<p>The questions are only suggestive. They indicate how +literature can be made to teach composition. Some questions +may seem hard, and will provoke discussion. To have +even a false opinion, backed by only a few facts, is better +than an entire absence of thought. Encourage discussion. +The answers to the questions have not been suggested in the +questions themselves. The object has been to throw the +pupil upon his own thinking.</p> + +<p>These questions upon the “Method of the Author” should +not be considered until the far more important work of +deriving the “Meaning of the Author” has been finished. +Only after the whole piece has been carefully studied can +the relation of the parts to the whole be understood. Reserve +the questions for the review.</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br /><b>QUESTIONS.</b><br /><br /> +THE GREAT STONE FACE.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 40.)</p> + +<p>In what paragraphs is the main incident?</p> + +<p>Can you find one sentence on the second page of the story +that foreshadows the result?</p> + +<p>How many incidents or episodes contribute to the story?</p> + +<p>Do these help in the development of Ernest’s character? +If not, what is the use of them?</p> + +<p>Why are they arranged in this order?</p> + +<p>Introduce into its proper place an incident of a scientist. +Write it up.</p> + +<p>Do you think one of the incidents could be omitted? +Which one?</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page39" id="page39">39</a> +Are the incidents related in the order in which they +occurred? Is one the cause of another?</p> + +<p>Has the story a plot? Why do you think so? What is +a plot?</p> + +<p>Where are introduced the time, place, and the principal +character?</p> + +<p>What is the use of the description of “the great stone +face”?</p> + +<p>Why does the author tell only what “was reported” of +the interior of Mr. Gathergold’s palace? Is it better so?</p> + +<p>Are the descriptions to accent the mood of the story? or +are they primarily to make concrete and real the persons +and places?</p> + +<p>Is there any place where the movement of the story is +rapid?</p> + +<p>Does the author begin at once, and close when the story +is told?</p> + +<p>Did you find any use of comparisons in the piece? (See +top of p. 6, top of p. 19, middle of p. 22.) <a class="ftnt" id="footref_3" name="footref_3" href="#footnote_3">3</a></p> + +<p>Of what value are they in composition?</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br />THE GENTLE BOY.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 145.)</p> + +<p>What is the main incident?</p> + +<p>In relation to the whole story, in what place does it +stand?</p> + +<p>Do the other incidents serve to develop the character of +“the gentle boy”? or are they introduced to open up to the +reader that character? (Compare with “Wee Willie +Winkie.”)</p> + +<p>Do you consider all the incidents necessary?</p> + +<p>Why has the author introduced the fact that Ilbrahim +gently cared for the little boy who fell from the tree?</p> + +<p>What is the use of the first two pages of the story?</p> + +<p>Where does the story really begin?</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page40" id="page40">40</a> +How could you know the time, if the first page were not +there? Is it a delicate way of telling “when”?</p> + +<p>Notice that time, place, and principal characters all are +introduced into the first paragraph of the real story.</p> + +<p>Why does the author note the change in Tobias’s circumstances? +Does it add to the interest of the story? Would +you omit it?</p> + +<p>Do you think this plot more complicated than that of +“The Great Stone Face”?</p> + +<p>What is the use of the description on p. 31?</p> + +<p>What do you note as the difference between<br /> +<span class="i1">(<i>a</i>) second line of p. 19, sixth line of p. 27, sixteenth line +of p. 29, and (<i>b</i>) fourth line of p. 25, the figure in the complete +paragraph on p. 40?</span></p> + +<p class="ctr"><br />THE GRAY CHAMPION.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 145.)</p> + +<p>Note the successive stages by which the time is approached. +(Compare with the beginning of “Silas Marner.”)</p> + +<p>Can you feel any difference between the movement of this +story and the movement in “The Gentle Boy”?</p> + +<p>Is there any difference in the length of the sentences? +(Remember that the independent clauses of a compound sentence +are very nearly the same as simple sentences.)</p> + +<p>Is there any difference in the proportion of verbs and +verbals? What parts of speech have almost disappeared?</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br />ROGER MALVIN’S BURIAL.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 145.)</p> + +<p>Why is the first paragraph needed?</p> + +<p>Why could the incident in the first paragraph on p. 50 not +be omitted? Do you find it later?</p> + +<p>How many chapters could you divide the story into? +What is the basis of division?</p> + +<p>Why did not Hawthorne tell the result of the shot at +once?</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page41" id="page41">41</a> +A plot is usually made by introducing more than one +cause, by hiding one of the causes, or by holding back an +effect. Which in this story?</p> + +<p>Is there a change of movement between the beginning +and the end of the story? Look at the last two pages carefully. +How has the author expressed the intensity of the +situation?</p> + +<p>Does the story end when it is finished?</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br />THE WEDDING KNELL.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 145.)</p> + +<p>Of the three common ways of giving uncertainty to a +plot, which has been used?</p> + +<p>Do you call this plot more complicated than those of the +other tales studied?</p> + +<p>Why does the author say, at the top of p. 72, “necessary +preface”? Could it not be omitted? If not, what principle +of narrative construction would be violated by its omission?</p> + +<p>Why has he introduced the last paragraph on p. 74 reaching +over to p. 75?</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br />THE AMBITIOUS GUEST.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 40.)</p> + +<p>In what order are the elements of the story introduced?</p> + +<p>Pick out phrases which prepare you for the catastrophe.</p> + +<p>Can you detect any difference in the movement of the +different parts of the story? What aids its expression?</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br />THE GOLD-BUG.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 120.)</p> + +<p>Would you have been satisfied if the story had stopped +when the treasure was discovered? What more do you want +to know?</p> + +<p>What, then, is the main incident? Was the main incident +the last to occur in order of time? Why did Poe delay telling +it until the end?</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page42" id="page42">42</a> +Do you see how relating the story in the first person +helped him to throw the main incident last? Why could he +not tell it before?</p> + +<p>Does Poe tell any other stories in the first person?</p> + +<p>In what person are “Treasure Island” and “Kidnapped” +told? Are they interesting?</p> + +<p>If a friend is telling you a story, do you care more for it +if it is about a third party or about himself? Why?</p> + +<p>What, then, is the advantage of making an actor the narrator? +What are some of the disadvantages?</p> + +<p>Do you think this plot as good as those of Hawthorne’s +stories?</p> + +<p>Why was it necessary to have “a day of remarkable chilliness” +(p. 3), and a Newfoundland dog rushing into the +room (p. 6)?</p> + +<p>What principle would it violate to omit these little matters? +(Text-book, p. <a href="#page24">24</a>.)</p> + +<p>What of the rapidity of movement when they are digging? +How has rapidity been gained?</p> + +<p>What form of wit does Poe attempt? Does he succeed?</p> + +<p>Do you think the conversation is natural? If not, what +is the matter with it?</p> + +<p>Are negroes usually profane? Does Jupiter’s general +character lead you to expect profanity from him? Is anything +gained by his oaths? Is anything sacrificed? In this +story is profanity artistic? (To know what is meant by +“artistic,” read the last line of “L’Envoi” on p. <a href="#page253">253</a> of the +text-book.)</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br />THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 30.)</p> + +<p>What is the purpose of the first stanza?</p> + +<p>What connection in thought is there between the second, +third, and fourth stanzas? What have these stanzas to do +with the story? If they have nothing to do with it, what +principle of structure do they violate? Would Lowell be +likely to do this?</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page43" id="page43">43</a> +What is the use of the description beginning “And what +is so rare as a day in June”?</p> + +<p>Would the story be complete without the preludes? +Would the teaching be understood without them?</p> + +<p>Are time and place definitely stated in the poem? Why +should they be, or not be?</p> + +<p>Why does so much time elapse between Part I. and Part +II. of the story?</p> + +<p>In what lines do you find the main incident?</p> + +<p>In the first prelude is Lowell describing a landscape of +New England or Old England? Where is the story laid? +What comment have you to make upon these facts?</p> + +<p>Pick out the figures. Are they useful?</p> + +<p>Can you find passages of exposition and description in +this narrative? Why do you call it narration?</p> + +<p>What is Lowell’s criticism upon himself? (See “Fable +for Critics.”)</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br />A CHRISTMAS CAROL.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 57.)</p> + +<p>Is the opening such as to catch the attention?</p> + +<p>What is the essential idea in the description of Scrooge? +Do all details enforce this idea? Do you know Scrooge?</p> + +<p>In what paragraph does Dickens tell where the story +occurs?</p> + +<p>Find places on p. 19 and p. 96 where Dickens has used +“in” or “into.”</p> + +<p>What advantage to the story is the appearance in Scrooge’s +office of his nephew and the two gentlemen? Do they come +into the story again?</p> + +<p>Are the details in the description of the apparition on +p. 41 in the order in which they would be noted? Which +is the most important detail? Where is it in the description?</p> + +<p>Is the description of Mrs. Fezziwig on p. 52 successful?</p> + +<p>What helps express rapidity of movement in the paragraph +at the bottom of p. 53? (See also paragraph on +p. 85.)</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page44" id="page44">44</a> +Examining the words used by Dickens and Hawthorne, +which are longer? Which are most effectual? Are you +sure? Rewrite one of Hawthorne’s paragraphs with a +Dickens vocabulary. What is the result?</p> + +<p>What word is the topic of the last paragraph on p. 73?</p> + +<p>Recast the first sentence of the last paragraph on p. 77.</p> + +<p>Does Dickens use slang? (Do not consider conversation +in the answer to this question.)</p> + +<p>What is the main incident? Is there one of the minor +incidents that could be omitted?</p> + +<p>Which one could you most easily spare?</p> + +<p>What is the need of the last chapter?</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br />MARMION.<br /> +(Rolfe’s Student’s Series, Vol. 2.)</p> + +<p>How do you know the time of “Marmion”?</p> + +<p>Do you see any reason why stanza vi. of Canto I. would +better precede stanza v.?</p> + +<p>Where is the first mention of De Wilton? the first intimation +of Clara de Clare? of Constance?</p> + +<p>What form of discourse in stanza vii. of Canto II.?</p> + +<p>What part in the development of the narrative does Fitz-Eustace’s +song make?</p> + +<p>Does the tale related by the host break the unity of the +whole? Is it “another story”? What value has it?</p> + +<p>Why does Scott not tell of Marmion’s encounter with the +Elfin Knight in Canto III.? Where is it told? Why there?</p> + +<p>Why is Canto II. put after Canto I.? Did the events +related in II. occur after those related in I.?</p> + +<p>How many of the descriptions of persons in “Marmion” +begin with the face? How many times are they of the face +only?</p> + +<p>Try to write the incident related in stanzas xix., xx., xxi., +and xxii. of Canto III. in fewer words than Scott has done +it without sacrificing any detail.</p> + +<p>Are you satisfied with the description of King James in +stanza viii. Canto V.? Do you see him?</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page45" id="page45">45</a> +Write an outline of the plot of “Marmion” in two hundred +words.</p> + +<p>Why is the story of Lady Clare reserved until Canto V.?</p> + +<p>What cantos contain the main incident?</p> + +<p>Were all that precedes omitted, would “The Battle” be +as interesting?</p> + +<p>Do you think the plot good? Is it complicated?</p> + +<p>What of the number of figures used in the last canto +compared with those used in any other canto? Do you find +more in narrative or descriptive passages? Why?</p> + +<p>Read stanza viii. Canto III. Can you describe a voice +without using comparison?</p> + +<p>Do the introductions to the several cantos form any part +of the story? Would they be just as good anywhere else? +Would the story be better with them, or without them? +What principle of structure do they violate?</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br /><b>EXERCISES.</b></p> + +<p>The subjects for composition given below are not intended +as a course to be followed, but only to suggest a plan for the +work. The individual topics for essays may not be the best +for all cases. Long lists of topics can be found in rhetorics. +Bare subjects, however, are usually unsuggestive. They +should be adapted to the class. Put the subjects in such +shape that there is something to get hold of. Give the +pupils a fair start.</p> + +<ol> +<li> through 4. In order to place before the pupils good models for +constructing stories, read one like “A Piece of String” in +“An Odd Number,” by Maupassant. Stories for this purpose +should not be long. Talk the story over with the pupils, +bringing out clearly the main incident and the several episodes +which contribute to it. Have them notice how characters, +time, and place are introduced; and how each succeeding +event is possible and natural. Then have it rewritten. +This will fix the idea of plan. For this purpose some of +Miss Wilkins’s stories are excellent; Kenneth Grahame’s +<a class="pgnm" name="page46" id="page46">46</a> +“The Golden Age,” and Miss Jewett’s short stories are good +material. Some of the short stories in current magazines +serve well.</li> + +<li value="5"> and 6. Read the first of a story and its close,—enough to +indicate the main incident and the setting of the story. +Have the pupils write it complete.</li> + +<li value="7">Read the close of a story. The pupils will then write +the whole.</li> + +<li>Read the opening of a story. Have the pupils complete +it.</li> + +<li>Finish “The Circus-Man’s Story” (Text-book, p. <a href="#page297">297</a>.)</li> + +<li>My First Algebra Lesson. Remember that in composition +a good story is worth more than a true one. The +basis may be a fact. Do not hesitate to fix it up.</li> + +<li>A delivery horse runs away. No persons are in the +wagon. Tell about it.</li> + +<li>Write about a runaway in which you and your little +sister are injured. (I have found it very helpful to use the +same subject, but having the relation of the narrator to the +incident very different. It serves to bring out a whole new +vocabulary in order to express the difference in the feelings +of the narrator.)</li> + +<li>Write the story suggested to your mind by these +words: Digging in the sand I found a board much worn +by the waves, on which were cut, in characters scarcely +traceable, these words: “Dec.——18 9, N. J.”</li> + +<li>A humorous incident in a street car, in which the +joke was on the other fellow.</li> + +<li>Another in which the joke was on me. The same +incident may be used with good effect. The choice of new +words to express the difference of feelings makes an excellent +exercise.</li> + +<li>Tell the story that Doreas related to her neighbors +about her husband’s escape and her father’s death.</li> + +<li>To bring out the fact that the language must be varied +to suit the character of the reader or listener, tell a +fairy story to a sleepy five-year old so that he will not go +<a class="pgnm" name="page47" id="page47">47</a> +to sleep. Do not hesitate at exaggerations. Only remember +it must be consistent.</li> + +<li>Have “The Gentle Boy” tell one of the incidents in +which he was cruelly treated. This may well be an incident +of your own life adapted to its purpose.</li> + +<li>and 20. Jim was a mean boy. Meanness seemed to be in +his blood. He was all mean. His hair was mean; his +freckles were mean; his big, chapped hands were mean. +And he was always mean. He was mean to his pets; he +was meaner to small boys; and he was as mean as he dared +to be to his equals in size.<br /><br /> + +Write one incident to show Jim’s meanness.<br /><br /> + +Write another to show how Jim met his match, and +learned a lesson.</li> + +<li value="21">Work up the following into a story. It all occurs +in one day at the present time. Place, your own city. +Characters, a poor sewing girl, her little sick brother, and +a wealthy society lady. Incidents: a conversation between +brother and sister about some fruit; a conversation between +the sewing girl and the lady about money due for sewing; +stealing apples; arrest; appearance of the lady. Title: +Who was the Criminal?</li> + +<li>A story of a modern Sir Launfal.</li> + +<li>The most thrilling moment of my life.</li> + +<li>Tell the whole story suggested by the stanza of +“A Nightingale in the Study,” by Lowell, which begins, +“Cloaked shapes, a twanging of guitars.”</li> + +<li>Write a story which teaches a lesson. Remember +that the lesson is in the story, not at its end.</li> +</ol> + +<p>In the work at this time but little attention can be given +to the teaching of paragraphs and sentences. The pupil +should learn what a paragraph is, and should have his composition +properly divided into paragraphs. But the form +and massing of paragraphs cannot be taken up at this time. +The same may be said of sentences. He should have no +sentences broken in two by periods; nor should he have two +sentences forced into one. Grammatical errors should be +<a class="pgnm" name="page48" id="page48">48</a> +severely criticised. However, the present work is to get the +pupils started; and they cannot get started if there is a +teacher holding them back by discouraging criticisms. Mark +all mistakes of whatever kind; but put the stress upon the +whole composition: its unity, its coherence, its mass, and +its movement. Everything cannot be done at once; many +distressing faults will have to be passed over until later.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="page49" id="page49">49</a></div> + +<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> + +<p class="ctr"><b>DESCRIPTION</b></p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Difficulties of Language for making Pictures.</span> +Description has been defined as the form of literature +which presents a picture by means of +language. In the preceding chapter, it has +been pointed out that the sequence of language +is perfectly adapted to detail the sequence +of action in a narrative. For the purpose of +constructing a picture, the means has serious drawbacks. +The picture has to be presented in pieces; +and the difficulties are much as would be experienced +if “dissected maps and animals” used for children’s +amusement were to be put together in the head. It +would not be easy to arrange the map of the United +States from blocks, each containing a small part of it, +taken one at a time from a box. Yet this closely +resembles the method language forces us to adopt in +constructing a picture. Each phrase is like one of the +blocks, and introduces a new element into the picture; +from these phrases the reader must reconstruct the +whole. This means not alone that he shall remember +them all, but there is a more serious trouble: he must +often rearrange them. For example, a description by +Ruskin begins, “Nine years old.” Either a boy or a +girl, the reader thinks, as it may be in his own home. +In the case of this reader it is a boy, rather tall of +his age, with brown hair and dark eyes. But the next +phrase reads, “Neither tall nor short for her age.” +Now the reader knows it is a girl of common stature. +<a class="pgnm" name="page50" id="page50">50</a> +Later on he learns that her eyes are “deep blue;” her +lips “perfectly lovely in profile;” and so on through +the details of the whole sketch. Many times in the +course of the description the reader makes up a new +picture; he is continually reconstructing. Any one +who will observe his own mind while reading a new +description can prove that the picture is arranged and +rearranged many times. This is due to the means by +which it is presented. Language presents only a phrase +at a time,—a fragment, not a whole,—and so fails +in the instantaneous presentation of a complete picture.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Painting and Sculpture.</span> +The painter or sculptor who upon canvas or in +stone flashes the whole composition before us +at the same instant of time, has great advantages +over the worker in words. In these +methods there is needed no reconstruction of previous +images, no piecing together of a number of fragments. +Without any danger of mistakes which will have to +be corrected later, the spectator can take in the whole +picture at once,—every relation, every color, every +difference in values.</p> + +<p>It is because pictures are the surest and quickest +means of representing objects to the mind that books, +especially text-books, and magazines are so profusely +illustrated. No magazine can claim popularity to-day +that does not use illustrations where possible; no text-book +in science or history sells unless it contains pictures. +And this is because all persons accurately and +quickly get the idea from a picture.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Advantages of Language.</span> +Whatever be the disadvantages of language, there +are some advantages. Who could paint this +from Hawthorne?</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Soon the smoke ascended among the trees, impregnated +with <i>savory incense,</i> not <i>heavy, dull,</i> and <i>surfeiting,</i> like +<a class="pgnm" name="page51" id="page51">51</a> +the steam of cookery indoors, but <i>sprightly</i> and <i>piquant.</i> +The <i>smell</i> of our feast was akin to the woodland odors with +which it mingled.” (“Mosses from an Old Manse.”)</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Or this from Lowell?—</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p>“Under the yaller-pines I house,</p> +<p>When sunshine makes ’em all <i>sweet-scented,</i></p> +<p>An’ <i>hear</i> among their furry boughs</p> +<p>The <i>baskin’</i> west wind <i>purr contented,</i></p> +<p>While ’way o’erhead, ez <i>sweet</i> an’ <i>low</i></p> +<p><i>Ez distant bells thet ring for meetin’,</i></p> +<p>The wedged wil’ geese <i>their bugles blow,</i></p> +<p>Further an’ further South retreatin’.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_4" name="footref_4" href="#footnote_4">4</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Or cut this from marble?—</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p>“O mother Ida, many-fountained Ida,</p> +<p>Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.</p> +<p>For now the noonday quiet holds the hill;</p> +<p>The grasshopper is silent in the grass;</p> +<p>The lizard, with his shadow on the stone,</p> +<p>Rests like a shadow, and the winds are dead.</p> +<p>The purple flower droops; the golden bee</p> +<p>Is lily-cradled; I alone awake.</p> +<p>My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love,</p> +<p>My heart is breaking, and my eyes are dim,</p> +<p>And I am all aweary of my life.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_5" name="footref_5" href="#footnote_5">5</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The painter cannot put sounds upon a canvas, nor +can the sculptor carve from marble an odor or a taste. +We use the other senses in determining qualities of +objects; and words which describe effects produced by +other senses beside sight are valuable in description. +As Lowell says, “we may shut our eyes, but we cannot +help knowing” a large number of beautiful things. +Moreover, language suggests hidden ideas that the +representative arts cannot so well do. The following +<a class="pgnm" name="page52" id="page52">52</a> +from a “Song” by Lowell has in it suggestions which +the picture could not present.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i1">“Violet! sweet violet!</p> +<p class="i1">Thine eyes are full of tears;</p> +<p class="i3">Are they wet</p> +<p class="i3">Even yet</p> +<p>With the thought of other years?</p> +<p>Or with gladness are they full,</p> +<p>For the night so beautiful,</p> +<p>And longing for those far-off spheres?</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i1">“Thy little heart, that hath with love</p> +<p class="i1">Grown colored like the sky above,</p> +<p class="i1">On which thou lookest ever,—</p> +<p class="i3">Can it know</p> +<p class="i3">All the woe</p> +<p>Of hope for what returneth never,</p> +<p>All the sorrow and the longing</p> +<p>To these hearts of ours belonging?”</p> +</div> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Enumeration and Suggestion</span> +Description, like narration, has two large divisions: +one simply to give information or instruction; +the other to present a vivid picture. One +is <i>representative</i> or <i>enumerative;</i> the other, +<i>suggestive.</i> One may be illustrated by guide-books; +the other by the descriptions of Stevenson or Ruskin. +And in the most artistic fashion the two have been +made to supplement each other in the following picture +of “bright and beautiful Athens” by Cardinal Newman. +From the first, to the sentence beginning “But +what he would not think of,” there is simply an +enumeration of features which a commercial agent +might see; the rest is what the artistic soul of the +lover of beauty saw there. One is enumeration; the +other a gloriously suggestive picture.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“A confined triangle, perhaps fifty miles its greatest length, +<a class="pgnm" name="page53" id="page53">53</a> +and thirty its greatest breadth; two elevated rocky barriers, +meeting at an angle; three prominent mountains, commanding +the plain,—Parnes, Pentelicus, and Hymettus; an unsatisfactory +soil; some streams, not always full;—such is +about the report which the agent of a London company +would have made of Attica. He would report that the +climate was mild; the hills were limestone; there was plenty +of good marble; more pasture land than at first survey might +have been expected, sufficient, certainly, for sheep and goats; +fisheries productive; silver mines once, but long since worked +out; figs fair; oil first-rate; olives in profusion. But what +he would not think of noting down was that that olive-tree +was so choice in nature and so noble in shape that it excited +a religious veneration; and that it took so kindly to the +light soil as to expand into woods upon the open plain, and +to climb up and fringe the hills. He would not think of +writing word to his employers, how that clear air, of which +I have spoken, brought out, yet blended and subdued, the +colors on the marble, till they had a softness and harmony, +for all their richness, which in a picture looks exaggerated, +yet is after all within the truth. He would not tell how that +same delicate and brilliant atmosphere freshened up the pale +olive, till the olive forgot its monotony, and its cheek glowed +like the arbutus or beech of the Umbrian hills. He would +say nothing of the thyme and the thousand fragrant herbs +which carpeted Hymettus; he would hear nothing of the hum +of its bees; nor take account of the rare flavor of its honey, +since Gaza and Minorca were sufficient for the English +demand. He would look over the Ægean from the height +he had ascended; he would follow with his eyes the chain of +islands, which, starting from the Sunian headland, seemed +to offer the fabled divinities of Attica, when they would visit +their Ionian cousins, a sort of viaduct thereto across the +sea; but that fancy would not occur to him, nor any admiration +of the dark violet billows with their white edges down +below; nor of those graceful, fan-like jets of silver upon the +rocks, which slowly rise aloft like water spirits from the deep, +then shiver, and break, and spread, and shroud themselves, +<a class="pgnm" name="page54" id="page54">54</a> +and disappear in a soft mist of foam; nor of the gentle, incessant +heaving and panting of the whole liquid plain; nor +of the long waves, keeping steady time, like a line of soldiery +as they resound upon the hollow shore,—he would not +deign to notice the restless living element at all except to +bless his stars that he was not upon it. Nor the distinct details, +nor the refined coloring, nor the graceful outline and +roseate golden hue of the jutting crags, nor the bold shadows +cast from Otus or Laurium by the declining sun;—our +agent of a mercantile firm would not value these matters even +at a low figure. Rather, we must turn for the sympathy we +seek to yon pilgrim student, come from a semi-barbarous +land to that small corner of the earth, as to a shrine, where +he might take his fill of gazing on those emblems and coruscations +of invisible unoriginate perfection. It was the stranger +from a remote province, from Britain or from Mauritania, +who in a scene so different from that of his chilly, woody +swamps, or of his fiery, choking sands, learned at once what +a real University must be, by coming to understand the sort +of country which was its suitable home.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_6" name="footref_6" href="#footnote_6">6</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Enumerative Description.</span> +Enumerative description has one point of great difference +from suggestive description. In the +former everything is told; in the latter the +description is as fortunate in what it omits as +in what it includes. Were an architect to give specifications +for the building of a house, every detail would +have to be included; but after all the pages of careful +enumeration the reader would know less of how it +looked than after these few words from Irving. “A +large, rickety wooden building stood in its place, with +great gaping windows, some of them broken and +mended with old hats and petticoats, and over the door +was painted ‘The Union Hotel, by Jonathan Doolittle.’” +So the manual training student uses five hundred +words to describe in detail a box which would be +thrown off with but a few words in a piece of literature. +<a class="pgnm" name="page55" id="page55">55</a> +In enumerative description, one element is of +as much importance as another; no special feature is +made primary by the omission or subdual of other +qualities. It has value in giving exact details of objects, +as if for their construction, and in including an +object in a class.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Suggestive Description.</span> +Suggestive description, description the aim of which +is not information, but the reproduction of a +picture, is the kind most employed in literature. +To present a picture, not all the details +should be given. The mind cannot carry them all, +and, much worse, it cannot arrange them. Nor is there +any need for a detailed enumeration. A room has +walls, floor, and ceiling; a man naturally has ears, +arms, and feet. These things may be taken for granted. +It is not what is common to a class that describes; it +is what is individual, what takes one object out of a +class.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Value of Observation.</span> +This leads to the suggestion that <i>good description +depends largely on accurate observation.</i> A +selection frequently quoted, but none the less +valuable because often seen, is in point here. +It is the last word on the value of observation.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Talent is long patience. It is a question of regarding +whatever one desires to express long enough and with attention +close enough to discover a side which no one has seen +and which has been expressed by nobody. In everything +there is something of the unexplored, because we are accustomed +to use our eyes only with the thought of what has +already been said concerning the thing we see. The smallest +thing has in it a grain of the unknown. Discover it. In +order to describe a fire that flames or a tree in the plain, we +must remain face to face with that fire or that tree until for +us they no longer resemble any other tree or any other fire. +This is the way to become original.</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page56" id="page56">56</a> +“Having, moreover, impressed upon me the fact that there +are not in the whole world two grains of sand, two insects, +two hands, or two noses absolutely alike, he forced me to +describe a being or an object in such a manner as to individualize +it clearly, to distinguish it from all other objects of +the same kind. ‘When you pass,’ he said to me, ‘a grocer +seated in his doorway, a concierge smoking his pipe, a row +of cabs, show me this grocer and this concierge, their attitude, +all their physical appearance; suggest by the skill of +your image all their moral nature, so that I shall not confound +them with any other grocer or any other concierge; +make me see, by a single word, wherein a cab-horse differs +from the fifty others that follow or precede him.’... Whatever +may be the thing which one wishes to say, there is but +one word for expressing it; only one verb to animate it, but +one adjective to qualify it. It is essential to search for this +verb, for this adjective, until they are discovered, and never +to be satisfied with anything else.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_7" name="footref_7" href="#footnote_7">7</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">The Point of View.</span> +With the closest observation, an author gets into +his own mind what he wishes to present to +another; but with this essential step taken, +he is only ready to begin the work of communication. +For the successful communication of a picture there +are some considerations of value. And first is <i>the +point of view.</i> It has much the same relation to description +as the main incident has to narration. In +large measure it determines what to exclude and what +to include. When a writer has assumed his point of +view, he must stay there, and tell not a thing more +than he can see from there. It would hardly be possible +for a man, telling only so much as he saw while +gazing from Eiffel Tower into the streets below, to +say that the people looked like Lilliputians and that +their hands were dirty. To one lying on the bank of a +<a class="pgnm" name="page57" id="page57">57</a> +stream, it does not look like “a silver thread running +through the landscape.” Things do not look the same +when they are near as when at a distance. This fact +has been acted upon more by the modern school of +painting than ever before in art. Verboeckhoven +painted sheep in a marvelous way. The drawing is +perfect, giving the animal to the life. Still, no matter +how far away the artist was standing, there are the same +marvelously painted tufts of wool, showing almost the +individual fibres. Tufts of wool were on the sheep, +and made of fibres; but no artist at twenty rods could +see them. The new school gives only what actually +can be seen. Its first law is that each “shall draw the +thing as he sees it for the God of Things as They Are.” +Make no additions to what you can actually see because, +as a result of experience, you know that there are some +things not yet mentioned in your description; the hands +may be dirty, but the man on the tower cannot see +the dirt. Neither make an addition simply because it +sounds well; the “silver thread through the landscape” +is beautiful, but, unfortunately, it is not always true.</p> + +<p>Not only does distance cut out details from a picture; +the fact that man sees in a straight line and not +around a corner eliminates some features. In describing +a house, remember that as you stand across the street +from it, the back porch cannot be seen, neither can the +shrubbery in the back yard. A writer would not be +justified in speaking of a man’s necktie, if the man he +was describing were walking in front of him. In enumerative +description the inside of a box may be told of; +a man may be turned around, as it were; but to present +a picture, only one side can be described, just as it would +be shown in a photograph. Any addition to what can +actually be known from the point of view assumed by +the author is a fault and a source of confusion. Choose +<a class="pgnm" name="page58" id="page58">58</a> +your point of view; stay there; and tell only what is +seen from that point.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Moving Point of View.</span> +It has been said that the point of view should not be +changed. This requires one modification. It +may be changed, if the reader is kept informed +of the changes. If a person wished +to describe an interior, he would be unable to see the +whole from any one point of view. As he passed from +room to room he should inform his reader of his change +of position. Then the description, though a unit, is a +combination of several descriptions; just as the house +is one, though made of dining-room, sitting-rooms, bedrooms, +and attic. This kind of description is very +common in books of travel, in which the author tells +what he sees in passing. The thing to be remembered +in writing this kind of description is to inform the +reader where the author is when he writes the different +parts of the description,—to give the points of view.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">The Point of View should be stated.</span> +The point of view, whether fixed or moving, should +be made clear. Either it should be definitely +stated, or it should be suggested by some +phrase in the description. In the many examples +which are quoted in this chapter, it would be +well to see what it is that gives the point of view. The +picture gains in distinctness when the point of view is +known. The following sentences are from “The Old +Manse;” there is no mistake here. The reader knows +every move the author makes. It opens with:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p> +“Between two tall gateposts of rough-hewn stone (the +gate itself having fallen from its hinges at some unknown +epoch) we beheld the gray front of the old parsonage terminating +the vista of an avenue of black ash-trees.” +</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>From the street the reader is taken to “the rear of +the house,” where there was “the most delightful little +<a class="pgnm" name="page59" id="page59">59</a> +nook of a study that ever offered its snug seclusion to +a scholar.” Through its window the clergyman saw +the opening of the “deadly struggle between two +nations.” He heard the rattle of musketry, and</p> + +<blockquote> +<p> +“there needed but a gentle wind to sweep the battle smoke +around this quiet house. Perhaps the reader, whom I +cannot help considering as my guest in the Old Manse +and entitled to all courtesy in the way of sight-showing,—perhaps +he will choose to take a nearer view of the memorable +spot. We stand now on the river’s brink.”... “Here +we are, at the point where the river was crossed by the old +bridge.”... “The Old Manse! We had almost forgotten +it, but will return thither through the orchard.”... “What +with the river, the battle-field, the orchard, and the garden, +the reader begins to despair of finding his way back into the +Old Manse. But in agreeable weather it is the truest hospitality +to keep him out-of-doors. I never grew quite acquainted +with my habitation till a long spell of sulky rain +had confined me beneath its roof. There could not be a +more sombre aspect of external nature than as then seen +from the windows of my study.” +</p> +</blockquote> + +<p class="noind">And so Hawthorne continues through this long and +beautiful description of “The Old Manse;” every +change in the point of view is noted.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Mental Point of View.</span> +Closely connected with the physical point of view is +the mood or purpose of the writer; this might +be called <i>the mental point of view.</i> Not everything +should be told which the author could +know from his position, but only those things which +at the time serve his purpose. In the description already +quoted from Newman, the mercantile gentleman +notes a large number of features which are the commercial +advantages of Attica; of these but three are +worthy of mention by “yon pilgrim student” in giving +his impression of Athens as “a shrine where he might +<a class="pgnm" name="page60" id="page60">60</a> +take his fill of gazing on those emblems and coruscations +of invisible unoriginate perfection.” The others—the +soil, the streams, the climate, the limestone, the +fisheries, and the silver mines—do not serve his purpose. +Hawthorne in the long description already mentioned +has retained those features which suggest quiet +and peace. Such a profusion of “quiet,” “half asleep,” +“peaceful,” “unruffled,” “unexcitable” words and +phrases never “loitered” through forty pages of +“dreamy” and “whispering” description.</p> + +<p>In the following bit from “Lear,” where Edgar tells +his blinded father how high the cliff is, only those details +are included which measure distance.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p class="i9">“How fearful</p> +<p>And dizzy ’tis to cast one’s eyes so low!</p> +<p>The crows and choughs that wing the midway air</p> +<p>Show scarce so gross as beetles; half way down</p> +<p>Hangs one that gathers samphire,—dreadful trade!</p> +<p>Methinks he seems no bigger than his head:</p> +<p>The fishermen, that walk upon the beach,</p> +<p>Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark,</p> +<p>Diminished to her cock; her cock, a buoy</p> +<p>Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge,</p> +<p>That on th’ unnumbered idle pebbles chafes,</p> +<p>Cannot be heard so high.—I’ll look no more,</p> +<p>Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight</p> +<p>Topple down headlong.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The following is from Kipling’s “The Light that +Failed:”—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“What do you think of a big, red, dead city built of red +sandstone, with green aloes growing between the stones, lying +out neglected on honey-colored sands? There are forty dead +kings there, Maisie, each in a gorgeous tomb finer than all +the others. You look at the palaces and streets and shops +and tanks, and think that men must live there, till you find +<a class="pgnm" name="page61" id="page61">61</a> +a wee gray squirrel rubbing its nose all alone in the marketplace, +and a jeweled peacock struts out of a carved doorway +and spreads its tail against a marble screen as fine pierced +as point-lace. Then a monkey—a little black monkey—walks +through the main square to get a drink from a tank +forty feet deep. He slides down the creepers to the water’s +edge, and a friend holds him by the tail, in case he should +fall in.</p> + +<p>“Is all that true?</p> + +<p>“I have been there and seen. Then evening comes and +the lights change till it’s just as though you stood in the +heart of a king-opal. A little before sundown, as punctually +as clockwork, a big bristly wild boar, with all his family following, +trots through the city gate, churning the foam on his +tusks. You climb on the shoulder of a big black stone god, +and watch that pig choose himself a palace for the night and +stump in wagging his tail. Then the night-wind gets up, and +the sands move, and you hear the desert outside the city +singing, ‘Now I lay me down to sleep,’ and everything is +dark till the moon rises.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Note how every detail introduced serves to make the +city dead. Dead kings, a wee gray squirrel, a little +black monkey, a bristly wild boar, the night wind, and +the desert singing,—these could not be seen or heard +in a live city with street cars; but all serve to emphasize +the fact that here is “a big, red, dead city.”</p> + +<p>At the risk of over-emphasizing this point that the purpose +of the author, the mental point of view of the writer, +the feeling which the object gives him and which he +wishes to convey to the reader, the central thought in +the description, is primary, and an element that cannot +be overlooked in successful description, I give another +example. This point really cannot be over-emphasized: +a writer cannot be too careful in selecting materials. +Careless grouping of incongruous matters cannot make +a picture. Nor does the artistic author leave the +<a class="pgnm" name="page62" id="page62">62</a> +reader in doubt as to the purpose of the description; +its central thought is usually suggested in the first sentence. +In the quotations from Shakespeare and Kipling, +the opening sentences are the germ of what follows. +Each detail seems to grow out of this sentence, +and serves to emphasize it. In the following by Stevenson, +the paragraphs spring from the opening sentence; +they explain it, they elaborate it, and they accent it.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Night is a dead monotonous period under a roof; but in +the open world it passes lightly, with its stars and dews and +perfumes, and the hours are marked by changes in the face +of Nature. What seems a kind of temporal death to people +choked between walls and curtains is only a light and +living slumber to the man who sleeps afield. All night long +he can hear Nature breathing deeply and freely; even as +she takes her rest she turns and smiles; and there is one +stirring hour unknown to those who dwell in houses, when a +wakeful influence goes abroad over the sleeping hemisphere, +and all the outdoor world are on their feet. It is then that +the first cock crows, not this time to announce the dawn, but +like a cheerful watchman speeding the course of the night. +Cattle awake on the meadows; sheep break their fast on the +dewy hillsides, and change to a new lair among the ferns; +and houseless men, who have lain down with the fowls, open +their dim eyes and behold the beauty of the night.</p> + +<p>“At what inaudible summons, at what gentle touch of Nature, +are all these sleepers thus recalled in the same hour to +life? Do the stars rain down an influence, or do we share +some thrill of mother earth below our resting bodies? Even +shepherds and old country-folk, who are the deepest read in +these arcana, have not a guess as to the means or purpose of +this nightly resurrection. Towards two in the morning they +declare the thing takes place; and neither know nor inquire +further. And at least it is a pleasant incident. We are +disturbed in our slumber only, like the luxurious Montaigne, +‘that we may the better and more sensibly enjoy it.’ We +have a moment to look upon the stars. And there is a special +<a class="pgnm" name="page63" id="page63">63</a> +pleasure for some minds in the reflection that we share +the impulse with all outdoor creatures in our neighborhood, +that we have escaped out of the Bastille of civilization, and +are become, for the time being, a more kindly animal and +a sheep of Nature’s flock.” (“Travels with a Donkey.”)</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Length of Descriptions.</span> +There is one more step in the exclusion of details. +This considers neither the point of view nor +the purpose of the writer, but it is what is +due the reader. Stevenson says in one of his +essays that a description which lasts longer than two +minutes is never attempted in conversation. The listener +cannot hold the details enumerated. The clearest +statement regarding this comes from Jules Lemaître +in a criticism upon some descriptions by Emile Zola +which the critic says are praised by persons who have +never read them. He says:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“It has been one of the greatest literary blunders of the +time to suppose that an enumeration of parts is a picture, to +think that forever placing details side by side, however picturesque +they may be, is able in the end to make a picture, +to give us any conception of the vast spectacles in the physical +universe. In reality, a written description arranges its +parts in our mind only when the impression of the first features +of which it is formed are remembered sufficiently, so +that we can easily join the first to those which complete and +end it. In short, a piece of description is ineffective if we +cannot hold in mind all its details at one time. It is necessary +that all the details coexist in our memory just as the +parts of a painting coexist under our eye. This becomes +next to impossible if the description of one definite object +last over fifteen minutes of reading. The longer it is, the +more obscure it becomes. The individual features fade +away in proportion to the number which are presented; +and for this reason one might say that we cannot see the +forest for the trees. Every description which is over fifty +lines ceases to be clear to a mind of ordinary vigor. After +<a class="pgnm" name="page64" id="page64">64</a> +that there is only a succession of fragmentary pictures which +fatigues and overwhelms the reader.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_8" name="footref_8" href="#footnote_8">8</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p>These, then, are the principles that guide in the +choice of materials for a description. First, the point +of view, whether fixed or movable, should be made +clear to the reader; it should be retained throughout +the description, or the change should be announced. +By regard for it the writer will be guided to the exclusion +of matters that could not be observed, and to the +inclusion of such details as can be seen and are essential. +Second, the writer will keep out matters that do +not contribute to his purpose, and will select only those +details which assist in producing the desired impression. +Third, the limitations of the reader’s powers advise +a writer to be brief: five hundred words should be +the outside; two hundred are enough for most writers. +These principles will give to the whole that unity of +materials and of structure which is the first requisite +of an effective description.</p> + +<p>The next matter for consideration is the arrangement +of the materials. The arrangement depends on the +principles that guided in narration, Mass and Coherence.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Arrangement of Details in Description.</span> +After we have looked at any object long enough to +be able to write about it, one feature comes +to assume an importance that sets it far above +all others. To a writer who has looked long +at a man, he may shrink to a cringing piece +of weakness, or he may grow to a strong, self-centred +power whose presence alone inspires serenest trust. +Hawthorne, standing in St. Peter’s, saw only the gorgeous +coloring; proportions, immensity, and sacredness +were as nothing to the harmonious brilliancy of this +expanded “jewel casket.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_9" name="footref_9" href="#footnote_9">9</a> Stevenson, thinking of the +<a class="pgnm" name="page65" id="page65">65</a> +beast of burden best suited to carry his great sleeping +sack, discarded the horse, for, as he says, “she is a +fine lady among animals.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_10" name="footref_10" href="#footnote_10">10</a> The description of a horse +which follows this statement emphasizes the fact that +a horse is not intended for carrying burdens. From +the germinal impression of a description, all the details +grow; to this primary impression they all contribute. +In the case of buildings, or other things material, this +impression is generally one of form, sometimes of the +height of the object; if striking, it may be color. The +strongest impression of persons is a quality of character +which shows itself either in the face or in the pose +of a man. An example of each may be found in the +following paragraphs from “David Copperfield:”—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“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 who 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 fruits 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.</p> + +<p>“When the pony-chaise stopped at the door, and my eyes +were intent upon the house, I saw a cadaverous face appear +at a small window on the ground floor (in a little round +tower that formed one side of the house), and quickly disappear. +The low arched door then opened, and the face came +out. It was quite as cadaverous as it had looked in the window, +though in the grain of it there was that tinge of red +<a class="pgnm" name="page66" id="page66">66</a> +which is sometimes to be observed in the skins of red-haired +people. It belonged to a red-haired person—a youth of +fifteen, as I take it now, but looking much older whose hair +was cropped as close as the closest stubble; who had hardly +any eyebrows, and no eyelashes, and eyes of a red-brown; +so unsheltered and unshaded that I remember wondering +how he went to sleep. He was high-shouldered and bony; +dressed in decent black, with a white wisp of a neck cloth; +buttoned up to the throat; and had a long, lank, skeleton +hand, which particularly attracted my attention, as he stood +at the pony’s head, rubbing his chin with it, and looking up +at us in the chaise.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Hawthorne thus begins his description of “The +House of the Seven Gables:”—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Maule’s Lane, or Pyncheon Street, as it were now more +decorous to call it, was thronged, at the appointed hour, as +with a congregation on its way to church. All, as they approached, +looked upward at the imposing edifice, which was +henceforth to assume its rank among the habitations of mankind.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>And in the same volume his description of “The +Pyncheon of To-day” begins:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“As the child went down the steps, a gentleman ascended +them, and made his entrance into the shop. It was the +portly, and, had it possessed the advantage of a little more +height, would have been the stately figure of a man, considerably +in the decline of life, dressed in a black suit of some +thin stuff, resembling broadcloth as closely as possible.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>If the description be long, and the object will lend +itself to such a treatment, a definite, tangible, easily +understood shape or form should be suggested at once. +Notice Newman’s first sentence describing Attica: “A +confined triangle, perhaps fifty miles its greatest length, +and thirty its greatest breadth.” Like this is the +<a class="pgnm" name="page67" id="page67">67</a> +beginning of the description of the battle of Waterloo +by Victor Hugo.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“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 letter A. The left stroke of the A is the road +to Nivelles, the right stroke is the road from Genappe, the +cross of the A is the sunken road from Ohain to Braine +l’Alleud. The top of the A is Mont Saint Jean, Wellington +is there; the left-hand lower point is Hougomont, 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 Haie 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.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_11" name="footref_11" href="#footnote_11">11</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p>In “The Vision of Sir Launfal” Lowell opens his +beautiful description with the words, “And what is so +rare as a day in June?” From this general and comprehensive +sentence follow all the details which make +a June day perfect.</p> + +<p>Hawthorne, after telling how he happened to write +of him, begins his long description of “The Old Apple +Dealer” with the following paragraph:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“He is a small man, with gray hair and gray stubble beard, +and is invariably clad in a shabby surtout of snuff color, +closely buttoned, and half concealing a pair of gray pantaloons; +the whole dress, though clean and entire, being evidently +flimsy with much wear. His face, thin, withered, +furrowed, and with features which even age has failed to +render impressive, has a frost-bitten aspect. It is a moral +frost which no physical warmth or comfortableness could +<a class="pgnm" name="page68" id="page68">68</a> +counteract. The summer sunshine may fling its white heat +upon him, or the good fire of the depot room may make him +the focus of its blaze on a winter’s day; but all in vain; for +still the old man looks as if he were in a frosty atmosphere, +with scarcely warmth enough to keep life in the region +about his heart. It is a patient, long-suffering, quiet, +hopeless, shivering aspect. He is not desperate,—that, +though its etymology implies no more, would be too positive +an expression,—but merely devoid of hope. As all his past +life, probably, offers no spots of brightness to his memory, +so he takes his present poverty and discomfort as entirely a +matter of course; he thinks it the definition of existence, so +far as himself is concerned, to be poor, cold, and uncomfortable. +It may be added, that time has not thrown dignity as +a mantle over the old man’s figure: there is nothing venerable +about him: you pity him without a scruple.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>So this old apple dealer shivers all through this +description of nine pages to the last sentences:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“God be praised, were it only for your sake, that the +present shapes of human existence are not cast in iron nor +hewn in everlasting adamant, but moulded of the vapors that +vanish away while the essence flits upward to the Infinite. +There is a spiritual essence in this gray and lean old shape +that shall flit upward too. Yes; doubtless there is a region +where the lifelong shiver will pass away from his being, and +that quiet sigh, which it has taken him so many years to +breathe, will be brought to a close for good and all.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The prominent characteristic may be the feeling +aroused by the object. It may be horror, as in a description +of a haunted house or a murderer; it may +be love, as in the picture of an old home or a sainted +mother. The emotion occasioned is often mentioned +or suggested at once, and the details are afterward +given which have called forth the feeling. Poe uses +this in the first paragraph of “The House of Usher.”</p> + +<blockquote> +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page69" id="page69">69</a> +“During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the +autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low +in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, +through a singularly dreary tract of country, and at length +found myself, as the shades of evening drew on, within view +of the melancholy House of Usher. I know not how it was—but, +with the first glimpse of the building, <i>a sense of insufferable +gloom pervaded my spirit.</i> I say insufferable; +for the feeling was unrelieved by any of that half-pleasurable, +because poetic, sentiment with which the mind usually receives +even the sternest natural images of the desolate or +terrible. I looked upon the scene before me—upon the +mere house, and the simple landscape features of the domain—upon +the bleak walls—upon the vacant, eye-like windows—upon +a few rank sedges—and upon a few white +trunks of decayed trees—with an utter depression of soul +which I can compare to no earthly sensation more properly +than to the after-dream of a reveler upon opium—the bitter +lapse into every-day life—the hideous dropping off of the veil. +There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart—an +unredeemed dreariness of thought which no goading of the +imagination could torture into aught of the sublime.... It +was, possible, I reflected, that a mere different arrangement of +the particulars of the scene, of the details of the picture, would +be sufficient to modify, or perhaps to annihilate, its capacity +for sorrowful impression; and, acting upon this idea, I +reined my horse to the precipitous brink of a black and lurid +tarn that lay in unruffled lustre by the dwelling, and gazed +down—but with a shudder even more thrilling than before—upon +the remodeled and inverted images of the gray sedge, +and the ghastly tree-stems, and the vacant and eye-like windows.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>And one may see from looking back at the illustrations +given that the dominant impression which gives +the character to the whole description, this leading +quality which is the essence of the whole, usually +stands at the very beginning, and to it all the succeeding +details cling.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">The End of a Description.</span> +<a class="pgnm" name="page70" id="page70">70</a> +The end of a description is equally as important as +the opening. In most descriptions, whether +short or long, the most important detail, the +detail that emphasizes most the general feeling +of the whole, stands at the end. If the description +be short, the necessity of a comprehensive opening statement +is not imperative,—indeed, it may be made so +formal and ostentatious when compared with the rest +of the description as to be ridiculous; yet even in the +short description some important detail should close it. +In a long description the repetition of the opening +statement in a new form sometimes stands at the end. +If the description be of movement or change, the end +will be the climax of the movement, the result of the +change.</p> + +<p>In the examples already given there are illustrations +of the methods of closing. In each case, there is an +important detail or an artistic repetition of the general +impression. Many examples of short characterization +can be found in all narratives. In Irving’s description +of Ichabod Crane, the next to the last sentence gives +the significant detail, and the last gives another general +impression. It reads:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“The cognomen of Crane was not inapplicable to his person. +He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, +long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of +his sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and his +whole frame most loosely hung together. His head was +small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy +eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weather-cock +perched upon his spindle neck to tell which way the +wind blew.” (“The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.”)</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>So far this is but an amplification of his likeness to +a crane; certainly “a long snipe nose” “upon his spindle +<a class="pgnm" name="page71" id="page71">71</a> +neck” is the most important detail. Next the author +gives another general impression:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“To see him striding along the profile of a hill on a windy +day, with his clothes bagging and fluttering about him, one +might have mistaken him for the genius of famine descending +upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The following is from “The House of Usher:”—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Shaking off from my spirit what <i>must</i> have been a +dream, I scanned more narrowly the real aspect of the building. +Its principal feature seemed to be that of an excessive +antiquity. The discoloration of ages had been great. Minute +fungi overspread the whole exterior, hanging in a fine +tangled web-work from the eaves. Yet all this was apart +from any extraordinary dilapidation. No portion of the +masonry had fallen, and there appeared to be a wild inconsistency +between its still perfect adaptation of parts and the +crumbling condition of the individual stones. In this there +was much that reminded me of the specious totality of old +woodwork which has rotted for long years in some neglected +vault with no disturbance from the breath of the external air. +Beyond this indication of extensive decay, however, the fabric +gave little token of instability. Perhaps the eye of a scrutinizing +observer might have discovered a barely perceptible +fissure, which, extending from the roof of the building in +front, made its way down the wall in a zigzag direction, until +it became lost in the sullen waters of the tarn.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>In this every detail emphasizes the “excessive antiquity” +of the house; and on reading the story there +is no question of the importance of the “barely perceptible +fissure.” Thereby hangs the tale.</p> + +<p>The two following are descriptions of dawn, of +change; they have marked climaxes. The first is by +Edward Everett, the second by Stevenson. The similarity +in choice of words and in the feelings of the men +is remarkable.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page72" id="page72">72</a> +“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 wondrous 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 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 blazed out from above the +horizon, and turned the dewy teardrops of flower and leaf +into rubies and diamonds. In a few seconds, the everlasting +gates of morning were thrown wide open, and the lord of +day, arrayed in glories too severe for the gaze of man, began +his state.” (“The Uses of Astronomy.”)</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote style="margin-top: 2em;"> +<p>“At last she began to be aware of a wonderful revolution, +compared to which the fire of Mittwalden Palace was but a +crack and flash of a percussion cap. The countenance with +which the pines regarded her began insensibly to change; +the grass, too, short as it was, and the whole winding staircase +of the brook’s course, began to wear a solemn freshness +of appearance. And this slow transfiguration reached her +heart, and played upon it, and transpierced it with a serious +thrill. She looked all about; the whole face of nature looked +back, brimful of meaning, finger on lip, leaking its glad +secret. She looked up. Heaven was almost emptied of +stars. Such as still lingered shone with a changed and waning +brightness, and began to faint in their stations. And +the color of the sky itself was most wonderful; for the rich +blue of the night had now melted and softened and brightened; +and there had succeeded a hue that has no name, and +<a class="pgnm" name="page73" id="page73">73</a> +that is never seen but as the herald of the morning. ‘Oh!’ +she cried, joy catching at her voice, ‘Oh! it is the dawn!’</p> + +<p>“In a breath she passed over the brook, and looped up +her skirts and fairly ran in the dim alleys. As she ran, her +ears were aware of many pipings, more beautiful than music; +in the small, dish-shaped houses in the fork of giant arms, +where they had lain all night, lover by lover, warmly pressed, +the bright-eyed, big-hearted singers began to awaken for the +day. Her heart melted and flowed forth to them in kindness. +And they, from their small and high perches in the +clerestories of the wood cathedral, peered down sidelong at +the ragged Princess as she flitted below them on the carpet +of the moss and tassel.</p> + +<p>“Soon she had struggled to a certain hilltop, and saw far +before her the silent inflooding of the day. Out of the East +it welled and whitened; the darkness trembled into light; +and the stars were extinguished like the street-lamps of a +human city. The whiteness brightened into silver; the silver +warmed into gold, and the gold kindled into pure and living +fire; and the face of the East was barred with elemental +scarlet. The day drew its first long breath, steady and +chill; and for leagues around the woods sighed and shivered. +And then, at one bound the sun had floated up; and her +startled eyes received day’s first arrow, and quailed under +the buffet. On every side, the shadows leaped from their +ambush and fell prone. The day was come, plain and garish; +and up the steep and solitary eastern heaven, the sun, victorious +over his competitors, continued slowly and royally to +mount.” (“Prince Otto.”)</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Proportion.</span> +One thing further should be said regarding Mass. +Not everything can stand first or last; some +important details must be placed in the midst +of a description. These particulars will not be of +equal importance. The more important details may +be given their proportionate emphasis by relatively +increasing the length of their treatment. If one detail +is more important than another, it requires more to be +<a class="pgnm" name="page74" id="page74">74</a> +said about it; unimportant matters should be passed +over with a word. Proportion in the length of treatment +is a guide to the relative importance of the matters +introduced into a description.</p> + +<p>In the description of “The House of Usher,” position +emphasizes the barely perceptible fissure. Proportion +singles out the crumbling condition of the +individual stones and makes this detail more emphatic +than either the discoloration or the fungi. And in +Newman’s description, the olive-tree, the brilliant atmosphere, +the thyme, the bees, all add to the charms +of bright and beautiful Athens; but most of all the +Ægean, with its chain of islands, its dark violet billows, +its jets of silver, the heaving and panting of its +long waves,—the restless living element fascinates +and enraptures “yon pilgrim student.” Position and +proportion are the means of emphasis in a paragraph +of description.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Arrangement must be natural.</span> +Having settled the massing of the description, the +next matter for consideration is the arrangement. +In order that the parts of a description +may be coherent, hold together, they +should be arranged in the order in which they would +naturally be perceived. What strikes the eye of the +beholder as most important, often the general characteristic +of the whole, should be mentioned first; and the +details should follow as they are seen. In a building, +the usual way of observing and describing is from +foundation to turret stone. A landscape may be described +by beginning with what is near and extending +the view; this is common. Sometimes the very opposite +plan is pursued; or one may begin on either hand +and advance toward the other. Of a person near by, +the face is the first thing observed; for it is there that +his character can be best discovered. Afterward details +<a class="pgnm" name="page75" id="page75">75</a> +of clothing follow as they would naturally be noticed. +If a person be at a distance his pose and carriage +would be about all that could be seen; as he approaches, +the other details would be mentioned as they +came into view. To arrange details in the order in +which they are naturally observed will result in an +association in the description of the details that are +contiguous in the objects. Jumping about in a description +is a source of confusion. How entirely it may +ruin a paragraph can be estimated by the effect upon +this single sentence, “He was tall, with feet that +might have served for shovels, narrow shoulders, hands +that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, long arms and +legs, and his whole frame most loosely hung together.” +This rearrangement makes but a disjointed and feeble +impression; and the reason is entirely that an order +in which no person ever observed a man has been substituted +for the commonest order,—from head to foot. +Arrange details so that the parts which are contiguous +shall be associated in the description, and proceed in +the order in which the details are naturally observed.</p> + +<p>The following is by Irving; he is describing the +stage-coachman:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“He has commonly a broad, full face, curiously mottled +with red, as if the blood had been forced by hard feeding +into every vessel of the skin; he is swelled into jolly dimensions +by frequent potations of malt liquors, and his bulk is +still further increased by a multiplicity of coats, in which he +is buried like a cauliflower, the upper one reaching to his +heels. He wears a broad-brimmed, low-crowned hat; a huge +roll of colored handkerchief about his neck, knowingly knotted +and tucked in at the bosom; and has in summer time a +large bouquet of flowers in his buttonhole, the present, most +probably, of some enamored country lass. His waistcoat is +commonly of some bright color, striped, and his small-clothes +<a class="pgnm" name="page76" id="page76">76</a> +extend far below the knees, to meet a pair of jockey boots +which reach about half way up his legs.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_12" name="footref_12" href="#footnote_12">12</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Use Familiar Images.</span> +When the materials have been selected and arranged, +the hardest part of the work has been done. It now +remains to express in language the picture. A few +suggestions regarding the kind of language +will be helpful. The writer must always bear +in mind the fact that in constructing a mental picture +each reader does it from the images he already possesses. +“Quaint arabesques” is without meaning to many persons; +and until the word has been looked up in the +dictionary, and the picture seen there, the beautiful +line of “Sir Launfal” suggests no image whatever. +So when Stevenson speaks of the birds in the “clerestories +of the wood cathedral,” the image is not distinct +in the mind of a young American. Supposing a pupil +in California were asked to describe an orange to an +Esquimau. He might say that it is a spheroid about +the size of an apple, and the color of one of Lorraine’s +sunsets. This would be absolutely worthless to a child +of the frigid zone. Had he been told that an orange +was about the size of a snowball, much the color of the +flame of a candle, that the peeling came off like the +skin from a seal, and that the inside was good to eat, +he would have known more of this fruit. The images +which lie in our minds and from which we construct +new pictures are much like the blocks that a child-builder +rearranges in many different forms; but the +blocks do not change. From them he may build a +castle or a mill; yet the only difference is a difference +in arrangement. So it is with the pictures we build +up in imagination: our castle in Spain we have never +seen, but the individual elements which we associate +to lift up this happy dwelling-place are the things we +know and have seen. A reader creates nothing new; +<a class="pgnm" name="page77" id="page77">77</a> +all he does is to rearrange in his own mind the images +already familiar. Only so may he pass from the known +to the unknown.</p> + +<p>The fact that we construct pictures of what we read +from those images already in our minds warns the +writer against using materials which those for whom +he writes could not understand. It compels him to +select definite images, and it urges him to use the +common and the concrete. It frequently drives him +to use comparisons.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Use of Comparisons.</span> +To represent the extremely bare and unornamented +appearance of a building, one might write, +“It looked like a great barn,” or “It was a +great barn.” In either case the image would +be definite, common, and concrete. In both cases there +is a comparison. In the first, where the comparison is +expressed, there is a <i>simile;</i> in the second, where the +comparison is only implied, there is a <i>metaphor.</i> These +two figures of speech are very common in description, +and it is because they are of great value. One other +is sometimes used,—<i>personification,</i> which ascribes to +inanimate things the attributes of life which are the +property of animate nature. What could be happier +than this by Stevenson: “All night long he can hear +Nature breathing deeply and freely; even as she takes +her rest she turns and smiles”? or this, “A faint sound, +more like a moving coolness than a stream of air”? +And at the end of the chapter which describes his +“night under the pines,” he speaks of the “tapestries” +and “the inimitable ceiling” and “the view which I +command from the windows.” In this one chapter are +personification, simile, metaphor,—all comparisons, +and doing what could hardly be done without them. +Common, distinct, concrete images are surest.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Choice of Words. Adjectives and Nouns.</span> +To body forth these common, distinct, concrete +<a class="pgnm" name="page78" id="page78">78</a> +images calls for a discriminating choice of words; for +in the choice of words lies a large part of the +vividness of description. If the thing described +be unknown to the reader, it requires +the right word to place it before him; if it be common, +still must the right word be found to set it apart from +the thousand other objects of the same class. The +words that may justly be called describing words are +adjectives and nouns; and of these the adjective is the +first descriptive word. The rule that a writer should +never use two adjectives where one will do, and that +he should not use one if a noun can be found that completely +expresses the thought, is a good one to follow. +One certain stroke of the crayon is worth a hundred +lines, each approaching the right one. One word, the +only one, will tell the truth more vividly than ten that +approach its expression. For it must be remembered +that a description must be done quickly; every word +that is used and does nothing is not only a waste of +time, but is actually in the way. In a description every +word must count. It may be a comparison, an epithet, +personification, or what not, but whatever method is +adopted, the right word must do it quickly.</p> + +<p>How much depends on the nice choice of words may +be seen by a study of the selections already quoted; +and especially by a careful reading of those by Stevenson +and Everett. To show the use of adjectives and +nouns in description, the following from Kipling is a +good illustration. Toomai had just reached the elephants’ +“ball-room” when he saw—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“white-tusked wild males, with fallen leaves and nuts and +twigs lying in the wrinkles of their necks and the folds of +their ears; fat, slow-footed she-elephants, with restless pinky-black +calves only three or four feet high, running under +their stomachs; young elephants with their tusks just beginning +<a class="pgnm" name="page79" id="page79">79</a> +to show, and very proud of them; lanky, scraggy, +old-maid elephants, with their hollow, anxious faces, and +trunks like rough bark; savage old bull-elephants, scarred +from shoulder to flank with great weals and cuts of by-gone +fights, and the caked dirt of their solitary mud bath +dropping from their shoulders; and there was one with a +broken tusk and the marks of the full-stroke, the terrible +drawing scrape of a tiger’s claw on his side.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_13" name="footref_13" href="#footnote_13">13</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p>One third of the words in this paragraph are descriptive +nouns and adjectives, none of which the reader +wishes to change.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Use of Verbs.</span> +Verbs also have a great value in description. In +the paragraph picturing the dawn, Stevenson +has not neglected the verbs. “Welled,” +“whitened,” “trembled,” “brightened,” “warmed,” +“kindled,” and so on through the paragraph. Try to +change them, and it is apparent that something is lost +by any substitution. Kaa, the python, “<i>pours</i> himself +along the ground.” If he is angry, “Baloo and Bagheera +could see the big swallowing-muscles on either +side of Kaa’s throat <i>ripple</i> and <i>bulge.</i>“</p> + +<p>Yet in the choice of words, one may search for the +bizarre and unusual rather than for the truly picturesque. +Stevenson at times seems to have lapsed. +When he says that Modestine would feel a switch +“more <i>tenderly</i> than my cane;” that he “must <i>instantly</i> +maltreat this uncomplaining animal,” meaning +constantly; and at another place that he “had to labor +so <i>consistently</i> with” his stick that the sweat ran into +his eyes, there is a suspicion of a desire for the sensational +rather than the direct truth. On the other hand, +the beginner finds himself using words that have lost, +their meaning through indiscriminate usage. “Awful +good,” “awful pretty,” and “awful sweet” mean +something less than good, pretty, and sweet. “Lovely,” +<a class="pgnm" name="page80" id="page80">80</a> +“dear,” “splendid,” “unique,” and a large number of +good words have been much dulled by the ignorant use +of babblers. Superlatives and all words denoting comparison +should be used with stinginess. One cannot +afford to part with this kind of coin frequently; the +cheaper coins should be used, else he will find an empty +purse when need arises. Thackeray has this: “Her +voice was the sweetest, low song.” How much better +this, Her voice was a sweet, low song. All the world +is shut out from this, while in the former he challenges +the world by the comparison. Shakespeare was wiser +when he made Lear say,—</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p class="i6">“Her voice was ever soft,</p> +<p>Gentle, and low,—an excellent thing in woman.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Avoid words which have lost their meaning by indiscriminate +use; shun the sensational and the bizarre; +use superlatives with economy; but in all you do, +whether in unadorned or figurative language, choose +the word that is quick and sure and vivid—the one +word that exactly suggests the picture.</p> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="page81" id="page81">81</a></div> + +<p class="ctr"><br /><b>SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS AND EXERCISES</b></p> + +<p class="ctr"><br /><b>QUESTIONS.</b></p> + +<p class="ctr">THE OLD MANSE.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 69.)</p> + +<p>Are there narrative portions in “The Old Manse”? paragraphs +of exposition?</p> + +<p>Do you term the whole narration, description, or exposition? +Why?</p> + +<p>Frame a sentence which you think would be an adequate +topic sentence for the whole piece.</p> + +<p>What phrase in the first paragraph allows the author to +begin the second with the words, “Nor, in truth, had the +Old Manse,” etc.? Where in the second paragraph is found +the words which are the source of “my design,” mentioned +in the third? How does the author pass from the fourth +paragraph to the fifth? In the same way note the connections +between the succeeding paragraphs. They are most +skillfully dovetailed together. Now make a list of the +phrases in the first fifteen pages which introduce paragraphs, +telling from what in the preceding paragraph each +new paragraph springs. Do you think that such a felicitous +result just happened? or did Hawthorne plan it?</p> + +<p>Does Hawthorne generally introduce his descriptions by +giving the feeling aroused by the object described, a method +very common with Poe?</p> + +<p>In the paragraph beginning at the bottom of p. 18, what +do you think of the selection of material? What have +guided in the inclusion and exclusion of details?</p> + +<p>Write a paragraph upon this topic: There could not be a +more joyous aspect of external nature than as seen from the +windows of my study just after the passing of a cooling +shower. Be careful to select things that have been made +<a class="pgnm" name="page82" id="page82">82</a> +happy, and to use adjectives and nouns that are full of +joy.</p> + +<p>Make a list of the words used to describe “The Old Apple +Dealer.”</p> + +<p>Has this description Unity?</p> + +<p>What relation to the whole has the first sentence of paragraph +three? the last?</p> + +<p>Do you think there is a grammatical error in the third +sentence of this paragraph?</p> + +<p>By contrasts to what has Hawthorne brought out better the +character of the Apple Dealer? When can contrasts help?</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br />AN INDIAN-SUMMER REVERIE, AND OTHER POEMS.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 30.)</p> + +<p>In this poem what purpose is served by the first two +stanzas?</p> + +<p>Where in the landscape does the author begin? Which +way does he progress?</p> + +<p>Quote stanzas in which other senses than sight are called +upon.</p> + +<p>Make a list of the figures of speech. How many similes? +metaphors? examples of personification? Which seems +most effective? Which instance of its use do you prefer? +Has Lowell used too many figures?</p> + +<p>Read “The Oak,” “The Dandelion,” and “Al Fresco.”</p> + +<p>Are they description or exposition? Do they bear out +Lowell’s estimate of himself?</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br />THE SKETCH-BOOK.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, Nos. 51, 52.)</p> + +<p>Why has Irving given four pages to the description of +Sleepy Hollow before he introduces Ichabod Crane?</p> + +<p>Why, then, seven pages to Ichabod before the story +begins?</p> + +<p>What gives the peculiar interest to this tale?</p> + +<p>In the “Legend of Sleepy Hollow” how many paragraphs +of description close with an important detail?</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page83" id="page83">83</a> +In how many with a general characterization?</p> + +<p>In all the descriptions of buildings by Irving that you +have read, what are the first things mentioned,—size, +shape, color, or what? Make a list, so as to be sure.</p> + +<p>Does Irving use many comparisons? Are the likenesses +to common things? Select the ten you think best. Are +there more in narrative or descriptive passages? What do +you gather from this fact?</p> + +<p>In “Christmas Day,” on p. 51 (R. L. S., No. 52), does +Irving proceed from far to near in the landscape? Is this +common? Find another example.</p> + +<p>How has Irving emphasized the littleness of the minister +described on p. 56 (R. L. S., No. 52)?</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br />THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 119.)</p> + +<p>Is the arrangement of the details in the last two lines of +the first paragraph stronger than the arrangement of the +same details on p. 63? Why, or why not?</p> + +<p>In the description of the hall, pp. 67 and 68, do the +details produce the effect upon you which they did upon +Poe?</p> + +<p>Find a description in this piece which closes with an important +detail.</p> + +<p>Is Usher described at all when Poe says, “I gazed upon +him with a feeling half of pity, half of awe”? Do the +details enumerated arouse such feelings in you? Would +the feeling have been called forth if it had not been suggested +by Poe? Is there, then, any advantage in this +method of opening a description?</p> + +<p>What good was done by describing Usher as Poe knew +him in youth?</p> + +<p>Why is the parenthetical clause on p. 72 necessary?</p> + +<p>On p. 80, should Poe write “previously to its final interment”?</p> + +<p>What do you think of the length of the sentence quoted +on p. 85?</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page84" id="page84">84</a> +Does Poe use description to accent the mood of the narrative, +or to make concrete the places and persons?</p> + +<p>Why is “The Haunted Palace” introduced into the +story?</p> + +<p>Is this story as good as “The Gold-Bug”?</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br />SILAS MARNER.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 83.)</p> + +<p>Why is not the early history of Silas Marner related +first in the story?</p> + +<p>By what steps has the author approached the definite +time?</p> + +<p>From the fragments about his appearance, do you get a +clear idea of how Marner looks?</p> + +<p>Do you approve this method of scattering the description +along through the story? Write a description of Marner +on the night he was going to the tavern.</p> + +<p>Could not the quarrel between Godfrey and Dunsey been +omitted?</p> + +<p>Describe the interior of Marner’s cottage.</p> + +<p>Why should Sally Oates and her dropsy be admitted to +the story?</p> + +<p>Do you know as well how George Eliot’s characters look +as how they think and feel?</p> + +<p>What do you think of the last sentence of Chapter IV.? +Why does not Chapter V. go on with Dunsey’s story? Why +is Chapter VI. introduced at all? What of its close?</p> + +<p>What figure in the last sentence of Chapter X.?</p> + +<p>Would you prefer to know how tall Eppie was, what kind +of clothes she wore, etc., to the knowledge you gain of her +on p. 178?</p> + +<p>Suppose that Dunsey came home the night he staked +Wildfire, recite the conversation between him and Godfrey.</p> + +<p>Have Dolly Winthrop, Priscilla Lammeter, and Mr. Macey +talk over “The New Minister.”</p> + +<p>Write on “What I see in George Eliot’s Face.”</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br /><a class="pgnm" name="page85" id="page85">85</a> +THE DESERTED VILLAGE.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 68.)</p> + +<p>Is this piece description or exposition?</p> + +<p>In the first stanza where is the topic sentence?</p> + +<p>The author has made two groups of charms. Would it +be as well to change them about? Give your reasons.</p> + +<p>Where has he used the ear instead of the eye to suggest +his picture? Is it clear?</p> + +<p>What method is adopted in lines 125-128? See also lines +237-250.</p> + +<p>Can you unite the paragraphs on p. 25? Why do you +think so?</p> + +<p>Could you suggest a new arrangement of details in lines +341-362 that would be as good as the present? What are +the last four lines for?</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br /><b>EXERCISES.</b></p> + +<p>Enumerative Description may well employ a few lessons. +In it accuracy of detail must be studied, and every detail +must be introduced.</p> + +<ol> +<li>The Teacher’s Desk.</li> + +<li>Write a letter to a carpenter giving details for the construction +of a small bookcase.</li> + +<li>By telling how you made it, describe a camp, a kite, +a dress, or a cake. Narration may be employed for the +purpose of description. A good example may be found in +“Robinson Crusoe” in the chapter describing his home +after the shipwreck.</li> + +<li>Describe an unfurnished room. Shape, size, position, +and number of windows, the fireplace, etc., should be definite. +Be sure to give the point of view. To say “On my +right hand,” “In front of me,” or any similar phrases means +nothing unless the reader knows where you are.</li> +</ol> + +<p>In these exercises the pupil will doubtless employ the paragraph +of particulars. This is the most common in description. +Other forms are valuable.</p> + +<ol> +<li value="5">Using a paragraph telling what it was not, finish this: +<a class="pgnm" name="page86" id="page86">86</a> +I followed the great singer to her home. Imagine my surprise +in finding that the house in which this lady lived was +not a home of luxury and splendor,—not even a home of +comfort. Go on with the details of a home of luxury which +were <i>not</i> there. Finish with what you did see. This is +really a description of two houses set in artistic contrast to +heighten the effect. Remember you are outside.</li> + +<li>By the use of comparison finish this: The home of my +poor little friend was but little better than a barn. Choose +only such details as emphasize the barn-like appearance of +the home. There is but one room. Remember where you +are standing; and keep in mind the effect you wish to +produce.</li> + +<li>Using a moving point of view, describe an interior. +Do not have too many rooms.</li> + +<li>Furnish the room described in number four to suit your +taste. Tell how it looks. Remember that a few things give +character to a room.</li> + +<li>Describe your childhood’s home as it would look to you +after years of absence.</li> + +<li>Using a paragraph of the obverse, describe the appearance +of the house from which you were driven by the +cruelty of a drunken father.</li> + +<li>Describe a single tree standing alone in a field. It +will be well for the teacher to read to the class some descriptions +of trees,—Lowell’s “Birch” and “Oak,” “Under +the Willows,” and some stanzas from “An Indian Summer +Reverie.” Holmes has some good paragraphs on trees in +“The Autocrat.” Any good tree descriptions will help +pupils to do it better than they can without suggestion. +They should describe their own tree, however.</li> + +<li>Describe some single flower growing wild. Read +Lowell’s “Dandelion,” “Violet, Sweet Violet,” Wordsworth’s +“Daisy,” “The Daffodils,” “The Small Celandine,” +and Burns’s “Daisy.” These do not so much describe as +they arouse a feeling of love for the flowers which will show +itself in the composition.</li> + +<li>Describe a view of a lake. If possible, have your +<a class="pgnm" name="page87" id="page87">87</a> +point of view above the lake and use the paragraph of comparison.</li> + +<li>Describe a landscape from a single point of view. +Read Curtis’s “My Castles in Spain” from “Prue and I,” +many descriptions in “An Inland Voyage” by Stevenson, +and “Bay Street” by Bliss Carman in “The Atlantic +Monthly.”</li> + +<li>Describe your first view of a small cluster of houses +or a small town.</li> + +<li>Approach the town, describing its principal features. +Keep the reader informed as to where you are.</li> + +<li>Describe a dog of your own.</li> + +<li>Describe a dog of your neighbor’s. Before the description +is undertaken read “Our Dogs” and “Rab” by Dr. +Brown; “A Dog of Flanders” by Ouida. Scott has some +noble fellows in his novels.</li> + +<li>Describe a flock of chickens. There are good descriptions +of chickens in “The House of the Seven Gables” +and in “Sketches” by Dickens.</li> + +<li>Describe the burning of your own home. Be careful +not to narrate.</li> + +<li>Describe a stranger you met on the street to-day. It +is easier to describe a person if you and the person you describe +move toward each other. Remember that you begin +the description at a distance. Details should be mentioned +as they actually come into view.</li> + +<li>Describe your father in his favorite corner at home.</li> + +<li>Describe a person you do not like, by telling what he +is not.</li> + +<li>Describe a person you admire, but are not acquainted +with, using the paragraph of comparisons.</li> + +<li>Describe a picture.</li> +</ol> + +<p>It would be well to have at the end of this year four or +five stories written, in which description plays a part. Its +principal use is to give the setting to the story, to give concreteness +to the characters, and to accent the mood of the +story.</p> + +<p>Most passages of description are short. Rarely will any +<a class="pgnm" name="page88" id="page88">88</a> +pupil write over three hundred words. One hundred are +often better. The short composition gives an opportunity for +the study of accuracy of expression. What details to include; +in what order to arrange them that they produce the best +effect, both of vividness and naturalness; and the influence +of the point of view and the purpose of the author on the +unity of description should be kept constantly present in the +exercises. Careful attention should be paid to choice of +words, for on right words depends in a large degree the +vividness of a description. Right words in well-massed +paragraphs of vivid description should be the object this +term.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="page89" id="page89">89</a></div> + +<h3>CHAPTER V</h3> + +<p class="ctr"><b>EXPOSITION</b></p> + +<p>So far we have studied discourse which deals with +things,—things active, doing something, considered +under the head of narration; and things at rest, and +pictured, considered in description. Now we come to +exposition, which deals with ideas either separately or +in combinations. Instead of Mr. Smith’s horse, exposition +treats of the general term, horse. “The Great +Stone Face” may have taught a lesson by its story, +but the discussion of the value of lofty ideals is a subject +for exposition.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">General Terms Difficult.</span> +That general terms and propositions are harder to +get hold of than concrete facts is readily +apparent in the first reading of an author +like Emerson. To a young person it means +little. Yet when he puts in the place of the general +terms some specific examples, and so verifies the statements, +the general propositions have a mine of meaning, +and “the sense of the author is as broad as the +world.” This stanza from Lowell is but little suggestive +to young readers:—</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p>“Such earnest natures are the fiery pith,</p> +<p class="i1">The compact nucleus, round which systems grow!</p> +<p>Mass after mass becomes inspired therewith,</p> +<p class="i1">And whirls impregnate with the central glow.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_14" name="footref_14" href="#footnote_14">14</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p class="noind">Yet when Columbus and Luther and Garrison are +mentioned as illustrations of the meaning, it becomes +<a class="pgnm" name="page90" id="page90">90</a> +world-wide in its application. Still in order to get at +the thought, there is first the need of the specific and +the concrete; afterward we pass to the general and the +abstract.</p> + +<p>As abstract ideas are harder to get hold of than concrete +facts, so exposition has difficulties greater than +those found in narration and description. It is not so +hard to tell what belongs in a story; the events are all +distinct. Nor is it so difficult to know what to include +in a description; one can look and see. In exposition +this is not so. In most minds ideas do not have distinct +limits; the edges rather are indistinct. It is +hard to tell where the idea stops. In writing of “The +Uses of Coal,” it is easy to wander over an indistinct +boundary and to take a survey of “The Origin of +Coal.” Not only may one include what unquestionably +should be excluded, but there is no definite guide +to the arrangement of the materials, such as was found +in narration. There a sequence of time was an almost +infallible rule; here the writer must search carefully +how to arrange hazy ideas in some effective form. As +discourse comes to deal more with general ideas, the +difficulties of writing increase; and the difficulties are +not due to any new principles of structure which must +be introduced. When one says that the material +should be selected according to the familiar law of +Unity, he has given the guiding principle. Yet the +real difficulty is still before an author: it is to decide +what stamp to put upon such elusive matter as ideas. +They cannot be kept long enough in the twilight of +consciousness to analyze them; and often ideas that +have been marked “accepted” have, upon reëxamination, +to be “rejected.” To examine ideas—the material +used in this form of discourse—so thoroughly that +they may be accurately, definitely known in their backward +<a class="pgnm" name="page91" id="page91">91</a> +relation and their bearing upon what follows, +this is the seat of the difficulty in exposition.</p> + +<p>Exposition may conveniently be classified into exposition +of a term, or definition; and exposition of a +proposition, which is generally suggested by the term +exposition.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Definition.</span> +Definition of a word means giving its limits or +boundaries. Of man it might be said that it +is a living animal, having a strong bony skeleton; +that this skeleton consists of a trunk from which +extend four limbs, called arms and legs, and is surmounted +by a bony cavity, called a skull; that the +skeleton protects the vital organs, and is itself covered +by a muscular tissue which moves the bones and gives +a rounded beauty to their ugliness; that man has a +highly developed nervous system, the centre of which +is the brain placed in the skull. So a person might go +on for pages, enumerating the attributes which, taken +together, make up the general idea of man.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Exposition and Description distinguished.</span> +This sort of exposition is very near description; indeed, +were the purpose different, it would be +description. The purpose, however, is not to +tell how an individual looks, but to place the +object in a class. It is therefore not description, +but exposition. Moreover, the method is different. +In description those characteristics are given that +distinguish the object from the rest of the class; while +in exposition those qualities are selected which are +common to all objects of its class.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Logical Definition.</span> +On account of the length of the definition by an +enumeration of all the attributes, it is not frequently +used except in long treatises. For it there has been +substituted what is called a <i>logical definition.</i> +Instead of naming all the characteristics +of an object, a logical definition groups many attributes +<a class="pgnm" name="page92" id="page92">92</a> +under one general term, and then adds a quality +which distinguishes the object from the others of the +general class. Man has been defined as the “reasoning +animal.” In this definition a large number of +attributes have been gathered together in the general +term “animal;” then man is separated from the whole +class “animal” by the word “reasoning.” A logical +definition consists, then, of two parts: the general term +naming the genus, and the limiting term naming the +distinguishing attribute called the differentia.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Genus and Differentia.</span> +Genus and differentia are found in every good definition. +The <i>genus</i> should be a term more +general than the term defined. “Man is a +person who reasons” is a poor definition; because +“person” is no more general than “man.” “A canine +is a dog that is wild” is very bad, because “dog,” the +general term in the definition, is less general than the +word defined. However, to say that “a dog is a canine +that has been domesticated,” is a definition in which the +genus is more general than the term defined.</p> + +<p>Next, the genus should be a term well understood. +“Man is a mammal who reasons” is all right, in having +a genus more general than the term defined, but +the definition fails with many because “mammal” is +not well understood. “Botany is that branch of biology +which treats of plant life” has in it the same error. +“Biology” is not so well understood as “botany,” +though it is a more general term. In cases of this +sort, the writer should go farther toward the more general +until he finds a term perfectly clear to all. “Man +is an animal that reasons,” “botany is the branch of +science that treats of plant life,” would both be easily +understood. The genus should be a term better understood +than the term defined; and it should be a term +more general than the term defined.</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page93" id="page93">93</a> +A definition may be faulty in its <i>differentia</i> also. +The differentia is that part of a definition which names +the difference between the term defined and the general +class to which it belongs. “Man is a reasoning +animal.” “Animal” names the general class, and +“reasoning” is the differentia which separates “man” +from other “animals.” On the selection of this limiting +word depends the accuracy of the definition. “Man +is an animal that walks,” or “that has hands,” or +“that talks,” are all faulty; because bears walk, monkeys +have hands, and parrots talk. Supposing the following +definitions were given: “A cat is an animal that +catches rats and mice;” “A rose is a flower that bears +thorns;” “Gold is a metal that is heavy;” all would +be faulty because the differentia in each is faulty. +Notice, too, the definitions of “dog” and “canine” +already given. Even “man is a reasoning animal” +may fail; since many men declare that other animals +reason. The differentia should include all the members +that the term denotes, and it should exclude all +that it does not denote.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Requisites of a good Definition.</span> +The requisites of a good definition are: first, that it +shall include or denote all the members of +the class; second, that it shall exclude everything +which does not belong to its class; third, +that the words used in the definition shall be better +understood than the word defined; fourth, that it shall +be brief.</p> + +<p>A definition may perfectly expound a term; and because +of the very qualities that make it a good definition, +accuracy and brevity, it may be almost valueless +to the ordinary reader. For instance, this definition, +“An acid is a substance, usually sour and sharp to +the taste, that changes vegetable blue colors to red, +and, combining with an earth, an alkali, or a metallic +<a class="pgnm" name="page94" id="page94">94</a> +oxide, forms a salt,” would not generally be understood. +So it frequently becomes necessary to do more than +give a definition in order to explain the meaning of a +term. This brings us to the study of exposition, as it +is generally understood, in which all the resources of +language are called into service to explain a term or a +proposition.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">How do Men explain? First, by Repetition.</span> +What, then, are the methods of explaining a proposition? +First, <i>a proposition may be explained by the +repetition of the thought in some other form.</i> To be +effective, repetition must add something to what has +been said; the words used may be more specific or +they may be more general. For example, “A +strong partisan may not be a good citizen. +The stanchest Republican may by reason of +a blind adherence to party be working an +injury to the country he loves. Indeed, one can easily +conceive a body of men so devoted to a theory, beautiful +though it may be in many respects, that they stand in +the way of the world’s progress.” The second sentence +repeats the thought of the first in more specific terms; +the third repeats it in more general terms. The specific +may be explained by the general; more often the +general is cleared up by the specific. In either case, +the proposition must be brought one step nearer to +the reader by the restatement, or the repetition is not +good.</p> + +<p>Speaking of written or printed words, Barrett +Wendell writes:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“In themselves, these black marks are nothing but black +marks more or less regular in appearance. Modern English +type and script are rather simple to the eye. Old English +and German are less so; less so still, Hebrew and Chinese. +But all alphabets present to the eye pretty obvious traces of +regularity; in a written or printed page the same mark will +<a class="pgnm" name="page95" id="page95">95</a> +occur over and over again. This is positively all we see,—a +number of marks grouped together and occasionally repeated. +A glance at a mummy-case, an old-fashioned tea-chest, +a Hebrew Bible, will show us all that any eye can ever +see in a written or printed document. The outward and +visible body of style consists of a limited number of marks +which, for all any reader is apt to know, are purely arbitrary.” +(“English Composition.”)</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>In this paragraph every sentence is a repetition of +some part of the opening or topic sentence, and serves +to explain it.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Second, by telling the obverse.</span> +Second, <i>a proposition may be explained by telling +what it is not.</i> At times this is as valuable as telling +what it is. Care should be taken that the +thing excluded or denied have some likeness +to the proposition or term being explained; +that the two be really in some danger of being confused. +Unless to a hopelessly ignorant person, it +would not explain anything to say “a horse is not a +man;” but to assert that “a whale is not a fish, +though they have many points in common,” would prepare +the way for an explanation of what a whale is. +The obverse statement is nearly always followed by a +repetition of what the thing is.</p> + +<p>The following from Newman illustrates the method:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Now what is Theology? First, I will tell you what it is +not. And here, in the first place (though of course I speak +on the subject as a Catholic), observe that, strictly speaking, +I am not assuming that Catholicism is true, while I make +myself the champion of Theology. Catholicism has not +formally entered into my argument hitherto, nor shall I just +now assume any principle peculiar to it, for reasons which +will appear in the sequel, though of course I shall use Catholic +language. Neither, secondly, will I fall into the fashion +of the day, of identifying Natural Theology with Physical +<a class="pgnm" name="page96" id="page96">96</a> +Theology; which said Physical Theology is a most jejune +study, considered as a science, and really no science at all, +for it is ordinarily no more than a series of pious or polemical +remarks upon the physical world viewed religiously, +whereas the word ‘Natural’ comprehends man and society, +and all that is involved therein, as the great Protestant +writer, Dr. Butler, shows us. Nor, in the third place, do I +mean by Theology polemics of any kind; for instance, what +are called ‘Evidences of Religion,’ or ‘the Christian Evidences.’... +Nor, fourthly, do I mean by Theology that +vague thing called ‘Christianity,’ or ‘our common Christianity,’ +or ‘Christianity the law of the land,’ if there is any +man alive who can tell what it is.... Lastly, I do not +understand by Theology, acquaintance with the Scriptures; +for, though no person of religious feeling can read Scripture +but he will find those feelings roused, and gain much knowledge +of history into the bargain, yet historical reading and +religious feeling are not a science. I mean none of these +things by Theology. I simply mean the Science of God, or +the truths we know about God put into a system; just as we +have a science of the stars, and call it astronomy, or of the +crust of the earth, and call it geology.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_15" name="footref_15" href="#footnote_15">15</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Third, by Details.</span> +Third, <i>a common way of explaining a proposition +is to go into particulars about it.</i> Enough +particulars should be given to furnish a reasonable +explanation of the proposition. Macaulay, +writing of the “muster-rolls of names” which Milton +uses, goes into details. He says:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“They are charmed names. Every one of them is the first +link in a long chain of associated ideas. Like the dwelling +place of our infancy revisited in manhood, like the song of +our country heard in a strange land, they produce upon us +an effect wholly independent of their intrinsic value. One +transports us back to a remote period of history. Another +places us among the novel scenes and manners of a distant +region. A third evokes all the dear classical recollections of +<a class="pgnm" name="page97" id="page97">97</a> +childhood,—the schoolroom, the dog-eared Virgil, the holiday, +and the prize. A fourth brings before us the splendid +phantoms of chivalrous romance, the trophied lists, the embroidered +housings, the quaint devices, the haunted forests, +the enchanted gardens, the achievements of enamoured +knights, and the smiles of rescued princesses.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_16" name="footref_16" href="#footnote_16">16</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Fourth, by Illustrations.</span> +Fourth, <i>a proposition may be explained by the use +of a single example or illustration.</i> The +value of this method depends on the choice +of the example. It must in no essential way +differ from the general case it is intended to illustrate. +Supposing this proposition were advanced by some +woman-hater: “All women are, by nature, liars,” +and it should be followed by this sentence, “For example, +take this lady of fashion.” Such an illustration +is worthless. The individual chosen does not +fairly represent the class. If, on the other hand, a +teacher in physics should announce that “all bodies +fall at the same rate in a vacuum,” and should illustrate +by saying, “If I place a bullet and a feather in +a tube from which the air has been exhausted, they +will be found to fall equally fast,” his example would +be a fair one, as the two objects differ in no manner +essential to the experiment from “all bodies.”</p> + +<p>Here should be included anecdotes used as illustrations. +They are of value if they are of the same +type as the general class they are intended to explain. +They may be of little value, however. It could safely +be said that half the stories told in campaign speeches +are not instances in point at all, but are told only to +amuse and deceive. Specific instances must be chosen +with care if they are to serve a useful purpose in exposition.</p> + +<p>This example is from Newman:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“To know is one thing, to do is another; the two things +<a class="pgnm" name="page98" id="page98">98</a> +are altogether distinct. A man knows that he should get up +in the morning,—he lies abed; he knows that he should +not lose his temper, yet he cannot keep it. A laboring man +knows that he should not go to the ale-house, and his wife +knows that she should not filch when she goes out charing, +but, nevertheless, in these cases, the consciousness of a duty +is not all one with the performance of it. There are, then, +large families of instances, to say the least, in which men +may become wiser, without becoming better.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_17" name="footref_17" href="#footnote_17">17</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Fifth, by Comparisons.</span> +Last, <i>a thing may be explained by telling what it is +like, or what it is not like.</i> This method of comparison +is very frequently employed. To liken a thing to +something already known is a vivid way of explaining. +Moreover in many cases it is easier than the +method of repetition or that of details. By +this method Macaulay explains his proposition +that “it is the character of such revolutions that +we always see the worst of them first.” He says:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“A newly liberated people may be compared to a northern +army encamped on the Rhine or the Xeres. It is said that +when soldiers in such a situation first find themselves able to +indulge without restraint in such a rare and expensive luxury, +nothing is to be seen but intoxication. Soon, however, +plenty teaches discretion, and, after wine has been for a few +months their daily fare, they become more temperate than +they had ever been in their own country. In the same manner, +the final and permanent fruits of liberty are wisdom, +moderation, and mercy. Its immediate effects are often +atrocious crimes, conflicting errors, skepticism on points the +most clear, dogmatism on points the most mysterious.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_18" name="footref_18" href="#footnote_18">18</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The comparison may be a simile or a metaphor, as +when Huxley writes, explaining “the physical basis of +life:”—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Protoplasm, simple or nucleated, is the formal basis of +all life. It is the clay of the potter: which, bake it and +<a class="pgnm" name="page99" id="page99">99</a> +paint it as he will, remains clay, separated by artifice, and +not by nature, from the commonest brick or sun-dried clod.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_19" name="footref_19" href="#footnote_19">19</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p>These, then, are the methods commonly adopted for +explaining terms and propositions. First, by the use +of definitions; second, by repeating the proposition +either directly or obversely, adding something to the +thought by each repetition; third, by enumerating +particulars which form the ground for the statement; +fourth, by selecting an instance which fairly illustrates +the proposition; fifth, by the use of comparisons and +analogies.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">The Subject.</span> +Some general considerations regarding the choice of +a subject have been given. A subject should +lend itself to the form of discourse employed; +next, it should be a subject interesting to the readers; +and third, it should be interesting to the writer and +suited to his ability. The last condition makes it +advisable to limit the subject to a narrow field. Few +persons have the ability to view a general subject in +all its relations. “Books” everybody knows something +of; yet very few are able to treat this general +subject in all its ramifications. A person writing of +the general topic “books” would not only be compelled +to know what a book is, what may truly be +called a book, and what is the value of books to readers, +and therefore the influence of the different kinds +of literature; he would also be driven to study the +machinery for making books, the history of printing, +illustrating, and binding books, and all the mechanical +processes connected with the manufacture of books. +The subject might take quite another turn, and be the +development of fiction or drama; it might be a discussion +of the influences, political or social, that have +moulded literature; it might be a study of character +as manifested in an author’s works. No one is well +<a class="pgnm" name="page100" id="page100">100</a> +fitted to write on the general topic “books.” A subject +should be limited.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">The Subject should allow Concrete Treatment.</span> +For young persons <i>the subject should be so selected +and stated that the treatment may be concrete.</i> +As persons advance they make more +generalizations; few, however, go so far as +to think in general terms. Macaulay says, +“Logicians may reason about abstractions, but the +great mass of men must have images.” That author +depended largely for his glittering effects upon the use +of common, concrete things which the masses understand. +The subject should be such that it can be +treated concretely. “Love,” as a general proposition, +is beautiful; but what more can a young writer say +about it? Let him leave the whole horde of abstract +subjects found in old rhetorics alone. They are subjects +for experience; they cannot be handled by youth.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">The Theme.</span> +After the subject has been chosen, the writer next +considers how he shall treat it. He selects +the attitude he will assume toward the proposition, +his point of view; and this position he embodies +in a short sentence, called his <i>theme.</i> For instance, +“patriotism” is the subject; as it stands it is abstract +and very general. However, this, “Can a partisan be +a patriot?” would be sufficiently concrete to be treated. +Even yet there is no indication of the author’s point of +view. Should he write, “A real partisan is no patriot,” +his theme is announced, and his point of view known.</p> + +<p>A <i>theme,</i> either explicit or implicit, <i>is essential in +exposition.</i> It is not necessary that it shall be stated +to the reader, but it must be clearly stated by the +writer for his own guidance. It is, however, usually +announced at the opening of the essay. Whether +announced or not, it is most essential to the success +of the essay. It is the touchstone by which the author +<a class="pgnm" name="page101" id="page101">101</a> +tries all the material which he has collected. Not +everything on the subject of patriotism should be admitted +to an essay that has for its theme, “A real +partisan cannot be a true patriot.” It would save +many a digression if the theme were always written +in bold, black letters, and placed before the author as +he writes. Every word in a theme should be there +for a purpose, expressing some important modification +of the thought. For instance, the statement above +regarding a partisan may be too sweeping; perhaps +the essayist would prefer to discuss the modified statement +that “a blind partisan cannot always be a true +patriot.” The theme should state exactly what will +be treated in the essay. The statement of it should +employ the hardest kind of thinking; and when the +theme is determined definitely and for all, the essay +is safe from the intrusion of foreign ideas which disturb +the harmony of the whole.</p> + +<p>Another advantage in the theme is that, when once +chosen, it will go far toward writing the essay. One +great trouble with the young writer is that he is not +willing to rely on his theme to suggest his composition. +Mr. Palmer well says:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“He examines his pen point, the curtains, his inkstand, to +see if perhaps ideas may not be had from these. He wonders +what the teacher will wish him to say, and he tries to +recall how the passage sounded in the Third Reader. In +every direction but one he turns, and that is the direction +where lies the prime mover of his toil, his subject. Of that +he is afraid. Now, what I want to make evident is that his +subject is not in reality the foe, but the friend. It is his +only helper. His composition is not to be, as he seems to +suppose, a mass of laborious inventions, but it is made up +exclusively of what the subject dictates. He has only to +attend. At present he stands in his own way, making such +<a class="pgnm" name="page102" id="page102">102</a> +a din with his private anxieties that he cannot hear the rich +suggestions of his subject. He is bothered with considering +how he feels, or what he or somebody else will like to see on +his paper. This is debilitating business. He must lean on his +subject, if he would have his writing strong, and busy himself +with what it says, rather than with what he would say.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_20" name="footref_20" href="#footnote_20">20</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">The Title.</span> +Having selected a subject, and with care stated the +theme, it yet remains to give the essay a +name. There is something in a name, and +those authors who make a living by the pen are the +shrewdest in displaying their wares under the most +attractive titles. <i>The title should be attractive,</i> but +it should not promise what the essay does not give. +Newspaper headlines are usually attractive enough, +but shamefully untruthful. Next, the title should <i>indicate +the scope of the essay.</i> When Mr. Palmer +calls his little book “Self-Cultivation in English,” it +is evident that it is not a text-book, and that it will +not treat English as literature or as a science. Then, +the title should be <i>short.</i> The theme can rarely be +used as a title; it is too long. But the paramount +idea developed in the essay should be embodied in the +title. “Partisanship and Patriotism” would be a +good subject to give the essay we have spoken of. +The title, then, should be attractive; it should be +short; and it should truthfully indicate the contents +of the essay.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Selection of Material.</span> +One of the important factors in the construction of +an essay is the selection of material. Though +theme and title have already been discussed, +it was not because they are the things for a +writer to consider next after he has chosen his subject, +but because they are so intimately bound up in the +subject that their consideration at that time was natural. +Before a writer can decide upon the position he will +<a class="pgnm" name="page103" id="page103">103</a> +assume toward a proposition, he should have looked +over the field in a general way; for only with the facts +before him is he competent to choose his point of view +and to state his theme. The title is not in the least +essential to the writing of the essay; it may be deferred +until the essay is finished. It is necessary, however, +that the writer have much knowledge of his subject, +and that from this knowledge he be able to frame an +opinion regarding the subject. When this has been +done he is ready to begin the work of constructing his +essay; and the first question in exposition, as in narration +and description, is the selection of material to develop +the theme he has chosen.</p> + +<p>The selection of material is a more difficult matter +in exposition than in narration and description. It +requires the shrewdest scrutiny to keep out matter that +does not help the thought forward. In narration we +decided by the main incident; in description by the +purpose and the point of view; in exposition we test +all material by its relation to the theme. Does it help +to explain the theme? If not, however good material +it may be, it has no business in the essay.</p> + +<p>Association of ideas is a law by which, when one of +two related ideas is mentioned, the other is suggested. +To illustrate, when Manila is mentioned, Admiral +Dewey appears; when treason is spoken of, Arnold is +in the mind. This law is of fundamental importance +in arranging an essay; one thing should suggest the +next. But valuable as it is, even indispensable, it +may become the source of much mischief. For instance, +a pupil has this for a topic, “Reading gives +pleasure to many.” He writes as his second sentence, +“By pleasure I mean the opposite of pain,” and goes +on. “All things are understood by their opposites. +If we did not know sickness, we could not enjoy our +<a class="pgnm" name="page104" id="page104">104</a> +health. Joy is understood through sorrow. I remember +my first sorrow. My father had just given me a +new knife,—my first knife,” and so on from one thing +to another. And not so unnaturally either; each sentence +has suggested the next, but not one is on the topic. +The most anxious watch must be kept in the selection +of material. Some will be admitted without any question; +some will be excluded with a brusqueness almost +brutal. There is a third class, however, that is allied +with the subject, yet it is not so easy to determine +whether it should be admitted or rejected. This class +requires the closest questioning. It must contribute to +the strength of the essay, not to its pages, or it has no +place there.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Scale of Treatment.</span> +<i>There is another condition which must be considered +in the selection of material, the scale of treatment.</i> +If Macaulay had been asked by a +daily paper to contribute a paragraph of five hundred +words on Milton, he could not have introduced all the +numerous topics which have their place in his essay of +one hundred pages. He might have mentioned Milton’s +poetry and his character, the two main divisions +of the present essay; but Dante and Æschylus, Puritan +and Royalist, would scarcely have received notice. +The second consideration in selecting material +is the purpose and length of the essay, and the consequent +thoroughness with which the subject is to be +treated.</p> + +<p><i>The exhaustiveness with which an author treats any +subject depends, first, on his knowledge.</i> Any person +could write a paragraph on Milton; Macaulay and +Lowell wrote delightful essays on the topic; David +Masson has written volumes about him. These would +have been impossible except to a person who had been +a special student of the subject. Second, the thoroughness +<a class="pgnm" name="page105" id="page105">105</a> +of the treatment depends <i>on the knowledge of the +readers.</i> For persons acquainted with the record of +the momentous events of Milton’s time, it would have +been quite unnecessary, it might be considered even +an insult to intelligence, to go into such details of +history. The shortest statement suffices when the +reader is already familiar with the subject and needs +only to know the application in this case. Third, the +scale of treatment depends <i>on the purpose for which +the essay is written.</i> If a newspaper paragraph, it is +one thing; if for a magazine, it is quite another; if it +is to be the final word on the subject, it may reach to +volumes.</p> + +<p>An apt illustration of proportion in the scale of +treatment has been given by Scott and Denny in their +“Composition-Rhetoric.” They suggest that three +maps of the United States, one very large, another +half the size of the first, and a third very small, be +hung side by side. If a comparison be made, it will +be found that, whereas a great number of cities are +represented on the largest map, only half as many appear +on the middle-sized map. If the smallest map be +examined, only the largest cities, the longest rivers, +the greatest lakes, and the highest mountains can be +found; all others must be omitted. On all three maps +the same relation of parts is maintained. In proportion +to the whole, New York State will hold the same +position in all of them. The Mississippi River will +flow from Minnesota to the Gulf of Mexico, and the +Gulf will sweep in a curve from Texas to Florida. +The scale is different, but the proportion does not +change.</p> + +<p>This principle applies in the construction of themes. +In a paragraph only very important topics will receive +any mention. In an essay these important topics retain +<a class="pgnm" name="page106" id="page106">106</a> +their proper place and relation, while many other +points of subordinate rank will be introduced. If the +treatment be lengthened to a book, a host of minor +sub-topics will be considered, each adding something +to the development of the theme, and each giving to +its principal topic the relative importance which belongs +to the main divisions of the essay. The scale of +treatment will have much to do with the selection of +material.</p> + +<p>Using Macaulay’s “Milton” as an illustration, the +analyses below will show how by increasing the size +of the essay new subjects come into the field for notice. +The first is but a paragraph and has the two +main divisions of the essay. The second is an outline +for an essay of two thousand words. In the third only +one of the sub-topics is analyzed, as Macaulay has discussed +it. It would take too much space to analyze +minutely the whole essay.</p> + +<p class="ctr">MILTON.</p> +<div class="outline AI"> +<ol> +<li>Milton’s poetry has given him his position among great +men.</li> +<li>His conduct was such as was to be expected from a man +of a spirit so high and of an intellect so powerful.</li> +</ol> +</div> + +<p>In the following outline the same main headings are +retained, and the sub-topics which explain them are +introduced. The numbers indicate the paragraphs +in Macaulay’s essay given to each topic.</p> + +<p class="ctr">INTRODUCTION (1-8).</p> +<div class="outline AI"> +<ol> +<li>Milton’s poetry has given him his position among men. +(9-46.) + <ol> + <li>No poet has ever triumphed over greater difficulties + than Milton. (10-19.)</li> + <li>In his lesser works he shows his great power. + (20-31.)</li> + <li><a class="pgnm" name="page107" id="page107">107</a> + There is but one modern poem that can be compared + with “Paradise Lost;” Dante’s “Divine Comedy” has + great power, is upon a kindred subject, but in style of + treatment widely different. (32-46.)<br /> + Transition. (47-49.)</li> + </ol> +</li> +<li>His conduct was such as was to be expected from a +man of a spirit so high and of an intellect so powerful. +(50-90.) + <ol> + <li>He lived at one of the most memorable eras in the history + of mankind, and his conduct must be judged as + that of the people is judged. (50-78.)</li> + <li>There were some peculiarities which distinguished + him from his contemporaries. (79-90.)<br /> + Conclusion. (91-94.)</li> + </ol> +</li> +</ol> +</div> + +<p>Again, taking up but one section, B, II., the analysis +is as follows:—</p> + +<div class="outline IA1a"> +<ol> +<li value="2">There were some peculiarities which distinguished him +from his contemporaries. (79-90.) + <ol> + <li>Milton adopted the noblest qualities of every + party— + <ol> + <li>Puritans. (80-84.) + <ol> + <li>They excited contempt. However</li> + <li>They were no vulgar fanatics; but</li> + <li>They derived their peculiarities from their + daily contemplation of superior beings and + eternal interests.</li> + <li>Thus the Puritan was made up of two men,—the + one all self-abasement, the other all + pride.</li> + <li>Résumé of character of Puritans.</li> + </ol> + </li> + <li>Heathens were passionate lovers of freedom. (85.)</li> + <li>Royalists had individual independence, learning, + and polite manners of the Court.</li> + </ol> + </li> + <li>But he alone fought the battle for the freedom of + the mind. (88.) + <ol> + <li>This led him to discard parties; and (89)</li> + <li>To dare the boldest literary services. (90.)</li> + </ol> + </li> + </ol> +</li> +</ol> +</div> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page108" id="page108">108</a> +The fundamental principle guiding in the selection +of material is unity. It decides what may with propriety +be admitted to the essay, and it determines in +part what must be left out. Another principle, secondary +to this, is scale of treatment. If the essay is +to be short, only essentials may be used; if long, many +related sub-topics must take their subordinate positions +in the essay.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Arrangement.</span> +Following the selection of material comes its arrangement. +Here also there is greater difficulty +than was experienced in narration or description. +Though the same principles of Coherence and +Mass guide, they are more difficult to apply. The +seat of the difficulty is in the elusiveness of the material. +It is hard to picture distinctly the value and +relation of the different topics of an essay. Suppose +the subject is “The Evils of War.” The first paragraph +might contain a general statement announcing +the theme. Then these topics are to be discussed:—</p> + +<div class="outline"> +<ol> +<li>The effect on the <i>morale</i> of a nation.</li> +<li>The suffering of friends and relatives.</li> +<li>The destruction of life.</li> +<li>The backward step in civilization.</li> +<li>The destruction of property.</li> +</ol> +</div> + +<p>The order could not be much worse. How shall a +better be obtained?</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Use Cards for Subdivisions.</span> +The most helpful suggestion regarding a method of +making the material in some degree visible, +capable of being grasped, is that each subdivision +be placed on a separate card, and that, +as the material is gathered, it be put upon the card containing +the group to which it belongs. By different +arrangements of these cards the writer can find most +easily the order that is natural and effective. It is +much like anagrams, this ordering of matter in an +<a class="pgnm" name="page109" id="page109">109</a> +essay. Take these letters, s-l-y-w-a-r-e, and in your +head try to put them together to make a word; you +will have some trouble, probably. If, however, these +same letters be put upon separate slips of paper, you +may with some arrangement get out the rather common +word, lawyers. It is much the same with topic +cards in exposition; they can be moved and rearranged +in all possible ways, and at last an order distinctly +better than any other will be found.</p> + +<p>Speaking of cards, it might be well to say that the +habit of putting down a fact or an idea bearing on a +topic just as soon as it occurs to one is invaluable for +a writer. All men have good memories; some persons +have better ones than others. But there is no one +who does not forget; and each catches himself very +often saying, “I knew that, but I forgot it.” It is a +fact, not perhaps complimentary, that paper tablets +are surer than the tablets of memory.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">An Outline.</span> +In exposition, where the whole attention of the +reader should be given to the thought, where +more than ever the mind should be freed from +every hindrance, and its whole energy directed to getting +the meaning, the greatest care should be given +to making a plan. No person who has attained distinction +in prose has worked without a plan. Any +piece of literature, even the most discursive, has in it +something of plan; but in literature of the first rank +the plan is easily discovered. How clear it is in Macaulay’s +essay has been seen. In Burke it is yet more +logical and exact. However beautiful a piece may be, +however naturally one thought grows out of another, +as though it were always so and could be no other way, +be sure it is so because of some man’s thought, on account +of careful planning. And it may be said without +a chance of contradiction that when an essay has +<a class="pgnm" name="page110" id="page110">110</a> +been well planned it is half done, and that half by far +the harder. “We can hardly at the present day understand +what Menander meant, when he told a man +who inquired as to the progress of his comedy that he +had finished it, not having yet written a single line, +because he had constructed the action of it in his mind. +A modern critic would have assured him that the merit +of his piece depended on the brilliant things which +arose under his pen as he went along.” The brilliant +things are but the gargoyles and the scrolls, the ornaments +of the structure; and when so brilliant as to attract +especial attention, they divert the mind from the +total effect much as a series of beautiful marbles set +between those perfect columns would have ruined the +Parthenon. It was not in any single feature—not in +pediment, column, or capital, not in frieze, architrave, +or tympanum—that its glorious beauty lay, but in +the simple strength and the harmonious symmetry of +the whole, in the general plan. Webster planned his +orations, Newman planned his essays, Carlyle planned +his Frederick the Great. Their works are not a momentary +inspiration; they are the result of forethought, +long and painstaking. The absolute essential in the +structure of an essay, that without which it will fail to +arrive anywhere, that compared to which all ornament, +all fine writing, is but sounding brass and a tinkling +cymbal, that absolute essential is the total effect secured +by making a plan.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Mass the End.</span> +The principles governing the arrangement of material +are Mass and Coherence. Both are +equally essential, but in practice some questions +regarding Mass are settled first. <i>The important +positions in an essay are the beginning and the +end; of these the more important is the end.</i> In this +place, then, there shall be those sentences or those +<a class="pgnm" name="page111" id="page111">111</a> +paragraphs which deserve that distinction. Here frequently +stands the theme, the conclusion of the whole +matter, that for which the composition was constructed. +So that if one wished to know the theme of an essay, +he would be justified in looking at its conclusion to find +it. In the essay on “Milton,” it is evident from the +last paragraph that Macaulay never intended it to be +only a criticism of his poetry, though he has devoted +many pages to this discussion. Here is just the last +sentence: “Nor do we envy the man who can study +either the life or the writings of the great poet and +patriot without aspiring to emulate, not indeed the +sublime works with which his genius has enriched our +literature, but the zeal with which he labored for the +public good, the fortitude with which he endured every +private calamity, the lofty disdain with which he looked +down on temptations and dangers, the deadly hatred +which he bore to bigots and tyrants, and the faith +which he so sternly kept with his country and his +fame.” Notice the last sentence of a delightful essay +by George William Curtis; one could easily guess the +contents and the title. “Fear of yourself, fear of your +own rebuke, fear of betraying your consciousness of +your duty and not doing it—that is the fear that +Lovelace loved better than Lucasta; that is the fear +which Francis, having done his duty, saved, and justly +called it honor.” Examples of the ending in which the +theme of the essay stands in the place of greatest distinction +are so plentiful that there needs no collector to +establish the assertion.</p> + +<p>In a single paragraph of exposition not exceeding +two or three hundred words, it is a very safe rule for +a beginner always to have the theme in the last sentence; +or if he has stated the theme in the opening, +to have a restatement of it in different form, fuller and +<a class="pgnm" name="page112" id="page112">112</a> +more explicit usually, sometimes a shorter and more +epigrammatic form, in the conclusion.</p> + +<p>If the pupil should obey this little rule to have +at the end something worthy of the position, a vast +amount of time would be saved both to teacher and to +pupil. It can be safely said that not more than one +half the essays end when the thought ends. Instead +of quitting when he has finished, the writer dribbles +on, repeating in diluted fashion what he has said with +some force before, and often introducing matters that +are not within hailing distance of his theme. When +one has said what he started out to say, it is time to +stop. If he stops then, he will have something important +in the place of distinction.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">The Beginning.</span> +<i>The position of second importance is the beginning.</i> +If but a paragraph be written, the topic is +usually announced at the opening. In short +essays this is the most frequent beginning, and it may +safely be used at all times. Exposition is explanation; +the natural thing is to let the reader know at once +what the writer is attempting to explain. Then the +reader knows what the author is talking about and can +relate every statement to the general proposition. To +delay the topic compels the reader to hold in mind all +that has been said up to the time the real theme is +uncovered; this frequently results in inattention. In +the little book by Mr. Palmer, the first paragraph opens +with these two sentences: “English as a study has four +aims: the mastery of our language as a science, as a +history, as a joy, and as a tool. I am concerned with +but one, the mastery of it as a tool.” So, too, the essay +of which the last sentence has been quoted begins: +“These are very precious words of Lovelace:—</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p>‘I could not love thee, dear, so much,</p> +<p>Loved I not honor more.’</p> +</blockquote> + +<p class="noind"><a class="pgnm" name="page113" id="page113">113</a> +And Francis First’s message to his mother after Pavia, +‘All is lost but honor,’ is in the same key.”</p> + +<p>Instead of announcing the theme at the very beginning, +in essays of some length there is sometimes an +account of the occasion which led to the composition. +Macaulay has used this opening in the essay on “Milton.” +Second, the opening may be the clearing away +of matters unrelated in reality, but which people have +commonly associated with the topic. And third, the +essay may open with definitions of the terms that will +be used in the discussion. Of these three, only the +first will be much used by young persons. It makes +an easy approach to the subject, and avoids the unpleasant +jar of an abrupt start. It is common with +Macaulay, Lowell, and many essayists that write in an +easy, almost conversational style.</p> + +<p>There is one case in which the theme should not be +announced at the opening. If the proposition were +distasteful, if it were generally believed to be false, it +would not be policy to announce it at the beginning. +However reasonable men may be, it is still true that +reason is subject to emotions and beliefs to a greater +degree than is praiseworthy. If a man should open an +address upon Abraham Lincoln by saying that he was +a cringing coward, he would have difficulty to get an +audience to hear anything he said after that, no matter +how much truth he spoke. The author of such a statement +would be so disliked that nothing would win for +him favor. When an unwelcome theme is to be discussed, +it must be approached carefully by successive +steps which prepare the reader for the reception of a +truth that before seemed false to him. In this case +the theme will be stated at the end, but not at the beginning +of the essay.</p> + +<p>Get started as soon as you can, and stop when you +<a class="pgnm" name="page114" id="page114">114</a> +have finished; by so doing you will have important +matters in those places which will emphasize them. +Shun the allurements of high-sounding introductions +and conclusions. Professor Marston used to tell his +pupils to write the best introduction they could, to +fashion their most gorgeous peroration, and to be sure +to have the discussion clear, logical, and well expressed. +Then he said that when he had cut off both ends, he +generally had left a good essay. An essay should be +done much as a business man does business. He does +not want the gentleman who calls on him during business +hours to bow and scatter compliments before he +takes up the matter which brought him there; nor does +he care to see him swaying on the doorknob after the +business is finished. To the business at once, and leave +off when you have done. Introductions, exordiums, +perorations, and conclusions are worthless unless they +be in reality a part of the discussion and necessary to +the understanding of the whole.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Proportion in Treatment.</span> +Everything, however, cannot occupy the first and last +places. How can other matters be emphasized? +To refer to the parallel of the map, in +order to make people see that the Mississippi +River is longer than the Hudson, the designer made it +longer on the map. That is exactly what is done in an +essay. If one matter is of greater importance than +another, it should take up a larger part of the essay. +When Macaulay passes over Milton’s sonnets with a +paragraph, while he devotes sixteen paragraphs to “Paradise +Lost,” he indicates by the greater mass the greater +value he ascribes to the epic. So again, a very good +proof that he did not intend this essay to be a literary +criticism primarily, another evidence beside the closing +paragraph, is found in his division of the whole essay. +To Milton’s poetry he has given forty-one paragraphs, +<a class="pgnm" name="page115" id="page115">115</a> +and to his character fifty-two paragraphs. The most +common way of emphasizing important divisions of an +essay is by increasing the length of treatment.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Emphasis of Emotion.</span> +However, there are times when this cannot be done: +a point may be so well known that it needs no +amplification. In such a case there may be +an emphasis of emotion; that is, the statement +may be made with an intensity that counterbalances +the weight of the larger treatment. It might be +said that the one has great velocity and little mass, +while the other has great mass and little velocity. By +hurling forth the smaller mass at a higher velocity, the +momentum may be as great as when the larger mass +moves with little velocity. The dynamic force of burning +words may give an emphasis to a paragraph out +of all proportion to the length of treatment. In one +paragraph Macaulay dashes aside all the defenses of +Charles. He writes:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“The advocates of Charles, like the advocates of other +malefactors against whom overwhelming evidence is produced, +generally decline all controversy about the facts, and content +themselves with calling testimony to character. He had so +many private virtues! And had James II. no private virtues? +Was Oliver Cromwell, his bitterest enemies themselves being +the judges, destitute of private virtues? And what, after all, +are the virtues ascribed to Charles? A religious zeal, not +more sincere than that of his son, and fully as weak and +narrow-minded, and a few of the ordinary household decencies +which half the tombstones in England claim for those +who lie beneath them. A good father! A good husband! +Ample apologies indeed for fifteen years of persecution, +tyranny, and falsehood.” (“Essay on Milton.”)</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Phrases indicating Emphasis.</span> +Moreover, phrases and sentences may be introduced +to show that a writer considers some topics of equal +importance to others, or even of greater importance, +<a class="pgnm" name="page116" id="page116">116</a> +though they do not demand the same length of treatment. +<i>Of equal importance, not less weighty, +beyond question the most pertinent,</i> illustrate +what is meant by phrases which indicate +values. These and many of their class which the occasion +will call forth are necessary to give certain topics +the rank they hold in the writer’s conception of the +whole subject. In discussing the temper and character +of the American people, Burke ascribes it to six powerful +causes. The relative value of these is indicated +in the last three by phrases. I quote only the opening +sentences.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“First, the people of the colonies are descendants of Englishmen.”... +“They were further confirmed in this pleasing +error by the form of their provincial legislative assemblies.”... +“If anything were wanting to this necessary operation of +the form of government, religion would have given it a complete +effect.”... “There is a circumstance attending these +[southern] colonies which makes the spirit of liberty <i>still +more</i> high and haughty than in those to the northward.”... +“Permit me, Sir, to add another circumstance which contributes +<i>no mean part</i> towards the growth and effect of this +untractable spirit.”... “The last cause of this disobedient +spirit in the colonies is <i>hardly less powerful</i> than the rest.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_21" name="footref_21" href="#footnote_21">21</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Emphasis is indicated, then, by position; by the +length of treatment; by dynamic statement; and by +phrases denoting values.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Coherence.</span> +Coherence is the second principle which modifies the +internal structure of a composition. That +arrangement should be sought for that places +in proximity one to another those ideas which are +most closely related. More than in composition dealing +with things, in those forms of discourse dealing +with intangible, invisible ideas,—with thoughts, with +<a class="pgnm" name="page117" id="page117">117</a> +speculations,—the greatest care is necessary to make +one topic spring of necessity from a preceding topic. +And this is not impossible when the material has been +carefully selected. The principal divisions of the subject +bear a necessary and logical relation to the whole +theme, and the subordinate divisions have a similar relation +to their main topic. In the essay on “Milton,” +Macaulay is seeking to commend his hero to the reader +for two reasons: first, because his writings “are powerful, +not only to delight, but to elevate and purify;” +second, because “the zeal with which he labored for +the public good, the fortitude with which he endured +every private calamity, the lofty disdain with which he +looked down on temptations and dangers, the deadly +hatred which he bore to bigots and tyrants, and the +faith which he so sternly kept with his country and with +his fame” made him a patriot worthy of emulation. +We feel instinctively that this arrangement, poetry +first and character next, and not the reverse, is the +right order. To discuss character first and poetry +last would have been ruinous to Macaulay’s purpose. +Notice next the development of a sub-topic in the same +essay. Only one sentence from a paragraph is given. +The defenders of Charles do not choose to discuss “the +great points of the question,” but “content themselves +with exposing some of the crimes and follies to which +public commotions necessarily give birth.” “Be it so.” +“Many evils were produced by the Civil War.” “It is +the character of such revolutions that we always see the +worst of them first.” Yet “there is only one cure for +the evils which newly acquired freedom produces, and +that cure is freedom.” “Therefore it is that we decidedly +approve of the conduct of Milton and the other +wise and good men who, in spite of much that was +ridiculous and hateful in the conduct of their associates, +<a class="pgnm" name="page118" id="page118">118</a> +stood firmly by the cause of public liberty.” No +other arrangement of these paragraphs seems possible. +To shift the sequence would break the chain. Each +paragraph grows naturally from the paragraph preceding. +Closely related topics stand together. There is +Coherence.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Transition Phrases.</span> +The logical connection between topics which have +been well arranged may be made more evident +by the skillful use of words and phrases +that indicate the relation of what has been said to what +is to be said. These phrases are guideposts pointing +the direction the next topic will take. They advise the +reader where he is and whither he is going. Cardinal +Newman, who had the ability to write not only so that +he could be understood, but so that he could not be +misunderstood, made frequent use of these guides. The +question in one of his essays is “whether knowledge, +that is, acquirement, is the real principle of enlargement, +or whether that is not rather something beyond +it.” These fragments of sentences open a series of +paragraphs. 1. “For instance, let a person ... go for +the first time where physical nature puts on her wilder +and more awful forms,” etc. 2. “Again, the view of +the heavens which the telescope opens,” etc. 3. “And +so again, the sight of beasts of prey and other foreign +animals,” etc. 4. “Hence Physical Science generally,” +etc. 5. “Again, the study of history,” etc. 6. “And +in like manner, what is called seeing the world,” etc. +7. “And then again, the first time the mind comes +across the arguments and speculations of unbelievers,” +etc. 8. “On the other hand, Religion has its own +enlargement,” etc. 9. “Now from these instances, ... +it is plain, first, that the communication of knowledge +certainly is either a condition or a means of that sense +of enlargement, or enlightenment of which at this day +<a class="pgnm" name="page119" id="page119">119</a> +we hear so much in certain quarters: this cannot be +denied; but next, it is equally plain, that such communication +is not the whole of the process.” How +extremely valuable such phrases are may be realized +from the fact that, though the matter is entirely unknown, +any one can know the relation of the parts of +this essay, whither it tends, and can almost supply +Newman’s thoughts.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Summary and Transition.</span> +To secure coherence between the main divisions of +an essay, instead of words and phrases, there +are employed sentences and paragraphs of +summary and transition. Summaries gather +up what has been said on the topic, much like a conclusion +to a theme; transitions show the relation between +the topic already discussed and the one next +to be treated. Summaries at the conclusion of any +division of the whole subject are like the seats on a +mountain path which are conveniently arranged to give +the climber a needed rest, and to spread out at his feet +the features of the landscape through which he has +made his way. Summaries put the reader in possession +of the situation up to that point, and make him +ready for the next stage of the advance. At the end +of the summary there is frequently a transition, either +a few sentences or sometimes a short paragraph. The +sentence or paragraph of transition is much more frequent +than the paragraph which summarizes.</p> + +<p>The examples of these summaries and transitions are +so frequent in Macaulay and Burke that one transition +is sufficient to indicate their use. Macaulay writes:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“There are several minor poems of Milton on which we +would willingly make a few remarks.... Our limits, however, +prevent us from discussing the point at length. We +hasten on to that extraordinary production which the general +suffrage of critics has placed in the highest class of human +compositions.” (“Essay on Milton.”)</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page120" id="page120">120</a> +To conclude, exposition embraces definition and explanation. +Definition is usually too concise to be clear, +and needs an added explanation. In any piece of +exposition there must be unity, and this principle will +dispense with everything that is not essential to the +theme; there must be judicious massing, that those +parts of the essay deserving emphasis may receive it; +and there must be a coherence between the parts, +large and small, so close and intimate that the progress +from one topic to another shall be steady and without +hindrance. Unity, Mass, and Coherence should be the +main considerations in composition the aim of which is +to explain a term or a proposition.</p> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="page121" id="page121">121</a></div> + +<p class="ctr"><br /><b>SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS AND EXERCISES.</b></p> + +<p class="ctr"><br /><b>QUESTIONS.</b></p> + +<p class="ctr">MACAULAY’S ESSAY ON MILTON.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 103.)</p> + +<p>What makes up the introduction of this essay? Does he +use the same method in the Essay on Addison? Take a +volume of his essays and see how many begin in similar +fashion. At what paragraph of this Essay on Milton does +the introduction end? Would it be as well to omit it? +Give reasons for your opinion.</p> + +<p>Make an analysis of his argument of the proposition, “No +poet has ever triumphed over greater difficulties than Milton.”</p> + +<p>Does Macaulay give a definition of poetry on page 13, or +is it an exposition of the term?</p> + +<p>What figure of speech do you find in the last sentence of +the paragraph on page 43?</p> + +<p>When Macaulay begins to discuss “the public conduct of +Milton,” what method of introduction does he adopt? What +value is there in it?</p> + +<p>Do the trifles mentioned at the end of the paragraph on +page 55 make an anticlimax?</p> + +<p>What arrangement of sentences in the paragraph does he +use most, individual or serial?</p> + +<p>Does he close his paragraphs with a repetition of the topic +more frequently than with a single detail emphasizing the +topic?</p> + +<p>Is his last sentence, in case it is a repetition of the topic, +longer or shorter than the topic sentence?</p> + +<p>Does Macaulay frequently use epigrams? antitheses?</p> + +<p>Find all transition paragraphs.</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page122" id="page122">122</a> +Find ten full sentence transitions outside of the transition +paragraphs.</p> + +<p>Where, in such paragraphs, is the topic sentence?</p> + +<p>In this essay find examples of the five methods of expounding +a proposition.</p> + +<p>Which method does Macaulay use oftenest?</p> + +<p>Is his treatment of the subject concrete?</p> + +<p>What advantage is there in such treatment?</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br />OF KINGS’ TREASURIES.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 142.)</p> + +<p>Do you think the title good?</p> + +<p>Is Ruskin wise in disclosing his subject at once?</p> + +<p>In section 3 what purpose does the first paragraph fulfill? +What method of exposition is adopted in the last paragraph? +What method in section 4?</p> + +<p>For what purpose is the first paragraph of section 5 introduced? +Is the last paragraph of this section a digression?</p> + +<p>Do you think the last sentence of section 9 upon the +topic announced in the first sentence? Where does Ruskin +begin to treat the second topic? Should there be two paragraphs?</p> + +<p>Find the genus and differentia in the definition of “a +good book of the hour.”</p> + +<p>What is the use of the analogy in section 13?</p> + +<p>What figure do you find in section 14?</p> + +<p>Do you think a large part of section 30 a digression?</p> + +<p>What do you think of the structure of sentences 4 and 8 in +section 32? Could you improve it by a change of punctuation?</p> + +<p>What is the effect of the supposed case at the end of +section 33? Is it a fair deduction? Is it at the right place +in the paragraph, and why?</p> + +<p>Where would you divide the paragraph in section 37?</p> + +<p>Is the example in section 36 a fair one, and does it prove +the case?</p> + +<p>What is a very common method with Ruskin of connecting +paragraphs?</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page123" id="page123">123</a> +Could you break up the sixth sentence of section 31 so +that it would be better?</p> + +<p>If his audience had been hostile to him would he have +been fortunate in some of his assertions? Make an analysis +of the whole essay. Does he seem to you to have digressed +from his topic? At what point? Should it be two essays?</p> + +<p>What led Ruskin into this long criticism of English character?</p> + +<p>Could you include all the main topics that Ruskin has +included, and by a change in proportion keep the essay on +the subject?</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br />WEBSTER’S BUNKER HILL ORATION.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 56.)</p> + +<p>Number the paragraphs in this oration.</p> + +<p>Why is paragraph 3 introduced?</p> + +<p>What method of development is used in paragraph 7? +In paragraph 8?</p> + +<p>In how many paragraphs is the last sentence short?</p> + +<p>In how many is the last sentence a repetition of the topic?</p> + +<p>What purpose is served in paragraphs 8, 9, and 10?</p> + +<p>In paragraph 12 note the use of contrast.</p> + +<p>What kind of development in paragraph 27?</p> + +<p>Analyze the oration from paragraph 28.</p> + +<p>Does he place the topic sentence near the beginning of +the paragraphs?</p> + +<p>Does he frequently use transition sentences?</p> + +<p>Do you think the outline of this as distinct as that of +Macaulay’s Essay on Milton? Should it be?</p> + +<p>What figure of speech in the word “axe” in paragraph +32, and “bayonet” in paragraph 36?</p> + +<p>What figure at the end of paragraph 40?</p> + +<p>Does he use figures as frequently as Macaulay?</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br /><b>EXERCISES.</b></p> + +<p>This year, taking up the study of exposition, offers especially +good opportunities for exercises in paragraph and +<a class="pgnm" name="page124" id="page124">124</a> +sentence construction. During the first eight or ten weeks +the pupils will write isolated paragraphs. The unity and +arrangement of these should be carefully criticised. Also +the exercises should be arranged so that the pupils will employ +all forms of paragraphs. Before he begins to write a +paragraph, the pupil should know what he is to include in +it, and in what order; otherwise the paragraph will fail in +unity and effective massing. Paragraphs are made by forethought, +not by inspiration.</p> + +<p>Following the writing of isolated paragraphs is the composition +of the long essay. The first thing is a study of outlines. +This will take up six or eight weeks. To secure the +view of the whole in different arrangements, use the cards.</p> + +<p>When the class has gained some grasp of outlines, the +writing of essays should be begun. At the option of the +pupils, they may write some of the essays already outlined, +or study new themes. Two or three paragraphs are all that +can be well done for a lesson. Good, not much, should be +the ideal. In this way a single essay may occupy a class +from three to six weeks.</p> + +<p>It should be remembered that these exercises are written +consciously for practice. They are exercises—no more. +Their purpose is to give skill and judgment in composition. +It is because they are exercises that they may be somewhat +stereotyped and artificial in form, just as exercises in music +may be artificially constructed to meet the difficulties the +young musician will have to confront.</p> + +<p>During the writing of these essays special attention should +be given to sentence construction. The inclusion of just the +ideas needed in the sentence and no more; the massing that +makes prominent the thought that deserves prominence; and +the nice adjustment of one sentence to the next: these objects +should be striven for during this semester.</p> + +<ol> +<li>and 2. Write definitions of such common terms as jingoism, +civil service, gold standard, the submerged tenth, sweat shop, +internal revenue, cyclonic area, foreign policy, imperialism, +free silver, mugwump, political pull, Monroe doctrine, etc. +Five or six terms which are not found in a dictionary will +<a class="pgnm" name="page125" id="page125">125</a> +make a hard exercise; and two or three lessons in definitions +will set the pupils in the direction of accurate and adequate +statements.</li> +</ol> + +<p>For isolated paragraphs write upon the following subjects:—</p> + +<ol> +<li value="3">Novel reading gives one a knowledge of the world not +to be gained in any other way. Particulars.</li> + +<li>Novel reading unfits people for the actualities of life. +Specific instances.</li> + +<li>Among the numerous uses of biography three stand +forth preëminent,—it furnishes the material of history, it +lets us into the secrets of the good and great, and it sets before +us attainable ideals of noble humanity. Repetition.</li> + +<li>It is beyond any possibility of successful contradiction +that the examination system encourages cheating. Proofs.</li> + +<li> Electric cars and automobiles are driving horses out of +the cities. Instances.</li> + +<li>Every great development in the culture of a nation has +followed a great war. Proofs.</li> + +<li>From the following general subjects have the pupils +state definite themes. Write isolated paragraphs on a few +of them.<br /><br /> + +Political Parties.<br /> +War.<br /> +Books.<br /> +Machines.<br /> +Inventions.<br /> +Great Men.<br /> +Planets.<br /> +Civil Service.<br /> +Coeducation.<br /> +Roads.<br /> +Tramps.<br /> +Boycotts.</li> + +<li><p>Place another similar list on the board and have the +pupils vote on what three they prefer. Use these in making +outlines. Then select more.</p> + +<p>Supposing they had settled upon this theme: The tramp +<a class="pgnm" name="page126" id="page126">126</a> +is the logical result of our economic system; have it outlined. +The result might be as follows:—</p> +<div class="outline A1a"> +<ol> +<li>What is a tramp? + <ol> + <li>Who become tramps?</li> + <li>Their number.</li> + <li>Where are they?</li> + </ol> +</li> +<li>Why is he a tramp? + <ol> + <li>Inventions have increased the power of production + more rapidly than the demand for products has + grown. + <ol> + <li>On the farm.</li> + <li>Transportation.</li> + <li>Factories.</li> + <li>Piecework.</li> + </ol> + </li> + <li>Women now do much work formerly done by men. + <ol> + <li>As clerks.</li> + <li>As typewriters, stenographers, and bookkeepers.</li> + <li>In the professions.</li> + </ol> + </li> + <li>The result of these causes is that many men willing + to work are out of employment.</li> + </ol> +</li> +<li>What must be done?</li> +</ol> +</div></li> + +<li><p>Fill out the following outline.</p> + +<p>Subject: The Thermometer.</p> + +<div class="outline A1a"> +<ol> +<li>Its Invention.</li> +<li>Its Construction.</li> +<li>Its Value and Uses.</li> +</ol> +</div></li> + +<li>Outline six more themes.</li> + +<li>Beginning the writing of long essays, write essays in +sections. Using “Tramps” for an illustration, as it is outlined +it contains about twelve paragraphs. All of section +“A” may be included in one paragraph. “B, 1” may be +a paragraph of repetition; “a,” “b,” “c,” “d,” may each +make a paragraph of particulars. By stating “B, 2” in the +following way, it may be a paragraph of “what not:” It +was once considered unladylike for women to engage in any +occupation outside of the home. Men said that they could +not retain, etc.—Go on with the things woman could not do, +closing with a statement of what she does do. + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page127" id="page127">127</a> +“B, 2, a.” On account of their fidelity, honesty, and courtesy, +women succeed as clerks. Repetition.</p> + +<ol style="list-style-type: lower-alpha;"> +<li value="2">The quickness of their intelligence and the accuracy +of their work have made women more desirable for +routine work in an office than men. Comparison and +Contrast.</li> +<li>There are certain feminine qualities which especially +fit women for the practice of teaching and medicine. +Details.</li> +</ol> + +<p>“B, 3.” By Combination of Forms.</p> + +<p>“C.” By Details.</p></li> +</ol> + +<p>It would be a pleasure to go on with this list of exercises, +but it is unnecessary and it is unwise. These indicate the +objects to be sought for in the exercises. They are not a +specific course, though they might suit a certain environment. +Each teacher knows her own pupils,—their attainments and +their interests. The subjects should be chosen to suit their +special cases. Only make them interesting; put them into +such form that there is something to get hold of; and adapt +them so that all the topics to be studied will be illustrated in +the work. The pupils should be able to write any form of +paragraph, to arrange it so that any idea is made prominent, +and to make easy transitions. Arrange the exercises to +accomplish definite results.</p> + +<p>During the third year, attention should be given to words +and to the refinements of elegant composition. These the +pupils will best learn by careful watch of the literature. +The teacher should be quick to feel the strength and beauty +of any passage and able to point out the means adopted to +obtain the delightful effect. Clearness first is the thing to +be desired; if to this can be added force and a degree of +elegance during the last two years, the work of the instructor +has been well done.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="page128" id="page128">128</a></div> + +<h3>CHAPTER VI</h3> + +<p class="ctr"><b>ARGUMENT</b></p> + +<p>Argument has been defined as that form of discourse +the purpose of which is to convince the reader +of the truth or falsity of a proposition. It is closely +allied with exposition. To convince a person, it is first +necessary that the proposition be explained to him. +This is all that is necessary in many cases. Did men +decide all matters without prejudice, and were they +willing to accept the truth at any cost, even to discard +the beliefs that have been to them the source of greatest +happiness, the simple explanation would be sufficient. +However, as men are not all-wise, and as they +are not always “reasonable,” they are found to hold +different opinions regarding the same subject; and one +person often wishes to convince another of the error of +his beliefs. Men continually use the words <i>because</i> +and <i>therefore;</i> indeed, a great deal of writing has in it +an element of argument.</p> + +<p>From the fact that argument and exposition are so +nearly alike, it follows that they will be governed by +much the same principles. As argument, in addition +to explaining, seeks to convince, it is necessary, in addition +to knowing how to explain, to know what is considered +convincing,—what are proofs; and secondly, +what is the best order in which to arrange proofs.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Induction and Deduction.</span> +Arguments have been classified as inductive and +deductive.<a class="ftnt" id="footref_22" name="footref_22" href="#footnote_22">22</a> Induction includes arguments that proceed +<a class="pgnm" name="page129" id="page129">129</a> +from individual cases to establish a general truth. +Deduction comprises arguments that proceed +from a general truth to establish the proposition +in specific instances, or groups of instances.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Syllogism. Premises.</span> +If one should say “Socrates is mortal because he +is a man,” or “Socrates will die because all +men are mortal,” or “Socrates is a man, +therefore he will die,” by any of these he has expressed +a truth which all men accept. In any of these expressions +are bound up two propositions, called premises, +from which a third proposition, called a conclusion, is +derived. If expanded, the three propositions assume +this form: All men are mortal. Socrates is a man. +Therefore Socrates is mortal. This is termed a syllogism. +A syllogism consists of a major premise, a +predication about all the members of a general class of +objects; a minor premise, a predication that includes +an individual or a group of individuals in the general +class named by the major premise; and a conclusion, +the proposition which is derived from the relation +existing between the other two propositions. The +propositions above would be classified as follows:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>Major premise: All men are mortal, a predication about +<i>all</i> men.</p> + +<p>Minor premise: Socrates is a man, including an individual +in the general class.</p> + +<p>Conclusion: Socrates is mortal.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Terms.</span> +In every syllogism there are three terms,—major, +minor, and middle. The middle term is +found in both the premises, but not in the +conclusion. It is the link connecting the major and +minor terms. The major term is usually the predicate +of the major premise and the predicate of the conclusion. +The minor term is the subject of the minor premise +<a class="pgnm" name="page130" id="page130">130</a> +and the subject of the conclusion. “Men” is +the middle term, “are mortal” the major term, and +“Socrates,” the minor term.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Enthymeme.</span> +It is rarely the case in literature that the syllogism +is fully stated: generally one of the premises +is omitted. Such a form of statement is +termed an enthymeme. “Socrates will die because all +men are mortal” is an enthymeme. The minor premise +has been omitted. “Socrates is mortal because +he is a man” is also an enthymeme, because the major +premise which states that “all men are mortal” has +been omitted.</p> + +<p>The conclusions arrived at by means of syllogisms +are irresistible, provided the form be correct and the +premises be true. It is impossible here to discuss the +forms of syllogisms; they are too many. It will be +of value, however, to call attention to a few of the +commonest errors in syllogisms.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Definition of Terms.</span> +The first error arises from a misunderstanding of +terms. It is often said that George Eliot is +a poet; there are some who disagree. Certain +it is that she wrote in verse form; and it is true +that she has embodied noble thoughts in verse; but it +is quite as true that she lacks “the bird-note.” If this +were reduced to a syllogism, it would not be a discussion +of whether George Eliot be a poet, but rather a +discussion of what is a poet. Stated, it reads: All +persons who embody noble thoughts in verse form are +poets. George Eliot is a person who has embodied +noble thoughts in verse form. Therefore George Eliot +is a poet. If the major premise of this syllogism be +granted, the conclusion is unquestionable. The terms +should be defined at the beginning; then this error, +springing from a misunderstanding of terms, perhaps +the most common, would be avoided.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Undistributed Middle.</span> +<a class="pgnm" name="page131" id="page131">131</a> +The second error arises from the fact that the middle +term is not “distributed;” that is, the major +premise makes no statement about all the +members of a class. The premises in the +following are true, but the conclusion is nonsense.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>A horse is an animal.<br /> +Man is an animal.<br /> +Therefore, man is a horse.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p class="noind">The middle term, in this case “animal,” must be “distributed;” +some statement must be made of <i>all</i> animals. +The following would be true: All animals have +life; therefore man has life. The major premise predicates +life of all animals.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">False Premises.</span> +A third error in a syllogism is in the premises themselves. +If either premise be false, the conclusion +is not necessarily true. A parent +might say to his son, “You are doing wrong, and +you will pay the penalty for it soon.” Generally +he would be right. However, if this were put into a +syllogism, it would read as follows: All persons who +do wrong pay the penalty soon. You are such a person. +Therefore, etc. Admitting the son is breaking +the law, the fact is that the major premise is not +always true, and the conclusion holds the weakness of +the weak premise. Again, supposing everybody accepted +the general truth, “All unrepentant sinners will +be punished.” The minister might then say to a young +man, “You will certainly be punished, because all unrepentant +sinners will be punished.” The young man +might deny the suppressed minor premise, which is, +“You are an unrepentant sinner.” Both premises +must be true if they prove anything. The conclusion +contains the weakness of either premise. In both of +these examples note that the mistake is in the premise +which does not appear. In an enthymeme, great care +<a class="pgnm" name="page132" id="page132">132</a> +should be taken with the suppressed premise. Be sure +it is true when you use this form of argument, and be +sure to look for it and state it in full when examining +another’s argument. It is a common way of hiding a +weak point to cover it in the suppressed premise of an +enthymeme.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Method of Induction.</span> +Induction, which proceeds directly opposite to the +method of deduction, is the method by which +all our ultimate knowledge has been obtained. +By observing individual instances man has gathered +a great store of general truths. There was a time +when the first man would not have been justified in +saying, “The sun will rise in the east to-morrow.” The +general law had not been established. To-day it is +practically certain that the sun will rise in the east to-morrow +morning, because it has done so for thousands +of years; the large number of instances establishes the +general truth. Yet there may come a day when it will +rise in the south, or not rise at all. Until every case +has been tried and found to conform to the law, theoretically +man cannot be absolutely certain of any general +truth. There may come an exception to the +general rule that all men must die. So far, however, +there is no experience to justify any man in hoping to +escape death. “As sure as death” means in practice +absolutely sure, though this is not what is called a +perfect induction; that is, an induction in which every +possible case has been included. “All the other States +are smaller than Texas” is a perfect induction, but it +forms no basis for argument. All the cases must be +known for a perfect induction; there is no unknown +to argue to. This, then, is only a short statement of +many individual truths, and has but little of value. +Induction that is imperfect is more valuable; for with +many cases the probability becomes so strong that it is +a practical certainty. It is the method of science.</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page133" id="page133">133</a> +More valuable for literature is another division of +arguments into arguments from cause, arguments from +sign, and arguments from example.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Arguments from Cause.</span> +Arguments from cause include those propositions +which, if they were granted, would account +for the fact or proposition maintained. The +decisive test is to suppose the proposition to +be true; then, if it will account for the condition, it is +an argument from cause. A child holds its finger in +a flame; therefore its finger is burned. If the first +proposition be supposed to be true, it will account for +a burned finger. It is an argument from cause, and it +is conclusive. Again, if a man severs his carotid artery, +he will die. If the first proposition be supposed to be +true, it will account for the man’s subsequent death. +Now, supposing a man takes strychnine, he will die. +This is not quite so sure. If a stomach-pump were +used or an antidote given, he might not die. The +cause has been hindered in its action, or another cause +has intervened to counterbalance the first. If, then, a +cause be adequate to produce the effect, and if it act +unhindered or unmodified, the effect will certainly follow +the active cause. An argument that uses as a +premise such a cause may predicate its effect as a conclusion +with absolute certainty. Such an argument is +conclusive.</p> + +<p>The argument from cause is used more frequently +to establish a probability than to prove a fact or proposition. +However strong the proofs of a statement +may be, men hesitate to accept either the statement or +the proofs if the proposition is not plausible, or, as +people say, if “they do not understand it,” or if “it is +not reasonable.” If a murder be done and circumstances +all point to your friend, you do not believe +your friend to be the criminal until some fact is produced +<a class="pgnm" name="page134" id="page134">134</a> +sufficient to cause your friend to commit the +crime,—until some motive is established. If it be +shown that the friend hated the murdered man and +would be benefited by his death, a motive is established,—the +proposition is made plausible. A man +could “understand how he came to do it.” The hatred +and the benefit being granted, they would account for +his deed. It is an argument from cause, used not as a +proof, but to establish a probability. It makes the proposition +ready for proof.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Arguments from Sign.</span> +The second class of arguments, arguments from sign, +is most often used for proof. If two facts or +conditions always occur together, the presence +of one is a sign of the presence of the other. Cause +and effect are so related that if either be observed, it +is an indication of the other. No cause acts without +a consequent effect; an effect is a sure sign of a preceding +cause. Supposing one should say, “Because +the flowers are dead, there was a frost,” or “If ice has +formed on the river, it must have been cold,” in both +instances the argument would be an argument from +sign. Both also proceed from the effect to the cause. +Only a low temperature forms ice on the river; the +argument from effect to cause is conclusive. In the +first case, the argument is not conclusive, because flowers +may die from other causes. In a case like this, +it is necessary to find all possible causes, and then by +testing each in succession to determine which could +not have acted and leave the one that is the only +actual cause. A man is found dead; death has resulted +from natural causes, from murder, or from suicide. +Each possible cause would be tested; and by +elimination of the other possible causes the one right +cause would be left. This method of elimination is +frequently employed in arguments from effect to cause. +<a class="pgnm" name="page135" id="page135">135</a> +When this method is used the alternatives should be +few, else it gives rise to confusion and to lack of attention +caused by the tediousness of the discussion. And +an enumeration of all possible causes must be made; +for if one be omitted it may be the one that is in fact +the right one.</p> + +<p>The relation between cause and effect is so intimate +that the occurrence of one may be regarded as a sure +sign of the presence of the other. If an effect is produced +by only one cause, the presence of the effect is +a certain indication of the cause. If several causes +produce the same effect, some other methods must be +used to determine the cause operating in this special +case.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Sequence and Cause.</span> +In reasoning from effect to cause, one must be sure +that he is dealing with a cause. As effect +follows cause, there is danger that anything +that follows another may be considered as caused by it. +Because a man died just after eating, it would not be +quite reasonable to connect eating and death as cause +and effect. The fact is that death is surer to follow +starvation. The glow at evening is generally followed +by fair weather the next day; but the fair weather is +not an effect of a clear sunset. Common sense must be +used to determine whether the relation is one of cause +and effect; something more than a simple sequence is +necessary.</p> + +<p>Another argument from sign associates conditions +that frequently occur together, though one is not the +cause of the other. “James is near, because there is +his blind father,” means that James always accompanies +his father; where the father is, the son is too. +If one had noticed that potatoes planted at the full +of the moon grew well, and potatoes planted at other +times did not thrive, he might say as a result of years +<a class="pgnm" name="page136" id="page136">136</a> +of observation that a certain crop would be a failure +because it was not planted at the right time. This +argument might have weight with ignorant people, but +intelligent persons do not consider it a sure sign. All +signs belong to this class of arguments; they are of value +or worthless as they come true more or less frequently. +Every time there is an exception the argument is +weakened; another case of its working strengthens it. +Where there is no sure relation like cause and effect, +the strength of the argument depends on the frequency +of the recurrence of the associated conditions.</p> + +<p>A third argument from sign associates two effects +of the same cause. A lad on waking exclaims, “The +window is covered with frost; I can go skating to-day.” +The frost on the window is not the cause of the +ice on the river. Rather, both phenomena are results +of the same cause. This kind of argument is not +necessarily conclusive; yet with others it always +strengthens a case.</p> + +<p>Testimony is usually called an argument from sign. +The assertion by some one that a thing occurred is not +sure proof; it is only a sign that it occurred. People +have said that they have seen witches, ghosts, and +sea serpents, and unquestionably believed it; men generally +do not accept their testimony. In a criminal +case, it would be difficult to accept the testimony of +both sides. Though testimony seems a strong argument, +it is or it is not, according to the conditions +under which it is given. One would care little for +the testimony of an ignorant man in a matter that +called for wisdom; he would hesitate to accept the +testimony of a man who claimed he saw, but upon +cross-examination could not report what he saw; and +he would not think it fair to be condemned upon the +testimony of his enemies. Books have been written +<a class="pgnm" name="page137" id="page137">137</a> +upon evidence, but three principles are all that are +needed in ordinary arguments. First, the person giving +testimony must be capable of observation; second, +he must be able to report accurately what he has observed; +third, he must have a desire to tell the exact +truth.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Arguments from Example.</span> +The third large division comprises arguments from +example. That is, if a truth be asserted of an +individual, it can therefore be predicated of +the class to which the individual belongs. +For instance, if the first time a person saw a giraffe, +he observed that it was eating grass, he would be justified +in saying that giraffes are herbivorous. All gold +is yellow, heavy, and not corroded by acid, though no +one has tested it all. However, every giraffe does not +have one ear brown and the other gray because the +first one seen happened to be so marked; neither is all +gold in the shape of ten-dollar gold pieces. Only common +sense will serve to pick out essential qualities; +but if essential and invariable qualities be selected, the +argument from the example of an individual to all +members of its class is very powerful.</p> + +<p>Analogies resemble examples. In exposition they +are used for illustration; in argument they are employed +as proofs. Though two things belong to different +classes of objects, they may have some qualities that +are similar, and so an argument may be made from +one to another. “Natural Law in the Spiritual +World” is a book written to show how the physical +laws hold true in the region of spirit. It is not because +an enemy sowed tares in a neighbor’s field that +there are wicked men in the world; nor is it because +a lover of jewels will sell everything that he has to +buy the pearl of greatest price that men devote everything +they have to the kingdom of heaven. Analogies +<a class="pgnm" name="page138" id="page138">138</a> +prove nothing. They clear up relations and often help +the reader to appreciate other arguments. They are +valuable when the likeness is broad and easily traced. +They should never be used alone.</p> + +<p>These, then, are the principal forms of argument: +deduction and induction; arguments from cause, from +sign, and from example. Upon these men depend +when they wish to convince of truth or error.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Selection of Material.</span> +In argument the material is selected with reference +to its value as proof. Every particle of matter +must be carefully tested. While a piece +of material that could be omitted without loss +to the explanation may sometimes find a place in exposition, +such a thing must not occur in argument. As +soon as a reader discovers that the writer is off the +track, either he loses respect for the author’s words, or +he suspects him of trying to hide the weakness of his +position in a cloud of worthless and irrelevant matters. +Every bit of material should advance the argument one +step; it should fill its niche in the well-planned structure; +it should contribute its part to the strength of +the whole.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Plan called The Brief.</span> +When the material has been selected, it must be +arranged. An argument is a demonstration. +Each of its parts is the natural result of what +has preceded, and, up to the last step, each part is the +basis for the next step. As in geometry a demonstration +that omits one step in its development, or, which +comes to the same thing, puts the point out of its logical +order, is worthless as a demonstration, so in argument +not one essential step can be omitted, nor can it +be misplaced. The plan in an argument may be more +evident than in exposition. We are a little offended +if the framework shows too plainly in exposition; but +there is no offense in a well-articulated skeleton in an +<a class="pgnm" name="page139" id="page139">139</a> +argument. It is quite the rule that the general plan +and the main divisions of the argument are announced +at the very beginning. Any device that will make the +relation of the parts clearer should be used. Over and +over again the writer should arrange the cards with +the topics until he is certain that no other order is so +good. The writing is a mere trifle compared with the +outline, called in argument the brief.</p> + +<p>Though the brief is so essential, it is unfortunately +a thing about which but few suggestions can be given. +The circumstances under which arguments are written—especially +whether written to defend a position or +to attack it—are so various that rules cannot be given. +Still a few general principles may be of value.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Climax.</span> +Proofs should be arranged in a climax. This does +not mean that the weakest argument should +come first, and the next stronger should follow, +and so on until the last and strongest is reached. +It is necessary to begin with something that will catch +the attention; and in argument it is frequently a proof +strong enough to convince the reader that the writer +knows what he is contending for, and that he can strike +a hard blow. Then again, it is evident that in all +arguments there are main points in the discussion that +must be established by points of minor importance. +The main points should be arranged in a logical climax, +and the sub-topics which go to support one of +the main divisions should have their climax. At the +end of the whole should be the strongest and the most +comprehensive argument. It should be a general advance +of the whole line of argument, including all the +propositions that have previously been called into +action, sweeping everything before it.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Inductive precedes Deductive.</span> +To gain this climax what kind of arguments should +precede? Of inductive and deductive, the inductive +<a class="pgnm" name="page140" id="page140">140</a> +proofs generally go first. The advance from particular +instances to general truths is the best suited to +catch the attention, for men think with individual examples, +and general truths make little appeal +to them. Moreover, if one is addressing people +of opposing views,—and in most cases +he is, else why is he arguing?—it is unwise to begin +with bald statements of unwelcome truths. They will +be rejected without consideration. They can with +advantage be delayed until they are reached in the regular +development, and the reader has been prepared for +their reception. General truths and their application +by deductive arguments usually stand late in the brief.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Cause precedes Sign.</span> +Of arguments from cause, sign, or example, it is +ordinarily wise to place arguments from cause +first. A person does not listen to any explanation +of an unknown truth until he knows that the explanation +is plausible; that the cause assigned is adequate +to produce the result. After one knows that +the cause is sufficient and may have brought about the +result, he is in a position to learn that it is the very +cause that produced the effect. Arguments from cause +are very rarely conclusive proofs of fact. They only +establish a probability. And it would be unwise to +prove that a thing might be a possibility after one had +attempted to prove that it is a fact. It would be a +long step backward, a retreat. Therefore arguments +from cause, unless absolutely conclusive proof of fact, +should not come last; but by other arguments,—by +testimony, by example, by analogy,—the possibility, +which has been reached by the argument from cause, +may be established as a fact.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Example follows Sign.</span> +Of the two, sign and example, example generally +follows sign. In arguments about human affairs, examples +seldom prove anything; for under similar conditions +<a class="pgnm" name="page141" id="page141">141</a> +one person may not act like another. Though +this be true, the argument from example is one +of the most effective—it is not at all conclusive—in +that class of cases where oratory is +combined with argument to convince and persuade. +This is because men learn most readily from examples. +To reason about matters of conduct on abstract principles +of morality convinces but few; to point to a Lincoln +or a Franklin has persuaded thousands. Examples +are of most use in enforcing and illustrating and +strengthening a point already established, and they +generally follow arguments from sign.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Refutation.</span> +One other class of arguments finds a place in debate: +namely, indirect arguments. It is +often as much an advantage to a debater to +dispose of objections as it is to establish his own case. +This is because a question usually has two alternatives. +If one can refute the arguments in favor of the opponent’s +position, he has by that very process established +his own. If the points of the refutation are of minor +importance and are related to any division of his own +direct argument, the refutation of such points should +be taken up in connection with the related parts of the +direct argument. If, however, it is an argument of +some weight and should be considered separate and +apart from the direct argument, it is generally wisest +to proceed to its demolition at the end of the direct +argument and before the conclusion of the whole. For +then the whole weight of the direct argument will be +thrown into the refutation and will render every word +so much the more destructive. Again, if the opposing +argument be very strong and have taken complete +possession of the audience, it must be attacked and +disposed of at the very beginning. Otherwise it is +impossible for the direct argument to make any advance.</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page142" id="page142">142</a> +From these suggestions one derives the general principle +that each case must be considered by itself. +There will be cases of conflict among the rules, and +there must be a careful weighing of methods. Common +sense and patient labor are the most valuable +assistants in arranging a powerful argument.</p> + +<p>It hardly needs to be said that the suggestions made +in the chapter on Exposition regarding Mass and Coherence +should be observed here. In argument as in +exposition, topics are emphasized by position, and by +proportion in the scale of treatment. Here as there, +matters that are closely related in thought should be +connected in the discourse, and matters that are not related +in thought should not be associated in the essay.</p> + +<p>It will be an advantage now to look through “Conciliation +with the Colonies” and note its general plan +of structure. Only the main divisions of this powerful +oration can be given, as to make a full brief would +deprive this piece of literature of half its value for +study.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Analysis of Burke’s Oration.</span> +Mr. Burke begins by saying that it is “an awful +subject or there is none this side of the +grave.” He states that he has studied the +question for years, and while Parliament has +pursued a vacillating policy and one aggravating to +the colonies, he has a fixed policy and one sure to restore +“the former unsuspecting confidence in the Mother +Country.” His policy is simple peace. This by +way of introduction. He then divides the argument +into two large divisions and proceeds.</p> + +<div class="outline IAi1"> +<ol> +<li><span class="smcap">Ought you to concede?</span> + <ol> + <li>What are “the true nature and the peculiar circumstances + of the object which we have before us?” + <ol> + <li>America has a rapidly growing population.</li> + <li><a class="pgnm" name="page143" id="page143">143</a> + It has a rapidly increasing commercial value, shown + by + <ol> + <li>Its demand for our goods.</li> + <li>The value of its agricultural products.</li> + <li>The value of the products of its fisheries.</li> + </ol> + </li> + <li>There is in the people a “fierce spirit of liberty.” + This is the result of + <ol> + <li>Their descent from Englishmen.</li> + <li>Their popular form of government.</li> + <li>Religion in the North.</li> + <li>The haughty spirit of the South.</li> + <li>Their education.</li> + <li>Their remoteness from the governing body.</li> + </ol> + </li> + </ol> + </li> + <li>“You have before you the object.” “What ... shall + we do with it?” “There are but three ways of + proceeding relative to this stubborn spirit in the + colonies.” + <ol> + <li>To change it by removing the causes. This is impracticable.</li> + <li>To prosecute it as criminal. This is inexpedient.</li> + <li><i>To comply with it as necessary.</i> This is the answer + to the first question.</li> + </ol> + </li> + </ol> +</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Of what nature ought the concession to be?</span> + <ol> + <li>A concession that grants to any colony the satisfaction + of the grievances it complains of brings about + conciliation and peace. This general proposition + is established by the following examples. It has + done so in + <ol style="list-style-type: decimal;"> + <li>Ireland,</li> + <li>Wales,</li> + <li>Durham, and</li> + <li>Chester.</li> + </ol> + </li> + <li>The grievances complained of in America are unjust + taxation and no representation.</li> + <li>Therefore these resolutions rehearsing facts and calculated + to satisfy their grievances will bring about + conciliation and peace. + <ol> + <li><a class="pgnm" name="page144" id="page144">144</a> + They are unrepresented.</li> + <li>They are taxed.</li> + <li>No method has been devised for procuring a representation + in Parliament for the said Colonies.</li> + <li>Each colony has within itself a body with powers to + raise, levy, and assess taxes.</li> + <li>These assemblies have at sundry times granted large + subsidies and aids to his Majesty’s service.</li> + <li>Experience teaches that it is expedient to follow + their method rather than force payment.</li> + </ol> + </li> + <li>As a result of the adoption of these resolutions, + “everything which has been made to enforce a + contrary system must, I take it for granted, fall + along with it. On that ground, I have drawn the + following resolutions.” + <ol> + <li>It is proper to repeal certain legislation regarding + taxes, imports, and administration of justice.</li> + <li>To secure a fair and unbiased judiciary.</li> + <li>To provide better for the Courts of Admiralty.</li> + </ol> + </li> + <li>He next considers objections.</li> + </ol> +</li> +<li style="list-style-type: none;">Conclusion.</li> +</ol> +</div> + +<p>Notice first the introduction. It goes straight to the +question. To tell a large opposition that it has vacillated +on a great question is not calculated to win a kind +hearing; yet this point, necessary to Burke’s argument, +is so delicately handled that no one could be seriously +offended, nor could any one charge him with weakness. +The introduction serves its purpose; it gains the attention +of the audience and it exactly states the proposition.</p> + +<p>He then divides the whole argument into two parts. +The framework is visible, and with intent. These great +divisions he takes up separately. First, that there +may be a perfect understanding of the question, he explains +“the true nature and the peculiar circumstances +of the object which we have before us.” This illustrates +<a class="pgnm" name="page145" id="page145">145</a> +the use of exposition in argument. The descent +and education did not prove that the Americans had +a fiery spirit; that was acknowledged and needed no +proof. It simply sets forth the facts,—facts which +he afterward uses as powerful instruments of conviction. +As long as a man can use exposition, he can +carry his readers with him; it is when he begins to +argue, to force matters, that he raises opposition. So +this use of exposition was fortunate. America was an +English colony. Her strength and riches were England’s +strength and wealth. It would be pleasing to +all Englishmen to hear the recital of America’s prosperity. +Up to the time he asks, “What, in the name +of God, shall we do with it,” the oration is not essentially +argument; it does nothing more than place “before +you the object.”</p> + +<p>In the section marked “I. B,” Burke begins the real +argument by the method of elimination. He asserts +that there are only three ways of dealing with this +fierce spirit of liberty. Then he conclusively proves +the first impracticable and the second inexpedient. +There is left but the one course, concession. This +method of proof is absolutely conclusive if every possible +contingency is stated and provided for. Notice +that in this section “B” everything that was mentioned +in the first section “A” is used, and the whole is one +solid mass moving forward irresistibly to the conclusion +of the first and the most important part of this +argument.</p> + +<p>The second main division is devoted to the conclusion +of the first. If you must concede,—the conclusion +of the first half,—what will be the nature of your +concession? A concession, to be a concession, must +grant what the colonists wish, not what the ministry +thinks would be good for them. Then by the history +<a class="pgnm" name="page146" id="page146">146</a> +of England’s dealings with Ireland, Wales, Chester, +and Durham, he proves that such a concession has been +followed by peace. This makes the major premise of +his syllogism, stated in “II. A.” The minor premise +is a statement of the grievances of the colonies. The +conclusion is in the resolutions for the redress of the +grievances of the colonies. The second part is then +one great syllogism, the premises of which are established +by ample proof, the conclusion of which cannot +well be disputed.</p> + +<p>“And here I should close,” says the orator; the +direct argument is finished. There are some objections +which demand dignified consideration. At this point, +however, it is easy to refute any objections, for behind +each word there is now the crushing weight of the whole +argument.</p> + +<p>The conclusion recites the advantages of Burke’s plan +over all others, and reasserts its value, now proven at +every point. It is a powerful summary, and a skillful +plea for the adoption of a policy of conciliation with +the colonies of America.</p> + +<p>Every kind of argument is used in this oration. One +would look long for a treasury better supplied with +illustrations. The great conclusions are reached by +the certain methods of elimination and deduction. In +establishing the minor points Burke has used arguments +from sign, cause, example, and induction. He +calls in testimony; he quotes authority; he illustrates. +Not any device of sound argument that a man honest +in his search for truth may use has been omitted. It +is worthy of patient study.</p> + +<p>In conclusion, the student of argument should learn +well the value of different kinds of argument; he +should exercise the most careful scrutiny in selecting +his material, without any hesitation rejecting irrelevant +<a class="pgnm" name="page147" id="page147">147</a> +matter; he should state the proposition so that it cannot +be misunderstood; he must consider his readers, +guiding his course wisely with regard for all the conditions +under which he produces his argument; he +should remember that the law in argument is climax, +and that coherence should be sought with infinite +pains. Above all, the man who takes up a debate +must be fair and honest; only so will he win favor +from his readers, and gain what is worth more than +victory,—the distinction of being a servant of truth.</p> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="page148" id="page148">148</a></div> + +<p class="ctr"><br /><b>SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS</b></p> + +<p class="ctr"><br /><b>QUESTIONS.</b></p> + +<p class="ctr">MACAULAY’S ESSAY ON MILTON.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 103.)</p> + +<p>Put into a syllogism, Macaulay’s opponents said, “An +educated man living in an enlightened age has better facilities +for writing poetry than an uneducated man at the dawn +of civilization. Milton was an educated man, living in an enlightened +age; therefore Macaulay had better facilities,” etc.</p> + +<p>Which premise does Macaulay attack? Does he demolish +it?</p> + +<p>What value is there in an analogy between experimental +sciences and imitative arts? Between poetry and a magic-lantern? +Is either an argument that is convincing? Are +both effective in the essay?</p> + +<p>What do you think of Macaulay’s estimate of Wordsworth? +Granting that this estimate is true, what kind of +a proof is it of the proposition that “his very talents will be +a hindrance to him”?</p> + +<p>Is it a uniform phenomenon that as civilization advances, +poetry declines? Name some instances that prove it.</p> + +<p>Name some instances that disprove it. What method of +proof have you used in both?</p> + +<p>Is an uncivilized state of society the cause of good poetry, +or only an attendant circumstance?</p> + +<p>What method of proof is adopted on pages 34 and 35?</p> + +<p>Granting that you cannot conceive “a good man and an +unnatural father,” does that prove anything about the first +sentence at the bottom of page 55?</p> + +<p>Does the example of the prisoner on page 60 prove anything?</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br /><a class="pgnm" name="page149" id="page149">149</a> +BURKE’S SPEECH ON CONCILIATION WITH THE COLONIES.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 100.)</p> + +<p>What argument does Burke use to prove that hedging in +the population is not practicable?</p> + +<p>When he says that they will occupy territory because they +have done so, is that an inductive or deductive argument, or +is it an argument from sign?</p> + +<p>If it is deductive, what is the suppressed premise?</p> + +<p>Are the arguments from 48 to 64 more in the nature of +direct or indirect proofs?</p> + +<p>What value is there in an indirect argument?</p> + +<p>“Americans speak the English language, therefore they +are English.” Is the argument good? Where is the fault? +Look for the suppressed premise.</p> + +<p>Is paragraph 55 direct or indirect argument?</p> + +<p>Does he prove that criminal procedure against the colonies +would fail, by sign or by deduction?</p> + +<p>Do the four precedents which he cites of Ireland, Wales, +Durham, and Chester prove that his plan will work in +America?</p> + +<p>Upon what general principle do all arguments from example +depend?</p> + +<p>Is paragraph 79 in itself exposition or argument?</p> + +<p>What method is adopted in paragraph 88 to prove that +the principle of concession is applicable to America?</p> + +<p>How does he prove that Americans were grieved by +taxes?</p> + +<p>How does he establish the competence of the colony assemblies?</p> + +<p>How could the arguments have made “the conclusion irresistible”? +(Paragraph 112.)</p> + +<p>What principle of argument is stated in paragraph 114?</p> + +<p>In paragraph 127 is the one example cited enough to +prove the rule?</p> + +<p>Find an example of argument from sign. Is it a relation +of cause and effect? Is it conclusive?</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page150" id="page150">150</a> +In paragraph 129 what does Burke mention as arguments +of value?</p> + +<p>What kind of arguments in paragraphs 128 to 136? What +is the conclusion?</p> + +<p>Whenever Burke states a general truth it forms a part of +what? Supply the other premise in five cases, and derive +a conclusion.</p> + +<p>Does he ever use an argument from cause to establish a +probability? To establish a fact?</p> + +<p>Does he use deduction more frequently than sign?</p> + +<p>Does he seek for a climax in the arrangement of the parts +of his brief?</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="page151" id="page151">151</a></div> + +<h3>CHAPTER VII</h3> + +<p class="ctr"><b>PARAGRAPHS</b></p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Definition.</span> +So far we have been dealing with whole compositions; +we now take up the study of paragraphs, +sentences, and words. A paragraph +in many respects resembles a whole composition. It +may be narrative, descriptive, expositive, or argumentative. +It must have a beginning, a middle, and an +end. It is constructed with regard to Unity, Mass, and +Coherence. And as a whole composition treats a single +theme, so a paragraph treats one division of a theme. +It has been defined as a composition in miniature. A +paragraph is a sentence or a group of sentences serving +a single purpose in the development of a theme. The +purpose may be simply to announce the theme-subject, +to make a conclusion, to indicate a transition; but in +the great majority of cases its purpose is to treat a +single topic. So true is this that many authors, with +good reason, define a paragraph as a group of sentences +treating a single topic.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Long and Short Paragraphs.</span> +Nobody would have trouble in telling where on a +page a paragraph began and where it ended. +The indention at the beginning, and usually +the incomplete line at the end, mark its visible +limits. Unfortunately there is no specified length +after which the writer is to make a break in the lines +and begin a new paragraph. The length of a paragraph +depends on something deeper than appearances; as the +topic requires a lengthy or but a short treatment, as +<a class="pgnm" name="page152" id="page152">152</a> +the paragraph may be a long summary or a short transition, +the length of a paragraph varies. Yet there is +one circumstance which should counsel an author to +keep his paragraphs within certain bounds: he should +always have regard for his readers. Readers shirk +heavy labor. If a book or an article looks hard, it is +passed by; if it looks easy, it is read. If the paragraphs +be long and the page solid, the composition +looks difficult; if the paragraphs be short and the page +broken, the piece looks easy. This fact should advise a +writer to make the page attractive by using short paragraphs; +provided, and the provision is important, he +can so make real paragraphs, divisions of composition +that fully treat one topic. These divisions may in +reality be but one sentence, and they may just as unquestionably +be two pages of hard reading.</p> + +<p>Successive paragraphs, each more than a page of +ordinary print in length, repel as too hard; and a +series of paragraphs of less than a quarter of a page +impresses a reader as scrappy, and the work seems to +lack the authority of complete treatment. An author +will serve his readers and himself best by so subdividing +his subject that the paragraphs are within these limits.</p> + +<p>The following paragraph is much too long and can +with no difficulty be subdivided. The paragraphs in +the next group are too short, and they are incomplete.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Keating rode up now, and the transaction became more +complicated. It ended in the purchase of the horse by Bryce +for a hundred and twenty, to be paid on the delivery of +Wildfire, safe and sound, at the Batherley stables. It did +occur to Dunsey that it might be wise for him to give up the +day’s hunting, proceed at once to Batherley, and, having +waited for Bryce’s return, hire a horse to carry him home +with the money in his pocket. But the inclination for a run, +<a class="pgnm" name="page153" id="page153">153</a> +encouraged by confidence in his luck, and by a draught of +brandy from his pocket-pistol at the conclusion of the bargain, +was not easy to overcome, especially with a horse under +him that would take the fences to the admiration of the field. +Dunstan, however, took one fence too many, and got his +horse pierced with a hedge-stake. His own ill-favored person, +which was quite unmarketable, escaped without injury; +but poor Wildfire, unconscious of his price, turned on his +flank, and painfully panted his last. It happened that Dunstan, +a short time before, having had to get down to arrange +his stirrup, had muttered a good many curses at this interruption, +which had thrown him in the rear of the hunt near +the moment of glory, and under this exasperation had taken +the fences more blindly. He would soon have been up with +the hounds again, when the fatal accident happened; and +hence he was between eager riders in advance, not troubling +themselves about what happened behind them, and far-off +stragglers, who were as likely as not to pass quite aloof from +the line of road in which Wildfire had fallen. Dunstan, +whose nature it was to care more for immediate annoyances +than for remote consequences, no sooner recovered his legs, +and saw that it was all over with Wildfire, than he felt a +satisfaction at the absence of witnesses to a position which +no swaggering could make enviable. Reinforcing himself, +after his shake, with a little brandy and much swearing, he +walked as fast as he could to a coppice on his right hand, +through which it occurred to him that he could make his +way to Batherley without danger of encountering any member +of the hunt. His first intention was to hire a horse there +and ride home forthwith, for to walk many miles without a +gun in his hand, and along an ordinary road, was as much +out of the question to him as to other spirited young men of +his kind. He did not much mind about taking the bad news +to Godfrey, for he had to offer him at the same time the +resource of Marner’s money; and if Godfrey kicked, as he +always did, at the notion of making a fresh debt, from which +he himself got the smallest share of advantage, why, he +<a class="pgnm" name="page154" id="page154">154</a> +wouldn’t kick long: Dunstan felt sure he could worry Godfrey +into anything. The idea of Marner’s money kept +growing in vividness, now the want of it had become immediate; +the prospect of having to make his appearance with +the muddy boots of a pedestrian at Batherley, and to encounter +the grinning queries of stablemen, stood unpleasantly in +the way of his impatience to be back at Raveloe and carry +out his felicitous plan; and a casual visitation of his waistcoat-pocket, +as he was ruminating, awakened his memory to +the fact that the two or three small coins his fore-finger encountered +there were of too pale a color to cover that small +debt, without payment of which the stable-keeper had declared +he would never do any more business with Dunsey Cass. +After all, according to the direction in which the run had +brought him, he was not so very much farther from home +than he was from Batherley; but Dunsey, not being remarkable +for clearness of head, was only led to this conclusion by +the gradual perception that there were other reasons for +choosing the unprecedented course of walking home. It was +now nearly four o’clock, and a mist was gathering: the sooner +he got into the road the better. He remembered having +crossed the road and seen the finger-post only a little while +before Wildfire broke down; so, buttoning his coat, twisting +the lash of his hunting-whip compactly round the handle, and +rapping the tops of his boots with a self-possessed air, as if to +assure himself that he was not at all taken by surprise, he +set off with the sense that he was undertaking a remarkable +feat of bodily exertion, which somehow, and at some time, +he should be able to dress up and magnify to the admiration +of a select circle at the Rainbow. When a young gentleman +like Dunsey is reduced to so exceptional a mode of locomotion +as walking, a whip in his hand is a desirable corrective +to a too bewildering dreamy sense of unwontedness in his +position; and Dunstan, as he went along through the gathering +mist, was always rapping his whip somewhere. It was +Godfrey’s whip, which he had chosen to take without leave +because it had a gold handle; of course no one could see, +<a class="pgnm" name="page155" id="page155">155</a> +when Dunstan held it, that the name <i>Godfrey Cass</i> was cut +in deep letters on that gold handle—they could only see +that it was a very handsome whip. Dunsey was not without +fear that he might meet some acquaintance in whose eyes he +would cut a pitiable figure, for mist is no screen when people +get close to each other; but when he at last found himself in +the well-known Raveloe lanes without having met a soul, he +silently remarked that that was part of his usual good luck. +But now the mist, helped by the evening darkness, was more +of a screen than he desired, for it hid the ruts into which his +feet were liable to slip—hid everything, so that he had to +guide his steps by dragging his whip along the low bushes in +advance of the hedgerow. He must soon, he thought, be +getting near the opening at the Stone-pits: he should find it +out by the break in the hedgerow. He found it out, however, +by another circumstance which he had not expected—namely, +by certain gleams of light, which he presently guessed +to proceed from Silas Marner’s cottage. That cottage and +the money hidden within it had been in his mind continually +during his walk, and he had been imagining ways of cajoling +and tempting the weaver to part with the immediate possession +of his money for the sake of receiving interest. Dunstan +felt as if there must be a little frightening added to the +cajolery, for his own arithmetical convictions were not clear +enough to afford him any forcible demonstration as to the +advantages of interest; and as for security, he regarded it +vaguely as a means of cheating a man by making him believe +that he would be paid. Altogether, the operation on the +miser’s mind was a task that Godfrey would be sure to hand +over to his more daring and cunning brother: Dunstan had +made up his mind to that; and by the time he saw the light +gleaming through the chinks of Marner’s shutters, the idea +of a dialogue with the weaver had become so familiar to him, +that it occurred to him as quite a natural thing to make the +acquaintance forthwith. There might be several conveniences +attending this course: the weaver had possibly got +a lantern, and Dunstan was tired of feeling his way. He +<a class="pgnm" name="page156" id="page156">156</a> +was still nearly three quarters of a mile from home, and +the lane was becoming unpleasantly slippery, for the mist +was passing into rain. He turned up the bank, not without +some fear lest he might miss the right way, since he was not +certain whether the light were in front or on the side of the +cottage. But he felt the ground before him cautiously with +his whip-handle, and at last arrived safely at the door. He +knocked loudly, rather enjoying the idea that the old fellow +would be frightened at the sudden noise. He heard no +movement in reply: all was silence in the cottage. Was the +weaver gone to bed, then? If so, why had he left a light? +That was a strange forgetfulness in a miser. Dunstan +knocked still more loudly, and, without pausing for a reply, +pushed his fingers through the latch-hole, intending to shake +the door and pull the latch-string up and down, not doubting +that the door was fastened. But, to his surprise, at this +double motion the door opened, and he found himself in +front of a bright fire, which lit up every corner of the cottage—the +bed, the loom, the three chairs, and the table—and +showed him that Marner was not there.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_23" name="footref_23" href="#footnote_23">23</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p><br />“The country, all white, lit up by the fire, shone like a +cloth of silver tinted with red.</p> + +<p>“A bell, far off, began to toll.</p> + +<p>“The old ‘Sauvage’ remained standing before her ruined +dwelling, armed with her gun, her son’s gun, for fear lest +one of those men might escape.</p> + +<p>“When she saw that it was ended, she threw her weapon +into the brasier. A loud report rang back.</p> + +<p>“People were coming, the peasants, the Prussians.</p> + +<p>“They found the woman seated on the trunk of a tree, +calm and satisfied.</p> + +<p>“A German officer, who spoke French like a son of +France, demanded of her:—</p> + +<p>“‘Where are your soldiers?’</p> + +<p>“She extended her thin arm towards the red heap of fire +which was gradually going out, and she answered with a +strong voice:—</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page157" id="page157">157</a> +“‘There!’</p> + +<p>“They crowded round her. The Prussian asked:—</p> + +<p>“‘How did it take fire?’</p> + +<p>“She said:—</p> + +<p>“‘It was I who set it on fire.’”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_24" name="footref_24" href="#footnote_24">24</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Topic Sentence.</span> +Paragraphs are developments of a definite topic; +and this topic is generally announced at the +beginning of the paragraph. In isolated +paragraphs, paragraphs that are indeed compositions +in miniature, the topic-sentence is the first sentence. +The reader is then advised of the subject of the discussion; +and as sentence after sentence passes him, he +can relate it to the topic, and the thought is a cumulative +whole. If the subject be not announced, the +individual sentences must be held in mind until the +reader catches the drift of the discussion, or the author +at last presents the topic.</p> + +<p>Below are four paragraphs, from different forms of +discourse, all having the topic-sentence at the beginning.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“<i>But success or defeat was a minor matter to them, who +had only thought for the safety of those they loved.</i> Amelia, +at the news of the victory, became still more agitated even +than before. She was for going that moment to the army. +She besought her brother with tears to conduct her thither. +Her doubts and terrors reached their paroxysm; and the +poor girl, who for many hours had been plunged into stupor, +raved and ran hither and thither in hysteric insanity,—a +piteous sight. No man writhing in pain in the hard-fought +field fifteen miles off, where lay, after their struggles, so +many of the brave—no man suffered more keenly than this +poor harmless victim of the war. Jos could not bear the +sight of her pain. He left his sister in the charge of her +stouter female companion and descended once more to the +threshold of the hotel, where everybody still lingered, and +talked, and waited for more news.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_25" name="footref_25" href="#footnote_25">25</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p><br /><a class="pgnm" name="page158" id="page158">158</a> +”<i>Yet the fact remains that the honey-bee is essentially a +wild creature, and never has been and cannot be thoroughly +domesticated.</i> Its proper home is the woods, and thither +every new swarm counts on going; and thither many do go +in spite of the care and watchfulness of the bee-keeper. If +the woods in any given locality are deficient in trees with +suitable cavities, the bees resort to all kinds of makeshifts; +they go into chimneys, into barns and outhouses, under stones, +into rocks, and so forth. Several chimneys in my locality +with disused flues are taken possession of by colonies of +bees nearly every season. One day, while bee-hunting, I developed +a line that went toward a farmhouse where I had +reason to believe no bees were kept. I followed it up and +questioned the farmer about his bees. He said he kept no +bees, but that a swarm had taken possession of his chimney, +and another had gone under the clapboards in the gable +end of his house. He had taken a large lot of honey out of +both places the year before. Another farmer told me that one +day his family had seen a number of bees examining a knot-hole +in the side of his house; the next day as they were sitting +down to dinner their attention was attracted by a loud +humming noise, when they discovered a swarm of bees settling +upon the side of the house and pouring into the knot-hole. +In subsequent years other swarms came to the same +place.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_26" name="footref_26" href="#footnote_26">26</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p><br />“<i>It is important, therefore, to hold fast to this: that poetry +is at bottom a criticism of life;</i> that the greatness of a +poet lies in his powerful and beautiful application of ideas +to life,—to the question: How to live. Morals are often +treated in a narrow and false fashion; they are bound up +with systems of thought and belief which have had their day; +they have fallen into the hands of pedants and professional +dealers; they grow tiresome to some of us. We find attraction, +at times, even in a poetry of revolt against them; in a +poetry which might take for its motto Omar Khayyam’s +words: ‘Let us make up in the tavern for the time which +<a class="pgnm" name="page159" id="page159">159</a> +we have wasted in the mosque.’ Or we find attractions in a +poetry indifferent to them; in a poetry where the contents +may be what they will, but where the form is studied and +exquisite. We delude ourselves in either case; and the best +cure for our delusion is to let our minds rest upon that great +and inexhaustible word <i>life,</i> until we learn to enter into its +meaning. A poetry of revolt against moral ideas is a poetry +of revolt against <i>life;</i> a poetry of indifference toward moral +ideas is a poetry of indifference toward <i>life.</i>“<a class="ftnt" id="footref_27" name="footref_27" href="#footnote_27">27</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p><br />“<i>The advantages arising from a system of copyright are +obvious.</i> It is desirable that we should have a supply of +good books: we cannot have such a supply unless men of +letters are liberally remunerated; and the least objectionable +way of remunerating them is by means of copyright. +You cannot depend for literary instruction and amusement +on the leisure of men occupied in the pursuits of active life. +Such men may occasionally produce compositions of great +merit. But you must not look to such men for works which +require deep meditation and long research. Works of that +kind you can expect only from persons who make literature +the business of their lives. Of these persons few will be +found among the rich and the noble. The rich and the noble +are not impelled to intellectual exertion by necessity. They +may be impelled to intellectual exertion by the desire of distinguishing +themselves, or by the desire of benefiting the community. +But it is generally within these walls that they seek +to signalize themselves and to serve their fellow-creatures. +Both their ambition and their public spirit, in a country like +this, naturally take a political turn. It is then on men whose +profession is literature, and whose private means are not +ample, that you must rely for a supply of valuable books. +Such men must be remunerated for their literary labor. And +there are only two ways in which they can be remunerated. +One of those ways is patronage; the other is copyright.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_28" name="footref_28" href="#footnote_28">28</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page160" id="page160">160</a> +Frequently the topic-sentence is delayed until after +the connection between what was said in the preceding +paragraph and what will be said has been made. To +establish this relation requires sometimes but a word +or a short phrase, and sometimes sentences. In these +cases the topic-sentence follows the transition, and it +may come as late as the middle of the paragraph.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“The crows we have always with us, but it is not every +day or every season that one sees an eagle. <i>Hence I must +preserve the memory of one I saw the last day I went bee-hunting.</i> +As I was laboring up the side of a mountain at +the head of a valley, the noble bird sprang from the top of a +dry tree above me and came sailing directly over my head. +I saw him bend his eye down upon me, and I could hear the +low hum of his plumage, as if the web of every quill in his +great wings vibrated in his strong, level flight. I watched +him as long as my eye could hold him. When he was fairly +clear of the mountain he began that sweeping spiral movement +in which he climbs the sky. Up and up he went without +once breaking his majestic poise till he appeared to sight +some far-off alien geography, when he bent his course thitherward, +and gradually vanished in the blue depths. The eagle +is a bird of large ideas, he embraces long distances; the continent +is his home. I never look upon one without emotion; I +follow him with my eye as long as I can. I think of Canada, +of the Great Lakes, of the Rocky Mountains, of the wild and +sounding sea-coast. The waters are his, and the woods and +the inaccessible cliffs. He pierces behind the veil of the +storm, and his joy is height and depth and vast spaces.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_29" name="footref_29" href="#footnote_29">29</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p><br />“Now these insinuations and questions shall be answered +in their proper places; here I will but say that I scorn and +detest lying, and quibbling, and double-tongued practice, and +slyness, and cunning, and smoothness, and cant, and pretence, +quite as much as any Protestants hate them; and I pray to +<a class="pgnm" name="page161" id="page161">161</a> +be kept from the snare of them. But all this is just now by +the bye; <i>my present subject is my Accuser;</i> what I insist +upon here is this unmanly attempt of his, in his concluding +pages, to cut the ground from under my feet;—to poison by +anticipation the public mind against me, John Henry Newman, +and to infuse into the imaginations of my readers suspicion +and mistrust of everything that I may say in reply to +him. This I call poisoning the wells.” (“Apologia.”)</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>In exposition and argument, and sometimes in the +other forms of discourse, the topic-sentence may be at +the end of the paragraph. This is for emphasis in narration +and description. In exposition and argument +it is better to lead up to an unwelcome truth than to +announce it at once.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Thus the matter of life, so far as we know it (and we +have no right to speculate on any other), breaks up, in consequence +of that continual death which is the condition of its +manifesting vitality, into carbonic acid, water, and nitrogenous +compounds which certainly possess no properties but +those of ordinary matter. And out of these same forms of +ordinary matter, and from none which are simpler, the vegetable +world builds up all the protoplasm which keeps the +animal world a-going. <i>Plants are the accumulators of the +power which animals distribute and disperse.</i>“<a class="ftnt" id="footref_30" name="footref_30" href="#footnote_30">30</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">No Topic-Sentence.</span> +Sometimes no topic-sentence appears in the paragraph. +In such a case it is easily discovered; +or at times it is too fragile to be compressed +into any definite shape—a feeling, or a sentiment too +delicate, too volatile for expression. A paragraph with +no topic-sentence is most common in narration and description.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“The tide of color has ebbed from the upper sky. In +the west the sea of sunken fire draws back; and the stars +leap forth, and tremble, and retire before the advancing +<a class="pgnm" name="page162" id="page162">162</a> +moon, who slips the silver train of cloud from her shoulders, +and, with her foot upon the pine-tops, surveys heaven.” +(“Richard Feverel,” by George Meredith.)</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">The Plan.</span> +Whether the topic form a part of the paragraph or +not, it should be distinctly before the writer, +and he should write upon the topic. Nothing +contributes so much to the success of paragraphs as a +definite treatment of one single topic. The paragraph +is the development, the growth of this topic, as the +plant is the development of its seed. Moreover, the +development is according to a definite plan. The different +steps are not usually laid out, as was done in the +outline of a theme. Genung, in the “Practical Elements +of Rhetoric,” presents what he calls a typical +form for a paragraph. It shows that a paragraph which +is fully developed is in reality a miniature theme. It +is as follows:—</p> + +<p>The Subject proposed.</p> +<div class="outline Ia1"> +<ol> +<li>Whatever is needed to explain the subject.<br /> + Repetition.<br /> + Obverse.<br /> + Definition.</li> + +<li>Whatever is needed to establish the subject.<br /> + Exemplification or detail.<br /> + Illustration.<br /> + Proof.</li> + +<li>Whatever is needed to apply the subject.<br /> + Result or consequence.<br /> + Enforcement.<br /> + Summary or recapitulation.</li> +</ol> +</div> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Kinds of Paragraphs.</span> +This typical form of a paragraph embodies all that +paragraphs may do, and it is the logical arrangement. +However, it is rare, perhaps it never occurs, that a +paragraph is found having all these elements developed. +<a class="pgnm" name="page163" id="page163">163</a> +The purpose determines which part of a paragraph +should receive the amplification. If it +be narrative or descriptive, there is no definition +or proof; but the development by details +will predominate. In an argument, definition and proof +will form the large part of the paragraphs. Again, the +position in the theme determines what kind of a paragraph +should be used. In exposition the first paragraphs +would be devoted to stating the proposition, +and would therefore be largely given up to definition +and repetition; the body would be especially paragraphs +of detail and illustration; while the closing +paragraph would be taken up with results and a summary. +As one of the elements of a paragraph has +been especially developed, paragraphs have been named +paragraphs of repetition,<a class="ftnt" id="footref_31" name="footref_31" href="#footnote_31">31</a> of the obverse, of details, of +instances or examples, and of comparisons. Such a +division is somewhat mechanical; but for purposes of +study and for conscious practice in construction it has +value.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Details.</span> +The paragraph of details is by far the most common. +It is found in all kinds of discourse. It originates +from the fact that persons generally +give the general truth first and follow this statement +with the details or particulars. Whether the storyteller +begins by saying, “Now I’ll tell you just how +they happened to be there;” or the traveler writes, +“From the Place de la Concorde one has about him +magnificent views,” or “There were many unfortunate +circumstances about the Dreyfus affair;” in each +case he will follow the general statement of the opening +sentence with sentences going into particulars or +details.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p><i>“All was now bustle and hubbub in the late quiet schoolroom.</i> +<a class="pgnm" name="page164" id="page164">164</a> +The scholars were hurried through their lessons without +stopping at trifles; those who were nimble skipped over +half with impunity, and those who were tardy had a smart +application now and then in the rear, to quicken their speed +or help them over a tall word. Books were flung aside +without being put away on the shelves, inkstands were overturned, +benches thrown down, and the whole school was +turned loose an hour before the usual time, bursting forth +like a legion of young imps, yelping and racketing about the +green in joy at their early emancipation.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_32" name="footref_32" href="#footnote_32">32</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p><br />“It was toward evening that Ichabod arrived at the castle +of the Heer Van Tassel, <i>which he found thronged with the +pride and flower of the adjacent country.</i> Old farmers, a +spare leathern-faced race, in homespun coats and breeches, +blue stocking, huge shoes, and magnificent pewter buckles. +Their brisk, withered little dames, in close crimped caps, +long-waisted short-gowns, homespun petticoats, with scissors +and pincushions, and gay calico pockets hanging on the outside. +Buxom lasses, almost as antiquated as their mothers, +excepting where a straw hat, a fine ribbon, or perhaps a +white frock gave symptoms of city innovation. The sons, +in short square-skirted coats, with rows of stupendous brass +buttons, and their hair generally queued in the fashion of the +times, especially if they could procure an eelskin for the +purpose, it being esteemed throughout the country as a +potent nourisher and strengthener of the hair.”<a class="ftnt" href="#footnote_32">32</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p><br />“The enemies of the Parliament, indeed, rarely choose +to take issue in the great points of the question. They content +themselves with exposing some of <i>the crimes and follies</i> +to which public commotions necessarily give birth. They +bewail the unmerited fate of Strafford. They execrate the +lawless violence of the army. They laugh at the scriptural +names of the preachers. Major-generals fleecing their districts; +soldiers reveling on the spoils of a ruined peasantry; +upstarts, enriched by the public plunder, taking possession +of the hospitable firesides and hereditary trees of the old +<a class="pgnm" name="page165" id="page165">165</a> +gentry; boys smashing the beautiful windows of cathedrals; +Quakers riding naked through the market-place; Fifth-monarchy +men shouting for King Jesus; agitators lecturing from +the tops of tubs on the fate of Agag,—all these, they tell us, +were the offspring of the great Rebellion.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_33" name="footref_33" href="#footnote_33">33</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p>In narration and in a short paragraph of description +this paragraph of details is frequently without a topic-sentence. +The circumstances that make up a transaction +are grouped, but there is no need of writing, +“I will now detail this.” In the following, since the +paragraph is plainly about the preparation for the +fight, it is unnecessary to say so. Such a patent statement +would hinder the movement of the story.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Alan drew a dirk, which he held in his left hand in +case they should run in under his sword. I, on my part, +clambered up into the berth with an armful of pistols and +something of a heavy heart, and set open the window where +I was to watch. It was a small part of the deck that I +could overlook, but enough for our purpose. The sea had +gone down, and the wind was steady and kept the sails +quiet; so that there was a great stillness on the ship, in +which I made sure I heard the sound of muttering voices. +A little after, and there came a clash of steel upon the deck, +by which I knew they were dealing out the cutlasses, and +one had been let fall; and after that silence again.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_34" name="footref_34" href="#footnote_34">34</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Comparisons.</span> +The paragraph of comparisons tells what a thing is +like and what a thing is not like. It is much +used in description and exposition. It is often +the clearest way to describe an object or to explain a +proposition. One thing may be likened to a number +of things, drawing from each a quality that more definitely +pictures it; or it may be compared with but one, +and the likeness may be followed out to the limit of +its value. In the same manner it is often of value +<a class="pgnm" name="page166" id="page166">166</a> +to tell what a thing or a proposition does not resemble, +to contrast it with one or more ideas, and by this +means exclude what might otherwise be confusing. +Note that after the negative comparison the paragraph +closes with what it is like, or what it is.</p> + +<p>From Macaulay’s long comparison of the writings of +Milton and Dante, one paragraph is enough to illustrate +the use of contrast.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Now let us <i>compare</i> with the exact details of Dante the +dim intimations of Milton. We will cite a few examples. +The English poet has never thought of taking the measure +of Satan. He gives us merely a vague idea of vast bulk. +In one passage the fiend lies stretched out, huge in length, +floating many a rood, equal in size to the earth-born enemies +of Jove, or to the sea monster which the mariner mistakes +for an island. When he addresses himself to battle +against the guardian angels, he stands like Teneriffe or +Atlas; his stature reaches the sky. Contrast with these +descriptions the lines in which Dante has described the gigantic +spectre of Nimrod: ‘His face seemed to me as long +and as broad as the ball of St. Peter’s at Rome, and his +other limbs were in proportion; so that the bank, which concealed +him from the waist downwards, nevertheless showed +so much of him that three tall Germans would in vain have +attempted to reach to his hair.’” (“Essay on Milton.”)</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The following indicates the use of similarity.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“It is the character of such revolutions that we always +see the worst of them at first. Till men have been some +time free, they know not how to use their freedom. The +natives of wine countries are generally sober. In climates +where wine is a rarity intemperance abounds. A newly +liberated people may be <i>compared to</i> a northern army +encamped on the Rhine or the Xeres. It is said that, when +soldiers in such a situation first find themselves able to indulge +without restraint in such a rare and expensive luxury, +nothing is to be seen but intoxication. Soon, however, plenty +<a class="pgnm" name="page167" id="page167">167</a> +teaches discretion, and, after wine has been for a few months +their daily fare, they become more temperate than they had +ever been in their own country. In the same manner, the +final and permanent fruits of liberty are wisdom, moderation, +and mercy. Its immediate effects are often atrocious +crimes, conflicting errors, skepticism on points the most clear, +dogmatism on points the most mysterious. It is just at this +crisis that its enemies love to exhibit it. They pull down the +scaffolding from the half-finished edifice; they point to the +flying dust, the falling bricks, the comfortless rooms, the +frightful irregularity of the whole appearance, and then ask +in scorn where the promised splendor and comfort is to be +found. If such miserable sophisms were to prevail, there +would never be a good house or a good government in the +world.” (“Essay on Milton,” by Lord Macaulay.)</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Repetition.</span> +A third method of developing a paragraph from +a topic-sentence is by repetition. Simply to +repeat in other words would be useless redundancy; +but so to repeat that with each repetition the +thought broadens or deepens is valuable in proposing +a subject or explaining it. No person has attained +greater skill in repetition than Matthew Arnold, and +much of his clearness comes from his repetition, often +of the very same phrases.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Wordsworth has been in his grave for some thirty years, +and certainly his lovers and admirers cannot flatter themselves +that this great and steady light of glory as yet shines +over him. He is not fully recognized at home; he is not +recognized at all abroad. Yet I firmly believe that the +poetical performance of Wordsworth is, after that of Shakespeare +and Milton, of which all the world now recognizes the +worth, undoubtedly the most considerable in our language +from the Elizabethan age to the present time. Chaucer is +anterior; and on other grounds, too, he cannot well be +brought into the comparison. But taking the roll of our +chief poetical names, besides Shakespeare and Milton, from +<a class="pgnm" name="page168" id="page168">168</a> +the age of Elizabeth downwards, and going through it,—Spenser, +Dryden, Pope, Gray, Goldsmith, Cowper, Burns, +Coleridge, Scott, Campbell, Moore, Byron, Shelley, Keats +(I mention those only who are dead),—I think it certain +that Wordsworth’s name deserves to stand, and will finally +stand, above them all. Several of the poets named have +gifts and excellencies which Wordsworth has not. But taking +the performance of each as a whole, I say that Wordsworth +seems to me to have left a body of poetical work +superior in power, in interest, in the qualities which give +enduring freshness, to that which any one of the others has +left.” (“Essay on Wordsworth,” by Matthew Arnold.)</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p><br />“Perhaps no person can be a poet, or can even enjoy +poetry, without a certain unsoundness of mind, if anything +which gives so much pleasure ought to be called unsoundness. +By poetry we mean not all writing in verse, nor even all +good writing in verse. Our definition excludes many metrical +compositions which, on other grounds, deserve the highest +praise. By poetry, we mean the art of employing words +in such a manner as to produce an illusion on the imagination, +the art of doing by means of words what the painter +does by means of colors. Thus the greatest of the poets has +described it, in lines universally admired for the vigor and +felicity of their diction, and still more valuable on account +of the just notion which they convey of the art in which he +excelled:—</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p class="i4">‘As imagination bodies forth</p> +<p>The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen</p> +<p>Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing</p> +<p>A local habitation and a name.’</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>These are the fruits of the ‘fine frenzy’ which he ascribes to +the poet,—a fine frenzy, doubtless, but still a frenzy. Truth, +indeed, is essential to poetry, but it is the truth of madness. +The reasonings are just, but the premises are false. After +the first suppositions have been made, everything ought to +be consistent; but those first suppositions require a degree +of credulity which almost amounts to a partial and temporary +derangement of the intellect. Hence, of all people, +<a class="pgnm" name="page169" id="page169">169</a> +children are the most imaginative. They abandon themselves +without reserve to every illusion. Every image which +is strongly presented to their mental eye produces in them +the effect of reality. No man, whatever his sensibility may +be, is ever affected by Hamlet or Lear as a little girl is +affected by the story of poor Red Riding Hood. She knows +it is all false, that wolves cannot speak, that there are no +wolves in England. Yet in spite of her knowledge she believes; +she weeps; she trembles; she dares not go into a +dark room lest she should feel the teeth of the monster at +her throat. Such is the despotism of the imagination over +uncultivated minds.” (“Essay on Milton,” by Macaulay.)</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Obverse.</span> +A fourth method of building up a paragraph from a +topic-sentence consists in telling what it is +not; that is, giving the obverse. This is very +effective in argument, and is employed in exposition +and description. The obverse usually follows a positive +statement, and again is followed by the affirmative; +that is, first what it is, then what it is not, and last, +what it is again. In the following description by +Ruskin, the method appears and reappears. Notice +the “nots” and “buts,” indicating the change from +the negative to the positive statement. It would be a +sacrilege to omit the last paragraph, though it does not +illustrate this manner of development.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“For all other rivers there is a surface, and an underneath, +and a vaguely displeasing idea of the bottom. But +the Rhone flows like one lambent jewel; its surface is nowhere, +its ethereal self is everywhere, the iridescent rush +and translucent strength of it blue to the shore, and radiant +to the depth.</p> + +<p>“Fifteen feet thick, not of flowing, but flying water; not +water, neither—melted glacier, rather, one should call it; +the force of the ice is with it, and the wreathing of the +clouds, the gladness of the sky, and the continuance of +Time.</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page170" id="page170">170</a> +“Waves of clear sea are, indeed, lovely to watch, but they +are always coming or gone, never in any taken shape to be +seen for a second. But here was one mighty wave that was +always itself, and every fluted swirl of it, constant as the +wreathing of a shell. No wasting away of the fallen foam, +no pause for gathering of power, no helpless ebb of discouraged +recoil; but alike through bright day and lulling night, +the never-pausing plunge, and never-fading flash, and never-hushing +whisper, and, while the sun was up, the ever-answering +glow of unearthly aquamarine, ultramarine, violet-blue, +gentian-blue, peacock-blue, river-of-paradise blue, glass +of a painted window melted in the sun, and the witch of +the Alps flinging the spun tresses of it forever from her +snow.</p> + +<p>“The innocent way, too, in which the river used to stop +to look into every little corner. Great torrents always seem +angry, and great rivers are often too sullen; but there is no +anger, no disdain in the Rhone. It seemed as if the mountain +stream was in mere bliss at recovering itself again out of +the lake-sleep, and raced because it rejoiced in racing, fain +yet to return and stay. There were pieces of wave that +danced all day, as if Perdita were looking on to learn; there +were little streams that skipped like lambs and leaped like +chamois; there were pools that shook the sunshine all through +them, and were rippled in layers of overlaid ripples, like +crystal sand; there were currents that twisted the light into +golden braids, and inlaid the threads with turquoise enamel; +there were strips of stream that had certainly above the lake +been mill-stream, and were looking busily for mills to turn +again; and there were shoots of stream that had once shot +fearfully into the air, and now sprang up again, laughing, +that they had only fallen a foot or two;—and in the midst +of all the gay glittering and eddied lingering, the noble bearing +by of the midmost depth, so mighty, yet so terrorless and +harmless, with its swallows skimming in spite of petrels, and +the dear old decrepit town as safe in the embracing sweep +of it as if it were set in a brooch of sapphires.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_35" name="footref_35" href="#footnote_35">35</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page171" id="page171">171</a> +This extract from Burke’s speech is a good example +of the same method.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“I put this consideration of the present and the growing +numbers in the front of our deliberation, because, Sir, this +consideration will make it evident to a blunter discernment +than yours, that <i>no</i> partial, narrow, contracted, pinched, +occasional system will be at all suitable to such an object. +It will show you that it is <i>not</i> to be considered as one of +those <i>minima</i> which are out of the eye and consideration of +the law; <i>not</i> a paltry excrescence of the state; <i>not</i> a mean +dependent, who may be neglected with little damage and +provoked with little danger. It will prove that some degree +of care and caution is required in the handling such an object; +it will show that you ought not, in reason, to trifle with +so large a mass of the interests and feelings of the human +race. You could at no time do so without guilt; and be +assured you will not be able to do it long with impunity.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_36" name="footref_36" href="#footnote_36">36</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Examples.</span> +A fifth method of expanding a topic is by means of +illustrations and examples. It is used largely +in establishing or enforcing a proposition. +The author selects one example, or perhaps more than +one, to illustrate his proposition. Note the words that +may introduce specific instances: <i>for example, for instance, +to illustrate, a case in point,</i> and so forth.</p> + +<p>In the first of the following quotations, Cardinal +Newman is showing that simply to acquire is not true +mental enlargement. The paragraph is made up of +a series of instances. The second paragraph is by +Macaulay.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“The <i>case is the same still more strikingly when</i> the +persons in question are beyond dispute men of inferior powers +and deficient education. Perhaps they have been much +in foreign countries, and they receive, in a passive, otiose, +unfruitful way, the various facts which are forced upon +them there. Seafaring men, <i>for example,</i> range from one +<a class="pgnm" name="page172" id="page172">172</a> +end of the earth to the other; but the multiplicity of external +objects which they have encountered forms no symmetrical +and consistent picture upon their imagination; they see +the tapestry of human life, as it were, on the wrong side, and +it tells no story. They sleep, and they rise up, and they find +themselves, now in Europe, now in Asia; they see visions +of great cities and wild regions; they are in the marts of +commerce, or amid the islands of the South; they gaze on +Pompey’s Pillar, or on the Andes; and nothing which meets +them carries them forward or backward, to any idea beyond +itself. Nothing has a drift or relation; nothing has a history +or a promise. Everything stands by itself and comes +and goes in its turn, like the shifting scenes of a show, which +leave the spectator where he was. Perhaps you are near +such a man on a particular occasion, and expect him to be +shocked or perplexed at something which occurs; but one +thing is much the same to him as another; or, if he is perplexed, +it is as not knowing what to say, whether it is right +to admire, or to ridicule, or to disapprove, while conscious +that some expression of opinion is expected from him; for +in fact he has no standard of judgment at all, and no landmarks +to guide him to a conclusion. Such is mere acquisition, +and, I repeat, no one would dream of calling it philosophy.” +(“Idea of a University,” by Cardinal Newman.)</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p><br />“I will give <i>another instance.</i> One of the most instructive, +interesting, and delightful books in our language is +Boswell’s ‘Life of Johnson.’ Now it is well known that +Boswell’s eldest son considered this book, considered the +whole relation of Boswell to Johnson, as a blot in the escutcheon +of the family. He thought, not perhaps altogether +without reason, that his father had exhibited himself in a +ludicrous and degrading light. And thus he became so sore +and irritable that at last he could not bear to hear the ‘Life +of Johnson’ mentioned. Suppose that the law had been +what my honorable and learned friend wishes to make it. +Suppose that the copyright of Boswell’s ‘Life of Johnson’ +had belonged, as it well might, during sixty years, to Boswell’s +eldest son. What would have been the consequence? +<a class="pgnm" name="page173" id="page173">173</a> +An unadulterated copy of the finest biographical work in the +world would have been as scarce as the first edition of Camden’s +‘Britannia.’“ (Speech, “Copyright,” by Macaulay.)</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Combines Two or More Forms.</span> +As was said at the beginning, a paragraph is seldom +made exclusively of one form. One part of +the typical paragraph is usually developed +more than any other and gives to the paragraph +its character and its name. By far the most +common variety of paragraph is that which combines +two or more of the other forms. It is not necessary to +cite examples; they are everywhere. Though combination +is the commonest method of development, it +should be guarded. It is a poor paragraph that combines +the forms indiscriminately. It should follow some +plan; and the best plan is the one already given in +the typical paragraph.</p> + +<p>All paragraphs, whatever be the special method of development, +are governed by the three principles which +have guided in the structure of whole compositions. +Whether the purpose be to prove or to narrate, to +enforce a conclusion or to illustrate, if a paragraph is +to produce its greatest effect, it should have unity, +it should be well massed, and it should be coherent.</p> + +<p>It is not necessary now to define unity in a paragraph; +the need is rather to notice the offenses +against it that frequently occur. They are manifestly +two: too much may be included, and not all +may be included. The accompanying circumstance +of the one, not necessarily the cause, however, is often +a very long paragraph, and of the other a short paragraph.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Unity.</span> +Violations of the unity of a paragraph most frequently +result from including more than belongs +there. The theme has been selected; it +is narrow and concise. When one begins to write, many +<a class="pgnm" name="page174" id="page174">174</a> +things crowd in pell-mell. Impressions, which come +and go, we hardly know how or why, are the only products +of most minds. Impressions, not shaped and +logical thoughts, make up the mixed confusion frequently +called a theme. The writer puts down enough +of these impressions to make a paragraph, and then +goes on to do it again, fancying that so he is really +paragraphing. Even should he keep within the limits +of his theme, he cannot in this way paragraph. As +everything upon a subject does not belong in a theme, +so everything in a theme may not be introduced indiscriminately +into any paragraph.</p> + +<p>The other danger lies in the short paragraph. It +does not allow a writer room to say all he has to say +upon the topic, so it runs over into the next paragraph. +All of the thought-paragraph should appear in one +division on the page. This error is not so common as +the former. Examples of each are to be found on +pages <a href="#page152">152</a>-<a href="#page157">157</a>.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Need of Outline.</span> +The remedy for this confusion clearly is hard thinking; +and a great assistance is the outline. +Before a word is written, think through the +theme; get clearly the purpose of each paragraph in +the development of the whole. Then write just what +the paragraph was intended to include, and no more. +More will be suggested because the parts of a whole +theme are all closely related, but that more belongs +somewhere else. Make a sharp outline, and follow it.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Mass.</span> +A paragraph should be so arranged that the parts +which arrest the eye will be important.<a class="ftnt" id="footref_37" name="footref_37" href="#footnote_37">37</a> When a +person glances down a page, his eye rests upon the +beginning and the end of each paragraph. +A reader going rapidly through an article to +get what he wants of it does not read religiously every +<a class="pgnm" name="page175" id="page175">175</a> +word; he knows that he will be directed to the contents +of each paragraph by the first and last sentences. If a +writer considers his readers, if he desires to arrange his +paragraph so that it will be most effective, he will have +at these points such sentences as will accurately indicate +its contents and the trend of the discussion; and +he will form these sentences so well that they will deserve +the attention which is given them by reason of +their position in the paragraph.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">What begins and what ends a Paragraph?</span> +What are the words that deserve the distinction of +opening and closing a paragraph? As in the +theme, so in a paragraph, the first thing is to +announce the subject of discussion. When +the subject is simply announced without giving +any indication as to the drift of the discussion, the +conclusion of the discussion is generally stated in the +last sentence. Burke says, “The first thing we have +to consider with regard to the nature of the object is +the number of people in the colonies.” He concludes +the paragraph with, “Whilst we are discussing any +given magnitude, they are grown to it. Whilst we +spend our time in deliberating on the mode of governing +two millions, we shall find we have millions more +to manage. Your children do not grow faster from +infancy to manhood than they spread from families to +communities, and from villages to nations.” In other +cases the opening sentence states the conclusion at +which the paragraph will arrive. Then the closing +sentence may be a repetition of the opening or topic +sentence; or it may be one of the points used to exemplify +or establish the proposition which opens the paragraph. +Again, in a short paragraph the topic need not +be announced at the beginning; in this case it should be +given in the concluding sentence. Or, should the topic +be given in the opening sentence of a short paragraph, +<a class="pgnm" name="page176" id="page176">176</a> +it is unnecessary to repeat it at the end. In any case, +whether the paragraph opens with a simple announcement +of the topic to be discussed, or with the conclusion +which the paragraph aims to explain, establish, or +illustrate, or whether it closes with the conclusion of +the whole matter, or with one of the main points in +the development, the sentences at the beginning and +the end of a paragraph should be strong sentences +worthy of their distinguished position.</p> + +<p>In the first paragraph below, there is a proposition +in the first sentence and its repetition in the last. +In the two following, though they close with no general +statement, the specific assertions used to substantiate +and illustrate the first sentences are strong and +carry in themselves the truth of the topic-sentence.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“The eloquence of Mr. Adams resembled his general +character, and formed, indeed, a part of it. It was bold, +manly, and energetic; and such the crisis required. When +public bodies are to be addressed on momentous occasions, +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 eloquence, indeed, does not consist +in speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labor and +learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. Words +and phrases may be marshaled 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 children, and +<a class="pgnm" name="page177" id="page177">177</a> +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.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_38" name="footref_38" href="#footnote_38">38</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p><br />“The prejudiced man travels, and then everything he sees +in Catholic countries only serves to make him more thankful +that his notions are so true; and the more he sees of Popery, +the more abominable he feels it to be. If there is any sin, +any evil in a foreign population, though it be found among +Protestants also, still Popery is clearly the cause of it. If +great cities are the schools of vice, it is owing to Popery. +If Sunday is profaned, if there is a carnival, it is the fault +of the Catholic Church. Then, there are no private houses, +as in England; families live in staircases; see what it is to +belong to a Popish country. Why do the Roman laborers +wheel their barrows so slow in the Forum? why do the Lazzaroni +of Naples lie so listlessly on the beach? why, but +because they are under the <i>malaria</i> of a false religion. +Rage, as is well known, is in the Roman like a falling sickness, +almost as if his will had no part in it and he had no +responsibility; see what it is to be a Papist. Bloodletting +is as frequent and as much a matter of course in the South +as hair-cutting in England; it is a trick borrowed from the +convents, when they wish to tame down refractory spirits.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_39" name="footref_39" href="#footnote_39">39</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p><br />“Excuse me, Sir, if turning from such thoughts I resume +this comparative view once more. You have seen it on a +large scale; look at it on a small one. I will point out to +your attention a particular instance of it in the single province +<a class="pgnm" name="page178" id="page178">178</a> +of Pennsylvania. In the year 1704 that province +called for £11,459 in value of your commodities, native and +foreign. This was the whole. What did it demand in 1772? +Why, nearly fifty times as much; for in that year the export +to Pennsylvania was £507,909, nearly equal to the export to +all the colonies together in the first period.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_40" name="footref_40" href="#footnote_40">40</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The following illustrates the weakness of closing with +a specific instance when it does not rise to the level of +the remainder of a paragraph. The last sentence would +better be omitted.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“We often hear of the magical influence of poetry. The +expression in general means nothing; but, applied to the +writings of Milton, it is most appropriate. His poetry acts +like an incantation. Its merit lies less in its obvious meaning +than in its occult power. There would seem, at first +sight, to be no more in his words than in other words. But +they are words of enchantment. No sooner are they pronounced +than the past is present and the distant near. New +forms of beauty start at once into existence, and all the burial-places +of memory give up their dead. Change the structure +of the sentence, substitute one synonym for another, and the +whole effect is destroyed. The spell loses its power; and he +who should then hope to conjure with 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.’ In the miserable +failure of Dryden in his attempt to translate into his own +diction some parts of the ‘Paradise Lost’ is a remarkable +instance of this.” (“Essay on Milton,” by Macaulay.)</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Length of opening and closing Sentences.</span> +By examination, one finds that the first sentence of +a paragraph of exposition and of argument is +usually a terse statement of the proposition; +and that after the proposition has been established +there follows a longer sentence gathering up all +the points of the discussion into a full, rounded period +which forms a suitable climax and conclusion of the +<a class="pgnm" name="page179" id="page179">179</a> +paragraph. Of Macaulay’s “Milton” one is quite +inside the truth when he says that of those paragraphs +containing an opening topic-sentence and its restatement +as a conclusion, the closing sentence is the longer +in the ratio of two to one. In Burke’s “Conciliation,” +the ratio rises as high as four to one. There are, +however, exceptions to the rule. Paragraphs sometimes +close with a shorter statement of the proposition, a +sort of aphorism or epigram. As this kind of sentence +is fascinating, some books have said that paragraphs +should close so; that it is like cracking a whip, and +gives a snap to the paragraph not gained in any other +way. Even if readers enjoyed having paragraphs close +in this cracking manner, it must be borne in mind that +not all conclusions are capable of such a statement, +and, what is worse, that the tendency to seek for epigrams +leads to untruth and a degenerated form of +witticism. Such forced sentences are only half truths, +or they are a bit of cheap repartee. Such a close is +effective, if the whole truth can be so expressed; but +to seek for such sentences is dangerous. The best rule +is the one already stated; it applies to the long sentence +and the short sentence alike. It is that a paragraph +should close with words that deserve distinction.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Proportion.</span> +The body of a paragraph should have the matter so +proportioned that the more important points +shall receive the longer treatment. In a paragraph +of proof, details, or comparison, that point in +the proof, that particular, that part of the comparison, +which for the specific purpose has most significance, +should have proportionately fuller treatment. It is the +same principle already noticed in exposition. Indicate +the relative importance of topics in a paragraph by the +relative number of words used in their treatment.</p> + +<p>For mass in a paragraph, then, keep in mind that +<a class="pgnm" name="page180" id="page180">180</a> +the last sentence should contain matter and form +worthy of the position it occupies; that the position +of next importance is at the beginning; and that the +relative importance of the matters in the body of a +paragraph is pretty correctly indicated by the relative +length of treatment.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Coherence and Clearness.</span> +Coherence, the third principle of structure, is the +most important; and it is the most difficult +to apply. For one can make a beginning and +an end, he can select his materials so that +there is unity, but to make all the parts stick together, +to arrange the sentences so that one grows naturally +from the preceding and leads into the next, requires +nice adjustment of parts, and rewriting many times. +How essential coherence in a paragraph is, simply to +make the thought easy to grasp, may be seen by taking +a paragraph to pieces and mixing up its sentences, and +at the same time removing all words that bind its +parts together. The following can hardly be understood +at all, but in its original condition it is so clear +that it cannot be misunderstood. If the sentences be +arranged in the following order, the original paragraph +will appear: 1, 5, 3, 9, 8, 6, 2, 4, 7, 10.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>1. “The first question which obviously suggests itself is +how these wonderful moral effects are to be wrought under +the instrumentality of the physical sciences. 2. To know is +one thing, to do is another; the two things are altogether distinct. +3. Does Sir Robert Peel mean to say, that whatever +be the occult reasons for the result, so it is; you have but to +drench the popular mind with physics, and moral and religious +advancement follows on the whole, in spite of individual +failures? 4. A man knows he should get up in the morning,—he +lies abed; he knows he should not lose his temper, +yet he cannot keep it. 5. Can the process be analyzed and +drawn out, or does it act like a dose or a charm which comes +<a class="pgnm" name="page181" id="page181">181</a> +into general use empirically? 6. It is natural and becoming +to seek for some clear idea of the meaning of so dark an +oracle. 7. A laboring man knows he should not go to the +ale-house, and his wife knows she should not filch when she +goes out charing, but, nevertheless, in these cases, the consciousness +of a duty is not all one with the performance of +it. 8. Or rather, does he mean, that, from the nature of +the case, he who is imbued with science and literature, unless +adverse influences interfere, cannot but be a better man? +9. Yet when has the experiment been tried on so large a +scale as to justify such anticipations? 10. There are, then, +large families of instances, to say the least, in which men +may become wiser, without becoming better; what, then, is +the meaning of this great maxim in the mouth of its promulgators?”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Coherence, so necessary to the easy understanding +of a paragraph, is gained in three ways: by the order +in which the sentences are arranged; by the use of +parallel constructions for parallel ideas; and by the +use of connectives.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Two Arrangements of Sentences in a Paragraph.</span> +Material which has been selected with regard to the +principle of unity is all informed with one idea. Yet +though one thought runs through it all and unites it, +the parts do not stand in an equally close relation to +the conclusion, nor is each part equally related +to every other part. Had they been, +the last paragraph quoted would have been as +well in one order as another. Rather the sentences +seem to fall into groups of more closely related +matters; or at times one sentence seems to follow as +the direct consequence of the preceding sentence. +With respect to the way in which the sentences contribute +to the topic of the paragraph, whether the topic +be announced first or last, sentences may be said to +contribute directly to the proposition or indirectly. If +<a class="pgnm" name="page182" id="page182">182</a> +directly, the paragraph is a collection of sentences, each +having a common purpose, each having a similar relation +to the topic, arranged, as it were, side by side, +and advancing as one body to the conclusion. This +may be termed an individual arrangement of sentences, +since as individuals they each contribute to the topic. +The conclusion derives its force from the combined +mass of all. If indirectly, the paragraph is a series of +sentences, each growing out of the one preceding it, +each receiving a push from the sentence before, and the +last having the combined force of all. This may be +styled a serial arrangement of sentences, since in such +a case each contributes to the topic only as one in a +chain. The former overcomes by its mass; the latter +strikes by reason of its velocity. The one advances in +rank; the other advances in single file.</p> + +<p>An illustration of each will help to an understanding +of this. In the following paragraph from Macaulay’s +essay on Milton, each of the details mentioned +points directly to “those days” when the race became +a “byword and a shaking of the head to the nations.” +Their aggregate mass enforces the topic of the paragraph. +They are all one body equally informed with +the common principle which is the topic. Notice that +one sentence is not the source of the next, but that all +the sentences stand in a similar relation to the conclusion. +This arrangement is common in description. +In the second paragraph, from Irving’s “Legend of +Sleepy Hollow,” each detail contributes to the appearance +of Ichabod, not through some other sentence, but +directly.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Then came those days, never to be recalled without a +blush, the days of servitude without loyalty and sensuality +without love; of dwarfish talents and gigantic vices; the +<a class="pgnm" name="page183" id="page183">183</a> +paradise of cold hearts and narrow minds; the golden age +of the coward, the bigot, and the slave. The king cringed +to his rival that he might trample on his people; sank into +a viceroy of France, and pocketed with complacent infamy +her degrading insults and her more degrading gold. The +caresses of harlots and the jests of buffoons regulated the +policy of the state. The government had just ability enough +to deceive, and just religion enough to persecute. The principles +of liberty were the scoff of every grinning courtier, +and the Anathema Maranatha of every fawning dean. In +every high place, worship was paid to Charles and James, +Belial and Moloch; and England propitiated those obscene +and cruel idols with the blood of her best and bravest children. +Crime succeeded to crime, and disgrace to disgrace, +till the race, accursed of God and man, was a second time +driven forth to wander on the face of the earth, and to be +a byword and a shaking of the head to the nations.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p><br />“Ichabod was a suitable figure for such a steed. He rode +with short stirrups, which brought his knees nearly up to the +pommel of the saddle; his sharp elbows stuck out like grasshoppers’; +he carried his whip perpendicularly in his hand, +like a sceptre, and as his horse jogged on, the motion of his +arms was not unlike the flapping of a pair of wings. A +small wool hat rested on the top of his nose, for so his scanty +strip of forehead might be called, and the skirts of his black +coat fluttered out almost to the horse’s tail. Such was the +appearance of Ichabod and his steed as they shambled out of +the gate of Hans Van Ripper, and it was altogether such an +apparition as is seldom to be met with in broad daylight.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The following paragraph in the essay on Milton contains +an example of the second method of arrangement. +Each sentence is the result of the one before it. The +sentences advance in single file. Notice that each sentence +does not contribute directly to the conclusion, but +that it acts through the succeeding sentence. The +phrases from which a succeeding sentence springs are +<a class="pgnm" name="page184" id="page184">184</a> +in small capitals; and the phrases which refer back +are in italics.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Most of the remarks which we have hitherto made on the +public character of Milton apply to him only as one of <span class="smcap">a +large body.</span> <span class="smcap">We shall proceed</span> to notice some of the +peculiarities which distinguished him <i>from his contemporaries.</i> +<i>And for that purpose</i> it is necessary to take a short +survey of <span class="smcap">the parties</span> into which the political world was at +that time divided. We must premise that our observations +are intended to apply only to <span class="smcap">those who adhered,</span> from +a sincere preference, to one or to the other side. In days of +public commotion, <i>every faction,</i> like an Oriental army, is +attended by a crowd of camp-followers, a useless and heartless +<span class="smcap">rabble,</span> who prowl round its line of march in the hope +of picking up something under its protection, but desert it in +the day of battle, and often join to exterminate it after defeat. +England, at the time of which we are treating, abounded +with fickle and <i>selfish politicians,</i> who transferred their support +to every government as it rose; who kissed the hand of +the king in 1640, and spat in his face in 1649; who shouted +with equal glee when Cromwell was inaugurated in Westminster +Hall, and when he was dug up to be hanged at +Tyburn; who dined on calves’ heads or broiled rumps, and +cut down oak branches or stuck them up, as circumstances +altered, without the slightest shame or repugnance. <i>These</i> +we leave out of account. We take our estimate of parties +from <i>those who</i> really deserve to be called partisans.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>(For other examples of the same arrangement see +the next quotation, and also a paragraph quoted on +page <a href="#page222">222</a>.)</p> + +<p>Paragraphs are most frequently found to combine +the two methods. In the following, notice that the +second sentence grows out of the first, the third from +the second, and so the serial arrangement is maintained +until the eighth is reached. Sentences nine, +ten, eleven, and twelve give body to sentence eight. +<a class="pgnm" name="page185" id="page185">185</a> +Then begins again the regular succession. Sentences +sixteen to twenty are the outgrowth of the phrase +“on his account.”</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“1. The Puritans were men whose minds had derived a +peculiar character from the daily contemplation of superior +beings and eternal interests. 2. Not content with acknowledging +in general terms an overruling Providence, 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. 3. To know Him, to serve +Him, to enjoy Him, was with them the great end of existence. +4. They rejected with contempt the ceremonious +homage which other sects substituted for the pure worship of +the soul. 5. Instead of catching occasional glimpses of the +Deity through an obscuring veil, they aspired to gaze full on +the intolerable brightness, and to commune with Him face to +face. 6. Hence originated their contempt for terrestrial distinctions. +7. The difference between the greatest and the +meanest of mankind seemed to vanish when compared with +the boundless interval which separated the whole race from +Him on whom their own eyes were constantly fixed. 8. They +recognized no title to superiority but His favor; and, confident +of that favor, they despised all the accomplishments and +all the dignities of the world. 9. If they were unacquainted +with the works of philosophers and poets, they were deeply +read in the oracles of God. 10. If their names were not +found in the registers of heralds, they were recorded in the +Book of Life. 11. If their steps were not accompanied by +a splendid train of menials, legions of ministering angels had +charge over them. 12. Their palaces were houses not made +with hands; their diadems, crowns of glory which should +never fade away. 13. 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. 14. The very meanest of them was a being +<a class="pgnm" name="page186" id="page186">186</a> +to whose fate a mysterious and terrible importance belonged, +on whose slightest action the spirits of light and darkness +looked with anxious interest; who had been destined, before +heaven and earth were created, to enjoy a felicity which +should continue when heaven and earth should have passed +away. 15. Events which short-sighted politicians ascribed +to earthly causes had been ordained on his account. 16. For +his sake empires had risen, and flourished, and decayed. +17. For his sake the Almighty had proclaimed His will by +the pen of the Evangelist and the harp of the prophet. +18. He had been wrested by no common deliverer from the +grasp of no common foe. 19. He had been ransomed by the +sweat of no vulgar agony, by the blood of no earthly sacrifice. +20. It was for him that the sun had been darkened, +that the rocks had been rent, that the dead had risen, that +all nature had shuddered at the sufferings of her expiring +God.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>This division has been made because by its aid an +approach can be made toward rules for arrangement. +In the paragraph quoted on page <a href="#page183">183</a>, the different sentences +are equally related to the topic. Is there, then, +no reason why one should be first rather than another? +Notice the topics of the sentences and the order becomes +a necessity. King, state policy, government, +liberty, religion,—it is an ascending scale. On page +<a href="#page96">96</a> is a paragraph on the charmed names used by +Milton. “One,” “another,” “a third,” “a fourth,”—for +all one can see as to the relation of each to the +topic, “a fourth” might as well have been “one” as +fourth. But upon reading the paragraph it is evident +that Macaulay thought the last more important than +the first. So in the paragraph just quoted about the +Puritans, when the arrangement of the first eight sentences +changes in sentences nine through eleven, and +again in sentences sixteen to twenty, the order is a +climax. Moreover, those topics are associated which +<a class="pgnm" name="page187" id="page187">187</a> +are more closely related in thought. King is more +closely related to government than to religion, and +religion is more intimately associated with the idea of +liberty than with king. The order, then, is the natural +order of association. From these examples we derive +the first principle of arrangement. In a paragraph +where several sentences contribute individually to the +topic, they must be arranged in the order in which the +thoughts are associated and follow each other; and, +when possible, they should take the order of a climax.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Definite References.</span> +In the paragraph made up of sentences in a series, +each linked to the sentence before and after, +the difficulty is in transmitting the force of +one sentence to the next one undiminished. +This is done by binding the sentences so closely together +that one cannot slip on the other. In the +paragraph about the Puritans, of the second sentence +the “Great Being” goes back to “superior +beings” of the first; and “Him” in the next springs +from “Great Being.” “To know Him, to serve Him, +to enjoy Him,”—what is it but the “pure worship” +of the fourth? while “ceremonious homage” of the +fourth is the “occasional glimpses of the Deity through +an obscuring veil” of the fifth. One sentence grows +out of some phrase of the preceding sentence; the sentences +are firmly locked together by the repetition, a +little modified, of the thought of a preceding phrase. +There is no slipping. To get this result there must be +no question of the thought-sequence in the sentences. +Each sentence must be a consequence of a preceding +sentence. And there must be attention to the choice +and position of the words from which the following +sentence is to spring. Such words cannot be indefinite, +mushy words; they must be definite, firm words. +Moreover, they must not be buried out of sight by a +<a class="pgnm" name="page188" id="page188">188</a> +mass of unimportant matters; they must be so placed +that they are unhindered, free to push forward the +thought toward its ultimate conclusion. This often requires +inversion in the sentence. That phrase which is +the source of the next sentence must be thrown up into +a prominent position; and it is usually pressed toward +the end of the sentence, nearer to the sentence which +is its consequence. In a paragraph quoted on page <a href="#page222">222</a>, +where this same subject is taken up in connection with +sentences, there is an excellent illustration of this. +“Slow and obscure,” “inadequate ideas,” “small circle,” +and the numerous phrases which repeat the +thought, though not the words, are firm words binding +the sentences together indissolubly.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Use of Pronouns.</span> +Not all sentences permit such clear reference as +this. Still it must be said that where the +thought is logical and clear, the reference is +never missed: the binding words are important words +and they occupy prominent positions. There is, however, +a whole group of words whose function is to +make the references sure. They are pronouns. Pronouns +refer back, and they point forward. Their careful +use is the commonest method of making sure of +references, and so of binding sentences together. The +ones in common use are <i>this, that, the former, the +latter;</i> the relatives <i>who, which,</i> and <i>that;</i> and the +personal pronouns <i>he, she, it.</i> To these may be added +some adverbs: <i>here, there, hence, whence, now, then, +when,</i> and <i>while.</i> The binding force of these words is +manifest in every paragraph of composition.</p> + +<p>The following paragraph, from Burke’s speech on +“Conciliation with the Colonies,” illustrates the use of +pronouns as words referring back, and binding the +whole into one inseparable unit.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“As to the wealth which the colonies have drawn from the +<a class="pgnm" name="page189" id="page189">189</a> +sea by their fisheries, you had all that matter fully opened +at your bar. You surely thought <i>those</i> acquisitions of value, +for <i>they</i> seemed even to excite your envy; and yet the spirit +by which <i>that</i> enterprising employment has been exercised +ought rather, in my opinion, to have raised your esteem and +admiration. And pray, Sir, what in the world is equal to +<i>it?</i> Pass by the other parts, and look at the manner in +which the people of New England have of late carried on the +whale fishery. Whilst we follow <i>them</i> among the tumbling +mountains of ice, and behold <i>them</i> penetrating into the deepest +frozen recesses of Hudson’s Bay and Davis’s Straits, +whilst we are looking for <i>them</i> beneath the arctic circle, we +hear that <i>they</i> have pierced into the opposite region of polar +cold, that <i>they</i> are at the antipodes, and engaged under the +frozen Serpent of the south. Falkland Island, which seemed +too remote and romantic an object for the grasp of national +ambition, is but a stage and resting-place in the progress of +<i>their</i> victorious industry. Nor is the equinoctial heat more +discouraging to <i>them</i> than the accumulated winter of both the +poles. We know that whilst <i>some</i> of <i>them</i> draw the line and +strike the harpoon on the coast of Africa, <i>others</i> run the longitude +and pursue <i>their</i> gigantic game along the coast of Brazil. +No sea but what is vexed by <i>their</i> fisheries; no climate +that is not witness to <i>their</i> toils. Neither the perseverance +of Holland, nor the activity of France, nor the dexterous and +firm sagacity of English enterprise ever carried <i>this</i> most +perilous mode of hardy industry to the extent to which <i>it</i> has +been pushed by <i>this</i> recent people; a people who are still, +as it were, but in the gristle, and not yet hardened into the +bone of manhood. When I contemplate <i>these</i> things; when +I know that the colonies in general owe little or nothing to +any care of ours, and that they are not squeezed into this +happy form by the constraints of watchful and suspicious +government, but that, through a wise and salutary neglect, a +generous nature has been suffered to take her own way to +perfection; when I reflect upon <i>these</i> effects, when I see +how profitable <i>they</i> have been to us, I feel all the pride of +<a class="pgnm" name="page190" id="page190">190</a> +power sink, and all presumption in the wisdom of human +contrivances melt and die away within me. My rigor relents. +I pardon something to the spirit of liberty.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Of Conjunctions.</span> +Another group of words which give coherence to a +paragraph is conjunctions. They indicate +the relations between sentences, and they +point the direction of the new sentence. The common +relations between sentences indicated by conjunctions +are coördinative, subordinative, adversative, concessive, +and illative. Each young writer has usually but one +word, at the most two words, in his vocabulary to express +each of these relations. He knows <i>and, but, if, +although,</i> and <i>therefore.</i> Each person should learn +from a grammar the whole list, for no class of words +indicates clear thinking so unmistakably as conjunctions.</p> + +<p>Two words of advice should be given regarding the +use of conjunctions. If the thought all bends one way, +if this direction is perfectly clear, there is no need of +conjunctions. It is when the course of the discussion +is tortuous, when the road is not direct, when the reader +may lose the way without these guides, that conjunctions +should be used. On the other hand, conjunctions +are an annoyance when not needed. Just as guideposts +along a road where there is no chance to leave +the direct path are useless, and their recurrence is a +cause of aggravation, so it is with unnecessary conjunctions. +They attract attention to themselves, and +so draw it from the thought. The first caution is, Do +not use conjunctions unless needed.</p> + +<p>In the following, the repetition of <i>and</i> is unnecessary +and annoying.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Six shillings a week does not keep body and soul together +very unitedly. They want to get away from each other +<a class="pgnm" name="page191" id="page191">191</a> +when there is only such a very slight bond as that between +them; and one day, I suppose, the pain and the dull monotony +of it all had stood before her eyes plainer than usual, +and the mocking spectre had frightened her. She had made +one last appeal to friends, but, against the chill wall of their +respectability, the voice of the erring outcast fell unheeded; +<i>and</i> then she had gone to see her child—had held it in her +arms and kissed it, in a weary, dull sort of way, <i>and</i> without +betraying any particular emotion of any kind, <i>and</i> had +left it, after putting into its hand a penny box of chocolate +she had bought it, <i>and</i> afterwards, with her last few shillings, +had taken a ticket <i>and</i> come down to Goring.</p> + +<p>“It seemed that the bitterest thoughts of her life must +have centred about the wooded reaches and the bright +green meadows around Goring; but women strangely hug +the knife that stabs them, and, perhaps, amidst the gall, +there may have mingled also sunny memories of sweetest +hours, spent upon those shadowed deeps over which the great +trees bend their branches down so low.</p> + +<p>“She had wandered about the woods by the river’s brink +all day, <i>and</i> then, when evening fell <i>and</i> the gray twilight +spread its dusky robe upon the waters, she stretched out her +arms to the silent river that had known her sorrow and her +joy. <i>And</i> the old river had taken her into its gentle arms, +<i>and</i> had laid her weary head upon its bosom, <i>and</i> had +hushed away the pain.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The other word is: When possible put the conjunction +that connects two sentences into the body of the +sentence, rather than at its beginning. In this way its +binding power is increased. This principle should limit +the use of <i>and</i> and <i>but</i> at the beginning of a sentence. +Rarely is <i>and</i> needed in such a place. If the thought +goes straight forward—and it must do so if <i>and</i> +correctly expresses the relation—there is usually no +gain in its use. At times when the reader might be +led to expect some change of direction from some +<a class="pgnm" name="page192" id="page192">192</a> +phrase in the preceding sentence, then it would be +wise to set him right by the use of <i>and.</i> Moreover, +there are times when coördinate thoughts are so important, +and the expression of the coördination is so +important, that a sentence beginning with <i>and</i> is the +only adequate means of expressing it. However, be +very sure that there is need for every <i>and</i> that you +use. The same caution may be given about <i>but.</i> <i>But</i> +indicates an abrupt turn in the thought. Is such a +contrast in the thought? If so, is there no other word +to express the thought? Some persons go so far as to +say that these words should never begin a sentence. +This is too pedantic and not true. When coördinative +and adversative relations are to be expressed, +however, it is certainly more elegant if some variety +can be obtained, and the union is closer if the conjunction +be placed in the body of the sentence. This +requires the use of other words besides <i>and</i> and <i>but.</i> +<i>Also, in like manner, besides, too, nevertheless, however, +after all, for all that,</i> should be as familiar as +the two overworked words <i>and</i> and <i>but.</i> Look for +ways to bind sentences in the middle rather than at +the end. It is more elegant and it is much safer.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Parallel Constructions.</span> +A third principle of arrangement is the use of parallel +constructions for parallel thoughts. By +parallel structure is meant that the principal +elements of the sentences shall be arranged in +the same order. If subordinate clauses precede principal +clauses in one sentence, they shall in the other; if +they follow in one, they shall follow in the other. If +an active voice be used in one, it shall be used in the +other; if the predicate go before the subject in one, +it shall in the other. The use of parallel structure frequently +demands repetition of forms and even of identical +words and phrases. It is very effective in giving +<a class="pgnm" name="page193" id="page193">193</a> +clearness to a paragraph and in securing coherence of +its parts.</p> + +<p>In the first of the two illustrations below, read one +sentence this way and observe the ruin that is wrought. +“The North American colonies made such a struggle +against the mother country.” In the second paragraph, +change two of the sentences to the passive +voice. The effect is evident loss in clearness and +strength.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“All history is full of revolutions, produced by causes +similar to those which are now operating in England. A +portion of the community which had been of no account, expands +and becomes strong. It demands a place in the system, +suited, not to its former weakness, but to its present +power. If this is granted, all is well. If this is refused, +then comes the struggle between the young energy of one +class and the ancient privileges of another. Such was the +struggle between the Plebeians and Patricians of Rome. +Such was the struggle of the Italian allies for admission to +the full rights of Roman citizens. Such was the struggle of +our North American colonies against the mother country. +Such was the struggle which the Third Estate of France +maintained against the aristocracy of birth. Such was the +struggle which the Roman Catholics of Ireland maintained +against the aristocracy of creed. Such is the struggle which +the free people of color in Jamaica are now maintaining +against the aristocracy of skin. Such, finally, is the struggle +which the middle classes in England are maintaining +against an aristocracy of mere locality, against an aristocracy, +the principle of which is to invest a hundred drunken +pot-wallopers in one place, or the owner of a ruined hovel +in another, with powers which are withheld from cities renowned +to the furthest ends of the earth for the marvels of +their wealth and of their industry.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_41" name="footref_41" href="#footnote_41">41</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p><br />“Man is a being of genius, passion, intellect, conscience, +power. He exercises these various gifts in various ways, in +<a class="pgnm" name="page194" id="page194">194</a> +great deeds, in great thoughts, in heroic acts, in hateful +crimes. He founds states, he fights battles, he builds cities, +he ploughs the forest, he subdues the elements, he rules his +kind. He creates vast ideas, and influences many generations. +He takes a thousand shapes, and undergoes a thousand +fortunes. Literature records them all to the life.... +He pours out his fervid soul in poetry; he sways to and fro, +he soars, he dives, in his restless speculations; his lips drop +eloquence; he touches the canvas, and it glows with beauty; +he sweeps the strings, and they thrill with an ecstatic meaning. +He looks back into himself, and he reads his own +thoughts, and notes them down; he looks out into the universe, +and tells over and celebrates the elements and principles +of which it is the product.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_42" name="footref_42" href="#footnote_42">42</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p>(The principles of Mass and Coherence in paragraphs +are closely allied with these same principles regarding +sentences. Some further discussion of these important +matters, as well as more illustrations, will be found +in the next chapter.)</p> + +<p>Good sense must be exercised in the use of parallel +constructions. Although a short series of sentences +containing parallel thoughts is common and demands +this treatment, it is not at all frequent that one has +such a long series as these paragraphs contain. In +these paragraphs the parallel is in the thought; it has +not been searched out. Because one is pleased with +these effects of parallel construction, he should not be +led to seek for opportunities where he can force sentences +into similar shapes. The thoughts must be +parallel. If the thought is actually parallel, a parallel +treatment may be adopted with great advantage to +clearness and force; if it is not parallel, any attempt +to treat it as such is detected as a shallow trick. To +search for thoughts to trail along in a series results in +thinnest bombast. As everywhere else in composition, +<a class="pgnm" name="page195" id="page195">195</a> +so here a writer must rely on his good taste and good +sense.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Summary.</span> +Whatever may be the special mode of development, +of whatever form of discourse it is to be a +part, the three fundamental principles which +guide in making a paragraph are Unity, Mass, and +Coherence. The unity of the paragraph is secured by +referring all of the material to the topic, including +what contributes to the main thought and excluding +what has no value. Paragraphs excessively long or +very short may lead to offenses against unity. Mass +in a paragraph is gained by placing worthy words in +the positions of distinction; by treating the more important +matters at greater length; and, when possible +without disturbing coherence, by arranging the material +in a climax. Coherence is secured by keeping together +matters related in thought; by a wise choice +and placing of all words which bind sentences together; +and by the use of parallel constructions for parallel +ideas. Carefully chosen material, arranged so that +worthy words occupy the positions of distinction, and +all so skillfully knit together that every sentence, every +phrase, every word, takes the reader one step toward +the conclusion,—this constitutes a good paragraph.</p> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="page196" id="page196">196</a></div> + +<p class="ctr"><br /><b>SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS</b></p> + +<p class="ctr"><br />THE OLD MANSE.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 69.)</p> + +<p>In the paragraph beginning at the bottom of page 19, +what do you think of the selection of material? Does the +last detail give the finishing touch to the paragraph? Is it +a real climax?</p> + +<p>On page 25 a paragraph begins, “Lightly as,” etc. In +the second sentence “bound volume” goes back to what +words in the first sentence? “he,” of the third, to what of +the second? “thus it was” to what before?</p> + +<p>Now take the paragraph on pages 34 and 35 and trace +the connection of the sentences, drawing two lines under the +phrase from which a succeeding sentence springs, and one +line under words that refer back to a preceding phrase; also +trace out the dovetailing in the sentences on pages 6 and 7. +In the paragraph on pages 18 and 19 the development is +not so. Each sentence emphasizes “the sombre aspect of +external nature.” What is the law of their arrangement? +(See text-book, pages <a href="#page181">181</a>-<a href="#page187">187</a>.)</p> + +<p>Find other paragraphs arranged in this way. (See pages +35, 36.)</p> + +<p>What is the topic of the second paragraph?</p> + +<p>Can you divide the paragraph filling the middle of page 8? +Where?</p> + +<p>What is the relation between the first sentence and the last +in the paragraph at the bottom of page 11? Give the words +that join the sentences of the paragraph together.</p> + +<p>In the paragraph beginning on page 13, what is the purpose +of the first two sentences?</p> + +<p>On page 14, does it seem to you that Hawthorne had forgotten +the Old Manse enough so that it could be called a +<a class="pgnm" name="page197" id="page197">197</a> +digression? or do you think that the delightful, rambling +character of the essay permits it? Can you divide this +paragraph on pages 14 and 15? Where?</p> + +<p>What figure at the bottom of page 15? Is it the custom +to use a capital letter in such a case? Has the paragraph in +which the figure occurs unity? Where could you divide it? +Give the topic of both new paragraphs.</p> + +<p>Of the paragraph on pages 16 and 17, what is the relation +of the last three sentences to the topic?</p> + +<p>What comment would you make upon the last sentence of +the paragraph ending at the top of page 25?</p> + +<p>At the opening of the paragraph beginning on page 29, do +you like the figure? Trace the relation between the first +and second sentences; between the second and the third. +Could this paragraph be divided?</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br />RIP VAN WINKLE AND THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 51.)</p> + +<p>In the paragraph on page 11, what is the relation between +the first and last sentences? Why is the middle of the paragraph +introduced? Is it effective?</p> + +<p>What method of development is adopted in the next paragraph?</p> + +<p>Trace out the connection of the paragraphs in the first five +pages of this essay. What words at the beginning of each +paragraph are especially helpful in joining the parts?</p> + +<p>On page 13 Irving writes, “Times grew worse and worse +for Rip Van Winkle,” etc. How many paragraphs are given +to this topic? Could all of them be put into one? Should +they? What is the last part of the first sentence of this +paragraph?</p> + +<p>Why are there so few topic sentences in this essay? How +did Irving know where to paragraph? Give topics of the +paragraphs on pages 16, 17, 18. In the paragraph beginning +at the bottom of p. 17, why are the clothes of the man +mentioned first?</p> + +<p>What method of paragraph development is adopted in the +<a class="pgnm" name="page198" id="page198">198</a> +paragraph beginning in the middle of page 23? Is the last +detail important?</p> + +<p>From the use on pages 24 and 25, what do you gather as +to the rule for paragraphing where dialogue is reported?</p> + +<p>In the paragraph on page 40, what reason has Irving for +saying “therefore”? From what sentence does the last of +this paragraph arise? Do you think the specific closing of +the paragraph worthy of the position?</p> + +<p>When Irving says on page 41 that he was “an odd mixture +of small shrewdness and simple credulity,” did he mean that +he was shrewd, or that he was not shrewd? Can you find +anything in the paragraphs to develop the thought that he was +shrewd? How many paragraphs are given to his simple +credulity? Why so many?</p> + +<p>In the paragraph beginning at the bottom of page 42, what +advantage is there in the exclamatory sentences?</p> + +<p>Would it be as well to divide the next paragraph into three +sentences? Give your reasons. As the paragraph stands, +is the sentence loose or periodic?</p> + +<p>In the paragraph beginning at the bottom of page 45, what +is the method of development? Why is the chanticleer +mentioned last?</p> + +<p>Are Irving’s sentences long? Do they seem long? Why, +or why not?</p> + +<p>What is the relation of the first sentence of the first paragraph +on page 55 to the last?</p> + +<p>What is the topic of the next paragraph? Do you think +it would be just as well to put the second sentence of this +paragraph last?</p> + +<p>In the paragraph beginning at the bottom of page 55, what +method of development has been used? Why is the “blue +jay” mentioned last?</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br />THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 119.)</p> + +<p>Do you think the first paragraph too long? Where can +you divide it? What is the test of the length of a paragraph?</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page199" id="page199">199</a> +At the bottom of page 67, do you think the first sentence +of the paragraph the topic? or is it the last sentence? Give +reasons.</p> + +<p>Is the detail at the end of the paragraph beginning on the +middle of page 71 upon the topic of the paragraph? Is it good +there? How do you know that Usher did not say “him”?</p> + +<p>Of the paragraph on page 73, what sentence is the topic?</p> + +<p>What proportion of the paragraphs have topic sentences? +Have the others topics? Give them for the paragraphs on +the first five pages.</p> + +<p>What method of paragraph development has Poe adopted +in the paragraph beginning in the middle of page 81? What +is the relation between the opening and the close of the paragraph? +Why is the middle needed?</p> + +<p>Do you like the second sentence of the next paragraph? +What is there disagreeable in it?</p> + +<p>As you read along do the paragraphs run into one another? +Is such a condition good?</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br />SILAS MARNER.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 83.)</p> + +<p>Divide paragraphs on pages 10 and 11. What is the +topic of each of the new paragraphs?</p> + +<p>In the first paragraph of chapter two each sentence grows +out of the one preceding. Put two lines under the words in +each sentence which are the source of the next sentence. +Draw one line under the words in each sentence which refer +back to the preceding sentence.</p> + +<p>In the paragraph beginning at the bottom of page 94, +what is the topic sentence? What relation has the last sentence +to the first? What method of development in the +paragraph?</p> + +<p>Can the paragraphs of exposition usually be divided? Do +they violate unity? If not, upon what principle can you +divide them?</p> + +<p>What is the tendency in regard to the length of paragraphs +in recent literature?</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="page200" id="page200">200</a></div> + +<h3>CHAPTER VIII</h3> + +<p class="ctr"><b>SENTENCES</b></p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Definition and Classification. Simple Sentences.</span> +A sentence is a group of words expressing a complete +thought. Sentences have been classified +as simple, complex, and compound. In reality +there are but two classes of sentences,—simple +and compound. It is not material to the +construction of a sentence whether a modifier be a +word, a phrase, or a clause; it still remains an adjective, +adverb, or noun modifier, and the method in which the +subject and predicate are developed is the same. By +means of modifiers, a subject and predicate of but two +words may grow to the size of a paragraph, and yet +be a group of words expressing one complete thought.</p> + +<p>In the sentence below, the subject and predicate are +“we are free.” This does not, however, express +Burke’s complete thought. It is not what he meant. +Free to do what? How free? When may it be done? +Why now? What bill? All these introduce modifications +to the simple assertion, “we are free,” modifications +which are essential to the completeness of the +thought.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“By the return of this bill, which seemed to have taken +its flight forever, we are at this very instant nearly as free +to choose a plan for our American government as we were +on the first day of the session.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Compound Sentences.</span> +On the other hand, the compound sentence is usually +said to consist of at least two independent +clauses; and the very fact of their independence, +which is only a grammatical independence, to be +<a class="pgnm" name="page201" id="page201">201</a> +sure, makes the clauses very nearly independent sentences. +So near to sentences may the clauses be in +their independence that some writers would make them +so. The following group of sentences Kipling certainly +could have handled in another way. “The reason +for her wandering was simple enough. Coppy, in +a tone of too hastily assumed authority, had told her +over night that she must not ride out by the river. +And she had gone to prove her own spirit and teach +Coppy a lesson.” Certainly the last two sentences could +be united into a compound sentence, nor would it be +straining the structure to put all three sentences into +one. This example is not exceptional. Many similar +cases may be found in all prose writers; and in Macaulay’s +writings there are certainly occasions when it +would be better to unite independent sentences. If +the fundamental ideas of the two clauses bear certain +definite and evident relations to each other, they should +stand in one compound sentence. These evident relations +are: first, an assertion and its repetition in some +other form; second, an assertion and its contrast; third, +an assertion and its consequence; and fourth, an assertion +and an example. If the clauses do not bear one of +these evident relations to each other, they should receive +special attention; for they may be two separate, +independent thoughts requiring for their expression +two sentences. The following sentences illustrate the +common relations that may exist between the clauses +of a compound sentence.</p> + +<div style="font-size: 90%"> +<p><i>Repetition.</i> “Nothing has a drift or relation; nothing +has a promise or history.”</p> + +<p>“But the religion most prevalent in our northern colonies +is a refinement on the principle of resistance; it is the dissidence +of dissent, and the protestantism of the Protestant +religion.”</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page202" id="page202">202</a> +<i>Contrast.</i> “If the people approve the way in which these +authorities are interpreting and using the Constitution, they +go on; if the people disapprove, they pause, or at least +slacken their pace.”</p> + +<p>“Every court is equally bound to pronounce, and competent +to pronounce, on such questions, a State court no less than a +Federal court; but as all the more important questions are +carried by appeal to the supreme Federal court, it is practically +that court whose opinion determines them.”</p> + +<p><i>Consequence.</i> “The British and American line had run +near it during the war; it had, <i>therefore,</i> been the scene of +marauding, and infested with refugees, cow-boys, and all +kinds of border chivalry.”</p> + +<p><i>Example.</i> “He found favor in the eyes of the mothers +by petting the children, particularly the youngest; and like +the lion bold, which whilom so magnanimously the lamb did +hold, he would sit with a child on one knee, and rock a cradle +with his foot for whole hours together.”</p> +</div> + +<p>There is another condition which masses many details +into one compound sentence. If in narration a +writer wishes to give the impression that many things +are done in a moment of time, and together form one +incident, he may group many circumstances, nearly +independent except for the matter of time, into one +compound sentence. In description he may present +groups of details hastily in one sentence, and so give +the impression of unity. The same thing may be done +in exposition. Many independent ideas may bear a +common relation to another idea, either expressed or +understood; and in order to get them before the reader +as one whole, the author may group them in a single +sentence. The examples below illustrate this method +of sentence development.</p> + +<div style="font-size: 90%"> +<p><i>Narration.</i> “For a moment the terror of Hans Van +Ripper’s wrath passed across his mind, for it was his Sunday +saddle; but this was no time for petty fears; the goblin +<a class="pgnm" name="page203" id="page203">203</a> +was hard on his haunches; and (unskillful rider that he was!) +he had much ado to maintain his seat; sometimes slipping on +one side, sometimes on another, and sometimes jolted on the +high ridge of his horse’s backbone, with a violence that he +verily feared would cleave him asunder.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_43" name="footref_43" href="#footnote_43">43</a></p> + +<p><i>Description.</i> “In one corner stood a huge bag of wool, +ready to be spun; in another, a quantity of linsey-woolsey +just from the loom; ears of Indian corn, and strings of dried +apples and peaches, hung in gay festoons along the walls, +mingled with the gaud of red peppers; and a door left ajar +gave him a peep into the best parlor, where the claw-footed +chairs and dark mahogany tables shone like mirrors; andirons, +with their accompanying shovel and tongs, glistened +from their covert of asparagus tops; mock oranges and conch +shells decorated the mantelpiece; strings of various-colored +birds’ eggs were suspended above it; a great ostrich egg was +hung from the centre of the room, and a corner cupboard, +knowingly left open, displayed immense treasures of old silver +and well-mended china.”<a class="ftnt" href="#footnote_43">43</a></p> + +<p><i>Exposition.</i> “That perfection of the Intellect, which is +the result of Education, and its <i>beau idéal,</i> to be imparted to +individuals in their respective measures, is the clear, calm, +accurate vision and comprehension of all things, as far as the +finite mind can embrace them, each in its place, and with its +own characteristics upon it. It is almost prophetic from its +knowledge of history; it is almost heart-searching from its +knowledge of human nature; it has almost supernatural +charity from its freedom from littleness and prejudice; it +has almost the repose of faith, because nothing can startle it; +it has almost the beauty and harmony of heavenly contemplation, +so intimate is it with the eternal order of things and the +music of the spheres.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_44" name="footref_44" href="#footnote_44">44</a></p> +</div> + +<p>(Notice the use of the semicolon in the last two +groups of sentences. The parts of compound sentences +such as these should be separated by semicolons.)</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Short Sentences.</span> +Having determined approximately what relations +<a class="pgnm" name="page204" id="page204">204</a> +may be grouped in a single sentence, the first question +for consideration is whether sentences should +be long or short. This cannot be definitely +answered. Since they should be concise, the +short sentence is well suited for definitions. Since +a proposition should be announced in as few words +as can be used, without sacrificing brevity to clearness, +short sentences serve best for this purpose. As +changes in the direction of the development of a thought +should be quickly indicated, a short sentence is generally +used for transition. And as at times when the +mind is under a stress of strong feeling, or the action +of a story is rapid, all explanatory matters are cut +away, the barest statements in shortest sentences serve +best to express strong emotion and rapid action.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Long Sentences.</span> +Long sentences have the very opposite uses. To +amplify a topic, to develop a proposition by +repetition, by details, by proofs, or by example, +long sentences are serviceable; by them the finer +modifications of a thought can be expressed. So, too, +a summary of a paragraph or a chapter frequently +employs long sentences to express the whole thought +with precision and with proper subordination of parts. +Again, as short sentences best express haste and intensity, +so long sentences give the feeling of quiet deliberation +and dignified calm.</p> + +<p>Illustrations of definitions, propositions, transitions, +and exemplifications are to be found everywhere. Slow +movement expressed by long sentences is well illustrated +in Irving and Hawthorne. One selection from George +Meredith, to show the peculiar adaptation of the short +sentence to express intensity of feeling, is given. Richard +Feverel has just learned that the wife whom he +had deserted has borne him a son. Description and +narration are mingled. The short, nervous sentences +<a class="pgnm" name="page205" id="page205">205</a> +express both the vividness of his impressions and the +intensity of his emotions.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“A pale gray light on the skirts of the flying tempest displayed +the dawn. Richard was walking hurriedly. The +green drenched woods lay all about his path, bent thick, and +the forest drooped glimmeringly. Impelled as a man who +feels a revelation mounting obscurely to his brain, Richard +was passing one of those little forest-chapels, hung with votive +wreaths, where the peasants halt to kneel and pray. Cold, +still, in the twilight it stood, rain-drops pattering round it. +He looked within, and saw the Virgin holding her Child. +He moved not by. But not many steps had he gone before +the strength went out of him, and he shuddered. What was +it? He asked not. He was in other hands. Vivid as lightning +the Spirit of Life illumined him. He felt in his heart +the cry of his child, his darling’s touch. With shut eyes he +saw them both. They drew him from the depths; they led +him a blind and tottering man. And as they led him he +had a sense of purification so sweet he shuddered again and +again.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Unity.</span> +In a sentence, as in a theme or a paragraph, the first +question regarding its structure is what to put +into it. The germ of a paragraph is usually +a sentence; of the sentence it is one word or but very +few words. This kernel of a sentence may be developed +through the many modifications of the thought; but +always the additions must be distinctly related to the +germ words. If this relation of parts to the kernel of +the sentence be unmistakable, the sentence has unity; +if there are parts whose connection with the germ of +the sentence cannot be easily traced, they should be rejected +as belonging to another sentence. The pith of +the whole sentence can be stated in a few words, if the +sentence has unity.</p> + +<p>Long sentences should be watched. One thing easily +suggests another, interesting too, it may be; and when +<a class="pgnm" name="page206" id="page206">206</a> +an essay is to be written, anything,—especially if it +have so worthy a quality as interest to recommend it,—anything +is allowed to go in. Such a sentence as +the following can be explained on no other principle: +“Just then James came rushing downstairs like mad +to find the fellow who had punched a hole in the tire of +his bicycle, which was a Columbia which he got two +years before at a second-hand store, paying for it in +work at fifteen cents an hour.” Plainly everything +after “bicycle” is nothing to the present purpose and +should be excluded. The following from a description +of Cologne Cathedral is as bad, in some respects, +worse; for there is one point where the break is so +abrupt that a child would detect it. “The superintendence +was intrusted to Mr. Ahlert, whose ideas +were not well adapted to inspire him for his grand +task, under his direction much of the former beauty +and artistical skill was lost sight of, but at all events it +was a great satisfaction to see the work go on and to +have the expenses defrayed by the State.” In this case +the writer, beyond doubt, thinks long sentences the +correct thing. Long sentences are necessary at times; +but the desire simply to write long sentences or to fill +up space should never lead one to forget that a sentence +is the expression of one—not more—of one +complete thought.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, sentences should contain the +whole of one thought; none of it should run over into +another sentence. Strange as it may seem, sentences +are sometimes found like the following: “James was +on the whole a bad boy. But he had some redeeming +qualities.” “The first day at school was all new to +me. While it was interesting as well.” “He said +that he was going. And that I might go with him.” +There is no ground for an explanation of such errors +<a class="pgnm" name="page207" id="page207">207</a> +as these except laziness and grossest illiteracy. It is +by no device so simple as the insertion of a period that +man can separate what has been joined in thought. +<i>And</i> and <i>but</i> rarely begin sentences; in nearly all +cases it will be found that the sentences they purport +to connect are but the independent clauses of one compound +sentence. <i>While</i> or any other subordinating +conjunction introduces a dependent clause; a dependent +clause is not a sentence; it can never stand alone.</p> + +<p>The offenses against the unity of a sentence are +including too much and including too little. Both are +the result of carelessness or inability to think. The +purpose, the kernel, the germ of the sentence, should +be so clearly in mind that every necessary modification +of the thought shall be included and every unnecessary +phrase be excluded. Some further suggestions concerning +unity are found in the paragraphs treating primarily +of mass and coherence.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Mass.</span> +As advance is made in the ability to grasp quickly +the thought of a book, it becomes more and +more evident that the eye must be taken into +account when arranging the parts of a composition. +The eye sees the headings of the chapters; it catches +the last words of one paragraph and the first words of +the next; it lights upon the words near the periods; +so the parts of a composition should be arranged so +that these points shall contain worthy words. Moreover, +within the sentence the colon marks the greatest +independence of the parts; the semicolon comes next; +and the comma marks the smallest division of thought. +Following the guidance of the eye, then, the words +before a period should be the most important; those +near a colon, a semicolon, and a comma will have a +descending scale of value. A speaker has no difficulty +with punctuation; unconsciously he pauses with the +<a class="pgnm" name="page208" id="page208">208</a> +thought. So true is this, that one is inclined to say +that if the writer will read aloud his own composition, +and punctuate where he pauses in the reading, always +remembering the rank of the marks of punctuation, he +will not be far from right. It will be noticed that he +has paused in the reading after important words, as if +the thought stayed a moment there for the help of the +reader. Naturally we pause after important words; +and conversely, the places of importance in a sentence +are near the marks of punctuation, increasing from the +comma to the period.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">End of a Sentence.</span> +The end of a sentence is more important than the +beginning; and the difference in value is +greater than in a paragraph. In a paragraph +the opening is very important, generally containing +the topic. In a sentence, however, the beginning +more often has some phrase of transition, or some +modifier; while it is the end that contains the gist of +the sentence. This fact makes it imperative that no +unworthy matter stand at the end. How important a +position it is, and how much is expected of the final +words of a sentence, is evident from the effect of failure +produced by a sentence that closes with weak words. +In the following sentences, phrases have been moved +from their places; the weakness is apparent.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>Abstract liberty is not to be found; and this is true of +other mere abstractions.</p> + +<p>This is a persuasion built upon liberty, and not only favorable +to it.</p> + +<p>I pass, therefore, to their agriculture, another point of +view.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Of course Burke never wrote such sentences as these. +However, sentences like them can be found in school +compositions.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page209" id="page209">209</a> +“Lincoln’s character is worthy to be any young man’s +ideal; having in it much to admire.”</p> + +<p>“Euclid Avenue, with its broad lawns, and with Wade +Park as the fitting climax of its spacious beauty, is the most +attractive driveway in the United States, which is saying a +good deal.”</p> + +<p>“Minnesota has many beautiful lakes; Mille Lacs, fringed +with dark pines; Osakis, with its beach of glistening sand; +Minnetonka, skirted by a lovely boulevard bordered by cool +lawns and cosy cottages; and many others not so big.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Such sentences as these are not uncommon. Their +ruin is wrought by the closing words. Watch for +trailing relatives, dangling participles, and straggling +generalities at the end of sentences. The end of a +sentence is a position of distinction; it should be held +by words of distinction.</p> + +<p>So influential is position in a sentence that by virtue +of it a word or a clause of equal rank with others can +be made to take on a certain added authority. By +observing the end of a sentence, a reader can determine +what was uppermost in the mind of an author +careful of these things. In the following sentence as +it was written by Burke the emphasis is on the duration +of the time; but by a change of position it is +put upon the fact. “Refined policy ever has been the +parent of confusion; and ever will be so, as long as the +world endures.” Changing the last clause it reads, +“and, as long as the world endures, ever will be so.” +This is not weak; but the stress is not where Burke +placed it. The position of the words gives them an importance +that does not inhere in the words themselves.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Effect of Anti-climax.</span> +Still, as the tenure of a place of distinction cannot +save a fool from the reputation of folly, position in a +sentence cannot redeem empty words from their truly +insipid character. Indeed, as the imbecility of a shallow +<a class="pgnm" name="page210" id="page210">210</a> +pate is made all the more apparent by a position of +distinction, so is the utter unfitness of certain words for +their position painfully manifest. This is the secret of +anti-climax. By reason of its very position +in a sentence, the last phrase should be distinguished; +instead the position is held by a +silly nothing. Disappointing anti-climaxes, like those +already cited, are frequently made by young writers; +and they are sometimes met with in the works of the +best authors. The following sentence is from Newman: +from the point of view of an ardent churchman, +it may be a climax; but from the point of view of the +general reader who considers the whole greater than +any of its parts, in spite of all the sense preceding the +final phrase, that is absurd and disappointing nonsense.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“I protest to you, gentlemen, that if I had to choose +between a so-called university, which dispensed with residence +and tutorial superintendence, and gave its degrees to +any person who passed an examination in a wide range of +subjects, and a university which had no professors and examinations +at all, but merely brought a number of young men +together for three or four years, and then sent them away as +the University of Oxford is said to have done some sixty +years since, if I were asked which of these methods was the +better discipline of the intellect,—mind, I do not say which +is <i>morally</i> the better, for it is plain that compulsory study +must be a good and idleness an intolerable mischief,—but +if I must determine which of the two courses was the more +successful in training, moulding, and enlarging the mind, +which sent out men the more fitted for their secular duties, +which produced better public men, men of the world, men +whose names would descend to posterity, I have no hesitation +in giving the preference to that university which did +nothing, over that which exacted an acquaintance with every +science under the sun. And, paradox as this may seem, still +if results be the test of systems, the influence of the public +<a class="pgnm" name="page211" id="page211">211</a> +schools and colleges of England, in the course of the last century, +at least will bear out one side of the contrast as I have +drawn it. What could come, on the other hand, of the ideal +systems of education which have fascinated the imagination +of this age, could they ever take effect, and whether they +would not produce a generation frivolous, narrow-minded, +and resourceless, intellectually considered, is a fair subject +for debate; but so far is certain, that the universities and +scholastic establishments, to which I refer, and which did +little more than bring together first boys and then youths in +large numbers, these institutions, with miserable deformities +on the side of morals, with a hollow profession of Christianity, +and a heathen code of ethics,—I say, at least, they can +boast of a succession of heroes and statesmen, of literary men +and philosophers, of men conspicuous for great natural virtues, +for habits of business, for knowledge of life, for practical +judgment, for cultivated tastes, for accomplishments, who +have made England what it is,—able to subdue the earth, +<i>able to domineer over Catholics.</i>“<a class="ftnt" id="footref_45" name="footref_45" href="#footnote_45">45</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Use of Climax.</span> +From what has been said, it is evident that the parts +of a sentence, as far as may be, should be arranged +in a climax. The climax should be +in the thought, with a corresponding increase in the +weight of the phrases. If the thoughts increase in importance, +the words that express them should increase +in number. The number of words in the treatment +bears a pretty constant ratio to the importance of the +subject treated. The paragraph quoted from Newman +is an excellent illustration of the use of climax,—until +it comes to that last phrase. Note in the first sentence +the repetition of the condition, three times repeated. +Change the second to the third and see how +different it is. Then he has “public men, men of the +world, men whose names would descend to posterity,”—a +steady increase in the thought, and a corresponding +increase in the length of phrases. The last sentence +<a class="pgnm" name="page212" id="page212">212</a> +contains a fine example of climax. “Of heroes and +statesmen, of literary men and philosophers, of men +conspicuous for great natural virtues, for habits of +business, for knowledge of life, for practical judgment, +for cultivated tastes, for accomplishments, who +have made England what it is,—able to subdue the +earth.” Climax is the arrangement that produces the +effect of vigorous strength. In arranging a succession +of modifiers, so far as possible without breaking some +other more important principle, a writer will gain in +force if he seeks for climax.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Loose and Periodic.</span> +Sentences are divided into two classes: loose and +periodic. A loose sentence may be broken at +some point before the end, and up to that +point be grammatically a complete sentence. An arrangement +of the parts of a sentence that suspends the +meaning until the close is called periodic. The periodic +sentence is generally so massed that the end contains +words of distinction, and the sentence forms a +climax. Not all climaxes are periods; but nearly all +periods are climaxes.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">The Period.</span> +The philosophy of the periodic sentence has been best +stated by Herbert Spencer. He starts with +the axiom that the whole amount of attention +a reader can give at any moment is limited and fixed. +A reader must give a part of it to merely acquiring the +meaning; the remainder of his attention he can give +to the thought itself. In reading Cicero the pupil has +to put a large part of his attention upon the vocabulary, +upon the order and construction of the words; the +barest fragment of attention he can bestow upon the +thought of the great orator. So when the reader attacks +one of Browning’s most involved and obscure +passages, he is kept from the thought by the difficulties +in the language. As it is the purpose of language +<a class="pgnm" name="page213" id="page213">213</a> +to convey thought, and as it is usually the wish of an +author to be understood, he should use up as little as +possible of the reader’s limited attention for the mere +acquisition of the thought, and leave the reader as +much as he can to put upon the meaning. In applying +this to sentences, the question is, which form of +sentence demands least effort to get at its meaning: +the periodic sentence, which suspends the meaning to +the end; or the loose sentence, which may be broken +at several points and gives its meaning in installments? +The old example is as good as any: shall we say as the +French do, a horse black; or shall we say as the English +do, a black horse? for in the arrangement of these +three words there lies the difference between a loose +and a periodic sentence. Consider the French order +first. When a person hears the words “a horse,” he +at once thinks of the horse he knows best; that is, generally, +a bay horse. When the word “black” follows, +the whole image has to be changed from the bay horse +he knows to the black horse he has occasionally seen. +There has been a waste of attention. On the other +hand, when the words “a black” are heard, the mind +constructs no image; it waits until the noun modified +is spoken. Then the whole image springs up at once; +it is correct and it needs no remodeling. The following +sentence illustrates the point. “I am wasting time” +is the beginning. It would be difficult to enumerate +the many thoughts suggested by these words; each +person has his own idea of wasting time. When the +rest of the sentence is added, “trying to learn my +geometry lesson,” the whole has to be reconstructed. +On the other hand the periodic statement suspends the +meaning to the end. There is no place where, without +additions to the words used, the mind can rest. “Trying +to learn a geometry lesson is for me a waste of +<a class="pgnm" name="page214" id="page214">214</a> +time.” Theoretically the periodic sentence is better +than the loose sentence; for it economizes attention.</p> + +<p>There is another side to the question, however. If +the details be many, and if each be long, they would be +more than the mind could carry without great effort; +and instead of economy of attention, there is improvident +waste. The mind will carry a long, carefully +arranged period at intervals; but a succession of periods +is sure to result in its absolute refusal to do so any +longer. There is a limit to the length of a period that +economizes attention; and there is a limit to the number +of successive periods which a reader can endure.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Periodic and Loose combined.</span> +There is another form of sentence, which combines +the loose and the periodic. It generally +begins with the periodic form and sustains +this until it is better to relieve the mind of +the stress, when the period ends or the loose structure +begins; and the sentence may as a whole be +periodic while containing parts that are loose. This +kind of sentence is a common form for long sentences. +It gives to prose much of the dignity of the period, +together with the familiarity of the loose sentence.</p> + +<p>The sentence below may be changed, by putting the +last clause first, to a loose sentence; and by placing it +after the word “subject” it becomes mixed.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“By all persons who have written of the subject, for the +grandeur of its mountains and the deep quiet of its green +valleys for the leaping torrents of its foaming rivers and +blue calm of its crag-walled lakes, Switzerland has been +named ‘the Paradise of Europe.’”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The following paragraph from Burke contains examples +of loose, periodic, and mixed sentences:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“To restore order and repose to an empire so great and +so distracted as, ours, is, merely in the attempt, an undertaking +<a class="pgnm" name="page215" id="page215">215</a> +that would ennoble the flights of the highest genius, and +obtain pardon for the efforts of the meanest understanding. +Struggling a good while with these thoughts, by degrees I +felt myself more firm. I derived, at length, some confidence +from what in other circumstances usually produces +timidity. I grew less anxious, even from the idea of my +own insignificance. For, judging of what you are by what +you ought to be, I persuaded myself that you would not reject +a reasonable proposition because it had nothing but its +reason to recommend it. On the other hand, being totally +destitute of all shadow of influence, natural or adventitious, +I was very sure that, if my proposition were futile or dangerous—if +it were weakly conceived, or improperly timed,—there +was nothing exterior to it of power to awe, dazzle, +or delude you. You will see it just as it is; and you will +treat it just as it deserves.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_46" name="footref_46" href="#footnote_46">46</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Which shall be used?</span> +Which shall be used, loose sentences or periodic? +In literature the loose more frequently occur. +They are informal and conversational, and +are especially suited to letter-writing, story-telling, +and the light essay. The period is formal; it +has the air of preparation. The oration, the formal +essay, well-wrought argument,—forms of literature +where preparation is expected,—may use the period +with good effect. It has a finish, a scholarly refinement, +not found in the loose sentence; and yet a series +of periods would be as much out of place in a letter as +a court regalia at a downtown restaurant. The loose +sentence is easy, informal, and familiar; the periodic +is stiff, artificial, and aristocratic. To use none but +loose sentences gives a composition an air of familiarity +even to the verge of vulgarity; to employ only periodic +sentences induces a feeling of stiff artificiality +bordering on bombast. The fitness of each for its purpose +is the guide for its use.</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page216" id="page216">216</a> +There is, however, a reason why young persons +should be encouraged to use periodic sentences. Usually +they compose short sentences, so there is little +danger of overburdening the reader’s attention. With +this danger removed, the result of the generous use of +periodic sentences will be nothing worse than a too +obvious preparation. The sentences will all be finished +to a degree, and unquestionably will give a feeling of +artificiality. However, the attention to sentence-structure +necessary in order to make it periodic is a thing +devoutly to be wished at this stage of growth. No +other fault is so common in sentence-construction as +carelessness. A theme will be logically outlined, a +paragraph carefully planned, but a sentence,—anybody +standing on one foot can make a sentence. A +well-turned sentence is a work of art, and it is never +made in moments when the writer “didn’t think.” +The end must be seen at the beginning: else it does +not end; it plays out. There is no other remedy for +careless, slipshod sentence-making so effective as the +construction of many periodic sentences.</p> + +<p>Not only will there be care in the arrangement of +the material, but when all details must be introduced +before the principal thought, there will be little chance +of any phrase slipping into the sentence that does not +in truth belong there. Dangling participles, trailing +relatives, and straggling generalities can find no chance +to hang on to a periodic sentence. Every detail must +be a real and necessary modification of the germ +thought of the sentence, else it can hardly be forced in. +Periodic sentences, then, besides insuring a careful +finish to the work, are also a safeguard against the +introduction of irrelevant material,—the commonest +offense against sentence-unity.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Emphasis by Change of Order.</span> +Closely connected with the emphasis gained by the +<a class="pgnm" name="page217" id="page217">217</a> +periodic arrangement of the parts of a sentence is +the emphasis gained by forcing words out +of their natural order. In a sentence the +points which arrest the eye and the attention +are the beginning and the end. However, if the subject +stands first and the words of the predicate in their +natural order, there is no more emphasis upon them +than these important elements of a sentence ordinarily +deserve. To emphasize either it is necessary to force +it out of its natural position. “George next went to +Boston,” is the natural order of this sentence. Supposing, +however, that a writer wished to emphasize the +fact that it was George who went next, not James or +Fred, he could do it by forcing the word “George” +from its present natural position to a position unnatural. +He could write, “It was George who next went +to Boston,” or, “The next to go to Boston was George.” +Forcing the subject toward the position usually occupied +by the predicate emphasizes the subject. This is +similar to the emphasis given by the period. “It was +George” is so far periodic, followed by the loose +structure; and the last arrangement is quite periodic. +Every device for throwing the subject back into the +sentence makes the sentence up to the point where +the subject is introduced periodic; this arrangement +throws the emphasis forward to the word that closes +the period.</p> + +<p>Other parts of a sentence may be emphasized by +being placed out of their natural order. In the natural +order, adjectives and adverbs precede the words they +modify; conditional and concessive clauses precede +the clauses they modify; an object follows a verb; +and prepositional phrases and adjective clauses follow +the words they modify. These rules are general. +Moving a part of a sentence from this general order +<a class="pgnm" name="page218" id="page218">218</a> +usually emphasizes it. “George went to Boston next” +emphasizes a little the time; but “Next George went +to Boston” places great emphasis on the time. So +“It was to Boston that George went next” emphasizes +the place. “Went” cannot be so dealt with. It +seems irrevocably fixed that in a prose declarative sentence +the verb shall never stand first. It is not allowed +by good use.</p> + +<p>The rearrangement of the following sentence illustrates +the emphasis given by putting words out of their +natural order:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>The strong and swarthy sailors of the Patria slowly +rowed the party to the shore.</p> + +<p>The sailors of the Patria, strong and swarthy, slowly +rowed the party to the shore.</p> + +<p>Slowly the strong and swarthy sailors of the Patria rowed +the party to the shore.</p> + +<p>Of the steamer Patria, the sailors, strong and swarthy, +rowed the party to the shore.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>To show the arrangement of clauses the following +will be sufficient:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>He cannot make advancement, even if he studies hard.</p> + +<p>Even if he studies hard, he cannot make advancement.</p> + +<p>“Your Irish pensioners would starve, if they had no other +fund to live on than the taxes granted by English authority.”</p> + +<p>If they had no other fund to live on than the taxes granted +by English authority, your Irish pensioners would starve.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The latter arrangement emphasizes the conclusion +much more than the former; at the same time it subordinates +the condition. Burke wished the emphasis +to be upon the condition; he placed it after the conclusion.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Subdue Unimportant Elements.</span> +Emphasis is gained by placing words in important +positions in a sentence by arranging the parts to +<a class="pgnm" name="page219" id="page219">219</a> +form a climax; by the use of the period; by forcing +words out of their natural order. It is also +gained by the subdual of parts not important. +This emphasis is a matter of relative intensity. +The beauty and strength of any artistic product +depend as much upon the subdual of the accessories +as upon the intensifying of the necessaries. In +order to get the emphasis upon certain phrases, it is +necessary to subordinate other phrases. In the talk +of a child every thought phrases itself as a simple sentence. +Not until it grows to youth does the child +recognize that there is a difference in values, and adopt +means for expressing it. To grasp firmly the principal +idea and then subdue all other ideas is an elegant way +of emphasizing.</p> + +<p>The subdual of parts is accomplished by reducing +to subordinate clauses, to phrases, to words, some of +the ideas which in a child’s talk would be expressed in +sentences. A thought of barely enough importance to +be mentioned should be squeezed into a word. If it +deserves more notice, perhaps a prepositional phrase +will express it. A participial phrase will often serve +for a clause or a sentence. A subordinate clause may +be needed if the thought is of great importance. And +last, if it deserves such a distinction, the thought may +demand an independent clause or a sentence for itself. +If the following sentence be broken into bits as a child +would tell it, the nice effects of emphasis which Irving +has given it are ruined:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“When the dance was at an end, Ichabod was attracted +to a knot of the sager folks, who, with old Van Tassel, sat +smoking at one end of the piazza, gossiping over former +times, and drawing out long stories about the war.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_47" name="footref_47" href="#footnote_47">47</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Put into simple sentences, it would be like this: The +<a class="pgnm" name="page220" id="page220">220</a> +dance was at an end. Ichabod was attracted to a knot +of folks. The folks were older. They sat at the end +of the piazza. Old Van Tassel was with them. They +were smoking, etc.</p> + +<p>In such sentences, nothing is emphatic; it is all +alike. In Irving’s sentences, where ideas are reduced +to clause, phrase, even a word, there is no question +about what is important and what is unimportant. He +has secured an exquisite emphasis by a discriminating +subdual of subordinate ideas.</p> + +<p>This brings up the sentences by Kipling already +quoted on page <a href="#page201">201</a>. The author has used three independent +sentences. They can be written as one, thus: +The reason of her wandering was simple enough; for +Coppy, in a tone of too-hastily-assumed authority, had +told her over night that she must not ride out by the +river, and she had gone to prove her own spirit and +teach Coppy a lesson.</p> + +<p>There is a reason, however, why Kipling wished that +last sentence to stand alone. Subordinated as it is +here rewritten, it does not half express the spiteful +independence she assumed to teach Coppy a lesson. +It needs the independent construction. Just as surely +as Kipling is right in putting the reasons into two +sharp, independent sentences, is Irving right when he +puts the reason in the following sentence into a subordinate +clause. It is not important enough to deserve +a sentence all by itself.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“He was, moreover, esteemed by the women as a man of +great erudition, for he had read several books quite through, +and was a perfect master of Cotton Mather’s ‘History of +New England Witchcraft,’ in which, by the way, he most +firmly and potently believed.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>In the following sentence the effect of subordination +is unmistakable:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page221" id="page221">221</a> +“He had a name in the village for brutally misusing the +ass; yet it is certain that he shed a tear <i>which</i> made a clean +mark down one cheek.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Now read it again:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“He had a name in the village for brutally misusing the +ass; yet it is certain that he shed a tear, <i>and the tear</i> made +a clean mark down one cheek.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The last clause has burst away from its former submission, +and in its independence has made the most +important announcement of the sentence,—the witty +climax. Emphasis is, to a large degree, a matter of +position, but position cannot emancipate any clause +from the thralldom of subordination. To emphasize +one idea, subordinate ancillary ideas; make them take +their proper rank in the sentence. Reduce them to a +clause or to a phrase; and if a word justly expresses +the relative importance of the thought, reduce its expression +to a single word.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">The Dynamic Point of a Sentence.</span> +In the chapter on paragraphs it was said that one +sentence is often the source of the succeeding +sentence; that such a sentence seemed to be +charged like a Leyden jar, and to discharge +its whole power through a single word or phrase; and +further, that this word or phrase should be left free to +act,—it should be uncovered. How a sentence can +be arranged so that this word or phrase shall have the +prominence it deserves, and can unhindered transmit +the undiminished force of one sentence to the next, has +now been explained. First, such words can be made +dynamic by placing them at the beginning or the end +of a sentence; second, by placing them near the major +marks of punctuation; third, by forcing them from +their natural order; and fourth, by the subdual of the +other parts of the sentence. The greatest care in +<a class="pgnm" name="page222" id="page222">222</a> +massing sentences so that none of their power be lost +in transmission is one of the secrets of the literature +that carries the reader irresistibly forward. Sometimes +he may be annoyed by the repetition of phrases; +but he cannot get away; he must go forward. In the +paragraph below, quoted from Matthew Arnold, every +phrase that is the point from which the next sentence +springs is in a position where it can act untrammeled. +Through it the whole force of the sentence passes:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“It will be said that it is a very subtle and indirect action +which I am thus prescribing for criticism, and that, by embracing +in this manner the Indian virtue of detachment and +abandoning the sphere of practical life, it condemns itself as +a slow and obscure work. Slow and obscure it may be, but +it is the only proper work of criticism. The mass of mankind +will never have any ardent zeal for seeing things as +they are; very inadequate ideas will satisfy them. On these +inadequate ideas reposes, and must repose, the general practice +of the world. That is as much as saying that whoever +sets himself to see things as they are will find himself one of +a very small circle; but it is only by this small circle resolutely +doing its own work that adequate ideas will ever get +current at all. The rush and uproar of practical life will +always have a dizzying and attracting effect upon the most +collected spectator, and tend to draw him into its vortex; +most of all will this be the case where that life is so powerful +as it is in England. But it is only by remaining collected, +and refusing to lend himself to the point of view of +the practical man, that the critic can do the practical man +any service; and it is only by the greatest sincerity in pursuing +his own course, and by at last convincing even the +practical man of his sincerity, that he can escape misunderstandings +which perpetually threaten him.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_48" name="footref_48" href="#footnote_48">48</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Good Use.</span> +Good use has been mentioned. In massing the parts +of a sentence for the purpose of emphasizing some idea, +a writer has not entire freedom. Good use, which is the +<a class="pgnm" name="page223" id="page223">223</a> +use of acknowledged masters, decides what may be +done. There are certain arrangements of +words to which we are accustomed; and the +disregard of them leads to obscurity or downright contrariety +in the thought. “Brutus stabbed Cæsar” is +the common order; “Brutus Cæsar stabbed,” or +“Stabbed Brutus Cæsar,” is obscure; while “Cæsar +stabbed Brutus” is the very opposite of the truth. +Those who have studied Latin know that as far as understanding +the sentence is concerned, it would make +no difference in which order the three Latin words +should be arranged; though it would make a mighty +difference in the emphasis. In Latin the case endings +determine the construction of the words. In an inflected +language the words may be massed almost to +suit the writer; in an uninflected language, within +certain limits the order determines the relation between +groups of words. Though for emphasis it might be +advisable to have the object first, for the sake of clearness +in a short sentence the object cannot stand first. +The primary consideration in making any piece of +literature is that it may be understood. To be understood, +the sentence must be arranged in the order to +which we are accustomed. The order to which we are +accustomed has been determined by good use.</p> + +<p>The variety in the arrangement of the parts of a +sentence that has been sanctioned by good usage is +great, yet there are limits. Grammar is based upon +the usage of the best writers. Any offense against the +grammar of our language is a sin against good use. +Browning may use constructions so erratic that the +ordinary reader does not know what he is reading +about; Carlyle may forge a new word rather than take +the trouble to find one that other people have used. +But the young writer, at least, is far safer while keeping +within the limits of good use.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Clearness gained by Coherence.</span> +<a class="pgnm" name="page224" id="page224">224</a> +Coherence in a sentence is that principle of structure +by which its parts are best arranged to +stick together. The parts of a sentence containing +related ideas should be so associated +that there can be no mistake regarding the reference +or the modification. Such a sentence as the following +cannot be understood; the reference is obscure. +“James told him that he did not see what he was to +do in the matter.” If the reader were sure of the first +“he,” he could not come nearer than a guess at the +reference of the second “he.” The third personal +pronoun—he, she, it—in all its cases is especially +uncertain in its references.</p> + +<p>The first sentence below is from an English grammar. +The second is from a recently published biography. +Both are obscure in the reference of the pronouns.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“When ‘self’ is added to a pronoun of the First and +Second person, it is preceded by the Possessive case. But +when it is added to a pronoun of the Third person, it is preceded +by a pronoun in the Objective case.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p>“I am reminded of Swinburne’s view of Providence when +he said that he never saw an old gentleman give a sixpence +to a beggar, but he was straightway run over by a ’bus.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The relative pronoun is also uncertain in its references.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>Some Southerners were among the ship’s passengers, of +whom a few had served in the Rebellion. (Obscure reference.)</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p>Red lights were displayed in a peculiar succession, which +warned of impending storm. (No antecedent.)</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>To make the reference of pronouns, personal and +relative, distinct, the antecedent must be made prominent; +sometimes the only way out of the difficulty is a +repetition of the antecedent. And the pronoun should +stand near the word to which it refers. Keep associated +ideas together.</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page225" id="page225">225</a> +Like pronouns in the uncertainty of their reference +are participles. Either the subject is not expressed, or +it is uncertain.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>Hastening up the steps, the door opened. (None.)</p> + +<p>Coming from the spring, with a pail of water in either +hand, he saw her for the first time. (Uncertain.)</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Adverbs are sometimes placed so that they make a +sentence ridiculous; and frequently their meaning is +lost by being separated from the words they modify. +“Only” is a word to be watched. Like adverbs are +correlative conjunctions. They are frequently so +placed that they do not join the elements they were +intended to unite.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>He seized the young girl as she rose from the water +almost roughly.</p> + +<p>I think I hardly shall.</p> + +<p>I only went as far as the gate.</p> + +<p>“Who shall say, of us who know only of rest and peace +by toil and strife?”</p> + +<p>He not only learned algebra readily but also Latin.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Phrases and clauses may lose their reference by +being removed from the words they modify.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>Toiling up the hill, he arrived at Hotel Bellevue through +a drizzling rain.</p> + +<p>Addison rose to a post which dukes, the heads of the +great houses of Talbot, Russell, and Bentinck, have thought +it an honor to fill without high birth, and with little property.</p> + +<p>“Fred was liked well; but he had the habit of that class +that cannot get the English Language in the right order +when a little excited.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>All the classes of errors which have been exemplified +here are due to the infringement of one rule: +things that belong together in thought should stand +<a class="pgnm" name="page226" id="page226">226</a> +together in composition. Nothing should be allowed +to come between a pronoun, an adjective, an adverb, a +correlative, a phrase, or a clause, and the word it modifies. +Sometimes other modifiers have to be taken into +account: where more than one word or phrase modifies +the same word, a trial will have to be made to +arrange them so that there shall be no obscurity or +absurdity. Keep related ideas together; keep unrelated +ideas apart.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Parallel Construction.</span> +The second principle which helps to make the relation +of parts clear is parallel construction. +It has already been explained in paragraphs. +In sentences the commonest errors are in linking +an infinitive with a gerund, a participle with a verb, +an active with a passive voice, a phrase with a clause. +The result is sentences like the following:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>You cannot persuade him to go and into buying what he +does not want.</p> + +<p>Thus he spoke, and turning to the door.</p> + +<p>The king began to force the collection of duties, and an +army was sent by him to execute his wishes.</p> + +<p>He was resolved to use patience and that he would often +exercise charity.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Such sentences are offensive to the ear; and were +they as long as the ones below, they would not be +clear.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“You cannot persuade them <i>to burn</i> their books of curious +science; <i>to banish</i> their lawyers from their courts of laws; or +<i>to quench</i> the lights of their assemblies by refusing to choose +those persons who are best read in their privileges.”</p> + +<p>“For though rebellion is declared, it <i>is</i> not <i>proceeded +against</i> as such, nor <i>have</i> any steps <i>been taken</i> towards the +apprehension or conviction of any individual offender, either +on our late or our former Address; but modes of public +coercion <i>have been adopted,</i> and such as have much more +<a class="pgnm" name="page227" id="page227">227</a> +resemblance to a sort of qualified hostility towards an independent +power than the punishment of rebellious subjects.”</p> + +<p>“My Resolutions therefore mean <span class="smcap">to establish</span> the equity +and justice of a taxation of America by grant and not by +imposition; <span class="smcap">to mark</span> the legal competency of the colony +Assemblies for the support of their government in peace, +and for public aids in time of war; <span class="smcap">to acknowledge</span> <i>that +this legal competency has had</i> a dutiful and beneficial exercise; +and <i>that experience has shown</i> the benefit of their +grants, and the futility of Parliamentary taxation as a +method of supply.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_49" name="footref_49" href="#footnote_49">49</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p>In the second sentence Burke has used a passive +voice when it would certainly be more elegant to +change to the active. “Is proceeded against” is +surely awkward, but for uniformity and resulting +clearness he has retained the passive. In the last sentence +the infinitives “to establish,” “to mark,” and +“to acknowledge” are in the same construction; they +are objects of “mean.” Then comes a change of form +to show that the clauses “that this legal competency +has had,” etc., and “that experience has shown,” etc., +are in a like relation to the infinitive “to acknowledge.” +Though the last clause by reason of the punctuation +looks correlative with the others, it is not related +as object to the verb “mean,” as the others are, +but it is the object of “to acknowledge.” There could +hardly be a better example of the value of parallel +constructions for the purpose of avoiding confusion, +and linking together parts that are related.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Balanced Sentences.</span> +Parallel constructions are used in balanced sentences. +In balanced sentences one part is +balanced against another,—a noun and a +noun, an adjective and an adjective, phrase and phrase. +Balanced sentences are especially suited to express antithesis, +the figure of speech where two ideas are sharply +<a class="pgnm" name="page228" id="page228">228</a> +opposed to each other. In the following from Newman, +the balancing is admirable: “Inebriated with +the cup of insanity, and flung upon the stream of +recklessness, she dashes down the cataract of nonsense +and whirls amid the pools of confusion.” This +is not antithesis, however; but the following from +Macaulay is: “She seems to have written about the +Elizabethan age, because she had read much about it; +she seems, on the other hand, to have read a little +about the age of Addison, because she had determined +to write about it.”</p> + +<p>The danger in the use of balanced sentences is +excess. Macaulay is very fond of brilliant contrasts. +<i>But</i> is a very common word with him. In some cases +the reader feels that for the sake of the figure he has +forced the truth. Balanced sentences are palpably +artificial, and should be used but sparingly.</p> + +<p>There is, however, but little danger of overdoing the +parallel construction where there is no antithesis. The +parts of succeeding sentences do not resemble each +other so much in thought that there is great danger +of resulting monotony in its expression. However, +should the difficulty arise, the monotony may be +broken up by a trifling variation. Macaulay has done +this well in the sentences quoted on page <a href="#page186">186</a>, beginning +with the words, “For his sake empires had risen, and +flourished, and decayed,” and continuing to the end of +the paragraph.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Use of Connectives.</span> +The third method of securing coherence in a sentence +is by the use of connectives. The +skillful use of prepositions and conjunctions +indicates a master of words. The use of +connectives has been discussed when treating of emphasis +secured by subdual of unimportant details. Such +parts are connected, and in a very definite way. The +<a class="pgnm" name="page229" id="page229">229</a> +relations are evident. Two examples will illustrate. +The first group of sentences are the fragments of but +one of Irving’s.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>He did not look to the right or left. He did not notice +the scene. The scene was of rural wealth. He had often +gloated on this scene. He went straight to the stable. He +kicked and cuffed his steed several times, and so forth.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Now note the value of prepositions in giving these +separate sentences coherence.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Without looking to the right or left to notice the scene +of rural wealth, on which he had so often gloated, he went +straight to the stable, and with several hearty cuffs and +kicks roused his steed most unceremoniously from the comfortable +quarters in which he was soundly sleeping, dreaming +of mountains of corn and oats, and whole valleys of +timothy and clover.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The next also is from Irving, and shows the skillful +use of conjunctions to point out unerringly the relation +of the clauses in a sentence.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“What seemed particularly odd to Rip was that, though +these folks were evidently amusing themselves, yet they +maintained the gravest faces, the most mysterious silence, +and were, withal, the most melancholy party of pleasure he +had ever witnessed.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Coherence, the principle of structure that surely +holds the parts of a sentence together, is of greater +importance than Mass. Upon Coherence depends the +meaning of a sentence; upon Mass the force with which +the meaning is expressed. That the meaning may be +clear, it is necessary that the relation of the parts shall +be perfectly evident. This lucidity is gained by placing +related parts near together, and conversely, by +separating unrelated ideas; by using parallel constructions +<a class="pgnm" name="page230" id="page230">230</a> +for parallel thoughts; and by indicating +relations by the correct use of prepositions and conjunctions.</p> + +<p>To summarize, sentences are the elements of discourse. +The ability of a sentence to effect with certainty +its purpose depends upon Unity, Mass, and +Coherence. A sentence must contain all that is +needed to express the whole thought, but it must contain +no more. A sentence must be arranged so that +its important parts shall be prominent. Position and +proportion are the means of emphasis in a sentence. +By placing the important words near the major marks +of punctuation, by arranging the parts in a climax or +a period, by forcing words out of the natural order, +and by subduing unimportant details, a sentence is +massed to give the important elements their relative +emphasis. Last, the parts of a sentence should be +arranged so that their relations shall be clear and +unmistakable. Proximity of related parts, parallel +construction for parallel ideas, and connectives are +the surest means of securing Coherence in a sentence.</p> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="page231" id="page231">231</a></div> + +<p class="ctr"><br /><b>SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS</b></p> + +<p class="ctr"><br />SILAS MARNER.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 83.)</p> + +<p>On page 18 put together the sentence beginning “Every +man’s work,” etc., with the next. What connective and +what punctuation will you use? What is the difference in +effect? What one of the relations of a compound sentence +does the second part bear to the first?</p> + +<p>On page 26 could you make two sentences of the sentence +beginning, “Raveloe lay low among the bushy trees”? +Would it be as well? Would it be better?</p> + +<p>On page 35 do the three parts of the compound sentence +beginning, “He would have liked,” etc., belong to one sentence? +Which one?</p> + +<p>Is it right to say, “He would have liked to spring,” or +would it be better to say, “He would have liked to have +sprung”?</p> + +<p>Do you think colons are used too frequently in Silas +Marner? Compare their use with their use in Hawthorne’s +Stories and Irving’s Sketches.</p> + +<p>In the sentence beginning, “Let him live,” etc., at the +bottom of page 94, is “a possible state of mind in some possible +person not yet forthcoming,” a climax or an anti-climax? +Why?</p> + +<p>At the bottom of page 183 why was it necessary to crowd +so much into one sentence?</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br />MACAULAY’S ESSAY ON MILTON.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 103.)</p> + +<p>Re-write the sentence on page 33 beginning, “Of all +poets,” etc., making it loose. Is it better or worse?</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page232" id="page232">232</a> +Why does “here” stand first in the next sentence?</p> + +<p>What poets with whom you are familiar have philosophized +too much?</p> + +<p>Is the first sentence of the paragraph beginning in the +middle of page 36 periodic or loose?</p> + +<p>How many periodic sentences in this paragraph?</p> + +<p>In the paragraph on pages 37 and 38 trace the relation +of the succeeding sentences.</p> + +<p>At the bottom of page 45 what is the reason for putting +first in the sentence, “of those principles”? What do you +think of the massing of the whole sentence? What has +been made emphatic?</p> + +<p>Note the last two sentences at the end of the paragraph +on page 58. Is their arrangement effective? Change one. +What is the effect? (See also the middle of page 64.)</p> + +<p>On page 60 why did he not say, “She grovels like a +beast, she hisses like a serpent, she stings like a scorpion”?</p> + +<p>What arrangement of clauses in the first sentence in the +paragraph beginning at the bottom of page 66? Does it +add clearness?</p> + +<p>In the same paragraph find a balanced sentence.</p> + +<p>What advantage is there in the short sentences on page +68?</p> + +<p>In the first sentence of the paragraph, beginning on page +71, read one of the clauses, “by whom king, church, and +aristocracy were trampled down.” What is the effect of the +change?</p> + +<p>Is the parallel construction in the last sentence beginning +on page 77 good? Is it good in the last sentence of this +paragraph?</p> + +<p>In the next paragraph, why is Macaulay’s way better +than this: “He was neither Puritan, free thinker, nor royalist”?</p> + +<p>When a sentence is introduced by a participial phrase or +a dependent clause it is in part or wholly periodic. Does +Macaulay frequently use this introduction? What is the +effect upon his style?</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page233" id="page233">233</a> +Can you find examples of sentences beginning with a loose +structure, and having within them examples of the periodic +structure?</p> + +<p>In the paragraph filling pages 79 and 80 there are many +examples of periodic and parallel structure. Contrast this +paragraph with some of Lamb’s paragraphs.</p> + +<p>What is the effect of position upon the phrase, “Even in +his hands,” on page 67?</p> + +<p>When Macaulay inverts the order of a sentence does he +usually do it for emphasis or to secure coherence?</p> + +<p>Does he use many pronouns and conjunctions?</p> + +<p>Does he repeat words?</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br />BURKE’S SPEECH ON CONCILIATION WITH THE COLONIES.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 100.)</p> + +<p>How many sentences in the first paragraph are periodic?</p> + +<p>What kind of sentences in paragraph 10?</p> + +<p>What is the effect of this paragraph?</p> + +<p>Notice the arrangement of loose and periodic clauses in +the last sentence in paragraph 12. Make this sentence entirely +loose.</p> + +<p>In the long sentence in paragraph 25 do the he’s and +him’s all refer to the same person?</p> + +<p>What would you say of Burke’s use of pronouns?</p> + +<p>Find examples of balanced sentences in this oration.</p> + +<p>Are you ever astray regarding Burke’s meaning?</p> + +<p>What has he done to gain clearness?</p> + +<p>For what purpose does he frequently use questions?</p> + +<p class="ctr"><br />WEBSTER’S BUNKER HILL ORATION.<br /> +(Riverside Literature Series, No. 56.)</p> + +<p>What relation has the second sentence of paragraph 1 to +the first?</p> + +<p>Is the last sentence in paragraph 3 clear? How has he +made it so?</p> + +<p>Compare this sentence with the one beginning at the bottom +of page 12.</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page234" id="page234">234</a> +In the last sentence of paragraph 6 where does loose structure +change to the periodic?</p> + +<p>In paragraph 7 why would it be a blemish to write, “That +we may keep alive similar sentiments”?</p> + +<p>Why does he repeat “We wish” so many times? Why +did he not substitute synonyms?</p> + +<p>In paragraph 18 why has he used the word “interest” +more than once? If the thought is to be repeated, why not +some other word?</p> + +<p>In the eighth sentence of paragraph 21 is the structure +periodic or loose?</p> + +<p>Reverse the order of clauses in the last sentence of paragraph +28. What is the effect?</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="page235" id="page235">235</a></div> + +<h3>CHAPTER IX</h3> + +<p class="ctr"><b>WORDS</b></p> + +<p>A word is the sign of an idea. Whether the idea +be an object, a quality, an action, simple existence, or +a relation, if it be communicated to another, it must +have some sign; in language these signs are words. +Infinitely varied are the ideas man has to express. +Each day, each moment, has its new combination of +circumstances; yet by the common person the effect of +the novel situation is described as “horrid” or “awful” +or “perfectly lovely.” Three adjectives to describe all +creation! No wonder that people are constantly misunderstood; +that others do not get their ideas. How +can they? Do the best the master can, the thought will +not pass from him to his reader without considerable +deflection. He cannot say exactly what he would. His +words do not hold the same meaning for him as for +others. “Mother” to him is a dear woman with a gentle +voice, always dressed in black, sitting by the window +of home; to another she is a shrieking termagant, whose +phrases are punctuated by blows. There is not a word +that means exactly the same to two persons; yet with +words men must express their thoughts, their feelings, +their hopes, their purposes,—always changing, ever +new,—and for all this shall they use but a few score of +words? Words are the last, least elements of language; +without these least elements, these atoms of language, +no sentence, however simple, can be made; by means of +them, the master drives mobs to frenzy or soothes the +<a class="pgnm" name="page236" id="page236">236</a> +pain of eternal loss. The calm and peace which Emerson +knew, we know; the perpetual benediction of past +years which Wordsworth felt, all may feel. These +thoughts masters have expressed in words, but not in +three words. Thousands are not enough accurately to +transfer their visions of this changing universe from +them to us. Ideas infinite in their variety demand for +their expression all the means which our language has +placed at the disposal of the master. For this true +expression the whole dictionary with its thousands of +words is all too small.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Need of a Large Vocabulary.</span> +Whoever hopes to be understood must acquire a full, +rich vocabulary. However clearly he may +think, however much he may feel, until he +has words, the thought, the emotion, must remain +his alone. To get a vocabulary, then, is a person’s +business. He who has it can command him +who has it not. Not in literature alone, but in business,—in +medicine, in law, behind the accountant’s +desk or the salesman’s counter,—he is master who +can say what he means so that the person to whom he +speaks must know just what he means. Now it is a +singular truth that when we read any great author, the +words which we do not understand are remarkably few. +Even in Shakespeare there are not many; and the +few are unknown by reason of a constantly changing +vocabulary. It was probably true then, as it would +certainly be to-day, that the large majority of audiences +lost not a word of his fifteen thousand, while they themselves +used less than eight hundred. We know what +others say; yet we say nothing ourselves. What a +vocabulary one could accumulate, if from six to eighteen +he added only two words a day! Twelve years, +and each year more than seven hundred words! It +does not look a difficult task. Children do more, and +<a class="pgnm" name="page237" id="page237">237</a> +never realize the superiority of their achievement. Nine +thousand words at eighteen! Shakespeare alone used +more. Macaulay needed scarcely six thousand.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Dictionary.</span> +How shall a vocabulary be accumulated? One +method is by the use of a dictionary; and +many persons find it a source of great pleasure. +The genealogy and biography of words are as +fascinating to a devoted philologist as stamps to a philatelist +or cathedrals to an architect. “Canteen” is +quite an unassuming little word. Yet imperious Cæsar +knew it in its childhood. The Roman camp was laid +out like a small city, with regular streets and avenues. +On one of these streets called the “Via Quintana” all +the supplies were kept. When the word passed into +the Italian, it became “cantina;” and cantinas may be +found among all nations who have drawn their language +from the Latin. There is this difference, however: +that whereas eatables were to be had in the Roman +quintana, only drinkables can be found in the Italian +cantina. When the English adopted the word, the +middle meaning, a place where wines are stored, a +wine-cellar, came to be a small flask especially fitted +for the rough usage of a soldier’s life, in which a necessary +supply of some sort of liquid may be carried. So +the name of a street has become the much-berated canteen +of the sutler and the much needed canteen of the +soldier. The dictionary is full of such fascinating biographies. +Still its fascination is not the reason why +most people study the dictionary: it is because such a +study is necessary for the person who hopes for an accurate +knowledge of the words he reads. It is not impossible +to know “pretty nearly what it means” from +the context; but no master uses words without knowing +exactly what they mean. Certainty of meaning +precedes frequency of use; and this necessary confidence +<a class="pgnm" name="page238" id="page238">238</a> +is gained from a study of the dictionary. In a +general way we know all the words of Macaulay’s vocabulary; +but the average man uses only eight hundred +of them. His knowledge of words is no more than an +indistinct, mumbling knowledge. To lift each word +out of its context, to make it a distinct, living entity, +capable of serving, the definition must be studied. +Then the student knows just what service the word is +fitted for, and finds a pleasure in being competent to +command that service. The dictionary is a necessity +to the person who hopes to use words.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Study of Literature.</span> +Yet the knowledge of words that the student derives +from the dictionary is not sufficient. +When one hears an educated foreigner speak, +he detects little errors in his use of words,—errors +which are not the fault of definition, but errors in the +idiomatic use of words. This use cannot be learned +from a dictionary, where words are studied individually, +but only by studying them in combination with other +words where the influence of one word upon another +may be noted. There is little difference in the size of +a pile of stones, whether we say a great pile of stones +or a large pile of stones; but a great man is of much +more consequence than a large man. A dictionary +could hardly have told a foreigner this. A man may +pursue or chase a robber, as the author wishes; but he +may not chase a course. Prepositions are especially +liable to be misused, and their correct use comes from +a study of literature, not of the dictionary. The nice +and discriminating refinements in the use of words +are learned by careful reading. When a phrase is met, +such as “the steep and solitary eastern heaven,” where +each word has been born to a new beauty; or this, +“And the sweet city with her dreaming spires,” where +the adjectives “sweet” and “dreaming” have a richer +<a class="pgnm" name="page239" id="page239">239</a> +content, they should be regarded with great care and +greeted with even more delight than words entirely +new. How to read that we may gain this complete +mastery of words, Mr. Ruskin has best told us in +“Sesame and Lilies.” Every person should know “Of +Kings’ Treasuries” by reading and re-reading. Literature, +the way masters have used words, will furnish +a knowledge of the nicer discriminations in their use.</p> + +<p>The dictionary and literature are the sources of +a full and refined vocabulary. But the vocabulary +which may be perfectly understood is not entirely +in one’s possession until it is used. Seek the first +opportunity to use the newly acquired word. It will +be hard to utter it; you will feel an effort in getting it +out. Only once, however; after that it rises as easily +as any old familiar word. Because the companion with +whom you speak is always “just as mad as” she can +be, is no reason why you may not at times be vexed, +annoyed, aggravated, exasperated, or angry. Men are +not always either “perfectly lovely” or “awful;” +neither are all ladies “jewels.” There are degrees of +villainy and nobility; and all jewels have not the same +lustre. Know what you want to say, and find the one +word that will exactly say it. This costs work, it is +true; but what is there worth having which has not +cost some one work? Do the work; search for the +word; then use it. In this way a vocabulary becomes +a real possession.</p> + +<p>The words which a person may use are generally +described as reputable, national, and present. Words +must be reputable; that is, sanctioned by the authority +of the creators of English literature. They must be +national; words that are the property of the mass of +the people, not of a clique or a district. And they +must be of the present; Chaucer’s vocabulary, though +<a class="pgnm" name="page240" id="page240">240</a> +it be the source of English, will not satisfy the conditions +of to-day.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Vulgarisms are not reputable.</span> +First, words must be of reputable use. No person +would consider vulgarisms reputable. When +a person says “I hain’t got none,” he has +reached about the acme of vulgarisms, the +language of the illiterate. Grammar has been disregarded; +a word has been used which is not a word; +and another word has no reason for its appearance in +the sentence. Yet sometimes this expression is heard; +seldom seen written. It is always set down to the +account of an illiterate home; for no one can reach a +high school without knowing its grammatical errors. +The unerring use of <i>don’t, me, I, lie, lay, set,</i> and <i>sit,</i> +is not so assured that the list can be omitted. Adjectives +are used for adverbs; “real good” is not yet forgotten. +Nouns are called upon to do the work of +verbs. This is the language of the illiterate, and it +should be avoided; for vulgarisms are not reputable.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Slang is not reputable.</span> +Neither is slang reputable. He would be a prude +who would not recognize that slang is sometimes +right to the point; and that many of +our strongest idioms were originally slang. +Still, although many phrases which to-day are called +slang were at one time reputable, the fact of their +respectable birth cannot save them from the slight +imputation that now they are slang. Notwithstanding +the fact that we owe some of our strongest idioms +to slang, the free use of slang always vulgarizes. It +generally is called upon to supply a deficiency either +in thought or in the power of expression. People too +lazy to think, too indolent to read, with little to say, +and but a few slang phrases to say it with, may be +allowed to practice this vulgarity; but cultured persons +in cultured conversation will eschew all acquaintance +<a class="pgnm" name="page241" id="page241">241</a> +with it. To find it in the serious composition of +educated persons always raises a question of their refinement. +It is the stock in trade of the lazy and the +uncultured. It is used to divert attention from poverty +of thought and a threadbare vocabulary. It is +unnecessary for the complete expression of thought by +the scholar and man of refinement.</p> + +<p>It is a real misfortune that many good words have +been tarnished by the handling of the illiterate. “Awful,” +“horrid,” and “lovely” are good words; but they +have been sullied by common use. So common have +they become that they approach slang. They may be +rescued from that charge in each person’s writing, if +he shows by accurate use of them that he is master of +their secret strength.</p> + +<p>Milton wrote in “Paradise Lost:”—</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p>“No! let us rather choose,</p> +<p>Armed with Hell-flames and fury, all at once</p> +<p>O’er Heav’n’s high towers to force resistless way,</p> +<p>Turning our tortures into <i>horrid</i> arms</p> +<p>Against the Torturer.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Lord Lytton makes Richelieu exclaim:—</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p>“Look where she stands! Around her form I draw</p> +<p>The <i>awful</i> circle of our solemn church.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>And in the New Testament we read:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever +things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever +things are pure, whatsoever things are <i>lovely,</i> whatsoever +things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if +there be any praise, think on these things.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>There is no question here of the words; they have +all the freshness and vigor of their youth. Do not +hesitate to use such words exactly. When the thought +calls for them, they say with certainty what can be +expressed only doubtfully by other words.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Words must be national. Provincialisms.</span> +<a class="pgnm" name="page242" id="page242">242</a> +Second, words must be of national use. They cannot +be words confined to a locality. When +Morris talks of a house that has been “gammoned,” +he deprives a large number of readers +of his meaning. “Gums” and “brasses” +may be good in certain districts of England, but in +literature they should not be used, for they would not +generally be understood. For the same reason much +of the common conversation of the South is foreign to +a native of New York. Whoever employs the language +of a locality limits his circle of readers to that +locality. To write for all he must use the language of +all; he must avoid provincialisms.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Technical and Bookish Words.</span> +Like words that are used by a small region are words +which are understood by a clique of persons. +Scholars are inclined to use a scholarly vocabulary. +The biologist has one; the chemist +another; the philosopher a third. This technical vocabulary +may be a necessity at times; but when a specialist +addresses the public, his words must be the +words which an average cultured man can understand. +Such words can be found if the writer will look for +them; if he does not, his work can scarcely be called +literature. Technical words and bookish terms are not +words of national use.</p> + +<p>The following by Josiah Royce illustrates how clearly +a most abstruse topic can be handled by a man willing +to take the trouble:<a class="ftnt" id="footref_50" name="footref_50" href="#footnote_50">50</a>—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“If you ask what sort of thing this substance is, the first +answer is, that it is something eternal; and that means, not +that it lasts a good while, but that no possible temporal view +of it could exhaust its nature. All things that happen result +from the one substance. This surely means that what happens +now and what happened millions of years ago are, for +the substance, equally present and necessary results. To illustrate +<a class="pgnm" name="page243" id="page243">243</a> +once more in my own way: A spider creeping back and +forth across a circle could, if she were geometrically disposed, +measure out in temporal succession first this diameter, +and then that. Crawling first over one diameter, she would +say, ‘I now find this so long.’ Afterwards examining another +diameter, she would say, ‘It has now happened that +what I have just measured proves to be precisely as long as +what I measured some time since, and no longer.’ The toil +of such a spider might last many hours, and be full of such +successive measurements, each marked by a spun thread of +web. But the true circle itself within which the web was +spun, the circle in actual space as the geometer knows it, +would its nature be thus a series of events, a mere succession +of spun threads? No, the true circle would be timeless, a +truth founded in the nature of space, outlasting, preceding, +determining all the weary web-spinning of this time-worn +spider. Even so we, spinning our web of experience in all +its dreary complications in the midst of the eternal nature +of the world-embracing substance, imagine that our lives +somehow contain true novelty, discover for the substance +what it never knew before, invent new forms of being. +We fancy our past wholly past, and our future wholly unmade. +We think that where we have yet spun no web, there +is nothing, and that what we long ago spun has vanished, +broken by the winds of time into nothingness. It is not so. +For the eternal substance there is no before and after; all +truth is truth. ‘Far and forgot to me is near,’ it says. In +the unvarying precision of its mathematical universe, all is +eternally written.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p class="i4">‘Not all your piety nor wit</p> +<p>Can lure it back to cancel half a line,</p> +<p>Nor all your tears wash out one word of it.’”</p> +</blockquote> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Foreign Words.</span> +Words and phrases from a foreign language should +be used only as a last resort. <i>Bon mot, sine +qua non,</i> and <i>dolce far niente</i> are all very apt, +and to a person like Mr. Lowell, who was intimately +<a class="pgnm" name="page244" id="page244">244</a> +acquainted with many languages, they may come as +soon as their English equivalents. In the case of such +a person, the reason why they should not be used is +that the reader cannot understand them. But when a +young smatterer uses them to advertise his calling acquaintance +with a language, he is but proclaiming his +own lack of good taste. In his composition they are +as ineffective to make it respectable as a large diamond +on a gamester’s finger to make him an honored +gentleman. Use the English language when writing +for English-speaking people. It has the fullest, richest +vocabulary in the world. It will not be found +unequal to the task of expressing your thoughts.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Words in Present Use.</span> +Third, words should be in present use. Words may +be so new that people do not know them; +they may have passed out of use after years +of good service. Of new words, but little can +be said. The language constantly changes. New discoveries +and inventions demand new words. What ones +will be more than temporary cannot be prophesied. +“Blizzard” and “mugwump” were new but a short +time ago: the latter is dying from disuse, the former +has come to stay. In this uncertainty one thing can +be said, however. No word which has not secured +recognition should be used by a young person, if by +reputable words already in the language he can express +his meaning. And just as he should not be the first to +take up an untried word, so the young writer should +not be the last to drop a dead one. There is at present +a sort of fad for old English. A large number of +words that have been resting quietly in their graves +for centuries have been called forth. Some may +enjoy a second life; most of them will feel only the +weakness of a second obsolescence. “Foreword” and +“inwit” were good once; but “preface” and “conscience” +<a class="pgnm" name="page245" id="page245">245</a> +mean as much and have the advantage of +being alive. To be understood use the words of the +present.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Words in their Present Meaning.</span> +Use words in their present signification. Not only +has language cast out many words; it has +changed many others so that they are hardly +recognized. When Chaucer wrote,<br /><br /></p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p>“Ther may no man Mercury mortify</p> +<p>But hit be with his brother knowleching,”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p class="noind">“mortify” meant to make dead, to kill. To-day a +lady may say she was mortified to death; but that is +hyperbole. In “Paradise Lost” Satan may</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p>“Through the palpable obscure find out</p> +<p>His uncouth way.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p class="noind">But a person to-day is not justified in using “uncouth” +for “unknown.” The works of Shakespeare +and Milton abound in words whose life has been prolonged +to the present, but whose signification has been +changed. The writer who seeks to use words with +these old meanings is standing in his own light. Such +use always attracts attention to the words themselves, +and by so much subtracts attention from the thought.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Words of Latin and Saxon Origin.</span> +Words that are in good use have been divided into +two classes, as they have been drawn from +two sources. Some differences between Anglo-Saxon +and Latin words are marked. +Saxon words are generally short; Latin words long. +The first are the words of home and are concerned +with the necessities of life; the second are the words +of the court and the adornments of polite society. The +former made the foundation of our language and gave +to it its idiomatic strength; the latter came later, and +added to the strength of the language its grace and +refinement.</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page246" id="page246">246</a> +In our speech there can be no doubt that short words +are used when the purpose is to be understood quickly, +even harshly, while the longer words are frequently employed +for saying unpleasant things pleasantly. Euphemism, +the choice of words not harsh for harsh ideas, +has its uses. It is not always wrong to say, “He was +taken away” for “He was killed.” But when the plain +truth is to be spoken, when, as in most composition, +the object is to be understood, the words should be +chosen which exactly express the thought, be those +words Latin or Saxon. For any one to say, “Was +launched into eternity” for “Was hanged,” or “When +the fatal noose was adjusted about the neck of the unfortunate +victim of his own unbridled passions” for +“When the halter was put around his neck,” is a useless +parade of vocabulary.<a class="ftnt" id="footref_51" name="footref_51" href="#footnote_51">51</a> One knows that such +phrases are made by a writer who is ignorant of the +value of words, or by a penny-a-liner, willing to sacrifice +every effect of language to the immediate needs of +his purse. Such writing has no power. The words +are dictated by too low a motive to have any force in +them. Let a writer go straight to the point as +directly as the hindrances of language will allow. Even +then his expression will lag behind his thought.</p> + +<p>This does not mean that one is to use Saxon words +always. It means that one shall use the words that +say exactly what is to be said, so that the reader can +get the exact thought with the least outlay of attention +to the words. Latin words are as common as Saxon +words. To search out a Saxon word because it is +Saxon and short is as reprehensible as to use the indirection +of Latin words where directness is wanted. +Latin words have a place; they express the finer distinctions +and gradations of thought. In the discussion +<a class="pgnm" name="page247" id="page247">247</a> +of any question requiring nice precision of statement +Latin words are necessary. In the following from +Newman, it would be difficult, perhaps impossible, to +substitute words of Anglo-Saxon origin for the words +of Latin origin, and could it be done, the passage would +not then have the clearness it now has from his use of +common words, though they be Latin:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“I mean then by the Supreme Being, one who is simply +self-dependent, and the only Being who is such; moreover, +that He is without beginning or Eternal, and the only Eternal; +that in consequence He has lived a whole eternity by +Himself; and hence that He is all-sufficient, sufficient for his +own blessedness, and all-blessed, and ever-blessed. Further, +I mean a Being who, having these prerogatives, has the +Supreme Good, or rather is the Supreme Good, or has all the +attributes of good in infinite intenseness; all wisdom, all +truth, all justice, all love, all holiness, all beautifulness; who +is omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent; ineffably one, absolutely +perfect; and such that what we do not know of Him +is far more wonderful than what we do and can.”<a class="ftnt" id="footref_52" name="footref_52" href="#footnote_52">52</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Latin words, moreover, have a fullness of sound +which gives them an added weight and dignity. One +would hesitate long before changing one of Milton’s +big-sounding phrases, even if he were not compelled to +sacrifice the metre. In Webster’s orations there is a +dignity, a sublimity, gained by the use of full-mouthed +polysyllables. Supposing he had said at the beginning +of his eulogy of Adams and Jefferson, “This is a new +sight” instead of “This is an unaccustomed spectacle,” +the whole effect of dignified utterance commensurate +with the occasion would have been lost. The oration +abounds in examples of reverberating cadences. Milton’s +sentences are a stately procession of gorgeous +words: the dignified pomp of the advance is occasioned +<a class="pgnm" name="page248" id="page248">248</a> +by the wealth of essential beauty and historical +association in the individual words:—</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p class="i3">“That proud honor claimed</p> +<p>Azazel as his right, a Cherube tall:</p> +<p>Who forthwith from the glittering staff unfurl’d</p> +<p>Th’ imperial ensign, which, full high advanc’t</p> +<p>Shon like a meteor streaming to the wind,</p> +<p>With gemms and golden lustre rich emblaz’d</p> +<p>Seraphic arms and trophies; all the while</p> +<p>Sonorous metall blowing martial sounds:</p> +<p>At which the universal host up-sent</p> +<p>A shout that tore Hell’s concave, and beyond</p> +<p>Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night.</p> +<p>All in a moment through the gloom were seen</p> +<p>Ten thousand banners rise into the air,</p> +<p>With orient colours waving; with them rose</p> +<p>A forrest huge of spears; and thronging helms</p> +<p>Appear’d, and serried shields in thick array</p> +<p>Of depth immeasurable.” (“Paradise Lost.”)</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The choice of words does not depend on whether +they are of Latin or of Saxon origin. In use it will +be found that short words, like short sentences, give +more directness and force to the composition; while +long words have a dignified elegance and refinement +of discrimination not the property of monosyllables. +No one should think, however, that short words cause +the force or long words cause the dignity. These +qualities belong to the thought; the completeness of +its expression is approached by a choice in words. +Choose words for their fitness to say what you think, +or feel, or purpose, having no regard for their origin.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">General and specific.</span> +Words are also classified as general and specific. +By a general word is meant a word common +to or denoting a large number of ideas. By +specific is meant a word that denotes or specifies a +<a class="pgnm" name="page249" id="page249">249</a> +single idea. “Man,” “move,” “bad,” are general +and denote a large number of ideas; while “Whittier,” +“glide,” “thieving,” are specific, denoting but +one man, one movement, one kind of badness. “Man” +denotes the whole human race, while it implies a feeling, +thinking, speaking, willing animal. “Whittier” +denotes but a single person, but beside all the common +qualities implied by the, word “man,” “Whittier” +suggests, among other things, a homely face, serious +and kind, a poet, and an anti-slavery worker.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Use Words that suggest most.</span> +As a principle in composition, it may be said that +the more a word or phrase can be made to +imply or suggest, while at the same time +expressing all that the writer wishes to say, +the more valuable does that word or phrase become. +Yet it should be remembered that words may be so +specific that they do not include all that the author +wishes to include. For instance, if instead of “Blessed +are the peacemakers,” the beatitude should be made +to read “Blessed are the Quakers,” though this organized +body of persons labor for the blessings of peace, +yet the meaning would be restricted by the limited denotation +of the term. It does not include enough. So +in almost all of Emerson’s writing, it would not be +possible to express his entire thought with more specific +words. Therefore regard must always be had for +the thought,—that it may be expressed in its perfect +fullness and entirety. Keeping this full expression in +view, those words are strongest, truest, richest, which +suggest most. To say of a person that he is a bad +man is one thing; that he is a traitor is quite another; +but when one writes that he is a veritable Judas, words +fail to keep pace with suggestions, and reason yields +to emotion. Specific words, if they denote the whole +idea, are as much better than general terms as their +suggestion exceeds the suggestion of general terms.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Synecdoche, Metonymy.</span> +<a class="pgnm" name="page250" id="page250">250</a> +Much of the force of figures of speech is derived +from the suggestive quality of the specific +words employed. When a man calls another +a dog, he has used a metaphor. He has availed himself +of a term that gathers up all the snarling qualities +of the worst of the dog species. The figure has high +suggestive power. Synecdoche, too, that figure of +speech in which a part is used for the whole or the +whole for a part, employs a term of higher suggestive +power for one of lower connoting force. “All +hands took hold” is better than “All persons went to +work.” Metonymy is the substitution of the name of +one thing for that of another to which the former bears +a known and close relation. The most common of +these known and close relations are those of cause and +its effects, of container and the thing contained, and of +sign and the thing signified. “He has read Shakespeare,” +“He was addicted to the use of the bottle,” +“All patriots fight for the flag,” are examples of metonymy. +All these figures depend in large degree for +their power upon the greater suggestiveness of specific +words; and their use gives to composition an efficiency +and directness commensurate with the greater connoting +value of the specific words.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Care in Choice of Specific Words.</span> +A writer should keep in mind the fact that the +same word may mean widely different things +to two persons. For this reason the specific +word that appeals to him most may be of no +value in addressing others. “Free silver” means to +one set of men the withdrawal of money from investment, +consequent stagnation in business, followed by +the closing of factories and penury among laborers. +To others it means three dollars a day for unskilled +labor, fire, clothes, and something to eat. Again, if +one wished to present the horrors of devastating disease, +<a class="pgnm" name="page251" id="page251">251</a> +in the South he would mention yellow fever, in +the North smallpox; but to a lady who saw six little +brothers and sisters dead from it in one week, three +carried to the graveyard on the hillside one chill November +morning, all the terrors of contagious disease +are suggested by the word “diphtheria.” Words are +weighted with our experiences. They are laden with +what we have lived into them. As persons have different +experiences, each word carries to each person a +different meaning. The wise writer chooses those +specific words which suggest most to the men he addresses,—in +general, to the average man.</p> + +<p>There are many words that carry some of the same +suggestions to all. These words are connected with +the common things of life: such words as “home,” +“death,” “mother,” and the many more that have +been with all people from childhood. They are simple +little words crowded with experiences. Such words +carry a weight of suggestion not found in strange new +words. It is for this reason that simple language goes +straight to the heart; it is so loaded with life. Of two +expressions that convey the thought with equal accuracy, +always choose the simpler.</p> + +<p>The following poems—one by Tennyson,<a class="ftnt" id="footref_53" name="footref_53" href="#footnote_53">53</a> steeped +in pain, perfect in its phrasing; the other by Kipling, +rising to a conception of a true artist’s work, never +before so simply expressed—are both written in +home words, little words, but words all know, words +that carry to all a common meaning:—</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean:</p> +<p>Tears from the depth of some divine despair</p> +<p>Rise in the heart and gather to the eyes,</p> +<p>In looking on the happy autumn fields,</p> +<p>And thinking of the days that are no more.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page252" id="page252">252</a> +“Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail</p> +<p>That brings our friends up from the underworld;</p> +<p>Sad as the last which reddens over one</p> +<p>That sinks with all we love below the verge;</p> +<p>So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Ah! sad and strange as in dark summer dawns</p> +<p>The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds</p> +<p>To dying ears, when unto dying eyes</p> +<p>The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;</p> +<p>So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Dear as remembered kisses after death,</p> +<p>And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned</p> +<p>On lips that are for others; deep as love,</p> +<p>Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;</p> +<p>O Death in Life, the days that are no more!”</p> +</div> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote class="poem" style="margin-right: 0;"> +<h4 style="margin-top: 2em;">L’ENVOI.<a class="ftnt" id="footref_54" name="footref_54" href="#footnote_54">54</a></h4> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“When Earth’s last picture is painted and the tubes are twisted and dried,</p> +<p>When the oldest colors have faded, and the youngest critic has died,</p> +<p>We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it—lie down for an æon or two,</p> +<p>Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall put us to work anew!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“And those that were good shall be happy: they shall sit in a golden chair;</p> +<p>They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of comets’ hair;</p> +<p>They shall find real saints to draw from—Magdalene, Peter, and Paul;</p> +<p>They shall work for an age at a sitting and never be tired at all!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page253" id="page253">253</a> +“And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame;</p> +<p>And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame;</p> +<p>But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,</p> +<p>Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They Are!”</p> +</div> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Avoid Hackneyed Phrases.</span> +Much like general terms, which mean something or +nothing, are expressions that have become +trite and hackneyed. At some time they +were accurate phrases, saying just what was +needed. By being used for all sorts of purposes, they +have lost the original thought of which they were the +accurate expression. They have no freshness. The +sounding phrases repeated in the pulpit, or the equally +empty phrases of the scientist, however good they were +at their inception, are, in the writing of many persons, +but theological and scientific cant relied upon by ignorant +people to cover up the vacuity of their thought. +One’s own expression, even though it be not so elegant +and graceful, is better than any worn-out, hackneyed +phrase. Think for yourself; then say what you have +thought in the best language you can find yourself.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">“Fine Writing.”</span> +“Fine writing,” the subjection of noble words to +ignoble service, is to be avoided. Mr. Micawber +was addicted to this pomposity of +language; and Dickens, by the creation of this character, +has done literature a real service, by showing +how absurd it is, how valueless for anything more than +humor. “‘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 the City Road—in short,’ +<a class="pgnm" name="page254" id="page254">254</a> +said Mr. Micawber, in another burst of confidence, +‘that you might lose yourself—I shall be happy to +call this evening, and install you in the knowledge of +the nearest way.’” Here are great words in profusion +to dress out a little thought. “Fine writing” +is as much out of taste as over-dressing. When the +thought calls for noble expression, then all one’s energies +should be bent to finding noble phrases; but for +common things common expressions are the only ones +in good taste.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">In Prose avoid Poetical Words.</span> +Much like “fine writing” is the use of poetical +words in prose. <i>Enow, erstwhile, besprent, +methinks, agone,</i> and <i>thine</i> are examples of +a large class of words which, though in +perfectly good taste in poetry, are in extremely poor +taste in prose. They are out of place; and so attract +attention to themselves, not to the thought they express. +When writing prose, avoid poetical words.</p> + +<p>All of this comes at last to one rule: be exact, be +accurate in the choice of words. Not a word that half +expresses the thought, not even one that is pretty near, +but the only word that exactly expresses the meaning, +that word must be used. It is not a question of long +or short, of Latin or Saxon, of general or specific; it +is a question of accuracy or inaccuracy, the whole or a +part, the whole or too much, of just right or about +right. No one would entirely misunderstand the following +sentence; and just as certainly no one would +derive from these words the impression the author had +when he wrote it. He has phrased it as follows: +“Another direction in which free education is most +valuable to society, is the way in which it removes the +gulf affixed between the rich and poor.” The boy +wanted the opening sentence to sound big, and forgot +that the first use of words is accurately to express the +<a class="pgnm" name="page255" id="page255">255</a> +thought. In this sentence are the commonest errors +in the choice of words. “Most valuable” says more +than truth; “direction” says less than truth; and +“affixed” does not say anything. Had the boy studied +the dictionary, had he been familiar with the Bible, had +he carefully considered the figure he introduced with +the word “gulf,” he would not have written this incongruous +sentence; he would not have been inaccurate. +Spare no pains in your effort to be exact. Search +through the words of your own vocabulary; if these +fall short, find others in the dictionary. Get the word +that exactly expresses the thought. Let no fine-sounding +or high-born word trick you into saying what +you do not mean. Be master of your words; never let +fine expressions enslave you. In a word, be accurate.</p> + +<p>Such painstaking labor has its reward not alone in +the increased power of expression; there is also a corresponding +growth in the ability to observe accurately +and to think clearly. No man can write such descriptions +as Ruskin and Stevenson have written without +seeing accurately; nor can a man speak with the definite +certainty of Burke without thinking clearly. The +desire to be accurate in expression drives a writer to be +accurate in thinking. To think is the highest that +man can hope from education. Anything that contributes +to this highest attainment should be undertaken +with joy. Whether planning a story or constructing +an argument; whether excluding irrelevant matter or +including what contributes to the perfection of the +whole; whether massing the material so that all the +parts shall receive their due emphasis; whether relating +the parts so that the thought advances steadily and +there can be no misunderstanding,—in all this the student +will find arduous labor. Yet after all this is done,—when +the theme, the paragraphs, and the sentences +<a class="pgnm" name="page256" id="page256">256</a> +contain exactly what is needed, are properly massed, and +are set in perfect order,—then comes the long labor +of revision, which does not stop until the exact word +is hunted out. For upon words, at last, we are dependent +for the expression of our observation and thought. +He is most entirely master of his thoughts who can +accurately express them: clearly, that he cannot be +misunderstood; forcefully, that he will not be unread; +and elegantly, that he give the reader joy. And this +mastery he evinces in a finely discriminating choice of +words.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="page257" id="page257">257</a></div> + +<h3>CHAPTER X</h3> + +<p class="ctr"><b>FIGURES OF SPEECH</b></p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Figurative Language.</span> +There is a generally accepted division of language +into literal and figurative. Language that +is literal uses words in their accepted and +accurate meaning. Figurative language employs words +with meanings not strictly literal, but varying from +their ordinary definitions.</p> + +<p>Much of our language is figurative. When a person +says, “He is a bright boy,” he has used the word +“bright” in a sense that is not literal; the use is figurative. +In the following there is hardly a sentence that +has not some variation from literal language.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Down by the river there is, as yet, little sign of spring. +Its bed is all choked with last year’s reeds, trampled about +like a manger. Yet its running seems to have caught a happier +note, and here and there along its banks flash silvery +wands of palm. Right down among the shabby burnt-out +underwood moves the sordid figure of a man. His hat is +battered, and he wears no collar. I don’t like staring at his +face, for he has been unfortunate. Yet a glimpse tells me +that he is far down the hill of life, old and drink-corroded at +fifty.” (Le Gallienne.)</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>In the second sentence there are at least three figurative +expressions. “Bed,” “choked,” and “trampled +like a manger” are not literal. So, too, in the next +sentence there are two beautiful variations from literal +expression. Going on through the selection the reader +will find frequently some happy change from literalness,—sometimes +just a word, sometimes a phrase.</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page258" id="page258">258</a> +Figurative language is of great value. It adds +clearness to our speech; it gives it more force; or it +imparts to literature beauty. The last use is the most +common; indeed, it is so common that sometimes the +other uses are overlooked. However, when such a +sentence as the following is read, the comparison is of +value in giving <i>clearness</i> to the thought, although it +does not state the literal truth.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“In the early history of our planet, the moon was flung +off into space, as mud is thrown from a turning wagon +wheel.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><i>Force</i> is often gained by the use of figurative language. +The following is a good illustration:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Neither the perseverance of Holland, nor the activity +of France, nor the dextrous and firm sagacity of English enterprise, +ever carried this most perilous mode of hardy industry +to the extent to which it has been pushed by these +people [Americans]; a people who are still, as it were, but +in the gristle, and not yet hardened into the bone of manhood.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The next is an illustration of a figure used for +<i>beauty:—</i></p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p>“Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,</p> +<p>Having some business, do entreat her eyes</p> +<p>To twinkle in their spheres till they return.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><i>A figure of speech is any use of words with a sense +varying from their literal definition, to secure clearness, +force, or beauty of expression.</i></p> + +<p>Figures add so much to the attractiveness of literature, +that every one would like to use them. Yet figures +should never be sought for. When they come of +themselves, when they insist on being used, and are a +part of the thought itself, and seem to be its only adequate +<a class="pgnm" name="page259" id="page259">259</a> +expression, then they should be used. In most +cases figures are ornaments of literature; it must be +remembered that ornament is always secondary, and +that no ornament is good unless it is in entire harmony +with the thing it is to beautify. (See Preface, p. viii.)</p> + +<p>When a figure suggests itself, it must be so clearly +seen that there can be no mixing of images. Some +people are determined to use figures, and they force +them into every possible place. The result is that +there is often a confusion of comparisons. The following +is bad: “His name went resounding in golden letters +through the corridors of time.” Just how a name +could resound “in golden letters” is a difficult question. +Longfellow used the last phrase beautifully:—</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p>“Not from the grand old masters,</p> +<p>Not from the bards sublime,</p> +<p>Whose distant footsteps echo</p> +<p>Through the corridors of time.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Of the two hundred or more figures of speech which +have been named and defined, only a few need be mentioned +here. And the purpose is not that you shall +use them more, but that you may recognize them when +you meet them in literature.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Figures based upon Likeness.</span> +There is a large group of figures of speech based +upon likeness. One thing is so much like +another that it is spoken of as like it, or, more +frequently, one is said to be the other. Yet +if the things compared are very much alike, there is +no figure. To say that a cat is like a panther is not +considered figurative. It is when in objects essentially +different we detect and name some likeness that we +say there is a figure of speech. There is at first thought +no likeness between hope and a nurse; yet were it not +for hope most persons would die. Thackeray was right +when he said that “Hope is the nurse of life.”</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page260" id="page260">260</a> +The principal figures based upon likeness are metaphor, +epithet, personification, apostrophe, allegory, and +simile.</p> + +<p><i>A metaphor is an implied comparison between +things essentially different, but having some common +quality.</i> Metaphor is by far the most common figure of +speech; indeed, so common is it that figurative language +is often called metaphorical.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Tombs are the clothes of the dead; a grave is but a +plain suit, and a rich monument is one embroidered.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p class="i5">“Let me choose;</p> +<p>For as I am, I live upon the rack.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p>“The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Only a little removed from metaphor is epithet. +<i>An epithet is a word, generally a descriptive adjective +or a noun, used, not to give information, but to impart +strength or ornament to diction.</i> It is like a shortened +metaphor. It is very often found in impassioned prose +or verse. Notice that in each epithet there is a comparison; +that the figure is based on likeness.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p class="i5">“Here are sever’d lips</p> +<p>Parted with <i>sugar</i> breath.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Base <i>dog!</i> why shouldst thou stand here?”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><i>Personification is a figure that ascribes to inanimate +things, abstract ideas, and the lower animals the +attributes of human beings.</i> It is plain that there +must be some resemblance of the lower to the higher, +else this figure could not be used. Personification, like +the epithet, is a modification of the metaphor. Indeed, +in every personification there is also a metaphor.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p>“When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees</p> +<p>And they did make no noise.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p>“But ever heaves and moans the restless Deep.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page261" id="page261">261</a> +<i>Apostrophe is an address to the dead as if living; +to abstract ideas or inanimate objects as if they were +persons.</i> It is a variety of personification.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p>“O Caledonia! stern and wild,</p> +<p>Meet nurse for a poetic child!”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p>“Wee, modest, crimson-tippèd flower,</p> +<p>Thou’s met me in an evil hour;</p> +<p>For I maun crush amang the stoure</p> +<p class="i6">Thy slender stem.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p>“Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><i>Allegory is a narrative in which material things +and circumstances are used to illustrate and enforce +high spiritual truths.</i> It is a continued personification. +Bunyan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress” and Spenser’s +“Faerie Queene” are good examples of allegory.</p> + +<p>All these figures are varieties of metaphor. In them +there is always an implied, not an expressed, comparison.</p> + +<p><i>A simile is an expressed comparison between unlike +things that have some common quality.</i> This comparison +is usually indicated by <i>like</i> or <i>as.</i></p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Ilbrahim was like a domesticated sunbeam, brightening +moody countenances, and chasing away the gloom from the +dark corners of the cottage.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>(Does this figure change to another in its course?)</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p>“How far that little candle throws its beams!</p> +<p>So shines a good deed in a naughty world.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Of retired Dutch valleys, Irving wrote:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“They are like those little nooks of still water which border +a rapid stream; where we may see the straw and bubble +riding quietly at anchor, or slowly revolving in their mimic +harbor, undisturbed by the rush of the passing current.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote" style="width: 7em;"> +Figures based upon Sentence Structure.</span> +There are a number of figures that express emotion +<a class="pgnm" name="page262" id="page262">262</a> +by simply changing the normal order of the sentence. +Among these are inversion, exclamation, interrogation, +climax, and irony.<br /><br /></p> + +<p><i>Inversion is a figure intended to give +emphasis to the thought by a change from the natural +order of the words in a sentence.</i></p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“<i>Thine</i> be the glory!”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p>“<i>Few</i> were the words they said.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p>“He saved others; <i>himself</i> he cannot save.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><i>Exclamation is an expression of strong emotion in +abrupt, inverted, or elliptical phrases.</i> It is among +sentences what the interjection is among words.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“How far that little candle throws its beams!”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Oh, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><i>Interrogation is a figure in which a question is +asked, not to get an answer, but for the sake of +emphasis.</i></p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Do men gather grapes from thorns, or figs from thistles?”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p>“Fear ye foes who kill for hire?</p> +<p>Will ye to your homes retire?”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Am I a coward?”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><i>Climax is a figure in which the intensity of the +thought and emotion gradually increases with the +successive groups of words or phrases.</i> (See p. <a href="#page211">211</a>.)</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Your children do not grow faster from infancy to manhood +than they [the American colonists] spread from families +to communities, from villages to nations.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><i>Irony is a figure in which one thing is said and +the opposite is meant.</i></p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“And Job answered and said, No doubt but ye are the +people, and wisdom shall die with you.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p>“O Jew, an upright judge, a learned judge!”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page263" id="page263">263</a> +Four other figures should be mentioned: metonymy, +synecdoche, allusion, and hyperbole.</p> + +<p><i>Metonymy calls one thing by the name of another +which is closely related to the first.</i> The most common +relations are cause and effect, container and thing contained, +and sign and the thing signified.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“From the cradle to the grave is but a day.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p>“I did dream of money-bags to-night.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><i>Synecdoche is that figure of speech in which a part +is put for the whole, or the whole for a part.</i></p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Fifty sail came into harbor.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p>“The redcoats are marching.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><i>Allusion is a reference to something in history or +literature with which every one is supposed to be acquainted.</i></p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel!”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p>Men still sigh for the flesh pots of Egypt; still worship +the golden calf.</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p>There is no “Open Sesame” to the treasures of learning; +they must be acquired by hard study.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Milton and Shakespeare are full of allusions to the +classic literature of Greece and Rome.</p> + +<p><i>Hyperbole is an exaggerated statement made for +effect.</i></p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, +long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his +sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and his +whole frame most loosely hung together.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p>“And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw</p> +<p>Millions of acres on us, till our ground,</p> +<p>Singeing his pate against the burning zone,</p> +<p>Make Ossa like a wart!”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Exercises in Figures.</span> +<a class="pgnm" name="page264" id="page264">264</a> +Name the following figures. Of those that are based +upon likeness, tell in what the similarity consists. +In many of the selections more than +one figure will be found.<a class="ftnt" id="footref_55" name="footref_55" href="#footnote_55">55</a></p> + +<ol> +<li>“The long, hard winter of his youth had ended; the +spring-time of his manhood was turning green like the woods.”</li> + +<li>A pig came up to a horse and said, “Your feet are +crooked, and your hair is worth nothing.”</li> + +<li>“The words of his mouth were smoother than butter, +but war was in his heart; his words were softer than oil, but +they were drawn swords.”</li> + +<li>“The lily maid of Astolat.”</li> + +<li class="poem"><p>“O Truth! O Freedom! how are ye still born</p> +<p>In the rude stable, in the manger nursed!”</p></li> + +<li class="poem"><p>“The birch, most shy and ladylike of trees,</p> +<p>Her poverty, as best she may, retrieves,</p> +<p>And hints at her foregone gentilities</p> +<p>With some saved relics of her wealth of leaves.”</p></li> + +<li>“O friend, never strike sail to a fear! Come into port +grandly, or sail with God the seas!”</li> + +<li>“Primroses smile and daisies cannot frown.”</li> + +<li>“How deeply and warmly and spotlessly Earth’s nakedness +is clothed!—the ‘wool’ of the Psalmist nearly two +feet deep. And as far as warmth and protection are concerned, +there is a good deal of the virtue of wool in such a +snow-fall. It is a veritable fleece, beneath which the shivering +earth (‘the frozen hills ached with pain,’ says one of our +young poets) is restored to warmth.”</li> + +<li>“We can win no laurels in a war for independence. +Earlier and worthier hands have gathered them all. Nor +are there places for us by the side of Solon and Alfred and +other founders of States. Our fathers have filled them.”</li> + +<li><p><a class="pgnm" name="page265" id="page265">265</a> +“I put on righteousness, and it clothed me; my judgment +was as a robe and diadem.</p> + +<p>“I was eyes to the blind, and feet was I to the lame.</p> + +<p>“I was father to the poor; and the cause which I knew +not I searched out.</p> + +<p>“And I brake the jaws of the wicked, and plucked the +spoil out of his teeth.”</p></li> + +<li>“His head and his heart were so well combined that +he could not avoid becoming a power in his community.”</li> +</ol> + +<p>Spenser, writing of honor, says:—</p> + +<ol> +<li value="13"><div class="poem"> +<p>“In woods, in waves, in wars, she wonts to dwell,</p> +<p>And will be found with peril and with pain;</p> +<p>Nor can the man that moulds an idle cell</p> +<p>Unto her happy mansion attain:</p> +<p>Before her gate high God did Sweat ordain,</p> +<p>And wakeful watches ever to abide;</p> +<p>But easy is the way and passage plain</p> +<p>To pleasure’s palace: it may soon be spied,</p> +<p>And day and night her doors to all stand open wide.”</p> +</div></li> + +<li>“Over the vast green sea of the wilderness, the moon +swung her silvery lamp.”</li> + +<li>“The peace of the golden sunshine was supreme. Even +a tiny cloudlet anchored in the limitless sky would not sail +to-day.”</li> + +<li>“A short way further along, I come across a boy gathering +palm. He is a town boy, and has come all the way from +Whitechapel thus early. He has already gathered a great +bundle—worth five shillings to him, he says. This same +palm will to-morrow be distributed over London, and those +who buy sprigs of it by the Bank will know nothing of the +blue-eyed boy who gathered it, and the murmuring river by +which it grew. And the lad, once more lost in some squalid +court, will be a sort of Sir John Mandeville to his companions—a +Sir John Mandeville of the fields, with their water-rats, +their birds’ eggs, and many other wonders. And one +can imagine him saying, ‘And the sparrows there fly right +<a class="pgnm" name="page266" id="page266">266</a> +up into the sun, and sing like angels.’ But he won’t get his +comrades to believe <i>that.</i>“</li> + +<li class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“We wandered to the Pine Forest</p> +<p class="i1">That skirts the Ocean’s foam;</p> +<p>The lightest wind was in its nest,</p> +<p class="i1">The tempest in its home.</p> +<p>The whispering waves were half asleep,</p> +<p class="i1">The clouds were gone to play,</p> +<p>And on the bosom of the deep</p> +<p class="i1">The smile of heaven lay;</p> +<p>It seemed as if the hour were one</p> +<p class="i1">Sent from beyond the skies</p> +<p>Which scattered from above the sun</p> +<p class="i1">The light of Paradise.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“We paused amid the pines that stood</p> +<p class="i1">The giants of the waste,</p> +<p>Tortured by storms to shapes as rude</p> +<p class="i1">As serpents interlaced,—</p> +<p>And soothed by every azure breath</p> +<p class="i1">That under heaven is blown,</p> +<p>To harmonies and hues beneath,</p> +<p class="i1">As tender as its own:</p> +<p>Now all the tree-tops lay asleep</p> +<p class="i1">Like green waves on the sea,</p> +<p>As still as in the silent deep</p> +<p class="i1">The ocean woods may be.”</p> +</div> +</li> + +<li>“When a bee brings pollen into the hive, he advances +to the cell in which it is to be deposited and kicks it off as one +might his overalls or rubber boots, making one foot help the +other; then he walks off without ever looking behind him; +another bee, one of the indoor hands, comes along and rams +it down with his head and packs it in the cell as the dairy-maid +packs butter into a firkin.”</li> + +<li class="poem"><p>“For thy desires</p> +<p>Are wolfish, bloody, starved, and ravenous.”</p></li> + +<li>“What a piece of work is man! how noble in reason! +<a class="pgnm" name="page267" id="page267">267</a> +how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express +and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension +how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon +of animals!”</li> + +<li class="poem"><p>“And in her cheeks the vermeil red did shew</p> +<p>Like roses in a bed of lilies shed.”</p></li> + +<li>He betrayed his friend with a Judas kiss.</li> + +<li>“A true poet is not one whom they can hire by money +and flattery to be a minister of their pleasures, their writer +of occasional verses, their purveyor of table wit; he cannot +be their menial, he cannot even be their partisan. At the +peril of both parties let no such union be attempted. Will a +Courser of the Sun work softly in the harness of a Dray-horse? +His hoofs are of fire, and his path is through the +heavens, bringing light to all lands; will he lumber on mud +highways, dragging ale for earthly appetites from door to +door?”</li> + +<li class="poem"><p>“Hath a dog money? is it possible</p> +<p>A cur can lend three thousand ducats?”</p></li> + +<li class="poem"><p>“Kind hearts are more than coronets,</p> +<p>And simple faith than Norman blood.”</p></li> + +<li>They sleep together,—the gray and the blue.</li> + +<li>“Have not the Indians been kindly and justly treated? +Have not the temporal things—the vain baubles and filthy +lucre of this world—which were apt to engage their worldly +and selfish thoughts, been benevolently taken from them? +And have they not, instead thereof, been taught to set their +affections on things above?” (Quoted from Meiklejohn’s +“The Art of Writing English.”)</li> + +<li>“Poetry is truth in its Sunday clothes.”</li> + +<li class="poem"><p>“His words were shed softer than leaves from the pine,</p> +<p>And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the brine,</p> +<p>That mingle their softness and quiet in one</p> +<p>With the shaggy unrest they float down upon.”</p></li> + +<li>Too much red tape caused a great amount of suffering +in the beginning of the war.</li> + +<li class="poem"><p><a class="pgnm" name="page268" id="page268">268</a> +“Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll!</p> +<p>Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain.”</p></li> + +<li>“The old Mountain has thrown a stone at us for fear +we should forget him. He sometimes nods his head, and +threatens to come down.”</li> + +<li class="poem"><p>“But pleasures are like poppies spread:</p> +<p>You seize the flow’r, its bloom is shed;</p> +<p>Or like the snow falls in the river,</p> +<p>A moment white—then melts for ever;</p> +<p>Or like the borealis race,</p> +<p>That flit ere you can point their place;</p> +<p>Or like the rainbow’s lovely form</p> +<p>Evanishing amid the storm.”</p> +</li> +</ol> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="page269" id="page269">269</a></div> + +<h3>CHAPTER XI</h3> + +<p class="ctr"><b>VERSE FORMS<a class="ftnt" id="footref_56" name="footref_56" href="#footnote_56">56</a></b></p> + +<p>No pupil has passed through the graded schools +without being told that he should not sing verses, +though no one is inclined to sing prose. One can +scarcely help singing verse, and one cannot well sing +prose.</p> + +<p>What is there about the form that leads a person to +sing verses of poetry? For example, when a person +reads the first lines of “The Lady of the Lake,” he +falls naturally into a sing-song which can be represented +by musical notation as follows:—</p> + +<blockquote><table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>“The </td><td>stag </td> + <td>at </td><td>eve </td> + <td>had </td><td>drunk </td> + <td>his </td><td>fill,</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>Where </td><td>danced </td> + <td>the </td><td>moon </td> + <td>on </td><td>Mon</td> + <td>an’s </td><td>rill,</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>And </td><td>deep </td> + <td>his </td><td>mid</td> + <td>night </td><td>lair </td> + <td>had </td><td>made</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>In </td><td>lone </td> + <td>Glen</td><td>art</td> + <td>ney’s </td><td>ha</td> + <td>zel </td><td>shade.”</td></tr> +</table> +</blockquote> + +<p>The second, fourth, sixth, and eighth syllables in +each of these lines are naturally accented in reading, +while the other syllables are read without stress. The +eight syllables of each line fall naturally into groups +<a class="pgnm" name="page270" id="page270">270</a> +of two, an unaccented syllable followed by an accented +syllable, just as in the musical notation given, an +unaccented eighth note is followed by an accented +quarter.</p> + +<p>In “Hiawatha” the accented syllable comes first, +and the unaccented follows it.</p> + +<blockquote> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td class="rbord"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>“By </td><td>the </td> + <td>shores </td><td>of </td> + <td>Git</td><td>chee </td> + <td>Gu</td><td>mee,</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td class="rbord"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>By </td><td>the </td> + <td>shin</td><td>ing </td> + <td>Big-</td><td>Sea-</td> + <td>Wa</td><td>ter,</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td class="rbord"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>Stood </td><td>the </td> + <td>wig</td><td>wam </td> + <td>of </td><td>No</td> + <td>ko</td><td>mis,</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td class="rbord"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>Daugh</td><td>ter </td> + <td>of </td><td>the </td> + <td>Moon, </td><td>No</td> + <td>ko</td><td>mis.”</td></tr> +</table> +</blockquote> + +<p>So, too, there are groups in which there are three +syllables. The accent may fall on any one of the three. +In the following stanza from “The Bridge of Sighs,” +the accent falls on the first syllable of each group.</p> + +<blockquote> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td><td class="rbord"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>“Touch </td><td>her </td><td>not </td> + <td>scorn</td><td>ful</td><td>ly;</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td><td class="rbord"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>Think </td><td>of </td><td>her </td> + <td>mourn</td><td>ful</td><td>ly,</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td><td class="rbord"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>Gent</td><td>ly </td><td>and </td> + <td>hu</td><td>man</td><td>ly,</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td><td class="rbord"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>Not </td><td>of </td><td>the </td> + <td>stains </td><td>of </td><td>her;</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td><td class="rbord"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>All </td><td>that </td><td>re</td> + <td>mains </td><td>of </td><td>her</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><a class="pgnm" name="page271" id="page271">271</a>^</td><td> </td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td><td class="rbord"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>Now </td><td>is </td><td>pure </td> + <td>wo</td><td>man</td><td>ly.”</td></tr> +</table> +</blockquote> + +<p>The accent may be upon the second syllable of the +group. This is not common. The following is from +“The Three Fishers.”</p> + +<blockquote> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>“Three </td><td>fish</td><td>ers </td> + <td>went </td><td>sail</td><td>ing </td> + <td>out </td><td>in</td><td>to </td> + <td>the </td><td>West,</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>Out </td><td>in</td><td>to </td> + <td>the </td><td>West </td><td>as </td> + <td>the </td><td>sun </td> + <td>went </td><td>down;</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>Each </td><td>thought </td><td>on </td> + <td>the </td><td>wo</td><td>man </td> + <td>that </td><td>loved </td><td>him </td> + <td>the </td><td>best;</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord">[<img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" />]</td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>[And] </td><td>the </td><td>child</td><td>ren </td> + <td>stood </td><td>watch</td><td>ing </td> + <td>them </td><td>out </td><td>of </td> + <td>the </td><td>town.”</td></tr> +</table> +</blockquote> + +<p>Or the accent may be upon the last syllable of the +group. This form is very common. It is found in the +poem entitled “Annabel Lee.”</p> + +<blockquote> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>“It </td><td>was </td><td>man</td> + <td>y </td><td>and </td><td>man</td> + <td>y </td><td>a </td><td>year </td> + <td>a</td><td>go,</td></tr> +</table> + +<div class="i3"> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>In </td><td>a </td><td>king</td> + <td>dom </td><td>by </td> + <td>the </td><td>sea,</td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>That </td><td>a </td><td>maid</td> + <td>en </td><td>there </td><td>lived </td> + <td>whom </td><td>you </td> + <td>may </td><td>know</td></tr> +</table> + +<div class="i3"> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>By </td><td>the </td><td>name </td> + <td>of </td><td>An</td> + <td>na</td><td>bel </td><td>Lee;</td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>And </td><td>this </td><td>maid</td> + <td>en </td><td>she </td><td>lived </td> + <td>with </td><td>no </td> + <td>oth</td><td>er </td><td>thought</td></tr> +</table> + +<div class="i3"> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><a class="pgnm" name="page272" id="page272">272</a> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>Than </td><td>to </td><td>love </td> + <td>and </td><td>be </td><td>loved </td> + <td>by </td><td>me.”</td></tr> +</table> +</div> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Poetic Feet.</span> +If all these verses be observed carefully, it will be +seen that in each group of syllables there is one accented +syllable combined with one or two unaccented. +Such a group of syllables is called a foot. +The foot is the basis of the verse; and from +the prevailing kind of foot that is found in any verse, +the verse derives its name.</p> + +<p><i>A foot is a group of syllables composed of one accented +syllable combined with one or more unaccented.</i> +It will be noticed further that if musical notation be +used, all of these forms are but variations of the one +form, represented by the standard measure 3/8. They +are:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<table style="border-collapse: collapse;"> + <tr style="vertical-align: middle"> + <td> + <table class="rthm" style="display: inline-table;"> + <tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td> + <td class="rbord">^</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="lbord"> <img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /> </td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /> </td> + </tr> + </table> +</td> + <td>; </td> + + <td> + <table class="rthm" style="display: inline-table;"> + <tr> + <td class="lbord">^</td> + <td class="rbord"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="lbord"> <img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /> </td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /> </td> + </tr> + </table> +</td> + <td>; </td> + + <td> + <table class="rthm" style="display: inline-table;"> + <tr> + <td class="lbord">^</td> + <td> </td> + <td class="rbord"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="lbord"> <img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /> </td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /> </td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /> </td> + </tr> + </table> +</td> + <td>; </td> + + <td> + <table class="rthm" style="display: inline-table;"> + <tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td> + <td>^</td> + <td class="rbord"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="lbord"> <img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /> </td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /> </td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /> </td> + </tr> + </table> +</td> + <td>; and </td> + + <td> + <table class="rthm" style="display: inline-table;"> + <tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td> + <td> </td> + <td class="rbord">^</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="lbord"> <img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /> </td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /> </td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /> </td> + </tr> + </table> +</td> + <td>.</td> + </tr> +</table> +</blockquote> + +<p class="noind">Accordingly there are five forms of poetic feet made of +this musical rhythm. Of these, four are in common use.</p> + +<p><i>An Iambus is a two-syllable foot accented on the +last syllable. Verse made of this kind of feet is called +iambic.</i> It is the most common form found in English +poetry. Example:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“The stag at eve had drunk his fill.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><i>A Trochee is a two-syllable foot accented on the first +syllable. Verse made of this kind of feet is called +trochaic.</i> Example:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Stood the wigwam of Nokomis.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><i>A Dactyl is a three-syllable foot accented on the +first syllable. Such verse is called dactylic.</i> Example:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Touch her not scornfully.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page273" id="page273">273</a> +<i>An Amphibrach is a three-syllable foot accented on +the middle syllable.</i> It is uncommon. Example:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Three fishers went sailing out into the West.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><i>An Anapest is a three-syllable foot accented on the +last syllable.</i> Example:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“It was many and many a year ago.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>A Spondee is a very uncommon foot in English. It +consists of two long syllables accented about equally. +It occurs as an occasional foot in a four-syllable rhythm. +No English poem is entirely spondaic. The four-syllable +foot and the spondee are so uncommon that +there is little use in the pupil’s knowing more than that +there are such things. The example below is quoted +from Lanier’s “The Science of English Verse.”</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td><td> </td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td>“Ah, the </td> + <td>au</td><td>tumn </td><td>days </td><td>fade </td> + <td>out, </td><td>and </td><td>the </td> + <td>nights </td><td>grow </td> + <td>chill</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm" style="margin-bottom: 0;"> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td><td> </td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td><td> </td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td>And we</td> + <td>walk </td><td>no </td><td>more </td><td>to</td> + <td>ge</td><td>ther </td><td>as </td><td>we </td> + <td>used </td><td>of </td> + <td>yore</td></tr> +</table> + +<p>When the rose was new in blossom and the sun was on the hill,</p> +<p>And the eves were sweetly vocal with the happy whippoorwill,</p> +<p>And the land-breeze piped its sweetest by the ocean shore.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Kinds of Metre.</span><i>A verse is a single line of poetry.</i> It +may contain from one foot to eight feet.<br /><br /></p> + +<p><i>A line made of one foot is called monometer.</i> It is +never used throughout a poem, except as a joke, but +it sometimes occurs as an occasional verse in a poem +that is made of longer lines. The two lines which follow +are from the song of “Winter” in Shakespeare’s +“Love’s Labour’s Lost.” The last is monometer.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page274" id="page274">274</a> +“Then nightly sings the staring owl</p> +<p class="i5">Tu-whit.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><i>A line containing two feet is called dimeter.</i> It +also is uncommon; but it does sometimes make up a +whole poem; as, “The Bridge of Sighs,” already mentioned. +Another example is:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td>“I’m </td><td>wear</td> + <td>ing </td><td>awa’, </td> + <td>Jean,</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td> </td><td>^</td><td> </td> + <td> </td><td>^</td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td>Like </td><td>snaw </td><td>when </td> + <td>it’s </td><td>thaw, </td><td>Jean, </td></tr> +</table> + +<div class="i1"> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td>I’m </td><td>wear</td> + <td>ing </td><td>awa’</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td> </td><td>^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td>To </td><td>the </td><td>land </td> + <td>o’ </td><td>the </td><td>leal.”</td></tr> +</table> +</div> +</blockquote> + +<p>It is frequently met as an occasional line in a poem. +Wordsworth’s “Daisy” shows it.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p>“Bright <i>Flower!</i> for by that name at last,</p> +<p>When all my reveries are past,</p> +<p>I call thee, and to that cleave fast,</p> +<p class="i5">Sweet, silent creature!</p> +<p>That breath’st with me in sun and air,</p> +<p>Do thou, as thou art wont, repair</p> +<p>My heart with gladness, and a share</p> +<p class="i5">Of thy meek nature!”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><i>A line containing three feet is called trimeter.</i> Example:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td> </td><td>^</td><td> </td> + <td> </td><td>^</td><td> </td> + <td> </td><td>^</td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td>“The </td><td>snow </td><td>had </td> + <td>be</td><td>gun </td><td>in </td> + <td>the </td><td>gloam</td><td>ing,</td></tr> +</table> + +<div class="i2"> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td>And </td><td>bus</td> + <td>ily </td><td>all </td> + <td>the </td><td>night</td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td>Had </td><td>been </td><td>heap</td> + <td>ing </td><td>field </td> + <td>and </td><td>high</td><td>way</td></tr> +</table> + +<div class="i2"> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td>With </td><td>a </td><td>si</td> + <td>lence </td><td>deep </td> + <td>and </td><td>white.”</td></tr> +</table> +</div> +</blockquote> + +<p><i>A line containing four feet is called tetrameter.</i> +“Marmion” is written in tetrameters. See the extract +on p. <a href="#page276">276</a>.</p> + +<p><i>A line containing five feet is called pentameter.</i> +This line is very common in English poetry. It gives +<a class="pgnm" name="page275" id="page275">275</a> +room enough for the poet to say something, and is not +so long that it breaks down with its own weight. +Shakespeare’s Plays, Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” Tennyson’s +“Idylls of the King,”—indeed, most of the +great, serious work of the master-poets has been done +in this verse.</p> + +<p><i>A line containing six feet is called hexameter.</i> +This is the form adopted in the Iliad and the Odyssey +of the Greeks, and the Æneid of the Romans; it has +been used sometimes by English writers in treating +dignified subjects. “The Courtship of Miles Standish” +and “Evangeline” are written in hexameter.</p> + +<p>Verses of seven and eight feet are rare; they are +called heptameter and octameter, respectively. The +heptameter is usually divided into a tetrameter and a +trimeter; the octameter, into two tetrameters. Poe’s +“Raven” and Tennyson’s “Locksley Hall” are in +octameters, and Bryant’s “The Death of the Flowers” +is in heptameters.</p> + +<p>A verse is named from its prevailing kind of foot +and the number of feet. For example, “The Merchant +of Venice” is in iambic pentameter, and “The +Courtship of Miles Standish” is in dactylic hexameter.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Stanzas.</span> +A stanza is a group of verses, but these verses are +not necessarily of the same length. Monometer, dimeter, +and trimeter are not often used for a +whole stanza; but they are frequently found +in a stanza, introducing variety into it. A stanza +made up of tetrameter alternating with trimeter is +very common. The stanzas from “Annabel Lee” +and “The Village Blacksmith,” found on pages <a href="#page278">278</a> +and <a href="#page279">279</a>, are excellent examples.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Scansion.</span> +<i>Scansion is the separation of a verse of poetry into +its component feet.</i> Poetry was originally sung or +<a class="pgnm" name="page276" id="page276">276</a> +chanted by bards and troubadours. The accompaniment +was a simple strumming on a harp of +very few strings, and was hardly more than +the beating of time. The chanting must have been +much like the sing-song that some people fall into +when reading verses now. The first thing in scanning +a line of poetry is to drop into its rhythm,—to let it +sing itself. When the regular accent is felt, the lines +can easily be separated into their metrical feet. Read +these lines from “Marmion,” and mark only the accented +syllables.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td>“And </td><td>there </td> + <td>she </td><td>stood </td> + <td>so </td><td>calm </td> + <td>and </td><td>pale,</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm" style="margin-bottom: 0;"> +<tr> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td>That </td><td>but </td> + <td>her </td><td>breath</td> + <td>ing </td><td>did </td> + <td>not </td><td>fail,</td></tr> +</table> + +<p>And motion slight of eyes and head,</p> +<p>And of her bosom, warranted</p> +<p>That neither sense nor pulse she lacks,</p> +<p>You might have thought a form of wax</p> +<p>Wrought to the very life was there;</p> +<p>So still she was, so pale, so fair.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The marked verses have an accented syllable preceded +by an unaccented syllable. Such a foot is iambic. +There are four feet in each verse; so the poem +is written in iambic tetrameter. In the same way, one +decides that “The Song of Hiawatha” is written in +trochaic tetrameter.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Variations in Metres.</span> +In music the bar or measure is not always filled +with exactly the same kind of notes arranged in the +same order. If the signature reads 3/8, the +measure may be filled by any notes that added +together equal three eighth notes. It may be a quarter +and an eighth, an eighth and a quarter, a dotted +quarter, or three eighth notes. So, in poetry the +verses are not always as regular as in “Marmion” +and “Hiawatha,” although poetry is more regular than +<a class="pgnm" name="page277" id="page277">277</a> +music and there are usually few variations of metre +in any one poem. A knowledge of the most common +forms of variation is necessary to correct scansion.</p> + +<p>The commonest variation in verse is the substitution +of three eighths for the quarter and the eighth, or the +eighth and the quarter. And the very opposite of this +often occurs; that is, the substitution of the two-syllable +foot for the three-syllable foot. The following, from +“The Burial of Sir John Moore,” illustrates what is +done. Notice, however, that the beat is quite regular, +and the lines lilt along as if there were no change.</p> + +<blockquote> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>“Not </td><td>a </td><td>drum </td> + <td>was </td><td>heard, </td> + <td>not </td><td>a </td><td>fun</td> + <td>er</td><td>al </td><td>note,</td></tr> +</table> + +<div class="i1"> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td><td class="rbord"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord">[<img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" />]</td></tr> +<tr> + <td>As </td><td>his </td><td>corse </td> + <td>to </td><td>the </td><td>ram</td> + <td>part </td><td>we </td><td>hur</td><td>[ried];</td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>Not </td><td>a </td><td>sol</td> + <td>dier </td><td>dis</td><td>charged </td> + <td>his </td><td>fare</td> + <td>well </td><td>shot</td></tr> +</table> + +<div class="i1"> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td><td class="rbord"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord">[<img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" />]</td></tr> +<tr> + <td>O’er </td><td>the </td><td>grave </td> + <td>where </td><td>our </td><td>he</td> +<td>ro </td><td>we </td><td>bur</td><td>[ied].”</td></tr> +</table> +</div> +</blockquote> + +<p class="noind">In reading this the first time, a person is not likely to +notice that there are three feet in it containing but two +syllables. The rhythm is perfectly smooth, and cannot +be called irregular. The accent remains on the last +syllable of the foot.</p> + +<p>In the following selection from “Evangeline,” +trochees are substituted for dactyls, yet there is no +break in the rhythm. It does not seem in the least +irregular.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="i4"> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td class="rbord"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>“Be</td> + <td>hind </td><td>them </td> + <td>fol</td><td>lowed </td><td>the </td> + <td>watch-</td><td>dog,</td> +</tr> +</table> +</div> + +<table class="rthm" style="margin-bottom: 0;"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><a class="pgnm" name="page278" id="page278">278</a>^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td class="rbord"> </td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>Pa</td><td>tient, </td> + <td>full </td><td>of </td><td>im</td> + <td>port</td><td>ance, </td><td>and </td> + <td>grand </td><td>in </td><td>the </td> + <td>pride </td><td>of </td><td>his </td> + <td>in</td><td>stinct,</td></tr> +</table> + +<p>Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and superbly</p> +<p>Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the stragglers.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>These examples are enough to illustrate the fact that +one kind of foot may be substituted for another and +not make the rhythm feel irregular. So long as the +accent is not changed from the first syllable to the +last, or from the last to the first, there is no jar in +the flow of the lines. <i>The trochee and the dactyl are +interchangeable; and the iambus and the anapest +are interchangeable.</i></p> + +<p>We may take a step further. There are many times +when some sudden change of thought, some strong +emotion forces a poet to break the smooth rhythm, +that the verses may harmonize with his feeling. Such +a variation is like an exclamation or a dash thrown +into prose. The following is taken from “Annabel +Lee.” The regular foot has the accent on the last +syllable. It is anapestic, in tetrameters and trimeters. +But note the shudder in the third line when the accent +is changed on the word “chilling.” The music and the +thought are in perfect harmony.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p>“And this was the reason that, long ago,</p> +<p class="i1">In this kingdom by the sea,</p> + +<table class="rthm" style="margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0;"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td class="rbord"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>A </td><td>wind </td> + <td>blew </td><td>out </td><td>of </td> + <td>a </td><td>cloud, </td> + <td>chil</td><td>ling</td></tr> +</table> +<p class="i1">My beautiful Annabel Lee;</p> +<p>So that her highborn kinsman came</p> +<p class="i1">And bore her away from me</p> +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page279" id="page279">279</a> +To shut her up in a sepulchre</p> +<p class="i1">In this kingdom by the sea.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Another beautiful example is found in the last stanza +of the same poem. It is in the first two feet of the +fifth line. Here the regular accent has yielded to an +accent on the middle syllable and there are two amphibrachs. +Notice, too, how it is almost impossible to +tell in the next foot whether the accent goes upon the +second or upon the third syllable. It is hovering between +the form of the first two feet and the anapest of +the last foot.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p>“For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams</p> +<p class="i2">Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;</p> +<p>And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes</p> +<p class="i2">Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;</p> +<table class="rthm" style="margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0;"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> +<td class="rbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>And </td><td>so, </td><td>all </td> + <td>the </td><td>night-</td><td>tide, </td> + <td>I </td><td>lie </td><td>down </td> + <td>by </td><td>the </td><td>side</td></tr> +</table> +<p>Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,</p> +<p class="i2">In her sepulchre there by the sea</p> +<p class="i2">In her tomb by the sounding sea.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>As has already been said, the iambus is the common +foot of English verse. It is made of a short and a +long syllable. At the beginning of a poem an unaccented +syllable seems weak; and so very frequently +the first foot of a poem is trochaic; often the first +two or three feet are of this kind. At such a place +the irregularity does not strike one. The following is +an illustration:—</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>“Un</td><td>der </td> + <td>a </td><td>spread</td> + <td>ing </td><td>chest</td> + <td>nut </td><td>tree</td></tr> +</table> + +<div class="i1"> +<table class="rthm" style="margin-bottom: 0;"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>The </td><td>vil</td> + <td>lage </td><td>smith</td> + <td>y </td><td>stands;</td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page280" id="page280">280</a> +The smith, a mighty man is he,</p> +<p class="i1">With large and sinewy hands;</p> +<p>And the muscles of his brawny arms</p> +<p class="i1">Are strong as iron bands.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>In this stanza the prevailing foot is iambic, but the +first foot is trochaic. In the following beautiful lines +by Ben Jonson, there is the same thing:—</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<table class="rthm" style="margin-bottom: 0;"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>“Drink </td><td>to </td> + <td>me </td><td>on</td> + <td>ly </td><td>with </td> + <td>thine </td><td>eyes</td></tr> +</table> + +<p class="i1">And I will pledge with mine;</p> +<p>Or leave a kiss but in the cup</p> +<p class="i1">And I’ll not look for wine.</p> +<p>The thirst that from the soul doth rise</p> +<p class="i1">Doth ask a drink divine;</p> +<p>But might I of Jove’s nectar sup,</p> +<p class="i1">I would not change for thine.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>A similar substitution may occur in any other verse +of the stanza; but we feel the change more than when +it is found in the first verse. The second stanza of +Jonson’s song furnishes an example of the substitution +of a trochee for an iambus:—</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p>“I sent thee late a rosy wreath,</p> +<div class="i1"> +<table class="rthm" style="margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0;"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>Not </td><td>so </td> + <td>much </td><td>hon</td> + <td>or</td><td>ing </td><td>thee</td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p>As giving it a hope that there</p> +<p class="i1">It could not withered be,</p> +<p>But thou thereon didst only breathe</p> +<p class="i1">And sent’st it back to me;</p> +<p>Since when it grows and smells, I swear,</p> +<p class="i1">Not of itself, but thee.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Of all the great poets, but few have been such masters +<a class="pgnm" name="page281" id="page281">281</a> +of the art of making musical verse as Spenser. +The following stanza is from “The Faerie Queene;” +and the delicate changes from one foot to another are +so skillfully made that one has to look twice before he +finds them.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td>“A </td><td>lit</td> + <td>tle </td><td>low</td> + <td>ly </td><td>her</td> + <td>mit</td><td>age </td> + <td>it </td><td>was,</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td>^</td><td> </td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td>Down </td><td>in </td> + <td>a </td><td>dale, </td> + <td>hard </td><td>by </td> + <td>a </td><td>for</td> + <td>est’s </td><td>side,</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td>^</td><td> </td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td>Far </td><td>from </td> + <td>res</td><td>ort </td> + <td>of </td><td>peo</td> + <td>ple </td><td>that </td> + <td>did </td><td>pass</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td>In </td><td>trav</td> + <td>el </td><td>to </td> + <td>and </td><td>fro; </td> + <td>a </td><td>lit</td> + <td>tle </td><td>wide</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td>There </td><td>was </td> + <td>a </td><td>ho</td> + <td>ly </td><td>chap</td> + <td>el </td><td>ed</td> + <td>i</td><td>fied,</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td>Where</td><td>in </td> + <td>a </td><td>her</td> + <td>mit </td><td>du</td> + <td>ly </td><td>wont </td> + <td>to </td><td>say</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td>His </td><td>ho</td> + <td>ly </td><td>things </td> + <td>each </td><td>morn </td> + <td>and </td><td>ev</td> + <td>en</td><td>tide;</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td>There</td><td>by </td> + <td>a </td><td>crys</td> + <td>tal </td><td>stream </td> + <td>did </td><td>gent</td> + <td>ly </td><td>play,</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td>^</td><td> </td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td> + <td> </td><td>^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td>Which </td><td>from </td> + <td>a </td><td>sac</td> + <td>red </td><td>foun</td> + <td>tain </td><td>wel</td> + <td>léd </td><td>forth </td> + <td>al</td><td>way.”</td></tr> +</table> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="sidenote">First and Last Foot.</span> +From the lines on “The Burial of Sir John Moore,” +another fact about metres may be derived. The second +and fourth lines apparently have one too +many syllables. <i>This may occur when the +accent is upon the last syllable of the foot;</i> that is, +when the foot is an iambus or an anapest.</p> + +<p>Again, the last foot of each line may be one syllable +short. <i>This may occur when the accent is on the first +syllable of a foot;</i> that is, when the foot is trochaic +or dactylic. The scheme is like this:</p> + +<blockquote> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td class="rbord"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>“Tell </td><td>me </td> + <td>not </td><td>in </td> + <td>mourn</td><td>ful </td> + <td>num</td><td>bers</td></tr> +</table> + +<div class="i1"> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td class="rbord"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8rest.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth rest"/> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td>Life </td><td>is </td> + <td>but </td><td>an </td> + <td>emp</td><td>ty </td> + <td>dream.”</td><td> </td></tr> +</table> +</div> +</blockquote> + +<p class="noind"><a class="pgnm" name="page282" id="page282">282</a> +The last foot of a verse of poetry, then, may have more +or fewer syllables than the regular number; still the +foot takes up the regular time and cannot be deemed +unrhythmical.</p> + +<p>The first foot of a line, too, may contain an extra +syllable; a good example has been given in the lines +on page <a href="#page273">273</a>, beginning,—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Ah, the autumn days fade out, and the nights grow chill.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p class="noind">And the first foot of a line may lack a syllable, as in +the first line of “Break, Break, Break,” by Tennyson.</p> + +<p>In a line like the following, it is sometimes difficult +to tell whether the syllable is omitted from the first or +the last foot. If from the first, the verse is iambic, +and is scanned like this:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> <img src="images/8rest.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth rest"/></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td> </td><td>“Proud </td> + <td>and </td><td>low</td> + <td>ly, </td><td>beg</td> + <td>gar </td><td>and </td><td>lord.”</td></tr> +</table> +</blockquote> + +<p class="noind">If the last foot is not full, the line is trochaic.</p> + +<blockquote> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td> </td><td> </td> + <td class="lbord">^</td><td class="rbord"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/8rest.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth rest"/> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td>“Proud </td><td>and </td> + <td>low</td><td>ly, </td> + <td>beg</td><td>gar </td><td>and </td> + <td>lord.” </td><td> </td></tr> +</table> +</blockquote> + +<p class="noind">Now if the whole of “London Bridge,” from which this +line is quoted, be read, there will be found several lines +that are trochaic beyond question; and the last line of +the chorus is iambic. The majority of trochaic lines +leads us to decide that the verse is trochaic. From +this example one learns to appreciate how nearly alike +are trochaic and iambic verses. Both are composed of +alternating accented and unaccented syllables; and the +kind of metre depends upon which comes first in the +foot. In Blake’s “Tiger, Tiger,” there is not a line +that clearly shows what kind of verse the poet used. +If the unaccented syllable is supplied at the beginning +the poem is iambic; if at the end, it is trochaic.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page283" id="page283">283</a> +“Tiger, Tiger, burning bright</p> +<p>In the forests of the night,</p> +<p>What immortal hand or eye</p> +<p>Framed thy fearful symmetry?”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Silences may occur in the middle of a verse of +poetry as well as at the beginning or the end. In the +following nursery rhyme it is clear that the prevailing +foot is anapestic, though several feet are iambic, and +in the first two lines and the last line a single syllable +makes a foot. Silences are introduced here as rests +are in music.</p> + +<blockquote> +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> <img src="images/8rest.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth rest"/></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"> <img src="images/8rest.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth rest"/></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"> <img src="images/8rest.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth rest"/></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td> </td><td>“Three </td> + <td> </td><td>blind </td> + <td> </td><td>mice!</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> <img src="images/8rest.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth rest"/></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"> <img src="images/8rest.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth rest"/></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td> </td><td>See </td> + <td> </td><td>how </td> + <td>they </td><td>run!</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td>Hur</td><td>rah, </td> + <td>hur</td><td>rah </td> + <td>for </td><td>the </td><td>farm</td> + <td>er’s </td><td>wife!</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td>She </td><td>cut </td> + <td>off </td><td>their </td><td>tails </td> + <td>with </td><td>a </td><td>carv</td> + <td>ing </td><td>knife!</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td>^</td> + <td class="lbord"> </td><td> </td><td class="rbord">^</td></tr> +<tr> + <td>Did </td><td>you </td><td>ev</td> + <td>er </td><td>see </td> + <td>such </td><td>a </td><td>sight </td> + <td>in </td><td>your </td><td>life</td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="rthm"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"><img src="images/8note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth note" /></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"> <img src="images/8rest.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth rest"/></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"> <img src="images/8rest.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth rest"/></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td>As </td><td>three </td> + <td> </td><td>blind </td> + <td> </td><td>mice!”</td></tr> +</table> +</blockquote> + +<p class="noind">Like this is the scansion of Tennyson’s “Break, Break, +Break.”</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="i1"> +<table class="rthm" style="margin-bottom: 0;"> +<tr> + <td class="lbord"> <img src="images/8rest.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth rest"/></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"> <img src="images/8rest.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth rest"/></td> + <td><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td> + <td class="lbord"> <img src="images/8rest.bmp" class="h1m" alt="eighth rest"/></td> + <td class="rbord"><img src="images/4note.bmp" class="h1m" alt="quarter note" /></td></tr> +<tr> + <td> </td><td>“Break, </td> + <td> </td><td>break, </td> + <td> </td><td>break!</td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<p>On thy cold gray stones, O sea!</p> +<p>And I would that my tongue could utter</p> +<p>The thoughts that arise in me.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>In scanning, then, it is necessary—</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page284" id="page284">284</a> +<i>First.</i> To determine by reading a number of verses +the kind of foot that predominates, and to make this +the basis of the metrical scheme.</p> + +<p><i>Second.</i> To remember that one kind of foot may be +substituted for another, at the will of the poet, introducing +into the poem a delicate variety of rhythm.</p> + +<p><i>Third.</i> To keep in mind that the first foot of a +verse and the last foot may have more or fewer syllables +than the regular foot of the poem.</p> + +<p><i>Fourth.</i> That silences, like rests in music, may be +introduced into a verse and give to it a perfect smoothness +of rhythm.</p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Kinds of Poetry.</span> +It is a difficult thing to give a definition of poetry. +Many have done so, yet no one has been fortunate +enough to have his definition go without criticism. +In general, it may be said that poetry +deals with serious subjects, that it appeals to the feelings +rather than to the reason, that it employs beautiful +language, and that it is written in some metrical +form.</p> + +<p>Poetry has been divided into three great classes: +narrative, lyric, and dramatic.</p> + +<p>Narrative poetry deals with events, real or imaginary. +It includes, among other varieties, the epic, the metrical +romance, the tale, and the ballad.</p> + +<p><i>The epic is a narrative poem of elevated character +telling generally of the exploits of heroes.</i> The +“Iliad” of the Greeks, the “Æneid” of the Romans, +the “Nibelungen Lied” of the Germans, “Beowulf” +of the Anglo-Saxons, and “Paradise Lost” are good +examples of the epic.</p> + +<p><i>The metrical romance is any fictitious narrative of +heroic, marvelous, or supernatural incidents derived +from history or legend, and told at considerable length.</i> +“The Idylls of the King” are romances.</p> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page285" id="page285">285</a> +The tale is but little different from the romance. It +leaves the field of legend and occupies the place in +poetry that a story or a novel does in prose. “Marmion” +and “Enoch Arden” are tales.</p> + +<p><i>A ballad is a short narrative poem, generally rehearsing +but one incident.</i> It is usually vigorous in +style, and gives but little thought to elegance. “Sir +Patrick Spens,” “The Battle of Otterburne,” and +“Chevy Chase” are examples.</p> + +<p>Lyric poetry finds its source in the author’s feelings +and emotions. In this it differs from narrative poems, +which find their material in external events and circumstances. +Epic poetry is written in a grand style, +generally in pentameter, or hexameter; while the lyric +adopts any verse that suits the emotion. The principal +classes of lyric poetry are the song, the ode, the +elegy, and the sonnet.</p> + +<p><i>The song is a short poem intended to be sung.</i> It +has great variety of metres and is generally divided +into stanzas. “Sweet and Low,” “Ye Banks and +Braes o’ Bonnie Doon,” “John Anderson, My Jo, +John,” are songs.</p> + +<p><i>An ode is a lyric expressing exalted emotion; it +usually has a complex and irregular metrical form.</i> +Collins’s “The Passions,” Wordsworth’s “Intimations +of Immortality,” and Lowell’s “Commemoration Ode,” +are well known.</p> + +<p><i>An elegy is a serious poem pervaded by a feeling of +melancholy.</i> It is generally written to commemorate +the death of some friend. Milton’s “Lycidas” and +Gray’s “Elegy in a Country Churchyard” are examples +of this form of lyric.</p> + +<p><i>A sonnet is a lyric that deals with a single +thought, idea, or sentiment in a fixed metrical form. +The sonnet always contains fourteen lines.</i> It has, +<a class="pgnm" name="page286" id="page286">286</a> +too, a very definite rhyme scheme. Some of the best +English sonnets have been written by Shakespeare, +Wordsworth, and Mrs. Browning.</p> + +<p>Dramatic poetry presents a course of human events, +and is generally designed to be spoken on the stage. +Because such poetry presents human character in +action, the term “dramatic” has come to be applied to +any poetry having this quality. Many of Browning’s +poems are dramatic in this sense. In the first sense of +the word, dramatic poetry includes tragedy and comedy.</p> + +<p><i>Tragedy is a drama in which the diction is dignified, +the movement impressive, and the ending unhappy.</i></p> + +<p><i>Comedy is a drama of a light and amusing character, +with a happy conclusion to its plot.</i></p> + +<p><span class="sidenote">Exercises in Metres.</span> +Enough of each poem is given below so that the +kind of metre can be determined. Always name the +verse form and write the verse scheme. +Some hard work will be necessary to work out +the irregular lines, but it is only by work on these that +any ability in scanning can be gained. Always read +a stanza two or three times to get the swing of the +rhythm. Remember the silences, and the substitutions +that may be made.</p> + +<ol> +<li class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“I stood on the bridge at midnight</p> +<p>As the clocks were striking the hour,</p> +<p>And the moon rose over the city,</p> +<p>Behind the dark church tower.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Among the long black rafters</p> +<p>The wavering shadows lay,</p> +<p>And the current that came from the ocean</p> +<p>Seemed to lift and bear them away.”</p> +</div></li> + +<li class="poem"><p>“All things are new;—the buds, the leaves,</p> +<p>That gild the elm-tree’s nodding crest,</p> +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page287" id="page287">287</a> +And even the nest beneath the eaves;—</p> +<p>There are no birds in last year’s nest!”</p> +</li> + +<li class="poem"><p>“Meanwhile we did our nightly chores,—</p> +<p>Brought in the wood from out of doors,</p> +<p>Littered the stalls, and from the mows</p> +<p>Raked down the herd’s-grass for the cows;</p> +<p>Heard the horse whinnying for his corn;</p> +<p>And, sharply clashing horn on horn,</p> +<p>Impatient down the stanchion rows</p> +<p>The cattle shake their walnut bows;</p> +<p>While, peering from his early perch</p> +<p>Upon the scaffold’s pole of birch,</p> +<p>The cock his crested helmet bent</p> +<p>And down his querulous challenge sent.”</p> +</li> + +<li class="poem"><p>“You know, we French stormed Ratisbon:</p> +<p>A mile or so away,</p> +<p>On a little mound, Napoleon</p> +<p>Stood on our storming day;</p> +<p>With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,</p> +<p>Legs wide, arms locked behind,</p> +<p>As if to balance the prone brow</p> +<p>Oppressive with its mind.”</p> +</li> + +<li class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"><p>“Come, read to me some poem,</p> +<p>Some simple and heartfelt lay,</p> +<p>That shall soothe this restless feeling,</p> +<p>And banish the thoughts of day.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"><p>“Not from the grand old masters,</p> +<p>Not from the bards sublime,</p> +<p>Whose distant footsteps echo</p> +<p>Through the corridors of Time.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"><p>“For, like strains of martial music,</p> +<p>Their mighty thoughts suggest</p> +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page288" id="page288">288</a> +Life’s endless toil and endeavor;</p> +<p>And to-night I long for rest.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"><p>“Read from some humbler poet</p> +<p>Whose songs gushed from his heart,</p> +<p>As showers from the clouds of summer,</p> +<p>Or tears from the eyelids start;</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"><p>“Who through long days of labor,</p> +<p>And nights devoid of ease,</p> +<p>Still heard in his soul the music</p> +<p>Of the wonderful melodies.”</p> +</div></li> + +<li class="poem"><p>“Hickory, dickery, dock,</p> +<p>The mouse ran up the clock;</p> +<p>The clock struck one,</p> +<p>And the mouse ran down;</p> +<p>Hickory, dickery, dock.”</p> +</li> + +<li class="poem"><p>“Two brothers had the maiden, and she thought,</p> +<p>Within herself: ‘I would I were like them;</p> +<p>For then I might go forth alone, to trace</p> +<p>The mighty rivers downward to the sea,</p> +<p>And upward to the brooks that, through the year,</p> +<p>Prattle to the cool valleys. I would know</p> +<p>What races drink their waters; how their chiefs</p> +<p>Bear rule, and how men worship there, and how</p> +<p>They build, and to what quaint device they frame,</p> +<p>Where sea and river meet, their stately ships;</p> +<p>What flowers are in their gardens, and what trees</p> +<p>Bear fruit within their orchards; in what garb</p> +<p>Their bowmen meet on holidays, and how</p> +<p>Their maidens bind the waist and braid the hair.’”</p> +</li> +</ol> + +<p>(In this quotation we have blank verse; that is, verse +that does not rhyme. It is iambic pentameter,—the most +common verse in great English poetry. What poems are +you familiar with that use this verse-form?)</p> + +<ol> +<li value="8" class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"><a class="pgnm" name="page289" id="page289">289</a> +<p>“A wet sheet and a flowing sea,</p> +<p>A wind that follows fast</p> +<p>And fills the rustling sails</p> +<p>And bends the gallant mast;</p> +<p>And bends the gallant mast, my boys,</p> +<p>While like the eagle free</p> +<p>Away the good ship flies, and leaves</p> +<p>Old England on the lee.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"><p>“O for a soft and gentle wind;</p> +<p>I heard a fair one cry;</p> +<p>But give to me the snoring breeze</p> +<p>And white waves heaving high;</p> +<p>And white waves heaving high, my lads,</p> +<p>The good ship tight and free—</p> +<p>The world of waters is our home,</p> +<p>And merry men are we.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"><p>“There’s tempest in yon horned moon,</p> +<p>And lightning in yon cloud;</p> +<p>But hark the music, mariners!</p> +<p>The wind is piping loud;</p> +<p>The wind is piping loud, my boys,</p> +<p>The lightning flashes free—</p> +<p>While the hollow oak our palace is,</p> +<p>Our heritage the sea.”</p> +</div></li> + +<li class="poem"><p>“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,</p> +<p>Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,</p> +<p>While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,</p> +<p>As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door—</p> +<p>‘’T is some visitor,’ I muttered, ‘tapping at my chamber door—</p> +<p class="i5">Only this, and nothing more.’”</p> +</li> + +<li class="poem"><p><a class="pgnm" name="page290" id="page290">290</a> +“Somewhat back from the village street</p> +<p>Stands the old-fashioned country-seat,</p> +<p>Across its antique portico</p> +<p>Tall poplar trees their shadows throw;</p> +<p>And from its station in the hall</p> +<p>An ancient timepiece says to all,—</p> +<p class="i3">‘Forever—never!</p> +<p class="i3">Never—forever!’”</p> +</li> + +<li class="poem"><p>“Listen, my children, and you shall hear</p> +<p>Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,</p> +<p>On the eighteenth of April, in seventy-five;</p> +<p>Hardly a man is now alive</p> +<p>Who remembers that famous day and year.”</p> +</li> + +<li class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"><p>“Sweet and low, sweet and low,</p> +<p>Wind of the western sea,</p> +<p>Low, low, breathe and blow,</p> +<p>Wind of the western sea!</p> +<p>Over the rolling waters go,</p> +<p>Come from the dying moon, and blow,</p> +<p>Blow him again to me;</p> +<p>While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"><p>“Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,</p> +<p>Father will come to thee soon;</p> +<p>Rest, rest, on mother’s breast,</p> +<p>Father will come to thee soon;</p> +<p>Father will come to his babe in the nest—</p> +<p>Silver sails all out of the west</p> +<p>Under the silver moon:</p> +<p>Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.”</p> +</div></li> + +<li class="poem"><p>“See what a lovely shell,</p> +<p>Small and pure as a pearl,</p> +<p>Lying close to my foot,</p> +<p>Frail, but a work divine,</p> +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page291" id="page291">291</a> +Made so fairily well</p> +<p>With delicate spire and whorl,</p> +<p>How exquisitely minute,</p> +<p>A miracle of design!”</p> +</li> +</ol> + +<p>(If the pupils have Palgrave’s “Golden Treasury of Songs +and Lyrics,” they have a great fund of excellent material +illustrating all varieties of metrical variation. There are +very few pieces of literature that illustrate so many varieties +of metre as Wordsworth’s “Ode on the Intimations of Immortality.”)</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="page292" id="page292">292</a><br /> +<a class="pgnm" name="page293" id="page293">293</a></div> + +<h3>APPENDIX</h3> + +<p class="ctr"><a name="appendixA" id="appendixA" /><b>A. SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS.</b></p> + +<p>The Course of Study on pages <a href="#pagexx">xx</a>-<a href="#pagexxvi">xxvi</a> contemplates five +days a week for the study of English. The text which is to +be the subject of the term’s work should first be studied +for a few weeks. After it has been mastered, three days of +each week should be given to literature and two to composition. +In practice I have found it best to have the study of +literature occupy three consecutive days,—for example, +Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. This arrangement +leaves Monday and Friday for composition. Friday is used +for the study of the text-book and for general criticism and +suggestion. On Monday the compositions should be written +in the classroom. To have them so written is, at least during +the first year, distinctly better. The first draft of the composition +should be brought to class ready for amendment +and copying. During the writing the teacher should be +among the pupils offering assistance, and insisting upon good +penmanship. Care at the beginning will form a habit of +neatness, and keep the penmanship up to a high standard.</p> + +<p>The arrangement suggested is only one plan. This +works well. Many others may be adopted. But no plan +should be accepted which makes the number of essays fewer +than one a week; nor should the number of days given to +literature be smaller than three a week.</p> + +<p>During the second year, if the instructor thinks it can be +done without loss, the compositions may be written outside +of school hours and brought to class on a definite day. A +pupil should not be allowed to put off the writing of a composition +any more than a lesson in geometry. On Monday +of each week a composition should be handed in; irregularity +only makes the work displeasing and leads to shirking. +Writing out of school gives more time for criticism and +<a class="pgnm" name="page294" id="page294">294</a> +study of composition, and during the second year this extra +time is much needed.</p> + +<p>By the third year the pupils certainly can do the work +out of school. As the compositions increase in length, more +time will be necessary for their preparation. The teacher +should, however, know exactly what progress has been made +each week; and by individual criticisms and by wise suggestions +she should help the pupil to meet the difficulties of +his special case.</p> + +<p>In order that the instructor may have time for individual +criticism, she should have two periods each day vacant in +which to meet pupils for consultation. To make this clear, +suppose that a teacher of English has one hundred pupils in +her classes. She should have no more, for one hundred +essays a week are enough for any person to correct. If +there be six recitation periods daily, place twenty-five pupils +in each of four sections for the study of literature, composition, +and general criticism. This leaves two periods each +day to meet individuals, giving ten pupils for each period. +These should come on scheduled days, with the same regularity +as for class recitation. The pupil’s work should have +been handed in on the second day before he comes up for +consultation, in order that the teacher may be competent to +give criticisms of any value. The inspiration of the first +reading cannot be depended upon to suggest any help, nor is +there time for such a reading during the recitation.</p> + +<p>There will be need of class recitation in argument. Ten +days or two weeks are all that is necessary for text-book +work. This should be done before pupils read the “Conciliation.” +In the reading constantly keep before the pupils +the methods of the author.</p> + +<p>Every teacher should be able to do what she asks of the +pupils. No person would dare to offer herself as a teacher +of Latin or algebra until she could write all the translations +of the one and solve all the problems of the other. Yet there +are persons who have the audacity to offer their services as +teachers of English, when they cannot write a letter correctly, +to say nothing of a more formal piece of composition. +<a class="pgnm" name="page295" id="page295">295</a> +If an instructor in physics, who had asked his pupils to solve +a problem in electricity, should say to each unfortunate person +as he handed in his solution, “No, that isn’t right; +you’ll have to try again,” without offering any help or suggestion, +and should continue this discouraging process until +some bright pupil worked it out, or perhaps some one guessed +it, we should say that such a person was no instructor at all. +We might go so far as to question his intellectual competency. +We certainly should think him quite deserving of +dismissal. Still many teachers of English do nothing more +than say, “It isn’t right. Make it so.” If the teacher +does not know how to do the thing she asks the pupils to do, +she should not be teaching. And even when she can do it, +she will often benefit herself and the pupils by actually writing +the composition. In this way not only does she gain +command of her own powers of expression, but she finds out +the difficulties with which the pupils have to contend. Every +teacher of English composition should be able to do some +creditable work in English; and every teacher of English +should put this talent into actual use.</p> + +<p>Numerous examples of correct paragraphs, well-made sentences, +and apt words have not been included in the text. +They have been omitted because they can be found in the +literature study. It is better for pupils to find these for +themselves. It will put them in the way of reading with the +senses always alert for something good; and all good paragraphs +and sentences lose something of their beautiful adaptation +when torn from the place of their birth and growth.</p> + +<p>So, too, there are no long lists of errors. One hundred +pupils in a term make enough to fill a volume. When a +teacher knows that Sentences is to be her next subject she +should begin three months in advance to get a good collection +of specimens. These should be classified so that they +may be most usable. By the time the class comes to the +study of Sentences some new, live material will be on hand +for illustration.</p> + +<p>In the pupils’ exercises each week those errors should be +singled out and dwelt upon which are the special subject of +<a class="pgnm" name="page296" id="page296">296</a> +text-book work. If the pupils are studying Coherence in +sentence structure, select all violations of this principle in +the week’s exercises, and by means of them nail that one +principle down instead of trying to lay down the whole set +of principles given in the chapter on Sentences. Alongside +of this collection of mistakes in Coherence of sentences show +the pupils the best examples of tight-jointed sentences to be +found in the literature they are studying. Point out how +these sentences have been made to hold together, and how +their own shambling creations can be corrected.</p> + +<p>Some teachers will fear the amount of literature required. +It may seem large, especially in the first two years. It certainly +would be quite impossible to read aloud in class all of +this. However, that is not intended. There would be but +sorry progress either in the course of study or in the power +to analyze literature if the class time were taken up with +oral reading of narration and description. The whole of a +short story or one or two chapters of a novel are not too +much for a lesson. The discussion of the meaning and the +method of the author should take up the largest part of the +time. Then such portions should be read aloud as are +especially suited to an exercise in oral reading. In this way +the apparently large list will be easily covered within the time.</p> + +<p>Moreover, there is distinct gain in reading much. If only +three or four pages be given for a lesson, the study of literature +degenerates into a study of words. A study of words +is necessary, but it is only a part of the study of literature. +Such a method of study gives the pupil no sense of values. +He does not get out into the wide spaces of the author’s +thought, but is eternally hedged about by the dwarfing barriers +of etymology and grammar.</p> + +<p class="ctr"><a name="appendixB" id="appendixB" /><b>B. THE FORM OF A COMPOSITION.</b></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Margin.</span> It is the custom to leave a margin of +about an inch at the left side of the page. In this margin +the corrections should be written, not in the composition. +There should be no margin at the right. The device of +<a class="pgnm" name="page297" id="page297">297</a> +writing incomplete lines, or of making each sentence a paragraph, +is sometimes adopted by young persons in the hope +of deceiving the teacher as to the length of the composition. +Remember that pages do not count for literature any more +than yards of hideous advertising boards count as art. Write +a full page with a straight-lined margin at the left.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Indention.</span> To designate the beginning of a new +paragraph, it is customary to have the first line begin an +inch farther in than the other lines. This indention of the +margin and the incomplete line at the end mark the visible +limits of the paragraph.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Heading.</span> The heading or title of the composition +should be written about an inch and a half from the top of +the page, and well placed in the middle from left to right. +There should be a blank line between the title and the beginning +of the composition. Some persons prefer, in addition +to the title, the name of the writer and the date of writing,—an +unnecessary addition, it seems to me. If they are +to appear, the name should be at the left and the date at the +right, both on one line. The title will be on the next line +below.</p> + +<blockquote> +<table width="100%" style="margin-bottom: 0;" summary="Author/date of sample composition"> + <tr> + <td><p class="script">Jay Phillips.</p></td> + <td><p class="script" style="text-align: right;">Jan. 27, 1900.</p></td> + </tr> +</table> + +<p class="ctr script" style="margin-top: 0;">The Circus-Man’s Story.</p> + +<p class="script">“There was once an old man whom +they called a wizard, and who lived in a +great cave by the sea and raised dragons. +Now when I was a very little boy, I had +read a great deal about this old man and +felt as if he were quite a friend of mine. +I had planned for a long time to pay +him a visit, although I had not decided +<a class="pgnm" name="page298" id="page298">298</a> +just when I should start. But the day +Jim White’s father brought him that +camel, I was crazy to be after my +dragon at once.</p> + +<p class="script">“When bedtime came, I had made all +my plans; and scarcely had Nurse turned +her back when I was on my way. It +was really very far, but I traveled so +swiftly that I arrived in a remarkably +short time at the wizard’s house. When +I rapped, he opened the door and asked +me in.</p> + +<p class="script">“‘I came to see if you had any dragons +left,’ I told him. ‘I should like a very +good, gentle dragon,’ I added, ‘that would +not scare Nurse; and if it is isn’t too much +trouble, I should want one that I could +ride.’”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Indorsement.</span> When the composition is finished, +it should be folded but once up and down the middle of the +page. The indorsement upon the back is generally written +toward the edges of the leaves, not toward the folded edge. +I prefer the other way, however; and for this reason. If +in a bunch of essays a teacher is searching for a particular +one, she generally holds them in the left hand and with the +<a class="pgnm" name="page299" id="page299">299</a> +fingers of the right lifts one essay after another. Indorsing +toward the folded edge insures lifting a whole essay every +time; while if the edges of the leaves be toward the right +hand, too many or too few may be lifted.</p> + +<p>The indorsement should contain: first, the name of the +writer; second, the term and period of his recitation; third, +the title of the essay; and fourth, the date. In describing +the class and period, it is well to use a Roman numeral for +the term, counting two terms in each year, and an Arabic +numeral to denote the period of his recitation.</p> + +<div class="ctr"><img src="images/composition.gif" alt="Sample composition"/></div> + +<p><a class="pgnm" name="page300" id="page300">300</a> +<span class="smcap">Penmanship.</span> The penmanship should be neat and legible. +Not all persons can write elegantly; but all can write +so that their work can be easily read, and all can make +a clean page. Scribbling is due to carelessness. A scribbled +page points to a scribbling mind; clean-cut handwriting, +perhaps not Spencerian, but a clear, legible handwriting +is not only an indication of clear-cut thinking but a +means and promoter of accurate thought. Moreover, as a +business proposition, one cannot afford to become a slovenly +penman. Every composition should be a lesson in penmanship, +and by so much improve one’s chances in the business +world. And last, the teacher who has to read and correct +the compositions of from one hundred to two hundred persons +each week demands some consideration. No one but +a teacher knows the drudgery of this work; it can be much +lightened if each pupil writes so that the composition can be +read without difficulty. By doing this, the pupil is sure of +better criticism; for the teacher can give all her attention +to the composition, none being demanded for the penmanship.</p> + +<p class="ctr"><a name="appendixC" id="appendixC" /><b>C. MARKS FOR CORRECTION OF COMPOSITIONS.</b></p> + +<p>In correcting compositions certain abbreviations will save +a teacher much time. Some of the common ones are given +below. Underscore the element that needs correcting, and +put the abbreviation in the margin. In case the whole paragraph +needs remodeling, draw a line at its side and note the +correction in the margin.</p> + +<table class="topalign" summary="Marks for correction of compositions"> +<tr><td>Cap.</td><td>Use a capital letter.</td></tr> +<tr><td>l. c.</td><td>Use a small letter.</td></tr> +<tr><td>D.</td><td>See the dictionary for the correct use of the word.</td></tr> +<tr><td>Sp.</td><td>Spelling.</td></tr> +<tr><td>Gr.</td><td>A mistake in grammatical use of language.</td></tr> +<tr><td>Cnst.</td><td>The construction of the sentence is awkward or unidiomatic.</td></tr> +<tr><td><a class="pgnm" name="page301" id="page301">301</a> + Cl.</td><td>Not clear. The remedy may be suggested by reference to certain pages of the text.</td></tr> +<tr><td>W.</td><td>Weak. As above, point out the trouble by a page reference.</td></tr> +<tr><td>Rep.</td><td>Repetition is monotonous; or it may be necessary for clearness.</td></tr> +<tr><td>p.</td><td>Punctuation.</td></tr> +<tr><td>Cond.</td><td>Condense.</td></tr> +<tr><td>Exp.</td><td>Expand.</td></tr> +<tr><td>Tr.</td><td>Transpose.</td></tr> +<tr><td>?</td><td>Some fault not designated. It is well to use page reference.</td></tr> +<tr><td>¶</td><td>Make a new paragraph.</td></tr> +<tr><td>No ¶</td><td>Unite into one paragraph.</td></tr> +<tr><td>δ</td><td>Cut out.</td></tr> +<tr><td>^</td><td>There is something omitted.</td></tr> +</table> + +<p>In addition to the above very common corrections, many +others should be made. Instead of abbreviations, it will be +better to refer the pupil to the page of the book which treats +of the special fault. For instance, if there be an unexpected +change of construction, underscore it, and write in the margin +“<a href="#page226">226</a>;” on this page is found “parallel construction” +of sentences. It may be well to use the letters U., C., and +M., in connection with the page numbers to indicate that the +fault is in the unity, coherence, or mass of the element to be +corrected. The constant reference to the fuller statement of +the principles violated will serve to fix them in the mind.</p> + +<p class="ctr"><a name="appendixD" id="appendixD" /><b>D. PUNCTUATION.</b></p> + +<p>Punctuation seeks to do for written composition what +inflections and pauses accomplish in vocal expression. It +makes clear what kind of an expression the whole sentence +is: whether declarative, exclamatory, or interrogative. And +it assists in indicating the relations of the different parts +within a sentence. While there is practically uniformity in +the method of punctuation at the end of a sentence, within a +<a class="pgnm" name="page302" id="page302">302</a> +sentence punctuation shows much variety of method. Where +one person uses a comma, another inserts a semicolon; and +where one finds a semicolon sufficient, another requires a +colon. It should be remembered that the parts of a sentence +have not equal rank; and that the difference in rank should, +as far as possible, be indicated by the marks of punctuation. +Keeping in mind, also, the fact that the internal marks of +punctuation,—the colon, the semicolon, and the comma,—have +a rank in the order mentioned, from the greatest to the +least, a writer will use the stronger marks when the rank of +the parts of a sentence demands them, and the weaker marks +to separate the lesser elements of the sentence. The sentences +below illustrate the variety which may be practiced, +and the use of punctuation to show the relation and rank of +the elements of a sentence.</p> + +<ol> +<li>Internal punctuation is largely a matter of taste but +there are definite rules for final punctuation.</li> + +<li>Internal punctuation is largely a matter of taste; there +are, however, definite rules for final punctuation.</li> + +<li>Internal punctuation, the purpose of which is to group +phrases and clauses which belong together and to separate +those which do not belong together, and to indicate the relative +rank of the parts separated, is, to a great extent, a matter +of taste: on the other hand, there are definite rules for +final punctuation, the object of which is to separate sentences, +and also to assist in telling what kind of a sentence precedes +it; that is, whether it be declarative, interrogative, or exclamatory.</li> +</ol> + +<p>Looking at the first sentence, we find two elements of +equal rank separated by a comma. Some authors would +prefer no punctuation at all in a sentence as short as this. +Again, if one wished to make the two elements very independent, +he would use a semicolon. There would be but +little difference in meaning between no punctuation and a +comma; but there is a wide difference in meaning between +no punctuation and a semicolon. The independence caused +by the use of the semicolon is felt in the second sentence, +where the words are the same except one. In this sentence +<a class="pgnm" name="page303" id="page303">303</a> +a colon might be used; and one might go so far as to make +two sentences of it. Notice that in these two sentences the +question is how independent you wish the elements to be, and +it is also a question of taste. In the third sentence, there +are elements of different rank. To indicate the rank, punctuation +of different value must be introduced. The two independent +elements are separated by a colon. A semicolon +might be used, if a semicolon were not used within the second +independent element. This renders the greater mark necessary. +Look at the commas in the first independent element. +The assertion is that “internal punctuation is a matter of +taste.” This is too sweeping. It is modified by an explanatory +phrase, “to a large extent;” and this phrase is inclosed +by commas. Moreover, the long clause indicating the purpose +of internal punctuation is inclosed by commas. The +use of a semicolon in the second part falls under the third +rule for the semicolon. If one should substitute for this +semicolon a comma and a dash, he could use a semicolon instead +of a colon for separating the two main divisions of the +sentence. However, the method in which they are first +punctuated is in accord with the rules generally accepted. +The simplest of these rules are given below but one must +never be surprised to find a piece of literature in which the +internal punctuation is at variance with these rules.</p> + +<p class="ctr">CAPITAL LETTERS.</p> + +<ol> +<li>A capital letter begins every new sentence.</li> + +<li>A capital letter begins every line of poetry.</li> + +<li>All names of Deity begin with a capital letter.</li> + +<li>All proper names begin with capital letters.</li> + +<li>All adjectives derived from proper nouns begin with +capital letters.</li> + +<li>The first word of every direct quotation begins with a +capital letter.</li> + +<li>Most abbreviations use capital letters.</li> +</ol> + +<p class="ctr">COMMAS.</p> + +<ol> +<li value="8"><p>A series of words or a series of phrases, performing +<a class="pgnm" name="page304" id="page304">304</a> +similar functions in a sentence, are separated from each +other by commas, unless all the connectives are expressed.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p class="i3">“Her voice was ever soft,</p> +<p>Gentle, and low,—an excellent thing in woman.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p class="i9">“Good my lord,</p> +<p>You have begot me, bred me, loved me: I</p> +<p>Return those duties back as are right fit,</p> +<p>Obey you, love you, and most honor you.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p>But, “shining and tall and fair and straight,” because all the connectives +are expressed.</p> +</blockquote> +</li> + +<li><p>Words out of their natural order are separated from +the rest of the sentence by commas.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“To the unlearned, punctuation is a matter of chance.”</p> +</blockquote> +</li> + +<li><p>Words and phrases, either explanatory or slightly +parenthetical, are separated from the rest of the sentence +by commas.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p class="i6">“Then poor Cordelia!</p> +<p>And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love ’s</p> +<p>More richer than my tongue.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>However when phrases and clauses are quite parenthetic, +they are separated from the remainder of the sentence by +parentheses, or by commas and dashes. The comma and +dash is more common, and generally indicates a lesser independence +of the inclosed element.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Then Miss Gunns smiled stiffly, and thought what a pity it was that +these rich country people, who could afford to buy such good clothes +(really Miss Nancy’s lace and silk were very costly), should be brought +up in utter ignorance and vulgarity.”</p> +</blockquote> +</li> + +<li><p>The nominative of direct address, and phrases in the +nominative absolute construction are cut off by commas.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p class="i9">“Goneril,</p> +<p>Our eldest born, speak first.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p>“The ridges being taken, the troops advanced a thousand yards.”</p> +</blockquote> +</li> + +<li><p>Appositive words and phrases are separated from the +remainder of the sentence by commas.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“In the early years of this century, such a linen weaver, named Silas +Marner, worked at his vocation, in a stone cottage that stood among the +nutty hedgerows near the village of Raveloe, and not far from the edge +of a deserted stone-pit.”</p> +</blockquote> +</li> + +<li><p><a class="pgnm" name="page305" id="page305">305</a> +When words are omitted, the omission is indicated by +the use of a comma.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p class="i3">“Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor;</p> +<p>Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despis’d!”</p> +</blockquote> +</li> + +<li><p>A comma is used before a short and informal quotation.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“In the bitterness of his wounded spirit, he said to himself, ‘<i>She</i> +will cast me off too.’”</p> +</blockquote> +</li> + +<li><p>A comma is used to separate the independent clauses +of a compound sentence sufficiently involved to necessitate +some mark of punctuation, and yet not involved enough to +require marks of different ranks.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“But about the Christmas of the fifteenth year a second great change +came over Marner’s life, and his history became blent in a singular +manner with the life of his neighbors.”</p> +</blockquote> +</li> + +<li><p>Small groups of more closely related words are inclosed +by commas to indicate their near relation and to +separate them from words they might otherwise be thought +to modify.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“In this strange world, made a hopeless riddle to him, he might, if +he had had a less intense nature, have sat weaving, weaving—looking +towards the end of his pattern, or towards the end of his web, till he forgot +the riddle, and everything else but his immediate sensations; but +the money had come to mark off his weaving into periods, and the +money not only grew, but it remained with him.”</p> +</blockquote> +</li> +</ol> + +<p class="ctr">SEMICOLONS.</p> + +<ol> +<li value="17"><p>A semicolon is used to separate the parts of a compound +sentence if they are involved, or contain commas. It +is also used to give independence to the members of a compound +sentence when not very complex.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“The meadow was searched in vain; and he got over the stile into +the next field, looking with dying hope towards a small pond which +was now reduced to its summer shallowness, so as to leave a wide margin +of good adhesive mud.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p>“As for the child, he would see that it was cared for; he would never +forsake it; he would do everything but own it.”</p> +</blockquote> +</li> + +<li><p>Semicolons are used to separate a series of clauses in +<a class="pgnm" name="page306" id="page306">306</a> +much the same way as commas are used to separate a series +of words.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p>“I love you more than words can wield the matter;</p> +<p>Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty;</p> +<p>Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare;</p> +<p>No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honor;</p> +<p>As much as child e’er loved, or father found;</p> +<p>A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable;</p> +<p>Beyond all manner of so much I love thee.”</p> +</blockquote> +</li> + +<li>A semicolon is generally used to introduce a clause of +repetition, a clause stating the obverse, and a clause stating an +inference.</li> +</ol> + +<p>(Many examples of the last two rules will be found in the +discussion of compound sentences on pages <a href="#page202">202</a>, <a href="#page203">203</a>.)</p> + +<p class="ctr">COLONS.</p> + +<ol> +<li value="20"><p>A colon is used to introduce a formal quotation. It +is frequently followed by a dash.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Under date of November 28, 1860, she wrote to a friend:—</p> + +<p>“‘I am engaged now in writing a story—the idea of which came to +me after our arrival in this house, and which has thrust itself between +me and the other book I was meditating. It is Silas Manner, the +Weaver of Raveloe.’”</p> + +<p>“On the last day of the same year she wrote: ‘I am writing a story +which came across my other plans by a sudden inspiration, etc.’”</p> +</blockquote> +</li> + +<li><p>A colon is used to introduce a series of particulars, +either appositional or explanatory, which the reader has been +led to expect by the first clause of the sentence. These particulars +are separated from each other by semicolons.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“The study of the principles of composition should include the following +subjects: a study of words as to their origin and meaning; a +study of the structure of the sentence and of the larger elements of +discourse—in other words, of concrete logic; a study of the principles +of effective literary composition, as illustrated in the various divisions +of literature; and also a study of the æsthetics of literature.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p>“What John Morley once said of literature as a whole is even more +accurate when applied to fiction alone: its purpose is ‘to bring sunshine +into our hearts and to drive moonshine out of our heads.’”</p> +</blockquote> +</li> + +<li><p>A colon is used to separate the major parts of a very +<a class="pgnm" name="page307" id="page307">307</a> +complex and involved sentence, if the major parts, or either +of them, contain within themselves semicolons.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“For four years he had thought of Nancy Lammeter, and wooed her +with a tacit patient worship, as the woman who made him think of the +future with joy: she would be his wife, and would make home lovely +to him, as his father’s home had never been; and it would be easy, +when she was always near, to shake off those foolish habits that were +no pleasures, but only a feverish way of annulling vacancy.”</p> +</blockquote> +</li> + +<li><p>A colon is sometimes used to mark a strong independence +in the parts of a compound sentence.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“He didn’t want to give Godfrey that pleasure: he preferred that +Master Godfrey should be vexed.”</p> +</blockquote> +</li> +</ol> + +<p class="ctr">THE DASH.</p> + +<ol> +<li value="24"><p>A dash is frequently used with a colon to introduce a +formal quotation. The quotation then begins a new paragraph.</p> + +<p>(Example under colon.)</p> +</li> + +<li><p>A dash is used alone or with a comma to inclose a +phrase or clause which is parenthetic or explanatory.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“‘But as for being ugly, look at me, child, in this silver-colored silk—I +told you how it ’ud be—I look as yallow as a daffadil.’”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>(Example under comma.)</p> +</li> + +<li><p>A dash is used to denote a sudden turn of the thought.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“I’ve no opinion of the men, Miss Gunn—I don’t know what <i>you</i> +have.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p>“‘It does make her look funny, though—partly like a short-necked +bottle wi’ a long quill in it.’”</p> +</blockquote> +</li> + +<li><p>A dash is frequently used when the composition should +be interrupted to indicate the intensity of the emotion.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“‘No—no—I can’t part with it, I can’t let it go,’ said Silas +abruptly. ‘It’s come to me—I’ve a right to keep it.’”</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p>“And my poor fool is hang’d! No, no, no life!</p> +<p>Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,</p> +<p>And thou no breath at all? Thou’lt come no more,</p> +<p>Never, never, never, never, never!—</p> +<p>Pray you, undo this button:—thank you, sir.—</p> +<p>Do you see this? Look on her,—look,—her lips,—</p> +<p>Look there, look there!”—</p> +</blockquote> +</li> + +<li><p><a class="pgnm" name="page308" id="page308">308</a> +A dash is sometimes used alone before an appositive +phrase or clause.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“For the first time he determined to try the coal-hole—a small +closet near the hearth.”</p> +</blockquote> +</li> +</ol> + +<p class="ctr">PERIOD, EXCLAMATION POINT, INTERROGATION MARK.</p> + +<ol> +<li value="29">A period closes every declarative sentence.</li> + +<li>A period is used after abbreviations.</li> + +<li>An exclamation point follows an expression of strong +emotion.</li> + +<li>An interrogation mark follows a direct question.</li> + +<li><p>An interrogation mark is sometimes used in the body +of a sentence, when the writer wishes to make the assertion +forceful and uses a rhetorical question for the purpose.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“The shepherd’s dog barked fiercely when one of these alien-looking +men appeared on the upland, dark against the early winter sunset; +for what dog likes a figure bent under a heavy bag?—and these pale +men rarely stirred abroad without that mysterious burden.”</p> +</blockquote> +</li> + +<li>Quotation marks inclose every quotation of the exact +words of another. When one quotation is made within +another, the inner or secondary quotation is inclosed with +single marks, the main or outer quotation is included within +the double marks.</li> +</ol> + +<p>(Examples of both may be found above.)</p> + +<p class="ctr">SUGGESTIONS FOR TEACHING PUNCTUATION.</p> + +<p>At the time the pupils are studying the rules for punctuation +they are reading Hawthorne or some other author equally +careful of his punctuation. In his writing they will find +numerous examples of the rules for punctuation. Let them +take five rules for the comma, finding all the examples in +five pages of text. In the same way furnish semicolons, +colons, and dashes. When the rules have all been learned, +they should be able to give the reason for every mark they +find in literature. Next place upon the board paragraphs +not punctuated, and have the pupils punctuate them. Remember +that there is not absolute uniformity in the use of +<a class="pgnm" name="page309" id="page309">309</a> +the comma, semicolon, and colon; though in each author +there is a general adherence to the principles he adopts. +Punctuation should be consistent. Insist that the pupil +punctuate his written work consistently.</p> + +<p class="ctr"><a name="appendixE" id="appendixE" /><b>E. SUPPLEMENTARY LIST OF LITERATURE.<a class="ftnt" id="footref_57" name="footref_57" href="#footnote_57">57</a></b></p> + +<table class="topalign" summary="Supplementary list of literature"> +<tr><td class="smcap">Hawthorne</td><td>A Wonder-Book for Girls and Boys.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Tennyson</td><td>Enoch Arden.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Longfellow</td><td>Tales of a Wayside Inn.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Whittier</td><td>The Tent on the Beach.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Macaulay</td><td>Lays of Ancient Rome.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Dickens</td><td>A Christmas Carol.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Kipling</td><td>Wee Willie Winkie, and Other Stories.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Kipling</td><td>The Jungle Books.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Hawthorne</td><td>Twice-Told Tales.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Hawthorne</td><td>Mosses from an Old Manse.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Dickens</td><td>The Cricket on the Hearth.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Brown</td><td>Rab and his Friends.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Ouida</td><td>A Dog of Flanders.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Hale</td><td>The Man without a Country.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Defoe</td><td>Robinson Crusoe.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Poe</td><td>The Gold-Bug.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Scott</td><td>Marmion.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Scott</td><td>The Lady of the Lake.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Browning</td><td>Hervé Riel, an Incident of the French Camp, and other Narrative Poems.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Franklin</td><td>Autobiography.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Cooper</td><td>The Last of the Mohicans.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Longfellow</td><td>Evangeline.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Longfellow</td><td>Miles Standish.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Davis</td><td>Gallegher, and Other Stories.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Maupassant</td><td>Number Thirteen.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Miss Wilkins</td><td>Short Stories.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Miss Jewett</td><td>Short Stories.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Pope</td><td>The Iliad.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Aldrich</td><td>Marjorie Daw.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Lowell</td><td>The Vision of Sir Launfal, and Other Poems.</td></tr> +<tr><td><a class="pgnm" name="page310" id="page310">310</a> + <span class="smcap">Irving</span></td><td>Tales of a Traveller.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Irving</td><td>The Sketch Book.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Poe</td><td>The Fall of the House of Usher.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Whittier</td><td>Snow-Bound.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Burroughs</td><td>Sharp Eyes; Birds and Bees; Pepacton.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Goldsmith</td><td>The Deserted Village.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Scott</td><td>Ivanhoe.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Dickens</td><td>David Copperfield.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Shakespeare</td><td>Julius Cæsar.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Shakespeare</td><td>The Merchant of Venice.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Irving</td><td>Rip Van Winkle.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Irving</td><td>The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Bryant</td><td>Selected Poems.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Gray</td><td>An Elegy in a Country Churchyard.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Tennyson</td><td>The Princess; Idylls of the King.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Dickens</td><td>The Pickwick Papers.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Burns</td><td>Selected Poems.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Dryden</td><td>Alexander’s Feast.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Byron</td><td>Childe Harold.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">George Eliot</td><td>Silas Marner.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Coleridge</td><td>The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Macaulay</td><td>Essay on Milton.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Ruskin</td><td>Sesame and Lilies.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Emerson</td><td>Friendship; Self-Reliance; Fortune of the Republic; The American Scholar.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Arnold</td><td>On the Study of Poetry; Wordsworth and Keats.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Lowell</td><td>Emerson, the Lecturer; Milton; Books and Libraries.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Holmes</td><td>The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Addison</td><td>The Sir Roger de Coverley Papers.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Wordsworth</td><td>Intimations of Immortality, and Other Poems.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Keats</td><td>Selected Poems.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Shelley</td><td>Selected Poems.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Shakespeare</td><td>Macbeth.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Shakespeare</td><td>A Midsummer Night’s Dream.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Shakespeare</td><td>As You Like It.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Webster</td><td>Bunker Hill Monument Oration; Adams and Jefferson.</td></tr> +<tr><td><a class="pgnm" name="page311" id="page311">311</a> + <span class="smcap">Goldsmith</span></td><td>The Vicar of Wakefield.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Milton</td><td>L’Allegro; Il Penseroso; Comus; Lycidas.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">De Quincey</td><td>Confessions of an English Opium Eater, and Other Papers.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">John Henry Newman</td><td>Selected Essays.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Thackeray</td><td>Henry Esmond.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Stevenson</td><td>Virginibus Puerisque.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Stevenson</td><td>Memories and Portraits.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Schurz</td><td>Abraham Lincoln.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">George William Curtis </td><td>Selected Addresses.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Charles Lamb</td><td>Essays of Elia.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Stevenson</td><td>Travels with a Donkey.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Stevenson</td><td>An Inland Voyage.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Burke</td><td>Conciliation with the Colonies.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Lincoln</td><td>Cooper Union Address; Gettysburg Speech.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Chaucer</td><td>Prologue, and Two Canterbury Tales.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Milton</td><td>Paradise Lost, and Sonnets.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Carlyle</td><td>Essay on Burns.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Tennyson</td><td>In Memoriam, and Lyrics.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Browning</td><td>Rabbi Ben Ezra; Saul; A Grammarian’s Funeral.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Thoreau</td><td>Walden.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Austen</td><td>Pride and Prejudice.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">George Eliot</td><td>Romola.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Shakespeare</td><td>King Lear.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Shakespeare</td><td>Hamlet.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Macaulay</td><td>Essay on Johnson.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Thackeray</td><td>Vanity Fair.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Lowell</td><td>Democracy; Lincoln.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="smcap">Stevenson</td><td>Lantern Bearers; A Humble Remonstrance; Gossip about Romance.</td></tr> +</table> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div><a class="pgnm" name="page312" id="page312">312</a><br /> +<a class="pgnm" name="page313" id="page313">313</a></div> + +<h3>INDEX</h3> + +<table border="2" class="ctr" summary="Links to the sections of the index"> + <tr> + <td class="ctr"><a href="#indexA"> A </a></td> + <td class="ctr"><a href="#indexB"> B </a></td> + <td class="ctr"><a href="#indexC"> C </a></td> + <td class="ctr"><a href="#indexD"> D </a></td> + <td class="ctr"><a href="#indexE"> E </a></td> + <td class="ctr"><a href="#indexF"> F </a></td> + <td class="ctr"><a href="#indexG"> G </a></td> + <td class="ctr"><a href="#indexH"> H </a></td> + <td class="ctr"><a href="#indexI"> I </a></td> + <td class="ctr"><a href="#indexJ"> J </a></td> + <td class="ctr"><a href="#indexK"> K </a></td> + <td class="ctr"><a href="#indexL"> L </a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="ctr"><a href="#indexM"> M </a></td> + <td class="ctr"><a href="#indexN"> N </a></td> + <td class="ctr"><a href="#indexO"> O </a></td> + <td class="ctr"><a href="#indexP"> P </a></td> + <td class="ctr"><a href="#indexQ"> Q </a></td> + <td class="ctr"><a href="#indexR"> R </a></td> + <td class="ctr"><a href="#indexS"> S </a></td> + <td class="ctr"><a href="#indexT"> T </a></td> + <td class="ctr"><a href="#indexU"> U </a></td> + <td class="ctr"><a href="#indexV"> V </a></td> + <td class="ctr"><a href="#indexW"> W </a></td> + <td class="ctr"> </td> + </tr> +</table> + +<div class="index"> + +<a name="indexA" id="indexA"></a> +<ul> +<li>Abstract vs. concrete, <a href="#page89">89</a>, <a href="#page90">90</a>.</li> + +<li>“Adams and Jefferson,” Webster’s, quotation from, <a href="#page176">176</a>.</li> + +<li>Adjectives, <a href="#page78">78</a>.</li> + +<li>“Alice in Wonderland,” a story without facts, <a href="#page25">25</a>.</li> + +<li>Allegory, <a href="#page261">261</a>.</li> + +<li>Allusion, <a href="#page263">263</a>.</li> + +<li>Amphibrach, <a href="#page273">273</a>.</li> + +<li>Analogy, use of, <a href="#page137">137</a>.</li> + +<li>Anapest, defined, <a href="#page273">273</a>; + <ul> + <li>interchangeable with iambus, <a href="#page278">278</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>“And,” use of, <a href="#page192">192</a>.</li> + +<li>Andersen, Hans Christian, his “Tannenbaum,” <a href="#page12">12</a>.</li> + +<li>Anecdotes in exposition, <a href="#page97">97</a>.</li> + +<li>“Annabel Lee,” quotations from, <a href="#page271">271</a>, <a href="#page278">278</a>, <a href="#page279">279</a>.</li> + +<li>Anti-climax, <a href="#page210">210</a>.</li> + +<li>Antithesis, <a href="#page227">227</a>.</li> + +<li>“Apologia,” Newman’s, quotation from, <a href="#page160">160</a>.</li> + +<li>Apostrophe, <a href="#page261">261</a>.</li> + +<li>Argument, <a href="#page4">4</a>, <a href="#page128">128</a>-<a href="#page137">137</a>; + <ul> + <li>from cause, <a href="#page133">133</a>;</li> + <li>sign, <a href="#page133">133</a>-<a href="#page137">137</a>;</li> + <li>example, <a href="#page137">137</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Arnold, Matthew, quotation from, <a href="#page159">159</a>; + <ul> + <li>quotation to illustrate repetition, <a href="#page167">167</a>;</li> + <li>to illustrate sentence structure, <a href="#page222">222</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Arrangement, in narration, <a href="#page29">29</a>-<a href="#page32">32</a>; + <ul> + <li>description, <a href="#page74">74</a>, <a href="#page75">75</a>;</li> + <li>exposition, <a href="#page108">108</a>-<a href="#page114">114</a>;</li> + <li>argument, <a href="#page138">138</a>-<a href="#page141">141</a>;</li> + <li>sentence, <a href="#page222">222</a>, <a href="#page223">223</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Association of ideas, <a href="#page103">103</a>.</li> + +<li>“Autumn Effect, An,” quotation from, <a href="#page17">17</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<a name="indexB" id="indexB"></a> +<ul> +<li>“Baa, Baa, Black Sheep,” its purpose, <a href="#page7">7</a>; + <ul> + <li>beginning, <a href="#page29">29</a>;</li> + <li>length of sentences in, <a href="#page33">33</a>;</li> + <li>time for the action, <a href="#page36">36</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Balanced sentences, <a href="#page227">227</a>, <a href="#page228">228</a>.</li> + +<li>Ballad, defined, <a href="#page285">285</a>.</li> + +<li>“Barbara Frietchie,” a narrative poem, <a href="#page4">4</a>.</li> + +<li>Bates, Arlo, quoted, <a href="#page35">35</a>.</li> + +<li>Beauty, gained by use of figurative language, <a href="#page258">258</a>.</li> + +<li>Beginning of a story, <a href="#page29">29</a>.</li> + +<li>Bellamy, Edward, his “Looking Backward,” <a href="#page7">7</a>.</li> + +<li>“Biglow Papers,” quotation from, <a href="#page51">51</a>.</li> + +<li>“Birthmark,” Hawthorne’s, <a href="#page24">24</a>.</li> + +<li>Blake, William, “Tiger, Tiger,” quoted, <a href="#page282">282</a>, <a href="#page283">283</a>.</li> + +<li>“Bonnie Brier Bush, Beside the,” <a href="#page25">25</a>.</li> + +<li>Bookish words, <a href="#page242">242</a>.</li> + +<li>“Break, Break, Break,” quotation from, <a href="#page283">283</a>.</li> + +<li>“Bridge of Sighs, The,” quotation from, <a href="#page270">270</a>.</li> + +<li>Brief in argument, <a href="#page138">138</a>, <a href="#page139">139</a>.</li> + +<li>Browning, Robert, vivid narration of, <a href="#page23">23</a>.</li> + +<li>“Burial of Sir John Moore, The,” quotation from, <a href="#page277">277</a>.</li> + +<li>Burke, Edmund, quotation from his speech on “Conciliation with the Colonies,” <a href="#page116">116</a>; + <ul> + <li>that speech analyzed, <a href="#page142">142</a>-<a href="#page147">147</a>;</li> + <li>quotations to illustrate paragraph structure, <a href="#page171">171</a>, <a href="#page175">175</a>, <a href="#page177">177</a>, <a href="#page188">188</a>;</li> + <li>quotations to show sentence structure, <a href="#page200">200</a>, <a href="#page209">209</a>, <a href="#page214">214</a>, <a href="#page226">226</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Burroughs, John, his knowledge of his field, <a href="#page9">9</a>; + <ul> + <li>quotations from, <a href="#page158">158</a>, <a href="#page160">160</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>“But,” use of, <a href="#page192">192</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<a name="indexC" id="indexC"></a> +<ul> +<li>Capital letters, <a href="#page303">303</a>.</li> + +<li>Cause and effect, <a href="#page133">133</a>-<a href="#page136">136</a>.</li> + +<li>Characters, number of, <a href="#page35">35</a>.</li> + +<li>Chaucer, Geoffrey, quotation from, <a href="#page245">245</a>.</li> + +<li>Choice of subject, <a href="#page8">8</a>-<a href="#page12">12</a>.</li> + +<li>Choice of words, <a href="#page78">78</a>-<a href="#page80">80</a>, <a href="#page239">239</a>-<a href="#page255">255</a>.</li> + +<li>“Cinderella,” <a href="#page12">12</a>.</li> + +<li>Clearness and coherence, <a href="#page180">180</a>-<a href="#page193">193</a>, <a href="#page224">224</a>, <a href="#page225">225</a>.</li> + +<li>Clearness gained by use of figurative language, <a href="#page258">258</a>.</li> + +<li>Climax, <a href="#page139">139</a>-<a href="#page141">141</a>, <a href="#page211">211</a>, <a href="#page218">218</a>; + <ul> + <li>defined, <a href="#page262">262</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Coherence, <a href="#page20">20</a>; + <ul> + <li>in narration, <a href="#page31">31</a>, <a href="#page32">32</a>;</li> + <li>in description, <a href="#page74">74</a>, <a href="#page75">75</a>;</li> + <li>in exposition, <a href="#page116">116</a>-<a href="#page118">118</a>;</li> + <li>in paragraphs, <a href="#page180">180</a>-<a href="#page193">193</a>;</li> + <li>in sentences, <a href="#page224">224</a>, <a href="#page225">225</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Colons, <a href="#page306">306</a>, <a href="#page307">307</a>.</li> + +<li>Comedy, <a href="#page286">286</a>.</li> + +<li>Commas, <a href="#page303">303</a>, <a href="#page304">304</a>.</li> + +<li>Comparisons, use of, <a href="#page77">77</a>, <a href="#page98">98</a>; + <ul> + <li>paragraph of, <a href="#page165">165</a>;</li> + <li>confusion of, <a href="#page259">259</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Composition, <a href="#page1">1</a>; + <ul> + <li>oral and written, <a href="#page2">2</a>;</li> + <li>conventions of, <a href="#page2">2</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>“Conciliation with the Colonies,” Burke’s speech on, quoted, <a href="#page116">116</a>, <a href="#page171">171</a>, <a href="#page175">175</a>, <a href="#page177">177</a>, <a href="#page188">188</a>, <a href="#page214">214</a>, <a href="#page226">226</a>; + <ul> + <li>analyzed, <a href="#page142">142</a>-<a href="#page147">147</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li><a class="pgnm" name="page314" id="page314">314</a> +Conclusion of a story, <a href="#page23">23</a>.</li> + +<li>Concrete facts, use of, <a href="#page89">89</a>, <a href="#page90">90</a>.</li> + +<li>Conjunctions, use of, <a href="#page190">190</a>, <a href="#page191">191</a>.</li> + +<li>Connectives in sentences, <a href="#page228">228</a>, <a href="#page229">229</a>.</li> + +<li>Consistency, <a href="#page25">25</a>.</li> + +<li>Cooke, Josiah P., his essay on “Fire,” <a href="#page8">8</a>.</li> + +<li>“Copyright,” quotations from Macaulay’s speech on, <a href="#page159">159</a>, <a href="#page172">172</a>.</li> + +<li>Correction, marks for, <a href="#page300">300</a>.</li> + +<li>Curtis, George William, quoted, <a href="#page111">111</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<a name="indexD" id="indexD"></a> +<ul> +<li>Dactyl, defined, <a href="#page272">272</a>; + <ul> + <li>interchangeable with trochee, <a href="#page278">278</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>“Daisy, The,” Wordsworth’s quotation from, <a href="#page274">274</a>.</li> + +<li>“Darkness and Dawn,” <a href="#page8">8</a>.</li> + +<li>Dash, <a href="#page307">307</a>, <a href="#page308">308</a>.</li> + +<li>“David Copperfield,” description quoted from, <a href="#page65">65</a>.</li> + +<li>“David Harum,” its construction criticised, <a href="#page22">22</a>.</li> + +<li>Davis, Richard Harding, small number of characters in his books, <a href="#page35">35</a>; + <ul> + <li>simple plot in his “Gallegher,” <a href="#page36">36</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Deduction, <a href="#page129">129</a>.</li> + +<li>Definition, a, <a href="#page91">91</a>-<a href="#page94">94</a>.</li> + +<li>Description, <a href="#page4">4</a>, <a href="#page49">49</a>-<a href="#page80">80</a>; + <ul> + <li>an aid to narration, <a href="#page34">34</a>;</li> + <li>and exposition, <a href="#page91">91</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Description and painting, <a href="#page50">50</a>.</li> + +<li>Details, in narration, <a href="#page22">22</a>-<a href="#page25">25</a>; + <ul> + <li>paragraph of, <a href="#page163">163</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Dickens, Charles, his “Nicholas Nickleby” as an exposition, <a href="#page5">5</a>; + <ul> + <li>description from his “David Copperfield” quoted, <a href="#page65">65</a>;</li> + <li>quotations from Mr. Micawber’s conversation, <a href="#page253">253</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Dictionary, use of, <a href="#page237">237</a>.</li> + +<li>Differentia, <a href="#page92">92</a>, <a href="#page93">93</a>.</li> + +<li>Digression, <a href="#page22">22</a>.</li> + +<li>Dimeter, <a href="#page274">274</a>.</li> + +<li>Discourse, forms of, <a href="#page3">3</a>-<a href="#page7">7</a>.</li> + +<li>“Discussions and Arguments,” Newman’s, quotation from, <a href="#page97">97</a>.</li> + +<li>Dramatic poetry, <a href="#page286">286</a>.</li> + +<li>Dynamic point of sentence, <a href="#page221">221</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<a name="indexE" id="indexE"></a> +<ul> +<li>Elegy, the, <a href="#page285">285</a>.</li> + +<li>Eliot, George, her “Silas Marner,” <a href="#page13">13</a>; + <ul> + <li>quotation from, <a href="#page152">152</a>-<a href="#page156">156</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Emerson, Ralph Waldo, primarily an essayist, <a href="#page9">9</a>.</li> + +<li>Emotional statement, <a href="#page115">115</a>.</li> + +<li>Emphasis, how secured, <a href="#page110">110</a>-<a href="#page112">112</a>, <a href="#page115">115</a>, <a href="#page116">116</a>, <a href="#page217">217</a>-<a href="#page219">219</a>.</li> + +<li>End of a paragraph, <a href="#page175">175</a>-<a href="#page179">179</a>; + <ul> + <li>of a sentence, <a href="#page208">208</a>-<a href="#page212">212</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>“English Composition,” Wendell’s, quotation from, <a href="#page94">94</a>.</li> + +<li>Enthymeme, <a href="#page130">130</a>.</li> + +<li>Enumeration <i>vs.</i> suggestion, <a href="#page52">52</a>.</li> + +<li>Enumerative description, <a href="#page54">54</a>.</li> + +<li>Epic, the, <a href="#page284">284</a>.</li> + +<li>Epithet, <a href="#page260">260</a>.</li> + +<li>“Evangeline,” quotation from, <a href="#page277">277</a>, <a href="#page278">278</a>.</li> + +<li>Events, order of, <a href="#page29">29</a>, <a href="#page30">30</a>.</li> + +<li>Everett, Edward, description from, quoted, <a href="#page71">71</a>.</li> + +<li>Examples, paragraph of, <a href="#page171">171</a>.</li> + +<li>Exclamation, <a href="#page262">262</a>.</li> + +<li>Exclamation point, <a href="#page308">308</a>.</li> + +<li>Exclusion of details, <a href="#page22">22</a>, <a href="#page23">23</a>, <a href="#page26">26</a>.</li> + +<li>Exposition, <a href="#page4">4</a>, <a href="#page89">89</a>-<a href="#page120">120</a>; + <ul> + <li>and description, <a href="#page91">91</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> +</ul> + +<a name="indexF" id="indexF"></a> +<ul> +<li>Facts in stories, <a href="#page25">25</a>.</li> + +<li>“Faerie Queene, The,” quotation from, <a href="#page281">281</a>.</li> + +<li>“Fall of the House of Usher, The,” descriptions in, <a href="#page34">34</a>; + <ul> + <li>quotation from, <a href="#page69">69</a>, <a href="#page71">71</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Familiar images, <a href="#page76">76</a>.</li> + +<li>Farrar, Canon, as a writer of sermons, <a href="#page8">8</a>.</li> + +<li>“Feathertop,” <a href="#page13">13</a>.</li> + +<li>Figurative language, <a href="#page257">257</a>; + <ul> + <li>value of, <a href="#page258">258</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Figures of speech, <a href="#page77">77</a>, <a href="#page250">250</a>, <a href="#page257">257</a>-<a href="#page268">268</a>.</li> + +<li>Fine writing, <a href="#page253">253</a>.</li> + +<li>“First Snow-Fall, The,” quotation from, <a href="#page274">274</a>.</li> + +<li>Fiske, John, his “History of the United States,” <a href="#page25">25</a>.</li> + +<li>Foot, a, in poetry, <a href="#page272">272</a>; + <ul> + <li>one kind may be substituted for another, <a href="#page277">277</a>-<a href="#page281">281</a>;</li> + <li>first and last foot of a verse may be irregular, <a href="#page281">281</a>, <a href="#page282">282</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Force, gained by use of figurative language, <a href="#page258">258</a>.</li> + +<li>Foreign words, <a href="#page243">243</a>.</li> + +<li>Francis I. quoted, <a href="#page113">113</a>.</li> + +<li>“Function of Criticism at the Present Time,” Arnold’s, quotation from, <a href="#page222">222</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<a name="indexG" id="indexG"></a> +<ul> +<li>“Gallegher,” simple plot of, <a href="#page36">36</a>.</li> + +<li>General terms, <a href="#page89">89</a>, <a href="#page248">248</a>-<a href="#page252">252</a>.</li> + +<li>Genung, J. F., on paragraph structure, <a href="#page162">162</a>.</li> + +<li>Genus and differentia, <a href="#page92">92</a>, <a href="#page93">93</a>.</li> + +<li>“Gold Bug,” length of sentences in, <a href="#page33">33</a>.</li> + +<li>Good usage, <a href="#page222">222</a>, <a href="#page223">223</a>, <a href="#page239">239</a>-<a href="#page245">245</a>.</li> + +<li>Grant, U. S., his “Memoirs” have no plot, <a href="#page16">16</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<a name="indexH" id="indexH"></a> +<ul> +<li>Hackneyed phrases, <a href="#page253">253</a>.</li> + +<li>Haggard, Rider, <a href="#page12">12</a>.</li> + +<li>Hawthorne, Nathaniel, a story writer, <a href="#page9">9</a>; + <ul> + <li>his “Feathertop,” <a href="#page13">13</a>;</li> + <li>his descriptions in “The Marble Faun,” <a href="#page34">34</a>;</li> + <li>quoted, <a href="#page50">50</a>;</li> + <li>quotations from, about “The Old Manse,” <a href="#page58">58</a>, <a href="#page59">59</a>;</li> + <li>descriptions from his “House of the Seven Gables” quoted, <a href="#page66">66</a>;</li> + <li>from “The Old Apple Dealer,” <a href="#page67">67</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Heading of essay, <a href="#page297">297</a>.</li> + +<li>Heptameter, <a href="#page275">275</a>.</li> + +<li>“Hervé Riel” as a piece of narrative, <a href="#page23">23</a>.</li> + +<li>Hexameter, <a href="#page275">275</a>.</li> + +<li>“Hiawatha,” quotation from, <a href="#page270">270</a>.</li> + +<li>“Historical Sketches,” Newman’s, quotation from, <a href="#page52">52</a>-<a href="#page54">54</a>.</li> + +<li>Hood, Thomas, “The Bridge of Sighs” quoted, <a href="#page270">270</a>.</li> + +<li>“House of the Seven Gables,” descriptions quoted from, <a href="#page66">66</a>.</li> + +<li><a class="pgnm" name="page315" id="page315">315</a> +Hugo, Victor, his description of Waterloo quoted, <a href="#page67">67</a>.</li> + +<li>Huxley, Thomas, example of his use of comparison, <a href="#page98">98</a>; + <ul> + <li>quotation from, to illustrate paragraph structure, <a href="#page161">161</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Hyperbole, <a href="#page263">263</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<a name="indexI" id="indexI"></a> +<ul> +<li>Iambus, defined, <a href="#page272">272</a>; + <ul> + <li>the common foot of English verse, <a href="#page272">272</a>, <a href="#page279">279</a>;</li> + <li>interchangeable with anapest, <a href="#page278">278</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>“Idea of a University,” quotations from, <a href="#page95">95</a>, <a href="#page171">171</a>, <a href="#page193">193</a>, <a href="#page203">203</a>, <a href="#page210">210</a>, <a href="#page247">247</a>.</li> + +<li>Illustrations, their value, <a href="#page97">97</a>.</li> + +<li>“Impressions de Théâtre,” quotation from, <a href="#page63">63</a>.</li> + +<li>“Incident of a French Camp, An,” as an example of a short story, <a href="#page23">23</a>.</li> + +<li>Incident, the main, <a href="#page20">20</a>, <a href="#page21">21</a>.</li> + +<li>Incidents, order of, <a href="#page29">29</a>, <a href="#page30">30</a>.</li> + +<li>Inclusion of material, <a href="#page24">24</a>.</li> + +<li>Indention of paragraph, <a href="#page297">297</a>.</li> + +<li>Individual arrangement of paragraph, <a href="#page181">181</a>-<a href="#page188">188</a>.</li> + +<li>Individuality of author, <a href="#page8">8</a>.</li> + +<li>Indorsement of essay, <a href="#page298">298</a>.</li> + +<li>Induction, <a href="#page128">128</a>, <a href="#page132">132</a>.</li> + +<li>Interest, <a href="#page11">11</a>, <a href="#page12">12</a>.</li> + +<li>Interrogation, <a href="#page262">262</a>.</li> + +<li>Interrogation point, <a href="#page308">308</a>.</li> + +<li>Introduction of story, <a href="#page23">23</a>.</li> + +<li>Inversion, <a href="#page262">262</a>.</li> + +<li>Irony, <a href="#page262">262</a>.</li> + +<li>Irrelevant matter, <a href="#page22">22</a>, <a href="#page23">23</a>.</li> + +<li>Irving, Washington, as a story writer in the third person, <a href="#page27">27</a>; + <ul> + <li>description from, quoted, <a href="#page54">54</a>;</li> + <li>short characterization quoted, <a href="#page70">70</a>;</li> + <li>description of a coachman quoted, <a href="#page75">75</a>;</li> + <li>quotations to illustrate paragraph structure, <a href="#page164">164</a>, <a href="#page183">183</a>;</li> + <li>to illustrate sentence construction, <a href="#page202">202</a>, <a href="#page203">203</a>, <a href="#page219">219</a>, <a href="#page220">220</a>, <a href="#page229">229</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> +</ul> + +<a name="indexJ" id="indexJ"></a> +<ul> +<li>Jonson, Ben, quotation from, <a href="#page280">280</a>.</li> + +<li>“Jungle Books,” <a href="#page12">12</a>; + <ul> + <li>quotation from, <a href="#page78">78</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> +</ul> + +<a name="indexK" id="indexK"></a> +<ul> +<li>“Kidnapped,” quotations from, <a href="#page15">15</a>, <a href="#page165">165</a>; + <ul> + <li>its unity, <a href="#page27">27</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>“King Lear,” its plot, <a href="#page16">16</a>; + <ul> + <li>quotation from, <a href="#page60">60</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Kingsley, Charles, “The Three Fishers” quoted, <a href="#page271">271</a>.</li> + +<li>Kipling, Rudyard, his “Baa, Baa, Black Sheep,” <a href="#page7">7</a>; + <ul> + <li>his “Jungle Books,” <a href="#page12">12</a>;</li> + <li>his use of climax, <a href="#page21">21</a>;</li> + <li>as a story-teller, <a href="#page22">22</a>, <a href="#page27">27</a>;</li> + <li>small number of characters in his stories, <a href="#page35">35</a>;</li> + <li>quotation from his “Light that Failed,” <a href="#page60">60</a>;</li> + <li>description quoted from his “Jungle Books,” <a href="#page78">78</a>;</li> + <li>quotation to illustrate sentence construction, <a href="#page201">201</a>;</li> + <li>his “L’Envoi” quoted, <a href="#page252">252</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> +</ul> + +<a name="indexL" id="indexL"></a> +<ul> +<li>“Lady of the Lake, The,” quotation from, <a href="#page269">269</a>.</li> + +<li>Language <i>vs.</i> painting, <a href="#page49">49</a>-<a href="#page52">52</a>.</li> + +<li>Lanier, Sidney, “The Science of English Verse,” cited, <a href="#page269">269</a>; + <ul> + <li>quoted, <a href="#page273">273</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Latin words, <a href="#page245">245</a>-<a href="#page248">248</a>.</li> + +<li>Le Gallienne, Richard, his essay on pigs, <a href="#page10">10</a>; + <ul> + <li>quoted, <a href="#page257">257</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>“Legend of Sleepy Hollow, The,” <a href="#page27">27</a>, <a href="#page29">29</a>; + <ul> + <li>description in, <a href="#page34">34</a>;</li> + <li>quotation from to show paragraph structure, <a href="#page163">163</a>, <a href="#page183">183</a>;</li> + <li>to show sentence structure, <a href="#page202">202</a>, <a href="#page219">219</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Lemaître, Jules, criticism of Zola quoted, <a href="#page63">63</a>.</li> + +<li>Length, of a description, <a href="#page63">63</a>, <a href="#page64">64</a>; + <ul> + <li>of a paragraph, <a href="#page151">151</a>-<a href="#page156">156</a>;</li> + <li>of a sentence, <a href="#page178">178</a>, <a href="#page179">179</a>, <a href="#page204">204</a>, <a href="#page205">205</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>“L’Envoi” to “The Seven Seas,” quoted, <a href="#page252">252</a>.</li> + +<li>“Les Misérables,” its intricate plot, <a href="#page16">16</a>; + <ul> + <li>quotation from, <a href="#page67">67</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>“Light that Failed, The,” quotation from, <a href="#page60">60</a>.</li> + +<li>“Little Dorrit,” large number of characters in, <a href="#page35">35</a>.</li> + +<li>“Little Red Riding Hood,” <a href="#page12">12</a>.</li> + +<li>Logical definition, <a href="#page91">91</a>.</li> + +<li>“London Bridge,” quotation from, <a href="#page282">282</a>.</li> + +<li>Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, “Hiawatha” quoted, <a href="#page270">270</a>; + <ul> + <li>“Evangeline” quoted, <a href="#page277">277</a>, <a href="#page278">278</a>;</li> + <li>“The Village Blacksmith” quoted, <a href="#page279">279</a>, <a href="#page280">280</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>“Looking Backward,” as a novel with a purpose, <a href="#page7">7</a>.</li> + +<li>Loose sentences, <a href="#page212">212</a>, <a href="#page214">214</a>, <a href="#page215">215</a>.</li> + +<li>Lovelace, Richard, quoted, <a href="#page112">112</a>.</li> + +<li>Lowell, James Russell, his “Sir Launfal,” <a href="#page13">13</a>; + <ul> + <li>quotation from “Biglow Papers,” <a href="#page51">51</a>;</li> + <li>from a “Song,” <a href="#page52">52</a>;</li> + <li>from “To W. L. Garrison,” <a href="#page89">89</a>;</li> + <li>from “The First Snow-Fall,” <a href="#page274">274</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Lyric poetry, <a href="#page285">285</a>.</li> + +<li>Lytton, Lord, quotation from, <a href="#page241">241</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<a name="indexM" id="indexM"></a> +<ul> +<li>Macaulay, Lord, quotation on Milton from, <a href="#page96">96</a>; + <ul> + <li>quotation to illustrate comparison, <a href="#page98">98</a>;</li> + <li>his essay on “Milton” analyzed, <a href="#page106">106</a>;</li> + <li>last sentence of that essay quoted, <a href="#page111">111</a>;</li> + <li>that essay as an example of proportion in treatment, <a href="#page114">114</a>;</li> + <li>his denunciation of Charles I. quoted, <a href="#page115">115</a>;</li> + <li>further quotations from his “Milton,” <a href="#page117">117</a>;</li> + <li>his speeches on “Copyright” and the “Reform Bill” quoted, <a href="#page159">159</a>, <a href="#page172">172</a>, <a href="#page193">193</a>;</li> + <li>quotations from the “Milton” to illustrate paragraph structure, <a href="#page164">164</a>, <a href="#page166">166</a>, <a href="#page168">168</a>, <a href="#page178">178</a>, <a href="#page182">182</a>, <a href="#page184">184</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>“Macbeth,” <a href="#page13">13</a>.</li> + +<li>Maclaren, Ian, <a href="#page25">25</a>.</li> + +<li>Main incident, <a href="#page20">20</a>-<a href="#page26">26</a>.</li> + +<li>Major term, <a href="#page129">129</a>.</li> + +<li>“Marble Faun, The,” description in, <a href="#page34">34</a>.</li> + +<li>Margin of composition, <a href="#page296">296</a>.</li> + +<li>“Marmion,” <a href="#page27">27</a>, <a href="#page29">29</a>; + <ul> + <li>quoted, <a href="#page276">276</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Mass, <a href="#page20">20</a>; + <ul> + <li>in description, <a href="#page64">64</a>-<a href="#page75">75</a>;</li> + <li>in exposition, <a href="#page108">108</a>-<a href="#page114">114</a>;</li> + <li>in paragraphs, <a href="#page174">174</a>-<a href="#page178">178</a>;</li> + <li>in sentences, <a href="#page207">207</a>-<a href="#page212">212</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Masson, David, <a href="#page104">104</a>.</li> + +<li>Maupassant, Guy de, quotation from his +<a class="pgnm" name="page316" id="page316">316</a> +“Pierre et Jean,” <a href="#page56">56</a>; + <ul> + <li>from his “Odd Number,” <a href="#page156">156</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Meredith, George, quotation from, to illustrate paragraph structure, <a href="#page161">161</a>; + <ul> + <li>sentence structure, <a href="#page205">205</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Metaphor, <a href="#page77">77</a>, <a href="#page260">260</a>.</li> + +<li>Metonymy, <a href="#page250">250</a>, <a href="#page263">263</a>.</li> + +<li>Metre, kinds of, <a href="#page273">273</a>-<a href="#page275">275</a>; + <ul> + <li>variations in, <a href="#page276">276</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Metrical romance, the, <a href="#page284">284</a>.</li> + +<li>Middle term, <a href="#page130">130</a>.</li> + +<li>“Milton,” Macaulay’s essay on, quotations from, <a href="#page96">96</a>, <a href="#page98">98</a>, <a href="#page111">111</a>, <a href="#page115">115</a>, <a href="#page117">117</a>, <a href="#page119">119</a>, <a href="#page164">164</a>, <a href="#page166">166</a>-<a href="#page168">168</a>, <a href="#page178">178</a>, <a href="#page184">184</a>; + <ul> + <li>analyzed, <a href="#page106">106</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Milton, John, quotations from, <a href="#page241">241</a>, <a href="#page245">245</a>, <a href="#page248">248</a>.</li> + +<li>Minor term, <a href="#page129">129</a>.</li> + +<li>Monometer, <a href="#page273">273</a>.</li> + +<li>Mood in description, <a href="#page59">59</a>-<a href="#page62">62</a>, <a href="#page67">67</a>-<a href="#page69">69</a>.</li> + +<li>“Mosses from an Old Manse,” quotation from, <a href="#page50">50</a>.</li> + +<li>Movement of story, <a href="#page32">32</a>, <a href="#page33">33</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<a name="indexN" id="indexN"></a> +<ul> +<li>Narration, <a href="#page4">4</a>, <a href="#page13">13</a>-<a href="#page37">37</a>.</li> + +<li>Narrative poetry, <a href="#page284">284</a>.</li> + +<li>National usage, <a href="#page242">242</a>.</li> + +<li>“New Testament,” quotation from, <a href="#page241">241</a>.</li> + +<li>Newman, Cardinal, quotation from, about Athens, <a href="#page52">52</a>; + <ul> + <li>quotation on theology, <a href="#page95">95</a>;</li> + <li>quotation to illustrate the use of specific instances in exposition, <a href="#page97">97</a>;</li> + <li>to illustrate paragraph structure, <a href="#page160">160</a>, <a href="#page171">171</a>, <a href="#page177">177</a>, <a href="#page193">193</a>;</li> + <li>to show sentence construction, <a href="#page203">203</a>, <a href="#page210">210</a>;</li> + <li>to show use of words, <a href="#page247">247</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>“Nicholas Nickleby,” as an exposition of school abuses, <a href="#page5">5</a>.</li> + +<li>Nouns, <a href="#page78">78</a>.</li> + +<li>Number of characters, <a href="#page35">35</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<a name="indexO" id="indexO"></a> +<ul> +<li>Observation, its value, <a href="#page55">55</a>.</li> + +<li>Obverse statement, <a href="#page95">95</a>, <a href="#page96">96</a>; + <ul> + <li>paragraph of, <a href="#page169">169</a>-<a href="#page171">171</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Octameter, <a href="#page275">275</a>.</li> + +<li>“Odd Number, The,” quotation from, <a href="#page156">156</a>.</li> + +<li>Ode, defined, <a href="#page285">285</a>.</li> + +<li>“Œnone,” quotation from, <a href="#page51">51</a>.</li> + +<li>“Old Apple Dealer, The,” quotation from, <a href="#page67">67</a>.</li> + +<li>Omniscience of an author, <a href="#page27">27</a>.</li> + +<li>Order of events in stories, <a href="#page29">29</a>; + <ul> + <li>of words in sentences, <a href="#page217">217</a>-<a href="#page219">219</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Outline, use of, <a href="#page32">32</a>, <a href="#page109">109</a>, <a href="#page110">110</a>, <a href="#page138">138</a>, <a href="#page139">139</a>, <a href="#page174">174</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<a name="indexP" id="indexP"></a> +<ul> +<li>Palmer, Professor G. H., quotations from, on composition writing, <a href="#page101">101</a>, <a href="#page112">112</a>.</li> + +<li>“Paradise Lost,” quotations from, <a href="#page241">241</a>, <a href="#page245">245</a>, <a href="#page248">248</a>.</li> + +<li>Paragraphs, <a href="#page151">151</a>-<a href="#page195">195</a>.</li> + +<li>Parallel construction, <a href="#page192">192</a>-<a href="#page194">194</a>, <a href="#page226">226</a>, <a href="#page227">227</a>.</li> + +<li>Particulars in exposition, <a href="#page96">96</a>; + <ul> + <li>paragraph of, <a href="#page163">163</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Penmanship, <a href="#page300">300</a>.</li> + +<li>Pentameter, <a href="#page274">274</a>.</li> + +<li>“Pepacton,” <a href="#page9">9</a>; + <ul> + <li>quotations from, <a href="#page158">158</a>, <a href="#page160">160</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Period, <a href="#page308">308</a>.</li> + +<li>Periodic sentences, <a href="#page212">212</a>-<a href="#page216">216</a>.</li> + +<li>Personification, <a href="#page77">77</a>, <a href="#page260">260</a>.</li> + +<li>Persuasion, <a href="#page4">4</a>.</li> + +<li>Philippians iv. <a href="#page8">8</a>, <a href="#page241">241</a>.</li> + +<li>“Physical Basis of Life,” Huxley’s, quotations from, <a href="#page98">98</a>, <a href="#page161">161</a>.</li> + +<li>“Pierre et Jean,” quotation from, <a href="#page55">55</a>.</li> + +<li>“Pilgrim’s Progress,” <a href="#page13">13</a>.</li> + +<li>Place of a story, <a href="#page29">29</a>.</li> + +<li>Plot, <a href="#page15">15</a>-<a href="#page20">20</a>, <a href="#page36">36</a>.</li> + +<li>Poe, Edgar Allan, his sentences, <a href="#page33">33</a>; + <ul> + <li>his use of description in “The Fall of the House of Usher,” <a href="#page34">34</a>;</li> + <li>quotations from that work, <a href="#page68">68</a>, <a href="#page71">71</a>;</li> + <li>“Annabel Lee” quoted, <a href="#page271">271</a>, <a href="#page278">278</a>, <a href="#page279">279</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Poetic feet, <a href="#page272">272</a>.</li> + +<li>Poetical words, <a href="#page254">254</a>.</li> + +<li>Poetry, kinds of, <a href="#page284">284</a>-<a href="#page286">286</a>.</li> + +<li>Point of view, <a href="#page56">56</a>-<a href="#page59">59</a>; + <ul> + <li>change of, <a href="#page58">58</a>;</li> + <li>mental, <a href="#page59">59</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Position of words in sentences, <a href="#page217">217</a>.</li> + +<li>“Præterita,” Ruskin’s, quotations from, <a href="#page169">169</a>.</li> + +<li>Premises, <a href="#page129">129</a>; + <ul> + <li>false, <a href="#page131">131</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>“Present Position of Catholics in England,” Newman’s, quotation from, <a href="#page177">177</a>.</li> + +<li>Present usage of words, <a href="#page244">244</a>, <a href="#page245">245</a>.</li> + +<li>“Prince Otto,” quotations from, <a href="#page72">72</a>, <a href="#page73">73</a>.</li> + +<li>“Princess, The,” quotation from, <a href="#page251">251</a>.</li> + +<li>Pronouns, use of, <a href="#page188">188</a>, <a href="#page189">189</a>.</li> + +<li>Proportion in description, <a href="#page73">73</a>; + <ul> + <li>in exposition, <a href="#page104">104</a>-<a href="#page108">108</a>, <a href="#page114">114</a>;</li> + <li>in paragraphs, <a href="#page179">179</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>“Prose Fancies,” <a href="#page10">10</a>.</li> + +<li>Provincialisms, <a href="#page242">242</a>.</li> + +<li>Purpose, of an author, <a href="#page6">6</a>, <a href="#page7">7</a>; + <ul> + <li>in description, <a href="#page59">59</a>-<a href="#page62">62</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> +</ul> + +<a name="indexQ" id="indexQ"></a> +<ul> +<li>Quotation marks, <a href="#page308">308</a>.</li> + +<li>“Quo Vadis,” <a href="#page7">7</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<a name="indexR" id="indexR"></a> +<ul> +<li>Rapidity of movement, <a href="#page32">32</a>.</li> + +<li>“Reform Bill,” quotation from Macaulay’s speech on, <a href="#page193">193</a>.</li> + +<li>Refutation in argument, <a href="#page141">141</a>.</li> + +<li>Repetition, its value, <a href="#page94">94</a>; + <ul> + <li>paragraph of, <a href="#page167">167</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Reputable words, <a href="#page239">239</a>-<a href="#page241">241</a>.</li> + +<li>“Richard Feverel,” quotations from, <a href="#page161">161</a>, <a href="#page205">205</a>.</li> + +<li>“Richelieu,” quotation from, <a href="#page241">241</a>.</li> + +<li>“Robinson Crusoe,” has little plot, <a href="#page16">16</a>.</li> + +<li>Royce, Josiah, quotation from, <a href="#page242">242</a>.</li> + +<li>Ruskin, John, <a href="#page49">49</a>; + <ul> + <li>quotation to illustrate building up a paragraph, <a href="#page169">169</a>;</li> + <li>his “Sesame and Lilies,” <a href="#page239">239</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> +</ul> + +<a name="indexS" id="indexS"></a> +<ul> +<li>Saxon words, <a href="#page245">245</a>-<a href="#page248">248</a>.</li> + +<li>Scale of treatment, <a href="#page104">104</a>-<a href="#page108">108</a>.</li> + +<li>Scansion, <a href="#page275">275</a>-<a href="#page284">284</a>; + <ul> + <li>requisites for scanning, <a href="#page283">283</a>, <a href="#page284">284</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>“Science of English Verse, The,” quotation from, <a href="#page273">273</a>.</li> + +<li>Scott, Sir Walter, as a story-teller in the +<a class="pgnm" name="page317" id="page317">317</a> +third person, <a href="#page27">27</a>; + <ul> + <li>his dull introductory chapters, <a href="#page31">31</a>;</li> + <li>“The Lady of the Lake” quoted, <a href="#page269">269</a>;</li> + <li>“Marmion” quoted, <a href="#page276">276</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Selection of material in narration, <a href="#page21">21</a>-<a href="#page28">28</a>; + <ul> + <li>in description, <a href="#page56">56</a>-<a href="#page62">62</a>;</li> + <li>in exposition, <a href="#page102">102</a>-<a href="#page104">104</a>;</li> + <li>in argument, <a href="#page138">138</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>“Self-Cultivation in English,” quotation from, <a href="#page101">101</a>, <a href="#page112">112</a>.</li> + +<li>Semicolons, <a href="#page202">202</a>, <a href="#page203">203</a>, <a href="#page305">305</a>, <a href="#page306">306</a>.</li> + +<li>Sentences, <a href="#page200">200</a>-<a href="#page230">230</a>; + <ul> + <li>simple and compound, <a href="#page200">200</a>, <a href="#page201">201</a>;</li> + <li>long or short, <a href="#page204">204</a>, <a href="#page205">205</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Sequence of events, <a href="#page29">29</a>, <a href="#page30">30</a>.</li> + +<li>Serial arrangement of paragraph, <a href="#page181">181</a>-<a href="#page188">188</a>.</li> + +<li>“Sesame and Lilies,” <a href="#page239">239</a>.</li> + +<li>Sienkiewicz, Henry, his “Quo Vadis,” <a href="#page7">7</a>.</li> + +<li>“Silas Marner,” written for a purpose, <a href="#page13">13</a>; + <ul> + <li>example of a plot, <a href="#page20">20</a>;</li> + <li>time consumed in the story, <a href="#page36">36</a>;</li> + <li>quotation to show paragraph length, <a href="#page152">152</a>-<a href="#page156">156</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Simile, <a href="#page77">77</a>, <a href="#page261">261</a>.</li> + +<li>Sing-song, natural tendency toward, <a href="#page269">269</a>, <a href="#page276">276</a>.</li> + +<li>Slang, <a href="#page240">240</a>.</li> + +<li>Slowness of movement, <a href="#page33">33</a>.</li> + +<li>“Snow-Bound,” narrative or descriptive?, <a href="#page4">4</a>.</li> + +<li>Song defined, <a href="#page285">285</a>.</li> + +<li>Sonnet defined, <a href="#page285">285</a>.</li> + +<li>Specific words, <a href="#page248">248</a>-<a href="#page252">252</a>.</li> + +<li>Spencer, Herbert, on the philosophy of the periodic sentence, <a href="#page212">212</a>.</li> + +<li>Spenser, Edmund, “The Faerie Queene” quoted, <a href="#page281">281</a>.</li> + +<li>“Spirit of Modern Philosophy,” Royce’s, quotation from, <a href="#page242">242</a>.</li> + +<li>Spondee, <a href="#page273">273</a>.</li> + +<li>Stanza, <a href="#page275">275</a>.</li> + +<li>Stedman, E. C., an authority on literature, <a href="#page9">9</a>.</li> + +<li>Stevenson, Robert Louis, his “Treasure Island” and “Travels with a Donkey” as narratives, <a href="#page4">4</a>; + <ul> + <li>quotation from “Kidnapped,” <a href="#page15">15</a>;</li> + <li>his “An Autumn Effect” quoted, <a href="#page17">17</a>;</li> + <li>unity in his stories, <a href="#page27">27</a>;</li> + <li>descriptions from, quoted, <a href="#page62">62</a>, <a href="#page72">72</a>;</li> + <li>examples of personification from, <a href="#page77">77</a>;</li> + <li>his unusual use of words, <a href="#page79">79</a>;</li> + <li>quotation to show paragraph structure, <a href="#page165">165</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Subdual of subordinate parts, <a href="#page219">219</a>.</li> + +<li>Subject, <a href="#page8">8</a>-<a href="#page12">12</a>; + <ul> + <li>common, <a href="#page11">11</a>;</li> + <li>interesting, <a href="#page11">11</a>;</li> + <li>in exposition, <a href="#page99">99</a>, <a href="#page100">100</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Suggestion <i>vs.</i> enumeration, <a href="#page52">52</a>.</li> + +<li>Suggestions to teachers, <a href="#page257">257</a>-<a href="#page260">260</a>.</li> + +<li>Suggestive description, <a href="#page55">55</a>.</li> + +<li>Summary, a, <a href="#page119">119</a>.</li> + +<li>Superlatives, <a href="#page80">80</a>.</li> + +<li>Syllogism, <a href="#page129">129</a>-<a href="#page132">132</a>.</li> + +<li>Synecdoche, <a href="#page250">250</a>, <a href="#page263">263</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<a name="indexT" id="indexT"></a> +<ul> +<li>“Tannenbaum,” <a href="#page12">12</a>.</li> + +<li>Technical words, <a href="#page242">242</a>.</li> + +<li>Tennyson, Lord, quotations from, <a href="#page51">51</a>, <a href="#page251">251</a>, <a href="#page283">283</a>.</li> + +<li>Terms of syllogism, <a href="#page129">129</a>, <a href="#page130">130</a>.</li> + +<li>Testimony, <a href="#page136">136</a>.</li> + +<li>Tetrameter, <a href="#page274">274</a>.</li> + +<li>Thackeray, W. M., quotation from, <a href="#page157">157</a>.</li> + +<li>Theme in exposition, <a href="#page100">100</a>, <a href="#page101">101</a>.</li> + +<li>“Three Fishers, The,” quotation from, <a href="#page271">271</a>.</li> + +<li>“Tiger, Tiger,” quotation from, <a href="#page283">283</a>.</li> + +<li>Time of story, <a href="#page35">35</a>.</li> + +<li>Title in exposition, <a href="#page102">102</a>.</li> + +<li>“To W. L. Garrison,” quotation from, <a href="#page89">89</a>.</li> + +<li>Topic-sentence, <a href="#page157">157</a>; + <ul> + <li>its position, <a href="#page157">157</a>-<a href="#page161">161</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Tragedy, <a href="#page286">286</a>.</li> + +<li>Transitions, <a href="#page118">118</a>, <a href="#page119">119</a>.</li> + +<li>“Travels with a Donkey,” narrative or descriptive? <a href="#page4">4</a>; + <ul> + <li>absence of plot, <a href="#page17">17</a>;</li> + <li>quotations from, <a href="#page62">62</a>, <a href="#page65">65</a>, <a href="#page157">157</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>“Treasure Island,” a narrative, <a href="#page4">4</a>; + <ul> + <li>plot simple, <a href="#page16">16</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Trimeter, <a href="#page274">274</a>.</li> + +<li>Trochee, defined, <a href="#page272">272</a>; + <ul> + <li>interchangeable with dactyl, <a href="#page278">278</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Type-form of paragraph, <a href="#page162">162</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<a name="indexU" id="indexU"></a> +<ul> +<li>“Ugly Duckling, The,” <a href="#page25">25</a>.</li> + +<li>Undistributed middle, <a href="#page131">131</a>.</li> + +<li>Unity, <a href="#page20">20</a>; + <ul> + <li>in narration, <a href="#page21">21</a>, <a href="#page22">22</a>;</li> + <li>in description, <a href="#page56">56</a>-<a href="#page64">64</a>;</li> + <li>in exposition, <a href="#page102">102</a>, <a href="#page103">103</a>;</li> + <li>in argument, <a href="#page138">138</a>;</li> + <li>in paragraphs, <a href="#page173">173</a>;</li> + <li>in sentences, <a href="#page205">205</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>“Uses of Astronomy, The,” quotation from, <a href="#page72">72</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<a name="indexV" id="indexV"></a> +<ul> +<li>Value of observation, <a href="#page55">55</a>.</li> + +<li>“Vanity Fair,” example of a plot, <a href="#page19">19</a>; + <ul> + <li>quotation from, <a href="#page157">157</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Variations in metre, <a href="#page276">276</a>-<a href="#page284">284</a>.</li> + +<li>Verbs in description, <a href="#page79">79</a>.</li> + +<li>Verne, Jules, <a href="#page12">12</a>.</li> + +<li>Verse, a, definition of, <a href="#page273">273</a>; + <ul> + <li>how named, <a href="#page275">275</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Verse forms, <a href="#page269">269</a>-<a href="#page291">291</a>.</li> + +<li>“Village Blacksmith, The,” quotation from, <a href="#page279">279</a>, <a href="#page280">280</a>.</li> + +<li>“Vision of Sir Launfal, The,” <a href="#page13">13</a>; + <ul> + <li>quotation from, <a href="#page67">67</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>Vocabulary, need of, <a href="#page236">236</a>.</li> + +<li>Vulgarisms, <a href="#page240">240</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<a name="indexW" id="indexW"></a> +<ul> +<li>“Wake Robin,” <a href="#page9">9</a>.</li> + +<li>Webster, Daniel, quotation from, to illustrate paragraph structure, <a href="#page176">176</a>; + <ul> + <li>his use of words, <a href="#page247">247</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>“Wee Willie Winkie,” its climax, <a href="#page21">21</a>.</li> + +<li>Wendell, Barrett, quotation on printed words from, <a href="#page94">94</a>.</li> + +<li>Whittier, John G., his “Barbara Frietchie” and “Snow-Bound” as narratives, <a href="#page4">4</a>.</li> + +<li>Wilkins, Miss, small number of characters in her books, <a href="#page35">35</a>.</li> + +<li><a class="pgnm" name="page318" id="page318">318</a> +Wolfe, Charles, “The Burial of Sir John Moore” quoted, <a href="#page277">277</a>.</li> + +<li>Words, <a href="#page235">235</a>-<a href="#page256">256</a>; + <ul> + <li>choice of, <a href="#page78">78</a>, <a href="#page79">79</a>, <a href="#page80">80</a>, <a href="#page254">254</a>-<a href="#page260">260</a>;</li> + <li>reputable, <a href="#page240">240</a>, <a href="#page241">241</a>;</li> + <li>national, <a href="#page242">242</a>;</li> + <li>in present use, <a href="#page244">244</a>, <a href="#page245">245</a>;</li> + <li>Latin and Saxon, <a href="#page245">245</a>-<a href="#page248">248</a>;</li> + <li>general and specific, <a href="#page248">248</a>-<a href="#page252">252</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> + +<li>“Wordsworth,” Arnold’s essay on, quotations from, <a href="#page158">158</a>, <a href="#page167">167</a>; + <ul> + <li>“The Daisy” quoted, <a href="#page274">274</a>.</li> + </ul> +</li> +</ul> +</div> + +<div class="ftnt"> +<p>Footnotes:</p> +<ol> +<li><p><a id="footnote_1" name="footnote_1"></a>See pp. 13, 14, of the Report of Committee on College Entrance +Requirements. <a href="#footref_1">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_2" name="footnote_2"></a>See the first essay in <i>Prose Fancies.</i> <a href="#footref_2">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_3" name="footnote_3"></a>Unless otherwise stated, all page references are to the Riverside +Literature Series. <a href="#footref_3">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_4" name="footnote_4"></a><i>Biglow Papers,</i> No. X. <a href="#footref_4">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_5" name="footnote_5"></a>Tennyson’s <i>Œnone.</i> <a href="#footref_5">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_6" name="footnote_6"></a><i>Historical Sketches,</i> by Cardinal Newman. <a href="#footref_6">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_7" name="footnote_7"></a><i>Pierre et Jean,</i> by Maupassant. Quoted from Bates’s <i>Talks on +Writing English.</i> <a href="#footref_7">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_8" name="footnote_8"></a><i>Impressions de Théâtre,</i> by Jules Lemaître. <a href="#footref_8">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_9" name="footnote_9"></a><i>The Marble Faun,</i> by Nathaniel Hawthorne. <a href="#footref_9">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_10" name="footnote_10"></a><i>Travels with a Donkey,</i> by R. L. Stevenson. <a href="#footref_10">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_11" name="footnote_11"></a><i>Les Misérables,</i> by Victor Hugo. <a href="#footref_11">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_12" name="footnote_12"></a><i>The Stage Coach,</i> in Irving’s <i>Sketch Book.</i> <a href="#footref_12">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_13" name="footnote_13"></a><i>The Jungle Book,</i> by Rudyard Kipling. <a href="#footref_13">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_14" name="footnote_14"></a><i>To W. L. Garrison,</i> by J. R. Lowell. <a href="#footref_14">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_15" name="footnote_15"></a><i>Idea of a University,</i> by Cardinal Newman. <a href="#footref_15">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_16" name="footnote_16"></a><i>Essay on Milton,</i> by Lord Macaulay. <a href="#footref_16">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_17" name="footnote_17"></a><i>Discussions and Arguments.</i> <a href="#footref_17">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_18" name="footnote_18"></a><i>Essay on Milton.</i> <a href="#footref_18">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_19" name="footnote_19"></a><i>The Physical Basis of Life,</i> by T. H. Huxley. <a href="#footref_19">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_20" name="footnote_20"></a><i>Self-Cultivation in English,</i> by Professor G. H. Palmer. <a href="#footref_20">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_21" name="footnote_21"></a>Speech on <i>Conciliation with the Colonies,</i> by Burke. <a href="#footref_21">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_22" name="footnote_22"></a>A text-book on Logic, such as Jevons’s, should be used to illustrate +the kinds of argument more fully. <a href="#footref_22">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_23" name="footnote_23"></a><i>Silas Marner,</i> by George Eliot. <a href="#footref_24">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_24" name="footnote_24"></a><i>The Odd Number,</i> by Guy de Maupassant. <a href="#footref_24">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_25" name="footnote_25"></a><i>Vanity Fair,</i> by W. M. Thackeray. <a href="#footref_25">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_26" name="footnote_26"></a><i>Idyl of the Honey-Bee,</i> from Burroughs’s <i>Pepacton.</i> <a href="#footref_26">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_27" name="footnote_27"></a><i>Essay on Wordsworth,</i> by Matthew Arnold. <a href="#footref_27">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_28" name="footnote_28"></a>Speech on <i>Copyright,</i> by Lord Macaulay. <a href="#footref_28">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_29" name="footnote_29"></a><i>Idyl of the Honey-Bee,</i> from Burroughs’s <i>Pepacton.</i> <a href="#footref_29">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_30" name="footnote_30"></a><i>The Physical Basis of Life,</i> by T. H. Huxley. <a href="#footref_30">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_31" name="footnote_31"></a>See Scott and Denney’s <i>Composition-Rhetoric.</i> <a href="#footref_31">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_32" name="footnote_32"></a><i>Legend of Sleepy Hollow,</i> by W. Irving. <a href="#footref_32">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_33" name="footnote_33"></a><i>Essay on Milton,</i> by Lord Macaulay. <a href="#footref_33">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_34" name="footnote_34"></a><i>Kidnapped,</i> by R. L. Stevenson. <a href="#footref_34">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_35" name="footnote_35"></a><i>Præterita,</i> by John Ruskin. <a href="#footref_35">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_36" name="footnote_36"></a>Speech on <i>Conciliation with the Colonies,</i> by Burke. <a href="#footref_36">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_37" name="footnote_37"></a>Barrett Wendell’s <i>English Composition.</i> <a href="#footref_37">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_38" name="footnote_38"></a>Oration on <i>Adams and Jefferson,</i> by Daniel Webster. <a href="#footref_38">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_39" name="footnote_39"></a><i>Present Position of Catholics in England,</i> by Cardinal Newman. <a href="#footref_39">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_40" name="footnote_40"></a>Speech on <i>Conciliation with the Colonies,</i> by Burke. <a href="#footref_40">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_41" name="footnote_41"></a>Speech on the <i>Reform Bill of 1832,</i> by Lord Macaulay. <a href="#footref_41">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_42" name="footnote_42"></a><i>Idea of a University,</i> by Cardinal Newman. <a href="#footref_42">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_43" name="footnote_43"></a><i>Legend of Sleepy Hollow,</i> by W. Irving. <a href="#footref_43">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_44" name="footnote_44"></a><i>Idea of a University,</i> by Cardinal Newman. <a href="#footref_44">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_45" name="footnote_45"></a><i>Idea of a University,</i> by Cardinal Newman. <a href="#footref_45">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_46" name="footnote_46"></a><i>Speech on Conciliation with the Colonies,</i> by Burke. <a href="#footref_46">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_47" name="footnote_47"></a><i>Legend of Sleepy Hollow,</i> by W. Irving. <a href="#footref_47">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_48" name="footnote_48"></a><i>Function of Criticism at the Present Time,</i> by Matthew Arnold. <a href="#footref_48">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_49" name="footnote_49"></a><i>Speech on Conciliation with the Colonies,</i> by Burke. <a href="#footref_49">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_50" name="footnote_50"></a><i>The Spirit of Modern Philosophy,</i> by Josiah Royce. <a href="#footref_50">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_51" name="footnote_51"></a>See Lowell’s <i>Biglow Papers,</i> Introduction to Second Series. <a href="#footref_51">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_52" name="footnote_52"></a><i>Idea of a University,</i> by Cardinal Newman. <a href="#footref_52">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_53" name="footnote_53"></a>From <i>The Princess: a Medley,</i> Part IV. <a href="#footref_53">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_54" name="footnote_54"></a>From <i>The Seven Seas,</i> published by D. Appleton & Co., New +York. Copyright, 1896, by Rudyard Kipling. <a href="#footref_54">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_55" name="footnote_55"></a>In any piece of literature there are many figures. The following +should be used only to make pupils familiar with varieties of figures. +They will find many more in the literature they read. <a href="#footref_55">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_56" name="footnote_56"></a>The treatment of this subject is based upon Lanier’s <i>The Science +of English Verse.</i> <a href="#footref_56">(Back)</a></p></li> + +<li><p><a id="footnote_57" name="footnote_57"></a>See p. <a href="#pagexix">xix</a>. <a href="#footref_57">(Back)</a></p></li> +</ol> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ENGLISH: COMPOSITION AND LITERATURE***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 28097-h.txt or 28097-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/8/0/9/28097">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/0/9/28097</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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