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32X

THE STRUCTURAL PRINCIPLES OF STYLE!
APPLIED.

A MANUAL OF ENGLISH PROSE COMPOSITION.

1-'

J. D. LOGAN, A. M., Ph. D. (Harvard).

I'BOFBSSOH OF ENOUSH AND OF PHirX)SOPHV IN THB

Statb Univehbity of South Dakota.

ViaMILUOK, S. D,

WIUEY * DANFORTH

laoo

f);9(>o

OPYRIOHT, 1900, BY THE ArTHOH.

All Rights Kesbbvbd.

PiiKss OK THE Dakota Bbpublican, Vebmiluon, S. D.

V. S. L.

ION, 8. D.

\o human empleyment is more free and calculable than
the winiiinj,' of lan!,'uage. Undoubtedly there are natural
aptitudes for it, as there are for farniinfj, seamanship, or
being a good husband. Hut nowhere is straight work more
etTective. Persistence, care, discriminatingobservation, ingenu-
ity, refusal to h)se heart,— traits which in every other occupa-
tion tend toward excellence,— tend toward it here with special
security.— Ci. II. Palmer: SelfCtiltivation in English.

liable tlmn
ire natural
lanship, or
work niorc
ion, inyenu-
lier occiipa-
with special
English.

TOPICAL INDEX.

fAOK

vi
I

Pkkkack • • '• • • • •

iNTROlU'CriON • * • » • • • <

Chaitkr I

Style Defined.— The Aim and the Value of the
Tr.actieal Study of Style.— The Methods, Old
and New, of thus Studying Style.— The Method
of this Textl)ook.

Chaptbr II 3'"*

The Fundamental Aspect of Prose Style: the
Difference Between Speech and Written Com-
position. — The Construction of n theme: Tarts
and Principles.— The Abstract Construction of
a Theme. — The Concrete Construction of n
Theme: an Application of Principles to Origi-
nal tlomposition and to Revision.

Chatter III 9'

Paragraphs: their Naiure and Function.— The
Construction of Paragraphs: Principles and
Methods.- -The Paragraph as an Independent
Whole: the Principles and Methods of Inter-
nally Arranging its Parts. — The Paragraph as. a
Related Whole: the Principles and Methods of
Interconnecting Paragraph with Paragraph.

Chapter IV iS'

Sentences: their Nature and Function. — The
Composing of Sentences: Structural Principles.
—The Punctuating of Sentences: Methods Based
on the Length and the Form of Sentences. —
Words as Materials of Composition: Principles
of Choosing Them.

PRBFACE.

The substauco of the treatise in Viand was
delivered during the academic session of lHi)9-
li»00 to the students of the State University
of South Dalcota, in the form of lectures on
the theory and the practice of English prose
composition. I now publish these lectures in
the form of a practical treatise; and I do so for
purely practical reasons. First: I am too
sound a psychologist not to know that every
expert teacher must in the end adapt even the
most excellent textbook to the needs of his
pupils and to the peculiarities of his own
methods of teaching; that, therefore, the text-
book which meets the peculiar wants of a
teacher, even if that textbook be of his own
making, is the best for him. I publish my
lectures solely in order to meet my own
peculiar wants. Consequently I do not recom-
mend my own textbook to any other teacher.
Secondly: While indeed I am sincere in refus-
ing to recommend my textbook in itself, I do
recommend the method employed in it. The
method itself is based upon an empirical study
of how all good writers have become expert

and was
of 1899-
ilversity
tures on
sh prose
3tures in
do so for
am too
at every
even the
s of his
his own
the text-
nts of a
his own
)lish my
my own
)t recom-
teacher.
in refus-
;elf, I do
it. The
cal study
e expert

PHKFACE.

vil

In composin;? and of how, even as experts, they
actually do write. The method of my textbook
is not an academic method: it is the actual
method of good writers. Once I was con-
vinced of this fact, I next went about seeking
what principles (not rules) all good writers
ompl«)yed in making their comi)ositions artis-
tic wholes. I discovered only two princi-
ple.s: namely, the principles that every piece
of composition must express a single idea,
and that the concrete expression of this idea
must proceed in a logical order. These i)rin-
ciples I have named Unity of Substance and
Unity of Form. It seemed to me, then, as I
made trial of my discoveries, that the results
from the class-work fully verified the natural-
ness and the inevitableness of my method. I
do not, however, claim originality for the
method: it always existed— outside of schools
and colleges. I claim originality only for the
basis of my method. 1

In another matter I have attempted in a
small way an innovation. I have recom-
mended a simple method of punctuating sen-
tences. This method too is empirically based.
In my studies of the history of English prose
I noted that as the form and length of the
literary sentence decreased, the number of

■ t:S

vili

PRKFACK.

points of punctuation decreased. (I) until in the
best literature of today there appear very
seldom more than three points, namely, the
comma, the period, and the mark of interro-
gation. If one, I say. were to write only
short simple sentences, or. for the sake of
variety, some complex sentences with only
one subordinate clause, and some compound
sentences with only two co-ordinate clauses,
one would need to use in a simple way only
the three points of punctuation noted above.
My textbook. I am well aware, must have
many blemishes, especially because the time
spent in actual writing was very short, and
because the ' copy ' was given from my own
hands into the hands of the compositor just
as he needed it. I cannot, however, regard
my taking the 'pedagogical attitude' as a
blemish. A critic, no doubt, will regard this
attitude as unliterary. But while, for purely
pedagogical purposes, I address my readers
familiarly, still I use the personal pronouns
' You ' and ' I ' in a manner as consistent as
possible with dignity and literary quality^

(1) "It win not be dlfflcult to llnd imputable literature, at
least of the hitthest magazine (trade, renisterlntt as low as l.«0
predications per period, and as hish as sixty per cent, of simple
senteiiees."-91ierman's AfwJMt(C8o/X-it«mt»re,Cliap.XX. p. 268.

Cf. also Ohap. XXIU, p. 280.

i. lli l *' !"

(I) until in the
! appear very
s, namely, the
rk of interro-

to write only
»r the sake of
ces with only
)me compound
din ate clauses,
mple way only
1 noted above,
ire, must have
cause the time
ery short, and

from my own
ompositor just
3wever, regard
attitude' as a
vill regard this
hile, for purely
iss my readers
ional pronouns
,s consistent as
ary quality.

lutable literature, ut
sterlnis as low as l.«0
ty per cent, of simple
e»t-e,Cliap.XX. p. 268.

■J

u f..

I'RKFACK.

For many suggestions I am indebted to the
textbooks of Professor Wendell, of Professors
Herrick & Damon, of Professor Carpenter, of
Professor Mead, and of Dr. Baldwin. I have
peculiar pleasure in acknowledging my debt
to a booklet by one of my own teachers- -Pro-
fessor Palmer's ' Self Cultivation in English."
Valuable, indeed, as a method of composition.
Professor Palmer's booklet was to me an
inspiration: it made a seemingly dull business
appear a delightful and noble task.

I must express my thanks to Mr. E. H.
Willey of the firm of Willey & Danforth, print-
ers and publishers, for his very expert reading
of the 'proofs' of the text; and to Mr. G. W.
Williams, compositor and pressman of the
same firm, for his patient and artistic work.

J. D. L.

Univetsity of Sout/t DakoUf,
VermilWm, S.D., Oetiitier 2'th, mm.

''9,.

■

INTRODUCTION.

In this textbook I am concerned with
solvin^r for you a problem. I am concerned
with answering, in a practical way, this
question: How may one become ex per f in
l:ritin<y plain English prose? It makes
no difference whether one wish to write a
book big or small, an essay for a literary
magazine, a speech for a political campaign,
or an invitation to dinner; in any case I am
concerned with answering this question
alone : How may one acquire a mastery of
simple, idiomatic English prose style?

I, for my part, propose to teach you how
to write plain English prose. You, for
your part, if you are wise, will not begin
the study of prose style, until you have put
to me certain questions regarding style. 1
must indeed expect you to do so. If a
farmer were to propose to you that you
learn to farm, or a lawyer that you learn

2 I-KINCIPLKS OF STVI.K.

to practice law, or a musician that you
learn to play the piano-forte, would you
say, immediately: 'Yes: I shall be deli^rhted
to be«;in at once?^ Certainly you would
not say any such thing. On the contrary,
before accepting or seeking instruction in
farming, or in law, or in music, you would,
tirst of all, ask— implicitly or explicitly—
the farmer, or the lawyer, or the musician,
who proposed to teach you, a number of
questions regarding theaim and the value of
instruction in farming, or in law, or in
music, the methods of instruction, and the
likelihood of your becoming a successful
farmer, or lawyer, or musician.

If, then, in the cases I have taken you
would be naturally curious about the value
of your learning a trade, or a profession,
or an art, and about the means of learning
a trade, or a profession, or an art, and also
about your own ability, after due training,
to become, say, a farmer, or a lawyer, or a
musician, will you not now, in the pres-
ent case, be just as curious about the

(si-«*i»!5»ft*«»MBS»*'-«*****

lat you
lid you
L-'lightecl
I would
Dtitrary,
iction in
a would,
licitly—
lusician,
mber of

value of
V, or in

and the
accessful

iken you
the value
ofession,
learning
and also
training,
sryer, or a
the pres-
bout the

INTRODUCTION. 3

art of English prose style? Before you
will begin, seriously or eagerly, the prac-
tieal study of this essential art, I must uideed
expeet you to ask me, in one way or m
another; regarding it the following ques-
tions-' What is style; what is the ami and
the value of the study of style; how may
one gain a mastery of style; does one need
extraordinary intellectual power, or simply
ordinary power well-direeted, to acqun-e a
mastery of plain prose style- n the next
few pages of this textbook I shall, as s,mp >
as possible, answer your questions, m the
order in which you have asked them.

CHAPTER I.

STVl K I.K.-.SK1..-T.1K AIM AND THE VAl.l.E OK THK I'RAC
TlCAl. STUDY OI-SIYI.E.-TIIK MKTllODS, OLD AN D NEW,
OV THUS STL-DYINO STYLE—THE METHOD OK THIS
TEXi'HOOK. •

Style Definecl.-To detine any object,
whether a 'thing,' or an 'animal,' one should
do so in two ways. One should describe
the external appearance of the object to
be defined, and distinguish the me of the
object. Suppose, for example, that you
were to ask me to define the horse. I should
begin by describing the external appearance
—the color, size, weight, shape, gait, and
speed— of the horse. But my definition
would not be complete. I must tell you,
further, whether the horse is a 'thing' or
an ' animal ; ' and if an animal, how the horse
differs from other animals in nature and in
use. To make the matter all the plainer,
here is my concise definition of the horse,
such a definition as you would be likely to

THK. I'RAC-
I AM) NEW,
) OV THIS

object,
le should
describe
(bject to
e of the
hat you

I should
pearance
gait, and
lefinition
tell you,
thing' or
the horse
re and in
e plainer,
he horse,

likely to

STYl.K l)i:i'INKl>. 5

find in the best dictionaries: 'The horse is
a large domestic animal, usually white, 0f\-
black, or brown in color; it excels other
domestic animals in beauty, strength, speed,
and docility; it is used chiefly for drawing
or carrying heavy materials, And for con-
veying persons from one place to another,
whether on business or on pleasure.'
Now suppose that instead of my giving you
a merely verbal definition of the horse, I
should, first, show you a horse actually at
work in the field, or passing on the street,
and then proceed to describe the nature
and uses of the horse— would you not in
that case all the better understand my
definition. Precisely, then, in the same
way as I have defined for you the horse, I
shall define prose style. I shall, first, show
you a piece of style; next, I shall point out
its extei-nal appearance and its uses; and,
finally, I shall make a concise 'working'
definition of style('). a.

(1) For wlmt liunifclluU-ly follows I iiin Indi-bted to IMofes-
sor Barrett Wendeirs E^uMi ('"mpimUm, Clmpt»r 1.

PRlNCIIM.liS OK STVI.KS.

The printed pajje, or the book, you are
now reading' is a pieee of prose style. On
first view, as you look at this printed page,
what does style seem to be? Consider
simply and solely what you see. As you
look you see, tirst of all, little blaek marks,
called letters; next, on closer view, you see
groups of words, called sentences; and,
finally, on closest view, you see groups of
sentences, called paragraphs, and groups of
paragraphs, called a book, or an essay. To
the bodily eye, then, a piece of prose style
appears to he simply groups of little black

marks.

This, however, is the outward and the
most insignificant aspect of style. To
know what style really is, you must un-
derstand, further, how these little black
marks came to exist at all, and why they
are grouped together as you see them thus,
for instance, on the printed page before
you. The matter may be explained very
shortly and simply. Before there existed any
means of men's expressing their thought and

STYLK nKFINF.I).

, you are
:yie. On
ited page,
Consider
As you
ck marks,
iV, you see
ices; and,
groups of
I groups of
;ssay. To
prose style
^ittle black

d and the
tyle. To
1 must un-
ittle black
1 why they
them thus,
age before
ained very
existed any
bought and

feelings by way of ' visible signs,' /. <'., by writ-
ten or printed words, communication went
on through 'audible signs,' /. r., by spoken
words. This mode of communication,
however, was necessarily very much limited
in range and hampered in despatch. Ac-
cordingly men invented a system of visible
signs to represent the system of sounds by
which men in the hrst instance s3mbolized
to the outer eye the inner thoughts of
the mind. Here is the matter in a nutshell :
In the tirst place, our linguistic ancestors
agreed overtly or tacitly that certain fixed
sounds should be the signs of certain ideas;
in the second place, as the need came
about, our linguistic ancestors agreed that
certain fixed marks should be the symbols
of those fixed sounds which they had
determined should represent their thoughts
and feelings.

Why, now, you ask, do these black marks
— symbols of ideas — appear not only in
groups, called words, but also in larger
groups, called sentences and paragraphs ?

g i'Ki\<ii'i,r.s OK sTVi.i:.

There are many reasons for this: the
chief reason is psyehoh)«j:ieal. If men's
thou»;hts were merely simple or unrelated
ideas, sinj^le words would be all-sutheient
to express their ideas. But men have ideas
not only of thinjjs, but also of relo/ioiis be-
tween thin«;s. Suppose that, for example,
you wished to say to another person: ' This
is the «,dorious Fourth of July, let us decor-
ate our houses with the American tla^, and
sin«; patriotic son^s.' If you had only sin^de
words to express simple ideas, but had noth-
intj to express the relations between ideas
and between thinjifs, you could in the case I
have taken merely ejaculate: ' Fourth,-July,
house, America, tla^', sonj;.' Your attempt
to express your thoughts and feelings to
another person would thus have ended in a
stupid stutter. You would not indeed have
expressed all the most important matter,
namely, the relations between the single
words you uttered. Words, then, whether
spoken or written, are grouped into sen-
tences, and sentences into paragraphs,

immm

STVI.K PKHNKl).

this: the
If men's
• unrcl.'itcd
ll-sutficient
have ideas
'/(itioiis he-
ir example,
son: 'This
.*t us deeor-
\n fla^, and
only single
It had nt)th-
ween ideas
n the ease I
ourth,-July,
)ur attempt

feelings to
i ended in a
indeed have
tant matter,
I the single
en, whether
;d into sen-
paragraphs,

ehiefly heeause men's thoughts are them-
selves, as they exist in the mind, largely
groups of 'related' ideas.

What, now, in the fullest sense, is style?
In external appearanee style is a numher
of little irregular black marks grouped
together in various ways. Thus it appears,
as I said, to the bodily eye. In reality,
however, men see beyond these visible
signs to the meaning of them, to the ideas
they suggest or represent. This is the real
nature and use of style. To the mental
eye, then, prose style is the expression of
men's thought and feeling by means of
written words. ) '^\ i'-^^ !

The Aim and Value of the Practical
Study of Style,— There are many reasons,
both primary and secondary, why you
should— or, rather, must— sometime begin
the study of the principles of writing plain
English prose style. The primary reasons
are psychological and social; the secondary
reasons are esthetic. For my part, I shall
here consider only the primary reasons

( fl j B i w.^ ' ptJKiw-f iJ' * w ptm"!

inMiM9**i|i

r 1^

,0 I'KINC I'M r.S Ol' STVI.K.

why you should study the principles ..f the
art of writinji plain prose style(M. Snue
howeN er, you are, as I presume, more or
less ijrnorant of psyeholojjy, I sliall put
what I have to say, as plainly as possible.
Tennyson, the British poet, concludes
Canto LIV of his /// Meinoriuni with this
stan/a :

"So runs my .Iroim: Imt what am I?
All infant crying in ihc i\it;ht:
An infant crying for ihe linlit:
.4,1,1 -oith no litiigiinU'^ '•"'" '''"y"^''^

Ask yourself, now, these questions: First,
what is it to be an infaiif, and, secondly,

Ml Th.- m'condary or .enfMir ■•.■u»ons why th« Hlu.ly of tl..>

: ;;:;;r:;y ;v. -i:: ;'. -....•..t "o^ .n.,uu.t.v. .n ui>u^.m..

: ..n Irn. y to p«» m>m f.H/W/.«r. that Is. to <"'"»'""«• l"';^

;„joy l..arMln« how to ...ak ..■at s.-ntwu-e or a tin. ly < on

"TT;r;'L..a. U. »....., t.Uheyou.,KwHter

te!,y. youiiK writtTH should never Itallelzo.

f-i^taiMW^^a*^ V^v.i«>^*

Tlir. STll'V OK STVl.K.

Ics of the
). Sin*.e

moil.' or
sliull put

possible.
;onclucles
with this

ms: First,
secondly,

w Htuily of (In-
|)liiin«-(l 111 iIk'
my do Mils III a
Ivtt In iiuiiikliid
iip<inc, iiiul whut
woini'n.tiikc III
4 tlio iiiiiklii;ri)f
lid kIk' or hi' not
)r a Hnt'ly <'oii-

heyoui.K writer
words 1m allow-
1 to teiwli! and
lally t'lnplniHlz-
III utU'ndliiu to
iiiuit«^rof I'oiir-

what would be the result, in human life, if
men had iit)/(iiininti»rhn/tt rryf 1 anticipate
your answer. An 'infant,' you say, is a
'baby.' 1 have told you in another part of
this textbook that spoken words were men's
tirst articulate mode of e.\pressin<; their
ideas, and that, in due time, a system of
-vriffi'ii words was devised b) men to rep-
resent the ideas conveyed to them by spoken
words. I«;norant as you are so I presume
— of the etymology of the Kurdish Ian-
^'uajje you seldom, if at all, know what is
hiihh'ti In'himi the -vritkii word, namely,
the idea symbolized by the spoken word.
Now when you say that an 'infant' is a
'baby,' you have said the truth; but you
do not realize that the word 'baby' was
spoken long before it was written; that the
.so«;/r/'babv' gives the real ///<'<////// 4'- of the
'd'l-ftteji word, 'baby.' A baby is a being
that in attempting, as it will, to tell others
what it thinks or how it feels— to tell, as
it must, what it wants — can express its
thoughts and feelings, in all circumstances,

- 'ifcamwuutiay

PRINCIPLKS OF STVLl".'

;

^1"

only by the sound 'ba,' 'ba/ or, in general,
by a 'cry' of some sort. A baby, that is
to say, is a being which tries by om ami
ihesame audible sign, by a 'cry, to tell
others how it feels or what it thinks at
(liferent times, in diferenf situations. 1 he
baby, as it were, has hxxione word to express
every thought and feeling, no matter how
different each thought and feeling may be.
The result is that no on. understands what
the baby is trying to say. The child 'cries,

and its parents give it solid food when really
it wants drink; the child cries again, and
its parents attempt to put it asleep when
really the babe is hungry; or the parents
fondle and play with it as if the child were
lonely, when really it is suffering from the
heat or from the colic. All this happens,
however, not because the par'^nts are stupid,
but rather because the baby itself has only
one sound, a 'cry,', to express different
ideas. Practically viewed, the child thus
says nothing: an infant, literally, is a being
that cannot speak as older persons speak,

\y-

THf: STUDY OF STYLE.

)r, in general,
baby, that is
; by one and
'cry,' to tell
it thinks at
tuations. The
ord to express
[) matter how
;eling may be.
lerstands what
e child ' cries,'
ad when really
ies again, and
t asleep when
3r the parents
the child were
ering from the
I this happens,
f'-nts are stupid,
; itself has only
press different
the child thus
rally, is a being
persons speak,

a being that, despite its cries, says tiotliiuo-.

You are wondering now, no doubt, wh)'

I have explained in great detail what an

infant really is. I have been, seemingly,

over-explicit in this matter for two reasons.

First, I wish you to realize vividly that

from one point of view the fundamental

difference between children and men is a

difference in power of speech. In the

second place, I wish you thus to see that

men, despite their greater size and strength,

would— or could — live no better life than

do children, if men did not acquire full and

ready power of speech. Without adequate

and ready means of expressing their

thoughts and feelings men would fail to

live better than the beasts of the field:

human life, as Hobbes said of it in another

reference, would be, indeed, " solitary, poor,

nasty, brutish, and short."

You may no longer doubt, I am per-
suaded, the absolute value of possessing
literary power. Without this power, says
a great teacher, "all other human faculties

^^ PRINCIPLES OF STYl.K.

are maimed .... So mutually dependent are
we that on our swift and full communication
with one another is staked the success of
every scheme we form. He who can
explain himself may command what he
wants. He who cannot 1 as, e.g., the /;//a;;/
cannot I is left to the poverty of individual
resource; for men do what we desire only
when persuaded. The persuasive and
explanatory tongue is, therefore, one of the
chief levers of life.'X*)

For your own part, however, you may
not have thought of this matter in this way.
Rather, in your opinion, I dare say, the
possession of literary power is merely an
^^accomplishment,' valuable and admirable
in tht! same way as skill in playing the
pianoforte, or in drawing and painting, or
in writing poetry-an accomplishment, but
not the mighty lever of li^e^^n>wopinu^

,., G H Palmer: Sel/-CuHi.att.m (n EnaM-h. Ev^'-J y«"°«

;r;rir:Sert':Vu;:r::::u.oci o^ -m„« piai«E„«iuh

prose.

THK STUDY OK STYI.K.

indent are
lunication
success of
who can
what he
the infant
individual
lesire only
isive and
one of the

, you may
n this way.
e say, the
merely an
admirable
.laying the
)ainting, or
ihment, but
)ur opinion,

h. Every youni?
sHiOuld read Pro-
Its thirty piifjes
iig plain English

too, I believe, the chief aim of the study of
English prose style is to make one expert
in transforming the 'vulgar,' /. e., the com-
mon, simple, idiomatic language of daily
life into 'beautiful' English diction — b}-
sacrificing naturalness, vigor, vivacity, and
ease, to intricate or delicate phrasing, or
to metaphor, poetical quotations, pedantic
phraseology, and, as it is called, to word-
painting. Let me tell you that this is not
at all an aim of the study of prose style.
Undoubtedly a proper aim of such study
is to teach one to write with beauty, as
well as with clearness and power. The
true beauty of prose style, however, is
nothing else than the beauty of ivell -ordered
words, sentences, and paragraphs, whether
it be in a learned treatise, a novel, a short
story, an essay, a newspaper editorial, or a
business letter. The chief aim, then, of the
practical study of prose style is to aid one
in becoming expert in expressing ade-
quately one's thoughts and feelings by
means of written words, rightly chosen and

';5SB(BBBISSIRlE^iSSFP15

^ PKlNCirLi:S OF STYLK.

nature of st> le, an ^^^^ ^^ ^^

•::r:r;rLnwo,a. ..-y^^-
,„ay your fear Somepe ^ ^^^
natural aptitudes for wr tms v

thepmno-forte ort ^^^„, js abso-

athletic games No one^^ ^^ _^^^_^ ^^^ ,„
lutely devmd of the pow _^^^^^_.^

«"r''"''".h:?tma; be made very hard
to be sure, the tasK ma> teacher,

.uherhythepu^— ;;;;|;>j„^^,„^.„

:rrXp-Msas.lth..^^^^^^^^^^^

rotrhrsf^"-"---'""-^-

Tin: MKTHOI) OF STUDY.

(1 whole. '

Study of _
ok.-You J

ibout the
; absolute
)rose style,
.ether you
)me expert
feeling by
may be,
jryou. Put
indeed have
prose style,
for playing
louses, or for
:ver, is abso-
learn how to
1 this matter,
.de ver,y hard
y the teacher,
ning how to
i learning how
earty resolve
, careful heed-

ing the instruction given one, perseverance,
and systematic endeavor are soon effective
in making one a master of plain prose style.
In nothing else indeed is "straight work"
more effective. Straight work, however,
does not mean brute labor. If, therefore,
you doubt your own aptitude for learning
to write plain English prose, and thus fear
a necessity of an immense amount of toil
on your part before you gain a mastery of
prose style, you may put aside your doubts
and fears. The gaining of a mastery of
simple, idiomatic English prose style, let
me assure you, is a matter neither of apti-
tude nor of brute labor. You must indeed
have common intelligence and you must
perform at least an average amount of
straight work. This granted, the acquiring
of literary power is almost wholly a matter
of method.

As to methods of gaining a mastery of
plain English prose style, there are but two
that can be at all effective and in my opin-
ion, only one of these two that can be really

^^pi.flflPSJM^!f*«««»'^

tW MI» < « » Jt^fc ' .W.W^'J '»i' -r'J ''V

-v^^M^^^i^'

PK1NCIP1.KS OF STYLK.

or easily eWective. Let me first, explain
each of these methods, and, then, state
which one 1 shall employ in this textbook.
The two methods of which I shall here
treat I shall name-the method of Im.tafon
and the method of Original Compos,-
tion. Both of these, no doubt, for the sake
of efficacy demand on the part of the
tdent original writing. The firs,, how-
ever, can demand only that the ' substance
of what is written be original; the 'form
must be a direct imitation of the manner
of another's writing. The second method
demands that both the substance and the
form of what one writes be strictly ongma,
absolutely one's own. ' ha™, therefa. ,
named the latter the method of Ongmal
Composition. It is not hard to •.ndej.tar.d
the nature of these two methods, or to rate
their practical worthC). Samuel Johns™,

Sclf-CuIMwi«(on in Bnc'toh. PP. ^^

THE MKTHOl) OF STUDY.

, explain
:n, state
extbook.
lall here
[mitation
Composi-
r the sake
t of the
irst, how-
ubstance '
tie 'form'
e manner
id method
:e and the
y original,
therefore,
f Original
understand
i, or to rate
el Johnson,

mie and Bnottoh
e Part» of BnflWh
. I, and Palmer'*

himself a great writer of English prose
style, explicitly recommends the method of
Imitation. "Whoever wishes," he says in
closing his Life of Addison— " whoever
wishes to attain an English style, familiar
but not coarse, and elegant but not osten-
tatious, must give his days and nights to
the volumes of Addison." Thus, too, Ben-
jamin Franklin, a great American stylist,
by his own example as well as by his suc-
cess in attaining an excellent English style,
recommends the method of Imitation.
"About this time," says he in his Autobi-
ography, " I met with an odd volume of
the Spectator. I had never before seen any
of them. I bought it, read it over and over,
and was much delighted with it. I thought
the writing excellent, and wished if possible
to imitate it. With that view I took some
of the papers, and making short hints of
the sentiments in each sentence, laid them
by a few days, and then, without looking
at the book, tried to complete the papers
again, by expressing each hinted sentiment

TRINCIPLKS OF STYLE.

at length, and as fully as it had been
expressed before, in any suitable words that
should occur to me. I then compared my
Spectator with the original, discovered
some of my faults, and corrected them."

Skill, then, in writing prose style— ac-
cording to the advocates of the method of
Imitation— is to be attained by a constant
reading of the works of reputable writers
and by a patient and careful reproducmg
of the form of their prose style. In this
way the would-be stylist will, in due time,
acquire the knack or the habit of expressing
naturally his own thoughts and feeling m
the diction, idiom, syntax, sentential struc-
ture and rhythm, or what not, of some
master of prose style.

While this method may be thought to be
excellent and effective enough, it cannot
be with any success a universal method,
if indeed it can be a method at all. It
demands from the student of style a too
high degree of intelligence and a too great
amount of labor, both in reading and m

""v-jIW

THE MKTHOl) OF STUOY,

•t

had been
vords that
pared my
liscovered

them."
style — ac-
method of
fi eonstant
(le writers
;producing
e. In this

due time,
expressing
i feeHng in
;ntial struc-
it, of some

[jught to be
, it cannot
al method,
at all. It
style a too
a too great
ling and in

writing. That the method of Imitation
by these very demands cannot be the
universal method is a fatal objection to
it. Let me, however, summarize some
general objections. Because, as a matter
of fact, we do, in the first instance, acquire
our diction, grammar, and idiom by imitat-
ing others, and because imitation of anoth-
er's prose style has been recommended by
great authorities as an excellent and effective
method of learning to write prose style, and,
seemingly, has actually been found to be
such, the advocates of the method of imita-
tion virtually conclude that another method
cannot be more excellent or effective. This
is bad logic. Again: Those who recom-
mend imitation as the surest way of ac-
quiring a mastery of style ask us —at least
the most of us— to move along the line of
the greatest intellectual resistance. This
is bad psychology. Finally, the advocates
of the method of imitation practically assert
not only that there is no royal road to learn-
ing how to write good style, but also that,

iiiittiiliin»Wft»''*'

PKINC'IIM.KS OF STYLK.

at least with themselves, there eternally
shall not he one. This is had pedagogy. It
is the duty of the teacher of English prose
composition to discover and apply the least
difficult method consistent with general
effectiveness. That there is a much less
difficult or cumbersome method and at the
same time a much more effective one than
that of Imitation cannot, in view of the
experience of many teachers and of all
writers, be doubted.

The method of Original Composition
has nothing to recommend it except its
highly practical character. First, let psy-
chology show that Original Composition is
naturally fitted to be the /////r-rrw/ method.
Demanding for its success, as it does, only
common intelligence and no more than an
average degree of straight work, it is a
method that so far as plain prose style is
concerned can in the hands of a sympathetic
and competent teacher be as effective with
children as with adults.(') T his method,

( I • See Ell/.^)^i^m^l«il>^K^T»i« ProWem ../ rXtmtyAatv Com-

i« t j iri i trft/-

THE METHOD OF STUDY.

ternally

>Ky- It
h prose
he least
general
uch less
d at the
>ne than
r of the
1 of all

(position
:cept its
:, let psy-
:)sition is
method.
[)es, only
: than an
:, it is a
e style is
ipathetic
tive with
i method,

tmentatv Com-

however, could not be such as it is if it did
not have a sound basis in the nature of the
human mind. Those who adopt and apply
the method of Original Composition do not
suppose that there is in the universe only
mt/t(/. Rather, they know that there are
minds: and that these minds differ in all
sorts of ways. They know, too, that these
minds are not by nature mere receptacles
of wood and stone, but that, from the very
beginning of their existence, are unceasingly
active powers, early showing a tendency to
create or construct. Even the infant's 'ba,'
'ba,' and other 'cries' are creative acts.
Still more, human minds take delight in
their own activity, in creating or construct-
ing. In many things, no doubt, they must
at first imitate others; but they would not
imitate at all, if they did not have naturally

VDtiUim, whtch aloiiK with Professor Piiluier's atlf-Cuitivaiion in
EnoXith should he In the hands of every younK teacher of En>f-
llshroinposltloii. Both little books are an Inspiration: they
make a seemluKly dull business appear a delightful and noble
task.

PKlNriPlKS OF STYLK.

a tendency to be active -creative, or con-
structive.(')

The method of Oripnal Composition is
based on those simple but fundamental
facts of psychology which I have just stated
above. If imitation, the advocates of this
method say, is not really so much pure
imitation as it is a mode of oripnal crea-
tion, if we all must by repeated efforts learn
to do well what we attempt to do at all, and,
if even from childhood, we take delight
in creating and constructing— then the
natural method of gaining a mastery
of prose style must be as far as possible
one of original composition. The method,
in short, of attaining a clear and vigorous,
if plain, prose style is one which works
"/e,v\ by imitation than by repeated and
Tvell -directed e forts to 'vrite down on paper
precisely the ihou^rhts thai are in our minds.

(1) ThB teachiT should ri-iid .Iukk-h rniiehnlivii: Briefer
Ci»in>e, num. XXIIt. pp. 470-471. iind Chitp. XXVI. pp. 415-»1«. In
order to iH' iililu to o.xpliiln mori- fully tht> pHyfliolojry of thi"
mctliodof ()rl«lmil (•ompositlon and to lllustriite the psycho-
loKloul fu t.

Till. MKTIIOU i)F STUDY.

»i

ive, or con-

nposition is
iindamental
c just stated
■ates of this
much pure
iginal crea-
efforts learn
oat all, and,
ake delight
— then the
a mastery
as possible
rhe method,
nd vigorous,
^hich works
epeated and
wn Oft paper
'n our minds.

For It is not expression that should govern
our thou<,'hts, but thou^'ht expression, and
// is h\ constantly conipariiio our ideas
•L'itli our expression of them and sliiftiniy
the form of our expression until it fits the
tmly of our thought that we shall ^roiv
most surely, even if not most rapidly( ? ),
/■// the art which we are studyinii.'\ ' )

Ap'iin: Since the slightest psychology,
as we have seen, has shown that the method
of Original Composition naturall}' is fitted
to be the universal method of acquiring a
mastery of prose style, let now the experi-
ence of all writers show that this method
actually is the only universal one.

To put the matter simply and convinc-
ingly I shall begin with speech. The very
first more or less articulate utterance of a
child is an effort in original composition.
I am not here in the least straining a point

"mirhoUmu: liilefer
XVI. pp.415-ttll.ln
■ pHjrL'liolovty of th<'
sti'iitc till- psycho-

it) G. K. Carpcntt'r: ExerrUes in Hhetorte and VompogitUm,
Chap. I. Tlif ItallCH and the<iuery In tim text urn mini'. I'ro-
ffssorCarpciiter si'iMiis to doubt whether this uiev'.hod Is the
most rapid In attalnlnifltsend. For my own part I btdlevethut
It Is both the surest and the must rapid.

mtiHk

mmimim

36 PRINCIIM.ES OF STYLK.

of view, or playing with words.(') The
chilcVs first more or less articulate utter-
ance is an effort to make a definite sound.
This effort on the chikVs part to make
precisely the sound which in its own dumb
way the child has in mind— this effort to
speak-\s really an attempt to combme or
'compose' certain movements of the lips,
tongue, palate, and so on, into a single
movement that will produce the sound
desired. Only after repeated efforts, how-
ever, does the child acquire the power of
articulating or pronouncing correctly. In
the same way as you yourself have learned,
say, to hold and use a knife and fork at the
dining table, or to write with a pen, or to
thread a needle, so a child learns to speak
(articulate): first, by actually making some

(1) Hinoc humui. speech as such Is one of man's inrenMom..

"rJciou^ne.*, Essay IX in his Studies of «'^'^««^^«^ J;^^,^'/,
pllchoKm and the Argument from De»U,n In the Philosophical
Review for Nov.. 1888, pp. 608^510.

THK MKTHODOl-' STUDY.

rds.(') The
iculate utter-
2tinite sound.
)art to make
its own dumb
this effort to
[O combine or
ts of the lips,

into a single
ce the sound
i efforts, how-

the power of
correctly. In
f have learned,
and fork at the
h a pen, or to
earns to speak
y making some

le of man's invention*.
The acquiring of thl«
n the point of view of
See James' Pxydwhtgy:
[oyce's OriflitKiMd/ and
iwid and Evil. Cf . my
1 In the Philosophical

sort of sound more or less like the one
in mind; then, by discovering in some way
that it has failed to speak correctly—
that, e.o-., 'oo,' is not 'you,' that 'boo' is
not 'cow,' or that 'dod' is not God; finally,
by revising its manner of articulating or
pronouncing, until the child can say, so far as
sound is concerned, just what it means to
say. Note, then, the first and third stages
of this process: the orijyinal composition
in movements or in sounds, and the revision
of these. The revisions are not arbitrary:
they are corrections of the child's broken
speech — corrections according to the stand-
ard which the child adopts from its elders,
as the standard of proper articulation or
pronunciation.

With original compositions, too, a child
begins its grammar, idiom, and its forming
of sentences. At first these are just as futile
or faulty as its articulation. But, as for-
merly, at its own instance or at the instance
of its parents and teachers the child daily
revises its grammar and idiom, according

PRINCU'LKS OF STYLK.

to the standard of reputable usage, until by
the time the child has grown to youth it
has learned to speak correctly. Note,
then, in these higher matters of diction,
grammar, and idiom the two stages of
original composition and of revision accord-
ing to a standard.

In still higher matters, in prose composi-
tion as such, the process of acquiring liter-
ary power must have the same two stages:
original efforts in writing prose and repeat-
ed revisions of what is written, until a
mastery of style is secured. I am not here
putting a theory: I am stating a brute fact.
For in one form or in another this is the
actual process of writing prose, whether
the writer be a tyro or a great stylist. In
one way or in another — wholly in the mind
or on paper, or partly in the mind and
partly on paper— all writers, first, outline
or flan both the general substance and the
form of any particular subject that they
purpose treating; secondly, what they have
thus outlined they expand ox develop into a

n
r
c
1(
a
a
\
1

JSa.

thb: methoi> ok study.

ntil by
luth it
Note,
liction,
y;es of
iccord-

imposi-
g liter-
stages:
repeat-
until a
ot here
ite fact.
s is the
/hether
1st. In
le mind
nd and
oittline
and the
at they
ey have
p into a

more or less rough whole; and finally, they
revise or reconstruct, according to the prin-
ciples and usages of style, the form and
length of their sentences and paragraphs,
and the details of their diction, grammar,
and idiom, in order to make the total of
what they have written a perfect or finished

■whole. (^)

You may remember my saying above
(p. 2i) that the method of Imitation would
have one who seeks to acquire a mastery
of style to proceed along the line of greatest
intellectual resistance. You may now see
that my statement is true. The method
of Imitation would have a writer perform
at one and the same time the outlining, the
developing, and the revising of what one
is writing. Trained or expert writers, to
be sure, seemingly at one and the same
time do at least outline and develop what

,1) see Wendell-s K«(/K*h 0»mp<.8«f..... pp. US. IKUM: Herrtck
& n, mon's0.mp<.«Ht....«ml Rh^loric. Chap. H . P"!"";';; ^'f"

Bmmu PP. T-8; Ha.nerton's T/.« ^"'f"^*,'" „^f ' ^'''^ "' ^'
and XI, aud Balnton's Arl of Axithwmp. Chap. I.

i:.fl;f-rii"Ti¥r"-^'°^-

30 CKIN'CIPLF.S OF STYI.K.

they have to say. Certainly, too, after due
traininj^, these can be thus more or less read-
ily done. But the jijenius, as well as the tyro,
must go to infinite pains in the matter
of revision, before what either of the two
has written becomes a perfect or finished
whole. The method of Imitation, therefore,
if it be not wholly an impossible or abortive
method, is at least highly cumbersome and
unpractical. The true method of acquir-
ing a mastery of prose style must be
identical with the natural method — /. e.,
with the method universally used by writers
in actually composing. As the method of
Original Composition is the only one really
used in the actual writing of prose, so must
it be also the only natural or true method
of teaching one how to write.

To aid you in becoming expert— or at
least much more expert than you are at
present— in writing plain English prose
style, I shall in this textbook employ the
method of Original Composition. I shall
employ this method somewhat as follows:

le
m

e'
h
it
it
n

/.
/
>

CiUaSi^s

er due
IS read-
e tyro,
matter
he two
inished
;refore,
bortive
me and
acquir-
ust be
— /. e.,
writers
thod of
e really
;o must
method

— or at
are at

1 prose

)loy the
I shall

follows:

THE METHOD OF STUDY.

s»

I shall have you write Whole Compositions,
technically called Themes. I shall have
you write, that is to say, short essays on
any subject of which you have a more or
less ready knowledge; chiefly on such
matters of daily life as you talk about to
your fellows on the street, in your home,
or in the schoolroom. This will give you
every chance to write readily. After you
have written your theme, I shall criticize
it in as human and happy a way as possible,
in order to convince you that your theme
may be improved by revision.

My first task, then, is to show you Ji07V
to outline or phvi the general substance and
form of a theme. My second task is to show
you, after you have expanded or developed,
your outline into a Whole Composition,
what are the principles of style according
to -which you must revise your themes, so as
to perfect the quantity and quality of your
paragraphs and sentences, and to make as
correct and expressive as possible your
irrammar, idiom, and diction. Your first

i i i 1iir il 'Tit«1itifl i]\fmr , M r

;:a>;a:fe^Vi^v■iiii ^a , i:^^^^ . i^ . ^ui't . «»v? ii ??^V i ff^

PUIXCIPLKS OF STVLK.

task is to express — more or less pell-mell —
your thought and feeling in an original
theme. Your second task is to apply
siiiiply and solely in revision your know-
ledge of the principles and rules of writing
prose style to making your original com-
position a perfect and finished whole.(')

I have dwelt at length on these matters
of the nature and use of style and the
method of acquiring a mastery of it, that
you may be induced to pursue it willingly
and eagerly, and in the same way as those
who actually possess a mastery of prose
style, and that you may know your success
is .assured, if you are brave, heedful, and

(1) This Indeed Is the method of piOKreMS in any art: a more
or less rouKh and ready creatliiK of a whole, and then— not till
then— a perfecting of this roujih whole, accordInK to principles
of tcchni(|iie. For verlHctttion, or Illustration of the fact, wit-
ness the painter's 'sketches' and 'studies' made In the field or
studio, the poefsor novelist's first • drifts.' or the musician's
'experiments' In moti/«. In 'developments' of themes, and In
harmonies. The teacherof English ConuKwItlon must not be led
astray In this matter by the fact that, e. p., an apprentice to a
housebuUder does not learn his trade by first building a whole
house, and then reconstructing It. In theory he should so learn
his trade; but he Is prevented from doing so by the heavy
materials he deals with, the cost of these, the large size of his
structure, and the demand for quick construction.

iit>ii^.'*c:'^sm

mell —
iriginal
app/y
know-
ivriting
;1 com-

e-C)
natters

nd the

it, that

ilHngly

IS those

f prose

success

ul, and

irt: a more
5n— not tin
principles
e fact, wit-
the field or
niuslclan'H
les, and in
t not be led
■entice to u
tng aichole
lid 80 learn
the heavy
size of his

TIIK MKTHOl) OK STUDY. 33

persistent. If your own heart is right, and
the method by which you arc instructed is
sane and practical, no human employment
is more free and calculable than the win-
ning of full and ready literary power.

■ ^ te i w H WiiiMwJi ffli i

.-.^,-^„^f-.-»-r^-^i»g»«r«'?4W»>l,fe'-^aa:;

CHAPTER II.

THIC KITNDAMENTAI, ASPECT OF I'ROSE STYLE: THE DIFFEK-
EXCES HETWEEN SPEECH AM> WRITTEN COMPOSITION.
—THE CONSTRUCTION OF A THEME: PARTS AND PRIN-
CIPLES.— THE ABSTRACT CONSTRUCTION OF A THEME.—
THE CONCREIE CONSTRUCTION OF A THEME: AN APPLI-
CATION OF PRINCIPLES TO ORIGINAL COMPOSITION AND
ro REVISION.

The Fundamental Aspect of Prose Style;
Substance and Form.— In your opinion, I
have no doubt, the acquiring of a mastery
of prose style is altogether a matter of
acquiring soiiiefhiuir to write. In your
opinion, he is a good stylist who can write
rapidly and readily on any subject. You
are deceiving yourself: a study of the prin-
ciples of style will not in the least help you
to say — or to write — anything more than
you can naturally express in speech. If the
question of what, or how much, to write
were the problem of prose style, would not
a great stylist be one who could write a
great deal on any subject ? Judged by such

DIFFKK-
OSITION.
ND l-RIN-

HEME. —
N AIM'LI-
■lON AND

; Style;
nion, I
lastery
tter of
1 your
1 write
You
le prin-
elp you
'e than
If the
o write
»uld not
write a
by such

r -< .ii« l »l , ■ mMlf i lH ii . ' i » Y<^ ■"^" ." II - ' ,

i ^^ ii < M i !| i . i ) II H I f ii ' L 'f^

SUBSTANCE AND FORM.

»>

a standard, the only great stylists would be
our 'newspaper reporters.'

Consider the question from another, but
allied, point of view— say, from the point
of view of house-building. Why, e. jr., do
we call one house-builder simply a 'carpen-
ter ' or a ' joiner,' while we call another an
' architect,' as if the latter term were more
dignified ? In suhstonce there is really no
difference between a 'hut,' a 'log-cabin,'
a ' dwelling-house,' and a ' palace.' There
is, however, a great difference in struditre,
or, as all artists call it, in /o/'w. An 'arch-
itect,' therefore, as distinguished from a
mere house-builder— from a 'carpenter' or
a I joiner'— is one who in building anything,
cares immensely for the form or structure
of it as sucli : who aims at constructing
what shall be not only serviceable, but also
excellent or beautiful in its very structure.^)

(1) The teacher of Etittllsh Composition should fully explain
and illustrate this n.attepof structure. One may do so simply,
as is n.y own custom In the classroon.. by showinR how structure
Is a matter of the relcUioiu, of parts In a whole, and by using for
Illustration Latin prose, music, and drawing. Since Latin Is an

:-y.f ■'■-^-■■:-'^-^^-»>-<f^»'

3«

PRINCII'LKS OK STYLK.

While, to be sure, the materials with
which an architect builds must count for
something,' in the total excellence or beauty
of what is built, the fundamental question
an architect has in mind is this: Given
certain materials how should a house,
palace, or what not, be built— how should
the material., be composed, constructed,—
so as to be serviceable, and beautiful to
behold ? It is, in short, with the architect
a question altogether of composition. Only
in the matter of composition can one arch-
itect differ from another, or show power
of architectural style.

In substance speech does not differ from
written composition. What is called ' writ-
ten discourse ' is only ' spoken discourse '

lnflocte<l laiiKUiiK.' one can show the nicety or Deiiuty of the
rehitlons In a peitoa of Cicero as compared with those In a
Dorlod of I.ivy or of Ciwsar. Or. one can sh<nv how the melody of
any popuUir sons or hymn has a definite structure; how It has a
• then.e • or musical Idea, expressed In a musical period, the first
clause of which Is an Imperfect cadence, and the second a per-
fect cadence; the whole of which Is thus seen to make musical
sense. Or, one can show how any drawlnK of a human face Is
composed of a number of little straight lines, and how the dif-
ference In faces Is hut a matter of the arrangement of these
lines.

'ift:!*-^''"

with
it for
L-auty
jstion
jiven
louse,
hould
fed,—
ful to
hitect
Only
arch-
power

- from
' writ-
ourse '

ty of the
liosu ill II

iielody of
)w It has u
1, the first
and u pflr-
t! musical
an face Is
w the dlf-
t of these

SUHSTANCK AND FORM.

ivritteii down on paper. Practically viewed
(,ne cannot write down on paper what one
cannot speak. The reason is plain: if one
have no ideas to ' voice,' one really has no
ideas at all; and if one have no ideas to
'voice,' much less, obviously, can one have
ideas to 'write.' The problem of prose
style, therefore, is not a question regardinji
what one shall write, or how one shall '
obtain ideas to express in written words.
If one can speak, then one can write— so far
as substance is concerned: for one has
only to write down on paper the thought
and feelings one is every hour expressing
in one's ' talk ' on the street, in the home, in
the schoolroom, or elsewhere.

Your speech, you must now see, supplies
you with the materials (or substance) of
your written compositions. It supplies,
however, only the matei:ials of prose style.
For speech, Just because it usually is hap-
hazard or desultory, never has, never can
have nice or t^ne structure, or, as it is called,
literary form. This will be obvious, if

PRI\riPI.F,S OK STYLK

you consider the characteristic differences
between ordinary 'conversation' and, say,
a ' Conimencenient Oration,' which though
spoken was in the first instance written in
accordance with the principles of prose
style. Conversation " moves in sentences,
and rarely demands a paragraph. I make
my little remark, a dozen or two words, —
then wait for my friend to hand me back

as many more The brief grouping's

of words which make up our talk furnish
capital practice in precision, boldness, and
variety; but they do not contain enough
room for exercising our constructive fac-
ulties. Considerable length is necessary
if we are to learn how | as in a Commence-
ment Oration I to set forth B in right relation
to A on the one hand, and to C on the
other; and while keeping each a distinct
part, are to be able through their smooth
progression to weld all the parts together
into a compacted whole. Such wholeness
is what we mean by literary form."(')

(t) G. H. Piilmer: Self-CitHivation in English, p. ai.

sniSTANC K AM) FOKM.

The ^'LMieral aim, then, of speech and of
written discourse is identical: both are
modes of evpressin*; th()u«,'ht and feelinj,'
by words. The substance, too, of speech and
of written discourse is identical: the ideas
expressed in any piece of writing; could
easily have been spoken. But in form or
structure speech and written discourse
differ absolutely. Practically viewed indeed
speech must not have literary form: in
conversation the chief demand is for sub-
stance— {or the ready interchange of ideas.
Speech must run swiftly to its mark. Writ-
ten discourse, on the other hand, while, if
possible, aiminf< at the naturalness, ease,
vigor, vivacity, and reality of speech, must
be deliberate with the order in which ideas
are expressed. Lacking; order— structure,
form — "any piece of writinfj is a failure;
because, in truth, it is not a piece, but | like
conversation j pieces. For ease of reading,
or for the attainment of an intended effect,
unity [of form as well as of sub.stance J is
essential— the multitude of statements, anec-

PRINCIPLKJi OF STVLK.

dotes, quotations, ar.i,minj4S, gay sportings,
and appeals, all 'bending one way their
gracious influence.' And this dominant
unity of the entire piece obliges unity also
in the subordinate parts. Not enough has
been done when we have huddled together
a lot of wandering sentences, or penned
them in a paragraph, or even when we have
linked them together by the frail ties of
' and, and.' A sentence must be compelled
to say a single thing; a paragraph, a single
thing; an essay, a single thing. Each part
is to be a preliminary whole, and the total

a finished whole If a letter is to be

written to a friend, a report to an employer,
a communication to a newspaper, see that
it has a beginning, a middle, and an end.
The majority of writings are without these
pleasing adornments. Only the great
pieces possess them. Bear this in mind,
and win the way to artistic composition by
noticing what should be said first, what
second, and what third."(*)

(1) G. H. Palmer: Self-cultivation in Enulii-h, pp. Sl-SJ. Let

^ I

,- ata^ i ' i i*»^J i>«i -"' -*' ' ' * * ' ' t " 1^i*>J*' ' 'w> -

sportings,

way their
I dominant

unity also
enough has
;d together

or penned
en we have
frail ties of
; compelled
ph, a single
Each part
id the total
er is to be
1 employer,
ler, see that
and an end.
ithout these

the great
is in mind,
iposition by

first, what

Kh, pp. 21-2;j. Let

SUBSTANCE AND FOKM.

Structure, then, is the fundamental aspect
of prose style. Structure itself is but order
amongst the parts of a ivholc. Note the
italicized words in the preceding sentence.
Every organic whole must have parts ; every
whole is made organic by a definite or h.ved
order amongst itsi parts; the order in the
parts and in the whole — so far as it is a
human invention — is first preconceived
in the mind, and then actually expressed in
the materials forming the whole. The
problem, therefore, of the practical study
of prose style is: How may one gain a
mastery of iriving order or fine structure
to ivhat one is writing f What follows is,
as the mathematicians say, a solution of
this problem.

The Gnistruction of a Theme: Parts
and Principles. — Every organic whole, as
I have said, has parts and a definite order

me iiKain recorninend Professor Palmer's booklet. I know
notliin); else that will so soon put one, student or teacher, In
the rlKht attitude to English prose composition, or so soon
make prose composition appear a worthy and dellKhtful task.
Luminous throughout. Professor Palmer's book is also abso-
lutely con vincinK.

PRINCn'LKS Of STYLK.

amoncjst its parts. Since we are concerned
here only with a human invention, the
supreme question is: Hoiv is an organic
whole of prose — an essay or a book — made
orderfiiU The answer is: By having its
parts constructed according to principles. -
Let me explain this matter familiarly. In
constructing, say, a dwelling-house, the
architect must apply certain rules, laws, or
principles to the arramring of the materials
into parts, and of the parts into an organic
whole. Consciously, or unconsciously, an
architect in building a dwelling-house em-
ploys certain 'principles' of arithmetic and
of geometry: say, e.g., the principle that
twice two are four, or the principle that
two straight lines cannot inclose a space, or
the principle that parallel lines if projected
infinitely will never meet. Consciously, or
unconsciously, an architect in building a
dwelling-house employs, also, certain prin-
ciples of physics: say, e. g., the principle
that all bodies gravitate to the center of
the earth (tend to fall), or the principle

.:i' i1 i i'i^i"f''S"'^"'^".^'^' ■^i^i i ftfii■^ | ■VTf l l l J'- i i i -i i i r ii r. i n. |

erned
, the
oranic
made
tig its
iples.
/. In
!, the
ws, or
terials
■g a trie
;ly, an
se em-
;ic anil
e that
e that
ace, or
)jected
isly, or
ding a
n prin-
inciple
nter of
■inciple

/'"

SUHSTANCK AND FORM.

that Hght travels in straight lines; and so on.
As an architect must have his principles
— /. e., fixed rules by which, so far as
structure is concerned, a house must be
built, so a prose stylist must have his prin-
ciples of structure, according to which
words are to be composed into sentences,
sentences into paragraphs, and all these
again into a well-ordered or finished whole.
Now an organic whole of prose, as we saw
(p. 40), must have a be.lnning, a middle,
and an end; each one of ■ - large parts
must be just itself, and ' dly so well-

ordered that what should be written first
is first, what should be written second is
second, and what should be written last is
last. Let me, then, show you how to
construct (abstractly) a theme, according
to its general parts and principles.

The Abstract Construction of a Prose
Theme.— Every prose theme, be it long or
short, be it a book or an invitation to din-
ner, must have a beginning, a middle, and
an end. In the technical language of

i
^

PRINCIPLKS OF STYLK.

Rhetoric, every theme must have an Intro-
duction, a Discussion, and a Conclusion.
Your first business in constructing a prose
theme is to plan or outline its general sub-
stance and form: that is, to determine in
general jv/iai you mean to write, and how
you mean to introduce, discuss, and conclude
whatever you may write.

Keep well in mind our definition of prose
style (Chap. I, pp. 4-9). To the bodily
eye, I said, prose style appears to be simply
groups of little, irregular, black marks,
called words, sentences, and paragraphs:
while to the mental eye prose style is the
expression of men's thoughts and feelings
— of related ideas — by means of written
words composed, /. e., grouped together,
into a well-ordered and finished whole.
Mastery of prose style, literary power,
means, then, mastery of composition — that
is, of grouping together related ideas in
their proper places and in their proper
contiections. Keep well in mind, too, what
this means. In any given piece of good

itro-
iion.
rose
sub-
\e in
how
lude

•rose
)dily
nply
irks,
phs:
5 the
lings
itten
ther,
hole,
wer,
-that
r.v /u
oper
ivhat
»ood

■ KSiJW i g-ffimy ^

SUBSTANCE AND FORM.

prose style, I said (Chap. II, pp. 37-40),
every sentence must be made to express a
single idea; every paragraph, a single idea;
every group of paragraphs or of chapters,
a single idea: and so on. Each of these
parts, small or large, must be in substance
and form a preliminary whole, but so com-
posed under a single or leading thought
that the great total is a well-ordered and
finished whole. The way, therefore, to a
mastery of artistic composition is seemingly
a mechanical matter. One must determine
in view of what one means to say in all,
what one should say first, what second,
and what third or last in each of the
preliminary wholes, be they sentences,
paragraphs, chapters, or still larger parts.
This is to say that always one must con-
struct or compose what one is writing with
an eye to unity of Substance and to unity
of Form. These are the only fundamental
and general principles of prose composi-
tion.(') Now let me apply them, in order

(1) since tlie ucqutriflg of a mastery of prose style is much

""■ ■!— ■

PRINCIPLES OF STYLE.

to show you how to use them in construct-
ing a theme in general.

Suppose that you are ready to write a
theme on, say, 'What Prose Style Really
Is,' or on 'A Student's Room in Harvard
College.' You are to make, as it is called,
an abstract of your theme. In doing this
you must employ the principles of Unity
of Substance and of Unity of Form. You
cannot employ these principles, until, first,
you fix upon the point of view from which
you will treat your theme. According to
the title of the first theme your aim is to
tell what prose style really is. From that
point of view you would proceed somewhat
as I have done in Chapter I of this text-
book. You would, that is, aim to show,
first, what prose style is in external appear-
ance; and, next, what prose style is in

more a matter of practice In writinK than of theory, the teacher
of Enttllsh Composltfon should burden the minds of the studente
of prose style with the fewest principles consistent with general
effectiveness. For my own part, I And that two are sufficient:
Unity of Substance and Unity of Form. In general meaning
my own terminology corresponds to the more rHiiitliar termln-
olosiy— Unity (of Substance). Mass. and Coherence (Unity of
Form). ■ ,

) teacher
students
I general
ifflcient:
meaning
• tormln-
Un\ty of

SUBSTANCE ANO FORM,

real nature or in use. What you would
write about these matters would be funda-
mental. But you should in some way,
proportionately to the main matters, intro-
duce and conclude what is of fundamental
importance. Your 'abstract' of the gen-
eral substance and form of your theme on
the real nature of prose style would then
appear somewhat as follows: —

WHAT PROSE STYLE REALLY IS.

Introduction:

( i) The need of a sound definition of prose style.

(2) Prose style must be defined in the same way as any
other object, namely, from the point of view of (a) its external
appearance, and (*) its use.
Discussion:

(i) The external appearance of prose style. («) As one
looks one sets on a printed page only little, irregular, black
marks, (*) appearing in groups, some small, some large.

(2) The real nature of prose style: (n) The origin of
these little black marks: (*) The meaning of the groups.
Conclusion:

A full definition of what prose style really is.

Before I shall instruct you further in the
matter of planning a theme, it is worth
while to have another 'abstract' of a theme.
Let the subject of the theme be— 'A Stu-

ssam

■ vm^m'

PKrNClPLES OF STYLK.

dent's Room in Harvard College.' I may
here make to you the same remarks as in
the case of your first 'abstract.' You are
to plan the general substance and form of
your theme. In doing so you must employ
the principles of Unity of Substance and of
Unity of Form. As an aid to the employ-
ing of these principles you should, first,
select your point of view. Let me indicate
your point of view by italicized words.
In your theme you mean to describe^ not
the room of any student you please, but
the room of a student in Harvard College,
and you mean to describe its appearances
and its use. Every room has, as we say,
an outside and an inside. The outside
usually is of no significance; the inside
alone is of real value. Every room, too,
has its uses; sometimes it is a 'study,'
sometimes both a study and, as they call
it, a ' living-room.' The uses much more
than the appearances of a room are of real
value. In general, then, your theme would
be constructed with these facts in your

SUBSTANCF, AND KOKM.

mind. You must, too, as before, introduce
and conclude your theme, proportionately
to the matter of the main discussion. You
would, then, plan your theme somewhat as
follows :

A student's room in harvard

COLLEGE.

Introduction:

(1) Accepled an invitation to a Harvard CoiiimcntemeiU.

(2) Went a day earlier than necessary and spent the time
in examining; the collesje l)uildings.

(3) Struck by the uni(|ue appearance and varied uses of
the students' rooms, and of one in particular.
Discussion:

(1) External appearance; door, transom, letter-box,
name of the occupant in brass or card.

(2) Internal appearance; general architecture, general
furnishings, specific descriptions of these, and of their arrange-
ments, decorations on the mantel and the walls.

(3) Uses; the study, the living-room, the sleeping-room,
method of transforming the whole into a reception-room for
friends and relatives on Commencement day.
Conclusion:

A lesson learned: beauty and use should be valued ecpially
ni the making of our dwelling-places.

If now, on the basis of the instruction so
far given, you were to expand or develop
the topics outlined in the 'abstract ' of your
theme, you would not, except by accident,

I i

ig^ ''WJtSjHffyiTHBI

mumm

I'KINCIl'LKS OK STYI.K.

♦^

; ,

have a well-ordered and finished whole.
Your expanded theme would lack unity of
Substance and unity of Form. Your theme
would indeed have more or less unity of
Substance, according' as you adhered more
or less strictly to the topics of your abstract:
all the ideas contained in your expanded
theme would be aspects of one large idea.
Your theme would have, too, more or less
unity of Form, according as you adhered
more or less strictly to the precise order
of the topics outlined in your abstract: all
the ideas contained in your expanded
theme would follow one another in a more
or less logical (natural) order. Unity of
Substance and Unity of Form, however,
are much //r)re than mere connection or
order amongst a number of related ideas,
or amongst the groups of ideas, called
the principal parts of the whole. Let me,
then, explain further the general nature or
meaning of Unity of Substance and Unity of
Form, and the general nature and relations
of the principal parts— Introduction, Discus-

i:
C

s
I

SUBSTANCK AND K()I<M.

5«

sion, and Conclusion—of a prose thcme.(')
Unity of any kind, whether of Substance
or of Form, is in general a matter alto-
gether of relations. The fundamental
difference between unity of Substance and
unity of Form is a matter, then, of the
difference in kinds of relations. When it is
said that every prose theme should have
unity of Substance, this means two things.
It means, first, that a prose theme should
in general include only such ideas as group
themselves about a central idea, limited
or defined by a oiven point of vieiv ; and,
secondly, that the ideas grouping themselves
about a particular point of view ivithin the
ireneral one, about the point of view, that
is, of the principal parts of a theme, should
he so grouped and not otherivise. If a
theme, first, as a ivhole, contain only ideas
proper to a given general point of view,

(I) since I mil now considering only the abstract plan of a
theme. I must be wholly neneral In treatlntt the parts and prin-
ciples of prose composition. More speclfli; treatment will come
where It VR>lonKs. under my Chapters on I'aniKraphs and Sen-
tences.

s»

I'RlMill'LKS OV STYLi:.

and if a theme, secondly, as a thing of
pcir/s, contain only ideas proper to the
special point of view of each part— then a
theme has a unity of Substance.

Let your theme, e. ;'•., be 'A Student's
Room in Harvard Collejre.' It shall have
unity of Substance when, in general, the
ideas expressed in it are not ideas about ony
student's room, but about the room of a
stu'h'ut in liarvai'ii College; and when, in
particular, the ideas that naturally belong
to the Introduction are placed there and
nowhere else; and so on, as regards the
ideas belonging to the Discussion, and to
the Conclusion.(')

Again: When it is said that ev ery prose

(II Ooiiot lliltik tliiit be.MiUHi' till' priiiclpiil puitsof ii thfiiu-
.•ontiilinini.nil)cr.)fri-luU.dl(i™H,M..anlio<lu.tlon.l)l«(Us.slo...

„n(l('.M..-l.Hl(,nHr.-'<n(>«(a»iMw pints; th.it. thoiffon-. unity of
SulwMituM. Is .1 ..mtttT not (.Illy of u»/mt l.lf.is.. tht-ii..' hh a whole
Hhull ooiitHln. but also of holt' rru.ni/ of tin- totiil iiuinber shall
iH- pl.i.-f(l in WW prinolpiil |mrt«. The Introdu.-tlon. tlu> I)l»-
.■ussloii. 1111(1 thii I'oncliislon art- /.rrmal parts. Tin- prliiL-lplf
of Unity of Koini (In that aspKCtof Itcallefl Mussor Piopoitlon)
must d.'ternilnv. aocordliiK to the ,elatlv.!/oim,.l value of each
part, the rtXaUvt ivUue. and thus the rtXaliw pn.p'oiion of Ideas
to be placed In each part. In artlsdc composition the pr nc p e
of Unity of Substance Is (often) subordinate to the principle
of Unity of Form.

— w»v»w m Miiw ^ — to

"K of
() the
then a

tlent's

I have
il, the
lit any

II of a
len, in
belong
re and
ds the
and to

f prose

)f II thfiiie
)Im('iis.sIoii.
'. unity of
iiM a whole
iil)er Nhull
I, till' Dls-
prliiL'lpU'
'foimrtloiii
Inc of oacli
in of UltMis
I' prliiiMpli'
.' principle

SlMtSTANli: AND FORM. ||

theme should have unity of Form, this
also means two things. It means, tirst,
that the ideas proper to a given general
point of view should /^VAn:- one another
from the beginning, through the middle,
to the end of the theme in a looical order,
/. <?., in an order natural to a ii;iven pointof
vienv, and, seeondly, that the ideas logically
or naturally grouping themseUes together
into theprincipal/>fcr/.vof the whole should be
proportionate to the importance of the parts,
and thus appear respectively and unmistak-
ably as the Introduction, the Discussion,
and the Conclusion. If a theme, first, as a
iL^hoh, have the ideas it may rightly contain
arranged in a logical order, /. g., in an
order natural to a given point of view, and
if a theme, secondly, as a thing of parts^
have the parts themselves proportionate to
their importance and thus clearly indicate
their nature and use, their relations to the
whole — then a theme has unity of Form.
Let your theme, e. jr., be, as before, 'A
Student's Room in Harvard College.' It

ipjwmwiyw i wwi . * .— '■ '• — "-•

PRINCIPLES OF STYLE.

shall have unity of F.nm when, in general,
it has a logical or natural order in the ideas
it contains. The natural or logical order
is a proceeding from what first appears or
from what is of least importance to what
last appears and is of greatest importance.
The external appearance of a student's
room is necessarily (logically) the first
object you see, and it is also the least im-
portant. The internal appearance is log-
ically the second object you see, and it is
also somewhat important. The uses of the
room are logically the last object to appear,
and they are of fundamental importance.
The order in time and the order in value
indicate the natural or logical order of
expressing your ideas. Again: Your theme
shall have unity of Form when, in partic-
ular, its principal parts are logically related,
and thus appear as respective parts, having
respective functions. The parts are logi-
cally related when they are constructed
proportionately to the importance of the
ideas they should contain as respectively

%iiy icKunnifiifiiiii-iiiii'r iwiiO*

nfitiililH

wWm

in general,
in the ideas
ffical order

appears or
ice to what
importance,
a student's
•) the first
he least im-
ance is log-
ee, and it is
e uses of the
ct to appear,
importance,
der in value
al order of
Your theme
en, in partic-
:ally related,
5arts, having
irts are logi-

constructed
tance of the

respectively

-? .t.^^^-^j.-i.-r^y^v'ifiiair-M.iirfni HmfmtmmiMmmsi fci t

SUBSTANCE AND FORM

miiitmtiittm

the Introduction, the Discussion, and the
Conclusion. How you came at all to write
ahout the room of a student at Harvard
College is logically or naturally of less
importance than the description of the room
itself; and the external appearance, of less
importance than the internal appearance;
and the internal appearance, of less im-
portance than the use of the room. The
nature and relations of the parts, then, are
made plain by the order and substance of
the parts. In a well -constructed theme,
unmistakably one can distinguish the Intro
duction from the Discussion, and the Con-
clusion from both. The relative -propor-
tioning of the parts much more than the
mere order of the i d eas indicates that a theme
has or has not artistic composition.(^)
In view of all I have just said, you cannot

(1) The most IuiiiIiiouh Koiei'iil treatment of the principles
of Unity of Substance and of Unity of Form Is to be found In
WendeU's KnuUsh Compontffon, Chap. 1 and V. Any other Rood
textbook on Rhetoric and Composition, such as HIU's, Mead's,
Carpenter's, OenunK's. Herrick & Damon's, Hale's. Newcomer's,
or Cairns', will furnish the student of style with more detailed
knowledge and with Illustrative material.

■ ■^rwwsKT's^rast^^rv

'-r:.?.V'.'j^vi'-.i*''ViJ"'*.'

If-

56 PRINCIPLES OF STYLK.

fail to understand the nature and relations,
in general, of the principal parts of a prose
theme— the nature and relations of the
Introduction, of the Discussion, and of the
Conclusion.(') The Discussion is the funda-
mental or chief part of a prose theme; the
Introduction and the Conclusion are mmor
parts. It all depends upon your pomt of
view and your purpose in writing how
you shall construct the parts of a theme,
whether it be a great book or treatise, an
essay, an editorial, or a business-letter.
In general it may be said that an Intro-
duction should be, proportionately to the
main matters (Discussion), simple, direct,
pertinent, and short; that the Conclusion
should be, as the Introduction, simple,
direct, short, and summary; and that the

,n The Introduction, tho Discussion, and the Conclusion of

doesnot nmke a part tbe Intro^^^^^^ , ^^^^ ,u„ctlon of

the conclusion. On the contr^^^^ ^^^ ^ on.det^rmlnes

riS^rri'ar^".tlon in «pace Of the Ideas tohe
expressed In any part. Cf. note 1, P- !«•

EXPANSION AND REVISION.

elations,
: a prose

of the
id of the
le funda-
;me; the
re minor

point of
ing how
a theme,
iatise, an
;ss-letter.
an Intro-
ly to the
le, direct,
onclusion
I, simple,
. that the

s Conclusion of
arts, of course,
(1 thus occupy
isltlon In space

Discussion, or
nd function of
on,clet«rmlne8

the Ideas to be

Discussion should be elaborated propor-
tionately to the point of view and relatively
to the occasion and value of what is written,
and to the general physical and mental
characteristics of the writer's readers or
hearers. Nothing more specific on these
matters can be said here. If you thoroughly
understand the general nature and meaning
of the principles of Unity of Substance and
of Unity of Form and the general nature and
relations of the Introduction, the Discussion,
and the Conclusion of a theme, only per-
sistent practice — and failure — in writing
prose can teach you, as it taught all others,
how to use your principles in composing
the materials of style, the ideas symbolized
by written words, into parts and the parts
into an artistic — well-ordered and finished
— whole of prose. Always, then, if you
would write artistically, at least in a plain
sense, make an 'abstract' of the general
Substance and Form of your theme; keep
it either mentally, or, better, on paper,
always before you; and while expanding

'. -^■Vv%-'****Ai.'*u>i«l8fe ■

i^t^ii;^mr'Wgia» it f Mif M m/ ^e mKvm.i^m ' *»\i im^m' vnmm^

PRINCIPLES OK STYLE.

the topics outlined in your abstract never
forget that your theme must contain only
such ideas as are proper to a given point
of view, and that the ideas themselves
must be grouped or composed into parts
arranged in logical order, and made pro-
portionate to the importance of the ideas.(')
It remains for me to show you, in a
concrete way, how to construct and revise
in general an original composition, accord-
ing to the principles of the Unity of
Substance and of Unity of Form.

The Concrete Construction of a Prose
Theme: Expansion and Revision.— In order,
to give you full insight into the actual
method of writing prose, I shall now, as it
were, show you yourself at work expanding
the abstract of a theme, and then revising
your expanded theme, according to the
principles of Unity of Substance and Unity
of Form. Suppose, then, that you expand
the topics outlined in your abstract of your

,H An ex^^it^echanlcal device for making a f uU ab-
straJlotathBmol.tobe found ,n Wendeir« B..aH-h Comporttton

pp. 164-166.

■i>wai >i irmi *i n[ i m»«i i r;' i »i i »x ii i i i <ii |B«i| i iin >i r i W i Hij ) ir,iiii | .

KXPANSION AND REVISION.

theme, entitled 'A Student's Room in

Harvard College': —
The Original Composition:

Exactly one month from the present moment of
writing I received an invitation from an old school-
mate, who was about to graduate from Harvard,
to attend the Commencement exercises on June
27th of the present j'ear. [My old schoolmate is
a aplendid fellow in every way, and I shall always
remember the happy days we two used to spend
in the woods hunting birds and squirrels, and
swimming in the lakes. His father who is a rich
man, was able to send him to college^, but my
father, who is unfortunately a poor man, could
not send me. And so we two had not seen one
another for four years. But when a day or two
before Commencement at Harvard we did meet,
we spent the evening in recalling the old happy
times.]

I accepted readily my old schoolmate's invita-
tion. Following his advice I went a day or two
earlier than absolutely necessary. [My ride both on
train and on coach through the country— my own
home is in Georgia— was exceedingly enjoj'able.
I should like to tell all about my experiences on
the way. Some of them were startling. Here are
a few of them. On the evening of the first day of

my leaving home ]. The day of my arriving

at Cambridge I spent in examining the Harvard
buildings, especially the dormitories. [You would
have smiled if you had 5een me walking every-
where about Harvard, seriously and in wonder-
ment, while all the students about me wore a look

n skwmmmmi f-'

PRINCIPLKS OK STYLK.

r 4
\ 5

of absolute indifference a^ to whetlier Harvard or
they the.n«elve.. existed. This attitude. I believe, im
called 'the HarvaVd indifference"! I strolled
through the halls of one of the donnitones, and
was struck by the unique appearance and varied
uses of the students' rooms. By accident I ran
into my old schoolmate and soon was sittmj?
down by his side in hisown room. chatting about
old times. His room -or, rather, rooms -I shall
now describe briefly. ,

[As I said, the father of my colleRe-friend was
a wealthy man, and, therefore, able to supply his
son with all the money needed for luxurious
living. It was quite apparent to me that my old
schoolmate had put his 'allowances' to the best
use Everywhere about him were signs of a
large expenditure of money My old school-
mate's room, or rooms, were interesting from
outside to inside] Before entering his room I
w 3 struck by the elegance of its mere exterior.
The doors and panellings were of the heaviest
dark oak. They were carved and turned so as to
bring out the natural beauties of dark oak. Above
the door stood the transom, half open. It was of
stained glass and reflected on the floor of the hall
the name of the dormitory. At the left of the
door, attached to the wall, wasa pecuhar-looking
device, which my schoolmate explained was the
latest invention in the way of a letter-box and a
call-bell Underneath the call-bell, in a rectangular
opening protected by brass, appeared in card the
name of the occupant of the room. [I have otten
wondered why such a 8ystem-letter-box,call-bell,
and the name of the owner was not long ago

EXPANSION AND REVISION.

a rd or
evo, if*
trolled
e», and
varied
I ran
i^ittin;;
f about
I Bhall

nd was
iply his
curious
mj' old
he beat
IS of a
school-
g from
room I
xterior.
leaviest
go as to
. Above
t was of
the hall
t of the
■looking
was the
ax and a
tangular
card the
ive otten
call-bell,
ong ago

invented for dwelling houses. I suppose, however,
that such a thing could hardly be thought of
before the invention of electrical api)liances].

As I entered my friend's room, I met a flood of
light dimly crimson in color. The 'effect' was
due to the crimson-stained walls and the crimson
flags which hung everywhere around the room,
indicating that my friend was a student of Har-
vard College. [If I had been visiting a comrade
at Yale, I suppose that the light of his rooms
would have appeared in a dim flood of blue.
Crimson and blue are respectively the Harvard
and the Yale 'colors.' One of the Harvard publi-
cations—a daily— is called The Crimson.]

Once seated I noted the general furnishings of
my friend's room. In the center of the room was
a large square oak desk. [Beside the desk was a
peculiar invention forming a sitting-chair, a
lounging chair, and, in case of light sickness, a
small writing-table.] [On the desk ..ere a row of
school books, a student-lamp, a jar of ' Yale Mix-
ture' (tobacco), three bull-dog smoking pipes,
and an enoi-mous 'stein ' (or beer-mug).] In one
corner of the room stood a small escritoire; and
beside it a beautiful oak book-case with glass doors,
containing finely bound volumes of the French
poets, the English novelists, and the Greek and the
German philosophers. In another corner stood
a beautiful grand-concert piano. [I requested my
friend to play something on the piano for me. I
had always been fond of Chopin and Brahms,
and he, too, had the same preferences. He sat
down at the piano and played with excellent exe-
cution and much feeling.]

PRINCIPLKS OF STYLK.

Thewiillrtof the room, iis* ' said, were wtained
In criiuHon; and on them htinj? three oil paintinjfa
(a Millet, a Honhenr, and a WluHtler), besides
two replicas by Sargent, and by Abbey, and several
etchings and drawings. (There were, too, on the
left-hand corner of the piano several photographs
of the great composers; and on the book case
several photographs of Hritish and of American
authors.] On the wall, over the mantel-piece, were
' pictures' of the Harvard football team, and of the
Mott-Haven track team, as well as of the Pierian
Sodality, and the Glee Club. The mantelpiece, on
the east aide of the room, was decorated (V) with a
few photographs of friends, classmates, and rela-
tives, a bronze cast (in miniature) of French's
statue of John Harvard, flanked on each side by
plaster casts (in miniature) of Herkomer's Lion
and Tiger. The fireplace underneath the mantel
presented a unique appearance. Instead of hav-
ing on the hearth the customary short 'logs' of
wood ready for burning, and the customarj-
andirons, the space was decorated with a pair of
fine moose-antlers. Against one of the large
forks of the antlers rested a pair of snow-shoes,
and against the other, a fine Winchester rifle.

Drawing aside two beautiful Turkish portieres,
which I had not before noted, my friend said—
• Here is my sleeping-room.' iMy lack of observa-
tion in this case reminds me that I have forgotten
to describe the windows of the study and their
furnishings. The windows of the study or living
room were all draped with curtains, crimson in
color and 'worked 'with the Harvard 'Sigillum -
a heart-shaped shield containing, as it were, at

iiilii ii i tW IliiiiHii'

EXPANSION AND RKVISION.

each of the three corners* of a V the representa-
tion of an open book; on the first of which
appeared the letters VK; on the second, the letters
Ki; and on the third, the letters TAS. 1. c, V'KR-
ITAS. The shield was surronnded by three
words: Cliristu et Kvclvsiuc. rnderneath the
two west windows was a seat plumb with the
wainscottinjf, built in the form of a crescent, and
covered with cushions of crimson, 'worked ' with
a larjre H.] The sleepinjj-room of my schoolmate,
contrary to my anticipations, was plainly fur-
nished. It contained nothing but one ordinary
iron bedstead, a plain oak 'clothes-press' and a
low 'dresaiuK-table' also of plain oak, with an
oval French-plate mirror. Kxcept for a bearskin
at the side of the bed, the floor was bare, but
highly polished.

The uses to which my friend's room and its
compartments were put. were various. (At the
time of my visit I regret now that I was so impolite
as to express surprise at the elegance of the fur-
nishingsof the study in contrast with the plainness
of the furnishings of the sleeping-room. I should
have manifested a certain amount of the so-
called Harvard indifference; but since I was
away from home for the first time, I suppose that

I ] The compartment which I first entered

■ and examined was used simply as a study and
as a living room. In it, too, male friends, students
and others, were frequently entertained in an
" informal way. [I am now reminded that in my
description of the general furnishings of the
study or living-room. I forgot to note that on a
small table near the fire-place stood a chafing

«4

I'klNCIPLKS OF STYLE.

dlrtli, inula heiiiitifnl cut->flaH« piincli howl, rtur-
rounded in hixiirrv arran^jeinent with drinkinjf-
jrliiHrtfrt of the rtaine fine materials.)

The rtecond coinpartnient was used niiiohmore
Hrt n dreMsin^-nionj than as a slecpinK^-rooin. It
existed really, as I saw on the day after n»y visit,
for the purpose of l>ein>{ readily transformed
alonn with the study into a reception-room for
friends and relatives <in Commenoement days.
This was done tiy removin^j the desk and other
inconvenient paraphernalia of the study, and the
bed, chiffonier, and dressing table of the sleeping-
room; and by makinjr a new arrangement of
chairs, chafing dish and punch-bowl, and of the
piano. The portieres instead of hanjrinR upriffht
were on these occasions separated widely, and
the piano was placed in the sleeping-room.

How charmintr my visit to my old schoolmate's
room was to me, is evidenced by the fact that on
the day after Conunencement I left for home fully
convinced that utility and beauty should always
be equally valued in our dwelling-places. [I have
often regretted since my visit that I did not strive
somehow to become an undergraduate of Harv-
ard. Of course I could not have ' roomed ' in the
fine dormitories, such as Claverly, Walter Hast-
ings, or Randolph; but even if I should have been
forced through inadequate means to ' room ' in
College Hall^I could have made my rooms there
at least comfortable an<l beautiful by some sort
of artistic arrangement of the furnishings; and
could have somehow provided decent entertain-
ment for my friends and relatives. But this, as
Kipling says, is another story.]

w'iwiJwwi'taMi

KXl'ANSION AM) R?:VISI()N.

f'5

)o\vl, rtiir-
irinkin^-

iioli more
(loin. It
my virtit,
iirtformed
room for
i»nt dayrt.
ind otlier
,-, an<l the
HleepitiK-
ement of
nd of the
K upright
idely, imd
om.

oolmate's
ct that on
lome fully
Id always
>a. [I have
not strive
; of Harv-
ed ' in the
dter Haut-
have been
' room ' in
oms there
rtome sort

lin^**; ""tl
entertain-

iit this, as

Your orifjfinal composition or expanded
theme, despite your seeming adherence to
the topics outlined in the abstract of your
theme, violates the principles of Unity of
of Substance and of Unity of Form. Once
I have criticized your orij^'inal composition
from the point of view of these principles,
you shall apply my criticisms in makinfj;
a revised or final composition. Here is
my criticism.

In your original composition there is
nothing that is not somehow related. Yet
from the point of view of your theme, your
Introduction lacks Unity of wSubstance.
Your Introduction is embraced within the
first two para«ijraphs (pp. 59-60). Examine
these. On doing so you will find that the
matters or sentences which I have inclosed
in brackets are really a digression and
have nothing to do with the main matters.
If they had, then you might have gone on
just as relevantly to describe the differences
between your own home and the home of
your friend, between your clothes and his,

. 1

ft6 PRINCIIM.KS (W STYI.K.

and what not. Your tirst two paragraphs
hwk Ihiity of Substance because ui them
you have a ^reat deal more to say about
yourself and your old schoolmate than you
have about the invitation to a Harvard
Commencement and about the fact of your
thus undertakinji to describe the room of a
student in Harvard College.

You should have said simply that ycm
had received an invitation to be present at
the Commencement exercises of Harvard,
in June, 1900: that you readily accepted
the invitation, went a day earlier than
necessary, and spent the day of your arnv-
in^' at Cambridge in examining the Harvard
buildings, especially the dormitories. To
be sure, you do say all these things; but
you throw into your Introduction all sorts
of things about old times, about your ride
from Georgia to Massachusetts, about the
contrast between your own attitude of
wonderment and the so-called Harvard
indifference. Certainly all these matters
were connected with your visit, but they

BtV
HCl

in
ro<
br

about
an you

if your

of a

KXPANSION AM) KKVISION.

('•

are not relevant to your point of view,
namely, how youeanie to write at all about
a student's room in Harvard College.
Really, instead of composing with an eye
to makini; a well-ordered and finished
whole, you have been ' talkin*;,' or, better,
' babbling?/ Your Introduetion is at fault not
so much in form, as it is in substanee. It
will be a better piece of composition if you
eliminate the matter I have bracketed.
Your Introduction will then read as follows:

Kxactly one month from the prenent moment of
writin>{ I received an invitation from an ohi Hchool-
niate, who was about to graduate from Harvard,
to attenil the Commencement exerciHes on June
27th of the prenent year. I accepted readily my
old achoolmate'a invitation. Followinji his advice
I went a day or two earlier than abHolutely necea-
sary. The day of my arriving? at Cambridge I
spent in examining- the Harvard buildinjfs,
especially the dormitories. I strolled through
the halls of one of the dormitories, and was struck
by the unitjue ajipearance and varied uses of the
students' rooms. By accident I ran into my old
schoolmate and soon was sittinjjfdown by his side
in his own room, chatting about old times. His
room— or, rather, rooms— I shall now describe
briefly.

Let me now criticize ^our Discussion.

PRINCIPLES OF STYLE.

I wish to show you that it lacks Unity of
Substance and Unity of Form. Note,
tlien, that, in general, you are describing-
something, not ex pouinii no- or explaining it.
You should, therefore, follow strictly the
method of description — the orderly state-
ment of fact. You do not do so. You have
closed the Introduction of your theme with
the words: 'His room I shall now describe
briefly.' Really, however, you open the
first paragraph of your Discussion (p. 60)
with, as it were, another Introduction, with,
namely, a bit of explanation; and you close
the first paragraph of your Discussion with,
as it is called, a private reflection. The
fundamental matter of your first pa /agraph
of the Discussion you have literally buried
between your explanations and your reflec-
tions. You have made, as it might be
called, a prose ' sandwich.'

In order that the first paragraph of your
Discussion may have Unity of Substance
and Unity of Form you must write strictly
from the point of vieiv of the first para-

EXPANSION AND REVISION.

s Unity of
n. Note,
describing
plaining it.
strictly the
lerly state-

You have
:heme with
)w describe
u open the
sion (p. 60)
iction, with,
id you close
ussion with,
:tion. The
t paragraph
rally buried

your reflec-
it might be

raph of your
»f Substance
^rrite strictly
e tirst para-

graph uf your Discussion — namely, the
external appearance of your old school-
mate's room. In your original composition
I have indicated the point of view by inclos-
ing in brackets the irrelevant matter of the
first paragraph of your Discussion, and by
leaving unbracketed the relevant matter.
Once you eliminate the irrelevant matter
(bracketed), the first paragragh of your
Discussion will read as follows:

Before entering my old classmate's room I
was struck by the elegance of its mere exterior.
The doors and panellins=' were of the heaviest
dark oak. They were carved and turned so as to
bring out the natural beauties of dark oak. Above
the door stood the transom, half open. It was of
stained glass, and reflected on the floor of the hall
the name of the dormitory. At the left of the
door, attached to the wall, was a peculiar-looking
device, which my schoolmate explained was the
latest invention in the way of a letter-box and a
call-bell. Underneath the call-bell, in a rectangu-
lar opening protected by brass, appeared in card
the name of the occupant of the room.

Again: Your second paragraph (p. 61) of
your Discussion lacks Unity of Substance
and Unity of Form. It lacks Unity of
Substance because it contains ideas other

PRINCIPLES OF STYLE.

than what are consistent with its point of
view, with, namely, the point of view of
what you saw just as you were entering
your old schoolmate's room. Why should
you put into this paragraph your private
reflections about the Yale ' colors ' or the
Harvard students' 'daily,' called The Crim-
son? These, no doubt, were naturally
enough suggested to your mind by the
flood of crimson light which met you on
entering your friend's room. But all sorts
of things might have been suggested: and
if one suggestion was relevant from the
logical point of view, then any suggested
idea also would have been relevant. In
that case— following such a method of
description, explanation, and reflection—
you would not have an essay on the appear-
ance or uses of a student's room, but,
surely, a 'hodge-podge' of thought and
feelings. Literary form, however, demands
that you deal only with a single S^^Q., lim-
ited strictly by a peculiar point of vieiv.
The second paragraph of your Discussion,

tin
tla
in(
va

tof
: of
•ing
)uld

ate

the
■iin-
ally

the

;orts

and

the
isted
In
d of
on —
pear-

but,

and
lands

lini-
vteiv.
ssion,

EXPANSION AND KKVISION.

therefore, lacks Unity of Form because it
follows neither the general order of your
whole point of view, nor the particular
order of the special point of view of the
second paragraph of your Discussion. Your
whole point of view is a description of a
particular student's room; your special
point of view is a description of what you
saw just on entering^ this room. Revised
from these points of view by eliminating
what is bracketed in your original compo-
sition, the second paragraph of your Discus-
sion will read as follows:

As I entered tny friendV room, I met a flood of
light dimly crimson in color. This ' effect ' waa
due to the crimson-stained walls and the crimson
flags which hung everywhere around the room,
indicating that my friend was a student of Har-
vard College.{l)

With the third paragraph (p. 6i ) of your
Discussion your point of view has again

(1) Strictly viewed, this piurHKruph should end with the
word Toorii" in the sfcond sentence; what follows, though not
Itself descriptive, anticipates soiuothinx that will be inferred
from later descriptive details. So that really there is in it a
violation of Unity of Substance. I shall treat the matter again
under my chapters on Paragraphs and Houtences.

PRINCIPLES OF STYLK.

changed. You are within the room: con-
sequently you must concern yourself only
with describing its internal appearance.
This paragraph in contrast with the first
two of your Discussion lacks in a new way
Unity of Substance and Unity of Form.
It has Unity of Substance, until you close
your description of the position of the
piano. At that point you put into your
paragraph a statement that your musical
preferences were identical with those of
your old schoolmate, that you asked
him to play for you, and that he did so
with excellent execution and much feeling.
These are irrelevant details. In order to
give this paragraph Unity of Substance
you have simply to revise it by eliminating
these irrelevant details, inclosed in brackets
in your original composition.

The third paragraph of your Discussion,
however, lacks Unity of Form because
you have not followed the natural or logical
order in arranging the second, third, and
fourth sentences. You would have been

»«i1

EXPANSION AND REVISION. 73

at least more lo<,ncal if, after mentioning
the position of the writinji-desk, you had
then described what was on the desk (as
you do in the fourth sentence), and, next,
what was beside or near the desk (as you
do in the third sentence)-! ' ) Logically, you
first see the desk if self: then, what is on it;
and, finally, what is beside it or near it.
In youi own presentation of the facts you
invert the natural order. Revised, then,
from the point of view of the logical order
of describing the facts, your third paragraph
will have Unity of Form. Thus revised,
both for Unity of Substance and for Unity
of Form, the third paragraph of yonr
Discussion will read as follows:

Once seated I noted the j;enerfil fiirninhings of
my friend's room. In the center of the room was
a large .stniare oak deak. On the desk were a row
of school books, a student-lamp, a jar of 'Yale
Mixture' (tobacco), three bull-dog smoking pipes,
and an enormous ' stein ' (or beer-mug). Beside
the desk was a peculiar invention, forming a
sitting-chair, a lounging-chair. and, in case of

(t) The pi-iiu-lplc of Coherence (an aspect of the principle
ofl'nlty of Fornil will he explained fully and iUustrateU
under my i hapters on I'uragraphs and Sentences.

PRINCIPLKS OK STYLE.

light Hickneas, a siimll writinjf-table. In one
corner of the room stood a small escritoire; and
beside it a beautiful oak book-case with j^lass doors,
containinjr finely bound volumes of the French
poets, the Knylish novelists, and the Greek and the
German philosophers. In another corner stood
a beautiful ffrand-concert piano.

The fourth paragraph (p. 62) of your
Discussion lacks unity of Substance and of
Form. You have opened this paragraph
with a description of the color of the walls
of the room, and of the paintings, etchings,
and drawings, hanging on the walls. When
you begin your description of the paintings,
naturally you have suggested to you other
kinds of art works, such as photographs or
pictures; and you remember that you have
forgotten to mention those you saw on the
piano and on the book-case. The piano and
book-case were more or less described in
your third paragraph. But since you have
forgotten to describe in that paragraph the
photographs or pictures resting on the
piano or book-case, you slip your descrip-
tion of these into the fourth paragraph. A
part, then, of what should naturally or

one
and
)or8,
snch
ithe
tood

our
dof
aph
alls

hen

ther
IS or
lave

the
and
d in
lave
I the

the
crip-
i. A
/ or

EXPANSION AND kK\MSION.

logically be in the third paragraph is
included in the fourth. Here again, there-
fore, you have made a prose sandwich. To
gain unity of Substance and of Form in
your fourth paragraph you must eliminate
the matter dealing with the photographs
resting on the piano or on the book-case.
If you care to use the matter thus elimin-
ated, you must place it in the paragraph
where it naturally belongs. Revised, then
from the point of view of my criticism,
your fourth paragraph will read as follows:
The walls of the room, as I aaid, were stained
in crimson; and on them himg three oil paintings
(a Millet, a Bonhenr, and a Whistler), besides
two replicas by Sargent, and b y/ bbey. and several
etchings and drawings. On the wall, over the
mantel-piece, were ' pictures' of the Harvard foot-
ball team, and of the Mott-Haven track team, as
well as of the Pierian Sodality, and the Glee Club.
The mantelpiece, on the east side of the room,
was decorated (V) with a few photographs of
friends, classmates, and relatives, a bronze cast
(in miniature) of French's statue of John Hpi vard,
flanked on each side by plaster casts (in minia- <
ture) of Herkomer's Lion and Tiger. The fire-
place underneath the mantel presented a unique
appearance. Instead of having on the hearth the
customary short ' logs ' of wood ready for burning,

PRINCII'LI.S OK STVLK.

and the cnrttomaiy andirons, thv space was deco-
rated with a pair of fine moose-antlers. Aj^iiinst
one of the hirjfe forks of the antlers rested a pair
of snow-shoes, and against the other, a fine Win-
clie.ster rifle.

In the fifth para<i;raph of your Discussion
you chanjic once more your point of view.
You are about to complete your description
of the internal appearance of your old
■ schoolmate's room. You had not thou<;ht
that his room contained 'compartments,'
until your friend drew aside two Turkish
p'M-fieres, hiding the sleeping-room, the
existence of which you had not before
noted. His drawing aside of the portieres at
once suggested to you the drawing aside of
window curtains, and this reminded you that
you had overlooked the description of the
windows and their furnishings in the study
or living room. You have hardly begun
your description of the sleeping room,
before you insert in this fifth paragraph,
logically to be devoted to a description of
the sleeping- room, a wholly irrelevant
description of the windows of the living-

roi
wr
int
th(
pa

an
wl
vi(

to
eli
pi;

wl
'H
of

eco-
iii»t
pair
iVin-

e\v.
tion

old
i<;ht
Its;
kish

the
fore
■is at
leof
that

the
udy
igun
)om,
aph,
)n of
vant

,-ing-

KXPANSION ANI> RKVISION.

room and of their furnishings. Vou are
writing; down in the same parai;;raph ideas
ineonsistent with its point of view. In
the same way, therefore, as in the fourth
paraijraph you violate in this hfth para-
tjraph the principles of Unity of Substance
and of Form, by introducing there matter
which, while relevant from the point of
view of the whole composition, is not
written in its proper place, or according;
to logical order. It must in any case be
eliminated, and if to be used at all must be
placed in its proper place (the fourth para-
graph). With this matter eliminated
your fifth paragraph will read as follows:

Drawinyartute two benntif ill Turkirtli porth'ri's,
which I had not before noted, 1113 friend said—
' Here is my HleepinK-room.' Tlie .sleepin}4;-rooni
of niy 8chooliiiate, contraiy to my anticipations*,
was phiinly furnished. It contained notliinjf but
one ordinary iron bedstead, a ph«in oak 'clothes-
press' and a h)w ' dressinf>-tai)le' also of plain
oak, with an oval French-plate mirror. Kxcept
for a bearskin at the side of the bed, the floor
was bare, but highly iiolished.

Having now done with the description
of the internal appearance of your old

f§ PKIXCIPM:s OK STYM-..

schoolmate's room, in the sixth and seventh
para<;raphs of your Discussion you explain
the uses of your friend's room, bcfjinnin^
with the study or Hrst compartment (sixth
paragraph) and ending with the sleeping-
room or second compartment (seventh
paragraph). The sixth paragraph, in the
same way as the other paragraphs of your
Discussion, lacks Unity of Substance and
of Form. You begin well enough. No
sooner, however, have you begun than
you insert in the second and third sentences
of this paragraph a statement of your
private feelings about the contrast between
the luxuriousness of the study and the
plainness of the sleeping-room— descriptive
details belonging elsewhere. No sooner,
too, have you again concerned yourself
with explaining the uses of your old school-
mate's room than on learning how your
old schoolmate there entertains his friends
and relatives, you are reminded that you
have forgotten to describe in the proper
paragraph the chafing dish and the punch

bo>

the

log

frit

yoi

pre

ter

yoi

of I

yoi
1
con
par
ii8e
it, 1
fie<

Dii

Fo
in

exit
for
silo
fri«
Th

oCt^iiM

■i m i ^ JBdv^ V ^^ h .

KXI'ANSION AND Kr.VISKiN.

bowl and <;!asses. You, therefore, heed
the reminder and put into a paragraph
h)^ically dealing with the uses of your
friend's room some details helonjjinjif to
your description f)f the internal appearance
of the room. You ha\e made another
prose sandwich. By eliminating? this mat-
ter, bracketed in your original composition,
you will give your sixth paragraph Unity
of Substance and of Form. Thus revised
your sixth paragraph will read as follows:

The UHCH tn which my friendV room and itH
compartments were put, were viiriouH. The com-
partment which I firrtt entered and examineil was
tirted winjply as a wtndy an(! n8 a living room. In
it, too, male friendw, students and others, were
frequently entertained in an infornuil way.

The seventh or last paragraph of your
Discussion has Unity of Substance and of
Form. It appears immediately below as
in the original composition:

The second compartmeni was used much more
a » a dressing-room than as u sleeping-room. It
existed really, as I saw on the day after my visit,
for the purpose of being readily transformed
along with the study into a reception-room for
friends and relatives on Commencement days.
This was done by removing the desk and other

w a;H.ir; i u.WKjiJ,iiih»J!yW'--WW*^''^iW'«'»'-^vTi „ ' i;.<i.a. mi.ii.U i iM-j eeamSSiSSm

l'UIN(ll'i.l> (»K STVl.r..

imonv.'n:'ni pamplu-rnaliii ..f tlio >*tn.l.v, aiul tlu"
tu-(l ihitf.T..r..in.l<lri--»r'in«tiil.U-()f tlu-f'lfi'P'"':-
r....m; an.l I'y iiinMnR a lu-w arrai.u.-inent of
ol.aiirA.cliaJin^; di '»> ""» i>n.u-h-l...wl, and o( i(u-
piano Tlir/>(>r^/<T<'.slaHtfa<lof lianuiUKiiprijriit
wi-ro on tlu'^f ol•l•a^*ioMs ^.-p'Tnti-.l wi.lfly, and
tiK- piiino waH plaii'<l in tlu- Kl.-fpin«-n)otn.

I have now criticized your Introduction
and your Discussion, and I have shown
you how to revise them. It remains for
me to criticize your Conclusion and show
you how to revise it. Your (*'v -^cription
of your old schoolmate's room is now
completed. You chose to add in your
Conclusion >our reflection or the value of
your visit to your old schooln..'i<>'s room.
You have been tauj(ht, you s.iy, to see that
utility and beauty are equa:!y valuable in
man's dwelling-pl'i^"^^ Just as you have-
thus hiiically concluded, you reflect on
your own misfortune that you did not have
the same advantages of education and social
li life as your old schoolmate had: and you
add to this some further reflections on how
you would have lived if you had been a
student at Harvard. You might have

. i^^m^m^M^m,

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

1.0

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2.2

>^iii

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-^z

Photographic

Sciences

Corporation

^.>

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. MSSO

(716) 872-4503

CIHM/ICMH

Microfiche

Series.

CIHM/ICIVIH
Collection de
microfiches.

Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques

EXPANSION 'AND REVISION.

gone on in this way forever. Clearly,
then, your last paragraph (Conclusion)
lacks Unity of Substance and of Form.
With your irrelevant reflections eliminated,
your Conclusion will read as follows:

How chaniiint; my visit to my old schoolmate's
room was to me. is evidenced by the fact that on
the day aftei Commencement I left for home fully
convinced that utility and beauty should always
be equally valued in our dwelling-places.

Although I have now criticized paragraph
by paragraph your original composition,
and you yourself, on the basis of my criti-
cisms, have reconstructed it paragraph by
paragraph, I have not yet done with criti-
cism. The reason is plain. I have so far
criticized your theme as a simple whole
containing a series or a number of related
ideas. I must now criticize your theme
as a whole containing groups of related
ideas, /. e., as a thing of parts. Before
you can appreciate my criticism or apply
it you must understand clearly what a part
really is in artistic composition.

In any artistic whole there are two kinds

HJWU*HJ I UM'.U.U. I I1IW

PKINCIPI.KS OF STYLK.

of parts: substantive or material parts and
formal or logical parts. A brick dwellinj?-
house, e. 4'., is a thini; of parts, in two
senses. Every brick in the house, as well
as every atom of each brick, is a part of
the house. Substantively or materially
viewed, a brick dwellinji^-house is a thing
occupying so much space. A brick dwell-
ing-house, however, is known to us as a
house^ not by its materials, and not merely
by its uses, but by its form. ' Mere, e. «-.,'
I say, 'is a brick dwelling-house. This
part is the body of the house: it contains
the chief rooms — the dining-room, the
living-room, the drawing-room, and the
library. Yonder are the sleeping-rooms.
Here is the kitchen. And yonder is the
conservatory.' How, you ask, do I thus
more or less readily distinguish the {formal)
parts of a brick dwelling-house.^ By
nothing else than by the order and propor-
tion in the grouping oi the substantive or
material parts (bricks).

Failing fully to understand me, you say:

arts and
Iwellinj?"
in two
, as well
I part of
aterially

a thing
.•k dwell-

us as a
t merely
re, e. «".,'
;. This

contains
om, the

and the
ig-rooms.
er is the
lo I thus
[ formal^
se? By
1 propor-
antive or

you say:

KXPANSION AND REVISION.

!^.?

' Here is a brick dwelling-house. It is, as
it were, all one piece. The only way to
distinguish its parts is by their uses. This
part is the living-room; this part contains
the sleeping-room; and this part is the
kitchen, or what not. But the uses of the
parts could easily have been interchanged,
and what is used as the kitchen could have
been used as the living-room, and so on.'
You are here, let me tell you, confounding
a dwelling-place as a whole artistically
composed with a whole as a thing occu-
pying so much space. At that rate a
' dug-out' in the side of a hill, a ' log-cabin,'
a ' stable,' or an Indian ' wigwam,' would
just as well be a house. All these, to be
sure, ha^•e ' form ' in the sense of occupying
space, and of having, therefore, 'shape.'
They have not, however, form, in the
artistic sense — namely, such order and
proportion in the grouping of their mater-
ials that the whole can be thus distinguished
from the parts and each part appear, unmis-
takably, as this or that part. This is just

^ j -I MBWJMWtf^giS W fc^j W i W B BWJ

PRINClPLliS OF STVLK.

what, in the languajjje of the arts is meant
by ' form ' — ^order and proportion in the
grouping of materials into an organic whole.
I would have you now clearly under-
stand that the principal parts of a prose
theme — namely, the Introduction, the Dis-
cussion, and the Conclusion — ^are formal
parts. When I say that they are formal
parts, I mean that the order and the pro-
portion in t\\Go-roHping of the substantive
parts — words, /. <?., simple ideas, and sen-
tences and paragraphs, /. <?., groups of
related ideas — of a prose theme must indi-
cate whether a principal part is the
Introduction, or the Discussion, or the
Conclusion. Writers both old and young
fail very often thus to indicate unmistak-
ably which part of a prose theme is the
Introduction, or the Discussion, or the
Conclusion. The question that I now put
to you is: Have you by the order and
proportion in the grouping of your ideas
distinctly indicated the principal part of
your theme ?

is meant
»n in the
lie whole,
y under-
[ a prose
, the Dis-
e foniHil
'e formal

the pro-
bstantive
, and sen-
groups of
nust indi-
t is the
I, or the
nd young
Linmistak-
me is the
1, or the
I now put
)rder and
our ideas
J part of

EXPANSION AND RKVISION.

«5

Your revised theme as a thing of prin-
cipal parts is, in my opinion, constructed
well enough according to the principles of
Unity of Form and of Unity of Substance.
Your revised theme contains in all nine
paragraphs. Of these, one constitutes your
Introduction, and one your Conclusion;
while the remaining seven constitute your
Discussion. Again: Your Discussion (/.t?.,
the chief matter) deals strictly with a piece
of description^ or orderly statement of fact :
your Introduction explains simply and
shortly how you came at all to write your
piece of description: and your Conclusion
adds a short and simple reflection on the
' lesson ' you have learned from what you
saw and have just described. In spatial
position, in logical order, in substance, and
in the proportion of the grouping of the
paragraphs your revised theme has logical
parts, and plainly distinguishes the Intro-
duction, the Discussion and the Conclusion.
In every way, both as a whole and as a
thing of parts, your revised theme has

PRINCIPLES OF STYLE.

Unity of Substance and Unity of Form.

Now that I have done with my criticisms,
it will be well for you to compare your
oritjinal theme with your revised theme.
By thus carefully comparin^if the one with
the other you will, I believe, see or feel for
yourself that your revised theme is, as a
piece oUirtistic composition, much hettei\^)
than the orij^inal. The revised composi-
tion appears immediately below:
Thk Rkvisko Composition:

Kxactly one month from the present moment of
writin>>" I received an invitation from an old school-
mate, who wart about to graduate from Harvard,
to attend the Commencement exercises on June
27th of the present year. I accepted readily my
old schoolmate's invitation. Followinfr his advice
I went a day or two earlier than absolutely neces-
sary. The day of my arriving at Cambridge I
spent in examining the Harvard buildings,
especially the dormitories. 1 strolled through
the halls of oneof thedormitories, and was struck
by the unique appearance and varied uses of the
students' rooms. By accident I ran into my old
schoolmate and soon was sitting down by his side

(It " The truth Is that in rhetoric, us dlstliisiulshed from
gruniiiiar, by far the greater part of the questions that arise
concern not right or wrong, but better or worse."— VVendeU'»
EntHW* Cnmposition, Chap. I, p. 2.

of Form,
criticisms,
jare your
eel theme.
; one with
or feel for
le is, as a
:h betfeii^)
composi"

t moment of
loldrtcliool-
m Harvard,
3es on June

readilj- \\\y
jr his advice
Intely necea-
ambridjre I
buildinjjs,
ed through
1 waa struck
] uae« of the

into 111 J' old
n l)y his side

lii^uishod from
itioti.-s that arise
■SI'." — Wt'iiduU's

•

EXI'ANSION AND R?:VISION.

in his own room, diattinjj about old times. His
room -or, rather, rooms I sliall now descrilie
brietly.

Before enterinjf my old classmate's room I
was striu'k l)y the ele^jance of it mere exterior.
The doors and panellings were of the heaviest
ilark oak. They were carved and turned so as to
briny out the natural Iteautiesof dark oak. Above
the door stood tlie transom, fiaJf open. It was of
stained glass, and reflected on the floorof thehall
the name of the dormitory. At the left of the
door, atlachetl to the wall, was a peculiar-looking
device, which my schoolmate explained was the
latest inventi«)n in the way of a letter-box and a
call-bell. Underneath the call-bell, in a rectangu-
lar opening jirotected by brass, appeared in card
the name of the occupant of the mom.

As I entered my friend's room, I met a flood of
light dimly crimson in color. This 'effect' was
due to the crimson-stained walls and the crimson
flags which hung everywhere around the room,
indicating that my friend was a student of Har-
vard College.

Once seate<l I noted the general furnishings of
m}' friend's room. In the center of the room waa
a large square oak desk. On the desk were a row
of school books, a student-lamp, a jar of 'Yale
Mixture ' (tobacco), three bull-dog smoking pipes,
and an enormous 'stein' (or beer-mug). Beside
the desk was a peculiar invention, forming a
sitting-chair, a lounging-chair, and, in case of
light sickness, a small writing-table. In one
corner of the room stood a small escritoire; and
beside it a beautiful oak book-case with glass doors,

I'RINCFl'l.r.S OF STVLK.

lontiiiiiinu fini-ly Ixiuiid voliimcr* of (In- Fn-iicli
l»( Ids, till- Kim:lisli ni)Vflir»tr>,iiii(l tlu'ClrffU iiiulthe
(iL-rmim pliilosopla-iv. In iiiiotluT roriuT j^tood
ii hi'iiiitifiil ^niiKl-conci'il j>iiin().

riu' wiillr* of llie room.iis I siiid. wen- ntniiu'd
in iTiiiir*on; and on tlu-in liuny tliriM- oil paintinjit*
(h Millet, ii Honlieur. and a Wliistk-r). l)ft*i<U's
two replira(< by Sargent. and liyAbhey.and sevenil
etriiin«» and drawinjix- < »«i <l>t^ wall, over the
nianti'l-piei'i', wi-iv ' i)irtnri'f<' of the Harvard foot-
ball team, and of the Motl-Maven traek team, as
well art of the I'ierian Sodnlitj', and the (dee Clnb.
The niantelpieee, on the eaut wide of the room,
wart decoratefl (Vi with a few photouraphrt of
friendrt, elartrtniatert, an«l relativert, a bronxe eartt
(in miniature) of Freneh'rt rttatue of John Harvard,
flanked on each rtide by piaster carttH (in minia-
ture) of Herkomer'rt Lion and Ti^er. The fire-
place underneath the mantel presented a uni(|ne
appearance. Instead of havin^r on the hearth the
curttomary short ' lofjfs ' of wood ready for b\jrnin>;,
and the customary andirons, the space wart deco-
rated with a pair of tine moorte-antlerrt. .Ajjainst
one of the lar;;e forks of the antlers rested a pair
of snow-shoes, and ajjfainst the other, a fine Win-
chester rifle.

Drawinfjaside two beautiful TurKirth/Jor^/cre.s,

which I had not before noted, my friend said—
' Here is my sleeping-room." The sle.'ping-room
of my schoolmate, contrary to my anticipations,
\vn!-> plainly furnished. It contained tiothinj? but
one ordinary iron bedstead, a plain oik 'clothes-
press' and a low 'dreasinj^-table' al^o of plain
oak, with an oval French-plate niinor. Except

ihv Krt'iicli
■fi'U iiiul the
)rm'r f^tooil

vrv Mtniiu'd
1 paintinurt
•r), l)ft«i<U's
iind (AL'venil
I, over tl>e
irviird foot-
ek team, as
■(Mee C'liil).
tlie room,
)y;ra|)li!< of
bronze east
m Harvard,
4 (in minia-
. The fi re-
ed a iini(|iie
13 liearth the
for burning,
•e wart deeo-
•rt. Ajjainst
ertted a pair
, a fine Win-

ili portieres,
riend rtaid—
!'.'pinj>"-room
itioipations,
tiothinjy btit
);ik ' clothea-
Ijo f)f phun
jor. Kxcept

KXI'AN'SION .\\l> KKVISION.

«9

for a Ix-arnkin at the r^ide of the lied, tlie thx.r
wax liare, t)iit hi;;ld\ polished.

Tlie iirte?* to whieh \\\y friendV room and itr*
oomparlmentrt were put, were various. Theeom-
jiartment whieh I first entered and examined was
use<l simply as a studs' and as a living' room. In
It, too, male friends, students and others, were
fre(piently entertaiiie(l in an informal way.

The seeond eompartment was used miu'h more
as a dressing-room than as a slee|)iiiyf-rooui. It
e.xisted really, as I saw on the da^' after my visit.
for the purpose of heiny" rea(lil>- transformed
ahmy with the study into a reeepti«)n-room for
friends and relatives on Comrneneement da\s.
This was done 1>.\' removing the desk and other
inconvenient paraphernalia of the study, and the
l)ed,cliitTonier,and dressinj; tahleof the sleepiny-
room; and hy making a new arrangement of
chairs, chafinjjf dish and punch-howl, and of the
I)iano. The por</crc.s instead of hanyinjf uprijiht
were on these occasions sejjarated widely, and
the jiiano waw placed in the sleepinjf-room.

How charminir my visit to my old schoolmate's
room was to me, is evidenced by the fact that on
the day afterCommencement I left for home fully
convinced that utility and beauty should always
be ecpially valued in our dwellinjf-places.

I have now tauj^lit you how /// getteral
to plan^ to expand^ and to revise a prost-
theme, according; to the principles of Unity
of Substance and Unity of Form. So far
I have intentionally dealt only with general

<»o

PKIXCII'LKS OK STVLI'l.

matters: with the ^a-neral plan of the
substanee and form of a prose theme, with
the principal or formal parts of a prose
theme, with the general meaning of the
principles of prose composition, and with
the jj;eneral method of applying these prin-
ciples. In the remaining chapters of this
textbook I shall instruct you regarding the
nature and function of the subordinate or
substantive parts of a prose theme, namely,
the parts called paragraphs, sentences, and
words, and regarding the more specilic
meaning of the principles of Unity of Sub-
stance and Unity of P'orm and the more
specific method of applying these principles
to the composing of paragraphs, sentences,
and words, into a well-ordered and finished
whole. My general instruction, you must
remember, is to be used in prevising your
original compositions; my more specific
instruction is to be used only \x\' revising
your original compositions.

in of the
ii'iiK', with
f a prose
n^ of the

and with
these prin-
ers of this
arding the
rdinate or
e, namely,
:ences, and
■e specitic
ty of Sub-

the more
: principles
sentences,
nd finished
, you must
is/ug- your
re specific
w' revising

CHAPTER III.

I'AKAI'.KAPIIS; THKIR NATl'KK AND Kl' SC I'loN. -Ill K CON-
STUICI ION OK l'AkA<!RAril>: I'K I NCI PIKS AN1> MKIIInlls.
— I'MK l-AKAiiKAI'll AS AN I M>KI'KM>E \ f WIKU.K; IIIK
I'KINCII-l.KS AND MKTMDDS i>K INTKKNALt.V AKKANOINU
ITS I'AKTS.— TIIK PARACKAril AS A RKI.ATKD \\ IIDIK :
THK I'RINCII'I.KS AND MK.TlloDS i)K I NTKRCDNN EC TINr.
PARAC.RAl'H WITH I'ARAHRArll.

Paragraphs: Nature and Function. —
In dealing with the general substance
and form of a prose theme I distinguished
for you its principal parts, naming them
respectively the Introduction, the Discus-
sion, and the Conclusion. These parts, I
explained, are in nature formal, not sub-
stantive; and their function or business is
to introduce, discuss, and conclude the
total number of ideas a writer may v\ ish
to express regarding any topic of discourse
Now every prose theme contains also sub-
ordinate parts, called paragraphs, sentences,
and words. These are the snbsfantive
parts of a prose theme — of the theme as a

PKINCIPLKS OK STYLK.

whole and of each of its principal parts:
each principal part must contain a number
of ideas expressed in a number of para-
graphs, sentences, and words. In ^i^eneral
it is the business or function of tlie sub-
ordinate or substantive parts of a prose
theme to develop the ideas of the principal
or formal parts. Each subordinate part,
however, has its own special nature and
function. In treatinu^ these I begin with
the more complex, with, namely, para-
graphs.(')

In explaininii: to you the nature and func-
tion of paragraphs I might follow the method
most textbooks of Rhetoric: I might simply
give you a lexicographer's definition of a
paragraph. You have but to read a few

(1) The iiiOMtseiLslliliMiiid luminous trt'iitiiu'titi)f tlio imturi-
iiiiil tum-tionof piii'iiuriiphs, iiiidof the pi'inciples of iirtlstlciilly
composing pani^'rtiphs Is to he found In Wendell's KnglMi
fiimpoi'ition, Chiip. IV. !«iM)tt & Denney's Pftragiaph-IViUiiw Is
on the whole too elahorate and refined In Its analyses to he of
general practical value In composition. It Pontalns. however,
many valuahle Ideas, and a short chaptBr, excellent in suh-
stance. on the Theory of the I'aniKraph. Lewis' The. Ht»ti>rii of
tlu: Knulifh Par<i<;raph Is an excellent treatment of the orljrln
and development of the puraRraph.

pal parts:
a number
- of pa ra-
in t^eneral
the sub-
>f a prose
■t principal
tiate part,
lature and
)egin with
ely, para-

3 and func-
he method
jfht simply
/Y/of? of a
-ead a few

iitoftliy nature
i of ai-tlstlciilly
ndt'll's KngU»h
iraph-H'iffrni; Is
iialysi's to l>o of
tains, however,
ct'lleiit in siil)-
' The HUtorii of
It of the orljrln

PARAGRAPHS.

of such definitions to see for yourself that
they really explain nothini?, or, at any rate,
mean very little to any one who would
understand what the definitions in rhetorics
and in dictionaries say. What, e. o:, do the
followin<i^ definitions of a para^^raph con\ev
to you, or explicitly mean ? "A paratrraph
is a unit of discourse developini^^ a sinijle
idea"; or, "a connected series of sentences
constituting: the development of a single
topic"; or, "a u^roup of sentences that are
closely related in thought"; or, "a collec-
tion, or series, of sentences, with unit}' of
purpose"; or, "a part which, during the
process of composition, has defined itself
as one distinct stage in the progress of the
essay"; or, "a whole composition in min-
iature". All these definitions as definitions
are vain, because they are too abstract and
summary, and thus fail to give a reader a
precise and explicit idea (or 'picture') of
what a paragraph is. In view of this fact
I believe that it is best for me to describe
the exienial appearance of paragraphs, to

PRINCIPLKS OF STYLK.

explain Iio-d' they came at all to exist, and
thus to show forth their uses.

Examine a page or two of any artistically
composed book or essay: and note simply
and solely what you see. First of all: You
see a rectangular black mass of 'print'
lying within a rectangle of white paper.
The rectangle of print so lies upon the
page as to be bounded on all sides by what
printers call a 'gutter,' /. <■., unprinted
(or white) marginal or rectangular spaces
of more or less width. Again: You see
the print on the page running in parallel
lines. Once more: You see a number of
lines of print thus running on, which begin
'flush' with one inner margin of the gutter
and which end with the opposite inner mar-
gin of the gutter. Finally: You see, as they
are called, 'indentations' here and there in
the print. That is to say: Every well com-
posed page of a book or an essay does not
appear as a homogeneous mass of parallel
lines of print beginning always and strictly
at one inner margin of. the gutter and

exist, and

rtistically
>te simply
^all: You
of 'print'
ite paper.

upon the
jvS by what
unprinted
lar spaces

You see
n parallel
lumber of
lich begin
the gutter
inner mar-
ee, as they
id there in
well com-
Y does not
)f parallel
nd strictly
utter and

PARAGRAPHS.

ending always and strictly at the opposite
inner margin of the gutter. Mere and there,
at considerable distances apart, the rectan-
gle of parallel lines is broken by a line which
does not begin 'flush' with the inner margin
of the gutter, but which is followed by a
number of lines beginning and ending flush.
These indentations thus mark off or differ-
entiate a written or printed page into
considerable masses or groups of words or
sentences. In this way one may recognize
the external appearatice of paragraphs.

Unfortunately such indentations of a
printed page, which should mean the begin-
ning of a paragraph, are not always the
beginning of paragraphs. The reason is
that the writer (or printer) does not under-
stand what a paragraph really is. With
many writers the indentations in a written
(or printed) page — the paragraphings so-
called — are based on mere caprice, or on
mere utility, or on vague aesthetic feeling,
and not, as they should be, on the way the
human mind works when it thinks logically.

I'RINCIPLlilS OF STYLE.

It is important, then, to understand how
parajjfraphs came to exist at all,(')

To the bodily eye, I said (pp. 6-9), a
piece of prose style appears as smaller
and larger tiroups of little black marks.
The existence of the groups — at least of
the larger groups, called paragraphs — is
explained, as I said, on the ground that
men's thoughts are very seldom, if at all,
simple ideas, but usually a coiiiplex of
relaleii ideas. Words, no doubt, are suffic-
ient to express simple ideas; and sentences,
to express related ideas. So then, you
ask, why should paragraphs exist at all.
The answer is that, first on the physical
side, a sentence is not a number of words
connected in space as one ' couples ' railroad
cars; or that, secondly on the psychological
side, thought (or consecutive thinking) is

(II Tliotlu'oiy of iwiHutnplilii).', or tlie .Uisttflcation of Its
cxlisti'nci', Is based on tlic psychology of Ihf nature of thought
In Bcnoral. and of voluntary thinking In particular. The most
luminous and readable treatment of these matters is to be
found In .lames' P» /Ticiples of Pn|/ch<)l(i(;i/. Vol. I. Chaps. IX, XI,
XIII. XIV, and Vol. II, Chap. XXVI; or In his Psyehologv:
Hrlefa (Dtirxe, Chaps. XI. XIII. XV, XVI, and XXVI.

•

rAKAC.KArHS.

and how

)

p. 6-9), a
; smaller
k marks.
i least of
raphs — is
lund that
if at all,
iiipJex of
are sutfic-
>entences,
hen, you
ist at all.
I physical
of words
' railroad
:hological
inking) is

tflcation of Its
ire of tliouKlit
lur. The most
Iters is to t)t!
:'hBp8. IX, XI,
1m Psyehology:
XVI.

not a number of simple ideas connected
by one's arbitrarily taking a number of
them and somehow ' coupling ' them by
thinki)io- info them certain relations. The
truth is that in thinking about any object
one simply keeps one's mind on the object —
attends — and without any effort or orig-
inality on one's part the object appears to
have aspects^ or one's thought, as they say,
simply develops '\x\ groups oi related ideas.
Let me put the matter concretely.

Suppose that, e. o., you see a ' speck '
off on the hori/on. You say: 'What is that
— a bird, or a man.''' You keep watching
it: the longer you attend to the object, the
sooner it appears as a definite object. ' That
looks like a man,' you say: 'I see \\\'t, heaii .
No, I don't believe it is. Yes, it is: for I see
his arms swaying and his legs a-going. I
must, however, be wrong: for now I can't
see anything more than a black mass. Oh,
yes, it is a man: he is sitting down, and I
can distinguish his head, body, arms, and
legs.'

PHIXCIPLKS OF STYLK,

Now just as the speck on the horizon
eventually appeared to be something of
ih'finife parts, because you had simply kept
on looking at it, until its parts defined
themselves, so in pure thinking about an
object simple attention to the object of
thought will compel it to appear in parts, or
one's thoughts about it to appear \x\ groups
of related ideas, corresponding to the aspects
of the object. Suppose that, e. g., you
have been asked to write a theme on 'A
Student's Room in Harvard College.' You
have not, as you say, thought about the
matter; but having seen a student's room
you will attempt it. So you begin to think
about a student's room. At first your
thought is vague or nebulous: you have
not, it seems to you, a single idea on the
matter. You, however, keep on thinking
about a student's room: and soon enough
you have a 'picture' of the external appear-
ance of the room (a group of related ideas),
then a 'picture' of the internal appearance
of the room (a group of related ideas), and

'^.T'irW'Sw wwfc CT ^ J^WiiS^KS^l'J.ic^iM^i^'a^ ' H»»U l l f !ff; a-; ggjl ?

le horizon
lething of
mply kept
s defined
about an
object of
1 parts, or

he aspects

?. i,'-., you

me on 'A
;ge.' You
about the
:nt's room
in to think
first your
you have
ea on the
1 thinking
)n enough
lal appear-
ted ideas),
ppearance
deas), and

' \ m»ii»ni.w f x».^ ' vKl i . ^ ji P t f fj e dii ''^

PARAGRAPHS.

finally, a 'menior}' of the uses to which
the room was put (a group of related ideas).
These are natural divisions of your thought:
the}' are, too, exclusive divisions. All
men think as you do: they attend to an
object of thought; and, as they attend, the
object appears in aspects, or one's thought
naturally forms itself into groups of related
ideas, corresponding to these aspects.

I need not add anything more to what
I have said, in order to show forth the
/^s(;.v of paragraphs. Paragraphs e.xist not
merely because the indentations in the
printed page make what is written easier
to read, or merely because the indentations
make the page look prettier; but really
because paragraphs represent to the eye
steps or phases in one's thinking about any
object, and thus enable a reader to distin-
guish the order and logic in a writer's
statement of his ideas. In other words:
paragraphs exist in order to help a reader
re-think a writer's thoughts. Do not forget,

then, that if your own thought about any
LofC.

«r-

100

I'KIN'CIIM.KS OK STVI.I'.

' i i

subject of discourse has lotjical order, it
must have parts, and that in artistic com-
position these parts must be made to appear
in jj^roups of ideas, called para*;raphs.

The G)nstruction of Paragraphs: Prin-
ciples and Methods. -Now that I ha\e
shown you somethinyof the ijeneral nature
and function of paraijraphs, I must show
you, further, what principles and methods
you must employ in artistically construct-
injj paragraphs. These principles are Unity
of Substance and Unity of Form.

Paragraphs are substantive parts exist-
ing within the principal or formal parts of
a prose theme. As substantive parts
paragraphs must contain a number of
related ideas, limited strictly by a special
point of view; must have, that is, unity
of Substance. Although in the case of
paragraphs unity of Substance thus means
precisely what it means in the case of a
whole composition, I shall here explain the
nature of Unity of Substance more speci-
fically, and fully illustrate it.

■'L iiajn iK M . ^ , ' ■&...

' ttwt !T awafm ' mijai i g * w w

I'AKAC.kAl'llS,

lot

1 order, it
tistic com-
s to appt'iir
•aphs.
phs: Prin-
at I have
i'ral nature
nust show
d methods
construct-
> are Unity
n.

larts exist-
lal parts of
itive parts
lumber of
y a special
t is, unity
he case of
thus means
; case of a
explain the
nore speci-

Revert to your oriijinal composition on
'A Student's Room in Harvard Colle«;e/
You remember that I criticized it, and
instructed you how to revise it. The revision
consisted for the most part in simply dim-
inatinjj; from each p.irajxraph ideas which
were naturally s//o<>es/iu/ to your mind in
writin«j; 3'our orijjinal composition, but
which were irrelevant to your limited or
special point ofvieu\ as, e. o\, the point of
view of the external appearance of j-our
student's room, or of its internal appear-
ance, or of its nses. When you were,
supposedly, or logically, dealin*i[ with a
description of, say, the external appearance
of the room of a student in Harvard Col-
lege, what could be more natural, as the
psychology of Association will explain to
you, than that you should have suggested
to you the external appearance of your
own room or of the room of a student in
Yale College: and what more natural than
that you should insert in your piece of
description the suggestions that came to

I02

PKINCIPLKS OF STVLK

you?(') You did insert the sii<;ii;estions
that came to you; and instead of describing
strictly the vxfcrn(il appearance of the
room of a student in Harvard Colle*je,
and thus expressing a single idea in the
paragraph logically devoted to a single
topic, you, as it were, ' dumped ' into the
paragraph the ideas of all sorts that hap-
pened at the moment to be in your mind.
Your original composition thus contained,
certainly, a number of related ideas; it was,
however, on fair way to containing any
number of related ideas; and strictly viewed
this meant a lioifo-e- podge rather than
a luiify of ideas. You will the better
understand the difference between these
two, if I illustrate it by a couple of para-

(II I ciiniiot lii'i't' piiiiMC to explain tin* psyclioloKy i)f Suji-
(ffstloii (AssiM-lutionl. I limy Hiiy, however, that the teacher of
KiiKllNh ('uiiiposiltloii will never succeed in hIiowWik the student
of prose style what ITnlty <if Substance really means, until he
or she uial<es It plain that the human mind, so far as loiilcal
tliiiil^ln); Is concerned. Is, asthe Culviidsts say of the huniun
heart, -totally depraved.' I refer to the mental phenomenon,
us .lames calls It. of totat reenll. See .lames' I'KiichiiUinu: IMe.fer
Courtie. Chap. XVI. pp. 'JiW-ani , for a luminous and readable
explanation uf total recall, and for excellent illustrations.

isifuestions
lL'scribin«;
■('. of the
' Collejje,
lea in the
) a single
' into the
that hap-
our mind,
contained,
as; it was,
ining (rf/y
tly viewed
ther than
he better
een these
e of para-

liolotty of SUK-
tlu'Uiiichor of
IriKthestuiliMit
ifHiis. until lit>
fur us Umicnl
of tlif liuiiiiin
I pheiioiiit'iion,
•hiildtfl/; Uriefer
mid reiidul>K<
ustrutioiis.

rAKAJiKAl'IIS.

•03

j^raphs which contain ideas merely siii^-
grsfed, not ideas /oo/en/ly f lion oh f on I.
Here is the first para<;raph:

Not liavint; any fiike. through not hi-inv;' fort--
wariifd iis to tlu> tiiiii- of iirrivnl tlioiiu;li it ir* tiot
ofti'ii I iiiii takt'ti by r^urpriMc I'xrcpl a.- to lit'ad-
aflie, wliich, of couixf, is accidental to every
jierHon — I have not >jot anytliinjf Imt bread and
l)ntfer, the liaker and ^locer l)einu- all that conid
he denireil, except in the way of worryinjj; fortheii
money, which they think that nince I keep my
hank in the hoiir>e. like AlladinV cave, a» I have
read about the Arabian Nijfht;*, I myself having
gained it an a prize for Knjflisli in my early
girlhood, beiny then considered a scholar anti
industrious (1)

Let this parajjjraph, which has neither a
beginning, a middle, or an end, teach you
both what lack of unity of Substance really
is, and what is its psychological cause. A
paragraph lacks unity of Substance when
it contains not only ideas which are strictly

(ll Mrs. Siimpsoii in IAthhs ihinif's The MuKtern of a Haii-
gifin ('all. I liiivc rcviHi'd Mrs. Siiinpson'H • t'ofijiify ' RnKliNli. iin
it iippcars ill till' oriKliiitl. ffuriii); that the liidici'diis .spt-lliiiK
would iiiukt! til*- piiriiKraph Itsi-lf appeHr 'coiiiic' mid thu.s
diwtroy its real value as u case of the lat'it of Unity of Siih-
Ntmii'e. For another excellent example read Miss flate^'
•speeches' In Jane Austen's ' Eniiiia,' one of which is (|Uoted in
James' Pgychnlogn: Briffer ('onrnn. (;hap, XVI. p. 2fll.

I04

I'l<IN(II'l.i;s OK STVI.K.

relevant to a writer's limited or sjK'eial
point of \ie\v, hut also ideas whieh happen,
aeeortlin*; to the laws of Assoeiation, to he
s//o-ai's/('i/ to the mind of the writer hy the
thoii^ihts relevant to the speeial topie of
the para<j;raph.

The para<;raph I have just used, taken
from a popular novel, may seem to you
an extreme ease, or -a tietion ereated hy
the author of the novel in whieh the para-
«;raph oeeurs, in order to show his ele\er-
ness in ' eharaeteri/ation.' Vou may,
indeed say: ' No one ever talked mueh less
wrote in sueh a eonfused or helter-skelter
way/ I assure you, however, that 'su*;-
f^estion ' rather than ' lof^ie ' is highly potent
in serious writinjjj. Here is a paragraph
of serious eomposition; a parajjraph meant
to descrihe, as the writer ealls it, \.\\c pleas-
ant 'loeation' of the University of South

Dakota, in the eity of Vermillion:

Vermillion 18 admitted by iill who have xeen
tlu' place to l)e one of the ujont pleasant cities* in
Sonth Dakota. |The L'niverHity in in the north-
eastern part.] ThoHe who enjoy boatinjf, htintin^f

p «a>^Hw'*^K~

or sjiccial
:h happen,
ition, to be
iter by the
;il topic of

sod, taken
■ni to you
reated by
1 tlie para-
his clever-
I'ou may,

much less
ter-skelter
that ' su«j-
;hly potent
paraji^raph
aph meant
, the p/eas-

of South

on:

have ween
lint oitieH in

1 tlie north-
njy, linntinjif

r.\K A(;ka('||><.

and cxiMirrtionr* will tind \ tiinillinii >in<l viciiiilx
Well iiilii|ilc(l tor !4ii('li i^iini'tr^. kdwiti^ iind ^kni-
itij; on tlu- riviT an- anions tlie iniinv t-njoNaliJi
rt'cn-atinnH of HliidentH. jIImtv vciii oxi-niKion
paiticrt vixil lh»" NfluMfikii lilnllH (or m-cdoyical
H|K'(iim-iiH, f<iiif»' flic tu'as y tiirln-r alony flu- MIh-
HDiiri fiirnJHlifn dt'liylilfiil plaoi-x for |iiniits.|

Unity of Substanie, I have said, exists in
a jiaraj^n-aph wlien the para<;raph contains
only ideas that are strictly rele\ant to the
limited or special point of \ie\v, or, as it
is called, the 'topic,' of the paraj^raph. In
the paraj,Maph I have just cited the topic
appears in the first sentence: the writer
means to recommend 'life 'at the Uni\er-
sity of South Dakota through the fact that
i//e city of Vermi/Iion, where the LIni\ei-
sity stands, is a very pleasant place in
which to live. The principle of Unity of
Substance demands that a writer stick
absolutely to the point of view of his or
her topic. Our writer, in the present
instance, does not do so. In the second
sentence of the paragraph cited, which I
have bracketed, the writer happens to think
of the precise situation of the University of

lo6

PRINCIPLES OF STYLK

■A

South Dakota; yielding to this suggested
idea about the situation the writer places
this thought in a paragraph dealing not
with the situation itself, but with the
phasantness of the situation. The fact
that the University of South Dakota is, as
the writer of the paragraph says, in the
northeastern part of the city of Vermillion,
has nothing to do with the topic of pleas-
antness—unless, as the writer may have
thought but did not explicitly express, the
northeastern part of the city of Vermillion
is the most pleasant part of that most
pleasant city. The high probability, how-
ever, is that the writer's remark about the
situation of the University is a suggested
'after-thought;' and therefore absolutely
irrelevant to the subject-matter of the
paragraph. The second sentence of the
paragraph cited should, then, be eliminated.
Once this is done the third and the fourth
sentences of this paragraph, dealing as they
do with the opportunities for sports and
pastimes while the student of the University

laef

i suggested
riter places
dealing not
: with the
The fact
)akota is, as
says, in the
Vermillion,
pic of pleas-
■ may have
express, the
: Vermillion
: that most
ibility, how-
rk about the
a suggested
; absolutely
tter of the
tence of the
s eliminated,
d the fourth
aling as they
• sports and
e University

'-^

PARAGRAPHS.

107

of South Dakota is residing in Vermillion,
naturally are connected in substance with
the first sentence.

Again: The criticism I have just offered
regarding the second sentence of the para-
graph cited, is applicable also to the fifth
sentence. In this sentence the writer sub-
mits that every year (of college residence
in Vermillion, presumably) excursion par-
ties visit the Nebraska bluffs for geological
specimens. Now, the topic of the paragraph
is the pleasantness of Vermillion as a place
of residence. Travelling out of Vermillion
to Nebraska to search for geological speci-
mens has as much connection with a. pleas-
ant mode of life /;/ Vermillion as going to an
Industrial Exposition at Paris. To be sure,
the writer adds that while searching for
geological specimens on the Nebraska
bluffs, the bluffs themselves are so well
wooded as to make them delightful places
for ' picnicking.' The essential idea in the
writer's mind is that Vermillion, the seat
of the University of South Dakota, is so

lo8

PRINCIIM.KS Ol' STVLK

near the well wooded Nebraska bluffs that
students of the University of South Dakota
can often make life agreeable by picnicking
in the woods of the bluffs. Picnicking
and searching for geological specimens are
distinguished as play from work: so that
searching for geological specimens has not
the slightest connection in substance with
the topic of the paragraph, namely, the
pleasantness of Vermillion as a place of
residence. This sentence, or at least the part
of it referring to geological investigations,
must be eliminated, and the remainder
somehow so reconstructed as readily to
connect itself in substance with the topic
of the paragraph. The whole paragraph,
if revised in the way I have indicated, from
the point of view of unity of Substance will
read as follows:(')

Vermillion, the seat of the State University, is
iidinitted by all who have seen the place to he one
of the most pleasant cities in Sonth Dakota. Those

iK I have hiid toehanue Its form us well as Its substance
In ordor to make the whole strictly artistic In composition. 1
will deal u!;aln with this passage under unity of Form.

bluffs that
nth Dakota
picnickintr
Picnicking
;cimens are
rk: so that
ens has not
itance with
imely, the
a place of
ast the part
estimations,
remainder
readily to
1 the topic
paragraph,
cated, from
(Stance will

Jniversity, is
ace to l>e one
»kota. Those

as its substance
coiiipositlun. 1
of Form.

PAKAC.KAl'HS.

109

who enjoj' boating?, Iinntiny, and excursions will
find Vermillion and vicinity well adapted for
such sports. Those who enjoy skatiny will find
in winter an excellent body of ice on the Vermil-
lion river. Those who care for picnicking;- will
find well woode<I grounds adapted to such pas-
time on the Nebraska bluffs, which lie across the
Missouri river, about four miles from Vermillion.

Theoretically, then, a paragraph has
unity of Substance when it contains only
such ideas as are strictly relevant to the
limited or special point of viexv — or topic
— of the particular paragraph.

Before treating of the principle of Unity
of Form as applied to the construction of
paragraphs, and of the method of securing
unity of Form in these parts, let me supply
you with a practical, or mechanical, method
of securing unity of Substance in the para-
graphs of a prose theme. The mechanical
device is already familiar to you. If you
revert once more to your original compo-
sition on 'A Student^s Room in Harvard
College,' you will find that you tirst planned,
as I called it, an 'abstract' of the general
substance and form of your theme, and

■*
I

ita

PklNCIPLKS OF STYLK.

then expanded the leading ideas of your
abstract. In expanding your abstract,
you failed here and there to secure strict
unity of Substance, because, as I showed,
you inserted in a paragraph devoted to a
particular topic a numer of ideas really not
concerned with that topic. The reason of
this was that you literally threw down on
paper ideas just as they came to you,
in their accidental order. If, then, you
would secure unity of Substance in each
paragraph of your prose themes, you should
make an abstract both of the general topics
of your theme, and of the special topics
under each general one, and while treating
each topic, you should include only such
ideas as strictly belong under each.

Suppose that, e. g., you wish to secure
unity of Substance in the paragraphs of
the Discussion of your theme on 'A Stu-
dent's Room in Harvard College.' The
general topics of your Discussion are, first,
the appearances and, secondly, the uses of
the room you mean to write about. You

,n pw ^ 4iii« n > \) tfi v 'ftri '

;as of your
r abstract,
;cure strict

I showed,
evoted to a
LS really not
le reason of
w down on
le to you,

then, you
ice in each
, you should
neral topics
zcial topics
lile treating
! only such
ach.

\ to secure
agraphs of
on 'A Stu-
ege.' The
in are, first,
, the uses of
bout. You

PARAGRAPHS.

til

must, as does almost every one who writes,
first make an abstract of the main topics
of your Discussion, and then of the special
topics under each of the main ones. These
special topics are your paragraphs. Here
is a 'picture' of the main topics of your
Discussion of 'A Student's Room in Har-
vard College,' and of the paragraph-topics
of this theme:

A student's room in harvard

COLLEGE.
The Discission:

( 1 ) The external appearance of the room :

(a) The door and transom.

(b) The letter-box and card-plate.

(2) The internal appearance of the room:

(a) The general architecture.

(b) The general furnishings.

(d) The decorations on walls and mantel-piere.

(3) The uses of the room:

(a) As a study.

(b) As a living-room.

The main topics of the Discussion I have
above distinguished by the numerals, (i ),
(2), and (3); the paragraph-topics under
the main ones I have distinguished by the

I
I

ita

PKINClI'l.KS OK STYLK.

letters of the alphabet, (a), (b), (c), (d).
To secure, then, unity of Substance in your
Discussion of the appearances and uses
of 'A Student's Room in Harvard Col-
lege,' you must follow strictly the substance
of your ideas as outlined in your abstract.
That is to say: While dealing with the
main topic concerned with the external
appearance of the student's room you are
writing about, in your first paragraph
nothing must appear except what is concern-
ed strictly with the door and transom, and
in your second paragraph nothing must
appear except what is concerned strictly
with the letter-box and card-plate; while
dealing with the internal appearance of
your student's room, in your first para-
graph nothing must appear except what is
concerned strictly with the general archi-
tecture of the room, and in your second
paragraph nothing must appear except
what is concerned strictly with its general
furnishings, and so on, for each of the
remaining paragraphs; and while dealing

'), (c), (d).
nee in your
,v and «.s-^.s-
rvard Col-
e substanee
ir abstraet.
ij with the
e external
)m you are
paragraph
: is eoneern-
Einsom, and
hing must
ed strictly
late; while
earance of
first para-
ept what is
eral archi-
:)ur second
jar except
its general
ich of the
ile dealing

PAKAUKAl'HS.

113

with the uses of your student's room, in
your first paragraph nothing must appear
except what is concerned ^'.Ictly with the
room as a study, in your second paragraph
nothing must appear except what is con-
cerned strictly with the room as a living-
room, and so on.

Mechanical, no doubt, this method is: it
is, however, only an aid to clear and logical
thinking. According as you think clearly
and logically, so will your expression of
your thoughts be clear and logical. The
device I have explained to you, while used
in one form or in another by almost all
careful and expert writers,(') is recom-
mended to you, a tyro in the art of writing
prose style, chiefly as a method to be used
much more in revising than in prevising
your original compositions. In this way,
if you do not gain ready power of clear

(II Hi'<.' Wi-ndell's Knyllnh CompoxttUin. pp. lai, and I(i4-1<H1;
Carpenter's ExercUex in Rhetoric and KnylUh f'omponHioti, pp.
1.54-IiS5; Herrick & Diuhom'm Compotiftfon and Uhetitric, pp. .IT-.")!,
and (MT-;t.')i{; and Mead's Praetieal Compitiittion and Rhetortc, pp.

52-30.

^ ■ pwmgajv r LJi ' j ' ..

114

I'KINCIPI-I-.S OF STVl.l-

I' :

and lojj^ical thinkin»j, you will tjain at least
stire power of thinking, and, therefore, of
writing artistic prose style.

My next task is to explain specifically
the nature of the principle of Unity of
Form as applied to the construction of
paragraphs, and fully to illustrate the appli-
cation of this principle to these parts of a
prose theme. In paragraphs the principle
of Unity of Form demands something more
subtle and refined in logical order and
proportion than the mere order and propor-
tion that should exist in a whole composition.
In a whole composition, taken strictly as
a whole, the principle of Unity of Form
demands, as I said (pp. 52-55), that the
ideas proper to a given general point of
view should simply folloiv one another
from the beginning, through the middle,
to the end of a theme in a logical order ^
that is, in an order natural to a given point
of view; and that the principal parts of
the whole (the principal groups of related
ideas) should be/>/'o/>o/'/;'o«<T/e to the import-

ijain at least
:heref()re, of

specifically
)f Unity of
itruction of
te the appli-
2 parts of a
lie principle
ethin^more

order and
and propor-
omposition.

strictly as
ty of Form
;), that the
ral point of
)ne another
the middle,
\rical order ^
given point
pal parts of
•s of related
5 the import-

PAKACKAPHS.

ance or function of the parts. The relative
proportion iugvA ihe parts much more than
the mere order of their ideas, I said, makes
a whole composition, taken strictly as a
whole, an artistic piece of prose style. If
the principal parts (Introduction, Discus-
sion, and Conclusion) of a prose theme are
proportionate to their importance and func-
tion and simply follow one another in a lotj^-
ical or natural order, and if the paragraphs
contained within the principal parts are
. proportionate to their own importance or
function and follow one another in a logical
or natural order — then a whole composition
has unity of Form.

Now a paragraph, since it contains a
number of parts (sentences) which develop
a single idea (or topic), is practically a
whole composition in miniature. A para-
graph, then, has unity of Form when its
parts (sentences) are arranged in simple
logical order, or, as they put it in Rhetorics,
when their parts are ' coherent.' This I
call simple unity of Form. Again: A

t '. K

Ii6

I'KIN'CIl'LKS OK STYLK.

para^n-aph has unity of Form not merely
when its parts (sentences) are coherent,
but more especially when its parts, as I
put it now, have individually f/w saine f'onii
of structure. This I caW com pound unity of
Form. So abstract or general have I been
in my statement that you will fail to under-
stand me, until, I explain myself, the bet-
ter I judge, through illustration. Fcr this
purpose I shall use two paragraphs which
lack respectively the simpler and the higher
kind of unity of Form; and after criticizing
each of these paragraphs, I shall reconstruct
both of them so as to show the contrast
between the old and thi revised composi*ion.
Here is a paragraph which lacks, as I
have called it, simple unity of Form; which
lacks, /. e., strict logical order in the
sequence of its parts (sentences):

Huller'rt advunce occupied Macluidodorp this
afternoon. Tiie enemy made a (ioor s^tancl and
retired northward, followed by Dundonald't*
mounted troops, who could not proceed beyond
Helvetin on account of the nature of the country.
[It appears Buller'w casualties are very few.|
French continued his movement today as far as

not merely
re coherent,
? parts, as I
le sdiiie form
>umi unity of

I have I been
fail to iinder-
self, the bet-
in. Ff>r this
jraphs which
nd the higher
:er criticizing

II reconstruct
the contrast

I composition.
:h lacks, as I
Form; which
)rder in the
res):

cluidodorp this
|ioor s^tancl and
y Dundonald'a
jroceed beyond

of the country.

are very few.]
today aa far as

I'AKAdKAl'IIS.

•>7

Klandsfontein, from wlik-li lie turned tlie enemy
out without niueh (Unieulty. [liullerV eaHualtie»«
were 27 killed; wounded. Heveral <)t1k'er8 and ,■)()
men.]

The paragraph which I have just cited
contains five sentences. The arrangement,
or sequence, of the third and fifth sentences,
which I have bracketed fails in unity of
Form, because the idea contained in these
sentences is partly given in the third and
partly in the fifth, but the immediate con-
nection of these sentences is broken by
the fourth sentence, which contains an
altogether different idea. The third sen-
tence, you note, states that the casualties
to the troops of the British leader, Buller,
were very few. This is a general state-
ment, followed in the fifth sentence by
a specific statement of the casualties to
Buller's troops. This specific statement,
which the merest common sense would tell
one should follow immediately the general
statement, is separated from its natural
concomitant by the fourth sentence, which
is concerned with a wholly different matter.

::t

■^MMriMMMliiii

lis

I'KI.NClI'l.KS OK srVLK.

To «;ive this paragraph, then, simple unity
of Form, the first, second, third, and fifth
scntL'nccs must folh»w one another in the
order of first, seeond, third, and fourlii,
while the original fourth sentence, if used
at all, must take the place of the tifth
sentence of the ori^^inal composition. Thus
revised the paragraph cited will read as
follows;

Hiilk-rV iKlvam-*' (UHMipiod MiU-liiiilodDrp lliia
iiftoniDon. Tlif etu'iny miido ii poor wtand and
retired northward, follo\vf<l l)y Dnndonald'w
inonnted troop;*, who couhl n(»t proceed hejontl
Hclvotin on aeeoiint of the nature of the i-ountry.
It appearH Holler's eartnalties are very few.
Hidh rV eartualtien were 21 killed; woiuideil, nev-
eral ofVicerx an«l .")<» men. French eontinned his
movement today as far as Klandsfontein, from
which he turned the enemy i»ut without much
difllculty.

Let me now quote a paraj^raph which
lacks, as I have called it, compound unity
of Form; which lacks, /'. e., in each sentence
not merely logical order, but also the same
form of structure:

Vermillion is admitted by all who have seen
the place to be one of the most pleasant cities in
South Dakota. The I'niversity is in the north-

^Jl

uinplc iinitv
id, and tiftli
other in the
and foil rill,
!nce, if used
of the tifth
sition. Thus
w'\]\ read as

luidodorp thif*

nor HtHtid and

DniKlnniildV

-OCl'l'd l)t'J'(>IHl

)f the I'oiuitry.
are very few.
wounded, !*e\-
eontiniied hi?*
rtfotitein, from
witlioiit much

iraph which
ipound unity
;ach sentence
ilso the same

who have Heen
easant cities in
< in the north-

i'.\K.\(.kAriis.

119

eaHtern part. IThnxe wlin i'tiji>> lioalinu;, luintlnH'
and fxciirHiotif* will tind VCrmiUion iiiid vicinity
wi'll adapted for rtucli !<pnrtf». Kowiiiy; and ftkat-
inn "" tlic river are amonn tile many enjoyaliie
recreations of utiidentx. Kvery year excursion
parties visit the .N'eliraska Iduffs for neojojrji-al
specimens, Hince tlie heavy timber aion^ the Mis-
souri furnishes delightful phu-es for picnics.]

The para<,'raph which I have just cited
above I liave criticized and revised (pp.
105-109) from the point of view of unity
of Substance: but in revisin*; it I said (p.
108, f/o/e I) that to make this parajjjraph
appear as an artistic piece of composition
I should reconstruct both its substance
and its form. This paraj^raph, as you note,
has for its topic, not the situation itself of
the University of South Dakota, but the
pleasantness of the situation. The tirst
sentence begins with a ji^enerai statement
to the effect that Vermillion — the seat of
the University of South Dakota — is a very
pleasant place in which to live. The second
sentence, however, introduces into the par-
agraph a statement which in substance does
not belong to this paragraph; while the

1^^

, 120 PklNCIPLKS OF STYLE.

•i' ' : " '

*' third, fourth, and fifth sentences expand

\ by specific statement the lojjjical topic of

j this paragraph. The introducin^ij of the

i irrelevant second sentence destroys simple

■ logical v)rder in the sequence of the sentences

I of this paragraph, destroys simple unity of

j Form. In an altogether different way,

ul however, unity of Form is destroyed by

the third, fourth, and fifth sentences (brack-
eted). That is to say: Since the third
sentence, which follows the general state-
ment of the first sentence, begins the specific
statements, all the other sentences which
follow it in making specific statements
[ should have, as the Rhetorics put it, a

! form parallel with it. Now, this third

I sentence begins with the phrase — 'Those

I whoenjoyboating, hunting, and excursions,

and so on '. What is more natural than
to expect that if other specific statements
' follow, in numerically different sentences,

each subsequent sentence will have the
same form of structure — ' Those who enjoy
boating, hunting, and excursions, and so

YLE.

itences expand
oijical topic of
oduciniij of the
lestroys simple
of the sentences
simple unity of
different way,
i destroyed by
ntences(brack-
jince the third

fjeneral state-
ufins the specific
entences which
ific statements
irics put it, a
low, this third
)hrase — ' Those
and excursions,
re natural than
LMfic statements
irent sentences,

tuill have the
'hose who enjoy
ursions, and so

PAKAGRArilS.

on;' 'Those who enjoy rowing, and skatinf;^,'
and soon; and ' Those who enjoy picnick-
ing,' and so on. The fact is, however, that
our writer, in the first sentence of specific
statements (the third sentence of the para-
graph) begins with a subject concerned
about persons, and ends with a predicate
(verb and modifiers) referring to their
actions in the future; while our writer, in
the second sentence of specific statements
(the fourth of the paragraph) begins with
a subject concerned about things or actions,
and ends with a predicate (verb and modi-
fiers) referring to persons; while, finally,
our writer, in the third sentence of specific
statements begins with a subject concerned
about persons and ends with a predicate
(verb and modifiers) referring to indefinite
action. From the point of view of artistic
composition our writer would have been
at least more ' successful,' not to say, ' fin-
ished,' if all our writer's sentences had
assumed the form of the first sentence of
specific statements — /. g., had begun with

■ t

122

PKINCIFLKS OF STYLK.

a subject concerned about persons and had
ended with a predicate referring to future
action. Thus revised each sentence not
only will follow its concomitant in strict
logical order but also will have strict uni-
formity of structure. My revision appears
immediately below:

Vermillion, the >.e :.t of the State University, i«
admitted by all who have seen the place to be one
of the most plear^ant cities in Sonth Dakota. Those
who enjoy boatin^^ hnnting, and excur-onB wU
find Vermillion and vicinity well adapted for
such sports. Those who enjoy skating will find
Zl^^^r an excellent body of ice on the Verm. -
lion river. Those who care for picntckinR will
find well wooded grounds adapted to «"ch pas-
time on the Nebraska bluffs, which he across the
Missouri river, about four miles from Vermdhon.

Despite all my explanation of the nature
and application of the principle of Unity of
Form you will have somewhat misunder-
stood me: you will have confounded mere
likeness or similarity of external structure
with uniformity of structure. Let me
explain the difference between mere simi-
larity and uniformity in the structure of
the sentences of a paragraph.

PARAGRAPHS.

Itt

IS and had
to future
tence not
t in strict
strict uni-
in appears

liveraity, ifl
ce to be one
kota. Those
ursiona will
adapted for
tij{ will find
the Verniil-
nickinjs will
to auch pas-
ie across the
1 Vermillion.

the nature
of Unity of

misunder-

mded mere

il structure

Let me

mere simi-
jtructure of

The Beatitudes in Christ's Sermon on
the Mount (St. Matthew's Gospel, Chap. V)
have both similarity and uniformity of sen-
tential structure. I choose a number of
them, and make a simple paragraph of them,
as follows:

Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be
comforted. Ble.-*sed are the meek: for they shall
inherit the earth. Blessed are they which do
hnnjrer and thirst after rijrhteonsness: for they
shall be filled. Blessed are tlie merciful: for they
shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart:
for they shall see God. Blessed are the peace-
makers: for they shall be called the children of
God.

The sentences which I have just quoted
have similarity of external structure,
because each of them begins and ends with
the same material form; begins, that is,
with the words, ' Blessed are the—,' and
ends with the word . ' For they shall be—.'
While, no doubt, in the case of the Beati-
tudes the similarity of external structure
has a unique effect, both artistically and
otherwise; yet, strictly viewed as a method
of composition, it would be wholly impossi-

-J

124

PRINCIPLKS OK STYLK.

ble always so to construct the sentences of
a paragraph: it would be too artificial and
would too soon create monotony. The
Beatitudes, however, have also uniformity
of sentential structure, because each sen-
tence in the paragraph containing the
Beatitudes keeps, as far as possible,^ ^//^
sawe form of subject and predicate. The
subject, as you note, in each sentence is a
personal subject--' They that mourn,' 'the
meek,' 'they that do hunger and thirst after
righteousness,' Hhe merciful,' 'the pure in
heart,' 'the peacemakers;' while the predi-
cate (verb and modifiers) in the first clause
of each sentence keeps the same person,
tense, mood, and voice, and in the second
clause of each sentence keeps the same
person, tense, mood, and, practically, the
same voice-' Blessed are they-: for they
shall—,' and so on.

Unity of Form, then, means the mam-
taining, as far as possible artistically, in
each sentence of a paragraph the same
^ structuraV prm of subject and predicate.

PARAGRAPHS.

125

ntences of
iticial and
ny. The
iniformity
each sen-
lining the
ssible, the
•ate. The
ntence is a
ourn,' 'the
thirst after
the pure in
; the predi-
first clause
me person,
the second
; the same
tically, the
— : for they

5 the main-
istically, in
ti the same
id predicate.

The following paragraph is an excellent

instance of it:

Her companion laughed and sang n »tave of a
cavalier love Hong. He was a slender, well-made
man, dressed in the extreme of the mode of the
year of grace, sixteen hundred and sixty-three, in
a richly laced suit of camlet writh points of blue
ribbon, and the great scented periwig then newly
come into fashion. The close curled rings of hair
descending far over his cravat of finest Holland
framed a handsome, lazily insolent face, with
large steel-blue eyes and beautifully cut, mocking
lips. A rapier with a jeweled hilt hung at his side.

Unity of Form in paragraphs is so subtle
and refined a matter, so dependent on clear
and logical thinking en the part of a writer,
that it cannot be secured by mere mechan-
ical devices. Still in iny next topic I shall
give you some help in the way of mechan-
ical devices. In the meantime let me remind
you that in revising your original composi-
tions with an eye to strict unity of Form
in your paragraphs, see, first, that the
sequence of the sentences in a paragraph
is coherent (logical in order) and, secondly,
that the subject and predicate of' all the
sentences contained in a paragraph have

,j6 FKI.MCIPLKS OK STYLK.

not simihinty. hut uniformity of structure.
Principles' and Methods of Internally
Arranging the Parts of a Paragraph. -
From the point of view of writing prose
style there are two ways of regarding para-
graphs. First: One may regard a paragraph
as an independent whole. In that case a
writer is concerned solely with the principles
and methods of internally arranging the
parts (sentences) of a paragraph. Again.
One may regard a paragraph as a related
whole, as a component part of a larger
whole. In that case a writer is concerned
with the principles and methods of inter-
connecting in a logical way paragraph with
paragraph. I shall now deal with the
principles and methods of internally arrang-
ing the parts of a paragraph.

It is of some consequence to understand
why a paragraph should have its parts
internally arranged in a coherent wa)-.
Any paragraph may have unity of bub-
stance, and yet by the mere arrangement
and connection of its parts fail to be at once

i^im

•mm

tnictui'C.
internally
igraph. —

ng prose
ling para-
>aragraph
lat case a
principles
nging the
, Again:
5 a related
f a larger
concerned
Is of inter-
graph with
1 with the
allyarrang-

understand
e its parts
erent way.
ity of Sub-
rrangement
be at once

I'AKAdKAI'llS.

intelligible and clear to a reader. The
reason is that a slovenly or incoherent
arrangement of the parts of a paragraph
forces upon the mind of the reader the task
not only of simply rethinking a writer's
thought, but also of so reconstructing the
parts of a paragraph as to make the
rethinking itself possible. Revert, e.g., to
the paragraph reading as follows:

Verinillion ia ndinitted l)y all who have seen
the place to be one of the most pleasant cities in
South Dakota. [The University is in the north-
eastern part.] Those who enjoy rmatinjr, hunting,
and excursions will tind Vermillion and vicinity
well adapted for such sports. Rowing and skat-
ing on the river are among the many enjoyable
recreations of students. [Kvery year excursion
parties visit the Nebraska bluffs for geological
specimens, since the heavy timber along the Mis-
souri furnishes delightful places for picnics.]

The last sentence of the paragraph just
quoted is, on the face of it, absolute non-
sense. Yet to the author of it this sentence
was anything but nonsense: in the mind of
the writer a connection existed between
this sentence and the other sentences of
the paragraph. The reader, therefore, is

'*ii

128 PRINCIPLES OF STYLK.

forced not simply to read and understand,
but also to think out the connection of
the last sentence with its comrades in the
same paragraph. In the following way, it
may be imagined, the reader's rethinking
goes on. The topic of the paragraph is the
pleasantness of the situation of the Univer-
sity of South Dakota. The problem of the
reader is to discover the connection between
the tirst, or the topic-sentence, and the
last sentence. In the third sentence of the
paragraph the reader notes that a student
of the University of South Dakota will hnd
a great many opportunities for sports and
pastimes in the city of Vermillion, the seat
of the University, and also in the vtamty
of this town. The reference to the Nebraska
bluffs will have, the reader opines, a proper
connection with the other sentences, if
these bluffs are in the vicinity of Vermil-
lion, and if they thus easily afford some
means of sport and pastime. No sooner,
however, has the reader come to this
conclusion than the fifth sentence itself pre-

i H i r i i M fP i ii i i iiii n ii nMrni i -r'-

iderstand,
rjection of
des in the
ig way, it
rethinking
raph is the
he Univer-
)lem of the
on between
e, and the
ence of the
t a student
)ta will find

sports and
on, the seat
the vicinity
e Nebraska
es, a proper
entences, if

of Vermil-
ifford some

No sooner,
me to this
ce itself pre-

IWkAdKAl'IIS.

IS9

sents in another way new difficulties. There
is the problem of makinj^ sense out of the
two clauses of this sentence. What connec-
tion, the reader asks, can there be between
searchint; for jjeological specimens— which
assuredly in the reader's experience is not
a sport or a pastime — and picnicking on
the well wooded Nebraska bluffs.^ By
carefully rethinking the matter ti;e reader
discovers that since the Nebraska bluffs
are near Vermillion, contain geological
specimens, and are well wooded, students
of the University of South Dakota can
make the searching for geological speci-
mens not a hard task, but a delightful
recreation, by combining investigation with
picnicking. Thus rethought, and expressed
on paper as reconstructed in the mind of
the reader, the paragraph appears luminous
throughout, as you yourself can see by the
revised form which appears immediately
below:

Vermillion, the seat of the State University, ia
admitted by all who have seen the place to be one
of the moat pleasant cities in South Dakota. Those

!.■

130.

PRINCIPLKS OF STYLK

who enjoy boiitinn, huntinir, and exonr>*iont* will
find V'erniillion and vicinity well adapted for
HHih rtportrt. Those who enjoy rtkatin^j will find
in winter an excellent body of ice on the Vermil-
lion river. Those who care for picnicking; will
find well wooded n;roun<l« adapted to rtuch part-
time on the Nebraska bluffs, which lie across the
Missouri river, about four miles from Vermillion.
Now that you understand in a general
way why a writer should make the parts
of a paragraph coherent, let me explain
how — by what principles and methods —
you may make a paragraph coherent.
There are two kinds of Coherence, which,
for lack of better terms, I name respectively
implicit and explicit coherence.(*)

The parts of a paragraph are implicitly
coherent rvhen sentences -which are closely

(1) The prlnclpU' of Coherence (iiri aspect of the principle of
Unity of Form) Is luminously treated In Wendeirs BntfJixh C.wn-
uo8«(«n. Chap. IV, pp. 134-14.5. I'rofessor Wendell explains
that t« his mind there are three modes of Coherence: (1) coher-
ence by way of the simple order of the sentences forming the
parts of a paragraph, (2) coherence by way of sln.llurlty of
sentential structure, and O) coherence by way of connectives.
To my mind, however, similarity of sentential structure (see
above pp 12M20 and Wendell's Brti/lteh ComponJtton. pp. i;i7-140)
Is so much more a matter of artifice than either of art or of
loKlc that I cannot regard It as iHslnR strictly a method of
coherence. Conswiuently I regard only the methods of order,
and of connectives as true methods of coherence.

^■^h^^

ilSiinlWMMii'fiil''**'*"

PARAGRAPHS.

131

•iirHions* will
ii(lii|)te«l for
ntx will fiml
I the V'ermil-
niokin^ will
to rtiich pnn-
ie arrorts the
I Vermillion.

1 a general

e the parts

me explain

methods —

I coherent.

nee, which,

espectively

e implicitly
are closely

>f the principle of
ell's Bntflinh C(>m-
kVondell explains
lerence: (Dcoher-
!nces forming the
■ of sliiillurlty of
y of connectives.
111! structure (see
iMitton, pp. 1:17-140)
Ither of art or of
!tly a method
nethods of
nee.

jthod of I

it order. I

connected in thought are in juxtaposition
on the written pai^e. By this arrangement
of the order of sentences in a paragraph a
reader naturally feels or perceives the
connection of sentence with sentence and
with the whole. The following paragraph
(quoted above, pp. 116-117) is a good
example of the lack of implicit coherence.
I have bracketed the parts (sentences)
which are related in thought, and which,
therefore, should be placed in juxtaposition
on the written page:

[Biiller's adviince occupied Mucluulod«>rp this
afternoon. The enemy made a poor t^tand and
retired northward, followed bj- Diindonald't*
mounted troopa, who could not proceed beyond
Helvetin on account of the nature of the country.]
[It appears Buller's casualties were ver}- few.]
French continued his movement today as far as
Klandsfontein, from which he turned the enemy
out without much difficulty. [Buller'a casualties
were 27 killed; wounded, several ofticers and fiO
men.]

The writer of this paragraph just quoted

had in mind the military movements of two

British generals. In the first, second, and

third sentences of this paragraph he writes

i ]>

I !

,3j PKINCIIM.KS OK STVI.K

about one ^a-neral. In the fourth sentence,
beeuuse, no doubt, the thou^MU ^^\^out the
movements of the other ^^eneral /nrppe.s
to come into mind, the writer immechately
yields to the presence c^f a new and different
thou^d^t, and places it on the written page.
In the r.fth sentence the writer returns to
complete the subject-matter of the move-
ments of the first ,a-neral. You see or feel
for yourself, surely, that this hfth sentence,
since it is actually connected in thou.dU with
the tnrst, second, and third sentenees shou d
be placed immediately side by side with
its logical eomrades. In that way the
paragraph has not only strict logical struct-
ure, but also better artistic structure: the
ease in reading and in understanding the
connection of thought appeals immensel)
to a reader's sense of nicety of adjustment
(construction), to a reader's sense of beauty
To appreciate the value of coherence re-read
the paragraph cited as it appears immedi-
atelv below in its revised form:

Boiler', advance occupied Machadodorp th.«

I'AKAdUArils.

>33

1 sentence,

about the

il //(ippfiis

nmcdiately

ricUlifferent

ritten pajic.

returns to

[ the move-

u see or feel

th sentence,

liouj^ht with

;nces, should

y siile with

at way the

)irical struct-

ructure: the

standing the

s immensely

if adjustment

nse of beauty.

jrence re-read

ears immedi-

•n:

chadodorp thia

Hftornooii. Till- om-iiiy iikkU' n poor Hfnml iind
rt'liffil Mortliwiinl. fnllowt'd l>y niitidoiialdV
iiioiintfd troopf*. wlu) oonld not proret'd heyotid
llidvi'liii on iioi-oiuit of till- natiiiv of tlif fniintry.
It iipprarrt HiilltT'r* »-iir«uiiltii'n wiTf vory few -
kilk'd, 2H; woiiiidi-d, rtovfrid onU-ern imil ."lO iiu'ii.
Fri'Mch I'otitinufd his movfiiH'tit lodiiy ii« fur iit*
Klilt)d^«f(ll)t(Ml1, from wliiili In- tnrtu'd tlu' ciuiny
out without miicli ditlU-idty.

You arc anxious now, no doubt, to know
by what mechanical devices a writer may '
secure coherence in the parts of a paragraph.
There is none. Adroit management of the
order of the sentences within a paragraph
is solely a matter of careful and clear
thinking. In revisinij; your ori^^inai com-
positions, then, with an eye to the coherence
of the parts of a paraji^raph, see that sen-
tences closely connected in thoujjht are as
tnuch as possible in juxtaposition on the
written paj?e.

Secondly: The parts of a paragraph are
explicitly coherent iv/ien the sentences of a
paragraph overtly refer to the thouoht
contained in each other by rvay of internal
or initial connectives. An internal con-
nective is a word, phrase, or clause which

'^■l

!■
1

.,, ' PKINCIPLK^ OF STYLK,

■34

exists in the body of each sentence of a
paragraph, and which repeats or as the>
say, 'echoes' the leading word, phrase or
clause of a preceding sentence, or which
distinctly refers to the topic of a succeeding
sentence, or hints at its contents. An iniia

connective does not differ in general nature
and function from an internal connective:
it exists at the very beginning of each sen-
tence of a paragraph; but from its very
position it is a viere connective, and, the. e-
fore, a weaker method of coherence than
an internal connective. Here :. a good
example of both kinds of connectives:

' The Abb. Ca^^rain is a writable prod,K.o
Hi. race, ^^^ .r^'^^^^^TTi^^^nX

,he French. »n<l of .he 1-rench ""^^"f'

-,rhThrrei*r;„eah.^^^^^^^^^^^

Providence. Perhaps, too, of this clioaea p

-rt

itence of a

or, as they

, phrase, or

;, or which

I succeeding

s. An initial

neral nature

connective:

of each sen-

om its very

e, and, theie-

lerence than

re :5 a good

nectives:

ible product of
ti, his locality.
Frenchman, as
c, and writes in
r one of these
race.histongue,
To him the
rythinff good in
: rio race equals
ch no branch
erved from the
le remoteness to
le special care of
his choaea peo-

PAKAGKAPHS.

«.?5

/)/e, none are quite equal to those alonjj the St.
I.awrence, or, more particularly, those dwelling
upon the chilly side of Cape Diamond.(l)

Coherence amongst the parts (sentences)
of a paragraph means that the relation
between sentence and sentence is intelligible
and clear to the reader. The second sen-
tence of the paragraph just quoted is intel-
ligibly and clea/ly connected with the tirst
sentence by the pronoun '■/le'' in the second
sentence: the reader cannot fail to under-
stand at once that the pronoun 'Ae' refers
to the subject of the first sentence, to the
Abbe Casgrain. This pronoun '^e' in
the second sentence is an internal connective.
The tirst phrase of the third sentence of
the paragraph quoted is intelligibly and
clearly connected with the second sentence
by the phrase, ' In every one of these capac-
ities.'' The reader is not compelled to stop
and ask — ' What capacities f It is quite
clear that the reference is to the ways in

(1) Quoted by Carpenter In his Ei«rct»e» in Rhetnric and
Compogition. pp, 175-178. The Inltliil and Internnl connectives
are IndlcateJ by Itulictzed words.

JUJi'

i I

,36 PRINCIPLKS OF STYLE.

which the Abbe Cas^rain writes, the ways
just summarized in the second sentence-
namely, ^as a Frenchman, as a French
Canadian, as a Catholic, and. . . .in the
French himrtiaire: The phrase which
begins the third sentence of the paragraph
quoted above is an initial connective; or if
the accent be placed on the words ' these
capacities: this phrase is, more properly,
an internal connective. The fourth sen-
tence of the paragraph quoted above is
intelligibly and clearly connected by the
phrase 'to him; at the beginning of third
sentence, with the subject of either the
third, second, or first sentence: the refer-
ence of the phrase 'to him' is quite unmis-
takable; no one else is meant than the Abbe
Casgrain, who writes as a Frenchman, as a
French Canadian, as a Catholic, and in the
French language. The phrase 'to htm'
in the fourth sentence is strictly an mitial
connective. The fifth sentence of the par-
agraph just quoted contains an internal
connective, namely, the phrase ' of this

^^t^SfjgjjgffjsOi^i)*'^^^^'

«hs»»

the ways
intence —
I French
. . . in the
,se which
)aragraph
tive; or if
rds ^ these

properly,
[)urth sen-
[ above is
ed by the
ig' of third
eithe*- the

the lefer-
lite unmis-
n the Abbe
ihman, as a
:, and in the
e ' to him '
^ an initial
: of the par-
an internal
ise ' of this

I'.\KAC.kAl'i;S.

chosen people' This phrase directly causes
the reader's thouo:ht to understand at once
who, in the mind of the Abbe Casgrain,
are the chosen people of God. The Abbe
Casurain, as our writer tells the reader,
believes that the Turanian peoples are in
general a select race; the Celts are a select
branch of the Turanian race; the French, a
still more select branch of the Celts; while
the French Canadians, especially those
along the lower St. Lawrence, or more
particularly, those dwelling along the chilly
^,.J • of Cape Diamond, are in the mind of
t' e Me Casgrain the most select of the
1\.'>. ;v ,n, of the Celtic, of the French race.
There can be no doubt in the mind of the
reader that the phrase ' this chosen people''
are the French Canadians who live along
the lower St. Lawrence and Cape Diamond.
The phrase— 'o/ this chosen people'— \s^
as I said, an internal connective.

The paragraph which I quoted above
illustrates internal and initial connectives
which refer to the content or topic of a pre-

PKINCIPI.KS OK STYI.K

c^^/V/i,'- sentence. Here, on the other hand,
are three paragraphs which ilhistrate the
use of initial and internal connectives that
refer to the contents or topic of the sen-
tences which f'oUoiv the sentence containing
the connectives.(*)

Let me repent what I have often said of the
characteristics wliicli mark the Kn>;:lish spirit,
the KtiKlish jienins. This spirit, this <reni"><.
judged, to he sure, rather from a friend's than an
enemy's point of view, yet jndj^ed on the whole
fairly, is characterised, I have repeatedly said, by
energy with honesty. Take away some of the
energy which comes to us, as I believe, in part
from Celtic and Roman soiirces; instead of energy,
say rather steadiness; and yon have the Oermanic
genius: steadiness with honesty. It is evident
how nearly the characterisations approach one
another; and yet they leave, us we shall see, a
great deal of room for ditference.('2)

The first sentence of the paragraph just
quoted contains an internal connective that
refers to the contents of following sentences,
namely, the word 'repeat' To be sure,

(1) As before the connectives are Indicated hy Italicized
words.

(2) Matthew Arnold: The Studj/ »/ C^tic LtUratuie.

v^^geiatt»i3(siitifcjiakiBKfl»«j

her hand,
strate the
tives that
f the sen-
:ontaining

^aifl of the
flish spirit,
liB jjeniurt,
id's than an
I the whole
dly said, bj'
onie of the
sve, in part
dof enerjjy,
e Germanic
is evident
preach one
shall see, a

graph just
active that
sentences,
3 be sure,

d by Italicized
leratwe.

•jaxasf^w!^^.

PARAGRAPHS.

«39

this word refers to the contents of preceding
sentences, but at the same time it is used
to mark out what the reader must expect
to find in the following sentences. The
fourth sentence of this paragraph contains
another internal connectix e that refers to
the content of following sentences, namely,
the phrase ''as ive shall see^ (perhaps, also,
the word 'je/'). The reader is prepared
by this phrase to look for certain thoughts
in the sentences which follow the one con-
taining this phrase: the reader knows dis-
tinctly what in general shall be the content
of the sentences to follow. The two sen-
tences which contain the connectives just
appreciated are noteworthy in another way :
they show that a connective which refers to
the future, to what a reader must expect to
find on the written page, may appear some-
Inhere near the beginning of a sentence, or
someivhere near the end. The word ^repeaf
appears near the beginning of the first sen-
tence: the phrase ^as ive shall see,'' near
the close of the fourth or last sentence.

140

PKINCIl'LKS OK STYLK

Expert writers, of course, place their con-
nectives in cither position, according to the
special needs of the art of tine composition. I
submit examples from two different writers:

I placed before you in a few words, some little
time aK'o, a rttatoiiieiit of the Hum and Mubrttance
of MiltonV hypothesis. Lot tite iion- try iostnto,
us hriL'tly, iltc effect of tbv cinnnistuntial evi-
dence heariiiii upon the pnst history of the
earth which is furnished, without the possibility
of mistake, with no chance of error as to its chief
features, by the stratified rocks. What we tind is,
that the i^reat series of formations represents a
period of time of which our human chronologies
hardly afford us a unit of measure.(l)

The second sentence of the paragraph
just quoted begins a new topic of discourse,
with a distinct statement of what that topic
will be. The phrase ' Lef me noiv try to
state ' is a connective which refers to the
future, but which appears in the beginning
of the sentence containing the connective.
• Connectives which refer to the future may,
however, be placed in the end of a sentence,
as in the following paragraph:

ri) T. H. Huxley. Three Lectures on Evolution: Lecture I.

;heir con-
ing to the
[Kisition. I
it writers:

Home little
. !4nbrttancc
rr iostnto,
uiitial eri-
ory of the
possibility
to its chief
It we find is,
epresents a
ironolog;ie8

paragraph
discourse,

that topic
1W7V try to
:ers to the

beginning
;onnective.
uture may,
a sentence,

in: Leetwe I.

PAkAGKAPHS.

141

A reco^rnition of the heatity of wt'll -ordered
words, a stroiij^ desire, patience under discourage-
ments, and promptness in counting: every occasion
as of consequence, -these are the simple i»jj;encies
which sweep one on to power. Watch j-our speech,
then. That is all which is needed. Only it is
desirable to know what qualities of speech to
watch for. I find three of them, -accuracy.audac-
ity.and range,— «/J</i trilJ siij'u fcir ironls uhout
vucli.(l)

The last sentence of the above paragraph
closes with the clause — 'amf I ivUl say a
feiv ivords about each: To be sure this
clause harks back to the thought of the
preceding sentence, namely, the thought
about the literary '■qualities of speech^^
which, as the author says, are three —
'■accuracy^ audacity, and range: At the
same time this clause refers distinctly to
the future: the author ivill say a few
words about each of these qualities, namely,
accuracy, audacity, and range. So that a
reader knows, at least in general, just what
to expect: all the sentences and paragraphs

(1) G. H. Palnior: Sdf-CuUleatinn in EnulMi. I do not ulwiiys
quote the whole of the original para(?riiph, l)ut often, as* here,
only so much us serves my own purpose of IllustratloH.

142

PRINCIPl.KS OK STYLK.

that follow will be connected with the topic
of the qualities of speech.

Let me add now just a word of warning.
While, indeed, a failure on the part of a
writer to use connectives freely causes
obscurity, or, as they say, makes what is
written ''hard readin^;," an unintelligent
or excessive use of connectives destroys
ease and vigor of style, makes it, as they
say, " pedestrian." If you ask me, then, b}
what mechanical devices a writer may
secure coherence amongst the parts of a
paragraph by way of a 'free' use of con-
nectives, I must answer, as before: There
is none. Adroit management of internal
and initial connectives in tb sentences of
a paragraph is solely a mat, - of careful
and clear thinking, or of taste and skill. In
revising your original compositions, then,
see that some word, phrase, or clause of
each sentence repeats or echoes the leading
thought or topic of a preceding sentence,
or distinctly refers to the topic of a succeed-
ing sentence, or hints at its contents.

1 the topic

warning;.

part of a
ly causes
;s what is
intelligent
; destroys
t, as they
s, then, b>
riter may
sarts of a
se of con-
re: There
)f internal
ntences of
of careful
d skill. In
ions, then,
• clause of
he leading

sentence,
a succeed-
tents.

I'AKAdKAPIIS.

•43

Principles and Methods of Interconnect-
ing a Series of Paragraphs. — Since a whole
composition contains a series of paragraphs
that develop a single idea, the series of
paragraphs must be made coherent. Strict
logical order in the sequence of the series
of paragraphs secures coherence amongst
the paragraphs. But since coherence by
way of order is but implicit connection,
the relations of paragraph to paragraph
cannot appear to the mind of a reader until
the reader thinks out their relations. But
while implicit coherence is indeed an abso-
lute necessity in all artistic composition,
explicit coherence b)- way of connectives,
initial and internal, retrospective and pros-
pective, is of immense value in making a
series of paragraphs appear as an interde-
pendent series, as parts of a great whole.

The connectives of a series of paragraphs
should appear in Xhtjirst sentence or sen-
tences of each paragraph, or in the last
sentence or sentences. If a connective
appears in the first sentence of a paragraph,

r»

,^ PKINCIPI.KS OF STYI.K.

it is called a retrospective connective;
because it refers to the content or topic of
the immediately preceding paragraph. If
a connective appears in the last sentence
(,r sentences of a para^^raph, it is called a
prospective connective; because it refers to
the content or topic of the immediately suc-
ceeding parajrraph. Let me illustratethe use
of the two kinds of paragraph-connectives.
Here are two paragraphs which are inter-
connected by a retrospective connective:

Whoever Koe^ to hi^ ^rave with bml KtiRlish
in hi nouth ha. no one to hhnue hut '-.-'*;-

thedi.a^.reeahle ta«te; for ^' '^^^^ ;^^'''XZ^Z
inherited it can he exterminated too. I hopi to
poin o ' on.e of the n.ethod. of .nh.titut.n^^
lood Kn^fliBh for had. And .ince my .pace .«
S and I wi.h to be remen>hered. I throw what
a;j to .ay into the form of four «'-;/^'- /J-j
cents which, if pertinaciously obeyed w.U I
beUevcgive anybody effective n.a.tery of Kn^,h.h

an a tool. „ ,. .

F,r«<, then. "Look well to your .peech. I i.

commo;iy .nppo.ed that when V^:;^^^^^
arv newer he Roe. to hin room and plan, an article
or the pTe««. But thi« i« to begin literary cultt.re
aUhe wronK end. We .peak a hundred time, for
eler^ once we write. The t,uBie.t wrUer produce,
mtle u>ore than a volume a year, not bo much a«

'H^-Jt..--^-

:onnective;

or topic of
igraph. If
St sentence

is called a
; it refers to
diately sue-
tratetheuse
•onnectives.
•h are inter-
innective:

bud Kn^-lirth
lit liiiii>*elf for
rtpeecli ciin he
oo. I lioiH- to

t^nbrttitiitinjjf
; my rtpnce is
, I throw whsit
r simple prv-
beyed, will, I
eryof KnKlish

tipeecb." 1< if*
iiiin aeekH litor-
)liinH an article
iterary culture
idred tinie>< for
writer producet*
lot so much as

PAKAdKAlMIS.

145

his* talk would auionnt to in a week. C <)nne«|iu«ntly
tlirouuli speech it in Uf«ually decided whether a
man ir* to have ctunmand of bin lan^ua^e or
not.(l>

The topic or content of the second of
the para},'raphs quoted above is connected
with the preceding; one by the word ' First.'
A reader perceives at once that this word
' First ' refers to the first of the \fimr sim-
ple precepts,'' obedience to which, as the
author says, will <;ive anybody effective
mastery of English as a tool. This word
' First,' appearing as it does in the very
bej^inning of the second paragraph, and
referring distinctly to a definite statement
in the preceding paragraph, is an initial
retrospective paragraph-connective.

Here, again, are two paragraphs, the
second of which contains an internal retro-
spective connective, in the form of a phrase:

The Rood man, then, according to the he<lon-
iHtic estimate, ia Himply a reliable instrument,
warranted not to j^o wronjr, but to continue wtead-

(1) O. H. I'liliiii'r: Self-Cvlth'athm In Knolhli. See above note,
(t) p. 141. Here, as before, tbe foniiei-tlves are indicated by
Italicized wordx. .

141

I'klNCn'I.KS OK STVI.K

1 [

i'.

!■■

ily prcMlurinjf tin- urciilfnt imiounJ of hiinplneHt*
po»«Hil)leintlu-i'ircMimrttiiiu-t'«,whfthfrforliiiiiHelf

or for olluTrt.

\n\v,t Ill's intirjirvttitiiui nfiliiiriHirr.ii Ht'fiiiH
to iiif, falnUk'rt tlif lieallhy iiionil oonHoiourttu'Hrt
of iiiitikind. by uliiiply revfr(«in^!: itn trttiniiitf.
That o-ttiiiiate irt that character, the attaininent of
a certain type iif perrtonality or bent of will, irt
not a iiieanrt lint an erul-in-itrtelf; tliat thiH, an<I
not llie production «.f a certain state of feeling, in
the only thin^r which irt always an<l Hlt«)Kctlier
>ro(,<l, and itself 'the ultimate stantlard of all
values."! 1)

The phrase ' /h/'s interpretation of char-
acter'' refers immediately to the '-hedonistic
estimate'' of human character explained in
the preceding paragraph. The phrase itself
is, as I said, an internal retrospective con-
nective.

Let me now show you three paragraphs
interconnected by a prospective connective:

The world of Knowledge, of Art, of Religion,
does claim us for itself, and our visits to it ought
to be all the more frequent because our actual
world is apt to be so meagre and confined. But
our acquaintance with the splendours of it«

(1) J. Setli: A Stmiu nf Ethieol Principlei: I have curtailed
till" number of Bentenceslii the orlRlnal pHranruphH for my own
purpoHeH.

of hiijiplneHrt
ler for liiiiiHflf

irti'r, it Het'iiiH
"otirtoiounneHH
itrt i-Htiiii)iti>.
iittnininent of
t?nt of will, irt
hilt tluH, and
L- of fet'lin^, irt
n<l iiltojfethcr
imdiird of till

(ion of char-
i *■ hedonistic
L'xplained in
phrase itself
pective con-

: paragraphs

J connective:

1, of ReliK'o".
itrt to it ou^ht
irte oiir actual
■onfined. But
ndours of itt«

I huve curtailed
itrupliN for my own

PAKAC.RAPHS.

•47

"many iininHionrt" nuir^t tu-vt-r bn-ed in onr noulrt
c-ontfiiipt for till' niirrowm-Krt and mean appoint-
nu'ntrt of the lioiirte of our earthly pilurima^je. It
iH a dant^er and temptation neither unreal nor
unfamiliar. Lvt its tnkotwD Uliistrutioiin of it.

The artirttio temjjer In apt to be impatiOnt of
thccommon|)laceness of itmlaily life;\ve an' .vont,
indeed, to attribute to it a kin<l of praetir.'l irre-
rtponrtihility. Led by virtionw of the beautiful into
the ronumtic country of the imagination, the
rtpirit irt loth to return to the prortaic lieidrt of
ordinary daily duty. Itrt emotionrt are ideal, an<l
find no irtrttie in action on the earthly plane; and
more and nu)re it irt felt that there irt no scope for
rtuch emotionrt in the actual world.

Or take the " Saint" who, with hirt eye tiN- d on
the Heyond. abrttractrt hiuirtelf from tliirt eartfiiy
life.eitlier phyrtically art in mediu'val Monarttivirt'u
or actually and in the inner temple of the heart,
like many a modern I'roterttant, uiin^linK^ with
hirt fellowrt art if he were not of them, not in hy pot •
rirty or pride, but in real rapt abrttraction of apirit,
afraid lewt he soil hirt hands with the world's bua-
inertrt and render them unfit for the tirtcrt of thc-
heavenly commerce. Such a life not only mirtsert
the influence it might have exerted on the world,
but proves itself unworthy of, and unfit for, the
hi)f her just in the measure that it fails in the
lower duties.(l)

A prospective connective, you remember
my saying, must appear in the last sentence

141.

(1) J.8eth:4S<udi/o/M/ilcttlPr<nci|jie8.8eealM)veiiotc ui p.

p-f

I4S

PRINCIPLES OF STYLE.

(or sentences) of a paragraph. The whole
of the concluding sentence of the tirst par-
agraph quoted above, or the phrase 'hvo
ilhistraiions of it,' contained in that sen-
tence, directly connects the topic of the
two succeeding paragraphs with the topic
of the tirst paragraph. A reader inevitably
expects to see on the written page two illus-
trations of the temptation for the Scholar,
or \rtist, or Saint, to turn from the active,
workaday, hard life of men in general. Since
the written page is thus made explicitly
coherent by the writer, a reader cannot
fail to understand the writer's meaning: all
the ideas are connected and appear on the
written page in the natural or logical order
expected by the reader.

You are anxious now, no doubt, to learn
whether there are any mechanical devices
the employment of which will help one to
secure the effective interconnection of
paragraph with paragraph in a whole com-
position. In this case, as in the others,
adroit management of interconnections

The whole
the tirst par-
phrase ''hvo

in that sen-
topic of the
ith the topic
er inevitably
age two illus-
the Scholar,
m the active,
eneral. Since
de explicitly
lader cannot
meaning: all
ppear on the
logical order

oubt, to learn
mical devices
11 help one to
onnection of
a whole com-
n the others,
erconnections

PA K AGRA PI IS.

»#

amongst a series of paragraphs is solely a
matter of careful and clear thinking, or of
taste and skill. If you yourself, the writer
of a piece of prose composition, do not
know precisely what you mean to say,
mechanical devices can not help you. On
the other hand, if you yourself do know
precisely what you mean to say, the artistic
composition of what you write down on
paper is solely a matter of expressing
your thoughts precisely as you think them.
Intelligent and clear thinking is the only
recipe for the logical and artistic expression
of thought and feeling by means of written
words.

In revising your original compositions,
then, with an eye to the implicit and explicit
interconnection of a series of paragraphs,
see, first, that your paragraphs follow one
another in strict logical order, and, secondly,
that at the beginning or close of each par-
agraph you explicitly indicate the relation
of each paragraph c its fellows by a free,
but intelligent use of connectives, initial

g^wm ., U iO WB^ i

«S0

PRINCIPLES OF STYLK.

or internal, prospective or retrospective.
I have now tau^fht you something about
the nature and function of paragraphs, and
about the principles and methods of con-
structing paragraphs. In my next chap-
ter I shall teach you something about the
nature and function of sentences, and about
the principles and methods of composing
sentences artistically.

rospective.
ling about
;raphs, and
ids of con-
next chap-
f about the
and about
composing

CHAPTER IV.

sentences: their naiure and function.— th. com-
posing OK sentences: structural principles. —

THE punctuating- OF SENTENCES: METHODS BASED
ON THE LENGTH AND THE FORM OF SENTENCES. —
WORDS AS MATERIALS OF COMPOSITION: PRINCIPLES
OF CHOOSING THEM.

Sentences: Their Nature and Function. —

Customarily all treatises of Rhetoric dis-
tinguish sentences by their quantity and
their quality. In quantity sentences are
either short, or long; in quality sentences
are either simple, compound, or complex,
and either loose, or periodic. Since we
are here concerned only with the structural
principles which govern the artistic composi-
tion of sentences, we need not care whether
sentences are short, long, simple, compound,
complex, loose, or periodic. Whatever
length or form any given sentence may have,
the structural principles of prose style —
Unity of Substance and Unity of Form —
mean the same thing and have the same appli-
cation. But while this is true, we should

^.jc^^ M^ ji-.^ i it sf t i^fi A fi i ^^ ^i t' a^'^t^yxA^

152

PRINCIPLES OF STYLE,

; I

understand something of the ji^eneral nature
and function of sentences.(') Physically
viewed a sentence in general, like a para-
graph, and like a whole composition, is but
a series of words; logically viewed a sen-
tence in general, like a paragraph, and like
a whole composition, expresses a single
thought or feeling. A sentence, as well
as a paragraph and a whole composition,
is " a series of words so composed as to
make complete sense." Despite this fact
a sentence differs in a specific way, both
ph)sically and logically, from a paragraph
and from a whole composition. How a
sentence differs specifically from the larger
wholes of which it is an organic part, I
shall show you immediately.

Examine a page of any artistically com-

(1) The teacher of English OoinpoHltion should expliiiii In
the class-room the differences In the (juantity and quality of
sentences, and the rhetorical advantaKPs of each kind of sen-
tence. For my own part I here say nothing about these matters,
because I am dealing only with the Htiwtural principles of
ptniH prose composition. When, however. I deal with punctu-
ation I shall use the differences in the quantity and quality
of sentences as a basis of a simple method of punctuation.

ineral nature
Physically

like a para-
:)sition, is but
iewed a sen-
aph, and like
ises a single
nee, as well
composition,
nposed as to
pite this fact
ic way, both

a paragraph
[)n. How a
^m the larger
ganic part, I

istically com-

I Hluiuld expluin in
tity and quality of
f fiich kind of sen-
,l)out these mutters,
■tural principles of
deal with punctu-
lantlty and quality
)f punctuation.

SKNTKNCKS.

"53

posed book or essay: and note simply and
solely what you see. First of all: You see
words massed in relatively large wholes,
called paragraphs (cf. above pp. 94-95 )•
Secondly: Within these relatively large
wholes, called paragraphs, you see series
after series of words massed in relatively
small wholes. Thirdly: You see each of
these relatively small wholes following one
another not, as it were, end-to-end, but
at an appreciable, though small, distance
apart. Finally: You see each of these
relatively small wholes beginning with a
word whose initial letter is capitalized, and
ending with a word whose last letter is
immediately followed by a little black mark
or marks, called final points of punctuation.
These relatively small wholes of words,
whose external appearance I have just
described, are .technically known as sen-
tences. Now that I have distinguished
the physical aspect of sentences, let me,
next, explain the function of sentences.
As in general it is the business or func-

i;-."^ l ;■■'*"*—■

'54

PRINCIPLES OF STYLK.

tion of para«;raphs to develop the thoujjht
of a whole composition, so in general it is
the business or function of sentences to
develop \\\^ thought of a series of para-
graphs. Or, as it is the function of each
one of a series of paragraphs to present a
large aspect of the thought of a whole
composition, so it is the function of each
one of a series of sentences to present a
small aspect of the thought of a paragraph.
When it is said that a sentence is a "series
of words so composed as to make complete
sense," it must be understood that a sen-
tence is a series of words which exist
7vithin a paragraph, and which are so com-
posed as to make complete sense regard-
ing an aspect of the thought or topic of a
paragraph. Let me explain this matter
by illustrating my meaning.

Revert once more to the revised form
of the first paragraph of the Discussion in
your theme, entitled 'A Student's Room
in Harvard College ' (p. 69). This para-
graph contains seven sentences, all of which

the thoujjht
tjeneral it is
sentences to
ies of para-
:tion of each
to present a
of a whole
tion of each
to present a
a paragraph,
e is a "series
ake complete
1 that a sen-
which exist
\\ are so com-
ense regard-
or topic of a
I this matter

revised form
Discussion in
dent's Room
This para-
s, all of which

SKNTKNCKS.

«SS

describe aspects of the external appearance
of your student's room. The first sentence
announces the topic of the paragraph, '
namely, the elegance of the mere exterior
of the room you are describing. The
second and third se ntences describe the door
and panellings; the fourth and fifth sentences
describe the transom; and the sixth and
seventh sentences describe the letter-box
and call-bell. Not only, therefore, does this
paragraph, as a whole of seven sentences,
say a single thing, or make complete sense,
but also each of the seven sentences says, a
single thing, or makes complete sense.
Logically viewed, then, a sentence expresses
an integral part of the thought of a para-
graph: the function of a sentence is to
present an aspect of the topic of a paragraph
by means of a series of words so composed
grammatically as to have always one sub-
ject and one predicate, with or without
modifiers, and thus to make sense. In revis-
ing your original compositions, keep well
in mind the logical function of sentences.

■ ' i

■ I
i|
!

156

PRINCIPLES OK STYLK.

The G)mposing of Sentences: Structural
Principles.— Now that I have tauj?ht jou
romethin^ about the j^eneral nature and
function of sentences, I must teach you,
further, what principles you must employ
in artistically composing sentences. These
principles are Unity of Substance and Unity
of Form.

A sentence is a substantive part of a
paragraph. Now a paragragh, as I said,
contains a number of sentences, each of
which presents an aspect of the topic of a
paragraph, and in this way develops or
elaborates the thought of a paragraph. As
the topic of a paragraph is a thought liwited
by a special point of view, so the topic of
a sentence is a thought limited by a special
point of view, namely, by one of the aspects
of the topic of the paragraph that contains
a given sentence. The principle of Unity
of Substance demands that every sentence
shall contain one and only one idea {aspect
of a larger idea). To admit into a sentence
limited to presenting a particular aspect of

;: Structural

tauj^ht }'ou

nature and

teach you,

nust employ

noes. These

2e and Unity

e part of a
h, as I said,
ces, each of
he topic of a
develops or
ragraph. As
mg'/ii Uvtited
the topic of
i by a special
3f the aspects
that contains
iple of Unity
ery sentence
; idea {aspect
ito a sentence
ular aspect of

-T—

SKNTKNCKS.

'57

a topic any idea which happens to be sug-
gested, but which is irrelevant to the aspect
under presentation, is to cause a sentence
not to say a single thing, but two or more
things logically unconnected, and thus to
violate the principle of Unity of Substance.
The following paragraph contains a sen-
tence that lacks unity of Substance:

VeriniUion in adiiiitled by all wlio have seen
the place to he one of the most pleasant cities in
South Dakota. The University is in the north-
eastern part. Those who enjoy tioatinjf, hunting,
and excursions will find Vermillion and vicinity
well adapted for such sports. Rowinj^: and sUat-
in>? on the river are amonjf the nuiny enjoyable
recreations of thestudents. [Kvery year excursion
parties visit the Nebraska bluffs for geological
specimens, since the heavy timber alonj? the Min-
souri furnishes delightful places for picnics]

The first sentence of the paragraph quoted
above announces the topic of the paragraph.
The topic, as you note, is the pleasant 'loca-
tion' of the city of Vermillion, and, there-
fore, of the University of South Dakota,
which stands in the northeastern part of
that city. Every sentence in this paragraph
must make a sensible statement about some

HwUfciliiniTililiiB

PRINCIPLKS Of STVLK.

I
' I

' f

aspecf of the />M/.sY//// situation of the Uni-
versit)- of South Dakota; and each sentence
must make a sensible statement about
a different aspect. The fifth or last sen-
tence (bracketed) does not make a sensible
statement at all; for while it does contain
an idea connected with the topic of the
paragraph, it contains also a sugjjested idea
not at all thus connected, the idea, namely,
of excursion parties visiting the Nebraska
bluffs for theological specimens. On first
view, it is ahs»)4ute nonsense to assert:
' Excursion parties visit the Nebraska bluffs
for iteological specimens^ since (because),'
as the author says, 'the heavy timber along
the bluffs furnishes delightful places for
picnics.'' If, as is true, these bluffs, which
are near Vermillion, do afford delightful
places for picnicking, it is plain that this
idea has logical connection with the topic
of the paragraph, namely, the pleasantness
of the seat of the University of South
Dakota. But it is wholly impossible to
connect geological investigation with the

of the ITni-
rtch sentcncL*
ment about

or last sen-
ke a sensible
LJoes contain
topic of the
guested idea
dea, namely,
ie Nebraska
s. On first
i to assert :
braska bluffs
e (because),'
timber along
1 places for
bluffs, which
rd delightful
ain that this
'ith the topic
pleasantness
ty of South
mpossible to
ion with the

SEMtNChS.

•59

topic of the paragraph, imless the author
means that the students of the University
of South Dakota can make life happier by
pre/('f/(////i>- to search for geological speci-
mens on the well wooded bluffs of Nebraska,
while reu//]' making life happier by picnick-
ing there. To give the last sentence of the
paragraph quoted above unity of Substance,
the irrelevant idea or statement regarding
geological specimens must be eliminated.
You will better appreciate my criticism,
if I revise the whole paragraph of which
the last sentence is an integral part :

V'eriiiillion, the seat of the State I'niveraity. iw
admitted by all who have seen the place to be one
of the mortt pleananlcitiert in South Dakota. Those
who enjoj boating, hunting!:, and excurHions will
find Vermillion antl vicinity well adapted for
such sports. Tluwe who enjoy skating will find
in winter an excellent body of ice on the Vermil-
lion river. Those who care for picnicking will
find well wooded grounds adapted to such pas-
time on the Nebraska bluffs, which lie across the
Missouri river, about fcur miles from Vermillion.

The sentence which I have just criticised
and reconstructed lacks unity of Substance
merely because the thought of the author of

ifio

PklVriPI.KS OF STYLK.

this sentent'f is not explicitly coherent. The
two different ideas in the two chiuses of
that sentence were, no doubt, in the mind
of the author somehow hi^'ically connected.
The author, however, failed to make
explicit the connection of tlie two ideas
with the topic of the paragraph in which
the sentence existed. Let me, now, show
you a sentence that lacks unity of Sub'
stance, not because the thought of the
author of the sentence is not explicitly
coherent, but because the author writes
down on paper every idea that happens,
naturally, to be suggested by a previous
idea. The central idea of the sentence
is modified again and again by ideas
(expressed in relative clauses) which each
preceding idea suggests. This kind of
sentence has been well named the ' I louse-
that-Jack-built' sentence. Here is a very
good case of a sentence that lacks unity of
Substance by way of irrelevant moditiers:
In this uneasy state Cicero was oppressed by
H new and cruel aftlictio»i,the dtath of his daugh-
ter Tullia. [which happened soon after her divorce

•MtnwtM

(herent. The
'() clauses of
in the mind
ly connected,
d to make
le two ideas
ph in which
e, now, show
inity of Sub-
)U^ht of the
lot exphcitly
lUthor writes
hat happens,
y a previous
the sentence
in by ideas
) which each
This kind of
i the ' Mouse-
ere is a very
lacks unity of
nt moditiers:

IS opprearted by
thof liirt daugh-
jfter her divorce

SKNTKNCKS.

i6i

from DkIiiIhUii. wlione miitintTM iind humoiirx
wert' i-ntiroly dlrtiiKri-eiibli' to Iut|.(I)

The sentence which I have just quoted
is an excellent case of a most univn- 1
vice in authors, especially in youn^ wi .^i-rs,
the vice, namely, of yielding' to su^'^estion.
Let me put the matter concretely. The last
two clauses of the sentence quoted above,
as it were, 'danj^le' on the end of the first
or principle clause. The principal chuise
makes sense in itself, and presents really
a single and exclusive idea. 'In this
uneasy state,' the clause reads, ' C/Wn; 7vas
oppressed by a nerv and cruel affliction,
the death of his daughter TuUia^ The
thouj^ht of this clause, you note, is that
of the catise of the heightened uneasy state

(1) Quoted In Baldwin; T»ie Kxv»'^Uvrv Pttmornph and Sen-
• -nee, p. 30. In treatlnn of thlH matter of Unity of SubHtiincf
T. Baldwin does not conimlt the fallacy Mt common In almost
all textbooks of Ulietorlc. the fallacy, namely, of Inverting
cause and effect. A lonK sentence, say, a sentence contalnlnn
a number of relative clauses, as. «. (/.. the sentence (lUoteil
alKJve, does not violate unity of Substance, because the sen-
tence happens to be lonR. Bather, Iwcaust ihe thought of the
author of a (flven sentence lacks unity of Substance, the
sentence containing the expression of that thouRht Inevitably
becomes long.

t63

PRINCIPLKS OF STYLE.

of Cicero's mind. This cause is tlie death
of his daughter, TulHa. No sooner, how-
ever, has the author of the whole sentence
finished the pru;ciple clause than the
thought about Tullia suggests the iiine of
Tullia's death, namely, shortly after her
divorce from her husband Dolabella; and
no sooner has the author finished writing
down the clause that contains this idea
than the thought about Dolabella suggests
the reason "why Tullia secured a divorce
from her husband Dolabella, namely, the
fact that he was a disagreeable husband.
The author of the whole sentence, however,
might have still kept on writing, if only other
suggestions had come to him. He might
have yielded to the very natural suggestion
as to what kind of manners and tastes Tullia
would prefe' in the man she would have
chosen for s husband; and thus might have
added another clause to the rest. In this
way the author might have gone on writing
forever.

The sentence which I have just criticized

iaiiHP:1^tfWgfc.*<-Jg3tota^>i^ajKi^iai^ £^«i£ JS-Uffiiats

SKNTENCES.

163

; IS tlie death
sooner, how-
lole sentence
ie than the
s the time of
:ly after her
)labella; and
shed writing
ins this idea
lella suggests
;d a divorce
, namely, the
ble husband,
ice, however,
f, if only other
I, He might
al suggestion
I tastes TuUia
: would have
IS might have
•est. In this
ne on writing

just criticized

iMixUt^s^^^^'^^^^'ifS^^'^i^^s^^^iUiali^'':^.

is torn from its context. It is barely pos-
sible, therefore, that the ideas expressed
in the relative clauses of this sentence may
have had in the mind of the author logical
connection with the topic of the paragraph
in which this sentence exists. If so, the
relative clauses, expressing as they do ideas
(liferent in kind from the ideas of the princi-
ple clause, should appear as whole sentences.
But if the ideas contained in the relative
clauses of this sentence had in the mind of
the author no logical connection with the
topic of the paragraph in which the sentence
exists, then the relative clauses should be
eliminated. In revising your own original
compositions, then, keep well in mind the
logical function of sentences. That func-
tion, as I have said, is to express an aspect
of a relatively large thought. In a well
composed book or essay each one of a series
of sentences elaborating the topic of a par-
agraph must present not only an aspect of
that topic, but also a different aspect.
My next task i.-i to explain the principle

1 64

PRINCIPLES OF STYLE.

of Unity of Form as employed in the com-
posing of sentences. Fully to appreciate
the application of this principle to the
constructing of sentences you must under-
stand that 'form' is a matter of order
amongst the relations of the parts of a
sentence. Now the parts of a sentence
are words, phrases, and clauses. A sentence
has unity of Form, first, when the parts of
a sentence have the same form of structure,
and, secondly, when the parts of a sentence
are logically coherent. Strictly viewed,
only compound and complex sentences can
have uniformity of structure. But a com-
pound sentence must have uniformity of
structure in a double way, while a complex
sentence can have it only in one way.
Simple sentences, on the other hand, can
ha\ e unity of Form only by way of logical
coherence. What these distinctions mean
can be made plain, most easily and effect-
ively I judge, through illustration.

In the case of compound sentences uni-
formity of structure has a double meaning;

) >

in the corn-
appreciate
pie to the
lust under-
ir of order
parts of a
a sentence
A sentence
the parts of
}f structure,
f a sentence
tly viewed,
intences can
But a com-
liformity of
e a complex
n one way.
r hand, can
ay of logical
ictions mean
'' and effect-
ion.

mtences uni-
)le meaning;

SENTKNCKS.

i6S

■■i

it has, that is, a logical and a gramvmticaJ
meaning. Logically viewed, a compound
sentence must have at least two co-ordinate
clauses; each of these must express co-equal
parts of one idea. Grammatically viewed,
the co-ordinate clauses of a compound sen-
tence must, as far as possible, keep the
same form of subject and the same form of
predicate. Nothing illustrates so well these
two phases or kinds of uniformity of struc-
ture as the kind of compound sentence
known rhetorically as the balanced sen-
tence. Here is an excellent illustration:

The power of French literatijre is in its prose
writers; the power oi Kn^Hsh literature is in its
poet8.(l)

Each clause of the sentence ]ust quoted
is, as you note, uniform in logical structure;
each clause, that is, expresses co-ordinate
or co-equal aspects of one main idea, the
idea, namely, of the contrast between tlie
source of the power of French literature and

(It Arnold: The LUerary Infinenee of Academlea. The ital-
icized words In the text are mine; they note the uniformity In
grammatical structure-In subject a nd predicate (verb).

:ss^^?a%'^'Hi^^^"^^'^'*^=nw?^ ^

W J iwi tmi g WuW i'^

t66

PRINCIPLES OF STYLK.

the source of the power of EngHsh litera-
ture. Again: Each clause of the sentence
quoted above is uniform in grammatical
structure; each clause, that is, keeps the
same form of subject and the same form
of predicate (verb) as does its fellow.

Now that I have shown you a compound
sentence that nicely possesses uniformity
of structure (logical and grammatical), let
me show you a compound sentence that
lacks uniformity of structure. You may
thus the better appreciate the meaning
and value of unity of Form. I'<?re is the

sentence:

But Howe could not hear to acknoivledge the
defeat of his attempts to storm, and accordingly,
at five o'clock, with genuine British persistency,
a third attack was ordered.{l)

The sentence which I have just quoted

above lacks uniformity of structure because

the subject of the first clause is a person

(a British military general) and the predi-

(1) Quoted In Lewis: A First B(tok in Writing EngHah, p. 101.
The italicized words in the text are mine; they note the viola-
tions of uniformity of structure.

fee

i^lish Htera-
he sentence
rammatical
, keeps the
same form
fellow.
I compound
uniformity
iiatical),let
ntence that
You may
le meaning
1^'ire is the

■joir ledge the

accordingly,

1 persistency,

just quoted
ure because
is a person
d the predi-

Ing Enolish, p. 101,
y note the vlola-

SKNTKNCES.

167

cate (verb) is in the past tense, indicative
mood, active voice, while the subject of the
second clause is an event or act and the
predicate (verb) is in the past tense, indica-
tive mood, passive voice. The result is that a
reader is compelled to rethink or to think
out the meaning; to determine, that is, the
connection in subject and predicate between
the two clauses. The meaning, no doubt,
is that 'Howe (the leader of the British
forces) could not bear to acknowledge the
defeat of his (first and second) attempts to
storm (the American entrenchments), and
accordingly, at five o'clock, with genuine
British persistency, a third attack (on the
American entrenchments) was ordered (by
Howe).' Examine the sentence I have just
written above, and note all the explanator}'
phrases I have enclosed in brackets. You
will thus see for yourself just what a reader
of the original sentence is compelled to do
in order to think out the meaning of the
passage. All such mental labor on the
part of a reader would have been prevented.

=r;r35r-.-.H',':*:*'3^S^5KS5iSg

i ti i w iiJ ii— 1 ' , * ' "" * " '

• i

1 I

,68 PRINCIPLliS OK STYLK.

if the writer of the original sentence had
made its clauses uniform in logical and
grammatical structure-if the wnter had
kept in each clause the same form of sub-
ject and the same form of predicate. Thus

ordered a third attack.

\ complex sentence, as I have said can
have unity of Form only in one way. Corv
taining, as it does, a principal clause and
at least one subordinate clause, a complex
sentence has unity of Form when the sub-
ject and the predicate (verb) of each clause

keep, as far as possible, the same form of
gramMaticaljiructu^^

tence-- 1 turned to reply. .^•^«" I'^^t „n y of Forn., says Dr.
stanmnKgavewaywlthacrash-lack^un y^^^^^ ^^^^^^^ ^^

Baldwin (op. cit. sup. P;.f '• ''^„^*"'^, ^„d the subordinate
expressed in the «"^«^f'"*t«;**^'hjs Inversion of clauses
thought, in the ^'^'^'^llf'^^^;^ ™4r as unmoved in the
.nalces the writer "' t»^* .f^«"*^f ^J^^j^d he arranged so as to
rul^trttl^S-'wTnfturnedtoreply.theplatfor.

'■■«w«-i*v

entente had
logical and
e writer had
form of sub-
licate. Thus
I as follows:

knowledge the
accordinj^ly. at
persistency, he

lave said, can
ne way. Con-
\\ clause and
36, a complex
when the sub-
of each clause
same form of
Let me now

play a curious fallacy
,8 unity of Form when
lUeroffact- Thesen-
rorui on which t was
mity of Form, says Dr.
he main thought Is
und the subordinate
Inversion of clauses
r as •unmoved In the
lie arranged so as to
to reply, the platform

SKNIKNCKS.

169

explain the meaning of unity of Form as
applied to the constructing of complex
sentences. Here is a complex sentence
which keeps the "^ame form of subject and
of predicate in both clauses:

Making [If x't' niiikv] allowances for the dif-
ferences of the times, surely ii'e am observe
precisely tlie same thing now in our artistic class.

The participial (subordinate) clause of
the sentence just quoted above I have
chansred to a conditional clause, in order to
make explicit the uniformity of structure
in both clauses of the sentence. The subject
of both clauses is expressed by the word
'we;' that is to say, the subject of the
principal clause is identical in gender, num-
ber, and person with the subject of the
subordinate clause. Again: The predicate
(verb) of the subordinate clause is expressed
by the word 'make,' and that of the prin-
cipal clause by the word 'can;' that is to

on which I was stanulnj? gave way wltli a crash." Now, as I
thinli. the structure of a sentence has notlilnR to do with facts.
Whatever tlip facts of tlie case, l)oth the orisinal and the
revised sentences quoted at)ove are identical in grammatical
structure; and have, tlierefore. unity of Form.

.1-

170

PRINCIPLKS OK STYLK

say, the predicate (verb) of the subordinate
clause is identical in voice, tense, and per-
son, though, perhaps, not in mood, with
the predicate (verb) of the principal clause.
So far, then, as grammatical structure is
concerned both clauses quoted above have
simple and direct unity of Form.

Despite what I have said I must prevent
you from supposing that a complex sen-
tence can have uniformity of structure only
when each clause of such a kind ot sentence
keeps strictly the sawe subject and the
sa>ne predicate. If it is logically demanded,
and grammatically possible, a complex
sentence should be thus constructed. But
if it is not logically demanded, /. e., if from
the point of view of sense it is not possible,
a complex sentence should, so/ar as gram-
matically possible from the point of view
of sense, keep in each clause the same
form of subject and of predicate. This is the
real meaning of unity of Form in a com-
plex sentence.O Here is a senten ce which

(1) lauiheredealiut; with Rhetoric, not with Grainmiir. Con-

ibordinate
e, and per- •
lood, with
ipal clause,
tructure is
ibove have

List prevent
mplex sen-
acture only
ot sentence
:t and the
demanded,
a complex
icted. But
/. g., if from
lot possible,
ir as gram-
lint of view
: the same
. This is the
1 in a com-
tence which

,h Grainmiir. Con-

SKNTKNCKS.

»7'

very nicely keeps the same form of subject
and of predicate in each clause.

When at U'ii«th ihv numivtit [of death |, dreaded
throiijfh f>() iiiany years, cittiiv chwe, ihv ilitrk
ilotid piissL'd tmnr from Johnson's mind.

Though the principal clause of the sen-
tence just quoted above has a subject and
a predicate different materially from the
subject and predicate of the subordinate
clause, yet each clause has the same /or///
of subject and of predicate. That is to
say, the subject of each clause is adapted to
the same form of predicate in each clause —
to a predicate in the same voice, mood,
tense, and person. Briefly, in each of the
clauses there is no needless or senseless

soquontly ( must not Ij« undorstix)tl to usHert that unity of
Form 111 a i-oiiiplex sontenco Is ti mutter of ki'H'iii>i"<". What I
m«an Is that a complex sentence has unity of Koriii when Its
c/i(e/ part* keep, so far us possible from the point of view of sense,
the sume/ormofurammatlcal structure. Asa matter of Brammar
"a complex sentence must have only one main purt. and thut
part must be expressed as the main clause." Now, as I submit,
it Is not the business of the rhetorician to teach a writer how
to construct grammattiMllii or syntacticaUu a complex sentence ;
It Is the business of the rhetorician to teach u writer how to
secure, in the wny of arttnttc struehire, unity of Substance and
unity of Form In a aiwn complex sentence. A complex sen-
tence as amatterof grammar may be acomplexsentence; but,
us a matter of ytiie compinrftton, It may lack unity of Substance,
or of Form. v ^

Irti'iiiWW''

,72 PKINCIIM.KS OK STVLK.

chan^nn- oi the -omler, nu.uber, and person
c.f tlu ^ubject, or of the voice, mo.,d, tense,
and person ',)f the predicate.

Under many conditions a change in the
subject and predicate, or in the form of
the subject and predicate, of a complex
sentence is necessary in order to make log-
ical (not factual) sense. Only K"od sense
and tine taste can determine when such a
change is logically demanded. So that my
ultimatum in this matter is: In revismg
your original compositions see that your
sentences, when complex, keep m each
clause, so far as grannnatirally possible
from the point of view of sense, the same
^ form' of subject ami of predicate.
■ Now" that I have explained the meauing
of unity of Form as applied to the con-
structing of compound and of complex sen-
tences, I must explain its meaning as
applied to simple sentences. What 1
shall say regarding this matter is, however,
applicable to all kinds of sentences, whether
compound, complex, or simple.

[intl person
ood, tense,

nue in the
le form of
;i complex
make lo^-
iTood sense
hen such a
So that my
In revising
i that your
ep in each
//)' possible
yg, the same
ate.

the meaning
to the eon-
complex sen-
meaning as
i. What I
r is, however,
ices, w hether
lie.

SKNTKNl lis.

'7.?

Sinte a simple sentence does not contain
clauses, co-ordinate, or subordinate, but
only words, or words and plu-ases, a simple
sentence has unity of Form when its parts
ha\e loo-/ccil coherence. A simple sentence
has logical coherence when the spatial
order of its parts unmistakal)1y presents {or.,
rather, represents) the order of thoui^ht ; or,
in other words, when the syntactical order
amongst the parts of a simple sentence
makes strictly a unity ^ not an anil)io-titty,
in meaning. Logical coherence, or if you
like, syntactical coherence, is of two kinds,
namely, implicit and explicit coherence.(')
I shall immediately define both kinds of
coherence, and illustrate them.

The parts of a sentence are implicitly
coherent luhen words that are closely
related in thought are, so far as idiomatic-
ally possible, in Juxtaposition on the written

(1) TlioiuoMi luiiiinou!! treutiiientof tlu' niutliodsof obtain-
IriK colit'i'i'iifi' ill siMitt'nci'H Is to b« found In Professor WeiiclfU's
EnglitihComposUUm. Chap. Ill, pp. 104-110. My own troatnifntof
coherence In sentencesdiffers from that of Professor Wendell.
How my treatment differs may be learned by consultlnK the
note to my text p. lao above, and the te.xt Itself pp. 130-187 above.

ii-iliililiiriiliaiaili

i«M<iMiiiiaMiiiiiMii<"ii1nlfiilWW'i'''^

,i^iimiim'mmmtm!!mrmm»0t*

174

PRINCiri.KS OK STYl.K.

'%i

fniire. Thnmjrh the s\ ntnctical order of the
wouls of a sentence a reader does or does
not j;et one nieanin«i. If tlie syntaitieal
order of the w >rds of a sentence unmistak-
ably represents a sin^'le meaning, the sen-
tence has unity of Form b) way of impHcit
coherence; if the syntactical order does
not unmiiuakably yi-ld one meanings the
sentence is incohemvi. and therefore has
ambijruity of Form. Here is a sentence
thai lacks imphcit coherence (unity of
Fort", by way of syntactical order):

At Jorutno [yeaiH of ajje) the President
aiipo'»>te<l tilm 1"« private rtecTetary.(»)

This sentence is perfectly ititelligibk:
it iaefins tit her—' When the President was
fc i.v-two years of age he appointed him
.Mr. A. B.) his private secretary;' or—
V 'When Mr. A. B. was forty-two years of
age, the President appointed him his private
secretary.' But although the sentence
quoted above is thus (in a double way)

,1, Quoted In Herrlck & Dan.on: Comv>mU>n and Bhfiori,
ftyr Seluwls, p. »1S.

,K.

I order of the
Lloes or does
t syntactical .
ice unniistak-
lin^, the sen-
ly of inipHcit
I order does
meaning, the
therefore has
is a sentence
ce (unity of
order):

the Pi-crtident
>ry.(»)
,' intelligible:

President was
ippointed him
jretary;' or —
•-two years of
him his private
the sentence
double way)

iIxwlMiin ana RhelorU-

-:z iXsms s XiS! ^:T s ' .-iv. v ^:v:Mij,:

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

1.0

I.!

Iii|2£ |2.S
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1.25 1 1.4 |||||L6

►

Photographic

Sciences

Corporation

33 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

'^m^i^smn^

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Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques

"*^.;-

i^^m'm^s^'^"t^i:

SENTKNCES.

«7S

perfectly intelligible to a reader; yet what
that sentence really means is not at all char.
A reader must stop to think out whether
the phrase 'Af fhrfy-hvo {years of agey\s
connected in thou^^ht with the word ' Pres-
ident ' or with the word 'him ' (Mr. A. B.).
The syntactical order or the 'form' of the sen-
tence does not uiiwistahably tell a reader
the precise relation of the phrase '■At
foriy-tivo {years of agej to the other words
in the sentence: only a knowledge of the
facts can tell whether or not the syntactical
order expresses the logical order.

Logical syntactical order (implicit cohe-
rence) is not always a mere matter of
correct thinking; it is often, for various
morphological and psychological reasons,
a matter of tine sense of adjustment. The
following incoherent sentence nicely illus-
trates how difficult a matter it is always to
secure the finest adjustment in the parts of
a sentence:

A glance at any printed page will show that
the points [places] in paragraphs which most
readily catch the eye are— even more notably

.*»

176

PRlNCiri.KS OF STYl-K.

Implicit coherence, I have sa.c , ex.^ts m
, sentence when words (ideas) closely con-
nected in thought are in i«xtapos,t,on on
.he written page; when the words ma
sentence, that is, bythe.r very syntactical
X-by their • form ' -unmistakably
Express one meaning. The sentence I hav^

■ust quoted above not only does not express
lUtaUably one meaning, but dso,sawU.

ward in syntactical order. The sentence
7have just quoted above does not unm s^
takably' express one meaning because -
syntactical order the word '-.h.ch s con
nected with the word ^paragmpk, when
Tn reality the antecedent of the word ,.Arf
!thewL'^»fc.'Thesyntact,calorder

hat is, does not express the true order o
thought. In an artistic p.ece of prose
Composition, however, the structure
every sentence must be such as to express
unmistakablyajingle^idea;

and the end.(l)

said, exists in
s) closely con- ,
ctaposition on
le words in a
iry syntactical
-unmistakably
sentence I have
oes not express
but also is awk-

The sentence
oes not unmis-
ling because in
'wA/'c/t' is con-
-agraph,' when
\\QVf or A' ivhkh''
yntactical order,
he true order of

piece of prose
\e structure of
ich as to express
1.

Ci)m,v<>eitUm,9.V^- Pro-
o explain what Implicit
ny own criticism of this
ressorWendelVscrltlclsm.

SKNTKNCKS.

I?7

Afj;ain: In the sentence under criticism
the parenthetical clause — ' even more nota-
bly than in sentences' — is at fault much
more by way of awkwardness of position
than by way of bad syntactical order.
Just because this clause is parenthetical
a reader has merely to stop and to join the
clause with its proper fellow in idea; and
this a reader can do unmistakably. But
to say that this clause is in an awkward
position is to say that by dint of recasting
the whole sentence the clause may be made
to fall into its proper place, and thus to
appear as an artistically composed clause.
Now this clause not only is separated from
its logical (or true syntactical) comrade,
namely the phrase ' in paragraphs^ but
also separates words, namely '■are'' and
''beginning ,' that in thought belong together.
In sum, then, the word ' ivhicK' is connected
in thought with the word ' points^ and the
qualifying parenthetical clause '■even more
notably than in sentences'' is connected in
thought with the phrase '/« paragraphs^

I7S

PRINCIPI.KS OK STYLK

To make the sentence just criticized an
artistic whole, words, phrases, and clauses
closely connected in thought must appear,
as closely as idiomatically possible, in jux-
taposition on the written page. Thus revised
the sentence I have criticized will read as

follows:

A glance at any printed page will show that
in paragraphs*, even more notably than in sen-
tences, the points which most readily catch the
eye are the beginning and the end.

If the words— or phrases, and clauses—
of a sentence, whether the sentence be sim-
ple, compound, or complex, are syntactically
in their proper places, then a sentence has
implicit logical coherence. In revising
your sentences with a view to Unity of
Form by way of implicit logical coherence,
see that words closely connected together
in thought are, so far as possible, in juxtapo-
sition on the written page.

Secondly: The parts of a sentence are
explicitly coherent -v/ien the grammatical
form of any ivord in a sentence unmistak-
ably shows its own relation to every other

.Titicized an
, and clauses
nust appear,
isible, in jux-
Thus revised
will read as

will show tlint
y than in aen-
idily catch the

ind clauses —
itence be sim-
: syntactically

sentence has
In revising

to Unity of
:al coherence,
:ted together
)le, in juxtapo-

sentence are

trramwatical

nee until i$t ah'

to every other

SKNTKNCKS.

:m:

ivonf. In e\er}' sentence there is some
word (or words) that knits together all the
other words in a sentence by knitting them
to itself. Such a word (or words) is called
a connective. A connective may be either
initial or internal; may exist, that is, either
in the beginning, or in the body of a sen-
tence. Here is a paragraph, the second
sentenceofwhich contains a bad connective:

Mr. Richard Harding Davis tella a story of the
SantiajjfO campaign to illustrate how men love
cleanlineaa. [A comrade found /i/'s saddle-ba^,
and, findinjf him the next da}', returned pocket-
book, letters, and medicine to him.]

In the second sentence just quoted above
the syntactical connective is the word ' his.''
The clause ''A comrade found his saddle-
bag'' is ambiguous in form: a reader is
compelled to think out whether the com-
rade of Mr. Davis found his own saddlebag,
or the saddlebag of Mr. Davis. Only
indeed by dint of thinking does a reader
discover that the word ' his ' refers to Mr.
Davis. In order, therefore, to make this
sentence have unmistakably one meaning,

If^ 1>RINCIPLI:S OK STYLK.

the word ' his ' must be made to indicate
upmistakably to whom it refers. This can
best be done by substituting for the word
'//A' some words that expHcitly refer to
Mr. Davis. In order that you may feel
the value of the revision I recast the para-
graph in which the sentence criticized above

occurs :

Mr. Kichurd Harding Davis tells a story of the
Santiago campaign to illustrate how "-;'-- .
cleanliness. During this campaign Mr. Dav.s lost
hi? saddlebag, which contained « 1-^^^ -^-^*^/
some letters, and some medicme. A comrade ot
Mr Davis found this saddlebag; and. on meeting
Mr. Davis, returned the bag to him.

You have noted the great amount of labor
to which I have been put in order to make
the sentence I have criticized yield unmis-
takably one meaning. What I have written
down on paper represents what, as a reader,
I had to do, first of all, in the way of think-
ina My own labor in the way of thmking
is\o vever, only an instance of what any
reader must do in order to get sense out
of an inartistic piece of prose style. In
revising your original compositions, then,

rstK

SKNTKNCES.

lit

to indicate
^. This can
»r the word
tly refer to
m may feel
ist the para-
ici/ed above

I a atory of the
low men love
Mr. Davis U)»*t
I pocket-book,
A comrade of
id, on meeting

lount of labor

rder to make

yield unmis-

have written

t, as a reader,

way of think-

ly of thinking

of what any

get sense out

se style. In

ositions, then,

with a view to logical coherence, see that
every word in your sentences is explicitly
connected with every other word, even
if, as often happens, you are compelled to
recast your sentences and to repeat words
you have used before.(')

The Punctuating of Sentences: A Simple
Method. — Punctuation, as treated in text-
books of Rhetoric, is, rightly I judge, a
bugbear to the young writer. What I
have to recommend in this matter is based
on a fact which all text books of Rhetoric
ignore, on the fact namely, that the form
and the length of sentences determine the
nature and the number of points of punctu*
ation needed for expressing unmistakably
the meaning of any sentence. In any case

(1) "I learned from Macaulay never to be afraid of using

the same word or name over and over again, if by that means
anything could be added to clearness or force. Macaulay never
goes on lil<e some writers, tallcing about ' the former,' and ' the
latter,' ' be. she, it, they,' through clause after clause, while his
reader has to look back to see which of several persons it is
that is so darkly referred to. No doubt a pronoun, like any
other word, may often be repeated with advantage, if it is
perfectly clear who is meant by the pronoun. But with Macau-
lay's pronouns, It Is always clear who Is meant by them."— Mill:
" Logic."

J-

PKlN'Cn'i.KS OK STYI.K.

a writer need not use more than two points
of punctuation, or, perhaps, not more than

three.(')

In form sentences may be either com-
plex, compound, or simple; in quantity
they may be either lon^, or short. Now
from the point of view of the history or
evolution of the En^Mish sentence, the habit
of the best writers of to-day (as seen, eg:,
in our best magazine literature) is to write
either short simple sentences, or complex
sentences with only one subordinate clause,
or compound sentences with only two co-
ordinate clauses. Such a practice on the
part of our best writers makes a practical
guide for the punctuating of sentences. My
recommendations I shall put summarily.
■ First: Write short simple sentences. In

,1) The Dotnt of exclamation. If not obsolete. Is at any rate
obsolL Jont 8o that In view of the history of the «hanKes In
?h., fo^ and lenKth of the English sentence, a writer need use
?„W the its of punctuation, called the period (or. In the case
?L.^™tlve sentences, the point of Interrogation) and the
of >"*«'•"'«?";•' *™^, ,; theTnevltahle result of the evolu-
Ho:; of 11 Jrary English Awards the form of spoken English.

i/iteroture Chaps. XIX-XXIII.

SKNTKNCKS.

lis

\ two points
more tlian

Mther com-
n quantity
lort. Now
; history or
ce, the habit
s seen, e.^:,
) is to write
or complex
inate clause,
inly two CO-
ictice on the
s a practical
ntences. My
Limmarily.
lentences. In

lete, is at uny rate
of the changes Ui
, II writer need use
Hod (or, In the case
irrogatlon) and the
•esult of the evolu-
of spoken EnRllsh.
rman's AnalytUx of

that case, you will need only one point of
punctuation, namely, either a period, or the
point of interrogation. You will be com-
pelled, however, to use also commas, if
your simple sentences contain words or
phrases in apposition. Secondly: Apiece
of prose style containing nothing but sim-
ple sentences would undoubtedly become
monotonous. For the sake of variety, there-
fore, write some complex sentences with
only one subordinate clause, and some com-
pound sentences with only two co-ordinate
clauses. If you write a complex sentence
with only one subordinate clause, you will
need a period to mark the close, and a
comma to separate the clauses. If you
write a compound sentence with only two
co-ordinate clauses you will need a period
to make the close, and a comma to separate
the clauses. Here is a paragraph illustrat-
ing the whole matter:

Mj' friends, in these two errors, I thinli, I find
the causea of a decaying church and a wasting;
unbelief. And what greater calamity can fall
upon a nation than the loss of worship? Then all

vj^}::.^ti^:^xi^ir , ^ i ^i.'^'.vf^m-m-4v-M'^^^^^

,H4 l-KlNriPLKS or STYl.K.

In this passage, as you note, hmerson
uses only short simple, complex, and com-
pound sentences, and only three points of
punctuation. If, then, you too wnte only
short simple, complex, or compound sen-
tences, you will tind .that the elahorate
difficulties of the old systems of punctuation
have resolved themselves into a simple use
^ of three points, namely, the comma, the
period, and the mark of interrogation^

Words as Materials of P'^^.Stylc;
Principles of Choosing Them.-Not al
combinations of letters used as means of
communication-except where ' realism is
demanded-are 'words' in the sense o
materials of prose style. For purposes of
fine composition a writer of to-day may use
only such words i^s^reusedhyjepjUable

mvinity ctiUtu*-

\._.

< the tfiiipU' to
•t. I.iti'rtitiirt'
I. Tlie «'ye of
other \vorl«l>*.
• liven to tritlen,
ion them.(l)

»te, Emerson
ex, and com-
jree points of
o write only
impound sen-
the elaborate
if punctuation
o a simple use
i comma, the
rrogation.

Prose Style:

lem.— Not all
d as means of
ere 'realism' is
\ the sense of
'or purposes of
to-day may use
i by reputable

,eforetheSenU)raa»»in

SKNTKNtMS.

ISS

fonfeinporary writers. Let me explain
this matter in detail. I shall put what I
have to say in short simple maxims.

First: Use only such words as arc war-
ranted by the style of coiifi'inporary writers.
On the whole this means: Use only such
words as are warranted by the style of
writers contemporary with your century.
Sometimes, however, in view of the fact
that a few words used by writers in the
early part of this century are either obso-
lete or obsolescent, this means: Use only
such words as are warranted by the style
of writers contemporary with yourself.
Secondly: Use only such words as arc
warranted by the style of reputable writers
contemporary with the present century (or
with your own time). Reputable writers
are those " who have literary distinction,
and who know and regard the structure
and history of literary English words."
Thirdly: Use only such words as are war-
ranted by the style of the reputable writers
of your 07VN country. On the whole there

mitii

,..'.ii,ii''i"r"rit

jlUUi. Ill onWIBKIdlPW

,86 PRINCIPLES OF STYLK

are very few differences between reputable
contemporary Brithh English and reputa-
ble /I ///e/vV.?// English. If you are yourself
an American, use always good American
English; if a Briton, use always good
British English. Always, in short, use
such words as are employed by the reputa-
ble writers of your own time (day or cen-
tury) and of your own country.

My task is now finished. In my own
weak way I have told you how one may
secure a mastery of the art of writing plam,
idiomatic English prose style. Let me
summarize the processes. First: Every
piece of prose style must be constructed
according to the principles of Unity of
Substance and Unity of Form; must be so
composed, that is, as to express a single
idea, and to express the contents of this
idea in a logical order. Secondly: For the
surest application of these principles, every
piece of prose style must be constructed

tsiiSsss.

^ i

STYLK

between reputable
nglish and reputa-
If you are yourself
•s good American
use always good
lys, in short, use
yed by the reputa-
time (day or cen-
country.

ihed. In my own
you how one may
art of writing plain,
se style. Let me
ses. First: Every
ust be constructed
iciples of Unity of
f Form; must be so
to express a single .
he contents of this
Secondly: For the
ese principles, every
oust be constructed

SENTENCKS.

187

according to the actual method of com-
position employed by all good writers. In
constructing a piece of style with a view to
its having unity of Substance and unity of
Form, all expert writers proceed in gen-
eral somewhat as follows: First, they
previse the general substance and form of
what they mean to write down on paper;
next, they expaiidwhtxt they have prevised;
and, finally, they revise what they have
expanded into a whole composition. Since,
however, the process of expansion is a
material or psychological matter, and the
processes of prevision and revision, a struc-
tural or logical matter, all expert writers
aim primarily to previse and revise their
compositions with a view to fine structure or
logical order. To previse finely they take
care that every special topic of discourse
in the outline of their themes is related
strictly to the limited general topic of their
themes, and that every special topic is
treated in a logical order, in an order nat-
ural to a given point of view. To revise

sgaja:i?J- ' 'i. ' !ft. ' -^ ' '--"J-''^'*"*^ '' *

t8l

PRINCIPLES OF STYLK.

finely they take care, again, that the con-
tents of each special topic are related
strictly to their proper topic, and that these
contents are put in a logical order, in an
order natural to a given point of view.

For gaining a mastery of fine writing
there i#<eally, after all, no mechanical
formulas, no mechanical rules, no mechan-
ical recipes. It is all a matter, first, of clear
thinking, and finally, of straight work.

... itaM . i « i'i>>ai*' illl ''"1 ■ "'

at the con-
ire related
d that these
rder, in an
f view,
ine writing
mechanical
no mechan-
irst, of clear
it work.

eabMMmiiMMW"*

Jan - 17 1901