c&. 
 
THE ART OF AUTHORSHIP. 
 
THE ART 
 OF AUTHORSHIP 
 
 LITERARY REMINISCENCES, METHODS OF WORK, 
 AND ADVICE TO YOUNG BEGINNERS 
 
 PERSONALLY CONTRIBUTED 
 BY LEADING AUTHORS OF THE DAY 
 
 COMPILED AND EDITED BY 
 
 GEORGE BAINTON 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
 i8go 
 
 ■i 1L 
 
?^. 
 
 
 Authorized Edition, 
 
ft) 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Introduction. 
 
 Good. Writing — Is it a Gift or an Art ? . 
 Methods — Conscious and Unconscious . 
 The Influence of Keading on Literary Style 
 The Strength of Simplicity .... 
 A Protest Against Obscurity 
 Truthfulness to One's Self .... 
 Index to Contributing Authors . , , 
 
 1 
 
 55 
 119 
 189 
 241 
 287 
 353 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Some time since I was requested by a number 
 of young men to address them upon the art 
 of composition and effective public speech. 
 Thinking how best to make such a topic 
 interesting as well as instructive, I resolved 
 to illustrate the lecture by securing, if at all 
 possible, personal experiences and counsels 
 from a few of the leading writers and speakers 
 of our day. Appealing to several well-known 
 authors and orators, and receiving valued and 
 helpful replies, I was induced to extend the 
 number of such personal testimonies, with 
 the idea of giving them to those for whom 
 they were designed in a more permanent form 
 than an address spoken from the lecture plat- 
 form. This volume is the outcome, so far 
 as the above-mentioned communications bear 
 directly upon the art of effective written 
 composition. 
 
 I must ask my readers to remember that 
 
Vlll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the experiences and methods of those authors 
 only are here quoted who have personally 
 contributed, at my request, their reminis- 
 cences and advice. If, therefore, any grati- 
 tude should be felt for pleasure or profit 
 experienced by a perusal of these pages, it 
 must be accorded to those without whose 
 aid and generous acquiescence the book could 
 never have been written. Several names of 
 eminent living writers will not be found here. 
 In most instances their help has been re- 
 quested, but has either been withheld or 
 has proved insufficient for the purpose re- 
 quired. Accounts of their methods might 
 have been gleaned from other sources, but 
 these would have broken the harmony of the 
 book, which contains only those experiences 
 and counsels written for the purposes above 
 stated by the authors themselves. 
 
 In dealing with so large a number of com- 
 munications of so varied a character as those 
 which compose the bulk of this volume, it 
 has been impossible to classify them with any 
 approach to consistency. I have used them, 
 as best I could without injury to their original 
 form, to illustrate and enforce several points 
 
INTRODUCTION. IX 
 
 of interest, which every student of expressive 
 written composition may with advantage con- 
 sider. As example must be always better than 
 precept, statements of how our best known 
 authors learned to write, or what influences 
 aided them the most in preparing for and 
 finding their life-work, together with what- 
 ever counsel drawn from their own experience 
 they may be disposed to give to others, cannot 
 fail to be both instructive and deeply inter- 
 esting. " He that walketh with wise men 
 shall be wise." 
 
 Several of the authors quoted here have 
 been called away by death since this com- 
 pilation was first attempted — some even while 
 its pages were passing through the press, 
 and when intimation of their decease was no 
 longer possible. Thankfully do I honour their 
 memory, rejoicing in the thought that they 
 lived, and in living gave to the world such 
 enduring riches. For while their books re- 
 main they themselves cannot die, nor can 
 their work be ended. They still give dignity 
 and sweetness to other lives, living again 
 " in minds made better by their presence." 
 It may be that among their many claims 
 
X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 upon the grateful remembrance of their 
 countrymen, not the least is to be looked 
 for in the fact that they have taught us, 
 both by precept and example, that careless 
 speaking or slovenly writing is an insult to 
 the public, and that bad English is a crime. 
 
 Coventry, 1890. 
 
GOOD WRITING: A GIFT OB AN ART t 
 
GOOD WBITING: A GIFT OB AN ABT ? 
 
 W KITING only a few days before her Mrs. 
 lamented death, the gifted author of ^ ral ^- 
 " John Halifax, Gentleman," Dinah Maria 
 Craik, a lady whose enlightened and liberal 
 spirit, and whose simplicity and grace of style 
 have made her books favourites with nearly 
 two generations of readers, said, " I believe 
 composition is a gift, not an art, — impossible 
 to teach , though it may be improved by study. 
 The only suggestion I can make is : Say what 
 you have to say as briefly and simply as 
 you can, avoiding long words and involved 
 sentences, and preferring good Saxon-English 
 to Latinised. In writing, as in most other 
 things, to be your own natural self without 
 affectation is the truest wisdom." 
 
 Mrs. Craik is not alone in believing that the 
 native power and temperament, the outfit at 
 birth, counts for much. 
 
4 GOpD WHITING I 
 
 Hah Mr. Hall Cain-e, the author of several 
 
 Caine. carefully composed and powerfully imaginative 
 stories — hooks so full of good work as to entitle 
 their writer's opinion to a respectful considera- 
 tion, — asserts his conviction that the writer has 
 a natural ear for the music of words. " With- 
 out that ear no great prose, as well as no 
 great verse, was ever yet written. Oarlyle's 
 ear, with all his angularities of manner, was 
 one of the very finest. Jeremy Taylor's ear 
 was perhaps perfect. So in another way was 
 old Thomas Fuller's. Then how fine was 
 Bunyan's ! All these writers had different 
 ears for the music of style, or say the same ear 
 but for different harmonies. Then Dr. John- 
 son's ear was fine, but its powers limited in 
 range, and so he gives us only one great strain 
 of music, the music of verbal antithesis. 
 Landor's ear was of very wide range, and so is 
 Mr. Buskin's. Mr. Blackmore has the finest 
 ear of any man now living for the inverted style 
 of old English, and I like, almost as much, the 
 direct strains of Wilkie Collins. Some writers 
 have a fine sweet air running through every- 
 thing they write. Others, again, give no sensa- 
 tion of that kind. So without this natural ear 
 
A GIFT OR AN ART? 5 
 
 for prose I don't think any writer will ever do Hall 
 great things." Mr. Caine tells us how he Came. 
 reached his own special excellence in author- 
 ship : " In my youth I read with great avidity 
 some models that are usually considered 
 dangerous, and I remember that my imitative 
 instinct was then so strong that my own writing 
 always reflected the author whom I had been 
 reading last. Thus I began, oddly enough, by 
 copying Lord Brougham's weighty eloquence, 
 and then went on to imitate Coleridge's 
 involved sentences, and finally, Carlyle's 
 archaisms. My models were many and not 
 always good ones, for I had no guide whatever 
 but my own taste, being self-educated as far as 
 it is possible for any one to be so. When I 
 began to write for the public in newspapers it 
 was complained that my style was too elaborate, 
 too involved, and much too ornate. Of course 
 I used the choicest and newest words in my 
 vocabulary, and made the mistake that older 
 men are not always free from of displaying my 
 knowledge of long words, and so proving un- 
 wittingly that they were strangers to me. I 
 remember that my first book was a good deal 
 disfigured by the same excess, and that I had 
 
6 GOOD WRITING I 
 
 Hall published at least three books before a better 
 Came. manner became natural. The real turning- 
 point was the time when I had to write in great 
 haste for a daily paper. Having to dictate a 
 leading article was a sore tax on my arts of self- 
 mystification in labyrinths of words, and a 
 simpler style grew necessary by the very method 
 of production. Short, sharp, pithy sentences 
 took the place of long and windy ones, and I 
 realised that I was a better writer." 
 
 Marie The same opinion as to natural gift is ex- 
 
 Corelh. p resse d by one of the latest, and certainly one 
 of the most promising of our younger authors, 
 Marie Corelli. " As you ask me whether in 
 * early life ' I gave myself to any special training 
 for the literary profession, I think it is but fair 
 to tell you that I am in ' early life ' still (I 
 suppose you would not call a woman of four- 
 and-twenty very old !), and that, therefore, my 
 1 training,' if training be considered a sine qua 
 non, must perforce be going on in my case now, 
 however unconsciously to myself. I never 
 thought of writing till two years and a half 
 ago,* when, in order to disburden my mind of 
 
 * This letter was written in September, 1888. 
 
A GIFT OR AN ART? 7 
 
 certain thoughts that clamoured for utterance, Marie 
 I produced ' A Eomance of Two Worlds,' — my Corelli. 
 first book, which met with instant success, 
 much to my own astonishment and pleasure. 
 Encouraged thus, I followed up the 'Eomance' 
 by * Vendetta ! ' and ' Thelma,' and I am now 
 busily engaged on my fourth book. My 
 education has been varied, almost desultory, 
 half foreign, half English, the usual sort of 
 thing bestowed on young ladies who are not 
 expected to do aught in the world but dress 
 fashionably and make themselves agreeable. 
 For the rest I have educated myself. Always 
 fond of literature, I have, by choice and free- 
 will, studied Homer and the Classics, the best 
 French, German and Italian authors, together 
 with all the finest works in the English 
 language — particularly the poets, such as 
 Byron, Keats, Shelley, and the king of them 
 all, Shakespeare ; and I have systematically and 
 persistently avoided reading the penny news- 
 papers, detesting their morbidness, vulgarity, 
 and triviality. The mere news, stated in the 
 telegrams, has always sufficed for me ; and I 
 have fed my mind on books in lieu of leading 
 articles. Method I have none, unless it may 
 % 
 
8 GOOD WKITING I 
 
 Marie be called methodical to go to ray desk at 10 a.m. 
 
 Core.lh. an # depart from thence at 2 p.m. ; during which 
 space of time I may do a little, a great deal, or 
 nothing at all, according to my humour. I 
 write for the love of writing, not for the sake 
 of money or reputation — the former I have with- 
 out exertion, the latter is not worth a pin's point 
 in the general economy of the vast universe. 
 
 "I do not think it possible to 'train' any 
 one to be an author. The literary faculty is a 
 gift not to be attained by any amount of the 
 most patient and arduous study. It is the out- 
 come of the mind's expression ; and the ques- 
 tions I would ask of any would-be writer, 
 are not ' Have you studied the art ? ' or, 
 'Have you trained yourself?' — no! — but 
 1 Have you a thought, and is it worth the 
 telling ? ' If so, declare it, simply and with 
 fervour, regardless of what it may bring; 
 write ifc as you would speak it, and if it has 
 true value it will reach its mark. To write 
 for the sake of gaining a livelihood only is a 
 terrible mistake, one that hundreds of authors 
 commit every day. Art always frowns on those 
 who are too ready to barter her for gold. Work 
 done for the love of working brings its own 
 
A GIFT OB AN AET ? 9 
 
 reward far more quickly and surely than work Marie 
 done for mere payment. So far, at least, has Corelli. 
 been my short experience, which is possibly 
 interesting on account of my exceptional and 
 rapid success ; and most of the authors I have 
 come in contact with are dissatisfied and 
 insatiate for money — a mood in which inspira- 
 tion is most absolutely quenched and killed. 
 
 " You speak of the * formation of style ' ; this 
 I feel sure can never be done by any system of 
 study, as it is so essentially the result of the 
 inner formation of thought. As a man thinks, 
 so will he speak, and so must he write, if he 
 elects to handle the pen. This assertion is 
 borne out by the fact that every author's 
 * style ' is different ; precisely for the reason 
 that no two men think alike on the same 
 subject. In short, I, personally speaking, owe 
 nothing to systematic training; and I believe 
 the biographies of many authors will show the 
 same condition of things. Too much study 
 leaves the brain no room for original creative 
 work, and deadens the imaginative faculties ; 
 and without imagination, all literary work is 
 more or less feeble, especially in the line of 
 fiction. It is necessary to observe men and 
 
10 GOOD WRITING .* 
 
 Marie manners more than books, and to needfully 
 Corelh. note the vagaries of one's own heart even more 
 than men and manners, for, as Emerson says, 
 * He vho writes to his own heart, writes to an 
 eternal public.' Therein lies the secret of 
 Shakespeare's perpetual charm. 
 
 " To conclude with a few details, I may add 
 that though I write rapidly, I correct and 
 revise with an almost fastidious care. The 
 great Balzac was content to consider and 
 reconsider one sentence many times before 
 passing it to the public ; and nowadays when 
 slovenly, slip-shod and ungrammatical English 
 is, most unfortunately, prevalent in our leading 
 magazines and lighter works of romance, travel 
 and adventure, it behoves all those who write 
 in the noble speech used by Shakespeare to be 
 more than ever particular in the choice of 
 words, the flow of language, and the complete 
 avoidance of slang. The literature of this pro- 
 gressive age ought surely to be able to hold its 
 own with that of the Addison and Steele era ; 
 but so long as the vulgar ' society ' papers 
 continue to have their thousands of readers, so 
 long will fine taste and comprehension of good 
 literature be rare among the majority of men. 
 
A GIFT OR AN ART ? 11 
 
 Finally, to quote the old adage, 'Poets are Mark 
 born, not made ' — and so are novelists, essay- Corelli. 
 ists, and scientists, believe me ! and no culture 
 will make a man an author if it is not in him ; 
 while as for method, there are no such un- 
 methodical beings in the world as literary 
 celebrities ! They are the joyous ' Bohemians ' 
 of society, all the world is their nation ; they 
 wander here, there, and everywhere with the 
 most delightful freedom from routine and 
 restraint, and for those who love their work, I 
 think a literary life is the most enjoyable under 
 the sun. But for those who take to it from 
 sheer necessity, and grind drearily on, day after 
 day, counting the pages they cover, and wonder- 
 ing vaguely how much they will get for it all 
 when it is done, no existence is more bitter, 
 disappointing, and fatiguing; and I would 
 never advise any one to take to the literary 
 profession, unless the love of it was so strong 
 and passionate that nothing else would suffice 
 them for happiness. " 
 
 Professor Thomas Henry Huxley evi- p ro j m 
 dently holds the same opinion regarding the Huxley. 
 literary faculty. " I never had the fortune, 
 
12 good writing: 
 
 Prof. good or evil," he says, " to receive any guidance 
 Huxley. or instruction in the art of English composi- 
 tion. It is possibly for that reason I have 
 always turned a deaf ear to the common advice 
 to ' study good models,' to ' give your days and 
 nights to the study of Addison,' and so on. 
 Buffon said that a man's style is his very self, 
 and in my judgment it ought to be so. The 
 business of a young writer is not to ape Addi- 
 son or Defoe, Hobbes or Gibbon, but to make 
 his style himself, as they made their styles 
 themselves. They were great writers, in the 
 first place, because, by dint of learning and 
 thinking, they had acquired clear and vivid 
 conceptions about one or other of the many 
 aspects of men or things. In the second place, 
 because they took infinite pains to embody 
 these conceptions in language exactly adapted 
 to convey them to other minds. In the third 
 place, because they possessed that purely 
 artistic sense of rhythm and proportion which 
 enabled them to add grace to force, and, while 
 loyal to truth, make exactness subservient to 
 beauty. 
 
 " I cannot say that the principles I have laid 
 down have been my own guides ; they are 
 
A GIFT OR AN ART? 13 
 
 rather the result of a long experience. A con- p ro f. 
 siderable vein of indolence runs through my Huxley.. 
 composition, and forty years ago there was 
 nothing I disliked so much as the labour of 
 writing. It was a task I desired to get over 
 and done with as soon as possible. The result 
 was such as might be expected. 
 
 " If there is any merit in my English now, 
 it is due to the fact that I have by degrees 
 become awake to the importance of the three 
 conditions of good writing which I have men- 
 tioned. I have learned to spare no labour 
 upon the process of acquiring clear ideas — to 
 think nothing of writing a page four or five 
 times over if nothing less will bring the words 
 which express all that I mean, and nothing 
 more than I mean ; and to regard rhetorical 
 verbosity as the deadliest and most degrading 
 of literary sins. Any one who possesses a 
 tolerably clear head and a decent conscience 
 should be able, if he will give himself the 
 necessary trouble, thus to fulfil the first two 
 conditions of a good style. The carrying out 
 of the third depends, neither on labour nor on 
 honesty, but on that sense which is inborn in 
 the literary artist, and can by no means be 
 
14 GOOD WRITING : 
 
 Prof. given to him who has it not as his birthright. 
 
 Huxley. \ should so much like to flatter myself that I 
 am one of the ' well-born ' in this respect that 
 I dare not speculate on the subject. Vanity, 
 like sleeping dogs, should be let lie." 
 
 fean Jean Ingelow, the author of a few stories 
 
 n * et ' and of many poems, valuable no less for the 
 thought that is everywhere apparent than for 
 the loftiness of their aim and the spiritual 
 refinement that distinguishes their literary 
 style, bears testimony in the same direction as 
 the writers already quoted. She says, " I did 
 not at any time of my life study with a view to 
 the formation of style, but I always took a 
 delight in beautiful thoughts well expressed. I 
 did not of course foresee that I should be a 
 writer of books, and only found out that I 
 could write by writing. If you wish to mention 
 my case to young people who would fain write 
 well, it should, I think, be rather as a warning 
 than an example. I did not learn to write 
 verse any more than children who have an ear 
 for music learn to sing in tune ; they do that 
 by nature, and so I wrote verse from the first 
 without false rhymes. The difference between 
 
A GIFT OE AN ART? 15 
 
 a natural gift and an acquired possession is not Jean 
 enough considered. The present which is ^ n S eiow ' 
 made to some of us at our birth is not that 
 same thing which the others can acquire by- 
 study, by thought, and by time. But though 
 what is acquired is not the same, yet those who 
 have a gift can never make it what it was 
 meant to be until the other has been added. 
 I regret that I did not enrich my mind with 
 wide knowledge, did not make myself thorough 
 mistress of any science. For style is mainly 
 expression. I believe that it comes by nature, 
 but those can use it best who have most to 
 express, and I might have had more. There 
 will probably be among your readers some who 
 can express gracefully and forcefully whatever 
 they know and feel. I think they should 
 cultivate their minds and let their style 
 alone. There will be others who know a 
 great deal already, but have no power to 
 express it. These should intently study our 
 best writers, find out, not what they said, 
 but how they said it — in how few words they 
 could make their meaning clear, and with 
 what graceful art they could advance their 
 opinions." 
 
16 good writing: 
 
 Louise Speaking of her own style of writing, the 
 
 \ / r ttn t er graceful American poet, Louise Chandler 
 Moulton, says, " I hardly know what to say- 
 about it. I don't think I ever consciously 
 tried for it. It was partly instinct, partly love 
 of the best books. Words are a delight to me, 
 as colours are to a painter. I cannot express 
 my pleasure in a beautiful sentence. I think 
 one can't acquire a good style unless one has 
 the natural gift, as one must have an ear for 
 music. Then this gift must be cultivated by 
 the careful and constant reading of the best 
 masters. Any one can use words correctly, 
 but to use them forcibly, picturesquely is 
 another thing. A gift for music, art, literature, 
 needs cultivation ; but there -must be the gift 
 to cultivate. To dig about a weed and water 
 it will not turn it into a rose." 
 
 Rita." A somewhat strange experience is related by 
 Mrs. Eita L. Von Booth, the popular author 
 of many light, sparkling novels, who sends her 
 books into the world under the nom de guerre 
 of " Eita." "I can only say that to me the art 
 of composition has always seemed a natural 
 gift. My early life was passed in a wild part 
 
A GIFT OB AN AET ? 17 
 
 of Australia. I have never been to school, " Rita* 
 and I am sure my education would make a 
 poor show beside that of the * High School ■ 
 young lady of the present day, or the still more 
 ambitious ' Girton ' girl. I was always very 
 fond of writing essays on any subject, and 
 would often do them for my brothers for the 
 mere pleasure of the composition. The idea of 
 writing books never entered my head until 
 two years after I was married, and then it was 
 suggested by my husband, and taken up by 
 myself as an experiment. I am afraid if you 
 knew the manner in which I write my stories 
 you would be very disappointed. Most of my 
 literary friends are shocked, as I never draw 
 out plots, or give much thought to the book, 
 but simply dash it off as the fancy takes me. 
 Writing is so little effort that I often fear I do 
 too much. You see I am very frank with you, 
 as I ought to be after your appreciative letter 
 — but I have always maintained that to write 
 fluently and gracefully is a natural gift, though 
 a gift that must be elaborated and cultivated 
 just like any other." 
 
 Jlfrs M 
 A few words from another writer of light Hunger- 
 
 ford. 
 
18 good whiting: 
 
 Mrs. M. fiction may not be unacceptable. Mrs. M. 
 Hunger- Hungeefoed, the author of "Molly Bawn," 
 ' l and of an almost incredible number of stories, 
 
 spirited in plot, sparkling in dialogue, however 
 lacking they may be in higher elements of 
 thought and expression, says of herself, " I 
 write when the desire to do so comes into my 
 head, and I fling my pen aside when I feel 
 dull. I wrote my first accepted story when 
 I was eighteen ; but when I was about 
 nine or ten, I remember I used to write 
 poetry that now makes me hot all over 
 only to think of. I wrote at school a com- 
 position on * Kain ' that took the prize, and 
 this I always look upon as my first be- 
 trayal of any little talent in the writing 
 line I may possess. I do not think all the 
 study in the world will produce that talent, 
 but if the talent is there it should be 
 carefully cultivated. I myself read a great 
 deal, and so, I suppose, does every other 
 author. I wrote totally unaided. I knew no 
 author when T began. I had not a single 
 'friend at Court.' I merely mention this as 
 an encouragement to any who may feel 
 nervous about beginning." 
 
A GIFT OR AN ART? 19 
 
 G. A. Henty, an author standing in the q j 
 front rank of writers for young people, whose Henty. 
 stories, full of stirring adventure and healthy 
 stimulus, are told in a delightfully crisp and 
 animated style, makes the same assertion 
 regarding mental endowment. " I do not 
 think," he says, " that any teaching system, or 
 course of instruction, can result in turning out 
 an author. With prose writers or with poets 
 a man is born, not made. If he has a natural 
 gift for it he will turn out a good writer, if not 
 nothing will make him so. I think that a 
 turn for writing is shown young, just as a turn 
 for art is almost always displayed in early 
 boyhood. Dickens makes David Copperfield, 
 whose life was sketched from his own, tell 
 stories to his schoolfellows in bed. A classical 
 education may possibly assist in forming style, 
 but I think the aid is small, for scarcely one 
 of the prominent novelists of the day is a 
 University man, and women who know nothing 
 about the classics are as good writers of fiction 
 as men are. The number of boys with an 
 instinct for writing is small. When I edited 
 The Union Jack, we had prize competitions 
 for tales, &c. ; but of many hundreds, I may 
 
20 good weiting: 
 
 G. A. say thousands, of tales and essays sent in for 
 Henty* these competitions, there were not half-a-dozen 
 that showed any promise of excellence. 
 
 " As to my own experience, I began young. 
 I was always a great hand at story-telling at 
 school, and always got the highest marks in 
 every form for English composition. When 
 about twenty I wrote my first novel. It was 
 very bad, no doubt, and was of course never 
 published, but the plot was certainly a good 
 one. At one-and-twenty I went out to the 
 Crimea in the Commissariat Department. 
 Some of my letters home were taken by 
 my father to the editor of The Morning 
 Advertiser — a perfect stranger to him — who 
 read them, and at once appointed me corre- 
 spondent to the paper in the Crimea. For the 
 next ten years I had other work to do ; then I 
 again turned to writing, and soon after I was 
 thirty obtained the berth of special corre- 
 spondent to The Standard. I wrote two 
 novels, then no other book for some time. I 
 came to writing for boys in this wise. I used 
 always to have my children with me for an 
 hour after dinner, and to tell them stories. 
 These stories were continuous, and often lasted 
 
A GIFT OE AN ART? 21 
 
 for weeks. One day it struck me, If my young q, a. 
 ones like my stories, why should not others ? Henty, 
 I, therefore, each day wrote a chapter and read 
 it to them, instead of telling it ; and when the 
 story was of proper length sent it to a 
 publisher who at once accepted it. Since then 
 I have written some thirty-five story-books. 
 
 " My advice to boys who want to become 
 authors would be this : Write a story and get 
 some person in whose judgment you have con- 
 fidence to give you his opinion frankly 
 whether there is any promise in it. If he 
 says no, give the thing up altogether. If he 
 says yes, and you really feel that you have a 
 talent for telling stories, and find that your 
 stories are liked by your schoolfellows, then 
 write, and write, and write. Burn all you 
 write, for until you are two or three and 
 twenty you will certainly not write anything 
 worth reading. But the habit of writing will 
 improve your style and give you facility, and 
 if there is really anything in you, you ought 
 by that time to be able to turn out good stuff." 
 
 B. M. Ballantyne, another story-writer R. M. 
 for boys, the author of a large number of books ^ alian ' 
 
22 GOOD WEITING I 
 
 R. M. which every healthy-minded boy may read 
 Ballan- ^j^ mor al advantage as well as exciting 
 
 lytic, 
 
 interest, bears similar testimony. " I have 
 had no training for the life-work to which 
 I have been called," he says. " The 
 power with which you credit me, whatever 
 may be its value, I regard as a direct gift 
 from God. By that I mean that, not only did 
 I receive no special training with a view to 
 literature as a profession, but for many years I 
 was placed in circumstances adverse to such 
 training — six years of my early manhood 
 having been spent in the backwoods of 
 America, where I saw not more than half-a- 
 dozen books, and no newspapers at all from 
 one year's end to the other ! I mention this 
 not to show that the absence of training is an 
 advantage, but that the powers given to us 
 may sometimes be used with considerable 
 advantage in spite of the want of training. At 
 the same time I cannot express too forcibly 
 my belief that such want of training is a 
 very great misfortune, which cannot be too 
 earnestly guarded against by young people 
 who are either aiming at a literary career or 
 desirous of acquiring an agreeable and correct 
 
A GIFT OR AN ART? 23 
 
 style. Of course the spending of many years #. j/ 
 in writing books has been of itself a species of Ballan- 
 training to me, and I could not have reached y 
 the present period of my life without having 
 formed some clear and definite ideas on the 
 subject of composition. ... I may add 
 that, in my experience, ' correcting the press ' 
 has been the cutting out of redundancies, 
 parentheses, needless adjectives and conjunc- 
 tions, the simplification of sentences, and the 
 changing of inappropriate words for those that 
 are more suitable. My practice has always 
 been to give my whole mind to my subject 
 when composing, never allowing thoughts oi 
 style or diction to hamper me, but attending 
 to these carefully when revising the manu- 
 script for press." 
 
 John Strange Winter is the nom de guerre John 
 of Mrs. Henrietta E. V. Stannard, the author Strange 
 of the popular story, " Bootle's Baby," " to 
 whom we owe," as John Kuskin so truly says, 
 " the most finished and faithful rendering ever 
 yet given of the character of the British 
 soldier." " I hardly know myself," she con- 
 fesses, "how or why I am able to write the 
 3 
 
Winter. 
 
 24 GOOD WEITING : 
 
 Tohn books I do. I was a thorough bad lot at school, 
 
 Strange bright, I think, and quick, but with no per- 
 severance whatever, no patience, no applica- 
 tion. And certainly now I have all those quali- 
 ties in an extraordinary degree. I don't know 
 what changed me. I had an immense ambition 
 to be a writer; and when my father died in 
 '77, leaving nothing — well, it was that or some- 
 thing less palatable. At that time I was just 
 twenty-one. I had done a little — I think I had 
 made under £50. After that I went in for 
 writing to the exclusion of everything else. 
 I was not well, educated, for I never would 
 learn ; but I had lived with a scholarly gentle- 
 man — my father was Eev. H. V. Palmer, rector 
 of St. Margaret's, York— and I had always 
 been from a little child a voracious reader, and 
 determined to get on. Up to that time I had 
 cared only for men's novels, the Kingsleys, 
 Charles Eeade, Whyte Melville, W. Collins 
 and Mortimer Collins ; but after I had been 
 writing awhile, I found myself gradually slip- 
 ping into the Ehoda Broughton school. Then 
 all at once I awoke to the folly of letting my- 
 self drift into a first-person, present-tense style, 
 which I thoroughly despised, and a lecture of 
 
A GIFT OR AN ART? - 25 
 
 Mr. Buskin's to art students put me on the John 
 
 right track. After that, how I worked! I S f™ n ? e 
 n . ... Winter. 
 
 have many a time written a story eight or nme 
 
 times over before I satisfied myself with it. I 
 
 used to take a novel of W. Collins and pick 
 
 the sentences to pieces, note the crisp, concise 
 
 style of them, and get them into my head, so 
 
 to speak. Then I would go at my own work, 
 
 never using a long word when I could find 
 
 a short one to answer the same purpose ; never 
 
 using a Latin word when I could find a Saxon 
 
 one to express the same meaning ; never using 
 
 two adjectives where one would do, or one at 
 
 all when it could be avoided ; never describing 
 
 dress if I could help it ; never using a French 
 
 word unless impossible to find the same 
 
 meaning in English, and never quoting bits of 
 
 poetry unless really necessary. 
 
 " Mind, I don't hold this plan up to others. 
 
 I worried through myself, fairly groping my 
 
 way, and always keeping before me that I 
 
 must never write anything even bordering on 
 
 profanity. A sentence of Artemus Ward's 
 
 puts that so well, ' I never stain my writings 
 
 with profanity ; in the first, place it is indecent, 
 
 and in the second it is not funny.' I could 
 
26 
 
 GOOD WRITING : 
 
 John 
 Strata 
 Winter. 
 
 Strange 
 
 tell you a great deal of my early struggles for 
 a name which I can hardly write, and there 
 is so much which I know and feel which I 
 cannot clearly express. It is such a difficult 
 profession ours— there are so many little 
 points which only practice teaches, and you 
 don't know why they are there, and often not 
 that they are there at all. 
 
 " I had written thus far when I was called 
 away. And now I have come back again 
 there seems no more to say, except that all the 
 work in the world is no use without the little 
 touch of divine genius, which is born, not 
 made ; and without the work, and care, and 
 thought, the genius is like the talent hidden 
 in a napkin." 
 
 Ernst 
 Haeckel. 
 
 I may here interpolate the translation of a 
 letter from one of the best-known con- 
 temporary German authors. Ernst Haeckel, 
 as a scientific naturalist, has made for himself 
 a lasting reputation in the realm of compara- 
 tive anatomy and zoology. The larger number 
 of his long list of works have been written for 
 the scientist, but the books which have made 
 him so widely renowned as a Darwinian more 
 
A GIFT OE AN AET ? 27 
 
 pronounced than Darwin himself are composed Ernst 
 in a simple, straightforward style, well adapted Haeckel. 
 for popular reading. " I much fear," he says, 
 " that your estimate of my writings is placed 
 too high, and that many critics would not 
 agree with you. Since you are specially inter- 
 ested in my style, and wish to know what 
 methods I use in my literary composition, I 
 can only reply that an inborn talent favours me 
 possibly, and that from early youth on 1 have 
 wished to give my thoughts a clear and precise 
 expression. Special literary education I have 
 had none, nor have I bestowed any care on 
 artistic composition. I have not even read 
 much ; mostly Goethe, Lessing, Humboldt, 
 Schleider, Huxley and Darwin. I have always 
 endeavoured to acknowledge nature as the 
 first and best mistress." 
 
 Professor John Tyndall may also be Prof. 
 quoted in this connection. He may surely be Tyndatt. 
 regarded not only as one of the foremost living 
 men of science, but also as one of the clearest 
 and most forcible writers of the day. "Writing 
 from Alp Lusgen, his summer home amid the 
 Swiss mountains, he says : " Emerson ha3 
 
28 good writing: 
 
 Prof. said in one of his essays that there are 
 lyndaU, methods in mathematics which are incom- 
 municable, and it certainly would be a 
 difficult, if not an impossible task for me to 
 tell you how I reached the style of which you 
 are kind enough to speak so favourably. To 
 think clearly is the first requisite ; and here, 
 though even my friends think me rapid, I am 
 in reality very slow. My next aim is to 
 express clearly in writing what I think. But 
 clearness is not, of itself, sufficient to make a 
 style. And here we come to the really incom- 
 municable part of the matter. A good ear, a 
 sound judgment, and a thorough knowledge of 
 English grammar — all contribute. But the 
 turn of a sentence, and even the construction 
 of a sentence, will sometimes flash upon the 
 mind in a manner not to be described. I 
 suppose I must have had a natural liking for a 
 good style, for I remember, when very young, 
 urging upon an equally youthful correspondent 
 the necessity of paying attention to this 
 subject. I suppose, prior to liking it I must 
 have experienced the charm of a good style ; 
 and what I have called my natural liking 
 simply consisted in being able to feel delight 
 
A GIFT OE AN ABT ? 29 
 
 in such a style when it came before me. I Prof. 
 read Blair's lectures on Rhetoric before I left Tyndall. 
 school, and found the work useful to me. I 
 am here surrounded by Alpine snows, and a 
 desultory letter is all I am able to send you." 
 
 James Russell Lowell, the author of James 
 "The Biglow Papers," a poet of world-wide f^ e jj 
 celebrity, a prose writer cf exquisite charm, is 
 surely, for penetration, pungency, wit, for 
 brilliant and incisive epigram, for dignified 
 eloquence, the master of living American 
 authors. " I am inclined to think," he writes, 
 " that a man's style is born with him, and that 
 a style modelled upon another's is apt to be 
 none or worse. Of course I mean consciously 
 modelled, for frequent commerce with the best 
 writers is as essential a 3 that with good society 
 to give tone — perhaps is the only thing that 
 will give it. If I have attained to any clear- 
 ness of style, I think it is partly due to my 
 having had to lecture twenty years as a pro- 
 fessor at Harvard. It was always present to 
 my consciousness that whatever I said must 
 be understood at once by my hearers, or never. 
 Out of this I, almost without knowing it, 
 
Lowell. 
 
 30 GOOD WRITING I 
 
 fames formulated the rule that every sentence mnst 
 Russell k e dear in itself, and never too long to be 
 carried, without risk of losing its balance, on 
 a single breath of the speaker. If I have 
 ever sinned against this rule, it has been in 
 despite of my better conscience. I think, 
 therefore, that it is always a good test of what 
 one has written to read it to oneself in default; 
 of other, and, in my own case at least, less 
 critical audience. I fear I have not contri- 
 buted much to a fruitful discussion of the 
 subject, but I have done what I could. You 
 see that I have reversed the dictum of Horace : 
 
 • Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem 
 Quam quae sunt oculis subjecia fidelibus.' 
 
 Cato's advice, ' Cum bonis ambula,' is all that 
 one feels inclined to give." 
 
 Stedman. 
 
 Edmund Another American author, Edmund Clar- 
 Ctarence ence Stedman, whose poems and essays are 
 admirable models of restraint, moderation, 
 flexibility, and finish, writes to say, " I am the 
 more impressed the longer I live with the 
 force of Buffon's saying. Yes, the style is 
 indeed the man. When a young fellow con- 
 sults me as to his mode of making a speech or 
 
A GIFT OR AN ART? 31 
 
 writing an article, I tell him the first thing is Edmund 
 to have something to say, i.e., something he Clarence 
 must say or express, and then he will say it in 
 his natural and special way; and his way 
 forms his style, and the style is thus the man. 
 Style is, like the style of other arts than litera- 
 ture, ' a means of expression ' only. Still, 
 fluency of expression, or its compactness, or 
 happy originalities, all these are natural gifts, 
 and often inherited. For my humhle self, I 
 inherited from my mother (a natural poet and 
 critic) a knack of writing and speaking what I 
 think, and as I think it. In youth I was 
 reared in a Puritan New England family, 
 with surroundings that seemed cold, barren, 
 austere to a boy whose strongest passion was 
 a love of beauty ; but our New Englaid house- 
 holds are not barren of books and mental 
 pabulum. I read eagerly what few of our 
 young people now read, rarely getting hold of 
 trash or imitative, recent literature. Sunday 
 w r as my reading-day par excellence ; and as I 
 was permitted to read nothing more ' secular ' 
 than Bunyan and Milton, I read those noble 
 writers over and over again, and suppose that 
 my style was insensibly affected by their 
 
32 good writing: 
 
 Edmund methods and vocabularies. My first own book 
 Clarence f poetry was ' Scott's Poetical Works,' which 
 I delighted in, the folklore ' notes ' and all. 
 Afterwards I became familiar with Byron, 
 Moore, Coleridge, Shelley, Keats, Wordsworth, 
 and of course with our own Bryant, Long- 
 fellow, Hawthorne, Poe, &c. But my prose 
 style owes most to familiarity with the Bible, 
 Bunyan, Milton, Defoe, in early youth." 
 
 T. W. One of the most graceful and genial essay- 
 
 Higgin- i s ts of America, and a poet whose verse is 
 marked by an exquisite grace and delicacy 
 of expression, Thomas Wentworth Higgin- 
 son, regards himself as an illustration of 
 how a gift for literature may be transmitted 
 and accumulated from one generation to 
 another, and then developed into a life-long 
 pursuit. Born amid a world of books aud 
 bookish men, he says, " I came to literature 
 by heredity. The printer's ink in my blood is 
 really 300 years old, my first American pro- 
 genitor, Rev. Francis Higginson, of Salem, 
 born in 1587, having come here in 1629 and 
 printed a book, written in most racy and at- 
 tractive style, — ' New England's Plantation,' — 
 
 son 
 
A GIFT OE AN ART? 33 
 
 which is still reprinted. His son, Eev. John t. W. 
 Higginson, was a profuse scribbler, and printed Higgin- 
 much. Then the habit skipped several genera- 
 tions, during which my progenitors in the 
 male line were quiet town clerks, justices of 
 the peace, &c. ; but my grandfather, Stephen 
 Higginson (member of Congress in 1783), was 
 a vigorous pamphleteer, and my father wrote 
 one or two pamphlets. My mother also (nee 
 Storrow, daughter of a captain in the British 
 army) wrote several children's books, and my 
 elder brother a small anti-slavery book. Then, 
 as we lived in Cambridge, my father being 
 Steward, now called Bursar, of Harvard 
 University, I was always in a bookish atmo- 
 sphere. In college I was the second-best 
 writer in the class, though the youngest 
 member; and I there had the inestimable 
 guidance of Professor Edward Channing, 
 brother of the Eev. Dr. W. E. Channing, who 
 turned out more good writers than any half- 
 dozen other rhetorical teachers in America, 
 including Emerson, Holmes, Motley, Hale, 
 Parkman, &c. So I came to writing natu- 
 rally, and have always enjoyed it very 
 much." 
 
34 GOOD WHITING : 
 
 Julian Julian Hawthorne is tlie son of Nathaniel 
 
 Haw- Hawthorne. Clothing the weird, fantastic, 
 demoniac stories in which his imagination 
 loved to revel in a style so sweet, natural, 
 perspicuous, so easy even in its most curious 
 felicities, so marked by originality and in- 
 describable fascination, the father certainly 
 remains unsurpassed by any other Ameiican 
 author, past or present. The son is no un- 
 worthy follower in the steps of his sire. His 
 passionate individuality and sterling character- 
 istics as a writer place him decidedly above 
 the average novelist. " As regards my early 
 training," he says, " I can hardly tell whether 
 I had any or not. I did, not expect to be an 
 author until some time after my first ventures 
 were written and published. When I was a 
 boy of twelve or thereabouts, I was interested 
 in conchology, and used to write in little 
 blank books minute descriptions of the shells 
 which I collected. The usual boys' journals 
 and letters to boy friends and others were 
 part of my literary experience ; and I suppose 
 these were neither above nor below the 
 average of such things. In school my ' com- 
 positions ' were flat and perfunctory, and were 
 
A GIFT OR AN ART? 35 
 
 marked down pretty low. In college I wrote j u u an 
 but one theme, and that was for a fellow- Haw- 
 student, on the subject of Tennyson's * Two wr,ie * 
 Voices ' — a poem with which I happened to be 
 familiar. This solitary effort, for some reason 
 or other, received the first prize. I was 
 brought up on Spenser's ' Faerie Queene,' 
 Scott's poems and novels, and my own father's 
 works. Later I was a diligent reader of 
 Tennyson. I believe I wrote some verses of a 
 philosophico-erotic character. I read Macaulay, 
 De Quincey, Emerson, and Carlyle ; and I 
 think the best proof that the reading was not 
 in vain was the unflinching condemnation it 
 caused me to pass on everything that I 
 produced myself. I perceived that I knew 
 nothing, and that years must pass before I 
 could write anything worth printing. And 
 though I have been in print for sixteen years, 
 I often doubt whether that period has yet 
 arrived. I have never been in love with my 
 own work ; but, on the other hand, I never 
 believe that I am incapable of better work 
 than I have ever done. Leisure and oppor- 
 tunity have been wanting. 
 
 " I am disposed to think that literary style 
 
36 GOOD WEITING : 
 
 Julian is largely a matter of innate aptitude, and is 
 Haw- fostered as much by the study of good authors 
 as by personal efforts. Neither cause will 
 produce a good style without the other, and 
 both are in vain without natural taste and pre- 
 dilection. First know what is good, then 
 learn to do it. The best writing is always the 
 most spontaneous and easy, not only in 
 appearance, but actually. Smoothness and 
 elegance can be obtained by ' filing ' ; but the 
 masters of style have no files ; they are right 
 the first time, by a sort of trained instinct and 
 intuition. Of course I do not mean that any 
 one can write well until after long and arduous 
 apprenticeship ; and, to mention an experi- 
 ence of my own, though I am far enough from 
 being a master of style, one of my early novels 
 was re-written seven times, simply as an 
 exercise in putting what I wished to say in 
 simple and compact form; and for several 
 years I published nothing that had not been re- 
 written twice or thrice. Latterly, however, I 
 seldom alter a line or even a word of my first 
 draft ; but that is more from indifference than 
 because I doubt that my work would not 
 benefit from revision. I have a good deal to do 
 
A GIFT OR AN ART? 37 
 
 and I do it rapidly. The other day I wrote a Julian 
 
 novel of 70,000 words in less than three weeks." ^ aw ' 
 
 thorne. 
 
 Hjalmar H. Boyesen, my next contribu- jj, h, 
 tor, the Norwegian poet and novelist, is an Boyesen. 
 author whose books are characterised by 
 literary and dramatic qualities of a high order, 
 and have a considerable sale in the United 
 States. Mr. Boyesen is one of the professors 
 at Columbia College, New York. " I am not 
 conscious," he says, " of having had any 
 special training fitting me for my life-work as 
 an author. In my eleventh year I became 
 possessed with a desire to write, although the 
 atmosphere in which I lived was anything but 
 literary. It must have been an inherited 
 impulse, possibly a case of atavism ; and 
 though it was discouraged by my grandfather, 
 in whose house I was brought up, I took so 
 much pleasure in the exercise of the talent 
 which I was convinced that I possessed that 
 no persuasion could induce me to give it up. 
 My absorption in imaginary scenes and 
 characters drew me away from my lessons and 
 brought me no end of trouble ; but I could 
 no more help returning to this wonder- 
 
38 good writing: 
 
 H. H. land of forbidden pleasure than I could prevent 
 Boyesen. fch e exercise of any other natural function. 
 There was, however, another side to my life, 
 which, though it may seem irreconcilable with 
 a literary bent of mind, really was an education 
 for my future activity. I cannot give you any 
 adequate idea of this in a letter, but if you will 
 read a very good account of my boyhood in 
 W. H. Rideing's ' Boyhood of American 
 Authors/ you will see what I mean. My out- 
 of-door life in the woods and on the fjords of 
 Norway had more to do with fashioning my 
 style, such as it is, than any other influence. 
 I learned at an early age to keep my senses 
 wide awake ; and I soon learned to use for 
 literary purposes the impressions which I un- 
 consciously absorbed during my hunting and 
 fishing expeditions. 
 
 " I think I was about fourteen years old 
 when, after having worn out several tutors, I 
 was sent to a Latin school in Germany. The 
 instruction I received there was of a sterile and 
 unsatisfactory kind, and I am unable to see 
 that my literary instinct was in any way 
 guided or fostered by my grammatical sufferings 
 and futile struggles with Mading and Curtius. 
 
A GIFT OR AN ART? 39 
 
 I fear I was regarded as rather a stupid boy, If. H. 
 because I rebelled against this discipline and B°y esen - 
 never exerted myself to excel. But I pre- 
 sently began to explore the poets, Danish, 
 German, English, on my own account, and 
 derived from the reading of them an indescrib- 
 able delight. It is a curious fact that a word 
 in a foreign language, when felicitously used, 
 often impresses us more than the correspond- 
 ing word in our mother tongue. The latter 
 may have its beauty spoiled by too much use ; 
 while the foreign word sometimes presents the 
 idea in all its freshness and vigour. At all 
 events, some such experience was mine when I 
 first began to read Shakespeare, Keats, Shelley, 
 and Tennyson. They enriched my vocabu- 
 lary, though I am not aware that they in any 
 way fashioned my style. My first book, which 
 was written when I was twenty-two years old, 
 * Gunnar, a Tale of Norse Life,' was strongly 
 influenced by Bjornson, and the style shows 
 traces everywhere of this influence. But this 
 instinct of imitation asserts itself in young 
 writers as in young birds ; before they find 
 their own voices they imitate the voices of 
 other singers. 
 4 
 
40 good writing: 
 
 H. H. " Hy conclusion is that the gift of style is 
 
 Boyesen. largely inherited and instinctive. There is not 
 a gift of my mental equipment which has 
 given me so pure a pleasure as the sense of 
 fragrance and colour in words — I might almost 
 say the individuality of words. It is very 
 possible that like any other gift it is capable 
 of being trained and rightly directed. But in 
 my case I am incapable of deciding what 
 influences impelled me in the direction which 
 I have taken. I never had a teacher who 
 wrote a good style himself, or knew what style 
 meant. And the Greek and Latin classics, 
 some of which are models of a clear and 
 \igorous style, are usually taught in a crude and 
 pedantic manner, without a glimmering of 
 literary sense or intelligence. It is in this 
 respect to-day, as it was in my childhood." 
 
 For my own part I do not of course question 
 the fact of special endowment insisted upon or 
 referred to by the authors quoted above. The 
 fact is patent. " No manipulation will take 
 the place of the fervour of high feeling, and 
 the faith which connects a writer with powers 
 beyond him, and yet working through him," 
 
A GIFT OE AN AET? 41 
 
 says Professor Dowden ; while, in the same 
 letter, he instances a fine saying by Goethe, "I 
 can only gather wood and lay it on the altar ; 
 the fire must descend from heaven." Still, I 
 cannot but feel that the common idea about 
 genius and natural gift is most pernicious. It 
 has a too serious tendency to set up in- 
 surmountable barriers to the masses of men, 
 while they sit down in the conviction that 
 they are nothing and effort is useless. Who 
 knows what his gifts are until he tests them ? 
 I am distinctly of opinion that what is termed 
 genius is largely intensity of feeling, emotion, 
 thought, activity ; that true greatness springs 
 from culture, and that high endeavours are 
 the secret of glad success. There are indeed 
 wide differences between men ; but the secret 
 of those differences lies far less in special gift 
 vouchsafed to one and withheld from another, 
 . than in the differing degree in which men use 
 or fail to use those elements of human great- 
 ness which lie within the grasp of all. Genius 
 is energy quite as much as insight; and insight 
 is as much dependent upon tireless activity as 
 upon Divine gift. Power of attention, forceful 
 habits of industry, wisdom in seeing and 
 
42 GOOD WKITING: 
 
 promptitude in seizing opportunity, patient 
 perseverance, courage and hopefulness under 
 difficulty and disappointment — certain am I 
 these are the forces that win. 
 
 I can give no better expression to my own 
 thought and feeling upon this question than 
 by resuming the quotations from favourite 
 authors, permitting them to speak for me. 
 
 A. J. C. " I think any one may attain a good style of 
 flare. composition," writes the accomplished Augus- 
 tus J. C. Hake, whose books are certainly 
 peerless in the class of literature to which they 
 belong. "It chiefly comes from the ear — 
 noticing what people say, their turns of 
 expression, &c. But nothing can be written 
 in an interesting way by a person who does not 
 feel with his subject. I know myself that by 
 far my best work is to be found in ' Days near 
 Home ' — the chapters on Ostia, Tivoli, Orvieto, 
 &c. It was because the places were so exceed- 
 ingly dear to me that I was able to write of 
 them so as, I hope, to help others to imagine 
 them." Speaking of his own experience, Mr. 
 Hare says : "As a child I always lived with 
 those who had a very strict idea of what good 
 
A GIFT OR AN ART? 43 
 
 English should be, and of careful diction ; j m j m £ 
 above all, of careful instruction in reading Hare. 
 aloud. My dear old grandmother would often 
 make me repeat the single line, * The quality of 
 mercy is not strained/ a hundred times, till I 
 could give exactly the right inflection, her 
 delicate ear detecting the slightest fault ; and 
 I was taught never to write anything which 
 did not ' read well aloud ' — this being the 
 easiest criterion of its being well written. As 
 I grew older, I lived much with my cousin, 
 Arthur Stanley, afterwards Dean of West- 
 minster, and his amusing stories, and looking 
 over, or collecting and looking out materials 
 for his lectures at Oxford, gave me a great 
 impulse, just after my own college course was 
 finished. But perhaps what was more useful 
 still was, that when I was (unaccountably) left 
 for two and a half years with a private tutor 
 near Bath, who utterly and systematically 
 neglected me, I united with one of my com- 
 panions in writing a sort of magazine (MS.), 
 which was read aloud every fortnight for the 
 benefit and amusement of the rest, and the 
 composition of which was a real advantage in 
 the facility it made habitual." 
 
44 good writing: 
 
 Samuel Samuel Smiles, the genial and graceful 
 Smiles, author of " Self Help," and a long list of 
 books noted for their solid sense and robust 
 sentiment, containing a vast storehouse of 
 incident and vivid illustration, and written in 
 the clear, finished, and embellished style of 
 which he is so excellent a master, thinks we 
 may go too far in speaking of style in composi- 
 tion as a gift and not an art. He says, " The 
 style of Kant, Bentham, and Carlyle are 
 execrable ; and yet the writings of these men 
 will live much longer than those of Tupper 
 and Hepworth Dixon, who were proud of their 
 styles. The great writer will live by his 
 matter and not by his manner. The curse of 
 pedantry was on Johnson's magniloquent 
 style. You could scarcely feel the beatings of 
 his heart through it. His companion, Gold- 
 smith, thought nothing of his style, and yet 
 his * Vicar of Wakefield ' will be read when 
 Johnson's ' Easselas ' has been forgotten. The 
 Doctor will be remembered in Boswell, who 
 had no style at all. What Sydney Smith has 
 said is true : ' Every style is good that is not 
 tiresome.' No doubt the style of a writer is a 
 faithful representation of his mind; if he 
 
A GIFT OE AN AET ? 45 
 
 would write in a clear style, he must Samuel 
 see and think clearly ; if he would write •$*&&&• 
 in a noble style, he must possess a noble 
 soul. Fontenelle said that in writing he 
 always endeavoured to understand himself. 
 The art of composition, written or oral, can 
 only be acquired by practice. No man is the 
 lord of anything till he communicates his 
 thoughts to others. At the same time the 
 readiest in composition are those who write 
 the most. Another word : Madame de Gas- 
 parin said, ■ The reader is the true author. 
 Every book is, in fact, a journey — a journey in 
 which we find little more than we ourselves 
 bring : the richly provided richly require.' " 
 
 Of himself Dr. Smiles says, " I never studied 
 the art of composition. I read a multitude of 
 the best books, and from that I suppose I 
 learnt to compose. I received, when young, a 
 fair education ; then I went to a university and 
 studied medicine. Then, when I settled in 
 practice, I gave lectures on chemistry, 
 physiology, &c. This, no doubt, must have 
 helped me. I wrote a book at twenty-five, but 
 it failed. Perhaps it paid its expenses. I 
 gave up medicine because I was too young to 
 
46 good whiting: 
 
 Samuel be employed by paying people. I became the 
 Smiles. editor of a weekly newspaper for six or seven 
 years, and then I have no doubt my style was 
 formed, because I wrote from four to five 
 columns weekly. But I always continued to 
 read books famous for their style. I think 
 that the example of Franklin was excellent, to 
 read over a paper in The Spectator thoroughly, 
 and then try to put it in language of his own. 
 But every one will have his own style and art 
 of composition. I think the words of the 
 Bible are the best and most straightforward. 
 Addison, Hume, and Green (' History of Eng- 
 land '), Goldsmith (' Vicar of Wakefield '), and 
 Bacon's essays, are excellent. Carlyle has 
 made a style of his own, mostly formed from 
 the German of Kichter. Every one also has 
 his favourite poet. Mine is Wordsworth." 
 
 Cuthbert Cuthbeet Bede is the nom de guerre under 
 Bede. which the Eev. Edward Bradley publishes his 
 admirably humorous books. The author of 
 " Verdant Green " evidently believes that 
 genius is nothing but common-place, honest, 
 hard work. " As early as I can remember," 
 he says, " I used to scribble prose and verse 
 
A GIFT OE AN ART? 47 
 
 (or prose and worse, as Douglas Jerrold said) Cuthbert 
 and illustrate my MS. by my own pen-and-ink Bede. 
 designs. I was an omnivorous reader, and I 
 conclude that I assimilated what seemed best 
 in the style of the various authors, and that I 
 profited thereby when I came to write my 
 own compositions. There is nothing like 
 constant practice, in composition as in other 
 matters. A little thought soon tells you what 
 is the best word to use in the construction of 
 a sentence, and in what way that sentence 
 should be composed. I have written so very 
 much, at high pressure, for newspapers, that I 
 had no time to prepare a rough copy of my 
 MS. and then to digest and re-cast it ; so that 
 I had to discipline myself to be able to write 
 straight away, without preparatory aids. And 
 I may here advise any of your readers who 
 write for the press or periodicals to take 
 special pains over the mechanism of their work 
 — not to be above being careful in dotting their 
 i's and crossing their £'s, in forming their 
 letters legibly, avoiding all abbreviations, care- 
 fully placing their commas, semi-colons, and 
 full stops in the proper places, and sending in 
 a clearly written manuscript. It will stand a 
 
48 good writing: 
 
 Cuthben far better chance of being looked at and 
 Bede. accepted than if it were badly, illegibly, and 
 slovenly written : and, if accepted, the printer 
 will set it up more readily, and as there will 
 be fewer mistakes in the proof to be corrected 
 the cost of production will be lessened. 
 
 " When I was a boy, at the Kidderminster 
 Grammar School, I was a member of the then 
 existent ' Athenaeum,' where a manuscript 
 magazine was produced monthly. I possess 
 three large volumes, profusely illustrated by 
 my own designs, and containing all varieties of 
 prose and verse articles, by myself, contributed 
 thereto under at least a dozen pseudonyms. 
 One of these stories, penned when I was a boy, 
 I afterwards re-wrote, and it was published by 
 Bentley in his half-crown series under the title 
 of ' Nearer and Dearer,' starting with a sale of 
 15,000 copies. Other productions of my boy- 
 hood have also seen the change into print. 
 When I went to University College, Durham, 
 I made my first appearance (as a poet) in 
 1 Bentley's Miscellany,' a half-crown magazine 
 in which Dickens produced his ' Oliver Twist.' 
 I signed my poems ' Cuthbert Bede,' the two 
 patron saints of Durham. This was in 1846, 
 
A GIFT OE AN AET ? 49 
 
 when I was nineteen years of age. Since then Cuthbert 
 my pen has been constantly practised in all Bede. 
 kinds of work, from grave to gay, from lively to 
 severe. I have always striven to be as clear 
 and lucid as possible, and to convey to my 
 readers what I had to say in an easy and plain 
 way, without circumlocution and ambiguity. 
 I do that in my sermons and clerical addresses 
 quite as much as in light and more frivolous 
 compositions. 
 
 " Composition cannot begin too early. 
 When my sons were very small boys I used to 
 make them write a composition every week. 
 They chose their own subjects, and treated 
 them in their own fashion ; and they read 
 them to us on a certain night in the week, 
 which was called our * Penny Beading Night.' 
 It was very great fun, and did them much 
 good. Of my two surviving sons, the elder, 
 Cuthbert, is on the staff of ' Fore's Sporting 
 Notes,' a 2s. quarterly, both as an author and 
 artist ; and my younger son, Harry, was 
 ordained in June last* to be one of the 
 curates to Canon Erskine Clarke, at Batter- 
 sea. I believe that their early efforts in 
 
 * June, 1888. 
 
50 GOOD WEITING : 
 
 Cidhbert composition have been of use to them in 
 
 £ede - after-life. 
 
 " Get good models of style, such as Addison, 
 Macaulay, Thackeray, and many others, not 
 forgetting Cowper the poet and also his 
 delightful letters ; study the best authors, and 
 practise, practise, practise ! Nothing can be 
 well done without infinite pains and trouble 
 over minutiae. For my own part I don't 
 believe in heaven-born geniuses, unless they 
 supplement their genius with the healthy 
 drudgery of daily work, Anthony Trollope 
 told me that the best aid to genius was a bit 
 of cobbler's wax to fasten yourself to your 
 stool until you had accomplished your allotted 
 task." 
 
 Perhaps I cannot, in bringing this long 
 chapter to a close, do my reader a better 
 service than by placing before him the opinion 
 and advice of an author whose literary culture 
 and full mastery of the art of writing, whose 
 clear analysis of character and insight into 
 human nature, have made him one of the 
 most successful contemporary novel-writers of 
 our country. 
 
A GIFT OR AN ART? 51 
 
 George Macdonald is not simply a novelist, George 
 
 but also a poet of a high order, and a preacher , ae \ , 
 i i i- tit dotiald. 
 
 and lecturer whose spoken style is remarkable 
 
 for its transparency, its energy, its elegance. 
 
 " If a man has anything to say," writes Dr. 
 
 Macdonald, " he will manage to say it; if he 
 
 has nothing to communicate, there is no reason 
 
 why he should have a good style, any more 
 
 than why he should have a good purse without 
 
 any money, or a good scabbard without any 
 
 sword. For my part I always scorned the very 
 
 idea of forming a style. Every true man with 
 
 anything to say has a style of his own, which, for 
 
 its development, requires only common sense. 
 
 In the first place, he must see that he has said 
 
 what he means ; in the next, that he has not 
 
 said it so that it may be mistaken for what he 
 
 does not mean. The mere moving of a word 
 
 to another place may help to prevent such 
 
 mistake. Then he must remove what is 
 
 superfluous, what is unnecessary or unhelpful 
 
 to the understanding of his meaning. He 
 
 must remove whatever obscures or dulls the 
 
 meaning, and makes it necessary to search for 
 
 what might have been plainly understood at 
 
 once. All this implies a combination of writer 
 
52 good weiting: 
 
 George and critic, not often found. Whatever, in a 
 Mac- word, seems to the writer himself objectionable, 
 either in regard to sense or sound, he must 
 rigorously remove. He must use no phrase 
 because it sounds fine, and no imagined 
 ornament which does not contribute to the 
 sense or the feeling of what he writes. 
 
 " But, first of all, he ought to make a good 
 acquaintance with grammar, the rarity of 
 which possession is incredible to any but the 
 man who is precise in his logical use of words. 
 There are very few men who can be depended 
 on for writing a sentence grammatically per- 
 fect. And, alas ! English is scarcely taught in 
 England! I have not time to write on a 
 subject which is not my business, but a means 
 to other ends. The thing is summed in this : 
 A good style is one that not merely says, but 
 conveys what the writer means ; and to gain it, 
 a man must continually endeavour to convey 
 what he means, and never to show himself off. 
 The mere endeavour to gain the reputation of 
 a good writer is contemptible. I would say to 
 any one whose heart burned within him, write 
 freely what you feel, and then correct 
 rigorously. The truth must give you your 
 
A GIFT OK AN ART? 53 
 
 material and utterance ; and then you must George 
 get rid of the faults that would interfere with Mac- 
 the entrance of your utterance into the minds 
 of those who may read. The effort after style 
 ought to be but a removing of faults. Say, 
 and then say right." 
 
METHODS: CONSCIOUS AND 
 UNCONSCIOUS. 
 
METHODS: CONSCIOUS AND 
 UNCONSCIOUS. 
 
 MANY of our best authors have attained 
 their present power and influence 
 through experiences, or by modes of culture, 
 that can scarcely be described in words. 
 There is an unconscious as well as a con- 
 scious training. Education, in the highest 
 sense and for the highest services of the world, 
 is not a matter of schools and teachers, text- 
 books and tasks. The teacher cannot make 
 the scholar ; because the largest part of a 
 man's culture is in the discipline of himself, in 
 the atmosphere of thought and feeling by which 
 he surrounds his soul. But while our great 
 writers can give so little information as to how 
 they came by their present remarkable facility 
 in the art of putting noble thought into noble 
 speech, they are practically unanimous in 
 bearing testimony to the fact, that whatever 
 they are, or whatever they have been enabled 
 
58 METHODS : 
 
 to accomplish, they owe to long years of 
 earnest and persevering labour. They have 
 never learned without study ; they have never 
 received knowledge as the mind receives 
 dreams ; they have never given to the world* a 
 helpful and inspiring hook that has not been 
 the outcome of serious thought, of laborious 
 research, and of painstaking effort. It is the 
 unity in men of desire, purpose, industry, that 
 gives them mastery in the world. 
 
 Robert Robert Browning must be permitted in 
 
 Brown- this chapter to speak to us first. Does he not 
 ** stand among all living, English-speaking poets 
 
 the greatest creative artist ? Happily to-day 
 the study of his writings is neither a craze nor 
 a fashion, it is the homage of human nature to 
 a prophet and a seer. Impressed with the 
 nobility and greatness of the poet's conceptions 
 of life and of men, people are awaking to the 
 fact that Browning has a definite message # of 
 faith and hope to this age. Referring to his 
 own experience as an author, he writes, " All I 
 can say is this much, and very little, that, by 
 the indulgence of my father and mother, I was 
 allowed to live my own life and choose my 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 59 
 
 own course in it ; which having been the same Robert 
 from the beginning to the end, necessitated a Brown- 
 permission to read nearly all sorts of books in 
 a well-stocked but very miscellaneous library. 
 I had no other direction than my parents' taste 
 for whatever was highest and best in literature; 
 but I found out for myself many forgotten 
 fields which proved the richest of pastures ; 
 and, so far as a preference of a particular 
 ' style ' is concerned, I believe mine was just 
 the same at first as at last. I cannot name 
 any one author who exclusively influenced me 
 in that respect — as to the fittest expression of 
 thought — but thought itself had many impul- 
 sions from very various sources, a matter not 
 to your present purpose. I repeat this is very 
 little to say, but all in my power, and it is 
 heartily at your service, if not as of any value, 
 at least as a proof that I gratefully feel your 
 kindness." 
 
 William Moeeis is perhaps far more widely William 
 known as one of the most earnest and cultured Morrls - 
 leaders of Socialism than as one of the most 
 exquisite of our living poets. Indeed, his 
 books have all too limited a circle of readers ; 
 
60 methods : 
 
 William their intrinsic beauty and worth ought to 
 Morris, secure them a place in the home of every 
 cultured man. His " Earthly Paradise," his 
 " Jason," and other noble poems are delightful 
 for their elegance and smoothness of diction, 
 the purity of their English, and the musical- 
 ness of their metre. " I can't say that I ever 
 had any system," he writes. "As a young 
 child I was a greedy reader of every book I 
 could come across. I am not town-bred, and 
 was happy enough to spend the greater part 
 of my life in the open air as a boy — Epping 
 Forest at home ; the Marlborough country- 
 side (one of the most interesting in England) 
 at school. I was at Oxford before it was so 
 much spoiled as it has been since by the 
 sordid blackguards of ' Dons ' who pretend to 
 educate young people there. I had the sense 
 to practically refuse to learn anything I didn't 
 like, and also, practically, nobody attempted 
 to teach me anything. In short I had leisure, 
 pleasure, good-health, and was the son of a 
 well-to-do man. These were my advantages. 
 My disadvantages were in myself, and not 
 around me, I think. I fear 'tis little use 
 putting such an example before your young 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 61 
 
 men, who probably will have to lay their William 
 noses- to the grindstone at a very early stage Morris. 
 of their career. If I may venture to advise 
 you as to what to advise them, it would be 
 that you should warn them off art and litera- 
 ture as professions, as bread-winning work, 
 most emphatically. If I were advising them, 
 I should advise them to learn as soon as 
 possible the sad fact that they are slaves, 
 whatever their position may be, so that they 
 might turn the whole of their energies 
 towards winning freedom, if not for them- 
 selves, yet for the children they will beget. 
 Under such conditions art and literature are 
 not worth consideration." 
 
 " To tell the truth, I do not know how I Alfred 
 have formed my style," says Alfred Austin, Austin 
 a lyric and dramatic poet of genuine power. 
 "It seems to me to have grown and altered 
 with myself. But I did, when young, read 
 copiously of the best authors, always preferring 
 those, whether in a dead or living language, 
 who seemed to have a respect for form and 
 harmony. I was never satisfied with the 
 separation of the two. The greatest writers are 
 
62 METHODS : 
 
 Alfred often not the best teachers ; but, save in this 
 Austin, respect, no rule can be laid down. Try to 
 think clearly, and in time clearness of expres- 
 sion ought to follow. But beyond rudimen- 
 tary rules for rudimentary composition, I 
 doubt if instruction can be given." 
 
 Amelia Amelia E. Baee is an American author, 
 
 E.Barr. widely known and read in England, who has 
 sent out into the world quite a long list of 
 agreeable and artistic tales. All her writings 
 are marked by a religious spirit ; but they have 
 not a trace of bitterness, sectarianism or 
 maudlin sentiment. They are as strong as 
 they are sweet. Their composition is easy and 
 flowing, pithy and sparkling in dialogue, and 
 decidedly clever in descriptive power. " I was 
 early familiar with books," she writes, "far 
 beyond the supposed capacity of my years. 
 At that time they seemed to make little 
 impression upon me, yet I believe their stately 
 sentences trained my ear to a nice sense of 
 harmonious composition. The books I read 
 aloud were chiefly old divines, and the works 
 of Keble, Newman, Hall, Henry, &c. The 
 education which has, however, made me a 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 63 
 
 writer has been a living one. I have not only Amelia 
 read much, I have seen much, and enjoyed E, Barr. 
 much, and, above all, I have sorrowed much. 
 God has put into my hands every cup of life, 
 sweet and bitter, and the bitter has often 
 become sweet, and the sweet bitter. My own 
 firm conviction is that no education can make 
 a writer. The heart must be hot behind the 
 pen. Out of the abundance of life and its 
 manifold experiences comes the power to touch 
 life. Before I lifted the pen I had been half 
 over the world. I had been a happy wife 
 seventeen years. I had" nursed nine sons and 
 daughters. I had drunk of the widow's bitter 
 cup. I had buried all my children but three. 
 I had passed through a great war ; been on 
 the frontiers of civilised life in Texas for ten 
 years ; as the Scoteh say, ' I had seen 
 humanity in a' its variorums.' After that I 
 had fifteen years' apprenticeship on the press 
 of New York, writing editorials upon every 
 conceivable subject, often at a few minutes' 
 notice, acquiring in this way rapid thought 
 and rapid expression. Of course, in the pre- 
 sent state of general education, there are few 
 young people who could not write at least one 
 
64 METHODS : 
 
 Amelia readable book, but the proof of genius lies 
 
 E. Barr. m continuity. 
 
 " I have no methods that are regular enough 
 to describe. My style is the gradual growth 
 of years of literary labour (20 years), and I may 
 add of real not affected feeling. I put myself, 
 my experiences, my observations, my heart 
 and soul into my work. I press my soul upon 
 the white paper. The writer who does this 
 may have any style, he or she will find the 
 hearts of their readers. You will see, then, that 
 writing a book involves, not a waste, but a 
 great expenditure of vital force. Yet I can 
 assure you I have written the last lines of most 
 of my stories with tears. The characters of 
 my own creation had become dear to me. I 
 could not bear to bid them good-bye and send 
 them away from me into the wide world. I 
 suppose I shall fall somewhat in your opinion 
 when I tell you that rules of composition have 
 so little to do with my work that I do not 
 even know the parts of speech, and grammar 
 would be as strange as Greek to me. 
 
 " I write early in the day. I begin work 
 almost as soon as it is light enough for me to 
 see. I work until noon. Then I am still 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 65 
 
 Southern enough to enjoy a siesta, after Amelia 
 which I drive, or see callers, or perhaps do ^- -B arr > 
 two or three hours' copying. I use the type- 
 writer in all finished work — Kemington's 
 No.. 2— for I have four copies to make of each 
 book, one for my American publisher, one for 
 Clarke and Co., of London, my English 
 publishers, one for an American serial, and one 
 for an English serial. I live as close as I can 
 to God, and as far away from the world as 
 possible. My home stands on a spur of Storm 
 King Mountain ; and as I write to you I lift 
 my eyes and see the Hudson Kiver for forty 
 miles of its course, and an enormous outlook 
 of lovely country with the Catskills Mountains 
 bounding my view sixty miles away. I have 
 counted already twenty-six different kinds of 
 birds on my place, and they are singing and 
 chattering and building all around me. Yet I 
 am at least 1,400 feet above the river." 
 
 General Lew. Wallace, the author of that General 
 noble book, " Ben Hur : a Story of the Christ," Wallace. 
 gives in a few words an epitome of a romantic 
 life. " If there is excellence in my composition, 
 set it down, first of all things and last, to the 
 
66 methods : 
 
 General fact that I have no method. Modes of expres- 
 Wallace. s i on j n writing, like modes of expression in 
 speech, are referable purely to feeling, not 
 studied, but of the moment. When I was a 
 boy I ran wild in the great woods of my native 
 State. I hunted, fished, went alone, slept with 
 my dog, was happy, and came out with a 
 constitution. My name was Idleness, except 
 that I read — every moment that I was still I 
 was reading. Fifteen years my father paid my 
 tuition bills regularly, but I did not go to 
 school. He started me in college, but I ran 
 away, and was expelled. Teachers would have 
 nothing to do with me. In short, my educa" 
 tion, such as it is, is due to my father's library. 
 The book that had most to do with influencing 
 me was ' Plutarch's Lives ' ; and now, at the 
 age of sixty,* 1 when my will grows drowsy and 
 my ambition begins to halt, I take to that 
 book, and am well at once." 
 
 E. S. " I have no methods in literary work," says 
 
 Phelps. Elizabeth Stuakt Phelps, the gifted author 
 
 of "Gates Ajar." "I never gave any special 
 
 study to the formation of style in youth, 
 
 * 1887. 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 67 
 
 beyond that which comes from a cultivated E. S. 
 home and a good education. My father and Phelps. 
 mother were both literary people of a fine order. 
 My mother died when I was a child, but my 
 father inspired me with an early taste for good 
 reading. So far as the formation of my own 
 style goes, it is the result of downright hard 
 work. This, and the experience of life, have 
 been my chief teachers." 
 
 "I cannot say," writes Bret Harte, who Bret 
 wields a magic pen, that interests and delights Harte. 
 the reader from first to last, " of my own 
 knowledge, how I formed my style. If, as 
 M. de Buffon believed, ' the style is the man,' 
 I am, of course, the last person you would 
 apply to for that information. It may assist 
 you to know, however, that I was very young 
 when I first began to write for the press ; and 
 as a very young and needy editor, I learned to 
 contrive the composition of the editorial with 
 the setting of its type ; and, it is possible, that 
 to save my fingers mechanical drudgery some- 
 what condensed my style. This was in a 
 country where people lived by observation 
 rather than tradition, and the routine was not 
 
68 methods : 
 
 Bret without a certain chastening effect on both 
 Jiarte. writer and reader." 
 
 Rhoda Ehoda Broughton, the author of many 
 
 Brough widely-read novels, confesses, " I have no 
 method. I began to write merely from 
 instinct, feeling" the wish to say what was in 
 my head. I am far from recommending this 
 mode of composition, as it has led me into 
 much slipshod writing ; bat it never occurred 
 to me consciously to form a style. The words 
 were and are only the vehicles for my 
 thoughts. I fear I can be, therefore, of no use 
 to you, unless it be as a warning." 
 
 John John Payne, translator of the " Arabian 
 
 Payne. Nights " for the Villon Society, the author of 
 several books of poetry that have attained 
 deserved distinction for their polish of style, 
 and their beauty and refinement of thought, 
 finds it difficult to give any statement as to his 
 own method of literary work, for the simple 
 reason that his mode of original production, 
 both in verse and prose, has been curiously 
 inconsistent, and it is, indeed, only by an 
 a posteriori process that he can trace any 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. G9 
 
 of the influences that affected it. " My verse John 
 in particular," he says, " has never, except ^ a J ne ' 
 in a very few isolated instances, been 
 written in cold blood; ideas and subjects 
 have lain dormant in my . brain for months, 
 and even years, till some unexplained influence 
 has played the pare of Vulcan's hammer, and 
 loosed the imprisoned Minerva, ready armed ; 
 and then there is no question of style or 
 method, the pen can hardly move fast enough 
 for the imprisoned flood of verse. The poem 
 is committed to paper as in a dream, aud I am 
 surprised when I awake to find what I have 
 done. I cannot, therefore, tell you anything 
 about my method of labour as regards style, 
 simply because labour there is practically none, 
 correction being almost always only a matter 
 of rectifying the mechanical slips of the pen 
 consequent upon the furious haste with which 
 the poem is committed to paper. I know 
 there are far better poets than myseii, who 
 build up their verse with infinite labour. 
 Eossetti was one of the kind. This I could 
 never do, but must wait till the fit took me, 
 whether I would or no. In the matter of 
 original prose I am little better ; such studies 
 
70 methods : 
 
 John as the essays upon Villon and the 'Arabian 
 
 Payne, Nights/ though of course prepared by much 
 research and special reading, were written, that 
 is to say, committed to paper, well-nigh as 
 lyrically as my verse, that is, in a fit of pos- 
 session almost as unconscious of labour and 
 of preoccupation as to style. Any inquiry, 
 accordingly, into the mechanism of my 
 methods of production can hardly be compared 
 to anything more exact thau an attempt to 
 analyse the influences which have brought 
 about the flowering of a primrose ; but by the 
 a posteriori process, of which I have already 
 spoken, I may, perhaps, be able to give a few 
 particulars as to the things which I suppose, 
 rather than know, to have had a fertilising 
 influence upon my mind in the matter of style. 
 " I had no special training in this respect ; 
 indeed, I may say the contrary was the case, I 
 having been engaged in business from the age 
 (fourteen) of leaving school, and having been 
 brought up by parents bitterly hostile to 
 literature. Omnivorous reading, a very early 
 delight in word-analysis, which made, even at 
 nine or ten, the dictionary as pleasant as a 
 novel to me, and an instinctive pleasure in 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS, 71 
 
 language-learning, which was a good deal j hn 
 checked by circumstances till about nineteen : Payne, 
 to these things, as far as to anything beyond 
 what natural gift I may have, I attribute what 
 you indulgently describe as my mastery over 
 the English tongue. From my own experience 
 I cannot recommend to a young man wishing 
 to form for himself ' a forcible and interesting 
 style of expression ' (in so far, that is, as it is 
 possible to acquire such a gift, and I confess 
 that, for my own part, I doubt the possibility 
 of its acquisition, though I know it can, when 
 existing in a rudimentary form, be cultivated 
 and developed, — is it not written, in very 
 earnest jest, by the wisest of our kind, ' To be 
 a well-favoured man is the gift of fortune, but 
 to read and write come by nature ' ?) a better 
 course than the intimate study and analysis 
 of and translation from other languages than 
 his own. This, he will find, will not only en- 
 large his vocabulary beyond belief, but will 
 familiarise him with many and various ways 
 of expressing familiar ideas ; and this gives him 
 command of the most urgent requisites of 
 style — the avoidance of repetition and the 
 
 power or means of expressing the eternal 
 G 
 
72 methods : 
 
 John common-places which form the basis of litera- 
 
 Payne. ture and life in a new, and, therefore, a striking 
 manner. It is only of late years that I have 
 begun to see clearly the influence which my 
 early instinctive studies of language and word- 
 form have had upon my power of literary 
 expression, and it is now evident to me that 
 they were all to the greater glory, as far as I 
 was concerned, of our beloved and, most 
 magnificent English tongue, to wit, that the 
 final cause of all the language-learning and 
 philological training I have gone through, has 
 been to increase my knowledge and refine my 
 power of handling my own language. That 
 this should be the case I am well content, and 
 I could wish no better epitaph upon my grave 
 than * Linguam Anglicam AmaviV" That such 
 facility in the use of the pen can only be the 
 outcome of great and continuous intellectual 
 discipline is abundantly evidenced by what 
 Mr. Payne has said in the above letter. How 
 serious must have been his mental culture in 
 early life may be inferred from a fact stated in 
 the postscript to this letter, " Dante's whole 
 work I translated into verse before I was 
 twenty, and I feel that his influence tended to 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 73 
 
 make me seek that severity of chastened r ^ n 
 expression which is necessary to correct over- Payne. 
 richness of style." 
 
 Two somewhat uncommon experiences may 
 he of interest, one by an English novelist, the 
 other by an American. Both authors are types 
 of the same school, certainly clever, but given 
 to a realism somewhat carried to excess. 
 
 George Moore writes as follows : " It is of George 
 course impossible to say in a letter what I Moore. 
 have said in a volume — * Confessions of a 
 Young Man ' — and I am writing fifty pages for 
 the French edition, so incomplete does the book 
 still seem to me. Yet I have something to say 
 which you may be able to make use of. I do 
 not believe that any one who ever succeeded in 
 writing a book ever experienced the same diffi- 
 culties in composition as I did. When I was 
 five-and-twenty I could not distinguish between 
 a verb and a noun, and until a few years ago I 
 could not punctuate a sentence. This suggests 
 idiocy ; but I was never stupid, although I could 
 not learn ; I simply could not write consecu- 
 tive sentences. For many years I had to pick 
 out and strive to put together the fragments 
 
74 methods : 
 
 George of sentences with which I covered reams of 
 Moore. paper. My father thought I was deficient in 
 intelligence because I could not learn to spell. I 
 have never succeeded in learning to spell. I am 
 entirely opposed to education as it is at present 
 understood. I would let the boy learn Latin 
 who wanted to ; I would allow the boy who 
 wanted to learn French to learn French. Were 
 I a schoolmaster I should study the natural 
 tastes of the boys, and try to develop them. 
 An educational course seems to me to be folly. 
 You ask if I gave myself any special training — 
 I answer, None whatever. I read all that took 
 my fancy, and nothing that did not take my 
 fancy. For instance, I scarcely know anything 
 of Shakespeare, and I know his contemporaries 
 thoroughly. I cannot tell you why I insisted 
 on reading Fletcher and Marlowe, unless it 
 was to oppose those who endeavoured to lead 
 me. I always had a good memory, and I 
 remembered all odd words and phrases. I 
 strove to use them afterwards, and I imitated 
 the style of the author I was reading. French 
 literature had a great effect upon me, and I 
 read here and there and everywhere, picking 
 up something everywhere, and never learning 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 75 
 
 anything thoroughly. I was inclined towards George 
 desultory reading, and I have gratified my Moon. 
 inclinations to the top of my bent. It is 
 impossible to give any one any idea of what 
 were my difficulties in forming sentences ; 
 but I had something to say, and sought for 
 the means of saying it, blindly, instinctively. I 
 still experience great difficulty in disentangling 
 my thoughts." 
 
 The American novelist referred to has his 
 home in one of the distant Western States of 
 America. E. W. Howe is the author of E. IV. 
 several weird stories, sombre and tragic in Jiowe * 
 tone, that have given him a reputation " as 
 the strongest man in fiction that the great 
 West has produced." " I have had no literary 
 training at all," he says. " When I was twelve 
 years old I became an apprentice in a country 
 newspaper office, and have been steadily 
 engaged in that calling ever since, becoming an 
 editor and publisher when I was sixteen or 
 seventeen years old. The paper I first edited 
 and published was in Golden, Colorado, a small 
 affair, appearing weekly. I have been a pub- 
 lisher and editor from that time. I am now 
 
76 METHODS : 
 
 E. W, thirty- three.* I regret to say that I never studied 
 Howe. a grammar in my life, and barely passed the 
 multiplication table in arithmetic. The only 
 training I ever had was in trying to please a 
 small constituency as editor. I suppose every 
 man who writes at all has an ambition to 
 write a book ; I know of no other reason why 
 I tried it. I have no method. If I ever had, I 
 change it every month. Usually I note down 
 whatever occurs to me in the book way on the 
 backs of envelopes I find in my pockets, and 
 these notes I transfer to paper at home. For 
 months at the time I write only for the news- 
 paper which I edit. At other times I write 
 late at night on the story in hand for several 
 weeks in succession. I dislike it, because I do 
 not sleep well after working at night ; what- 
 ever I have been doing keeps running in my 
 head. I have no literary acquaintances, 
 although very many prominent authors have 
 written me. I have read but little, and many 
 of the famous books I do not know. I have 
 always lived in the extreme West, where there 
 are no literary people, and no literary atmo- 
 sphere. I have met Mr. Aldrich and Mr, 
 Stedman personally ; Mr. Howells and Mr, 
 
 * 1887. 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 77 
 
 Clemens have been very kind to me, but I have e. W. 
 never seen them. Living in England, you Howe* 
 cannot imagine how desolate, from a literary 
 standpoint, my surroundings have always 
 been. Ever since I can remember I have 
 been so busy that I have actually had no time 
 to devote to anything save the business in 
 which I am engaged. The book now in hand, 
 which is to be known as ' A Man Story,' has 
 been bothering me more than a year. I believe 
 I could write it all in three months if I were 
 rid of my newspaper work. I dislike to work 
 at it, because I always imagine I could do so 
 very much better were I not tired out before 
 commencing. I have only read one author 
 thoroughly — Dickens. In my opinion, he was the 
 only man who ever lived that could write a com- 
 plete story in every particular. I have occasion- 
 ally found foolish fault with other writers, but 
 it seems to me that his ' Great Expectations ' 
 is absolutely without a flaw, although it is 
 not considered his greatest book. A citizen of 
 this town knew him personally. I have great 
 veneration for a man who has had such an 
 honour. More than anything else, I should like 
 to read a life of Dickens written by himself." 
 
78 methods : 
 
 M.O.W. Margaret 0. W. Oliphant has won an 
 Oliphant env i aD le reputation in the world of letters as a 
 judicious biographer, a charming novelist, and 
 a general writer of strong individuality. It is 
 not easy to say wherein consists the unmistak- 
 able touch of genius in her work, but it is 
 undoubtedly there. She always seems to strike 
 the right vein, and to use the right words. 
 Her composition is at all times vigorous, and 
 never obscure. " I have nothing to tell you 
 that can be of any use," she says. " I began 
 to write at a very early age, and without either 
 preparation or, indeed, consciousness that my 
 writing would ever come to anything, and got 
 into print, a little to my own astonishment 
 and rather to the amusement of my family, 
 who had treated my scribbling as if it had been 
 the fancy work which was then supposed to be 
 a girl's natural occupation, before I was 
 twenty-one. I fear that a literary beginning 
 so accidental and unprepared would not be 
 at all edifying to your readers. The only 
 thing I can say for myself is, that from 
 my earliest days I read everything I could 
 lay my hands on, which, I think, is not a bad 
 training." 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 79 
 
 Chaelottb Maby Yonge, the author of q m 
 ' The Heir of Kedclyffe," a prolific writer of Yonge. 
 history, biography, and romance, says of her- 
 self: "My training was chiefly unconscious. 
 My father had the greatest dislike to slip-slop 
 language and bad grammar, in conversation or 
 writing, and always corrected it. When I 
 began to write for publication, he picked every 
 sentence to pieces, and turned it about, so that 
 the story in hand lost all spirit, and I could 
 not go on with it at the time ; but after I 
 gained more facility I returned to it, and the 
 corrections had been a great education. I do 
 not think he cared for style as much as for 
 good grammar ; and if that is really observed, 
 style makes itself individual. The ' Heir of 
 Eedclyffe ' was the last book of mine that had 
 his revision. Since that I have observed and 
 learnt, by my own mistakes and criticisms of 
 them, i.e., such things as that pronouns must 
 start from a nominative antecedent, and that 
 two pronouns of the same gender, applying to 
 different persons in the same sentence, only 
 make confusion. Also that every sentence 
 must have a verb, &c. ( Of course, every 
 student knows this, but young ladies do not." 
 
80 METHODS : 
 
 Vernon Miss Paget, who writes under the nom de 
 
 ^ e ' guerre of Vernon Lee, confesses to having 
 
 but few theories about style, though she has 
 always wished, but in vain, to elicit the literary 
 experiences of others. She says, " I fancy 
 that the modes of work and the modes of 
 training are very various ; as to the latter, 
 I imagine English writers consider them as 
 unnecessary in most cases. The great object 
 of a writer, it seems to me, should be to 
 attain to such perfection of mechanism as to 
 express all his ideas at once, without hesita- 
 tion, and with the smallest possible need of 
 correction. This is what we ask of a pianist, 
 a singer, a painter. Pray understand that I 
 refer to the actual writing, to the construction 
 of sentences and paragraphs, not to composi- 
 tion in the sense of co-ordinating a book, or 
 even a chapter. That must necessarily, I 
 think, demand much planning, trying and 
 altering. To attain such mastery over the 
 mere words of sentences, I should recommend 
 the young writer to write incessantly, on every 
 subject, without any view to publication. Any 
 thought, impression, or image, anything that 
 can be written, should be written, and 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 81 
 
 written as rapidly and unhesitatingly as Vernon 
 possible. The development of a critical Lee. 
 sense, necessary to check the superabun- 
 dance due to this practice, is a separate 
 matter. I conceive that a diligent study 
 of our eighteenth-century writers would be a 
 most useful negative practice. Their grammar 
 is often dubious, but their construction is 
 usually uncommonly clear, owing to their being 
 satisfied to express but little ; and although 
 their style is, I think, quite inadequate to our 
 more complex, modern requirements, it is, for 
 that very reason, a most useful corrective to 
 the tendencies which modern requirements are 
 likely to produce. I am conscious of having 
 derived much profit from an eighteenth-century 
 treatise — Blair's * Rhetoric' " 
 
 Geokge Gissing is one of the later recruits George 
 to the ranks of our romancists, an author of (jrtsstn S- 
 considerable promise, whose keenness of in- 
 sight, mental acuteness, and literaiy instinct 
 lead us to expect good results from his facile 
 pen. " Only last night," he writes, " as I was 
 gossiping with a friend, we fell, oddly enough, 
 on this very subject, and probed each other's 
 
82 methods : 
 
 George memories in the endeavour to find out when, 
 Gissing. an( j under what circumstances, we had first 
 become conscious — conscious in the strict 
 sense of the word — of style in literature. Our 
 results were of the vaguest, and I much fear 
 that anything I can now write will be little 
 more to the purpose. For my own part, I 
 believe that many men who write good, ner- 
 vous, lucid English have never troubled 
 themselves to inquire by what process they 
 attained this end. A sound education, active 
 brains, and the taste for what is sterling in 
 literature — these things have sufficed to make 
 them in practice good turners of sentences, 
 and the bent of their minds has never led 
 them to predetermined study of models. My 
 own attempts at authorship, on the other 
 hand, have had the result of making me con- 
 stantly search, compare, and strive in the 
 matter of style : I would that the issue were 
 more correspondent with the thought I have 
 given to such things. When I first began to 
 write for the press I understood myself as 
 little as I did the great writers to whom my 
 eyes were directed. A young poet, we know, 
 is wont to model his verse, often quite con- 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 83 
 
 sciously, on that of the man he admires ; a George 
 young writer of prose may imitate in subject, Gissing, 
 in cast of thought, but is very seldom capable 
 of producing an echo of another's periods. I 
 believe I liked what was good (of course I 
 speak of form merely), but I yet lacked that 
 experience in composition without which, in 
 my belief, it is as difficult to form judgments 
 regarding literary style as it is for a layman 
 to criticise a painter's technique. And here, 
 indeed, is the one little bit of solid information 
 my letter will supply. To my teachers at 
 school and college I owe the habit of study ; 
 the results of study, as far as they concern this 
 matter of which we are speaking, assuredly I 
 owe to no one but myself. 
 
 " I believe there are persons extant who 
 undertake to instruct young men in the art of 
 journalistic composition. Without irony, it 
 would interest me much to be present at such 
 a lesson. Does the teacher select a leading 
 article from, say, The Daily Telegraph, and 
 begin : ' Come now, let us note the artifices of 
 style whereby this writer recommends himself 
 to the attention of the public ' ? Well, if a 
 man of ripe intelligence could have taken me 
 
84 METHODS : 
 
 George at the age of twenty, and have read with me 
 Gissmg. suitable portions of Sir Thomas Browne, of 
 Jeremy Taylor, of Milton's prose, of Steele, 
 De Quincey, Landor, Ruskin — to make a 
 rough list of names — that, I think, would have 
 been a special training valuable beyond expres- 
 sion. Nothing of the kind fell to my lot ; it 
 can fall to the lot of very few. Such teaching 
 would be the sequel to that youthful essay- 
 writing which trains one in grammatical 
 accuracy. Lacking this aid, I have, to repeat 
 myself, little by little, worked towards an 
 appreciation of style in others, and to some 
 measure of self-criticism. And this work I 
 trust will continue throughout my life ; I feel 
 myself as yet but an apprentice. 
 
 " You know, of course, the little volume of 
 selections from Landor, in the ' Golden 
 Treasury ' series. Could a young man whose 
 thoughts are running on style do better than 
 wear the book out with carrying it in his side 
 pocket, that he might ponder its exquisite 
 passages hour by hour ? Or again, there will 
 be few of your readers who are not familiar 
 with ' Shirley ' and ' Villette ' ; but have 
 they yet learnt to read Charlotte Bronte ? 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 85 
 
 There are pages in both these works of George 
 hers which, with respect to literary art, will Gissing. 
 repay the most careful study ; she is admirable 
 in the selection of words and the linking of 
 sentences. She did not know Latin, yet I 
 recall many instances in which the wonderful 
 choice of an uncommon word proved that she 
 felt its meaning in the tongue from which it 
 is derived. One is in her description of 
 'Vashti.' ' Koyally, imperially, incedingly 
 upborne/ she says. There is genius in that 
 transference of Incedo regina deum" 
 
 Mark Twain is the nom de guerre of Samuel Mark 
 Langhorne Clemens, the great American Twain. 
 humourist, whose books are the delight of all 
 English-speaking people. " Your inquiry has 
 set me thinking," he writes; "but, so far, 
 my thought fails to materialise. I mean that, 
 upon consideration, I am not sure that I have 
 methods in composition. I do suppose I have 
 — I suppose I must have — but they somehow 
 refuse to take shape in my mind ; their 
 details refuse to separate and submit to classi- 
 fication and description ; they remain a 
 jumble — visible, like the fragments of glass 
 
86 methods : 
 
 Mark -when you look in at the wrong end of a 
 Twain, kaleidoscope, but still a jumble. If I could 
 turn tbe whole thing around and look in at 
 the other end, why then the figures would 
 flash into form out of the chaos, and I 
 shouldn't have any more trouble. But my 
 head isn't right for that to-day, apparently. 
 It might have been, maybe, if I had slept 
 last night. 
 
 " However, let us try guessing. Let us guess 
 that whenever we read a sentence and like it, 
 we unconsciously store it away in our model- 
 chamber ; and it goes with the myriad of its 
 fellows to the building, brick by brick, of the 
 eventual edifice which we call our style. And 
 let us guess that whenever we run across 
 other forms — bricks — whose colour, or some 
 other defect, offends us, we unconsciously 
 reject these, and so one never finds them in 
 our edifice. If I have subjected myself to any 
 training processes, and no doubt I have, it 
 must have been in this unconscious or half- 
 conscious fashion. I think it unlikely that 
 deliberate and consciously methodical training 
 is usual with the craft. I think it likely that 
 the training most in use is of this unconscious 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 87 
 
 sort, and is guided and governed and made Mark 
 by-and-by unconsciously systematic, by an Twain. 
 automatically-working taste — a taste which 
 selects and rejects without asking you for 
 any help, and patiently and steadily improves 
 itself without troubling you to approve or 
 applaud. Yes, and likely enough when the 
 structure is at last pretty well up, and attracts 
 attention, you feel complimented, whereas you 
 didn't build it, and didn't even consciously 
 superintend. Yes ; one notices, for instance, 
 that long, involved sentences confuse him, and 
 that he is obliged to re-read them to get the 
 sense. Unconsciously, then, be rejects that 
 brick. Unconsciously he accustoms himself 
 to writing short sentences as a rule. At times 
 he may indulge himself with a long one, but 
 he will make sure that there are no folds in 
 it, no vaguenesses, no parenthetical interrup- 
 tions of its view as a whole ; when he is done 
 with it, it won't be a sea-serpent, with half of 
 its arches under the water, it will be a torch- 
 light procession. 
 
 " Well, also he will notice in the course of 
 time, as his reading goes on, that the difference 
 between the almost right word and the right 
 7 
 
88 methods : 
 
 Mark word is really a large matter — 'tis the differ- 
 Twmn. ence between the lightning-bug and the light- 
 ning. After that, of course, that exceedingly 
 important brick, the exact word^— however, this 
 is running into an essay, and I beg pardon. 
 So I seem to have arrived at this : doubtless I 
 have methods, but they begot themselves, m 
 which case I am only their proprietor, not 
 their father." 
 
 Not all authors are without conscious 
 methods, either in finding their avocation, 
 or in securing the power of forceful English 
 composition. With some the effort is clearly 
 defined and very intense. The maxim of the 
 French writer, " Put your heart into your 
 business," has been with them the secret of 
 success. They have not stinted themselves ; 
 they have not given half their force ; they 
 have put their whole heart into their oppor- 
 tunity. For, after all that may be said by men 
 of exceptional ability and experience, the ordi- 
 nary worker finds there is no royal road to 
 effective power in the literary calling any more 
 than there is in other aspects of life. Here, as 
 elsewhere, fortune smiles only upon men and 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 89 
 
 women of great industry and sincere earnest- 
 ness. The following quotations will show what 
 may be done by patient perseverance. 
 
 Wilkie Collins, whose death has left a sad Wilkie 
 blank in the ranks of present-day writers of ^ oUlns 
 fiction, was an author of special power. There 
 is moral tonic in his books, stimulating thought, 
 fine and persuasive appeals to the imagination, 
 as well as marvellous plot and weird incident. 
 His strikingly dramatic stories are clothed in 
 language as simple and direct as it is strong 
 and beautiful. The uniform fascinating grace 
 and ease of his diction ceases to surprise us 
 when we read with what minute and pains- 
 taking care it is produced. He says, " After 
 some slight preliminary attacks, the mania for 
 writing laid its hold on me definitely when I 
 left school. While I was in training for a com- 
 mercial life, and afterwards when I was a 
 student at Lincoln's Inn, I suffered under 
 trade and suffered under law with a resig- 
 nation inspired by my endless enjoyment in 
 writing poems, plays, and stories— or, to ex- 
 press myself more correctly, by the pleasure 
 that I felt in following an undisciplined 
 
90 METHODS : 
 
 Wilkie imagination wherever it might choose to lead 
 Collins. me! j p ro d UC ed, it is needless to say, vast 
 quantities of nonsense, with an occasional — a 
 very occasional — infusion of some literary pro- 
 mise of merit. But I do not think my time was 
 entirely wasted, for I believe I was insensibly 
 preparing myself for the career which I have 
 since followed. 
 
 " My first conscious effort to write good 
 English was stirred in me by the death of 
 my father — the famous painter of the coast 
 scenery and cottage life of England. I re- 
 solved to write a biography of him. It was 
 the best tribute that I could pay to the 
 memory of the kindest of fathers. ' The Life 
 of William Collins, K.A.,' was my first pub- 
 lished book. From that time to this my 
 hardest work has been the work that I devote 
 to the improvement of my style. I can claim 
 no merit for this. When I first saw my 
 writing presented to me in a printer's proof, I 
 discovered that I was incapable of letting a 
 carelessly-constructed sentence escape me 
 without an effort to improve it. The process 
 by which my style of writing is produced may 
 be easily described. The day's w T ork having 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 91 
 
 been written, with such corrections as occur to Wilkie 
 me at the time, is subject to a first revision on Collins. 
 the next day, and is then handed to my 
 copyist. The copyist's manuscript undergoes 
 a second revision, and is then sent to the 
 printer. The proof passes through a third 
 process of correction, and is sent back to have 
 the alterations embodied in what is called ' the 
 revise.' The revise is carefully looked over for 
 the fourth time, before I allow it to go to 
 press, and to preserve what I have written to 
 my readers. My novels are published serially 
 in the first instance. "When they are reprinted 
 in book form, the book-proofs undergo a fifth 
 and last revision. Then, at length, my labour 
 of love comes to an end, and I am always 
 sorry for it. The explanation of this strange 
 state of things I take to be, that honest service 
 to art is always rewarded by art." 
 
 Mrs. Kichmond Eitchie, nee Annie Thacke- Mrs. R. 
 ray, the clever daughter of William Makepeace Ritchie. 
 Thackeray, must surely be counted among the 
 very first of our lady novelists. She is a refined 
 and graceful author, whose tender and beauti- 
 ful stories are delightfully told — gems set in 
 
92 METHODS : 
 
 Mrs. R. gold. She writes: "How I wish I could 
 Ritchie, answer your kind letter in any definite way. I 
 was always fond of writing stories, but when 
 I was about fifteen my father told me I had 
 much better read a few books instead of scrib- 
 bling so much, and I did not begin to write 
 again till I was past twenty. He used to tell 
 us that the great thing was to write no 
 sentence without a meaning to it — that was 
 what style really meant — and also to avoid 
 long Latin words as much as possible. I 
 remember his once showing me a page of ' The 
 Newcomes,' altogether rewritten, with simpler 
 words put in the place of longer ones. Another 
 old friend, long after, gave me a useful hint, 
 which was to read altud to myself any passage 
 of which I was doubtful — one h ears an awk- 
 ward sentence. Any young person with 
 something to say ought to be able to say it, I 
 think; but the manner, of course, depends 
 upon the books he or she reads, and the amount 
 of observation and feeling brought to play 
 upon the subject. I have just been reading 
 some very beautiful passages in Buskin's 
 1 Praeterita,' and he in turn quotes a noble 
 page or two out of Sydney Smith as a mode) 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 93 
 
 of meaning and expression. But I don't know jif rSt j? t 
 whether in my youth I should have cared as I Ritchie. 
 do now for these beautiful outbursts ; and 
 perhaps the young ought to think chiefly of 
 the meaning of what they write, and leave the 
 old to try and elaborate their expressions." 
 
 Louisa Moleswoeth is the author of Louisa 
 whom Swinburne, in The Nineteenth Century ', Moks- 
 affirms that, of female writers since the 
 death of George Eliot, " there is none left 
 whose touch is so exquisite and masterly, 
 whose love is so thoroughly according to know- 
 ledge, and whose bright and sweet invention is 
 so fruitful, so truthful, and so delightful." 
 There is assuredly a grace of fancy, a tender- 
 ness of expression, a simplicity of style in her 
 books, which invest them with as great a 
 charm to older readers as to those on whose 
 behalf they were v written. She says, " My own 
 experience is, that one cannot begin to write 
 too young if one wishes to write with ease 
 and individuality. I think my earliest and 
 best training was by translating, both from 
 French and German. I also remember writing 
 essays on given subjects, with heads marked 
 
94 METHODS : 
 
 Louisa out for me. This practice is of value to a 
 Mole ?~ young writer, as tending to keep the mind to 
 the point, and to avoiding discursiveness. It 
 is a great help to read aloud whatever one 
 writes ; nothing is a surer test of style than 
 this, and even in one's own family, or among a 
 little circle of friends, one may gain much from 
 the friendly criticism thus brought out. In 
 some ways it seems to me that the old saying 
 of * one man's meat being another man's 
 poison,' is true as regards rules of composition. 
 " For my own part I have strictly adhered 
 to the rule of never copying. I write at once 
 as I intend the words to stand ; the formation 
 of the sentences being thus the work of the 
 brain, unassisted by the sight of the written 
 words. I believe that this leads to great pre- 
 cision of thought, and I believe, too, that it 
 makes the style fresh and vigorous, besides 
 greatly lessening the manual labour. In writ- 
 ing with the intention of copying, one is apt to 
 think, ' Oh, I will set that sentence right after- 
 wards,' and one's first time of writing is gener- 
 ally, therefore, slovenly. Yet I have friends in 
 the first rank as writers of English who do not 
 agree with me in this theory. Among them I 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 95 
 
 may mention the author of ' John Halifax,' Louisa 
 whose death just now we are all deploring. I Moks- 
 remember her saying to me, ' To get a chapter 
 perfect, I have sometimes written it over four- 
 teen times.' Still I hold to my opinion, but I 
 think the habit must be acquired young. In 
 talking to young people about the art of com- 
 position, I think it should be clearly pointed 
 out that it is a subject of interest to all. It is 
 not every one who can write books worth 
 reading; indeed, I think it would be most 
 happy for the world if very many fewer were 
 written ! But it is of consequence for every 
 one to express their thoughts clearly and 
 gracefully ; and beyond this, again, to think 
 clearly and in a sense, definitely, to get rid of 
 all unnecessary fog and confusion of brain — and 
 nothing helps this more than the training one- 
 self to choosing the best words one can find. 
 It is a frequently given piece of advice, ' not to 
 use a long word where a short one would do,' 
 but it may be acted upon too much. I would 
 rather advise young writers to choose the word 
 which best expresses their meaning, be it long 
 or short. Even in writing for children I do 
 not entirely confine myself to w r ords which 
 
96 
 
 METHODS : 
 
 Louisa 
 Moles- 
 worth. 
 
 they can at once understand ; by the help of 
 the context, and a little exercise of their own 
 brains, children soon master a new word's 
 exact meaning, and each new word is so much 
 gained of intellectual treasure." 
 
 Mrs. L. 
 Parr. 
 
 "Any success my books may merit," writes 
 Mrs. Louisa Parr, "is in a great measure 
 due to the observance of a rule which I would 
 forcibly impress on all literary aspirants, to 
 spare no pains, to give of your best, and never 
 to rest satisfied until you are certain that you 
 could do nothing better. Good painstaking 
 work irresistibly attracts thoughtful readers, 
 while slip-shod, careless writing only appeals 
 to tastes already lowered, and debases those 
 whose standards might have been raised higher. 
 To expect young people to enjoy the books 
 which more mature tastes regard as master- 
 pieces of fiction is, I think, a mistake we elders 
 often fall into. I remember when it was a 
 penance to me to read Jane Austen, and I have 
 seen those who thought George Eliot's novels 
 dull grow up to hang on every word she wrote. 
 Only cultivate the taste in the right way, and 
 it is almost certain to bring forth the right 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 97 
 
 fruit. Thirty years ago women had not the Mrs. L. 
 educational advantages they now have. I had Farr ' 
 no special training in composition, but before 
 I published my first book life had taught me 
 some lessons which gave me an insight into 
 human nature and character." 
 
 Another lady novelist, Maby Linskill, may Mary 
 be quoted with interest. " In my own case I £ ms ™"* 
 began to read both prose and poetry with 
 avidity at an early age. Of course, I need 
 hardly say that the natural beginning of all 
 culture is learning, by reading, what others 
 have said ; and at the risk of seeming egotism, 
 I must add that my own childish efforts to 
 express myself were made in rhyme, poetry it 
 could not be termed by any stretch of courtesy. 
 I remember having an amusing idea that prose 
 was a much too difficult and ambitious thing 
 to be attempted by me. When about twelve 
 years old, I began to practise what I believe 
 was of much use to me, though I did not 
 dream of its use then. I speak of the habit of 
 copying into note-books whatever struck me 
 as unusually worthy. But I was always 
 guided by something in the thought. Style 
 
98 methods : 
 
 M ar y may have attracted me; but it must have 
 Linskill. been unconsciously. Naturally, these things, 
 much reading, some writing, led to the forma- 
 tion of a style of my own at a very early age ; 
 long before I perceived it for myself it was 
 discerned by others ; so that I have no con- 
 scious recollections of any special method or 
 system of training. My own idea is that if 
 any one has a real and true love of literature 
 for its own sake, a keen appreciation of what 
 is best in the mode of expression will follow 
 inevitably. I would recommend the student 
 to lay to heart an axiom of Sydney Smith's, 
 1 Genius is the capacity for taking pains.' I 
 have read that Miss Mitford wrote some of her 
 stories eleven or twelve times over; and an 
 elderly friend told me that Lord Brougham 
 wrote his celebrated speech on the trial of 
 Queen Caroline fourteen times. It is thus 
 that victories are won ! Though, for myself, I 
 now find that what is once well done is better 
 left alone. It was not always quite so easy." 
 
 R- D. Kichard Doddridge Blackmore, the 
 
 author of that immortal story, " Lorna Doone," 
 and of several other powerful novels written 
 
 Black- 
 more. 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 99 
 
 with a charming naturalism which goes -#. D. 
 straight to the reader's heart, speaking of his 
 own work, says, "If I contrive, as you kindly 
 suppose, to put my thoughts into concise and 
 clear form, it is done hy no special skill or 
 practised art, but simply by first making sure 
 what I mean, then arranging the words in 
 straight order without waste, and then looking 
 at them, as with a stranger's mind, to learn 
 whether he would take them as I have done. 
 Even if that comes right, I am seldom satisfied 
 with my sentence, any more than a criminal is 
 with his, for sound is apt to conflict with 
 meaning, and a host of little obstacles inter- 
 vene betwixt myself and a superior reader, 
 which at last I must trust him not to make too 
 much of. Here is v a sample of such offence, 
 'last,' * mast,' 'trust,' all ending with sibilant 
 sameness ! But after all, you will, I think, 
 agree with me that a good deal depends upon 
 luck, as well as care ; and sometimes a writer 
 must be satisfied to wait, or even leave off and 
 return to work again, before he can hit upon 
 the turn of words required." 
 
 "I believe myself," says Percy Fitzgerald, ?• Fitz 
 
 gerald. 
 
100 METHODS : 
 
 P. Fitz- "that the great difficulty in good literary com- 
 gerald, position is the descriptive analysis of feelings, 
 characters, impulses, which often a clever 
 person understands perfectly, but does not 
 know how to express with his pen. From a 
 boy I used to keep a very elaborate diary, in 
 which, for a mere pastime and self-entertain- 
 ment, I used to write down all my own 
 emotions, recollections of pleasant scenes, and 
 thus got into a habit of writing vivid expres- 
 sion in a few words. This, you will note, is 
 no more than practice and familiarity — but the 
 first point is the command of language. I may 
 tell you that practised writers on the press can 
 write almost instinctively, and on any subject, 
 and I really believe I could sit down without 
 an instant's preparation and write a very 
 respectable story, the ideas coming as I went 
 along. After fluency comes, of course, discip- 
 line ; that is, correction and due restraint." 
 
 cillon. 
 
 R.E. B. E. Fbancillon, best known as the 
 
 Fran- author of several popular romances, says : 
 "The question of style interests me very 
 much, not only for personal reasons, but 
 because journalistic work obliges me, every 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS, 101 
 
 day, to deal practically with the composition _R. E. 
 of other people ; and very remarkable experi- •"**' 
 ences one gets in that way. I am a purist, at 
 least in theory, but the longer one lives the 
 more one finds out how difficult it is to make 
 practice square with theory, and how one's 
 ideal, instead of being overtaken, flies further 
 and further away. I never gave myself any 
 special training with a view to the formation 
 of style. I wish I had ; for I am sure that it 
 is only in early life that one can acquire the 
 immeusely important faculty of letting one's 
 thoughts immediately and instinctively suggest 
 their own fullest expression. I have not 
 acquired that faculty, and I do not suppose I 
 ever shall. I have still always to consciously 
 translate my thoughts into words ; whereas a 
 writer's style ought, for a hundred reasons, to 
 have much of the spontaneous character of the 
 orator's, with, of course, the advantage of finer 
 polish. Whatever merits of style I may have 
 are, I believe, to be summed up in three things 
 — first, to having read, when a boy, scarcely 
 any rubbish, and so having got a good bias ; 
 secondly, to having always taken a great 
 interest in the history of words, which some- 
 
102 methods : 
 
 /j>. £ t how seem to me living things ; thirdly, to the 
 Fran- practice, for pleasure's sake, of translation from 
 foreign languages of both verse and prose ; not 
 roughly, so as to give the meaning only, hut 
 with an attempt to render all the finer points 
 and shades of the original. I am a great be- 
 liever in this kind of exercise, quite apart from 
 my own liking, and for other reasons, including 
 the benefit I know I unconsciously derived 
 from it. A young person, when writing out of 
 himself, is occupied with thinking of what he 
 shall siy too much to think of how he shall 
 say it — in translating he is able to give his 
 whole mind, indeed must give it, to the how. 
 Then, if he writes out of himself, he is very 
 likely to acquire a bad style, as the result of 
 necessarily crude thoughts ; if he translates 
 what is worth translating, he will be forced, or 
 drawn, into a style suitable for his own 
 thoughts, when they become mature — for his 
 own mind to grow up to. In translating, he 
 must think of every word, and of every turn of 
 every phrase, and feel that the honour of his 
 original is in his hands. My own translations 
 were mostly of German verse and Greek prose. 
 But if I were training anybody in style, I 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 103 
 
 should exercise him upon Latin verse and ./?. E. 
 French prose, as the standards respectively of •&**' 
 polish and lucidity, obtained from an apparent 
 poverty of material. Flexibility of style would 
 come with practice ; force arid vigour are not to 
 be acquired, they can only come from forcible 
 and vigorous thought, and from nowhere else 
 in the world. 
 
 "Two things are very much worth noticing 
 — not every scholar has had a good English 
 style, but every writer with a good English 
 style has been more or less a scholar ; and not 
 every writer with a good English style has 
 been a poet, but every poet has been a good 
 writer of prose. I am inclined to think that 
 scholarship, in the old sense, and the practice 
 of writing verse in any language, make up the 
 best foundation for style. The great thing to 
 avoid is newspaper English, journalese, with its 
 conventional and mechanical phrases, and its 
 slipshod manner. And people get saturated 
 with journalese before they are aware of it ; it 
 is becoming a blight upon literature. When, 
 for example, somebody uses the phrase, ' In 
 point of fact,' does he intend to distinguish 
 between fact and fancy, or between fact and 
 
104 
 
 METHODS : 
 
 R. E. 
 
 Fran- 
 
 rillon. 
 
 a priori argument, or does he mean anything 
 at all? And there are thousands of such 
 meaningless flourishes of the pen. In the 
 style to which I am sure, anybody who is in 
 earnest can attain, every word would be neces- 
 sary ; every sentence would have rhythm ; no 
 sentence would need to be read twice for the 
 discovery of its whole meaning ; and the writer 
 would be able to show cause why any given 
 sentence had its given form, and why any 
 word in it was used instead of another. If 
 these tests were answered, the style would be 
 good enough, whatever the thought might be. 
 How to obtain the instinctive harmony of 
 thought and expression I know not, I wish 
 I did know ! But whatever it be it is clear 
 enough that it must include what I have said 
 — a thoughtfulness over every word, which 
 may besome by habit an unconscious second 
 nature." 
 
 Francis 
 Gal ton. 
 
 Fkancts Galton, the distinguished apostle 
 of heredity, is an author who deals with diffi- 
 cult and unusual inquiries, whose books are 
 the result of an extremely laborious research, 
 and are marked by great ingenuity, originality 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 105 
 
 and earnestness. It is interesting to learn Francis 
 how such works are composed. "I have a Galton. 
 singular difficulty in writing," says Mr. Gal ton, 
 " due, I believe, to a natural habit of not 
 thinking in articulate words, when thinking 
 hard, but using gesture thought largely instead 
 of language ; so that when I want to express 
 myself, I often find that I have, as it were, to 
 translate. As a matter of fact, I re-write my 
 MSS. many times, and correct each time very 
 much indeed. For example, at this moment I 
 am revising the proofs of a forthcoming book, 
 * Natural Inheritance.' In this, besides 
 frequent re- writings of the MS., I have had it 
 type-written almost throughout, twice in suc- 
 cession, and yet have had largely to correct 
 the proofs. The only tendencies that enable 
 me to write intelligibly, are a great desire to 
 be clear in thought and distinct in expression, 
 and an inclination to take much pains. Also I 
 have great appreciation of good and clear 
 writing by others, and a love of getting at the 
 exact meaning of words. I constantly consult 
 good dictionaries, finding a large Dr. Johnson, 
 and the handy Skeat's Dictionary, published 
 by the Oxford Clarendon Press, the most 
 
106 methods : 
 
 Francis useful. Also I find Kogefc's Thesaurus of the 
 Galton. greatest help in disentangling the different 
 meanings of a word. It rarely has enabled me 
 to find one, but constantly has enabled me to 
 observe a want of clearness. This very day 
 I have spent a good half-hour over a word 
 process — * the processes of heredity ' — which as 
 yet I cannot better, but which does not explain 
 exactly what I want. It is easy enough to write 
 off-hand, like this letter, but it is difficult to 
 write a book. In what the difference consists 
 is a little difficult to say, and I will not 
 attempt to express it now. I occasionally see 
 The Educational Times, and when I do, I 
 marvel at the beauty of the prize translations 
 in it. Good writers have the art of building 
 their sentences in the simplest w T ay, with the 
 important parts first, and of placing what 
 follows in the most easy-going order." 
 
 j q J. G. Wood sent me a full account of his 
 
 Wood. method of work. His painfully sudden death 
 gives this contribution a pathetic interest. 
 During his laborious life Mr. Wood did more 
 perhaps than any other writer to intensify the 
 popular regard for the study of natural history. 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 107 
 
 He said, " I never had any special training for r Q m 
 the pen, but have always adopted a most careful Wood. 
 method. In the first place, I never write on 
 any subject, however trifling, without being 
 perfectly saturated with it, so as to be able to 
 play with it if needful. Then the methodical 
 laying out of the subject occupies at least as 
 much time as the actual writing, often more. 
 Take for example a magazine article. After 
 thinking over the subject, I open a sheet of 
 foolscap and jot down upon it the various 
 points which I want to make, shifting and 
 reshifting them until the article is in skeleton. 
 Then I take each of the headings and expand 
 them in the same manner. Next I cut up the 
 foolscap, which by that time is covered with 
 abbreviated notes, try various alterations in 
 arrangement, and then paste them together in 
 the amended order. By this time I see the 
 complete article like a picture, and not until 
 all these details are satisfactorily completed do 
 I begin to write. 
 
 " Equal pains are taken with the manner of 
 writing. It has always been my aim to write 
 so lucidly that no one shall be obliged to 
 read a sentence twice in order to ascertain its 
 
108 methods: 
 
 j m q, meaning ; and if I be not satisfied with the 
 Wood. construction of a sentence, I put it into Latin, 
 and see how it looks. Another point is, that 
 when describing or explaining any scientific 
 matter, I try to put myself into the mental 
 position of a reader who is absolutely ignorant 
 of the subject. Simplicity, again, is one of my 
 aims. I hold that language is intended to be 
 a means of conveying ideas from one mind to 
 another, and that the best language is that 
 which conveys ideas to the greatest number 
 of minds. So I never employ scientific tech- 
 nology when the same idea can be conveyed 
 in simple English terms. Scientific nomen- 
 clature, like that comforting word ' Mesopo- 
 tamia,' may be imposing, but it is only 
 intelligible to the few, whereas I write for 
 the many." 
 
 SirA.H. Sir Austen Henry Layard, whose ac- 
 a * ar ' counts of researches in Nineveh have been so 
 widely read, fears he has no right to a place 
 amongst writers of forcible English. He says, 
 " I had no training in my youth in composition 
 with a view to authorship. I left England 
 when very young on my travels in the East, 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 109 
 
 and have been more or less a wanderer ever SirA.H. 
 since. When I published the accounts of my Layard. 
 discoveries in Assyria and Babylonia, I had had 
 no practice whatever in writing. I trusted 
 to my full acquaintance with the subject of 
 which I had to treat, and did my best to express 
 my meaning intelligibly. I was of course 
 acquainted to a certain extent with our best 
 authors, and my style, such as it was, was 
 founded upon that of the writers of the early 
 part of last century, which I most admired. 
 My method has been simply this — to think 
 well on the subject which I had to deal with 
 and when thoroughly impressed with it and 
 acquainted with it in all its details, to write 
 away without stopping to choose a word, 
 leaving a blank where I was at a loss for it ; 
 to express myself as simply as possible in 
 vernacular English, and afterwards to go 
 through what I had written, striking out all 
 redundancies, and substituting, when possible, 
 simpler and more English words for those I 
 might have written. I found that by follow- 
 ing this method I could generally reduce very 
 considerably in length what I had put on paper 
 without sacrificing anything of importance or 
 
110 METHODS : 
 
 SirA.H. rendering myself less intelligible. I know 
 Layard. ver y f ew modern works which could not he cut 
 down to half their size with advantage in every 
 respect. My method would thus be described : 
 Make yourself thoroughly acquainted with your 
 subject before writing, write without special 
 attention to composition, and prune afterwards 
 what you have written." 
 
 Prof. A. " I could not in a few minutes," writes Pro- 
 Bain. fessor Alexander Bain, " convey to you any 
 idea of my education in English style. It began 
 when instruction was entirely wanting in the 
 schools and university. I had one valuable 
 monitor in our Professor of Chemistry — 
 Clarke ; and for the rest I had to study authors 
 at random. Robert Hall's collected works 
 came out when I was a student, and I read 
 the whole many times over. I was also influ- 
 enced by Dr. Chalmers, especially in the point 
 of iteration of leading ideas. When I began 
 writing, I strove after lucidity to the best of 
 my power, but it was long ere I discovered the 
 precise arts for securing it. This grew out of 
 my rhetorical teaching in the English class of 
 the university." 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. Ill 
 
 " I suppose," says Feedekick "W. H. Myers, jr. w. H. 
 " that my study of classical Greek and Latin Myers. 
 authors, especially Virgil and Plato, may have 
 had some good effect by familiarising the mind 
 with the best models. But it seems to me 
 that almost the only way to write effectively is 
 to choose some subject on which one really 
 feels deeply and has thought long, and then to 
 select and arrange one's language with a strong 
 desire that one's readers shall understand just 
 what one means, and be persuaded that it is 
 true. I try to read over w T hat I write as 
 though I were a reader both somewhat hostile 
 and somewhat dull of apprehension, and I try 
 to remove any stumbling-blocks which such a 
 reader might encounter in wording or arrange- 
 ment. And when one's own emotion is strong 
 it seems to impose its own words, even its 
 own rhythm, and to forbid any alternative 
 mode of expression." 
 
 Celia Thaxter, an American poet, says : Celia 
 "Up to the time of my marriage my life was ■ L ' iaxter * 
 passed in this wild place " — Isles of Shoals, 
 off Portsmouth, N.H. — " without schools or 
 church, or any society except that of my 
 
112 METHODS : 
 
 Ceiia parents and two little brothers. My father 
 Thaxter. taught me what he knew. The first verses I 
 remember to have written sang themselves, a 
 spontaneous expression of the home-sickness 
 for my islands after my marriage, when I left 
 them for the first time. I gave these verses to 
 a friend, who in her turn gave them to her 
 brother, who was on the staff of The Atlantic 
 at that time, and he put them into the hands 
 of James Russell Lowell, the editor, who 
 christened them ' Land-locked ' and printed 
 them in the magazine. No one was so much 
 surprised as I ! The poem is the first in the 
 first volume of my books. After that, verses 
 were always weaving themselves in my brain. 
 I don't know why they came or how they 
 grew ; it was my kismet I suppose. One rule 
 I laid down for myself, to keep religiously — 
 one or two, perhaps I should say — but this one 
 in especial : never to use more words than I 
 could help to give my full meaning ; never to 
 speak a sentence that was not as crystal clear 
 as I could make it ; never to sacrifice anything 
 to the allurements of melodious rhyming. To 
 be perfectly direct and as clear as daylight is 
 absolutely necessary to my peace of mind." 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 113 
 
 Professor Edward Dowden, the eminent Prof. E. 
 Shakespearian scholar, writes an interesting Dowden 
 account of his early training and experience. 
 "As to my own apprenticeship in writing," he 
 says, " I have only to tell what I suppose 
 many other persons could tell if you were to 
 ask them. When I was a very small boy my 
 father required me to write a letter about any- 
 thing I liked once a week. It was perhaps an 
 advantage that no subject was named. Later 
 on this grew into a weekly essay for my tutor, 
 the subject being still left to myself. I took 
 great pleasure in this task, and therefore I did 
 my best to make each little essay good. We 
 attempted — my brother and sister and one or 
 two friends — to get up a small club for essay 
 writing, but the first and only essay written was 
 one by myself on Shakespeare. I don't remem- 
 ber why the design dropped, but at a later time 
 it was revived, and I wrote three or four playful 
 essays and one story. My weekly essays for 
 my tutor were generally on literary topics, and 
 I was promised as a prize when thirty-six had 
 been written — my mother's copy of Shake- 
 speare in twelve volumes, which I still possess. 
 The essays have long since been burnt, but I 
 
114 METHODS I 
 
 Prof. E. can remember that I wrote in an imitative 
 Dowden. wa y j n man y styles, and could produce echoes 
 of Lamb, De Quincey, A. K, H. B., and the 
 smart style of reviewing in The Athenceum. I 
 remember in particular a very smart review in 
 The Athenceum style on Longfellow's 'Hia- 
 watha,' which had just appeared. My skill in 
 manipulating words and sentences was a good 
 deal in excess of my power of thought, and 
 this was somewhat demoralising I am sure. 
 I have somewhere still two essays which I 
 read at a young men's society when about 
 fifteen years old, on ' The Use of Imagination 
 in the Study of History,' and on ' Bacon's 
 Essays.' 
 
 " I certainly read a great deal of good verse 
 and prose when a boy, Spenser and Bacon, 
 Bntler's Analogy — which I have never been 
 able to think ill-written — Wordsworth, Shake- 
 speare, the Bible, and much besides. Words- 
 worth for a long time quite swallowed me up. 
 I lost myself in him. At sixteen I entered 
 college (too early), joined the students' philo- 
 sophical society, where essays were read and 
 discussed, and wrote a paper on the philosophi- 
 cal subject of ' Nursery Bhymes and Legends,' 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 115 
 
 which was afterwards printed unaltered in The Prof. E. 
 Temple Bar. I also, as a freshman, wrote for ■ L)owdeiu 
 the prize for English verse, and gained it by 
 a blank verse competition on 'Westminster 
 Abbey.' I tried again and failed, but gained a 
 prose prize for a long essay on the ' Influences 
 of the Present Age on Poetry and Art.' Before 
 this, however, I had worked hard for honours 
 in the logical, ethical, and metaphysical 
 courses, and never ceased from hard work in 
 this department for three years. This hardened 
 and stiffened my way of writing, for I was 
 trying to think more than to manipulate 
 sentences. I ought to say that ever since I 
 was a boy I had been in the habit of copying 
 a great deal into note-books — first, the discon- 
 nected passages of prose or verse which I ad- 
 mired ; and afterwards, I worked through a very 
 long course of philosophical books, analysing 
 and condensing each with great pains. Then I 
 got an introduction to Dean Alford, when The 
 Contemporary Beview was started, and wrote 
 in the second number a long study of ' French 
 ^Esthetics.' I should think its fault is the 
 attempt to make an abstract subject popular 
 by little efforts at cleverness. By that time I 
 
11 6 METHODS : 
 
 Prof. E. was nearly twenty-three years old, at which 
 JJowaen, p j n ^ j ma y en ^ m y s tory. 
 
 "Before that date I had had two years' study 
 of divinity, which was in some degree a kind 
 of combination of my studies in what we 
 here call ■ Logics and Ethics.' Looking back, 
 I seem to see that I always knew some one 
 book exceedingly well. At one time it was 
 Bacon's Essays, at another Butler's Analogy 
 and Sermons, at another Wordsworth's Poems, 
 at another Shakespeare's Sonnets ; and then it 
 would often happen that the one book dropped 
 out of sight uutil I quite forgot it. I have 
 almost up to the present time been in this way 
 a man of one book, only the book was a differ- 
 ent one from year to year. I have now told 
 you everything I can remember ; and I think 
 such apprenticeship as I got falls into three 
 periods : first, when I was learning the use of 
 the means of expression in a queer way, inas- 
 much as I hadn't much to express; second, 
 when I was learning in some measure to 
 think ; and third, when I was escaping from the 
 somewhat formal way of thinking and writing 
 imposed by my studies, to one freer and more 
 personal." In a subsequent note Professor 
 
CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 117 
 
 Dowden says, "In writing narrative, which I Prof.E. 
 have had some practice in, I believe the most - Dowden - 
 important thing is to discover, and then con- 
 ceal, a logic, a rational order in the sequence, 
 of topics. A mass of incident has to be set 
 forth, and the great art is to convert what is 
 merely chronological into a rational sequence, 
 where one thing leads on to another as it were 
 by natural associations. When one has picked 
 out the facts, separated them into groups, and 
 decided on the order in which the groups 
 shall succeed one another, the thing is really 
 done. When I say ' logic/ perhaps I mean in 
 many cases a logic of the emotions rather than 
 of the intellect." 
 
 The series of experiences narrated in this Sir G. 
 chapter, all bearing directly or indirectly upon \ re ' 
 method, either in preparation for or in the 
 actual accomplishment of literary labour, may 
 appropriately be closed by the following simple 
 and most useful suggestions contributed by 
 Sir George Otto Teevelyan. " In my view 
 there are three sorts of composition, which 
 should be treated differently. 1. In literary 
 work a man should have a standard of what is 
 
118 METHODS : CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS. 
 
 Sir G. the very best that he himself can do, and he 
 O. Tre- should spare no labour until he is satisfied that 
 ' that best has been attained. He has no right 
 to print anything which aspires to be literature 
 unless it is, in the smallest particular of form 
 and substance, as good as he can make it. 
 Exercises at school and college come under 
 this head, and no lad who wishes to write his 
 best should hesitate at giving the leisure of a 
 whole day to produce even four lines, when he 
 first begins to write. He will soon get to 
 write his best quite as fast as need be. 2. In 
 speeches and lectures the very greatest atten- 
 tion should be paid to the general structure of 
 the speech, and to the arguments, the illustra- 
 tions, and the facts ; but the words should be 
 those which come naturally. . 3. In conversa- 
 tion and letters no forethought should be taken 
 at all, but the tongue and pen should be left to 
 themselves. In this way a man will treat every 
 form of expression according to the purpose 
 for which it is intended. His literary style 
 will have the ease of his conversation, and his 
 familiar letters, conversation, and speeches 
 will profit by the labour which he spends on 
 his literary work." 
 
THE INFLUENCE OF READING ON 
 LITE BABY STYLE. 
 
THE INFLUENCE OF BEADING ON 
 LITERARY STYLE. 
 
 WE might range almost the entire series 
 of our contributions from present- 
 day authors under the above topic. The vast 
 majority of those whose names find a place in 
 these pages testify to a systematic, or to an un- 
 systematic but very beneficial species of mental 
 culture, derived from reading. They had, and 
 still have, a strong passion for books. It has 
 been their delight to read whatever came in their 
 way, to assimilate all that suited them, and to 
 let the rest go. Our selections in this chapter 
 will show what an education of thought and 
 heart, and what a powerful formative influence 
 upon their style of composition this intensive 
 and extensive reading exerted. 
 
 Of course there is nothing uncommon in 
 such testimony. The results indicated are 
 perfectly natural and inevitable. A good 
 book, as John Milton says, " is the priceless 
 life-blood of a master spirit ; " and any man 
 
122 THE INFLUENCE OF BEADING 
 
 who reads that book intelligently and 
 sympathetically will have its author's 
 " precious life-blood " infused into his own 
 being, to strengthen and give mastery to his 
 spirit. Converse with great books is converse 
 with great minds. It brings us into personal 
 contact with the ideas, the convictions, the 
 truths which have moved and inspired the 
 world's best and noblest thinkers ; and what 
 so animates and rouses the mind, and makes 
 it emulous of larger attainment ? To read the 
 Bible, not superficially, but thoroughly, to 
 become acquainted with Shakespeare, to make 
 ourselves familiar with Lord Bacon's works, or 
 the writings of Leibnitz, of Goethe, of Dante, 
 or of Plato, that is an education of priceless 
 value. It is a broad and generous culture 
 which emancipates our minds from narrowness, 
 and gives them that insight and experience 
 which sends us out looking everywhere for 
 what is good, beautiful, and true. For the 
 knowledge which we absorb, which becomes 
 part of ourselves, which roots itself in our 
 consciousness, colours every aspect of our 
 thought and action, and uplifts us, so that we 
 become, in the expressive Scripture phrase, 
 
ON LITERARY STYLE. 123 
 
 " New creatures," in whom " old things have 
 passed away, and all things have become new." 
 Fellowship with the best books may, for 
 this reason, be regarded as the surest means 
 of improving our own literary style. What- 
 ever benefits us in mind, heart, soul, must 
 necessarily colour all we attempt and all we 
 do. Perhaps I may even say such fellowship 
 is the only means of such improvement. A 
 correct knowledge of the intricacies of English 
 grammar must assuredly prove most helpful, 
 but power to use our noble English speech 
 with grace and force can never be attained 
 by any mere learning of technical rules, how- 
 ever admirable. That power comes only by 
 familiarity with the best literature. The con- 
 tributions which follow will abundantly 
 illustrate the truth of this assertion. 
 
 Ernest Eenan is my first witness. He is Ernest 
 perhaps the most remarkable, as he is cer- ^ enan ' 
 tainly the most renowned, French writer of 
 to-day. He is not only a man of immense 
 erudition and of high scientific attainments, 
 but in composition is master of a style perfect 
 in its grace and charm, its luminous clearness 
 
124 THE INFLUENCE OF BEADING 
 
 Ernest and finished simplicity. Mostly dealing with 
 Renan. austere themes, he yet clothes his thoughts 
 with such brilliant vivacity, such strength of 
 expression, such resources of fertile imagina- 
 tion, that his books are almost as fascinating 
 to read as a powerful romance. The following 
 is a translation in full of M. Renan's letter : — 
 " I have not time to write you at length. 
 Besides, the best answer to your question may 
 be the shortest. To write well is to think well ; 
 there is no art of style distinct from the 
 culture of the mind. The good writer is a 
 complete mind, gifted with judgment, passion, 
 imagination, and at the same time well trained. 
 The inner qualities of rectitude, of brilliant 
 geniality, are not given ; instruction, wealth of 
 information, fulness of knowledge, are acquired. 
 Thus good training of the mind is the only 
 school of good style. "Wanting that, you have 
 merely rhetoric and bad taste. Your letter 
 breathes so much sincerity that I have made 
 an exception in its case to the rule I have 
 placed myself under, of very rare letter- writing. 
 Make your readers vigorous thinkers, con- 
 scientious scholars, and they will be good 
 writers." 
 
ON LITEEABY STYLE. 125 
 
 Another great French scholar, well known H. A. 
 to English readers as the author of a " History laine * 
 of English Literature," which has had a wide 
 circulation amongst us through the medium of 
 the excellent translation by Van Laun, may 
 be quoted here. H. A. Taine says : " The 
 men of my time in France have all received a 
 special training with a view to style. It was 
 a classical discipline through the detailed and 
 prolonged study of the great Greek, Latin, and 
 French writers. Reproducing these by short 
 and nervous translations, we were thus made 
 to note their oratorical and literary effects. 
 We analysed their phrases, their paragraphs, 
 their entire chapters ; we discerned the play of 
 them ; we thus learned to make good plans, 
 which is always an important point. Now, in 
 our day, I still believe this method to be the 
 best. There are masterpieces, both ancient 
 and modern, in which the masters have con- 
 centrated their efforts. To discover their 
 processes it is necessary to analyse these 
 masterpieces. This is why, were I giving 
 advice to a young man, I should engage him 
 above all things to read for a long time, pen in 
 hand, the great writers of different countries, 
 
126 THE INFLUENCE OF BEADING 
 
 H. A. to learn from them to speak in public. The 
 Taine. speeches, the essays, and the history of 
 England, by Macaulay ; the tales and pam- 
 phlets of Swift ; with us, the Provincial 
 Letters of Pascal and the pamphlets of Paul 
 Louis Courier, are incomparable monuments 
 of genius. When a finely-gifted mind shall 
 have grasped their meaning, he is capable, if 
 full of faith and enthusiasm, of persuading and 
 convincing all his hearers.'* M. Taine's own 
 writing is always strong. Sometimes his com- 
 position is singularly epigrammatic and forceful. 
 Summing up men and events in striking 
 phrases and epithets, opening great subjects 
 by delicate hints, delighting us every now and 
 again with charming little poems in prose, he 
 makes it impossible for us to read his books 
 with any sense of weariness. They are excel- 
 lent models for the student of expressive 
 speech. 
 
 Sir E. Sir Edwin Aknold, the accomplished 
 
 Arnold. au thQr of " The Light of Asia," and of many 
 
 lyrics of great beauty, says : " I wish I could 
 
 give you any experiences of a practical kind 
 
 upon the art of composition worth conveying 
 
ON LITERARY STYLE. 127 
 
 to your readers. But it is often the case that Sir E 
 the artist knows less of his own methods than Arnold 
 the expert who analyses and registers them. 
 Since you are pleased to find in my writings 
 the qualities you speak of, I will briefly observe 
 that I think no elevation or charm of style can 
 be obtained without a constant artistic effort 
 to lift language to its best expression. The 
 good writer never chooses a word at hazard, 
 or without noting its harmony in sound as well 
 as sense with what precedes and follows. He 
 never willingly commits the fault of tautology, 
 for repetition of phrase or epithet galls the ear; 
 he never employs redundant epithets, taking 
 care that each adjective shall import fresh 
 ideas. There is as much music in good prose 
 as verse, and the conscientious writer is as par- 
 ticular in one as the other, although verse, of 
 course, demands the finer and closer work. 
 The great thing is to believe in the importance, 
 almost in the vitality, of words, and to use 
 none without the care of the mosaic maker 
 fitting in his terrace. This grows to become 
 a habit, and is quite consistent with very rapid 
 work. 
 
 " Then one must have a good and well-stored 
 
128 THE INFLUENCE OF BEADING 
 
 Sir E. memory, which means preferring always great 
 Arnold, examples to imitate. I have myself a most 
 tenacious memory, enabling me to carry about 
 my classics, my oriental authors, Shakes- 
 peare, &c, in my head. This can be 
 acquired by practice in early life, and is very 
 valuable. Of coarse the wider the foundation 
 is laid of early study the larger will be the 
 subsequent command of language and illus- 
 tration. I am afraid I must lay it down as an 
 axiom not to be gainsaid, that nobody, not even 
 that master of spoken English, Mr. Bright, — 
 absolutely none, can be a true judge or example 
 of style who does not well know the classics. 
 It seems to me impossible that any hand can 
 lend the last and loveliest finish to a sentence, 
 or to a verse, who has never dwelled on the 
 perfect labour of Horace, the jewelled Latin 
 of Virgil, Homer s deep-sea music, and the im- 
 perial dignity of the chief historians of Greece 
 and Kome. I think, indeed, that to write 
 real, simple English well, a man should know 
 at least as much as I do in the way of living 
 and dead languages — I can read eight or nine 
 — and I think the more he knows the simpler 
 will be his style. Only mark that all the 
 
ON LITERARY STYLE. 129 
 
 complexities will be latent in that simplicity ; sir E. 
 
 and the practised writer's taste will never be Arnold. 
 
 so vigilant and self-questioning as when he 
 
 seems to be abandoning his pen to its own 
 
 fervour. In fine, one must believe in all art to 
 
 be an artist, and most of all in the divine art 
 
 of writing. And one must have perpetual 
 
 good- will and steadfast purpose. The only (j>-- 
 
 reason of my success is, that I would give the 
 
 world to say or do anything helpful to my 
 
 kind." Vide (J-*** 
 
 George Meredith, poet and novelist, has G. Mere- 
 won for himself a permanent place in the dith. 
 ranks of the most artistic, the most thoughtful, 
 as well as the most brilliant writers of our era. 
 Once read, his works can never be forgotten. 
 Shakespeare's men and women are not more 
 alive than his ; while their sentiments and 
 actions are portrayed with a keen wit, a deep 
 wisdom, and a knowledge of human nature truly 
 remarkable. He says, " I see there has been 
 writing of late by the younger hands upon 
 their methods ; and some of them may have 
 come to a certain perfection, they may be 
 stylists. But it must be rather your liking 
 
130 THE INFLUENCE OF BEADING 
 
 G. Mere- than discrimination which gives me a claim 
 dith. to this title. I have no style, though I suppose 
 
 my work is distinctive. I am too experimental 
 in phrases to be other than a misleading guide. 
 I can say that I have never written without 
 having clear in vision the thing put to paper ; 
 and yet this has been the cause of roughness 
 and uncommonness in the form of speech. 
 
 " Your theme is well chosen. Impress on 
 your readers the power of the right use of 
 emphasis, and of the music that there is in 
 prose, and how to vary it. One secret is, to 
 be full of meaning, warm with the matter to 
 be delivered. The best training in early life 
 is verse. That serves for the management of 
 our Saxon tongue ; and may excuse the verse 
 of Addison, in consideration of what he did, 
 side by side with La Bruyere, to produce his 
 pellucid prose. Show, nevertheless, that this 
 Addisonian style can run only in the bounds 
 of a brook ; it cannot be largely allusive or 
 guardedly imaginative. Hawthorne, at his best, 
 in some Italian pictures, has an unrivalled 
 penetrative delicacy. Explain that we have 
 besides a Saxon, a Latin tongue in our English, 
 and indicate where each is to be employed, and 
 
ON LITERARY STYLE. 131 
 
 the subjects which may unite them ; as, for Q. Mere- 
 example, in the wonderful sweep of a sentence ^*« 
 of Gibbon, from whose forge Macaulay got his 
 inferior hammer. "Warn against excessive anti- 
 thesis — a trick for pamphleteers. Bid your 
 young people study the best French masters. I 
 think it preferable, especially in these days of 
 quantity, to be largely epigrammatic rather 
 than exuberant in diction ; therefore I would 
 recommend the committing to memory of 
 passages of Juvenal. And let the descrip- 
 tion of a battle by Csesar and one by Kinglake 
 be contrasted, for an instance of the pregnant 
 brevity which pricks imagination and the wide \ 
 discursiveness which exhausts it. Between 
 these two, leaning to the former, lies the golden 
 mean. 
 
 " I wish you well in your address to these 
 young men, and that I could be of greater aid, 
 both in my literary example and the present 
 intimations of how it might have been bettered, 
 though there is one point I should add : That, 
 granting a certain capacity in the writer, he 
 will do wisely, while schooling his nature, not 
 too violently to compress or restain it. If 
 by chance you mention me to them, 
 
132 THE INFLUENCE OF BEADING 
 
 G. Mere- assure them that my heart is always with 
 
 dith. the young.' * 
 
 In a second note, Mr. Meredith said : " The 
 highest examples of style are in Greek and 
 Latin, following them, and derived from the 
 classics, French. A study of French prose is 
 useful, even needful. But some knowledge of 
 the classical masterpieces is absolutely neces- 
 sary to the writer who would pour copiously, 
 yet not overwhelm; be condensed, yet not 
 obscure. In German the English find their 
 own natural faults exaggerated, and Italian 
 prose is verbose, a coil of sounding phrases, 
 Boccaccio, graceful though he is, destroyed the 
 charm of limpid purity in the old stories he 
 drew from. An orator like John Bright, 
 treating of public affairs and the simpler 
 emotions, may rely on his native genius 
 to dispense with a literary knowledge enabling 
 him to be critical. But had he to discourse 
 in and on deeper matters — Philosophy — he 
 would require a richer tongue, and the 
 critical knowledge necessary to guide it. 
 "Writing is an art as painting is, and in 
 both we must begin by reverent study of the 
 masters." 
 
ON LITEEAEY STYLE. 133 
 
 F. Marion Crawford is a novelist of con- j? m. 
 siderable talent, whose splendid stories, so solid Craw- 
 in substance, so vigorous in expression, so ab- 
 sorbing in interest, move on with increasing 
 dramatic force from the opening chapters to 
 the close. Writing from his Italian home, Mr. 
 Crawford says, " Any facility in writing Eng- 
 lish which I had when I began literary work 
 I owe to my mother, who writes exceedingly 
 well, though she never published anything. 
 From the time when I was a schoolboy, her 
 letters impressed me very forcibly, and I used 
 even then to try and imitate her style. In this 
 you will see that I had a great advantage over 
 most lads. In all cases, however, I should say, 
 to boys and young men — It is worth while to 
 take pains about the home letters. Most boys 
 have no other opportunity for putting their own 
 impressions upon paper. In writing themes 
 and compositions at school, when these are re- 
 quired, the subject is generally given out, and 
 the boy does little more than try to reproduce 
 what he has read or heard concerning the 
 matter. His personal feelings about his life 
 would make the best subject, together with 
 accurate descriptions of the lives of others. 
 
134 THE INFLUENCE OF BEADING 
 
 F. M. " Secondly, I believe the study of the classics 
 
 Craw- to be of the highest importance in the attain- 
 ment of style. Here, too, I had an advantage 
 over others, for I was taught Latin as a 
 living language, when a mere child, in Rome. 
 Accuracy in scholarship is a great thing in 
 training the mind; but for developing the 
 imagination there is nothing like being able to 
 read easily a great variety of works. Classical 
 reading is moreover an unfailing resource. It 
 is years since I have allowed a day to pass 
 without reading a few pages of some Latin or 
 Greek author, and if it has not been an advan- 
 tage to me, it has been a real pleasure. Out of 
 many thousands of pages of the best literature 
 the world ever had, something should remain 
 with the reader, some clear and bright impres- 
 sion must be reflected in his mind and bear 
 fruit. For my own part, I have learned most 
 of the languages of Europe, and some of those 
 cf Asia, and have read much in them all ; but 
 I am of opinion that the best literature, 
 ancient and modern, is to be found in Greek, 
 Latin, and English. Eor the man of leisure, 
 it is worth while to learn Italian for the sake 
 of Dante, Tasso, Petrarch, Ariosto, and perhaps 
 
ON LITERARY STYLE. 135 
 
 Leopardi. A man who has much time at his F. M. 
 disposal may overcome the great difficulties Craw- 
 of the German language in order to read 
 Goethe, Heine, Lessing, Schiller, and half-a- 
 dozen others. Time spent in labouring over 
 the obscurities of Kant may not be wholly lost. 
 Six or seven years of unremitting industry 
 may master the curious intricacies of San- 
 skrit, and open a student's eyes to the beauties 
 of the Vedas, the Mahabharata, the Kamayana, 
 or Kalidasa. All this may help the mind to 
 grow, though it may also dwarf the imagina- 
 tion and turn a good brain into a mere 
 reservoir for roots and terminations. But a 
 partial knowledge of a dozen literatures is not 
 equal in real effect to a thorough acquaintance 
 with Latin, Greek, and one's own language. 
 A man does not read Sanskrit in order 
 to improve his style in English, and the 
 best things are translated, so that he may 
 feed his imagination upon new scenes and 
 novel comparisons and metaphors with- 
 out wasting valuable time in acquir- 
 ing the vocabularies and learning the 
 paradigms of a tongue he will never either 
 speak or write. 
 10 
 
ford. 
 
 136 THE INFLUENCE OF BEADING 
 
 F. M. "But any one who means to make a career 
 
 Craw- f literature must read widely and must write 
 much. He must learn what other people mean 
 by their words, and must use his own words 
 in such a way as to mean something. If he 
 has a facility for rhyme, let him by all means 
 write verses, provided he does not publish 
 them, and when they are written, let him make 
 sure that every word has a meaning, and can 
 also be construed. I say rhyme, because only 
 the very greatest poets can write blank verse. 
 Bat in all cases, whether in prose or poetry, 
 let the writer be quite sure of what he intends 
 to say before putting pen to paper. There is, 
 I believe, no greater fallacy than trusting to 
 inspiration, except that of believing that a 
 certain mood is necessary for writing. Ninety- 
 nine hundredths of the best literary work is 
 done by men who write to live, who know that 
 they must write, and who so write, whether 
 the weather is fine or rainy, whether they like 
 their breakfast or not, whether they are hot or 
 cold, whether they are in love, happily or un- 
 happily, with women or with themselves. Of 
 course, a man who has lived by his pen for 
 years, frids out by experience the hours for 
 
ON LITERARY STYLE. 137 
 
 working which suit him best ; but a beginner p j^ % 
 should be methodical. He should go to his Craw- 
 desk as any other workman goes to his work, ' or ' 
 after breakfast ; rest and eat in the middle of 
 the day, and work again in the afternoon. He 
 should never begin by writing at night, unless 
 he is obliged to do so. He will, of course, often 
 sit at the table an hour or more without 
 writing a word, but if he will only think 
 conscientiously of what he meant to do, he 
 will find the way to do it. The evening is the 
 time to read, and the night is the time to 
 sleep. A literary man should take exercise, 
 but no more than is necessary for health. lb 
 is vastly better for the brain to rest too little 
 than to practise athletics too much. Hard 
 rowing, excessive walking and running, exhaust 
 the brain as much as the body. I speak with 
 knowledge, for I have done more physical w r ork 
 than most men in my time, and I do not 
 believe it ever did me any good. All this 
 sounds very small, and yet it has a great 
 importance. Athletics have been overdone 
 in our day, and moderation in all things is 
 disagreeable, and sounds tame to strong men. 
 A man would perhaps prolong his life by living 
 
138 THE INFLUENCE OF READING 
 
 jg m m. like a ploughman, but be would not develop 
 
 Craw- hi s intelligence. 
 
 jor . "You will probably ask me about my ideas 
 
 concerning English literature. The greatest 
 literary production in our language is the 
 translation of the Bible, and the more a man 
 reads it the better he will write English. It 
 contains more good strong words, more ideas 
 and better grammar, than any book with 
 which I am acquainted. I am not a par- 
 ticularly devout person, though I am a good 
 Roman Catholic, and I do not recommend 
 the Bible from any religious reason. I 
 distinctly dislike the practice of learning texts f 
 without any regard to the context, merely as 
 maxims, and I dislike the quoting of them 
 even more. But if we were English Brahmans, 
 and believed nothing contained therein, I 
 should still maintain that the Bible should be 
 the first study for a literary man. Then the 
 great poets, Shakespeare, Milton, Pope, and 
 the rest. For my part I do not like Words- 
 worth. He was certainly the least inspired 
 of the great poets. I have read him, however, 
 as a matter of duty. Shakespeare above all«is 
 important. I abhor this hundred-book talk in 
 
ON LITEEAEY STYLE. 139 
 
 the newspapers and magazines. A literary j? M m 
 man should read thousands of books, and any Craw- 
 other person had better read what pleases him J 
 best, or what bears most upon his profession, 
 if he has one. A course of Walter Scott does 
 more good than much pottering, and 
 Macaulay's works, read sceptically if you 
 please, will form a better style and a better 
 intelligence than many scattered extracts 
 from a long list of writers. There are certain 
 great works, like the Bible and Shakespeare, 
 which cannot be read too often. There are 
 others which should be read, but for which a 
 couple of evenings ought to be enough. 
 
 " My last word must be the same as in all 
 other questions of success, the hardest word 
 of all for people of imagination — work. Liter- 
 ature is a laborious profession ; the competition 
 is enormous ; the progress of the beginner slow. 
 But it is a good profession and may be made a 
 noble one ; the prizes are great and many too ; 
 the glory, once in a century, undying. We do 
 not know who that one famous man will be, 
 but we do positively know that he will be one 
 who has worked harder than most of his fellows. 
 Hard work is not the whole secret, but it is 
 
140 THE INFLUENCE OF READING 
 
 j? m. half of it, at all events, and a half that lies 
 
 Craw- 
 ford. 
 
 in every man s power. 
 
 Justin Justin M'Carthy, the historian, novelist, 
 
 M'Car- and statesman, is an author whose work is 
 y% eminently readable by reason of its pic- 
 
 turesque and attractive style. He says, 
 " I was always, from my childhood, fond of 
 reading, and I took very early to the great 
 masters of English — to Shakespeare, and all 
 the Elizabethan dramatists ; to Addison and 
 Steele ; to Johnson and Burke. I loved 
 Shakespeare, somehow, before I could possibly 
 have understood half his plots ; and I found 
 myself revelling in some of Burke's writings 
 at a time when I hardly knew what he was 
 writing about. I also loved the Greek and 
 Roman classics, and could, when a mere boy 
 of ten or twelve, read Greek and Latin with a 
 fearful fluency, which I look back to now with 
 a certain envy, when I find that I have to go at 
 a slow pace through a page of Sophocles, and 
 like to take my time over Lucretius. But 
 I never studied composition. Early in life it 
 fell to my lot unexpectedly to have to make a 
 living for myself and others ; and I soon tried 
 
ON LITERARY STYLE. 141 
 
 writing ; and you are kind enough to say I have Justin 
 not altogether failed." *- 
 
 " I suppose reading and writing come by Andrew 
 nature," writes Andrew Lang; "certainly I ** 
 never tried to acquire any particular skill be- 
 yond doing composition and translation from 
 Greek and Latin. But I am very glad that 
 this unpremeditated art has been lucky enough 
 to please you. For the rest, I think Thackeray, 
 Fielding, and Swift are about the best modern 
 English authors for a young person to read, so 
 far as manner goes." 
 
 A. W. Kinglake, the historian of the ^. w > 
 Crimean War, says : " I never learnt English j a fa 
 grammar ; but the five or six years of Eton 
 discipline, with enforced composition in Latin, 
 may have afterwards helped me when writing 
 in my native tongue. I remember once laugh- 
 ing at that Eton part of my education, when 
 Thackeray interposed, saying, ' It has made 
 you what you are.' " 
 
 Grant Allen, the author of a few most Grant 
 readable novels and several popular scientific efU 
 
142 THE INFLUENCE OF BEADING 
 
 Grant works, says : " For style, I attach much impor- 
 Aden. tance to the average classical education. I 
 was first in Mod.s at Oxford, and afterwards 
 Composition Master at several public schools. 
 Latin verse and prose, and careful translation 
 from the classics, necessitate much picking 
 and choosing of words, much minute attention 
 to phrase and location. Then I wrote scientific 
 articles, and as these, though on dry subjects, 
 were meant to be popular, this taught me the 
 art of looking out deliberately for the most 
 graphic and interesting ways of putting things. 
 I have also, of course, dabbled in English 
 verse. I never write even a newspaper article 
 now without going over it three or four times, 
 looking for faults, strengthening sentences, 
 substituting strong or vivid adjectives for 
 weak ones, and putting picturesque verbs in 
 the place of the verb ' to be,' and other feeble- 
 nesses. I go over separately for various 
 specific defects, and last of all satisfy my ear 
 as to the ring of each separate sentence. 
 Labour — incessant labour, gives the appear- 
 ance of ease." 
 
 Marston Westland Makston, the dramatist and 
 
ON LITERARY STYLE. 143 
 
 poet, writes : "I was from boyhood a great W, 
 reader. In classics I was very conversant with Marston. 
 Homer, iEsctrylus, and Sophocles, also with 
 Virgil and Ovid. I did not then relish Horace 
 so much as I have done in maturerlife. About 
 twelve years of age I knew much of Shake- 
 speare by heart. ' Don Quixote ' and ' The 
 Arabian Nights' afforded me intense delight, as 
 did also the Waverley Novels. A year or two 
 later I began to appreciate Milton, and I also 
 then found rare pleasure in the speeches of 
 great English orators, of Burke in particular ; 
 in the writings and sermons of great divines, of 
 Jeremy Taylor, and in our own day, of Chal. 
 mers, Canon Melvill, Kobert Hall, &c. What 
 style I have has undoubtedly been fostered and 
 developed by this wide reading. As to com- 
 position, the chief rules I have laid down for 
 myself are to avoid superfluous expressions, 
 to choose epithets carefully and use them 
 sparingly, and to frame sentences neither so 
 long as to be cumbrous, nor so short as to 
 destroy continuity." 
 
 Herman Merivale is perhaps best known JT. 
 
 as one of our most popular living dramatists, Meri- 
 vale. 
 
144 THE INFLUENCE OF BEADING 
 
 H. but he is also a very true and genuine poet, 
 
 Men- an( j a p rose writer who always wields a grace- 
 ful and facile pen. He says : " Eeally, I hardly 
 know. You credit me, rightly or wrongly, with 
 what I value most, a knowledge of my beloved 
 English. If I possess it, I owe it first to the 
 despised classics, to a loving acquaintance with 
 Homer and Herodotus, with Sophocles and 
 Aristophanes, with Horace and Juvenal — and 
 so may it be ! If I might venture to quarrel 
 with the inevitable classical teaching, it would 
 be with the hard-and-fast line which forces a 
 classical scholar to read his Aristotle and 
 Thucydides when the first is to him a crabbed 
 and awkward philosopher, the second an 
 unintelligible historian who didn't know any- 
 thing of his own beautiful language. Plato is 
 exquisite, and so is Herodotus, though we may 
 believe in neither — clear, manly, and straight- 
 forward. But my first literary love I owe to 
 such classics as I could love and understand- 
 When such classics die, English or any 
 other scholarship — the opposite to that 
 humbug ' culture ' — dies with it, in my 
 poor opinion. And I fear that, thanks 
 mainly to ' science,' — that wisdom of man 
 
ON LITERARY STYLE. 145 
 
 which is foolishness with God — it is dying, H. 
 
 and very fast. Men- 
 
 vale. 
 " Secondly, English. I was nursed and bred 
 
 by my dear, great father, and by natural taste 
 
 on my Bible, Shakespeare, Scott, and 
 
 Macaulay, &c. ; on the big men who thought 
 
 and said big things (in details right or wrong), 
 
 and in the big, straight English of the greater 
 
 ages. ' Man's life was spacious in the early 
 
 world,' says a great English writer, George 
 
 Eliot, in ' Jubal.' Give me after that the 
 
 * masters,' whatever the form may be — Bacon, 
 
 Lamb, De Quincey, Thackeray. In present 
 
 days, ' John Inglesant/ and to me, none other. 
 
 The ' one hundred books ' of Sir J. Lubbock 
 
 are to me, stuff. A man is a scholar (dear old 
 
 lost word !) if he thoroughly knows one, and 
 
 that a good one. Nobody ever knew one 
 
 hundred. Life is short, and the tbing cannot 
 
 be done. Familiarity with any one foreign 
 
 language is a great addition, and one is all any 
 
 man can grasp. I do read French — the best, 
 
 because the clearest in style and expression — 
 
 as easily as English. French is the foundation 
 
 of modern style and thought (the good French, 
 
 not Zola), and study is studiless without it." 
 
146 THE INFLUENCE OF BEADING 
 
 J. ff. J. H. Shoethouse, the author of that 
 
 Short- splendid book " John Inglesant," a romance 
 remarkable for its finish, refinement, and 
 chivalric spirit, is a writer whose literary work 
 is always marked by purity, nobility, loftiness 
 of purpose, and deep spiritual suggestiveness. 
 " My interest in English literature began very 
 early," he says, " as my motber, who was an 
 excellent reader, spared no time or pains in 
 reading to us, as soon as we could understand 
 them, any of the best writers who she thought 
 would be likely to entertain and improve us. 
 In this way we were familiar when very little 
 boys with the best parts of Sterne, Addison, 
 Johnson, Cowper, Mary Howitt, Mrs. Sher- 
 wood, &c. My father was also a man of 
 cultivated literary tastes. I do not suppose 
 that it is easy to over-estimate the influence of 
 early training and heredity in this matter. My 
 father took me from school early, about sixteen, 
 and I had ample leisure, and tutors with whom 
 I read French and Italian, besides keeping up 
 some of my Latin and Greek. My father had 
 a considerable library, and I had ample means 
 of purchasing books, and became very early 
 interested in seventeenth-century English. I 
 
ON LITER AEY STYLE. 147 
 
 mention this because I am convinced that r jy 
 seventeenth-century English — that of Jeremy Short- 
 Taylor, Sir Thomas Browne, Milton, and 0US6m 
 many others — is the foundation of a nervous, 
 subtle, fruitful style, resembling in graphic 
 fulness of thought the German more than 
 any other. It requires toning down, but 
 taken in conjunction with the study of 
 the eighteenth-century English, I do not 
 know that more is wanted. In the way of 
 general advice, I can only suggest the taking of 
 infinite pains, and the avoiding, like the plague, 
 any attempts at affectation, or the use of vulgar, 
 colloquial, penny-a-liner, or what are supposed 
 to be humorous, phrases. I would allow very 
 great latitude in the use of words. Your 
 instinct and taste must be your guide in this. 
 But, above everything, strive to form every 
 sentence so as to express your meaning in 
 the simplest way, and in accordance with the 
 easiest, plainest rules of English grammar. I 
 am not afraid of a picturesque style, or what is 
 called fine writing, provided you get both 
 grammar and sense.'* 
 
 S. 
 
 The author of " John Herring " — S. Baring- Barin<>. 
 
 Gould. 
 
Gould. 
 
 148 THE INFLUENCE OF READING 
 
 £ Gould — writes : " I hardly know myself what 
 
 Baring- has been pre-eminent in my apprenticeship in 
 literature. I began to write when quite a child, 
 and always had a turn for letters. Having 
 ever been a great reader in all departments, it 
 has led to a discrimination in style between 
 good, bad, and indifferent. My natural in- 
 clination is towards archaeology and history. 
 I have been driven to take to fiction, be- 
 cause fiction alone pays ; but I never have been 
 a novel reader. Indeed, I dislike reading a 
 novel. I turn from one with distaste, as a 
 pastrycook from tarts. Having spent most of 
 my youth abroad in France and Germany, I 
 am able to read and converse in French and 
 German without difficulty, and I can manage 
 to read without difficulty Icelandic, Swedish, 
 Danish, Italian and Spanish — all that sort of 
 thing is mere knack after one knows the key 
 languages, early Norse, German and Latin. I 
 fancy that the best training for writing good 
 English is the reading and copying out of long 
 passages from the old masters. I think French 
 helps to train to think and express oneself 
 compactly, and that German is a caution 
 against involution of sentences." 
 
ON LITERARY STYLE. 149 
 
 Even wiiere a man has no classical training, 
 or but little, even where he has no knowledge 
 of modern languages, or but little, I believe 
 that it is quite possible for him, if he deter- 
 mines to do so, to acquire an efficient style of 
 composition. What others have done he may 
 surely accomplish in the measure of his ability 
 and industry. To clothe his thoughts in 
 appropriate words, to express himself in a 
 manner interesting and agreeable to others, is 
 within the reach of any man's possibility, if 
 only he will give the necessary time and labour. 
 But the difficulty with so many aspirants after 
 literary honour is, that they get the form of 
 knowledge without the power, the dead shell 
 with no living kernel, and are satisfied with 
 what they get. They forget that thought 
 divorced from life, learning not verified by 
 experience, culture not tending to action, has 
 never yet created and sustained a true literary 
 development. Truth seen only with the eye is 
 at best superficial and unreal. Authors who 
 win a lasting reputation are not simply content 
 with observing facts and reporting them ; they 
 are those who enter into life, bear its burdens, 
 penetrate its meaning, passionately seeking 
 
150 THE INFLUENCE OF BEADING 
 
 what lies at the heart of it ; and so make 
 their work a service to the literature of the age, 
 by making it true to the everlasting realities 
 of human nature and experience. As Lord 
 Bacon says, " If you will have a tree bear 
 more fruit, it is not accomplished by what 
 you do to the boughs ; but the stirring of 
 the earth round the roots, and putting new 
 mould there, that must work it." It is the 
 radical and profound study which goes to the 
 roots of things, and is not satisfied with 
 merely filling the mind with words and phrases, 
 that Ben Jonson refers to when he says of 
 Shakespeare — 
 
 His learning savours not the school-like gloss 
 That most consists in echoing words and terms, 
 And soonest wins a man an empty name, 
 But of a poesy all rammed with life. 
 
 C. G. Cheistina G. Eossetti, perhaps foremost 
 
 Rossetti. amon g living poetesses, who writes with a 
 delightful grace and simplicity which charm us 
 without making us stop to think we are being 
 charmed, may speak to us with appropriate- 
 ness at this point. Keferring to her brother, 
 Dante Gabriel, renowned both as poet and 
 artist, she says : " His Latin and Greek were 
 
ON LITERARY STYLE. 151 
 
 those of a schoolboy, who, moreover, left C. G. 
 school — King's College — early to commence Rosseitt. 
 training as an artist. His Latin, I fancy, was 
 available in after life, his Greek not worth a 
 mention. As to living languages, he was 
 familiar with Italian and French, and not 
 quite ignorant of German. As he never 
 visited Italy, I surmise that his Italian was 
 literary rather than colloquial." Of her own 
 work, Miss Eossetti says, " It happens that my 
 style resulted not from purposed training, so 
 much as from what I may call hereditary 
 literary bias, and from constant association 
 with my clever and well-read parents. Neither 
 nursery nor schoolroom secluded their children 
 from them ; indeed, our household was too 
 small for any such separate system ; and 
 though my sister and my two brothers studied 
 more or less, of myself it may be said that I 
 picked up more than I learned. I do not 
 recollect that I was ever exercised in English 
 composition as a task, though to all of us it 
 early became more or less a delight. Perhaps 
 the nearest approach to a method I can lay 
 claim to was a distinct aim at conciseness. 
 After a while I received a hint from my sister 
 11 
 
15Z THE INFLUENCE OF EEADING 
 
 C. G. that my love of conciseness tended to make 
 Rosseth. m y wr iti Q g obscure, and I then endeavoured 
 to avoid obscurity as well as diffuseness. In 
 poetics my elder brother was my acute and 
 most helpful critic, and both prose and verse 
 I used to read aloud to my dearest mother 
 and my sister." 
 
 Edna Edna Ltall, the nom de guerre under 
 
 LyalL which Miss Ada Ellen Bayly writes, is the 
 author of several powerful stories, admirably 
 written, and revealing an individuality both 
 striking and unconventional. Their tone is 
 pure and lofty, their purpose wisely moral, 
 and their composition always graceful, and 
 sometimes rising to genuine and vivid power. 
 They can heartily be recommended to young 
 people, not only as samples of good style, 
 but also as books which cannot fail to exert 
 an ennobling influence upon the reader's heart 
 and mind. She writes, " I find it rather 
 difficult to reply to your letter as I have 
 hardly any regular rules as to writing. I 
 never went through any special training, but 
 had a good education of the ordinary kind, 
 sometimes with governesses, sometimes at 
 
ON LITEEART STYLE. 153 
 
 schools. I have always meant to write since Edna 
 I was nine or ten years old, and so used to Lyall. 
 take special interest in everything that could 
 help me in that way, except in Allen and 
 Cornwall's Grammar and Morrell's Analysis, 
 which I cordially detested, and to this very 
 day I am sorry to say I rely more upon my 
 ear than upon the rules of grammar. An 
 aunt of mine who read your letter, tells me I 
 was very much interested in a volume of 
 Blair's lectures at twelve years old, specially in 
 what he said ahout style, but I cannot say I 
 remember anything about them now. Being 
 educated for three years with a cousin older 
 than myself, I read a good many books at 
 that time which must have been far beyond 
 my powers, such as Paley and Abercrombie. 
 We were always expected on Sundays to take 
 notes of the sermons we heard. I think, per- 
 haps that was a good training. My mother 
 also always encouraged us to make extracts 
 out of any book that we specially liked, and 
 I fancy the habit is a very good one, and 
 teaches children to keep their eyes open for 
 what is really beautiful. 
 
 " As to rules in writing, I hardly know 
 
154 THE INFLUENCE OF READING 
 
 Edna what to say. Whenever I am in doubt about 
 Lyall. a sen t (311ce j rea( j ft aloud to see how it 
 sounds, and indeed, always read the whole book 
 through aloud, sometimes more than once, be- 
 fore it goes to the press. In describing things, 
 I always try to see the whole scene before 
 beginning to write it, and specially to realise 
 the colour of everything. I think it is also a 
 good plan never to use a long word when a 
 short word will do, and to cure oneself as 
 far as possible of a trick common to almost 
 every one, of using four or five adjectives 
 before a noun. For the rest, I think the only 
 way is to have something to say, and then to 
 say it as simply and straightforwardly as you 
 can. I fancy it is good to read well-written 
 books aloud to children. All Scott's novels 
 were read to us, and some of Miss Austen's 
 and Miss Edgeworth's. We were also allowed 
 to have Miss Yonge's novels when we 
 were ten or eleven, and read them again 
 and again till we almost knew them by 
 heart. After all, the great thing is con- 
 tinual practice, and continual patience, and 
 a readiness to have your faults pointed out 
 to you." 
 
ON LITEEAEY STYLE. 155 
 
 E. Lynn Linton, the author of many novels j\f rSm 
 attractive and interesting for their vividly- E. L. 
 sketched characters and the unflagging anima- 
 tion of the narrative, and also of a large 
 number of popular essays always marked by 
 careful writing and strong common sense, says 
 of herself: "When I first began to write I 
 had no notion of style. If I could get the 
 elemental principles of grammar right that 
 was all I thought of. Of grace, construction, 
 eloquence, conscious word-manipulation I had 
 not an idea. I remember the wakening to the 
 sense of style came to me from this one phrase, 
 'the solemn charity' with which one speaks of 
 the dead. That ' solemn charity ' was a ray 
 of inspiration to me ! It came to me as such 
 a fine expression ! After that I began to con- 
 sider turns of phrase and the dignity of words ; 
 and now I am almost a faddist for purity and 
 correctness. In early life I had all my own train- 
 ing to do, as we had no regular or irregular in- 
 struction. I taught myself languages as the best 
 weapon I knew of, for I had resolved to be an 
 authoress when I found that my short-sighted- 
 ness hindered my being an artist ; but the 
 style came only by very long study and obser- 
 
156 THE INFLUENCE OF EEADING 
 
 Mrs. vation, and keeping myself open to every kind 
 
 E\ L- of criticism. My early books are full to the 
 margin of defective formations. I think the 
 later ones are freer ; but my first thought is 
 always imgrammatical (most of my letters are 
 badly expressed), which necessitates laborious 
 revision of the MS. I know no better method 
 of improving the style than that of reading good 
 authors simply for the sake of their method ; 
 analysing, studying, getting to the heart of their 
 power. Read a master, and then a very poor 
 beginner, and the difference will be seen at 
 once. The beginner who says, ' Commence, 
 conclude, progress, different to, under circum- 
 stances, averse to,' who is loftily disregardful 
 of nominatives, who makes a singular verb 
 govern clauses of varying number, who is 
 frightened of and has no nerves in his own 
 language — he is a good sign-post, showing the 
 way not to go, like those old spelling books 
 which gave faulty spelling as a lesson. But 
 one is always learning ! Owing to my defective 
 ground-work of education I am always finding 
 out some new error of style or syntax of which 
 I am habitually guilty. One thing, however, I 
 do strive against— dislocation of sentences. I 
 
ON LITEBABY STYLE. 157 
 
 try to write sequentially, and not to put the Mrs. 
 natural sequence into a dislocated part of the E\ L- 
 phrase, as for example, * I am not going, I 
 don't think.' How many people form their 
 sentences in this manner, and how often one 
 wishes to be able to pull the separated parts 
 together ! " 
 
 Miss Eosa N. Caeey has had no special Miss R. 
 training for her literary work, and has used no ' arey ' 
 particular method. " In my opinion," she 
 says, "it is the greatest help in composition to 
 read the works of our best authors, as their 
 style exercises an unconscious influence, and 
 one learns to appreciate the best. It was my 
 habit as a girl to tell stories to a younger 
 sister ; one of these — ' Nellie's Memories ' — so 
 took possession of my imagination that after 
 some years I resolved to work it out. The 
 characters had lived with me so long that 
 they had become almost my personal friends. 
 In my succeeding books I have thought less of 
 the interest of the plot than of the development 
 of character, and the workings of human nature 
 under ordinary circumstances." Miss Carey's 
 novels are full of strength and tenderness. 
 
158 THE INFLUENCE OF BEADING 
 
 Mrs. C. "All my life I have lived with cultured 
 Riddell. persons who spoke good English," says Mrs. 
 Charlotte Riddell, the novelist who at one 
 time wrote under the nom de guerre of F. G. 
 TrafTord. " Further, I had the enormous ad- 
 vantage of being turned loose while very 
 young into a big library, where I grazed with- 
 out let or hindrance. If there were any weeds 
 there, they did me no harm. I never knew 
 there were any. Next, mine has been, not a 
 sorrowful life, but a life of sorrow, and sorrow 
 teaches reticence ; so perhaps trouble may 
 have given me a little strength of expression. 
 I am afraid to quote, but I think it was 
 Macaulay who said, ' The Bible and Shake- 
 speare are sufficient to form the best style,' 
 and I quite agree with this. Were I advising 
 a would-be author, I should say, Read good 
 books ; never use a long word when a short 
 one will serve ; avoid slang like a pestilence, 
 and always write your very best, feeling you 
 have an audience higher than any public — 
 which is God. ... I fancy I omitted to 
 repeat one piece of advice which was given to 
 me very early in my London experience by 
 a gentleman connected with The Saturday 
 
ON LITERARY STYLE. 159 
 
 Review in its most brilliant days, viz., ' Pat no jf rs ^ 
 check on your pen while writing, but blot Riddell. 
 freely afterwards.' " 
 
 L. Cavi- 
 eron. 
 
 Another lady novelist, Mrs. Emily Lovett Mrs.E. 
 Cameron, bears similar testimony. " I am 
 afraid that I can lay claim to no special system 
 or training in style of composition, save a 
 natural inclination towards ' scribbling,' and a 
 dangerous affection for pen and ink. But I do 
 think that a study of the best standard works 
 of fiction is the greatest help a novel writer 
 can have towards the improvement of style. 
 I have always considered Trollope's books quite 
 perfect as regards grammatical English, and 
 Jane Austen's delineations of character and 
 refinement of feeling have long been my beau 
 ideal of all that is good in authorship. 
 Whenever I have the time I refresh my mind 
 by the study of these and other great writers, 
 such as George Eliot, the Brontes, and of 
 living writers, Mrs. Oliphant, with ardent 
 admiration, and I feel sure with some profit 
 to my humble self." 
 
 Miss 
 Still another lady story-writer, Miss F, M, 
 
 Peard. 
 
160 THE INFLUENCE OF BEADING 
 
 Miss Frances M. Peard, refers to the influence of 
 ^ ^} good reading upon literary style. " Writing 
 grew out of a wish to write," she says, " and 
 without any determination to make it a pro- 
 fession. From the time when I was a very 
 young child I was allowed to read Scott, 
 Shakespeare, Spenser, &c, with absolute 
 freedom ; and perhaps a familiarity with such 
 writers teaches even a child to feel, if uncon- 
 sciously, the difference between bad and good 
 English. Without reaching a high level of 
 style oneself, it makes one, all through life, 
 turn away from what is inferior. I fancy that, 
 specially when one is writing oneself, it is well 
 only to read books in which language and 
 style form useful models, and to avoid those 
 with mannerisms. As for composition, I have 
 as little to say as with regard to style. My 
 own plan is, I am afraid, too vague. I get a 
 rough general idea in my head, but I find I 
 must get my characters alive and set them 
 going before I can be clear what they are to 
 do, and their actions are not what I at first 
 foresaw." 
 
 R. Bu- Bobert Buchanan, poet, novelist, dramatist, 
 chanan. 
 
ON LITERARY STYLE. 161 
 
 a man of great and diversified gifts, writes: "If R. Bu- 
 my style has any merit it is due to the early chanan. 
 study of English dramatic poetry, particularly 
 that of the Elizabethan period. Up to the 
 age of twenty, a man thinks of style alone, 
 having as yet nothing to say, and such was 
 my case. But when I found I possessed some 
 thoughts to utter, I discovered that the 
 English poets were my best and only guides 
 as to how to utter them." 
 
 William Black, whose early stories, pure, William 
 simple, deeply-interesting, and nobly written, 
 are favourites custom cannot stale, says : " In 
 such a matter I shouldn't imagine that the 
 experience of any one person would be of 
 much use to anybody else. If young people 
 want to acquire the art of writing English 
 simply and naturally, they may safely be re- 
 commended the masters of the tongue — Tenny- 
 son and Thackeray for choice — and also inces- 
 sant practice. But if their ambition this way 
 is connected with a wish to enter the already 
 overcrowded ranks of the literary profession, 
 then it would be the truest kindness to advise 
 them to stay where they are." 
 
162 THE INFLUENCE OF BEADING 
 
 q m. " I can only tell you," writes George 
 
 Fenn. Manville Fenn, " that, beyond the ordinary 
 education that one acquires in early life, I 
 went through no special preparation whatever, 
 and that I can only suppose any facility I may 
 possess in composition to be the result of 
 constant writing out the ideas that have more 
 or less impressed me in my career. Style I 
 take to be naturally acquired, imperceptibly 
 so to speak, from reading largely the best 
 works of our best men. Pray do not attribute 
 the following to egotism and conceit when I 
 say that I believe the power is innate, just as 
 to one is given a melodious voice, to another a 
 handsome personal appearance, to another the 
 power to speak in public forcibly and well. 
 Of course, these gifts can be largely developed, 
 but I am sure that the germs must be there, 
 or the cultivation would be a sorry affair. In 
 my own case I was, as a boy, thrown very much 
 on my own resources, and books were, I may 
 say, my only friends. Consequently, I devoured 
 everything I came across, good, bad and 
 indifferent; but still, I naturally possessed a 
 great love of reading. ... I can only add 
 that, before I begin to write a book, I think 
 
ON LITEEAEY STYLE. 163 
 
 over it for some time pretty deeply; try to G. M. 
 realise and individualise my characters, and -Penn. 
 then, after making voluminous notes, try to 
 put myself in the place of each person in my 
 story, and make him or her speak and think 
 as would be the case in the circumstances 
 in which the said character is placed." 
 
 Joseph Hatton, a well-known writer of very Joseph 
 versatile power, thinks there is no royal road & atton - 
 to the formation of style in composition, and 
 that, whatever study we may give to the sub- 
 ject, it depends upon an earnest desire to write 
 because we have something to say. " You are 
 good enough to compliment me," he says, 
 " on my apparently easy method of composi- 
 tion, and you ask me for the secret of it, and 
 my experiences in the formation of the art of 
 writing well and picturesquely. When I was 
 very young I was a great reader of books of 
 travel, and the novels of Defoe, Smollett, 
 Cooper, Hugo, and Dickens. My father was 
 a newspaper proprietor. When I had resolved 
 not to become a lawyer, but to write for the 
 newspaper press, or for any other press that 
 would print my work, I read Macaulay, and 
 
104 THE INFLUENCE OF EEADING 
 
 Joseph De Quineey, The Ti?nes, and all kinds of descrip- 
 Hatton, ^ive ar ticles, for the purposes of journalistic 
 style. Having mastered what seemed to me to 
 be the secret of Macaulay's simplicity and 
 strength, I invariably kept him in mind when 
 I was engaged upon an essay, journalistic or 
 otherwise, and I think De Quineey influenced 
 me in the construction of sentences, and in 
 the arrangement of my facts and ideas. The 
 chief secret of Macaulay's style, I believe, lies 
 in setting forth in every sentence either a fact 
 or an idea. The most delightful examples of 
 literary method are to be found in the 
 'tremendous opposites ' : Addison, Carlyle ; 
 Dryden, Emerson ; Hume, Buskin ; Haw- 
 thorne, and Thackeray. 
 
 " You ask me what is the best way to form 
 a good literary style. Read the best authors, 
 not only for themselves, but for the purpose 
 of trying to understand their methods of 
 composition ; fill yourself with knowledge ; 
 observe men and things ; read the newspapers ; 
 travel ; form your own opinions of the world 
 and its doings. When you write be sure you 
 have something to say, something worth 
 describing, some opinion worth expressing. 
 
ON LITEEAEY STYLE. 165 
 
 Before you sit down make up your mind what Joseph 
 you are going to write, and then set forth your Hatton. 
 views, your experiences, or your opinions in the 
 simplest and most direct language you can 
 command. If you have individuality of cha- 
 racter striking enough to make itself felt in 
 any direction, it will come out in your work. 
 When you have had sufficient practice to have 
 mastered the habit of composition and to 
 express your ideas, you will find you have 
 formed a characteristic style of your own, and 
 that writing will soon become for you a mere 
 question of having something to say. But 
 always remember that next to the importance 
 of your matter is the consideration of the 
 artistic method of placing it before the reader. 
 The style marks the man. Let your sentences 
 not only contain facts or ideas ; let them scan 
 well, and be euphonious in the reading. 
 Satisfy yourself that your work is artistic as 
 well as interesting, and that, however laboured 
 it may be in the preparation, it reads as if it 
 had been what many incompetent writers call 
 1 dashed off.' Nothing worth reading is 
 ' dashed off ' without much previous pre- 
 paration. If you have thought slowly you 
 
166 THE INFLUENCE OF BEADING 
 
 Joseph may write quickly. There are many works on 
 Hatton. gtyle, old and new; I have found none of 
 them of much service, they are generally 
 pedantic, and sometimes written by persons 
 who cannot write the pure English they dis- 
 cuss and illustrate. 
 
 " I have given you in these few lines a 
 glance at my own experience in the formation 
 of style, and I do not say I have solved the 
 problem, nor even suggested how you can 
 solve it ; but I have responded to your inquiries 
 as best I can in so brief a space, taking no 
 note, as you see, of the value of an early 
 classical training and a knowledge of the best 
 poetry. So far as the great masters of the 
 ancient tongues are concerned, I have become 
 acquainted with them, as a rule, second-hand, 
 but I venture to think that much time is often 
 wasted in the study of dead languages, which 
 modern scholars have made alive for all who 
 care to study the literature thereof in trans- 
 lations that, I imagine, contain the very 
 essence of the originals, with the additional 
 advantage to the student that they are 
 frequently fine examples of English, pure and 
 undefiled. In conclusion, and once more in 
 
ON LITERARY STYLE. 167 
 
 reference to myself and my work, I would like Joseph 
 to say I have always been a miscellaneous a on ' 
 reader, from the Bible and ' the Fathers,' and 
 even down to Beecher and Ingersoll ; from 
 Shakespeare to Whitman; from Plutarch fio 
 the Newgate Calendar ; from ScoU go 
 Ouida ; from Keats, Coleridge, Pope, Words- 
 worth, Byron, to the ' Poet's Corner ' of the 
 local newspaper ; from Tennyson to — well, 
 whatever minor poet you may select, for I 
 have read most of them ; from ' Don Quixote ' 
 to ' She ' ; from Dickens to his latest imitator ; 
 and I have always loved books of travel and 
 biography. Who does not know and revel in 
 Wallace, Stanley, Smiles, Boswell, and all the 
 rest of the great company of travellers and 
 biographers, ancient and modern ? " 
 
 Aubeey de Yeee, a poet, the son of a poet, A* & 
 a Eoman Catholic, a lover of the old order, a ere \ 
 born idealist, an author of elevated and refined 
 style, writes to say : " My attention was much 
 drawn to the subject in my boyhood by several 
 scholarly friends, who lamented the decline of 
 style in recent days, and by some remarks in 
 
 Hare's 'Guesses at Truth,' and the works of 
 12 
 
168 THE INFLUENCE OF BEADING 
 
 A, de Walter Savage Landor. The latter and 
 V erCu Cardinal Newman appear to me to be the two 
 chief masters of style in our time, and I have 
 read them carefully for that merit, as well as 
 for other merits higher still. Among other 
 modern writers I should name Charles Lamb, 
 Coleridge, Shelley, and Southey, as especially 
 good in style ; while I cannot sympathise with 
 the admiration often expressed for Macaulay, 
 any more than for Gibbon, who seems to 
 me to mingle the pompous and the epigram- 
 matic with a very offensive self-consciousness, 
 though, of course, not without much power. 
 My attention was early directed to the grand 
 style of the old English divines, especially 
 Hooker, Jeremy Taylor, and Barrow, whose 
 marvellously long sentences, with their mag- 
 netic onward flow, I much admired, as well 
 as the skill and care with which they always 
 extricated the meaning from the labyrinths ol 
 multitudinous clauses. Still more wonderful 
 in these respects I thought some of Milton's 
 prose works ; while, of course, I admired also 
 those more compact and yet hardly less stately 
 writers of English literature's silver age, such 
 as Dryden, Swift, Bolingbroke, and Berkeley. 
 
ON LITEKARY STYLE. 169 
 
 " As regards education in style, I should A. de 
 suppose that nothing can help the young more * er€% 
 than a careful and systematic study of its 
 greatest masters ; for we learn to write as we 
 learn to speak, chiefly through sympathy and 
 unconscious imitation. Landor has said that 
 1 Style is part of a man's character.' It at least 
 shares much in the character of his intellect ; 
 and to write in a noble style a man should learn 
 to think habitually with force and clearness, 
 retaining, even when his thought becomes most 
 impassioned, a vigilant mental self-posses- 
 sion — a thing singularly wanting in the style 
 of Carlyle, who seems never able to rouse 
 up his faculties until he has flung himself 
 into a condition, not only of energy, but of 
 vehement excitement, a condition in which the 
 language overruns the thought and tramples it 
 down. 
 
 " A good style is, of course, the result of care, 
 but the care should be of that quick, habitual 
 sort which does not flurry or frighten the 
 writer, and it should be rather negative than 
 positive ; that is, it should proceed from a 
 conscientious desire not to sin against gram- 
 mar, not from a vain-glorious wish to excel. 
 
170 THE INFLUENCE OF READING 
 
 A. de Probably the finest passages have been written 
 Vere. without a consciousness that they were fine. 
 Many writers seem to miss the mark from too 
 great eagerness to carry some one particular 
 merit to an unprecedented height. Some fancy 
 that only Saxon words should be used ; others 
 will only tolerate those derived from the 
 Latin; the fact being that the former class 
 imparts strength, like short sentences, and the 
 latter grace and dignity, like long sentences, 
 and consequently that both classes are needed, 
 each in its place. A young writer should be 
 well acquainted with some works exposing 
 incorrectness of style in its very numerous 
 forms. One book that I looked over lately, 
 ' Deacon's Composition and. Style,' surprised 
 me by the number of errors it detected even in 
 our classic writers. I was also surprised to find 
 how much I had myself to correct, when, quite 
 lately, Macmillan brought out for me in two 
 volumes, * Essays, Chiefly on Poetry/ in which 
 I had collected contributions of mine to our 
 chief periodicals in past years." 
 
 /^ 
 
 John Addington Symonds, the author of 
 
 Symonds. a fine study of the Renaissance in Italy and 
 
ON LITERARY STYLE. 171 
 
 other scholarly works, is marked as a writer J. A. 
 by culture of rare distinction, critical ability, of Symonds. 
 signal penetration, and a literary sense of the 
 very finest. " I was always fond of reading 
 and of learning poetry by heart," he says, 
 "and rny father, a man of very cultivated 
 mind, used to read select passages from the 
 best authors aloud to us. In this way I heard, 
 while yet a boy, much of Milton's, Jeremy 
 Taylor's, Sir Thomas Browne's, Lamb's, 
 Landor's, and Bacon's prose. I was educated 
 at Harrow. But there I did not distinguish 
 myself at all in English composition. I failed 
 signally to win either English essay or English 
 poem. Yet I think I must have been forming 
 a style unconsciously ; for I came the other 
 day upon a diatribe in MS. of that period 
 which seemed to me not without merit of a 
 rhetorical kind. It was written for my own 
 amusement on the conceptions made severally 
 by Homer, Virgil, and Dante regarding the 
 state of souls in the next world. The influ- 
 ences of De Quincey, of whom I was a diligent 
 student then, is apparent. During my time at 
 Oxford I practised writing assiduously, and 
 began to feel that I had some power. Hardly 
 
172 THE INFLUENCE OF READING 
 
 J. A. a day passed without my composing something 
 Symonds* { n verse or prose for my own pleasure ; while 
 I also spent great pains upon a weekly essay 
 for my tutor, Professor jowett. His observa- 
 tions, and the criticisms my father occasionally 
 gave me, were extremely helpful. They checked 
 my tendency to a vague and sentimental 
 rhetoric. 
 
 " Great facility of expression has always been 
 my bane, combined with a natural partiality 
 for sensuous imagery. I attribute any degree 
 of strength and purity of style to which I may 
 subsequently have attained in no small measure 
 — (1) to the composition of essays on very meta- 
 physical topics for so good a critic as Professor 
 Jowett ; (2) to the habit of translation from the 
 Greek. I was fortunate in enjoying the inti- 
 mate friendship of Professor Conington, who 
 also helped me by sound advice. His own 
 style was clear and vigorous, without affecta- 
 tion. He laughed me out of many of my con- 
 ceits and prettinesses. All this while I kept 
 on composing English verses; the style modelled, 
 by sympathy rather than calculation, upon 
 Tennyson and Keats. But Conington was 
 convinced that I could not be a poet, and his 
 
ON LITEEAEY STYLE. 173 
 
 discouraging influence prevented me from J. A. 
 studying poetry with system. The only wrong Symonds. 
 direction I am aware of having received from 
 any one was from him, when he once said : 
 * Your forte lies in poetical prose.' I took the 
 hint too literally ; and when I felt inclined to 
 write verse, used often to compel myself to 
 prose expression, the result of which was that 
 I got into a hybrid habit of writing which has 
 given offence to many of my critics. I ought 
 to add that from the age of eighteen to 
 twenty-four I kept a diary, chiefly for the 
 description of impressions made on me by 
 landscapes and works of art. This I am 
 quite sure helped to form my own style 
 more than all else. The emotional passages 
 of the diary are in verse, the descriptive 
 and critical passages in prose. If you happen 
 to know my books of ' Italian Sketches/ you 
 will be interested to know that they are 
 largely extracts from this journal. 
 
 " On leaving Oxford I began two kinds of 
 study, which had a powerful effect upon my 
 style. One was writing for The Saturday 
 Beview ; I was just twenty-one when I first 
 became a regular contributor to that periodical, 
 
174 THE INFLUENCE OF BEADING 
 
 J. A. The other was a systematic reading of the 
 Symonds. Elizabethan dramatists. In the course of 
 three years I read them from beginning to 
 end, and wrote a complete series of studies 
 on them, which I refrained from publishing, 
 feeling the work too immature. I reached the 
 age of thirty-one before I published a book 
 under my own name. Severe illness spoiled 
 for me the years between twenty-three and 
 thirty. I could not use my eyes, and broke 
 down in the lungs. But I am of opinion that 
 the enforced inaction of that period was not 
 an entire evil. It made me reflect more, and 
 checked my natural fluency ; although it 
 prevented me from acquiring exact knowledge 
 and prosecuting etudes fortes at the time when 
 the intellect is best fitted for such work. To 
 sum up. My training in style has consisted in 
 (1) early habits of reading, with love, for 
 pleasure, in a desultory way, without the 
 sense of obligation ; (2) sustained practice 
 in several kinds of writing, partly under the 
 eyes of strict criticism, partly in journalism, 
 partly with a view to arriving at self-expression, 
 and to recording impressions with fidelity, 
 while they were pert and present to the mind, 
 
ON LITERARY STYLE. 175 
 
 in diaries. But it has never been a systematic j m a. 
 or deliberate training. Symonds 
 
 " Cicero's motto, Nulla dies sine lined, is the 
 first precept for a would-be .author. In the 
 second place, he should learn to respect the 
 criticism of his elders, even though it goes 
 against his own tastes. Although it may not 
 be possible to teach style, it is certainly 
 possible to direct the young by sound advice 
 from mannerisms and affectations." 
 
 Professor James Bryce says, " I have never Prof. J. 
 made any study of style, or read any writer -" r y ce * 
 with a view to the formation or polishing of 
 style. Sometimes it has occurred to me that 
 a man might much improve himself by this ; 
 but I have never had leisure to study the 
 masters of style, or in writing to think of any- 
 thing except how most clearly to state what 
 one had to say. However, I fully believe 
 that the right thing for any one who 
 would write well is to con over the best 
 masters of English, especially the six or eight 
 of our best poets, and I heartily wish I had 
 done so, being confirmed in this view by a very 
 bright and sensible article by E. L. Stevenson. 
 
176 THE INFLUENCE OF BEADING 
 
 Prof. J, in a little volume of his well worth reading. 
 
 Bryce. ^ n ^ -j- j mow ^ ia ^ three or four other of our 
 most acceptable writers have modelled them- 
 selves on English classics, such as Burke and 
 Milton. Of living writers, the best model, 
 though one whose art it would be difficult to 
 catch, seems to me to be Cardinal Newman. 
 There is, of course, the danger that a student 
 may become a mere imitator, and provoke the 
 annoyance of his readers by reproducing 
 mannerisms rather than merits. The study 
 of a number of masterpieces, equally care- 
 fully, would check this. The one practical 
 suggestion I can make from personal experi- 
 ence i«, that it is impossible to take too much 
 pains over arranging the heads of a subject 
 before sitting down to write. The whole 
 progress of the argument ought to be clear and 
 consecutive in the mind before the pen sets 
 to work. Time is saved in the long run." 
 
 Peter " I am very far from satisfied," says Peteb 
 
 Bayne. Bayne, "with my own manner of writing, and 
 
 should have real difficulty in making up my 
 
 mind, with anything like dogmatic decision, 
 
 as to what influences have done me good and 
 
ON LITER AEY STYLE. 177 
 
 what influences have done me harm. So Peter 
 many are the classically admirable masters of Ba y ne - 
 English style that I shrink from naming 
 any, but would advise the student to shun 
 beiDg dominated by any one writer, however 
 fascinating or however forcible and clear. 
 After all, I am constrained to fall back on the 
 commonplace remark that the art of composi- 
 tion, whatever may be its importance, comes 
 in the second place, not the first. Kead 
 diligently and comprehensively, think with 
 care and patience, know accurately, feel 
 sincerely, then write unaffectedly, and you will 
 write as well as nature and God have fitted 
 and intended you to write." 
 
 A few testimonies and experiences from 
 across the Atlantic may not be without some 
 special interest. 
 
 Sarah Orne Jewett is one of the best Miss 
 
 S O 
 literary artists amongst the American writers r' tt 
 
 of short stories. Her composition is simple, 
 yet full of force ; while the pictures she paints 
 of village life are inspired by a deep-felt sym- 
 pathy with the common people. " I hardly 
 
178 THE INFLUENCE OF BEADING 
 
 Miss know what to say about my early plans," she 
 S. O. writes, " and especially about any definite 
 study that I gave to the business of writing. 
 I was not a studious child, though always a 
 great reader, and what individuality I have in 
 my manner of writing must be a natural 
 growth and not the result of study or con- 
 scious formation. Of course, at one time, I, 
 like all young people, was possessed of great 
 admiration for different authors, but I do not 
 remember trying to copy their style in any 
 way, excepting that I remember thinking that 
 if I could write just as Miss Thackeray did in 
 her charming stories I should be perfectly 
 happy. I tried to model some of my own 
 early work on her plan. I see very little like- 
 ness, I am sorry to say, as I read it over now ! 
 I believe very much in reading English books 
 like Walton's and others of his time ; though 
 I think I have learned as much from the telling 
 of simple stories and character sketches in 
 the '■ Sentimental Journey ' as from anything. 
 They were great favourites with my father, 
 and were easily impressed on my mind ; the 
 monks, and the starling, and the peasants' 
 dance in particular." 
 
ON LITEKAEY STYLE. 179 
 
 Geoege William Curtis, widely known in G. W. 
 the United States by his delightful books of Curtis ' 
 travel, character sketches, and stories, and 
 known to English readers by his bright and read- 
 able contributions to Harper's Magazine in " The 
 Editor's Easy Chair," says of himself : " What- 
 ever my style of writing may be it is the result 
 of natural selection, and not of special design. 
 The first author who interested me deeply, 
 after ' Kobinson Crusoe ' and the usual chil- 
 dren's books of fifty and sixty years ago, was 
 Washington Irving. Then came Walter Scott 
 and Charles Lamb, Keats, Shelley, and Words- 
 worth, then Bacon and Emerson, Burke 
 and Carlyle, Thackeray and Hawthorne. But 
 rhetoric or composition I have never studied. 
 My long connection with the Press has been of 
 the utmost service to me as a writer. For 
 many years I have been the chief editorial 
 writer upon Harper's Weekly, a paper which 
 takes part in political discussion, and the ne- 
 cessity of making myself intelligible to the 
 rapid reader in a comparatively short space 
 has been probably the best training I could 
 have had* Fortunately I have no taste foi 
 what seems to me the frequent extravagance of 
 
180 THE INFLUENCE OF EEADING 
 
 G. W. newspaper writing, and therefore I have easily 
 Curtis. avoided it. Every young writer should re- 
 member that bigness is not greatness, nor fury 
 force. Perhaps, after all, the style is the man, 
 and we can only say with Byron's Deformed, 
 • I was born so, mother.' " 
 
 R. H. Eichakd Heney Stoddaed, one of the fore- 
 
 Stod- most professional literary men, and one who 
 has done excellent service to American letters, 
 writes: "If I write good English I can only say 
 it is because I have long read the best English 
 books, the masters of our noble language ; and, 
 furthermore, because those amongst us who 
 speak or think before they write are more careful 
 than the majority are in using their native 
 speech. Beyond reading great English books 
 I have no training. I try to think clearly, and 
 to put what I think directly and as strongly as 
 I may. Whether I write rapidly or slowly 
 depends partly upon the mood of the moment, 
 and partly upon my knowledge or ignorance 
 of what I purpose to write about. My idea 
 of good writing is that it ought to possess all 
 the qualities of good talking and surpass 
 them." 
 
ON LITEEAEY STYLE. 181 
 
 Feancis Paekman, the historian, " whose Francis 
 
 literary life-theme has heen the relations of P ark - 
 
 . nicin* 
 
 the French Colonists of North America with 
 
 the English and Indians," says : " When four- 
 teen or fifteen years old I had the good li ck 
 to be under the direction of Mr. William 
 Russell, a teacher of excellent literary tastes 
 and acquirements. It was his constant care 
 to teach the boys of his class to write good and 
 easy English. One of his methods was to 
 give us lists of words to which we were 
 required to furnish as many synonyms as 
 possible, distinguishing their various shades of 
 meaning. He also encouraged us to write 
 translations, in prose and verse, from Virgil 
 and Homer, insisting on idiomatic English, 
 and criticising in his gentle way anything 
 flowery and bombastic. At this time I read a 
 good deal of poetry, and much of jt remains 
 verbatim in my memory. As it included 
 Milton and other classics, I am confident 
 that it has been of service to me in the matter 
 of style. Later on, when in college and after 
 leaving it, I read English prose classics for the 
 express purpose of improving myself in the 
 language. These I take to be the chief 
 
182 THE INFLUENCE OF BEADING 
 
 Francis sources of such success as I have had in this 
 
 Park- particular." 
 man. 
 
 E. E. Edwaed Eveeett Hale, the author of 
 
 Hale ' that remarkable story, "The Man Without 
 a Country," which teaches so eloquently and 
 pathetically the lesson of love for one's 
 country, is an American preacher, essayist, 
 and novelist of considerable influence and 
 popularity in the United States. He is the 
 recognised enemy of routine, pedantry, and 
 dulness, but his work is marred by a too 
 constant sacrifice of reality in the effort to 
 be sparkling and readable. " I think that 
 when I entered college I wrote as bad English 
 as a boy could write," he says. " But I was 
 then under tbe charge of Professor Edward 
 T. Channing, a brother of the celebrated 
 Dr. Channing. He read our crude themes, 
 corrected them, and made us sit by his side 
 while he improved them. He laughed at 
 the bombast, struck out the superfluities 
 rigorously, and compelled us to say what we 
 really knew and really thought. I was after- 
 wards, in my father's newspaper office, obliged 
 to do one and another thing which the son of 
 
ON LITERARY STYLE. 183 
 
 an editor-in-chief, the manager of his own E. E. 
 paper, could be asked to do. There is nothing Hale. 
 in the work of a daily paper to which I have 
 not had to put my hand. My father wrote 
 admirable English, and kept a good oversight 
 of the English of his . subordinates. I once 
 brought to him a very laudatory book notice. 
 I was but sixteen years old. ' It will do,' he 
 said, ' but you had better leave out all the 
 verys. 1 I think the training a man gets when 
 the compositors wait in a file at the door to 
 take his copy, page by page, as he writes it, 
 is excellent drill in accuracy. In early life 
 I happened to have in my own room some 
 1,500 books of modern French — the French of 
 what the French call their Renaissance, of the 
 Eestoration, and of Louis Philippe's time, De 
 Maistre, George Sand, Hugo's earlier books, 
 and so on. I read them a great deal, and I 
 can detect the influence of them in my own 
 English. But I have never known but one 
 reader who ever observed this. I have always 
 tried to write Saxon rather than Latin, in 
 short words rather than long, and specially 
 in short sentences. You do not ask for siich 
 details. I have gone into them at some 
 
 13 
 
184 THE INFLUENCE OF READING 
 
 E. E. length in a paper, * How to Write,' in a little 
 Hale. book ca i led < How To Do It.' " 
 
 Sir M. ■*■ w *^ c l° se * n i s chapter by a capital letter 
 
 Monier from an English author of considerable 
 Wil- eminence in his own special sphere of research, 
 Sir Monier Monier Williams. "I attribute 
 a great deal of such success in authorship as I 
 have attained to early training, combined with 
 an intense desire to succeed and a kind of 
 dogged perseverance and power of persistence 
 with which I am naturally gifted. I owe 
 much to the late Dr. Major, who was head- 
 master of King's College School during the 
 time I was there — at a critical period of boy- 
 hood, from fifteen to seventeen. I was in 
 his upper sixth class, and he made us all 
 write an English essay, or Latin prose 
 essay, or English verses, on a given subject 
 once a week. This practice was continued 
 at Balliol College, Oxford, while I was an 
 undergraduate there. The head of the college 
 corrected our weekly essays, and was him- 
 self an excellent Latin scholar. I had also 
 the advantage of an able private tutor, 
 who was the best Latin prose writer of his 
 
ON LITEEAEY STYLE. 185 
 
 day. Practice in Latin prose generally ensures Sir M. 
 grammatical accuracy and exactness in every \Z?!l ter 
 other kind of composition. Yet it is true that Hams. 
 many masters of English, like the late John 
 Bright, have disclaimed any training in Latin, 
 Greek, or mathematics. 
 
 " In my opinion, excellence of composition 
 may be achieved by keeping in view six 
 essentials, always presupposing grammatical 
 accuracy as an indispensable basis. These are 
 (1) perspicuity ; (2) vigour ; (3) simplicity ; (4) 
 methodical and logical sequence of sentences 
 and paragraphs ; (5) right collocation of words 
 in a sentence; (6) rhythm. I consider per- 
 spicuity to be by far the most important of the 
 six. Want of lucidity is a fatal defect. Any 
 would-be author who indulges in long and 
 involved sentences, with too frequent paren- 
 theses, is doomed to failure. It seems to me 
 also that looseness in the use of pronouns is 
 one most common source of obscurity. Arch- 
 bishop Whately's writings furnish a good 
 model of a really lucid style. As to vigour 
 and simplicity, the authorised version of the 
 Bible should, in my opinion, be studied as the 
 best example, as well as for its good old Saxon 
 
186 THE INFLUENCE OF BEADING 
 
 Sir M. English. Yet it seems to me mere affecta- 
 Ji?] ier tion not to make use of the copious supply of 
 Hams. words derived from other languages, which 
 the composite structure of our grand mother 
 tongue places at our command. Nor is the 
 frequent employment of apt metaphor to be 
 deprecated ; though confusion of different 
 metaphors in the same sentence cannot be too 
 strongly condemned. Abstemiousness in the 
 use of adjectives, without total abstinence, is 
 clearly essential to vigour. I think it was Dr. 
 Johnson who gave a youthful and too florid 
 writer the following valuable hint : * Read over 
 your composition a day or two after the writing 
 of it, and if you come to any passage which you 
 think particularly fine, strike it out.' The fourth 
 and fifth requisites deserve great attention ; they 
 seem to me too commonly neglected. As to 
 rhythm, I think that a rhythmical ear is as neces- 
 sary for good prose composition as for verse. 
 
 " Permit me to conclude by commending 
 Horace's rule, translated by Conington — ■ 
 
 " ' O yes, believe me, yon must draw your pen 
 Not once, nor twice, but o'er and o'er again 
 Through what you've written, if you'd entice 
 The man who reads you once to read you twice.' 
 
ON LITEEAET STYLE. 187 
 
 The better to observe this precept I may say Sir M. 
 that I always put aside what I have written Momer 
 for two or three weeks or more, till it has n amSt 
 almost passed out of my mind. Then I take 
 it up and criticise it from the standpoint of an 
 outsider, and I generally strike out at least 
 half. This process is sometimes repeated two 
 or three times, till in the end very little is left 
 of the original composition. My last work, on 
 Buddhism, was so written. Yet, with all this 
 elaboration, the composition should read as if 
 it were written easily and without effort. Ars 
 est celare artem." 
 
TEE STBENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
TEE STBENGTE OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 UNFOBTUNATELY the idea is preva- 
 lent with many that simplicity is not 
 strength, that it is far more likely to be the 
 twin sister of shallowness. But if by sim- 
 plicity we mean the straightforward repre- 
 senting of facts, the honest utterance of honest 
 thought, the clear revealing of some reality 
 within we wish our neighbour to know and 
 share, if it means the clothing of ideas un- 
 adorned, save by the chaste adornment truth 
 alone can give, then it will not necessarily 
 mean lack of intellectual depth, nor will it be 
 a synonym for superficiality. A man's writing 
 may be most transparent, he may clothe his 
 thoughts in words so simple a child can under- 
 stand, yet he may be treating of problems that 
 perplex the wisest, and demand even from the 
 scholar the closest study. The simplicity of 
 words is like the simplicity of food and cloth- 
 ing. A little child eats his food and wears his 
 clothes, and readily understands us when we 
 
192 THE STEENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 speak to him of either. But both food and 
 clothing are complex substances, representing 
 realities the child cannot at present compre- 
 hend, and covering depths of information he 
 has not yet fathomed. 
 
 The best and profoundest writers are the 
 simplest. Their simplicity is their charm. 
 Clothing the sublimest thoughts in the most 
 direct language, they teach us that the strength 
 of the English tongue is in its short words, 
 chiefly monosyllables of Saxon derivation. 
 Perhaps no influence has been so penetrative 
 and far-reaching in creating the beauty and 
 strength of English literature as that of the 
 authorised version of the Bible. Without it 
 there would have been no Milton, Carlyle, 
 Emerson, or Ruskin. Yet the literary form of 
 that " well of English undenled " is surely the 
 simplest. Of all writers, Shakespeare is one 
 of the most simple, yet for grace and ele- 
 gance, for energy and searching power, he 
 certainly stands supreme. It is an egregious 
 mistake to use what Horace calls verba sesqui- 
 pedalia, words a foot and a half long ; unless 
 indeed it be the author's purpose to employ 
 language that will best conceal his thoughts. 
 
THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 193 
 
 The one sure test of all written composition 
 is its conformity to the canon of simplicity. 
 Writing that is extravagant, that is eccentric, 
 that is marred by affectation, that is spoiled by 
 striving after effect, that is not simple, direct, 
 natural, lacks the one thing needful to main- 
 tain its hold upon men. It is doomed to die, 
 though for a generation it may lead the fashion. 
 Instinctively we expect an author to be per- 
 fectly frank with us, to speak to us openly, 
 sincerely, and in a manner we can under- 
 stand ; and he loses all influence over us the 
 moment we are suspicious that his writing 
 savours of under-statement or over- statement, 
 of duplicity or reserve. " Man," says Carlyle, 
 " is everywhere a born enemy of lies." 
 
 John Bright was pre-eminently a public John 
 speaker. With him oratory w T as a fine art. & 
 For vivacity, incisiveness, purity of diction, he 
 stood supreme amongst the orators of his day. 
 His addresses have been published in book 
 form, and will long continue to be read as 
 literature by all who love our superb mother 
 tongue. His experience may well, therefore, 
 find a place here. " I had no training," he 
 
194 THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 John Bays, " with a view to public speaking. I read 
 ■bright, good books, the works of good authors ; and, I 
 know not why or how, I appreciated simplicity 
 of style, and avoided the use of unnecessary 
 words. Few words, short words, words of 
 what is called Saxon origin, always pleased me, 
 and expressed in the most earnest and forcible 
 manner what I wished to say. Then, further, 
 I have spoken chiefly on great questions in 
 which I have been deeply interested ; but I 
 know not why I have surpassed any other 
 speaker, if I have done so. I have only tried 
 to put clear thoughts into clear language, that 
 I might convey to other minds the clear im- 
 pressions of my own." 
 
 Canon Henry Parry Liddon, another renowned 
 
 Liddon. orator, who must also be classed as one of 
 our best-known authors, may surely be wel- 
 comed here, Careful study, deliberate con- 
 viction, brave utterance, chastened eloquence, 
 always characterise the Canon's sermons or 
 lectures; and these, of course, constitute the 
 bulk of his writings. He says : " When I was 
 a young man I did not take any pains with my 
 style, though I think that from boyhood good 
 
THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 105 
 
 English prose always gave me pleasure. But Canon 
 a clear style, whether of writing or speaking, L lddon > 
 is the natural result, as it is the appropriate 
 clothing, of clear thought. The sooner a man 
 gets facts and ideas so presented to his mind, 
 that he knows exactly what they do and what 
 they do not include, what are their frontiers, 
 what is the point at which knowledge becomes 
 conjecture, and conjecture ignorance, the 
 sooner he will speak and w r rite clearly. Of 
 modern writers in England, Cardinal Newman 
 or Mr. John S. Mill appear to me to be the 
 clearest, and on the whole the most powerful, 
 so far as power depends on the manipulation of 
 language. But, as a rule, the prose writers of 
 the last century are better models than any of 
 this. To read and reread Addison and Butler, 
 cannot but be instructive in this respect. 
 Hume is forcible ; Gibbon is splendid, but to 
 the verge of being turgid. I am, of course, 
 only discussing the style of these writers, as 
 distinct from their subject-matter. 
 
 " Of modern languages, French appears to 
 me to be the best for prose, as it is the worst 
 for poetry. French prose is an instrument of 
 unrivalled clearness for the conveyance of 
 
196 THE STEENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 Canon thought. Read De Tocqueville, or Caro's 
 Liddon. j] ssa y S) or s a i n t Beuve's Causenes de Landi; 
 and you would see what I mean. Sometimes, 
 indeed, the language aims at a precision which 
 the facts or the thought do not warrant, and 
 so betrays us into an idea that things are 
 simpler and clearer than they really are. But 
 an Englishman is not liable to fall into this 
 mistake ; and he may gain a great deal in the 
 art of clear expression by reading and studying 
 French prose." 
 
 Phillips Phillits Beooks, the celebrated American 
 Brooks, preacher, writes : — " I have no tale to tell. 
 My only training in composition has been 
 the constant effort for many years to say as 
 clearly and forcibly as I could what was in 
 my mind. I have never written for the sake 
 of writing. If there is any merit in the style 
 of my poor books, it is perhaps to this as 
 much as to anything that it is due. I always 
 find it hard to be autobiographical. In- 
 deed, I seem to myself to have very little to 
 say about my life and ways. They have been 
 very simple, and offer almost nothing for 
 remark." 
 
THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 197 
 
 Philip Schaff says: "I am a native of Philip 
 Switzerland, and learnt the English language Schajj. 
 after I was called to a professorship in Ame- 
 rica. If my style has any merit it is due to 
 the study of the classics, ancient and modern, 
 especially the poets, and to careful elabora- 
 tion. I write, correct, abridge, enlarge, trans- 
 pose, and reproduce, until I suit my notions 
 of luminous arrangement and rhetorical finish, 
 although I am never quite satisfied. Clear- 
 ness, precision, brevity and fulness, are in my 
 opinion essential features of good style. I 
 avoid all repetition and useless verbiage, and 
 yet try to give full expression to the idea, and 
 I pay much attention to logical order and 
 artistic grouping. I speak chiefly of his- 
 torical composition. I cannot say that I 
 have any special model. The Germans are 
 superior in investigating, the English and 
 French in writing history. The former are 
 miners, the latter manufacturers. Church his- 
 torians fall far behind secular historians in the 
 charms of style. Milman and Stanley are 
 exceptions." 
 
 Kobert Collyer, the author of several Robert 
 
 Collyer. 
 
198 THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 Robert volumes of sermons and lectures, and one of 
 Collyer. ^ G f oremos t preachers in America, says : " I 
 cannot do better than make you an extract 
 from an address I gave to a host of young men 
 Borne time ago, called, ' From the Anvil to the 
 Pulpit/ Speaking of my home and habit as a 
 boy, I said, ' There was a small shelf of books 
 — Bunyan, Crusoe, Goldsmith's " England," 
 the half of " Sandford and Merton," and the 
 Bible, with lots of pictures, " The Young Man's 
 Best Companion," and Fleetwood's " Life of 
 Christ." Now, do you want to know how I 
 talk to you in this simple Saxon? I read 
 Bunyan, Crusoe, Goldsmith, when I was a 
 boy — morning, noon, and night. All the rest 
 was task work; books of this sort were my 
 delight— with the stories in the Bible, and 
 with Shakespeare, when at last that mighty 
 master came within our doors. They were 
 like a well of pure water, the others were like 
 sand. And this is the first step I seem to 
 have taken of my own free will toward the 
 pulpit.' I think that tells the story of the 
 way I came to write as I do, and to use our 
 simple and sincere Saxon speech. When I 
 have to speak I do not know anything about 
 
THE STEENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 199 
 
 the rules of grammar, it seems to be an Robert 
 instinct apart from rules. It is not, how- '■' ' 
 ever, ' as easy as rolling off a log,' as we say, 
 to write so that your work shall be at once 
 clear and strong. Friends will say now and 
 then, ' Your things seem to come easy to you, 
 to say themselves,' when, indeed, they have 
 cost me very severe labour to get them just to 
 my mind." 
 
 Andeew P. Peabody, professor in Harvard A. P. 
 University, the author of many excellent books P ea b° d y> 
 upon Christian morals, and a preacher of wide 
 repute, gives a statement of his own literary 
 history and methods. " In my early boyhood 
 I loved to read, and devoted to books most of 
 the time that I might have given, and that I 
 think would have been more wisely given, to 
 recreation. This I say on sanitary grounds, 
 for though I have a very vigorous constitution, 
 I fear that my health, or even my life, must 
 have been endangered by the sedentary habits 
 of my boyhood. But I did read continually, 
 and I was guided to, and aided in the reading of, 
 the best books, so that I became early familiar 
 with the vocabulary of pure classical English. 
 H 
 
200 THE STEENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 A. P. I never wrote anything more than a letter till 
 Peabody. j entere a co ii e ge. There I had a Professor of 
 Bhetoric who was an unsparing critic of our 
 themes, pruning away all superfluous verbiage, 
 ridiculing inflation and bombast, pointing out 
 the incongruity of mixed metaphors, and lay- 
 ing great stress on accuracy and precision. I 
 am sure I derived great benefit from his instruc- 
 tion. Ever since I graduated I have been a 
 writer, first of lectures, for popular audiences ; 
 very early, for the press ; for more than half 
 a century, of sermons, to the number of several 
 thousands. My habit is to think slowly, and 
 to write rapidly. Were I going to prepare an 
 address on which my reputation depended, I 
 should crave the previous notice of weeks, if 
 possible, of months ; but might not put pen to 
 paper till the day before delivery. I keep a 
 subject in my mind till the last moment ; brood 
 upon it ; if need be, read upon it ; shape it, 
 determine in what order I shall treat it, what 
 I can say upon it ; in fine, construct the sermon, 
 essay or chapter, in my thought, so that 
 when I come to write, I am simply my own 
 amanuensis. I write as fast as my pen can 
 run, pausing only when the right word does 
 
THE STEENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 201 
 
 not present itself spontaneously. When I have A. P. 
 finished my work, I read aloud what I have * eai,0 ®y* 
 written, and test it by my ear. If a passage 
 sounds harshly, I change the words sufficiently 
 to bring it into melody. If I have used the 
 same word too often, my ear tells me, and I 
 substitute a synonym. When I write for the 
 press my first manuscript generally goes to 
 the printers. When I write a sermon, address, 
 or lecture, I abbreviate many of my words, and 
 write a manuscript of which a printer could 
 make nothing ; but if it goes to be printed, I 
 send a literal copy, without any revising or 
 re-writing. Now, if I have any merit as a 
 writer, I ascribe it mainly to two things, first, 
 to my early conversance with the best writers ; 
 secondly, to my postponing the work of com- 
 position till I have fully thought out what I 
 am going to write." I insert this experience 
 here, because, as an author, Mr. Peabody 
 writes always in a simple and direct style 
 which is greatly pleasing. How such sim- 
 plicity is attained cannot but be instructive. 
 
 Benjamin Jowett, of Balliol College, him- B. 
 self one of the noblest masters in the use of J owettt 
 
202 THE STEENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 B* the English tongue, gives the following advice : 
 
 J ' "I should recommend any one who wants to 
 learn the art of composing English to write 
 simply and unaffectedly, not to imitate any 
 English author in particular, any more than 
 in speaking he would imitate the voice or 
 manner of another ; and to take all the pains 
 he can even with a common letter. Connec- 
 tion is the soul of good writing. Figures of 
 speech and fine passages had better be cut 
 out." 
 
 Dr. A. Dr. A. Kuenen, the great Dutch theologian 
 
 Kuenen £ Leiden, writes : " I never suspected there 
 was anything in my style deserving particular 
 praise. And this seems to be the opinion of 
 my countrymen, too. The only quality for 
 which they have ever commended it is its 
 clearness and perspicuity. In fact, in writing 
 I do not trouble myself about my style. My 
 only care is to express simply and clearly what 
 I wish to say. I am not a quick writer, and 
 do not find it easy to realise my own idea of 
 perspicuity. Therefore, it is my custom to re- 
 write my first sketch or draft, whenever the 
 subject is difficult or clearness particularly 
 
THE STRENGTH OE SIMPLICITY. 203 
 
 desirable. So you see there is no question of Dr. A. 
 any special training. If there be any secret it J ^ mnen 
 has been disclosed long ago : never write upon 
 a subject you have not thoroughly studied and 
 mastered so far as your forces go. Or as 
 Horace puts it in the well-known words, ' Cui 
 lecta pot enter erit res, nee facundia deseret 
 hunc, nee lucidus or do.' " 
 
 Dr. Harvey Goodwin, Lord Bishop of Dr. H. 
 Carlisle, the author of many theological works, °.° 
 and of several books dealing with the study of 
 mathematics, says : " So far as my own style 
 of writing or speaking possesses any special 
 clearness, I think it is chiefly due to my Cam- 
 bridge mathematical training. In mathe- 
 matics a man cannot easily deceive himself as 
 to whether that which he writes is correct and 
 clear, and he cannot possibly deceive his tutor. 
 Thus the constant practice of writing out 
 mathematical propositions of much com- 
 plexity, describing scientific instruments and 
 scientific processes, and the like, leads almost 
 of necessity to clearness of style in more 
 ordinary matters. Moreover, in mathematics 
 a man knows that it is of no use to put pen to 
 
204 THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 Dr. H. paper to describe a process, prove a theorem, 
 &c, unless his mind is quite clear with regard 
 
 win. 
 
 to the whole subject ; and this is an important 
 condition of intelligibility and clearness of 
 style. In writing thus, I know that I am say- 
 ing that which may not be of much practical 
 utility, because there are many men who have 
 good ability, who have not the mathematical 
 ability. I apprehend that no general rule can 
 be laid dow T n, and that one kind of training 
 may suit one man and not another. I do not 
 know that I can add any more from my own 
 peculiar experience to what will be found in 
 books upon such a subject." 
 
 A.K.H. A. K. H. Boyd, the genial and graceful 
 Boyd. author of " Eecreations of a Country Parson," 
 says : " My experience is that every writer has 
 his own methods, and that nobody can help 
 another in the work of composition. Every 
 one must find one for himself. I had no 
 special training further than that those who 
 study at a Scotch University have the pen in 
 their hand continually, and thus learn by ex- 
 perience. All counsels to study eminent 
 authors and form a style such as theirs appear 
 
THE STEENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 205 
 
 to me to be rank nonsense. Let a youth. A. K. H. 
 make his meaning clear, and try to be interest- °~' ' 
 ing. As Sidney Smith said, ' Every style is 
 good except the tiresome.' " 
 
 "I am afraid that I can lay down no ' royal G. Raw- 
 road ' to the acquisition of a good style," says linson - 
 Geobge Kawlinson, the eminent historian of 
 ancient monarchies of the Eastern world. 
 " I can only say, read the best authors atten- 
 tively, the very best — Bacon, Locke, Hume, 
 Berkeley, Jeremy Taylor, and of moderns, 
 Walter Scott, Bulwer, Thackeray, Kuskin, 
 Froude ; and practise constantly. Do not 
 attempt any imitation of any particular author 
 or authors, but let your style form itself. Lay 
 a good foundation of grammatical knowledge, 
 so as to be quite sure of your grammar ; then 
 avoid complicated sentences ; and, as a rule, 
 eschew long sentences. Finally have something 
 to say, make up your mind exactly what it is 
 you want to say, and you will probably not 
 have much difficulty in saying it. Individually, 
 however, I have never written by rule, but as 
 the subject seemed to suggest, as the thoughts 
 came into my mind. I write rather slowly, 
 
206 THE STEENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 G. Raw- make very few corrections ; and those chiefly 
 linson* j. Q avo j^ faQ recurrence of the same word, or 
 even of a similarly sounding word, at too short 
 an interval. Finally, I should recommend the 
 use of words that come to us of the Anglo- 
 Saxon in preference to those derived from the 
 Latin ; but w T ith the proviso, that a Latin word 
 should not be rejected, if more expressive than 
 the Saxon, or more familiar or clearer ; and 
 that when a similar idea has to be repeated 
 within a short space, the Latin words should 
 be even sought out, and used conjointly with 
 the Anglo-Saxon to produce variety. The rich- 
 ness of the English language consists very 
 much in its having a double origin, and so a 
 large supply of synonyms, or quasi synonyms, 
 quite different in sound and etymology. ,, 
 
 We now deal with quite a different class of 
 writers. Still, it will be seen that, vary as 
 they may in the subject-matter of their work, 
 their methods of labour have much in common, 
 while their purpose is always the same — to be 
 simple, in the sense of being clear, perspicuous, 
 transparent, intelligible. Take, first, the well- 
 known " Autocrat." 
 
THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 207 
 
 Oliver Wendell Holmes, philosopher, O. TV. 
 poet, humorist — the author of the inimitable Holmes ' 
 " Breakfast-table " series — writes succinctly, 
 clearly, vividly, and has always a charming 
 story to tell us, or a valuable lesson to teach. 
 " I was taught for five years at a private 
 school," he says, " and passed one year at 
 Phillips's Academy, Andover, Massachusetts. 
 I graduated at Harvard University, the oldest 
 and largest educational establishment of 
 America. But I never learned how to write 
 by any training. I think I learned something 
 of how not to write from the teachings of 
 Professor Channing, brother of the famous 
 William Ellery Channing. After leaving col- 
 lege I followed my own instincts in writing, 
 not having any one model, so far as I know, 
 though of course many influences of other 
 writers show themselves in my books. You will 
 find it a safe rule never to write except when 
 you have something worth saying, and then 
 to say it simply — as Addison wrote in The 
 Spectator, Goldsmith in the * Vicar of Wake- 
 field,' and Franklin in his Autobiography." 
 
 Henry James, the novelist, is an author Henry 
 
 James. 
 
208 THE STKENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 Henry whose work is marked by an extraordinary 
 refinement and finish, though it lacks the 
 fire, the abandon, the sentiment and emotion, 
 we have a right to expect from a master hand. 
 He says, " The question of literary form in- 
 terests me indeed, but I am afraid I can give 
 no more coherent or logical account of any 
 little success I may have achieved in the 
 cultivation of it than simply in saying that 
 I have always been fond of it. If I manage to 
 write with any clearness or concision or grace, 
 it is simply that I have always tried. It isn't 
 easy, and one must always try ; for the traps 
 that newspaper scribbling, and every other 
 vulgarity, set for us to-day are innumerable. 
 It is an advantage when the sense of certain 
 differences awakes early. I had that good for- 
 tune, which, however, made me compose with 
 mortal slowness at first. But it gave birth to 
 the idea and the ideal of form, and that is a 
 godsend even if one slowly arrives at it. A 
 simple style is really a complicated thing, and 
 in the way of an effort an evolutian. I am 
 afraid mine, if I have one, is simply taste and 
 patience." 
 
Knox. 
 
 THE STRENGTH OP SIMPLICITY. 209 
 
 Colonel Thomas W. Knox is the author Colonel 
 of a number of story-books for boys— widely Jw/ 
 circulated in the United States — which are 
 certainly among the most instructive and 
 attractive writings for young people ever 
 issued. " I had no special training for 
 my present work," he says, "but I consider 
 my long experience in journalism, writing 
 often under pressure and against time, a most 
 excellent schooling. Time does not permit a 
 newspaper worker to rewrite, hardly to retouch, 
 and consequently I learned to do my best work 
 at once. I compose more slowly and more 
 carefully now than when writing for the daily 
 Press, but never rewrite. I compose my work 
 as I go along, and when, having finished a 
 chapter, I read it over, I do not change a dozen 
 words. In correcting proof-sheets I only 
 alter a few lines in an entire volume. How- 
 ever familiar I may be with a country I am 
 about to describe, I do not begin writing until 
 I have devoted weeks and months to a special 
 study of it. Books, newspapers, magazines, 
 individuals are laid under contribution, and 
 acknowledged in preface or text. Work does 
 not begin until I am thoroughly saturated with 
 
210 THE STKENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 Colonel my subject, so thoroughly, in fact, that exuda- 
 T* w - tion has set in, and I find myself experiment- 
 ing -with anecdotes about that country upon 
 the patience of my friends. Since 1878 I have 
 done all my composition for the Press with 
 the Eemington type-writer. I can write about 
 25 per cent, faster with it than with the pen, 
 and about 100 per cent, more legibly. For 
 the first three months it was slow work, and I 
 was inclined to throw the machine out of the 
 window. But at present the only money that 
 would induce me to part with it is a sufficient 
 amount to enable me to retire altogether from 
 the effort to make a living." 
 
 E. P. E. P. Roe is said to be the most popular 
 
 American novelist of the day. His books, 
 written in simple, graceful English, are full of 
 a moral and spiritual stimulus, which cannot 
 but be productive of great good amongst their 
 vast constituency of readers here and in the 
 United States. His recent death has been a 
 sad loss to literature, and to the many lovers 
 of his charming tales. " I fear that I cannot 
 write," he says, " anything that will be of 
 much aid to you. I had no special training 
 
 Roe. 
 
THE STKENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 211 
 
 for literary work, except as a somewhat large E. P. 
 experience during the war, and out in the 
 world generally, has given me knowledge of 
 human nature. The impulse to write came in 
 middle life, and I have merely followed it. Of 
 course those who become writers must have 
 some natural aptitude. Beginning with this, 
 they must learn to think clearly, to have 
 something definite in their minds, then to 
 express it in the simplest, clearest words in 
 their vocabulary. A clear running brook is 
 the best teacher of style. There is a quick 
 forward movement — but not measured or mono- 
 tonous movement — while the water is so limpid 
 that everything is seen through the crystal 
 medium. It seems to me that the best style 
 is that which reveals the writer's thoughts so 
 easily, plainly, and musically that the reader 
 becomes engrossed in the thought or story 
 and forgets the writer. Therefore, have some- 
 thing to tell, and tell it clearly, simply, with- 
 out a trace of affectation or conscious effort at 
 fine writing. I should advise the study of 
 examples in this perfection of art." 
 
 Edgae Fawcett, a novelist of much power Edgar 
 
 Fawcett. 
 
212 TBE STEENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 Edgar — widely read across the Atlantic, but little 
 Fawcett. k nown here, except through the popular 
 American magazines, to which he often con- 
 tributes — writes to say, " In early life I had 
 the usual schoolboy's training as regards 
 ' English undefiled'; and afterwards, at Colum- 
 bia College, New York, whence I was gradu- 
 ated in 1867, I had the advantage of hearing 
 many lectures on literature from Dr. C. Murray 
 Nairne — a Scotchman, of decided learning and 
 ability. Still, what I have gained, if the gain 
 be of any worth at all, has come to me, I 
 should say, through devout observation of good 
 models and assiduous care in the structure of 
 my written sentences. Macaulay, unless I am 
 much mistaken, first wakened me to a sense 
 of style in prose, and the immortal Tennyson 
 in verse. I remember that I set myself three 
 rules — to be, first lucid, second impersonal, and 
 third melodious. A great deal of my youthful 
 writing horrifies me now to examine it ; but 
 fortunately it was largely anonymous, or else 
 of a quality which the world of contemporary 
 readers could easily forget. I believe in ob- 
 serving rules. Good ' rhetorics ' are admirable 
 guides, and there is no literary genius that 
 
THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 213 
 
 cannot be aided in closely studying these accu- Edgar 
 mulated syntheses of capable and intelligent uwcc 
 teachers. If they do not teach us to write, 
 they teach us how not to write ; and that is 
 always a most important step in the formation 
 of a fluent, nervous, and amiable style. It is 
 always pleasant for me to hear a genial voice 
 from England, which I love and revere for her 
 great literary past more than any words of 
 mine could express. I only regret that I should 
 be so ill-known amongst her vast throngs of 
 intelligent readers ; but, alas ! I write in my 
 fiction only of New York; and this big, 
 crowded, prosaic town is a matter of as 
 much indifference to her, I fear, as some of 
 the sprawling, dull, Western cities are to New 
 York." 
 
 W. S. Gilbert, the author of the delightful W. S. 
 " Bab Ballads," and the long series of light 
 operas and sparkling plays which have made 
 his name a household word amongst us, ia 
 afraid he cannot claim to have made any 
 special study of composition in his youth. 
 "I have always endeavoured," he adds, "to 
 express my meaning in the most simple and 
 
214 THE STEENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 TV. S. direct fashion, frequently writing a single sen- 
 Giloert. t ence over and over again, with the view to 
 ascertain in how few words my full meaning 
 could be adequately expressed. I have always 
 eschewed ' tall writing,' which I look upon as 
 a pitfall into which most beginners are apt to 
 stumble; and I have endeavoured rather to 
 interest my readers by the subject-matter of 
 my work, than to excite their admiration by 
 ornate and flowery periods. In fact, I think a 
 writer's style should be guided by causes 
 analogous to those which regulate a gentle- 
 man's dress ; if it attracts the attention of 
 the non-critical reader, it is probably because 
 it is disfigured by glaring errors in taste. The 
 English of the late Tudor and early Stuart 
 periods may, I think, be studied with the 
 utmost advantage ; for simplicity, directness, 
 and perspicuity there is, in my opinion, no 
 existing work to be compared with the his- 
 torical books of the Bible." 
 
 Thomas Tiiomas Hughes, the author of that noble 
 
 Hughes. s tory, " Tom Brown's School Days," writes : 
 
 " I never gave myself any special training in 
 
 writing English beyond this, that when I 
 
THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 215 
 
 began to write I used to go over my MS. care- Thomas 
 fully, change every Latin word for an English v ' s eSm 
 one {eg./ reliable ' for ' trustworthy,' ' develop- 
 ment ' for ' unfolding,' &c), and cut out every 
 adjective or other word not really necessary to 
 express what I had to say. I don't believe 
 that any amount of copying will make another 
 man's style natural to you ; and if not natural, 
 it won't really be as good as your own. But, 
 indeed, any style is good if you have something 
 you have a call to say, and men ought to hear ; 
 and no style is good if you hav'nt. I am afraid 
 that I can give you no further hints on the art 
 of composition, but wish your young men all 
 success in learning to say in the best way 
 what they have got to say, and to hold their 
 tongues and let the cream rise at all other 
 times." 
 
 John Stuart Blackie, the large-hearted j m s. 
 and genial Edinburgh professor, writes to say : -Blackie 
 " I never made any special study of style, and 
 whatever virtue I may have in this way grew 
 up as my mind grew, unconsciously. Style 
 seems to depend on three things, (1) a 
 mental attitude and character, (2) a familiarity 
 15 
 
216 THE STEENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 / S. with the best authors, (3) dexterity in the use 
 Blackie, £ wor a Sj acquired by constant practice. So 
 we must learn to speak by speaking, as we 
 learn to walk by walking, or to dance by 
 dancing. The main thing in writing is to 
 have distinct, and clear, and well-marshalled 
 ideas, and then to express them simply and 
 without affectation. This forms what we may 
 call the bones of a good style. Then you 
 must study to give colour by apt images, and 
 warmth by natural passion and earnestness. 
 The music of words and the cadence of 
 sentences is a matter which depends on the 
 ear. Above all things monotony in the form 
 of the sentences is to be avoided ; variety 
 means wealth and always pleases. Conden- 
 sation also ought to be particularly studied, 
 and a loose, rambling, ill-compacted form of 
 sentence avoided. But it is difficult to give 
 advice in such a matter. Every man must 
 have his own style, as he has his own face 
 and his own features." 
 
 D. C. D. Cheistie Mueeat, whose well-ripened 
 
 Murray, imagination, finished workmanship, and vivid 
 
 character-portraits mark him out as a novelist 
 
THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 217 
 
 of high order, has something to say upon our I). C. 
 topic worth consideration. " I have always Murray, 
 thought there is only one royal road to style, 
 and that is to see with perfect clarity what 
 one desires to say. "When once that is done, 
 the expression is a matter of ease. The next 
 secret is to find the shortest, simplest form 
 of expression. A man has other duties with 
 respect to literature than to make himself 
 intelligible to the crowd. ' The words of the 
 wise and their dark sayings,' you will 
 remember. There are some things which 
 cannot be made comprehensible to the common 
 mind ; but the affectation of obscurity, the 
 wrapping a mere farthing's-worth of meaning 
 in a whole bale of verbiage, is a fool's trick 
 and no more. I remember that when Mr. 
 Commissioner Kerr issued an address to 
 the electors of Wednesbury he said, ■ I 
 have no time to be brief.' That is a pungent 
 sentence. Brevity, clarity, accuracy, fulness, 
 these are the things to try for. I am not in 
 the least setting these down in accordance 
 with their importance. Truth comes first here 
 as in everything. I remember an excellent 
 epithet in a book of American travels, by 
 
218 THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 D. C. Mrs. Butler (Miss Fanny Kemble), I believe, 
 Murray. < The desolat6j thread-bare look of the winter 
 woods.' That may have come in a flash, or 
 she may have had to search for it ; but it is 
 descriptively true, and conveys also a sense 
 of the poverty of winter nature in contrast 
 with the splendour of her summer prosperity. 
 The poetical word is never the untrue or over- 
 strained word, but always that w T hich presents 
 the actual verity most clearly. Take Shake- 
 speare's lines : 
 
 ' There's not the smallest orb that thou behohTst 
 But in his circle like an angel sings 
 Still quivering to the young-eyed cherubim ! ' 
 
 Here, where all is beautiful, there is nothing 
 to match the perfect inspiration of the 
 epithet in the third line — ' the young-eyed 
 cherubim.' The poet looked at his own 
 imagination till the starry eyes, alight with 
 immortal youth, flashed into his own. He 
 saw and he could say. The insight of a 
 profound and lofty imagination is not a thing 
 to be got at by training, but the humblest 
 student can look at his own thought till it 
 grows clear, or at least clearer. 
 
 " Bearing this in mind always, the one aid 
 
THE STEENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 219 
 
 is thoughtful and discriminate reading. There D. C. 
 is a hook of Leigh Hunt's, called ' Fancy and Murray. 
 Imagination,' which was of prodigious use to 
 me in my hoyhood in teaching me what 
 qualities are truly admirable in poetry. The 
 same qualities are admirable in prose. Every 
 modern man's style is a thing of shreds and 
 patches — only when a man happens to have a 
 personality of his own he absorbs a thousand 
 exotic excellences, the mind digesting them 
 as the body digests beef and beer — they grow 
 fco be an actual part of his mental muscles ; 
 whereas, in the case of an unoriginal man, 
 they can but reproduce themselves, or get re- 
 produced unchanged. Sometimes, critically 
 examining my own style, I find signs of every 
 master I have ever studied. Charles Reade 
 said of * The Cloister and the Hearth,' ' I have 
 milked three hundred cows into my bucket.' 
 But then the butter he churned was his own, 
 and as one of the personages at the tea- 
 table in * Alice in Wonderland ' observed, 
 ' it was the very best butter.' 
 
 " To try to be striking, new, fine, is all 
 faulty. Try to see clearly, to speak justly, and 
 you are on the road to a style. ' Idiom is the 
 
220 THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 D. C. cream of language.' Use 
 urray, thoughts which have often been expressed. I 
 remember one man saying of another, that * he 
 never clothed a modicum of meaning in a long 
 array of misapplied polysyllables,' an excellent 
 example of the vice he said his friend was free 
 from. Avoid foreign phrases, and scraps of 
 the dead languages. There is nothing which 
 can be said at all which cannot be said in 
 English. Be simple and unpretentious. If 
 you get all your goods into the shop window, 
 you have but a poor establishment. Throw 
 fear and vanity alike to the winds while 
 writing. Say the thing you see as you see it, 
 and bend the whole power of your mind upon 
 it until you see it well. Avoid newspaper 
 English like a pest. Study the Bible, Bunyan, 
 Defoe, and mark their simplicity, their 
 straightforwardness, their accuracy in the 
 choice of words. Eew things are so wonderful 
 as language; few things better worth study- 
 ing. Yet we cannot study language except in 
 the works of its great masters, and studying 
 it aright we grow friendly and familiar with 
 noble thoughts and beautiful fancies; we 
 decorate the bare four walls of daily life with 
 
THE STEENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 221 
 
 exquisite pictures ; we make friends with all D. C. 
 sorts and conditions of people, emperors, Murra > 
 queens, poets, philosophers, wits, heroes — the 
 height of good company." 
 
 E. Feances Poyntee, the author of a few Miss 
 
 well- written and most interesting stories, says E - F- 
 
 . Poynter. 
 
 she had not the good fortune to receive any 
 
 particular training in the art of composition . 
 in early life. " My chief method, I think, 
 has been a continued effort after simple and 
 adequate expression. But since all practice 
 has a tendency to reduce itself to rules, there 
 are two or three points that I have come to 
 consider it necessary to keep in view in 
 writing, and that I should, myself, recommend 
 to the notice of beginners. The first is to 
 have a distinct view of what has to be de- 
 scribed, and a distinct understanding of what 
 has to be explained. This remark is very 
 much in the nature of a truism; but most 
 writers, I imagine, have had experience of the 
 temptation on occasion to make words take 
 the place of ideas when gaps occur in the 
 mental vision. Having arrived at this clear 
 vision or understanding, it should be set forth 
 
222 THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 Miss in as few words as possible. This does not of 
 
 „• . course necessarily imply that only a few words 
 Poynter. , J . r J . . 
 
 should be used, since some subjects require a 
 
 good many for their adequate expression ; but 
 only that no more words should be employed 
 than are strictly necessary. As a rule, I think, 
 one finds that the best writing tends to con- 
 densation and terseness ; that three adjectives, 
 for instance, justly placed by a master, will do 
 the service of a dozen used by an unskilful 
 writer. I do not myself, though I believe on 
 this point I differ from some excellent autho- 
 rities, hold the use of a very large and varied 
 vocabulary to be an especial gain. However, 
 a writer should be in possession of as large a 
 vocabulary as possible, so as to select the word 
 best suited to his purpose without falling into 
 triteness and vulgarity. Simplicity, it seems 
 to me, is always an excellent guide to follow, 
 whether in the choice of words, or the con- 
 struction of sentences, where those words 
 should, so far as possible, be placed in juxta- 
 position that have the closest relation to each 
 other. This rule, however, I do not find it 
 possible to follow invariably, as something 
 must be conceded to rhythm. And, in regard 
 
THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 223 
 
 to rhythm, that is so much a question of ear Miss 
 that I do not know how any rule could be „' ' 
 given beyond the counsel to educate the sense 
 by reading the best prose and avoiding what 
 is inferior. Briefly, then, I may say that the 
 rules I find most serviceable are — to see with 
 clearness, to express with simplicity and pre- 
 cision, to cultivate distinction in the choice of 
 a vocabulary, to educate an ear for rhythm. 
 To put these rules into practice I know of no 
 art but the art of taking pains. I myself re- 
 write and correct a good deal, others do not ; 
 but I believe every writer should start with 
 the conviction that there is a right word and a 
 right phrase for everything, and that no trouble 
 should be spared to find them out." 
 
 Mrs. Alexander (Annie Hector), the author Mrs. 
 of " The Wooing O't " and other spirited, dra- Alex ' 
 matic stories, written with animation, force, 
 and vivid painting of character, says : " I have 
 been trying to remember how I came to think 
 of writing, for in truth there has been little or 
 no method in anything I have ever done. I 
 suppose an ear for music and some imagina- 
 tion enable me to write. Having no play- 
 
224 THE STEENGTH OP SIMPLICITY. 
 
 Mrs. fellows, I turned, almost as a child, to books, 
 
 e T and steeped myself in Scott, Washington 
 Irving, Byron, Cowper, Burns, Cooper, Moore, 
 Robertson, Eollin, &c. I saw the scenes and 
 knew the people they described. This was 
 the best education I had ; for fifty years ago 
 young ladies' studies were curious examples of 
 how ' not to do it.' I am not aware that I 
 ever studied how to express myself, or followed 
 any rules, nor had I any literary friends ; but 
 one day a couple of characters took possession 
 of me, and I was obliged to put them on paper, 
 where they dictated their own terms. With 
 practice I acquired better methods. Always, 
 however, I think of my characters first, then 
 the incidents come, and I plan my plot, trying 
 hard to be as natural as possible. Plots are 
 growing more difficult of construction every 
 day from the crowds of new writers and the 
 multitudes of fresh complications they invent. 
 But life is inexhaustible ! So far as I can see 
 there are no rules to be laid down for com- 
 position, beyond what the grammar of our 
 tongue provides, an earnest conviction of the 
 reality of one's characters, and a sincere effort 
 to tell one's story in the clearest and simplest 
 
THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 225 
 
 language. The more you feel, the more forcibly Mrs. 
 
 Alex- 
 ander. 
 
 you will express yourself on paper. The best " 
 
 means of fructifying the intellect are wide, 
 indiscriminate reading, a large and varied 
 intercourse with society, and above all, sym- 
 pathy, which reveals to you the hearts of your 
 fellows." 
 
 Gerald Masset, poet, mystic, author of " A Gerald 
 Book of Beginnings," says : " I have no story to asse y» 
 tell and no secret to communicate. I never 
 tried to imitate anybody, and have never been 
 conscious of any aim in the matter of style. 
 I began with writing verses, which is a very 
 good preparatory school for writing prose. 
 Not that one would expect a man to write 
 good prose because he might have written 
 bad verse. But it teaches concentration, and 
 necessitates some thought in the process, even 
 where there may be little in the brain. I 
 should think it would be fatal, in writing as in 
 manner, to attempt to ' put on style.' Better 
 begin by saying what you have to say in the 
 simplest sincerity, in the fewest and shortest 
 words. The use of latinisation should be left 
 to the later sense of rhythm and music in 
 
226 THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 Gerald words. The primary thing is to think clearly, 
 Massey. am j ^ Q ^ aye ^ e data £ g U p 0n . Force of 
 
 style can only come from force of character, 
 with plenty of practice. Many a glib sentence 
 will have been rolled in a writer's mind for 
 hours before it becomes a bullet or a polished 
 pebble. For myself, I have come to think 
 much less of the mere literary mind, and more 
 of the substance or matter of thought. Then 
 again, I hold that we can draw more from 
 the spiritual world than from all the books ever 
 written in this. Bat the only way to establish 
 that rapport is by devotion to the fact, by 
 having a perfect passion for the truth, and by 
 uttering it with the most unselfish sincerity. 
 Then the style may be left to take care of 
 itself." 
 
 Coventry -A- P oe * of the more homely type, Coventry 
 Patmore. Patmore, also affirms that he has never 
 thought about or cultivated style. " I 
 believe the one secret of good writing," he 
 says, " is to have perfectly clear thoughts and 
 vivid impressions of things, and never to be 
 contented with any inadequate expression of 
 them." 
 
THE STEENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 227 
 
 " For precepts of style," says Goldwin Goldwin 
 Smith, " you must go to the masters of ^ m " /t - 
 style, and for lessons in the art of composition 
 you must go to artists. My only rule is to 
 know what I mean to say, to say it, and have 
 done with it. Clearness and conciseness are 
 within the reach of all of us, though gran- 
 deur, beauty, and piquancy are not," 
 
 Eenest Myees, an accomplished critic and Ernest 
 an admirable poet, attributes whatever sim- Myers. 
 plicity and force there may be in his style to 
 the effect of early studies in translating passages 
 from the masterpieces of the great Greek and 
 Latin authors. " Next to this," he says, " I 
 think my style may have benefited by the fact 
 that I write slowly and seldom. There is incon- 
 venience and disadvantage in this, but at the 
 same time it forces one, so to speak, to make 
 one's words tell. I strike out superfluous words, 
 perhaps sometimes to the extent of producing 
 austerity in poetry and over-condensation in 
 prose, eschew Latin words where Saxon will 
 do, and if I use Latin words, keep the full 
 etymological sense in view so far as may be 
 done without pedantry. I am naturally 
 
228 THE STBENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 Ernest impatient of redundancy and repetition in 
 yers ' what I read, and of course in writing one 
 tries to satisfy one's own taste. Among living 
 prose writers I should be inclined to name 
 Mr. Goldwin Smith and Cardinal Newman as 
 the finest and best in style. In poetry I think 
 that I have myself been more influenced by 
 Milton than any other English poet." 
 
 Leslie Leslie Stephen, a scholarly writer, who 
 
 ep ten. ma y pg^apg De Des t classed amongst the his- 
 torians of literature, thinks that his own 
 experience may be summed up in the Needy 
 Knife-grinder's statement : " Story, God bless 
 you, I have none to tell, Sir ! " He says, " I 
 did not take to literature until I was over 
 thirty, and then, less from love of writing than 
 from external compulsion. I had taken a con- 
 siderable interest in certain studies of the 
 more or less philosophical kind, and I had 
 gone through our good old Cambridge mathe- 
 matical course. When I had to write, I 
 simply tried to say what I had to say as 
 clearly as I could ; much in the same way as 
 if I had been going in for the Tripos. It 
 scarcely occurred to me that there was such 
 
THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 229 
 
 a thing as style as distinct from matter ; and Leslie 
 whatever style I may have has come to me, Stephen. 
 like Dogberry's reading and writing, by nature. 
 I do not perceive that I have anything to be 
 called a style, as Mr. Morley, for example, or 
 Mr. Pater, or Mr. Stevenson have styles : 
 and if anybody should be so misguided as to 
 wish to write like me, he must do it by think- 
 ing of nothing except clearness and simply 
 expressing his meaning. I am far from recom- 
 mending my own example for everybody. I 
 believe that study of style, as style, may be 
 useful for men with a talent that way ; but 
 I must leave it to more successful writers to 
 explain how it is to be carried on. My plan, 
 if it is to be called a plan, is, I fancy, not a 
 bad one for the ordinary writer." 
 
 W. E. H. Lecky, a historian of wide re- IV. E. 
 search and brilliant style, never made any H>L eck y* 
 methodical study of composition. " I have 
 always cared much for style," he says, " and 
 have endeavoured to improve my own by 
 reading a great deal of the best English and 
 French prose. In writing, as in music, much 
 of the perfection of style is a question of ear ; 
 
230 THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 W. E. but much also depends on the ideal the writer 
 H.Lecky. se ts before himself. He ought, I think, to 
 aim (1) at the greatest possible simplicity and 
 accuracy of expression, (2) at vivacity and 
 force, (3) at condensation. The last two heads 
 will usually be found to blend ; for condensa- 
 tion, when it is not attained at the sacrifice of 
 clearness, is the great secret of force. I should 
 say, from my own experience, that most im- 
 provements of style are of the nature either 
 of condensation or of increased accuracy and 
 delicacy of distinction. Many separate fibres 
 of thought are apt to get tangled or massed 
 together in vague and general expressions, and 
 it is the task of a good writer to count them 
 out, giving each its distinct individuality. He 
 should write no phrase which does not convey 
 a clear and definite meaning to his mind, 
 should endeavour to make the words fit as 
 closely as possible to the meaning, and should 
 wage an unsparing war against redundancies, 
 against slang, and against merely conven- 
 tional and unmeaning phrases." 
 
 .S*. R. Another powerful living historian, Samuel 
 
 ** ar ~ K. Gardiner, says : " I fear I can throw very 
 
 diner. 
 
THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 231 
 
 little light on the subject, as when I was at S. R. 
 
 Winchester and Oxford it was not the fashion ^ ar ~ 
 
 . . diner. 
 
 to teach the writing of English in any way. 
 
 I have simply tried to know what I want to 
 
 say, and to say it so that others should know 
 
 what it is ; and also to have clearly in my own 
 
 mind the thread of my narrative, so as to 
 
 put things in their proper relations to one 
 
 another." 
 
 Brief replies from two scientific authors may Sir J. 
 De inserted here. Sir John Lubbock says : Lubbock - 
 " Beyond carefully reading our best writers 
 and endeavouring to make myself as clear as 
 possible, I have followed no rule. My im- 
 pression is that there is no better way to 
 improve one's style than by the study of the 
 greatest masters of English." 
 
 St. George Mivart writes : " I have never St Geo. 
 in my life considered the construction of a Mwart " 
 sentence I wrote; what has come, has come 
 without conscious effort. Though I went 
 through the usual Greek and Latin authors, 
 I was never a good classical scholar. If I am 
 clear, I think it must be due to a habit of mind 
 1Q 
 
232 THE STEENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 St Geo. which has always led me to try and acquire 
 Mivart p rec i se an( j accurate ideas about any subject 
 I inquired into, to get to the bottom of things 
 as far as possible. As a boy, I was particularly 
 fond of Euclid, and the judgment passed on my 
 scientific work by a man well able to judge 
 (the late Professor Peters, of Berlin) was, that 
 it was * thorough.' This he expressed one day 
 to my friend, Professor Flower, of the British 
 Museum, who told me of it. When I write I 
 scribble off my thoughts as quickly as possible, 
 and then for the most part rewrite." 
 
 John John Bukkoughs, a gifted American essayist, 
 
 roughs wnose charming studies have a wide circle of 
 readers here as well as in the United States, 
 writes to say : "I suppose the secret of what- 
 ever there is valuable in one's style is quite in- 
 communicable : it lies above and beyond one's 
 w r ill or one's conscious attainment. In my own 
 case I only know that I always do the best 
 work I am capable of at the time, and never 
 force myself to write against the mood. I 
 must feel the thing first, and then I can say It ; 
 I must love the subject upon which I write, it 
 must adhere to me, and for the time being 
 
THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 233 
 
 become a part of me. I write only in the John 
 morning hours and when I am in perfect rou „„ s 
 health, and for only three or four months in 
 the year — fall and winter. My youth and 
 early training made me acquainted with things, 
 and not with hooks. I was a farm boy, and 
 my love of nature is as old as I am. My 
 desire to write began when I was sixteen or 
 seventeen. I got hold of The Spectator, and 
 read it closely; then Dr. Johnson's Essays, 
 and read and studied them ; then Emerson's 
 Essays. These last influenced me most 
 deeply ; I lived upon them for years. Shake- 
 speare, too, I studied, and Carlyle, and all the 
 masters of expression I could lay hands on. 
 The great classics I have read only in transla- 
 tions. A man, to write well, must be perfectly 
 sincere and honest with himself, and try to 
 express only what he feels and knows. 
 Earnestness is the great secret of forcible 
 composition. I should advise the young to 
 study Matthew Arnold, who, I think, is one 
 of the great masters of English style. Lu- 
 cidity — lucidity, that is the word, clear as the 
 open daylight from beginning to end. Unless 
 the idea is as plain and palpable, as real in the 
 
234 THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 John print, as are the trees in the field or the men 
 r \ in the street, the work is faulty." 
 
 C. D. Charles Dudley Warner, one of the 
 
 Warner, "brightest and most interesting essayists of 
 America, writes : " Most people, I suspect, 
 begin to write before they have anything to 
 say. I did. I remember that at the age of 
 sixteen I thought a great deal more of how a 
 thing should be said than what to say. I used 
 to have a habit of walking up and down and 
 composing a sentence, with attention to its 
 symmetrical - quality, before writing it. I 
 practised this a good deal, and though I was 
 reading Irving at the time and was influenced 
 by him, I did not acquire his diffuseness and 
 facility of enlarging. During my college days 
 I think I was benefited more by my corres- 
 pondence than anything else. I wrote a letter 
 every day, as good a letter as I could write, for 
 most of my correspondents were ladies of 
 cultivation, considerably older than I. There 
 is nothing so good as this sort of letter- writing 
 to give flexibility to style. Later on in life, 
 when I became an editor, and was subject to 
 the limitations of space, I perhaps got into the 
 
Warner. 
 
 THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 235 
 
 bad habit of condensing too much for clear- CD, 
 ness, and lost something of my power of 
 amplification. But since I have had, or 
 thought I had, something to say, I have had 
 only one rule, to say it in the simplest way, 
 choosing always an adequate, short word 
 instead of a long one, and one commonly in 
 use rather than one erudite. I have steadily 
 endeavoured to lessen the number of my 
 adjectives, and to avoid what is called fine 
 writing. I have tried also to eschew the use 
 of quotations ; that is, the expressing of my 
 thoughts in phrases the memory may suggest, 
 which is often the easiest way. While a writer 
 ought not to strain for brilliant expression, he 
 ought not to fall into the inevitable common- 
 place which memory prompts. If a person has 
 a clear thought that is his own, he will be apt 
 to use language freely in expressing it ; and his 
 chief care, it seems to me, should be to send 
 his thought as straight to the brain of another 
 as he can. There is no excuse for obscurity 
 or pedantry. I believe in a personal style, 
 and I acknowledge its charm. It should be 
 a thing of the person, never copied. Beading 
 the best English certainly tends to make one 
 
236 
 
 THE STEENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 C. D. write correctly, but the style should come out 
 
 ' of one's own nature in a sincere effort to 
 
 express oneself. No imitation, however good, 
 
 ever yet added anything permanent to 
 
 literature." 
 
 William 
 Minto. 
 
 The series of contributions contained in this 
 chapter may appropriately be brought to a 
 close by some valuable suggestions generously 
 placed at our disposal by "William Minto, 
 Professor at Aberdeen University, and the 
 author of several books, amongst them a few 
 notable novels, written with great ability and 
 charm of style. He says : " As a professor, part 
 of whose business is to lecture on the prin- 
 ciples of composition, I think there is some 
 use in advice on the subject. Only I draw a 
 clear distinction. The one kind of composi- 
 tion for which rules and principles are of 
 service, is composition whose aim is to 
 instruct or communicate knowledge. If one's 
 object is to entertain, or even to rouse, to touch 
 the feelings in any way, I doubt whether 
 one is not hampered rather than helped by any 
 rules that are not of one's own devising. 
 Therein the writer must minister to himself. 
 
THE STKENGTH OP SIMPLICITY. 237 
 
 Of course there are principles in art, but I William 
 doubt whether the learner can get much from Mlnto - 
 the formal statement of them. 
 
 " But if it is a question of communicating 
 knowledge, the case is different. Given a 
 certain series of ideas to be passed from one to 
 another, bit by bit, unit by unit, as a crowd 
 passes one by one through a narrow opening, 
 there must be one order better than another. 
 A theatre can be emptied more quickly by 
 good arrangement than if the matter is left to 
 chance. And in writing, the problem is still 
 more difficult than emptying a theatre, or 
 bottle of water. You have to get your water 
 out of one narrow-necked bottle into another, 
 spilling as little as possible by the way. 
 
 " There are one or two general principles 
 that I am in the habit of laying down to my 
 students. One is not to overcrowd, not to try 
 to say too much in a sentence or a paragraph, 
 or even an essay or a sermon. Have one, or 
 a few, leading ideas, and stick to them as 
 closely as possible. Whatever you bring in, 
 see that it has some connection with your 
 main theme. But, indeed, it has always 
 seemed to me that nearly every principle of 
 
238 THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 William composition might be deduced by a man for 
 Mwto. himself if he bore in mind the cardinal maxim, 
 that the purpose of writing is not to express 
 thought but to communicate knowledge, and 
 that that writing is best which gets its mean- 
 ing most easily and expeditiously into the 
 mind of the reader. It is the reader's ease 
 and convenience that have to be considered. 
 The right words and the right sentences 
 should be in their right places, and the places 
 are right when what you want to be pro- 
 minent and well in the reader's eye is 
 prominent. Theoretically, therefore, though 
 I fear I seldom have realised the ideal myself, 
 a writer ought, before his final draft at any 
 rate, to have in his mind clearly what he 
 wants to say, and then to order it so that it 
 shall most easily and clearly find its way into 
 the minds of his readers. 
 
 " This, of course, is a counsel of perfection, 
 and I fear I have not followed it in my ramb- 
 ling and disjointed remarks to yourself. John 
 Bright's speeches have always struck me as 
 being among the most structurally perfect 
 things in our language. He seems always to 
 have known before he began how he was 
 
THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 239 
 
 to end, and he seems to have also acted on William 
 the principle of not trying to pack too much 
 matter into a speech. I must again say, how- 
 ever, that if entertainment is a writer's 
 purpose, all the obvious rules of clear and 
 coherent statement seem to me, although 
 I cannot myself, owing to ingrained habit, get 
 rid of them, to be a mistake. The only 
 sufficient rule is to say what comes first 
 into one's head, and trust for coherence to the 
 suggestions of casual association. I remember 
 once listening to a very clear, plain, closely- 
 connected speech, all bearing on one head, 
 simple enough too, and not without variety. 
 When I came out I asked one of the audience, 
 a very intelligent working-man, what he 
 thought of it. It was good, he said, very 
 good; and then, after a little hesitation, 
 added, ' perhaps too good.' How so? I asked. 
 He had some little difficulty in explaining his 
 objection, but it appeared that one thing was 
 too closely connected with another, so that 
 it was rather a strain to follow the speaker. 
 My friend quite admitted that this was the 
 proper thing, to be logical and coherent, but 
 said that he preferred things thrown in here 
 
240 THE STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 William and there, familiar things that one could 
 Minto. cheer at> 
 
 "Any success I may have in that way I 
 believe I owe mainly to my having been a 
 pupil of Professor Bain's. The chapters in his 
 1 Rhetoric,' on paragraph construction, and on 
 exposition, seem to me to be of the greatest 
 use to anybody who wishes to compose 
 clearly for purposes of conveying information. 
 I have also been an admiring student of 
 Matthew Arnold ever since I heard him 
 deliver the first of his lectures on ' Culture ' 
 at Oxford." 
 
A PBOTEST AGAINST OBSCUBITY. 
 
A PROTEST AGAINST OBSCURITY. 
 
 THIS is but a continuation of the subject- 
 matter of the previous chapter, the 
 negative side of which that was the positive. 
 A break in the general subject of clearness may 
 not be unacceptable to the reader ; at least it 
 will give an opportunity of calling attention to 
 a fault in authorship which cannot but prove 
 fatal. We expect an author to speak to us 
 with distinctness and precision. If he is con- 
 vinced that he has something of value to say, 
 we have the right to ask that he shall say it 
 clearly and in a way that best conveys his 
 meaning. Any obscurity, vagueness, or un- 
 certainty in his mode of expression ; any 
 darkening of counsel with perplexing utter- 
 ance, at once forces us to conclude that the 
 author does not himself know exactly what he 
 thinks, and hence does not know just what 
 to say. The moment any such conclusion is 
 reached, the writer's influence over us has 
 gone. 
 
244 A PEOTEST AGAINST OBSCUEITT. 
 
 The authors most widely read, and those 
 who maintain unchallenged their supremacy in 
 the realm of literature, are those about whose 
 thought and purpose there is no uncertainty. 
 This is assuredly one of the essential ele- 
 ments of Homer's power and immortality, 
 of Michael Cervantes', of Shakespeare's, of 
 Daniel Defoe's, of Hawthorne's. Because they 
 express noble thoughts, and picture charming 
 scenes, and relate facts and experiences with- 
 out one touch of vagueness, they never lose 
 their fascination. They speak to us as we 
 instinctively feel they ought, telling us simply, 
 honestly, straightforwardly what they wish to 
 convey to our minds. Their purpose is dis- 
 tinct ; therefore their utterances are so. Clear 
 thought makes clear speech. 
 
 So of present-day authors. They are the 
 most read who are the least obscure. Tenny- 
 son, Euskin, Cardinal Newman, and other of 
 our best-known writers, are living witnesses 
 of the fact that perfect clearness of expression 
 is compatible with the very highest power. A 
 style may be eminently lucid, yet singularly 
 suggestive. We do not ask an author to over- 
 come all difficulties of thought for us. That 
 
A PEOTEST AGAINST OBSCUEITY. 245 
 
 would be asking him to become like a foolishly 
 indulgent mother, who spoils her children for 
 the sake of pleasing them. Literary excellence 
 is tested, not by leaving a reader lulled intel- 
 lectually into a state of contented repose, but 
 by awakening emotions and sentiments not 
 previously felt. The effort to avoid obscurity 
 must not carry a writer into an insipid pro- 
 fuseness of small talk, such as that Douglas 
 Jerrold complains of when he says that certain 
 authors deal with truth as though it were like 
 gold, making a little of it go a great way, 
 hammering it out until one grain covers a 
 folio. A writer's every sentence may ring 
 with a great purpose, may be weighty with a 
 solid meaning, may be trenchant, penetrating, 
 subtle, and yet be clear as the sunlight. 
 
 What is the value of thought, howsoever 
 noble, when expressed in enigmatical forms ! 
 In one of his splendid stories George Meredith 
 thus describes the style of an author, whom he 
 does not, of course, name : " His favourite 
 author was one writing of heroes, in (so she 
 esteemed it) a style resembling either early 
 architecture or utter dilapidation, so loose and 
 rough it seemed ; a wind-in-the-orchard style, 
 
246 A PEOTEST AGAINST OBSCUEITY. 
 
 that tumbled down here and there an appre- 
 ciable fruit with uncouth bluster ; sentences 
 without commencements running to abrupt 
 endings and smoke, like waves against a sea 
 wall; learned dictionary words giving a hand 
 to street slang, and accents falling on them 
 haphazard, like slant rays from driving clouds ; 
 all the pages in a breeze, the whole book 
 producing a kind of electrical agitation in the 
 mind and the joints." "Whenever we meet 
 with a mode of expression at all akin to that 
 so aptly described by Mr. Meredith we can do 
 no other than regard it as disgraceful to the 
 author and insulting to the reader. 
 
 The following contributions will show how 
 deeply our present-day writers feel upon this 
 subject, and how painstaking are their endea- 
 vours to avoid any approach to obscurity in 
 their own work. 
 
 Lewis Lewis Moeeis, the author of " The Epic 
 
 orris. o £ Hades " and several volumes of poems 
 written with great power and marked by a 
 singular penetration and musical quality in 
 style, says : "I am afraid I have very little 
 to say as to the art of expression, and indeed 
 
A PROTEST AGAINST OBSCURITY. 247 
 
 I generally fail to satisfy myself in prose, and Lewis 
 often in verse. I think, however, that it is a orm - 
 good rule to have something to say, not to 
 write at all unless you have, and when you do 
 write to use the fewest possible words ; then to 
 go over every sentence or every verse with 
 a view to discover whether any possibility of 
 obscurity or mistaken meaning remains, and 
 if so, to alter it at once to a clearer form of 
 expression. I have always tried to do this, 
 and have been much helped by my experience 
 as a conveyancing counsel of long practice in 
 draughting legal instruments. In a deed or 
 will, where ambiguity of meaning might 
 involve the loss of thousands of pounds to 
 innocent people, and where no assistance is 
 to be derived from punctuation, clearness of 
 expression is an absolute necessity. As 
 regards obscurity in verse, it is, in my view, 
 a fatal error, and is, curiously enough, 
 associated with the decadence of every litera- 
 ture. I do not believe Mr. Browning could 
 have written clearly if he would, and as he 
 is unlikely to find imitators I would not 
 willingly say a word against 'a style which is 
 weighted with so much noble yet difficult 
 17 
 
248 A PROTEST AGAINST OBSCURITY. 
 
 Lewis thought. Another man of genius, Mr. George 
 Morris. Meredith, has found a way to write not 
 only obscure verse, but, in his later works, 
 prose so extraordinarily difficult in thought 
 and expression that one may read page 
 after page without the remotest glimmering 
 sense of a possible meaning, which never- 
 theless doubtless exists. I hope you will 
 warn your readers against these excesses, 
 pardonable it may be to a certain extent in 
 their authors, but certain to lead in the case 
 of imitators to absolute failure, and, if they 
 should become general, to the ultimate 
 , destruction of all that is best in the noblest 
 literature since that of ancient Greece." 
 
 Charles Charles Mackay, a poet whose songs will 
 Mackay. b e remembered with delight, and a writer of 
 prose full of interest and literary charm, 
 always made the avoidance of obscurity the 
 sine qua non of his work. " I have striven in 
 all I have written," he said, "to express my 
 meaning tersely, correctly, and elegantly ; to 
 use no word that could be misunderstood by 
 intelligent and cultivated readers ; to avoid two 
 words or expletives where one would suffice ; 
 
A PROTEST AGAINST OBSCURITY. 249 
 
 to be simple rather than ornate ; to be clear Charles 
 and consistent in metaphor, where metaphor Mackity, 
 seemed needful either to add force or dignity 
 to the phraseology, or to render more apparent 
 the truth which I wished to inculcate or the 
 falsehood I wished to confute. I never 
 indulged myself in what is called 4 fine 
 writing,' when simple writing would answer 
 the purpose. Perhaps I learned to form my 
 style involuntarily, by reading the noble, old 
 English of the Bible, and the plain, honest 
 English of Bunyan's * Pilgrim's Progress ' and 
 Defoe's ' Robinson Crusoe,' and to polish 
 it by the more classical English of Shake- 
 speare's dramas, Pope's poetry, and the prose 
 of Addison and Gibbon. I think also that I 
 derived much benefit from my early training 
 in the editorial department of The Morning 
 Chro?iicle, during which it was my duty to 
 revise and abridge the inordinate verbosity 
 of the penny-a-liners, who were paid for their 
 contributions according to their length, and 
 strove in consequence to use more words 
 than were necessary to narrate their facts or 
 to explain their meaning." 
 
250 A PEOTEST AGAINST OBSCUEITY. 
 
 E. A. Some one has said that simplicity, natural- 
 
 freeman. negg an ^ honesty are the lasting tests of art. 
 Judged by this canon Professor Freeman's 
 work is a work of art. In historical com- 
 position he wields the pen of a master. His 
 writing is always strong, clear, and marked 
 by a delightful sincerity and candour. It 
 may be earnestly commended to all lovers 
 of manly, straightforward English. I have 
 the privilege of quoting some paragraphs 
 from a long letter. " I have always held," 
 says Edward A. Freeman, " that there 
 are two main objects in writing, separate in 
 idea, but which really come nearly to the 
 same thing : to say what you have to say 
 in the clearest words, and to keep up the 
 purity of your native tongue. I always find 
 when I have to revise anything written some 
 time back that I can get rid of an outlandish 
 word or two, and I do it. In quite early 
 writings of mine I daresay you would find 
 phrases that I should now eschew altogether, 
 and cry out against in anybody else ; the thing 
 takes a good deal of pains. The principle is 
 to say what you mean and mean what you 
 say. To that end use straightforward English 
 
A PROTEST AGAINST OBSCURITY. 251 
 
 words, about the meaning of which neither E. A. 
 yourself nor your readers can have any doubt. ^** tf * 
 The ' grand style/ the * brilliant style/ the 
 'high polite style/ with its words which do 
 not at once convey their own meaning to 
 everybody, is the refuge of those who either 
 have no very clear idea of their own mean- 
 ing, or else have their reasons for not wish- 
 ing their meaning to be clear to others. 
 Much political talk on all sides of all ques- 
 tions comes under this last head. I have 
 always tried, in political writing as well as 
 any other, so to write that, whether people 
 like what I think or not, they shall, at least, 
 know what I do think. 
 
 " I am charged with being ' diffuse/ That 
 is because I have written the story of the 
 Norman Conquest really in full. I am told 
 that I am ' allusive,' because in my published 
 Oxford lectures, addressed to people who are 
 supposed to know something, I give them the 
 pleasure — to me it is a very refined pleasure — 
 of being reminded of this and that. I am 
 told I should 'explain,' 'add notes,' &c. 
 Yes, in their places ! I can write milk for 
 babes, too, when it is necessary. The people 
 
252 A PEOTEST AGAINST OBSCUEITT. 
 
 E. A. who talk in this way had better stick to the 
 
 Freeman. < p r i mer f European History,' it may just 
 
 suit their understanding. I have also written 
 
 the ' Short History of the Norman Conquest,' 
 
 for those who may weary of the long one. 
 
 " I have learned more in the matter of 
 style from Lord Macaulay than from any 
 other writer, living or dead. I have not 
 imitated him, but I have learned from him. 
 Nobody ever had to read a sentence of his 
 twice over to know what he meant ; that, I 
 guess, is the reason why every conceited 
 young babbler thinks it fine to have a fling 
 at him. I learned from him to make a sen- 
 tence of reasonable length, and not to go 
 rambling up and down through a wilderness 
 of relatives. I learned never to be afraid of 
 using the same word over and over again ; 
 not to cumber myself with pronouns and 
 circumlocution, but to say what I meant in 
 good English, with no scrap of other tongues, 
 no cant phrases of the day, no joke thrust 
 into every line, whether there is place 
 for a joke or not. Tell your young men if 
 they want real, model English, yet without 
 archaism or affectation, they will find it in 
 
A PEOTEST AGAINST OBSCTJKITY. 253 
 
 Macaulay, prose and verse. Perhaps you will E. A. 
 remember a very fine passage — it must be • Freeman - 
 in the second volume — which ends, * the 
 Queen was with child.' Contrast that with 
 
 some namby-pamby, dainty rubbish of , 
 
 about ' Queen Mary being enceinte? The one 
 now seemingly left who can write English 
 is Goldwin Smith ; and the people who make 
 all their silly lists of ' hundred books ' and 
 what not, never put him in. * Spin your yarn 
 in plain English,' is what Chucks says in ' Peter 
 Simple ' — perhaps some of the new-school 
 writers may say something different : that's 
 the root of the matter. One word more. 
 Some people seem to think that foreign words, 
 Latin, or otherwise, scraps of foreign tongues 
 and the like, are signs of learning. Tell your 
 young men it is just the other way. He who 
 is really master of foreign tongues will no 
 more corrupt his English with scraps of Greek, 
 Latin, French, or any other tongue, than he 
 will corrupt his Greek, Latin, or French with 
 scraps of English. If a man drags in a Latin 
 phrase — I say, drags in, for an apposite quota- 
 tion from any tongue is always possible — I set 
 it down that that is all the Latin he has/* 
 
254 A PKOTEST AGAINST OBSCUKITY. 
 
 Karl Kael Blind, the Anglo-German author, 
 
 says : " There is to rny knowledge no royal 
 road to the art of composition. Every one 
 must strike out a path for himself if he would 
 acquire a forcible and interesting style. The 
 style, it has been well said, with a degree of 
 truth, is the writer's own individuality — ' Le 
 style c'est Vhomme* To cultivate clearness of 
 thought and to develop strength of character 
 will certainly be the first steps towards an 
 impressive and attractive mode of utterance. 
 There have been deep thinkers, no doubt, and 
 men of marked individuality who have painfully 
 struggled with the written or spoken word ; 
 but that is no reason why persons of far 
 lesser capacity should inflict upon their readers 
 or hearers the martyrdom produced by a dark, 
 a feeble, and a tedious expression. ' All kinds 
 of writing,' a master of style has said, ' are 
 permissible, except the tiresome.' " 
 
 Sir/.F. gj r j # Fitzjames Stephen writes: "The 
 commonest source of obscurity is the misuse 
 of the pronouns. A translation of Hegel con- 
 tains this sentence : ' The notion is that in the 
 others that is equal to itself' Four pronouns 
 
A PEOTEST AGAINST OBSCUEITY. 255 
 
 expressed, and a fifth (the one to answer Sir J. F, 
 to the others) implied in the definition of one ^ te P^ en - 
 substantive, and no noun for any of the four. 
 A second source of obscurity is ambiguous 
 arrangement — ' They rushed out like a swarm 
 of bees with axes in their hands/ for ' With 
 axes in their hands they rushed forth like a 
 swarm of bees.' I will add one other little 
 remark — see you get your onlys right. 
 ' Howe'er it be, it seems to me 'tis only noble 
 to be good.' Lord Tennyson, no doubt, meant 
 goodness is the only true nobility. "What he 
 says is, It is only noble to be good, i.e., It 
 is not a duty, but only matter of noble- 
 ness to be good, which he certainly did not 
 mean." 
 
 As pointed out by Justice Stephen, am- 
 biguous arrangement is a frequent source of 
 obscurity in common speech. We sometimes 
 read of " terra cotta ladies' gloves," of " woollen 
 children's mits," of the " snake that was killed 
 by a boy twelve feet long." A member of the 
 Savage Club, so runs the story, was one day 
 standing on the steps of the club-house. A 
 messenger stopped and inquired : " Does a gen- 
 tleman belong to your club with one eye named 
 
256 A PEOTEST AGAINST OBSCURITY. 
 
 Sir J. F. Walker? " " I don't know," was the answer ; 
 Stephen. « what wag fche name of hig other eye ? » A 
 
 considerable difference in the sense of a 
 sentence may result from misplacing a single 
 word. 
 
 Sir R. The names of Sir Richard and Lady 
 
 andLady Burton are here united because the 
 following contribution is their joint work. 
 Another reason for coupling them may be 
 found in the fact of their loving comrade- 
 ship in the literary calling. " We divide 
 the work," says Captain Burton. " I take 
 all the hard and scientific part and make 
 her do all the rest." Lady Burton has won 
 for herself an enviable place in the world of 
 letters, while the number, the variety, and 
 the quality of the Captain's works are truly 
 remarkable. Readers of the interesting letter 
 here given will learn what it has cost the 
 intrepid traveller, who made the memorable 
 pilgrimage to Meccah and Medinah, to raise 
 himself to a level with literary men of the 
 foremost rank. Lady Burton writes to regret 
 that so little can be said upon the subject. 
 " My husband dictates as follows : ' His early 
 
A PEOTEST AGAINST OBSCURITY. 257 
 
 youth was passed on the Continent, where, in Sir R. 
 
 addition to the usual studies of Latin and a ^ dLad y 
 ^iiii • • Burton, 
 
 Greek, he learnt, instinctively as it were, 
 
 French and Italian, with their several dialects, 
 
 as thoroughly as he did English. In his 
 
 native tongue he was ever fond of the older 
 
 writers, and gave himself with great ardour to 
 
 the systematic study of Addison. He knew 
 
 Shakespeare almost by heart, and learnt to 
 
 admire the thorough propriety of words which 
 
 distinguished him. He worked hard at the 
 
 perfect prose of the English translation of the 
 
 Bible, and to this he added Euclid by way of 
 
 shortening his style and attaining clearness 
 
 of thought. When travelling in Central Africa 
 
 he always carried with him the three bound 
 
 up together in a single volume, with three 
 
 clasps like a breviary, and used it to cheer 
 
 his many dull and disagreeable hours, not 
 
 spent in actual exploration. When picturing 
 
 scenery it was his habit to draw from nature, 
 
 as if painting a landscape. When describing 
 
 character, he studied the man as completely 
 
 as he could, and meditated carefully over his 
 
 mental picture before he ventured to put it 
 
 upon paper. He is thoroughly convinced that 
 
258 A PEOTEST AGAINST OBSCUEITY. 
 
 Sir R. to express clearly, a man must think clearly, 
 a £ . ■? and must thoroughly understand what he 
 means to express ; and he would often pass the 
 earlier hours of the night in reflecting upon 
 the task of the coming morning. He felt that 
 what is called unconscious cerebration was a 
 great aid to his work. Having fixed in his 
 mind exactly what he intended to say, he 
 preserved himself from incoherent and uncon- 
 nected writing. In India he passed stiff 
 examinations in six languages, not to speak 
 of Arabic and Pushtoo, the language of the 
 Afghans. These studies again benefited his 
 English style. Being forced to think of the 
 foreign sentences before they were spoken, he 
 applied the same process to English, and in 
 that way gained no little clearness and point. 
 In his many versions of Eastern authors, for 
 instance, " The Thousand Nights and a Night," 
 in sixteen volumes, he attempted to carry out 
 his ideal estimate of a translator. According 
 to him, the grand translator, Chaucer, was 
 so-called by his contemporaries because he 
 cast in thorough English mould the thoughts 
 and language of Petrarch and of Boccaccio. 
 Moreover, as no language is complete, and each 
 
A PEOTEST AGAINST OBSCUEITY. 259 
 
 has some points in which it can be improved, Sir It. 
 he was ambitious of transferring from foreign and Lady 
 tongues the idioms and turns of phrase which 
 he thought might be naturalised and treated as 
 welcome guests in English. Of course the 
 process was viewed with different eyes by 
 different people, some with friendly regard, 
 whilst others characterised such efforts as " di- 
 verting lunacies of style." ' Here my husband 
 ceases to dictate, and I think I have given you 
 as long an answer as you require. There is 
 no doubt he is a master of English, and 
 handles and plays with it skilfully ; but to 
 carry out his programme one must begin from 
 childhood, and I doubt if it will serve what 
 you want, whereas I think three very simple 
 rules of my own might. One is, never to be 
 ashamed to ask the meaning of anything, 
 be it ever so simple, if one ought to know 
 it. The second is, to read slowly, considering 
 the words, and looking for the meaning of 
 each different word in all its bearings. The 
 third is, whether in speaking or in writing, 
 to imagine you are relating a story to your 
 friend by your own fireside, which gives a 
 great charm to style, provided you avoid the 
 
260 A PEOTEST AGAINST OBSCURITY. 
 
 Sir R. jerky, or flippant, or question and answer 
 a J! a J style, adhering to flowing, earnest, natural, 
 easy narrative, as you would in such case, quite 
 devoid of shyness and restlessness." 
 
 I have inserted the above remarkable record 
 here in order to illustrate the fact that 
 obscurity is avoided and clearness gained 
 only as a result of the most patient toil and 
 constant care. 
 
 Emile de Emile de Laveleye, the eminent Belgian 
 Laveleye. ec0 nomist and author, says : " The first 
 quality of style is, according to my opinion, 
 that of saying clearly what one wishes to con- 
 vince one's readers of; for language serves 
 mainly to express one's thought. The second 
 quality consists in the employment of ener- 
 getic and highly-coloured word-pictures, which 
 strike the imagination, awake the attention, 
 and stamp the thought on the memory. In 
 my opinion the most perfect example of the 
 union of these two qualities, in French, is seen 
 in the thoughts of Pascal. How shall a young 
 man succeed in the formation of style ? By 
 reading good authors ; above all, by reading 
 them pen in hand, so as to take account of 
 
A PEOTEST AGAINST OBSCURITY. 261 
 
 their processes. A good professor can, in this Entile de 
 direction, render great service to his pupil. • LaveU y e ' 
 No literature is richer in good models than 
 your own. The Germans lack clearness and 
 action. The Italians are diffuse. France has 
 admirable writers, particularly those of the 
 seventeenth century." 
 
 Alfred Edersheim, late Professor at A Eders* 
 Oxford, an eminent Hebrew scholar, wrote, m% 
 just previous to his death : " I should say the 
 first thing to be sought for is, that a writer 
 shall have a clear and accurate conception of 
 what he is about to communicate. Want of 
 clearness in expression is mostly due to want 
 of accuracy and a knowledge of details. You 
 have a general knowledge, and can communi- 
 cate it confusedly, because from your ignorance 
 of details you dare not venture to use precise 
 language. For myself I always try mentally 
 to see the thing or the place which I intend to 
 describe. Another mistake is, that waiters and 
 speakers take too much for granted on the 
 part of those whom they are addressing. Do 
 not take anything for granted, but write or 
 peak as if you had to communicate the most 
 
262 A PEOTEST AGAINST OBSCUEITY. 
 
 A Eders- elementary details. It is an old adage that you 
 neim, should ' avoid fine writing.' Fine writing is 
 artificial, unreal, got-up sentiment or figure. 
 Be natural, truthful, and if such figures 
 suggest themselves alter them, though with 
 due self-restraint. Spare no trouble. What is 
 worth doing is worth doing at your best. A 
 single fact will reward a week's work. I never 
 hesitate tearing up three or four attempts at 
 the beginning of a MS. My last rule is, 
 perseverance. I believe that determination 
 and quiet persistence of work will ultimately 
 succeed; that is, of course, when conjoined 
 with proper application and sufficient know- 
 ledge." 
 
 Duke of The Duke of Aegyll does not believe in 
 Argyll an y ru l es r directions doing much in forming 
 a man's style. " I have always held," he says, 
 " that clear thinking will find its own expression 
 in clear writing. As to mere technical rules, 
 there are very few that occur to me, except 
 such as these — 1st, to aim at short sentences, 
 without involution or parenthetical matter. 
 2nd, to follow a logical order in the construc- 
 tion of sentences, and in the sequence of them. 
 
A PEOTEST AGAINST OBSCUBITY. 263 
 
 3rd, to avoid absolutely such phrases as 'the Duke of 
 former ' and ' the latter,' always preferring Ar sy 11 - 
 repetition to the use of such tiresome refer- 
 ences. The last rule, and in some measure 
 the others, I learnt from Macaulay, and have 
 found it of immense use. There is some 
 mannerism in his style, but it is always clear 
 as crystal, and his rule of repetition contributed 
 much to this. I began to write as quite a boy, 
 but I did not do so with any conscious desire 
 to form a style. I wrote because I thought, 
 and thought keenly, on subjects of large 
 interest ; and also, perhaps, because I am 
 naturally both reflective and argumentative." 
 
 Amelia B. Edwabds is an author who has Miss 
 many claims upon our regard. She has «**£?? 
 achieved a notable reputation as Egyptologist w ' ar rf St 
 and antiquarian ; she has written some of our 
 most readable books of modern travel ; she is 
 also a clever novelist, the writer of several 
 romances of a high order of merit. " For my 
 own part," she says, '* I began authorship be- 
 fore I could write, and my first published pro- 
 duction was a little poem at the age of seven ! 
 
 I have certainly always tried to be clear, and 
 18 
 
264 
 
 A PROTEST AGAINST OBSCURITY. 
 
 Miss 
 Amelia 
 B.Ed- 
 wards. 
 
 Miss 
 
 Sarah 
 
 Tytler. 
 
 to avoid circumlocution. In the formation 
 of my style, such as it is, I have aimed chiefly 
 at these two ends, and it has always been my 
 practice to read and re-read my MSS. with a 
 view to striking out every unnecessary word 
 till I could no longer find anything to prune. 
 Gf course I do not mean words unnecessary 
 only to the sense. Words unnecessary to the 
 mere sense are often necessary to the grace 
 or music of a sentence, and are therefore 
 necessary in another way. Looking back to 
 the time when I first took up literature seriously 
 — say, from 1850 to 1855 — I think I was most 
 influenced by the style of Macaulay, Hazlitt, 
 Lamb, Shelley, in his prose writings, and De 
 Quincey. But I do not know that these 
 permanently affected my own method. . . . 
 I have not much faith in ' gifts,' but I believe 
 in a fine sense of music and a good ear. I 
 happened to have a thorough musical educa- 
 tion, and I believe I have a good ear: and to 
 me it seems that my literary work owes a 
 great deal, as regards form, to counterpoint 
 and phrasing." 
 
 ..■u,,<- 
 Sarah Tytler is the nom de $uux& of 
 
A PROTEST AGAINST OBSCURITY. 2G5 
 
 Henrietta Kidder. This author's stories are Miss 
 written in a quaint style, subdued and not Sarah 
 unpleasing ; and her characters are always 
 truthfully and philosophically developed. " I 
 am afraid, " she says, " my own style of 
 writing is not good. I am aware that it is 
 involved, though I have tried hard to cor- 
 rect the fault ; and I have been told of other 
 defects. Any success I have had as an author 
 has been, I suspect, in spite of my style. I 
 have generally had, or thought I had, a story to 
 tell, and I have been in earnest in telling it. 
 I was brought up in the country, and educated 
 at home, with considerable, though by no 
 means unlimited, access to books. I was 
 very fond of reading, and read the Waverley 
 Novels over and over again ; and though these 
 did not do what they might have done for my 
 style, I have no doubt they enlarged my mind. 
 At a later date my time was so much occupied 
 that though reading and a certain amount of 
 study came into the occupation, as it were, 
 I had not the leisure to do much to form or 
 improve my style. My own opinion is that 
 the great means to promote style is to read 
 good standard books, avoiding those which 
 
L. T. 
 
 Meade. 
 
 266 A PEOTEST AGAINST OBSCURITY. 
 
 Miss are low-toned, or, what is perhaps worse, 
 £?*? flashy. I believe that style is in a manner 
 infectious, and that by habitually keeping good 
 company in books we are as sure to catch the 
 tone of their authors as we catch the tone 
 of the best — that is, the most spiritually noble, 
 agreeable, and intelligent — society." 
 
 Mrs. L. T. Meade is the editor of Atalanta, 
 
 and the author of a number of sensible and 
 useful stories, mostly suitable for young 
 people. " In my own case," writes Mrs. 
 Meade, " I have not followed the approved 
 methods, but always allow my stories to grow 
 under my hands, and my principal characters 
 to guide me rather than I them. I have often 
 been asked by publishers to make a plot for 
 a story, but I find this plan of writing 
 almost impossible. If I may venture to give 
 a hint to young writers, it would be to beg 
 of them in writing fiction to remove every 
 character from their pages which does not 
 appear to them to live. There comes a 
 moment, at least I find it so, in the writing 
 of stories, when all the characters worth any- 
 thing become as real and alive to the author 
 
A PEOTEST AGAINST OBSCURITY. 267 
 
 as if they were human beings. The characters Mrs. 
 that do not so live are only puppets, and will ~> T ' 
 never awaken interest in the reader. I have 
 written now steadily for twelve years. At 
 first I made frequent copies of my MSS., but 
 now never do so. I dictate all my stories, and 
 can say with truth that I have very little 
 idea beforehand of what I am going to say. I 
 have not consciously followed any style ; but I 
 have always loved stories, and could make them 
 up as far back as I can remember. Let me 
 recommend an article by Walter Besant, ' On 
 the Writing of Novels,' in the December 
 (1887) number of Atalanta. Two more 
 articles by him on the same subject appear 
 in the April and May (1888) numbers of 
 the magazine. Perhaps I may add from my- 
 self, that I love writing about children best, 
 and have always studied them from the 
 life." Mrs. Meade's stories are very clearly 
 composed, without a touch of ambiguity. Her 
 characters are genuine flesh and blood. 
 
 Frances Cashel Hoet, a novelist of Mrs. F. 
 considerable power, writes to say : " I have H° e y> 
 always had a taste for studies with direct 
 
268 A PEOTEST AGAINST OBSCURITY. 
 
 Mrs. F. and indirect bearing upon language, and I 
 °™' think, although I never received any formal 
 instruction, I hit upon a good method of self- 
 teaching when I was a very young woman — 
 I married at sixteen — living in a remote place, 
 having access to but few books and not to 
 any kind of assistance in learning. I perceived 
 at a very early stage of my studies that 
 grammar is a common-sense system, appli- 
 cable to spoken and written tongues, with 
 immutable first principles and various methods 
 of adaptation. The significance and place of 
 the so-called parts of speech do not vary, 
 nor does their relation to each other. 
 Then I studied from that point of view the 
 Analyse Logique and Analyse Grammaticale 
 of Noel et Chapsal, and found it an excellent 
 help to use the ideas and methods contained 
 in those works. I found they were as valuable 
 for English as for French composition. I 
 read in English such works of the best 
 authors as I could procure, and I carefully 
 analysed, so to speak dissected, their language, 
 studying the relation and proportion of words, 
 and making a very careful study of synonyms, 
 with due observation of the more or less 
 
A PROTEST AGAINST OBSCURITY. 269 
 
 accurate representation of each by the others. Mrs. F. 
 Then, by the aid of a Latin grammar and ^ Hog. 
 dictionary, I formed for myself a sort of table 
 of derivations, and got a general idea in using 
 words of harmonising them ; for instance, 
 in the employment of adjectives, to use 
 adjectives of Latin derivation to qualify nouns 
 of like origin. I have been able to acquire, 
 without ever receiving the smallest help, a 
 fair knowledge of the Italian and Spanish 
 languages, and have made several translations 
 from the former, both of prose and poetical 
 works. I have always found the study of 
 derivations and the habit of analysis of the 
 greatest use to me, as enabling me to follow 
 the reasonable course of construction, and to 
 discern with comparative ease the similarities 
 and the differences between languages. The 
 only English grammar I ever used was 
 Lindley Murray's, and that I discarded when 
 I had mastered the formulae, but I was in- 
 debted to the venerable old master for a keen 
 perception of the niceties of tense and the 
 importance of correct employment of preposi- 
 tions ; also for a tolerably accurate use of the 
 various adverbs of time, place, &c." 
 
270 A PEOTEST AGAINST OESCUEITY. 
 
 W. C W. Claek Eussell, the author of a num- 
 
 Russell. fo er f enthralling stories of life and adventure 
 on the ocean, writes with a studious accuracy, 
 a graceful and striking individuality, most 
 pleasing to the reader. His books are not 
 only correct in presentation, but thoroughly 
 sound in sentiment, instructive, entertaining, 
 and in every way wholesome. " Although I 
 was at Winchester," says Mr. Kussell, " and 
 at two or three schools in France — one of 
 them a famous seminary, where, amongst my 
 companions were three sons of the late 
 Charles Dickens — I went to sea so young, 
 at the age of thirteen and a-half, that I 
 believe before I had been six months on the 
 ocean all the knowledge I had acquired under 
 the shadow of the birch was washed out of me. 
 When I quitted the sea I read much, and in 
 many directions, but chiefly old authors. I 
 was and still am a great lover of florid lite- 
 rature. Jeremy Taylor, Sir Thomas Browne, 
 the Nonconformist Howe, old Anatomy Bur- 
 ton, the dramatists, particularly Beaumont 
 and Fletcher, Marlowe, Chapman, were my 
 passion, as they still are my delight. My 
 taste for poetry led me to range through the 
 
A PROTEST AGAINST OBSCURITY. 271 
 
 dull periods even of Johnson's bards ; but of W. C. 
 all poets I think I owe most to Wordsworth. RusselL 
 In truth, I have read a very great deal, but 
 it would be impossible for me to determine 
 the extent of my obligation to any particular 
 author. My experience is that I can best ex- 
 press what I see most clearly, hence, as my 
 acquaintance with the sea-life is considerable, 
 few illustrations of it can occur but that I can 
 grasp them in their entirety ; and I find that 
 words seldom fail me when the image pre- 
 sent to my imagination is charged with living 
 colour and defined in its true proportions. 
 Style, in my humble judgment, is largely 
 dependent upon observation. A ploughman 
 would tell you what he knows more graphi- 
 cally than one ignorant of the subject, yet 
 a master of English, would be able to express 
 it. The deficiencies are a mere question of 
 grammar, which any usher without a par- 
 ticle of imagination would be able to rectify. 
 My advice to a young beginner would be first 
 take the trouble to thoroughly understand 
 what you propose to convey and the words 
 will follow. I sometimes wish, indeed, that 
 there was less style and more understanding. 
 
272 A PEOTEST AGAINST OBSCURITY. 
 
 W. C. Dr. Johnson's fine criticism of Dr. Kobertson's 
 Russell gty]e) < that he rolls up eyer y ]ittle pj ece f 
 
 gold in a great quantity of wool,' is much too 
 applicable to this age to be relishable. A good 
 style, in my opinion, follows good sense. To 
 be intelligible is the first consideration, and 
 that can only attend the language of a man 
 who knows what he is about." 
 
 Edmu?id Edmund Yates, journalist and novelist, who 
 writes with a straightforward and generous- 
 hearted style, simple and unadorned, says : 
 " I have not the slightest idea how I acquired 
 such style in writing as I may possess. I 
 always aimed at simplicity, and endeavoured 
 to make myself 'understood of the people,' 
 and I have always resolutely restricted myself 
 from writing ' with a purpose,' or endeavour- 
 ing to convey the powder of instruction in 
 the jam of amusement. I may congratulate 
 myself, too, on having a very keen ear for 
 dissonance ; and this has been of the more 
 service to me, as I honestly confess to recol- 
 lecting very few rules of grammar." 
 
 O. Craw- Oswald Crawfukd, a novelist who always 
 furd. 
 
A PKOTEST AGAINST OBSCUEITY. 273 
 
 writes with force and correctness of style, says : O. Craw- 
 " Of all the arts none seems to me greater, fur d> 
 and even to state the thing at its lowest, more 
 useful, than the art of clothing thought in 
 appropriate words. The art of course includes 
 more and higher work than that, for it in- 
 cludes, too, that of so shaping and co-ordinating 
 ideas as that when they obtain expression they 
 shall be to the utmost prevalent with reader 
 or listener. Perhaps you will say this is more 
 than style ; it is eloquence. I think it is ; but 
 I am inclined to believe that if you restrain 
 style to its commoner definition, and study to 
 form a good one, you run a risk of acquiring 
 an artificial and mannered style. It is so with 
 every other art, with painting for instance. 
 Sometimes when I hear a critic saying before 
 a picture : ' How exquisitely that grass is ren- 
 dered ! ' or, ' What wonderful flesh tones ! ' I 
 am tempted to say • ' Yes, but has the painter 
 succeeded in expressing his idea? Could he 
 have expressed the emotion of his soul more 
 feelingly or better? ' So with a poem, a novel, 
 the question should be, ' Has the poet or 
 author so co-ordinated his thought, his idea, 
 or his suggestions, and so presented them, as 
 
274 A PBOTEST AGAINST OBSCUEITT. 
 
 O. Craw- to produce their utmost effect ? ' If so, his 
 furd. style is perfect ; but if, at first reading, I arn 
 
 taken up with admiring his phrases, I begin 
 to think that he has failed in the highest art 
 of all. Art is at its best when the writer can 
 make us forget that there is such a thing as 
 style at all, so greatly does he move us. Take 
 Shakespeare for instance. When one first 
 reads such a passage as 
 
 What may this mean, 
 That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel 
 Eevisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, 
 Making night hideous ? 
 
 and the whole speech, one is stirred with a 
 passion of awe in sympathy, such as Hamlet 
 himself must have felt. It is only when one 
 begins calmly to dissect the words, the ideas, 
 the music of each exquisite phrase that one 
 suddenly confesses how great a mastery of 
 style is here. 
 
 " But one must begin at the bottom of the 
 ladder. Now I am pretty well assured that 
 the first step on this same ladder of style is, if 
 one may so call it, the ruag of lucidity. The 
 French have a proverb, * What is obscure is 
 bad French/ I wish we had a corresponding 
 
A PROTEST AGAINST OBSCURITY. 275 
 
 one. But whether we possess the maxim or O. Craw- 
 not, no good English writer, from Swift to f urd - 
 De Quincey, has written English hard to be 
 understood. Then, still mounting the ladder, 
 one might, to parody Mr. Kuskin, place the 
 rung of brevity next, and after that the rung of 
 rhythm, and the rungs of beauty, of force, of 
 grace, and of wit, till presently we should 
 reach a height on the ladder where only genius 
 can tread, and where humbler folk would do 
 wisely not to climb. If I had to live my life — 
 the apprentice stage of my literary life — over 
 again, I should do a great many more things 
 to form my style, and especially to avoid bad 
 literary habits, than I did. The first thing, of 
 course, is to set a right model before oneself. 
 That is, it seems to me, a very great difficulty. 
 How is an unformed taste to recognise the 
 good from the vicious in style? For a long 
 time Addison was the recognised model. We 
 don't think so now. Later every one imitated 
 Dr. Johnson. Now every schoolboy believes 
 Dr. Johnson's English is all wrong. I know a 
 very brilliant man of letters, who has ruined 
 his style and immensely lessened his influence, 
 because in his youth he was an enthusiastic 
 
276 A PEOTEST AGAINST OBSCUEITY. 
 
 O. Craw- admirer of Carlyle's writings, and formed his 
 furdk style on his. It is a difficulty to choose aright, 
 and I don't quite see how to get out of it. I 
 am sure in my own mind that Dryden, Defoe, 
 Swift, Bacon, Berkeley, Jeremy Taylor, 
 Barrow, and Goldsmith, are all, in their 
 different ways, admirable models, but I would 
 not expect any one to take my authority for it. 
 It is an opinion, not a dogma. However, if I 
 had to begin again I would try to find out the 
 really good writers ; I would study their 
 methods, I would increase my vocabulary from 
 their stores, but I would never strive after any 
 direct imitation. All this, I suppose, we all 
 do more or less, or have done, consciously or 
 unconsciously ; but I would make it a very 
 serious study. I would keep notes of happy 
 phrases, neat turns of speech, appropriate 
 words. Of one thing I am convinced from my 
 own experience, that the power of every man, 
 in whatever rank or position of life he may find 
 himself, is made greater, his usefulness to 
 himself and others increased, and he himself 
 is by this difference raised in the scale of 
 humanity, if he has learnt to express himself 
 in written words easily, clearly, and well." 
 
A PROTEST AGAINST OBSCURITY. 277 
 
 Edward Eggleston, an American author, E.Eggle- 
 is widely known this side the Atlantic ston ' 
 through his skilful and telling stories. He 
 says : " Facts regarding one's mental bio- 
 graphy are very elusive. The environment 
 of my boyhood on the banks of the Ohio, a 
 thousand miles inland, was so totally different 
 from anything known to English youth, that 
 1 should have difficulty to make myself under- 
 stood were I to go into particulars. But this 
 I may say, I had the good fortune to be born 
 in a family in which literary acquirement was 
 esteemed above everything else after religion. 
 I was taught by my father, who died when I 
 was yet but a little lad, to deny myseli the 
 pleasure of the confectioner's in order to 
 spend my pocket pennies for books. He little 
 thought what an extravagance this same buy- 
 ing of books would come to be. 
 
 "I do not remember when the dream of 
 being an author began to take hold of my 
 imagination. From ten years old I practised 
 writing diligently. I read Blair's Khetoric, and 
 Kamer on Criticism, but the good I got from 
 these books was not in their rules, but in the 
 habit of analysing my own sentences, and of 
 
278 A PEOTEST AGAINST OBSCURITY. 
 
 E.Eggle- criticising my own style. It is generally for- 
 slon. gotten by students of style, that clear thinking 
 
 is back of all clear expression. To disentangle 
 a subject and go straight at the kernel of the 
 matter is the first lesson. The early habit of 
 telling stories and expounding subjects to 
 children did me great service by making me 
 impatient of any obscurity. To be able to 
 make oneself understood by children and plain 
 people is a long step in the direction of 
 habitual lucidity. Felicitous expression, in 
 so far as I am able to attain it at all, is the 
 result of painstaking. As I grow older I 
 work more and more patiently upon the 
 details of expression, and interline my manu- 
 script, to the sad discomfiture of printers. 
 I have lost my early fluency in this strife after 
 better expression, this endeavour to avoid the 
 hackneyed, and to find truer and more varied 
 arrangement of thought and language ; for 
 prose has its rhythm as well as poetry. I 
 sometimes think good prose is harder of 
 achievement than good poetry. After all, 
 my ideal stands away ahead and mocks 
 at my achievement. I come so far short 
 of what I seek that it seems presumptuous 
 
A PEOTEST AGAINST OBSCUEITY. 279 
 
 for me to make suggestions upon the E.Eggle* 
 subject." ston ' 
 
 Beandee Matthews, as essayist and •#• Mat- 
 novelist, writes in a cheerful, witty, and agree- 
 able style. He is a constant contributor to 
 the leading American magazines. He says : 
 "While at college, and when a law student, 
 I used to write ; and I remember that I tried 
 always to know what I had to say, and then 
 to say it directly and in straightforward 
 fashion. The authors who influenced me the 
 most were Emerson, Lowell, and Matthew 
 Arnold, all of whom abhorred the obscure and 
 the ornate. I have always read almost as 
 many books in French as in English ; and the 
 general level of French prose is higher than 
 that of English, To a beginner, the advice I 
 should give would be to think straight and 
 write simply. To be clear is the first duty of 
 a writer : to charm and to please are graces 
 to be acquired later." 
 
 Eose Teeet Cooke is a talented American Rose T. 
 author of graceful verse and of simple and ^ooke 9 
 pathetic stories. Her writing is characterised 
 19 
 
280 A PROTEST AGAINST OBSCURITY. 
 
 Rose T. by purity of tone, quaintness of humour, and 
 Cooke. j jeen observation of life. " I was not educated," 
 she says, " with any idea of becoming a literary 
 person ; my mother, who exclusively taught 
 me, had no such thought. She did, however, 
 train me early to express my thoughts in words. 
 I began between the ages of six and seven to 
 write a daily journal; and every day I was 
 obliged to learn by heart, both to spell and 
 define, half a page from "Walker's Dictionary, 
 and was given two words from that task to use 
 in a sentence to prove I understood them. I 
 was taught to read early. At three years old 
 I could read anything ; and I remember at five 
 being set up on the counter of a book-shop to 
 astonish the bookseller by reading to him a 
 page of black-letter, which my father had 
 taught me to read. I do not recommend this 
 too early training in any case; I think it is 
 always a mistake. Of course, in those days the 
 reading of children, as far as children's books 
 were concerned, was very limited. We had 
 Miss Edgeworth's books and Mrs. Sherwood's ; 
 the translated Berguin's ' Children's Friend/ 
 and the tales cf Madame de Genlis ; but I soon 
 finished those, and foraged for myself in my 
 
A PEOTEST AGAINST OBSCURITY. 281 
 
 grandfather's library. I read Shakespeare Rose T. 
 before I was ten years old, and what were Cooke. 
 then called ' the English Classics': the Bam- 
 bier, Spectator, Tatler, Idler, World, and so 
 on, where I found plenty of lucid, racy, if old- 
 fashioned English. I read Pope's poetry, too, 
 with parts of Dryden ; and later on, Scott and 
 Campbell. Byron I have never read, except 
 a few of his lyrics. Southey, Wordsworth, 
 Keats, were all familiar to me early in life. 
 My later reading has been various, for I read 
 very fast, and a great deal. If I have ever had 
 any definite idea of forming a style, it has been 
 merely a resolution to say what I had to say 
 as simply, clearly, and forcibly as in me lay, 
 I have never liked the obscurity of some 
 modern writers, whose splendid genius seems 
 to me to be cruelly shrouded in idle words. 
 It has always appeared to me a real wrong 
 to a thought or an idea to hide it in a mist 
 of language. Further, I must add that I 
 have constantly had before me the strong hope 
 and intention to do some work for God in 
 my small measure; this has been a strength 
 to me always." 
 
282 A PBOTEST AGAINST OBSCUEITY. 
 
 To bring this chapter to a close, I may quote, 
 with advantage to the reader, from a communi- 
 cation written by an Irish poet of considerable 
 power, the author of " Stories of Wicklow," 
 &c. His letter can hardly be termed a pro- 
 test against obscurity, but it is a valuable 
 affirmation of principles which, if ob- 
 served, will enable a writer to avoid that 
 fatal defect. 
 
 G F. Geoege Feancis Aemsteong writes : " My 
 
 own feeling, generally, is, that my vocabulary is 
 not half large enough, and that I am often 
 baffled in the attempt to express with absolute 
 distinctness delicate shades of thought and 
 emotion which I wish to clothe in words. I 
 have been, however, so often told by eminent 
 intellectual men that my writings do show a 
 command of the resources of expression that 
 r suppose my mind must be better equipped 
 and more agile than I am aware, though not 
 as flexible or richly provided as I could desire. 
 If this is so, I think any special aptitude I 
 possess is hereditary. My brother had a 
 natural gift of expression, the most unusual 
 and striking ; and I perceive a remarkable 
 
 strong. 
 
A PROTEST AGAINST OBSCURITY. 283 
 
 development of the same faculty in my own G. 2*. 
 children ; and it seems to be derived less from J rQnQ 
 my father's family than from my mother's— 
 the family of Savage, which has given to the 
 world Kichard Savage, Walter Savage Landor, 
 and from which, strangely enough, Lord 
 Tennyson also traces his descent. If I have 
 attained to any excellence in my art, I 
 attribute this — 1st, to something of an in- 
 herited faculty ; 2nd, to constant practice from 
 a very early age (I began to write poetry at 
 the age of eleven); 3rd, to the companion- 
 ship, up to my twentieth year, of my gifted 
 brother, whose natural endowments I have 
 never seen equalled throughout all my later 
 experience of life ; 4th, to familiarity from 
 my boyhood with the greatest authors of 
 ancient and modern times; 5th, to a high 
 ideal which such familiarity has tended to 
 foster; 6th, to an intolerance and hatred of 
 bad workmanship ; 7th, to an anxiety to give 
 the reader as little trouble as possible to 
 understand what I have wished to say." 
 
 Referring to the cultivation of a good 
 prose style, Mr. Armstrong says : "If I 
 were endeavouring to teach the art of prose 
 
strong. 
 
 284 A PROTEST AGAINST OBSCURITY. 
 
 G. K composition, I should say — 1st, the student 
 ^5™ should get hold of facts and digest them well ; 
 2nd, that he should arrange them in logical 
 order in his mind hefore attempting to com- 
 mit them to writing; 3rd, that he should 
 aim at a clear and chaste, rather than at 
 an ornate style of expression, avoiding 
 eccentricities and affectations ; 4th, that he 
 should write to make his meaning evident to 
 his readers, rather than simply to get what 
 he has to say written, and for this purpose he 
 ought to be able to project himself into the 
 minds of his readers and look at his composi- 
 tion as an outsider ; 5th, that he should 
 satuidte himself with the works of the best 
 prose writers, not only of his own country, 
 but, if possible, also of Greece, Eome, Italy, 
 France, and Germany ; 6th, that he should 
 aim at uniting the best elements of the styles 
 of various standard authors, and not copy 
 that of any one author in particular; 7th, 
 that he should read inferior and affected 
 authors from time to time, so that he may 
 learn what to avoid; 8th, that he should 
 be a very severe and exacting critic of all he 
 does, and never give up his work until he has 
 
PEOTEST AGAINST OBSCUEITY. 285 
 
 brought it to the highest perfection possible to G. F. 
 
 him at the time. Above all things, I believe Arm ~ 
 
 ° strong. 
 
 a writer's ideal will be elevated by the study 
 of all the fine arts — poetry, painting, music, 
 sculpture, and even architecture — and of the 
 art of Greece more than that of any other 
 country." 
 
TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
TBUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 "T7WERY man will be most effective wLcn 
 .1 J he is truest to his own individuality 
 of thought and expression." This sentence 
 from a short note by Dr. Joseph Parker 
 gives utterance to the fact I am anxious my 
 last selection of contributions shall, more or 
 less directly, illustrate and confirm. If they 
 show my reader that power accompanies work 
 only when it comes out of the worker's being ; 
 that life reaches life as nothing else can ; that 
 soul touches soul when eloquence and scholar- 
 ship fail in their self-appointed mission, they 
 will amply have justified their reproduction 
 in these pages. 
 
 Truthfulness means the correspondence 
 between the outward sign and the inward 
 reality. Whenever the fact is knowingly 
 distorted in the statement ; when the show 
 is not verified by the substance ; when fulfil- 
 ment is wilfully made to come short of 
 promise, there is insincerity in one shape or 
 
290 TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 another. With an author, any approach to 
 such a fault must vitiate all his work. If 
 his words do not express his thoughts, or 
 if his thoughts do not express his convictions, 
 his composition may be perfect in con- 
 struction, hut it will lack reality, and lacking 
 reality it will be worthless. Nothing can 
 offend a self-respecting reader more seriously 
 than tawdry imitation, or the artificial instead 
 of the real. 
 
 Chaucer wrote his last earthly song when 
 lying on his death-bed, and amid great anguish 
 of body, and the burden of it was : 
 
 Eeul wel thiself that other folks canst rede, 
 And truthe shall delyvere. 
 
 No better counsel can any author follow. Be 
 true to your own heart, to your own nature ; 
 put your own personality into your work. 
 That is the only hope of superiority. 
 Personalities are as various as people are 
 numerous. No two are ever alike. Of 
 necessity it must follow that for a man to 
 be effective, he must be genuine, sincere, 
 absolutely true to himself. He must think 
 for himself, speak in his own way, use his 
 own language, and make all his work the 
 
TKUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 291 
 
 honest expression of his inner self. Then 
 his style will be his own. He will not write 
 in the fashion of Carlyle, or of Tennyson, 
 or of Browning. He will be his own true 
 self. The sentiment every author should 
 cherish is well put in a forceful verse by the 
 Irish lyric poet, the late William Allingham : 
 
 Not like Homer would I write, 
 Not like Dante if I might, 
 Not like Shakespeare at his best, 
 Not like Goethe or the rest; 
 Like myself, however small, 
 Like myself, or not at all. 
 
 So in his letter -upon this subject Mr. William 
 Allingham said : "As to style, if I have one, Ailing- 
 I can no more account for it than for the shape 
 of my nose. I was always fond of reading, 
 and enjoyed very various styles ; when I tried 
 to write, my aim was to speak as directly 
 and naturally as possible of what I saw 
 and felt. I suppose one ought to imbibe art 
 from familiarity with good examples, then, in 
 writing, forget all examples and try to express 
 something that strives for expression. Style 
 is but a medium, and in itself of no value 
 or less; I would not encourage any one to 
 
 ham. 
 
292 TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 William cultivate it, unless with the aim of clearness 
 
 i lHn S- and simplicity." 
 
 ham, r J 
 
 But is style in itself of no value? Does 
 not a writer's merit largely lie in the way 
 he utters his thought? That a man should 
 be true to the truth within him is assuredly 
 the all-important factor in his literary work; 
 and yet it is also certain that truth ex- 
 pressed will be more alluring and impres- 
 sive if robed in beauty than if meanly or 
 carelessly attired. Elegance of form and 
 attractiveness of arrangement are in them- 
 selves elements of power. Many a volume of 
 noble truth owes its widespread and enduring 
 influence to its grace and charm of style. 
 Strip it of its subtleties of harmony and 
 beauty, and you leave it unsightly and un- 
 interesting as a splendid tree robbed of its 
 foliage. 
 
 Walter Perhaps no prose writer of to day has a 
 
 Pater, more sensitive imagination or a more chaste 
 
 and musical style than Walter Pater. Any 
 
 statement upon our subject by an author of 
 
 such scholarly attainment, as well as of such 
 
TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 293 
 
 impressive beauty of expression, will be doubly Walter 
 welcome. " I wish I could send you anything P ater - 
 helpful," says Mr. Pater, " towards the matter 
 on which you have asked my opinion. It 
 would take me a long time to formulate the 
 rules, conscious or unconscious, which I have 
 followed in my humble way. I think they 
 would, one and all, be reducible to Truthfulness 
 — truthfulness, I mean, to one's own inward 
 view or impression. It seems to me that all 
 the excellencies of composition, clearness, 
 subtlety, beauty, freedom, severity, and any 
 others there may be, depend upon the exact 
 propriety with which language follows or 
 shapes itself to the consciousness within. 
 True and good elaboration of style would, in 
 this way, come to be the elaboration, the 
 articulation to oneself of one's own meaning, 
 one's real condition of mind. I suppose this is 
 ^he true significance of that often quoted saying, 
 that style is the man. Of course models count 
 for much. As beginners, at least, we are all 
 learners. I think Tennyson and Browning, 
 in quite opposite ways, have influenced me 
 more than prose writers. And I have come to 
 think that, on the whole, Newman is our 
 
294 TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 Walter greatest master of prose, partly on account of 
 Pater. ^ Q var j e ty f n j s excellence." 
 
 ton 
 
 P q Philip Gilbeet Hamerton has, perhaps, 
 
 Hamer- done more to familiarise the reading public 
 with the principles and methods of art than 
 any other writer. His work stands amongst 
 the very finest examples of simple, direct, and 
 thoroughly-trained composition to be found in 
 contemporary literature. " For some years," 
 he says, " I was a private pupil of Dr. Butler, 
 of Burnley, who thought it very probable that 
 I should one day be an author, and who most 
 kindly took great pains with me. I wrote 
 hundreds of essays for hirn, which he very 
 carefully corrected, pointing out to me all the 
 faults — and they were many — that he could 
 discover. He had a very cool, sound judg- 
 ment as a critic, and though, on the whole, 
 his way of dealing with my work was en- 
 couraging, he chastised it very freely. I have 
 had other masters for foreign languages ; but 
 for English, after elementary instruction, Dr. 
 Butler was my only master. 
 
 " My present system of writing is, first, to 
 make a very free and rapid rough draft, not 
 
TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 295 
 
 applying myself with any conscious care to the P. G. 
 expression, but writing for the facts and ideas ^anur 
 only. This done, I see my way more clearly, 
 lengthen .some passages and abridge others, 
 often efface whole pages, and then, when the 
 work has got into something like shape, I 
 criticise and amend the expressions. I be- 
 lieve this is unquestionably the best way of 
 composing. I think it is a mistake to try 
 to write too well in the first instance, because 
 the matter of earliest importance is to get the 
 materials down on paper somehow, and the 
 more rapid the writing the better the chances 
 of getting unity into the work, especially 
 if it be long. But, after that, I should say, 
 spare no pains — spare neither pains nor paper 
 — in the labour of correction, which answers 
 in literature to the second and third paintings 
 on a picture. I should say, too, that it is of 
 importance for a writer to keep his eye over 
 the whole of his composition as much as pos- 
 sible, and so keep it well together, not con- 
 centrating his attention too much on details. 
 I hardly ever correct anything on the printed 
 proofs, except mere typographic errors. 
 "I would not recommend any young man 
 20 
 
296 TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 P. G. to try for style by imitation of some great 
 
 Jia??ier- mas t er ; neither would I recommend him to 
 ton. 
 
 strive in a conscious manner to be original. He 
 
 should seek to express himself clearly, without 
 affectation of any kind, and then pay attention 
 to the sound, to the music of the language, 
 which is part of every good style, even when 
 it seems quite artless. Good writing is as 
 much a fine art as painting or musical com- 
 position." 
 
 A. Augustine Bireell is widely known as the 
 
 Birrett. author of " Obiter Dicta," a series of clever 
 essays pervaded by much elevation and re- 
 finement of spirit, in which the author occa- 
 sionally focuses his thoughts in sentences 
 of great charm. " The style is the man," he 
 says, " and imitation of anybody's style is as 
 much to be avoided as the cock of his hat, 
 or his way of swinging his umbrella. What 
 can be more odious than a style formed upon 
 Carlyle, Ruskin, or Macaulay ! My advice to 
 any one who aspires to write well is — First, 
 avoid ornament and write plainly and tersely ; 
 secondly, don't try and be funny — anything 
 more dreadful than a forced gaiety or elabo- 
 
rate liveliness it is hard to imagine ; thirdly, A. 
 never let a day pass without reading a really irre 
 good bit of English — an essay by Addison or 
 Arnold, a sermon by Newman or Spurgeon, 
 one of Cobbett's Rural Hides, or a letter of 
 Cowper's. Almost all modern novels are 
 written in atrociously bad English. In con- 
 clusion I would add, be temperate and re- 
 strained, and take enormous pains. Nobody 
 need know how many times you have copied 
 a sentence before you have despatched it to 
 the press. It is usually important to have 
 something to say. I have nothing more to 
 say, so will now give you an example of a 
 really good piece of English : When you have 
 nothing to say, say nothing." 
 
 Edmund Gosse, a writer of both prose and Edmund 
 verse rich and masterly in style, says : " In Gosse ' 
 reply to your first question, although I cannot 
 for a moment allow myself to accept the too 
 gracious words you apply to the manner of 
 what I write, it is true that all my life, from 
 childhood, it has been my conscious aim to 
 say what had to be said as exactly, shortly, 
 and picturesquely, as possible. I think the 
 
298 TEUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 Edmund only advice that can be given to young people 
 Lrosse. m ust take the form of counsel what not to 
 say. Let a roan speak with earnestness and 
 promptitude, having something first to com- 
 municate, and let him eliminate from his 
 speech all that is loose, needless, and ineffec- 
 tive, and there is style, the pure juice of his 
 nature, in what he says. So that I should 
 say, the first recipe is complete sincerity 
 and directness; the second is familiarity 
 from earliest youth with what is best in 
 classic English verse and prose. The reading 
 aloud of passages of special weight and 
 splendour of style is doubtless of great 
 practical benefit. "With all this, my belief 
 is that style is properly an inborn faculty, 
 like the other imaginative arts, to be trained, 
 chastened, and expanded by labour if it exists 
 in the nature, but not to be implanted in a 
 barren ground by all the masterpieces in all 
 the literature of the world." 
 
 t £ J. Comyns Cake, the editor of The English 
 
 Catr. Illustrated Magazine, says he half distrusts 
 
 his own recollection of the influences that 
 
 were most potent in early youth, and shrinks 
 
TEUTHFTJLNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 299 
 
 from appearing to speak with authority to /. C. 
 minds differently tempered to his own, and art 
 needing, it may be, another impulse and 
 direction. But he adds : " I am of opinion 
 there is need of some kind of exact training for 
 the mind in order that a writer may acquire 
 lucidity and coherence of thought. This exact 
 training may be of several kinds, and will of 
 course vary in degree according to the special 
 temper of each individual. In my own case, 
 I always feel that I owe much to the early 
 study of mathematics, and to a later applica- 
 tion to the science of law. The conditions 
 of study are in both cases stringent and 
 exacting, and must, I think, tend to the 
 cultivation of logical thought and clear ex- 
 pression. These, in my judgment, are the 
 essentials of a true style, but I do not say 
 that such studies form a source of literary 
 inspiration. On the contrary, I am disposed 
 to believe that for this there is only one true 
 source, and that is the love and study of 
 poetry. I speak now of the cultivation of a 
 prose style ; in a poet born, the love and study 
 of poetry will beget a new creation in the 
 same kind ; but even for the cultivation of a 
 
300 TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 J> C. sound prose style I believe nothing to be more 
 Larr. fruitful than the study of verse. Do not think 
 that I underrate what good may come of the 
 admiration and even imitation of the master- 
 pieces of prose, and if I dwell more upon the 
 virtues of poetry it is because in its matter 
 it appeals more directly to us when we are 
 young ; and even more because in its nature 
 and method it compels a closer and keener 
 scrutiny of the value and meaning of words. 
 This, if I may say so, is the burden of what I 
 feel disposed to give by way of advice." 
 
 F, G. Francis George Heath, referring to his 
 
 Heath, own books, says : " To my great astonish- 
 ment they have been welcomed by the press 
 generally with a warmth of praise quite out 
 of proportion to their merits. I ascribe this 
 particular result to the circumstance that, 
 apart from anything in the nature of literary 
 style, I have always written as I have felt, 
 and my feelings have oftentimes been so 
 strongly stirred by the indefinable charm of 
 those subjects of nature which I have mostly 
 selected for my themes, that elements of 
 enthusiasm (which are said to be contagious) 
 
TKUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 301 
 
 have Insensibly crept into my descriptions, j? q, 
 and have infected my reviewers in such a HeatK 
 manner as to warp their judgment. In one 
 of my books, * My Garden Wild,' I have 
 ventured to ascribe, perhaps unwarrantably, 
 my enthusiasm for the beauties of nature to 
 the fact that I was born in one of the most 
 exquisitely beautiful parts of England, and 
 it is probable that one's feelings are influenced 
 by early surroundings. You will say that 
 possessing feelings and having the faculty 
 of clearly expressing them are two very 
 different things. Assuming the possession 
 of the ability to write good English, I think 
 it would follow that the cold or the eloquent 
 rendering of one's feelings would be very much 
 a matter of enthusiasm or enthusiastic tem- 
 perament. 
 
 " I hold with a good many others that the 
 true literary art is very much inborn. ... I 
 remember that when very young I had a 
 strong inclination to write the autobiographies 
 of animals. But if there is one thing more 
 calculated than another to assist in the clear 
 expression of ideas, assuming the pre-existence 
 of the literary tendency, it is the study, I 
 
302 TKUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 F. G. think, of popular scientific books. I was 
 Heath. always very fond of natural philosophy, and 
 such studies, I am sure, aid very much in the 
 acquisition of a clear, logical, and lucid style 
 of writing. Cobbett, you remember, bluntly 
 said that the man who did not write correctly 
 could not think correctly. There is much 
 truth in this. A clear writer is generally a 
 clear talker. But I believe that the best 
 method of writing with clearness and force is 
 to lay well hold of the thing to be described, to 
 see that you discern it clearly with the mind's 
 eye, and then, in the most logical sequence 
 and in the simplest language, to describe it. 
 A writer must first be perfectly sure that he 
 himself understands what he is writing about 
 before attempting to communicate his ideas 
 to others. Good scientific writing must be 
 precis 3 and clear, because nothing can be 
 taken for granted. Hence my belief that the 
 study of scientific works constitutes a useful 
 training." 
 
 Mrs. E. Emily Pfeiffek, a poet of wide repute, 
 
 P/eiffer. sa y S : " Education in my young days was not 
 
 within the reach of the gently born who were 
 
TKUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 303 
 
 , also poor, therefore I had little or none of it. Mrs, E. 
 In those years of disabling ill-health in which -Pfeife r ' 
 my early maturity was passed I read and 
 thought and felt — in a word, lived a life that 
 was only quiet on the surface ; and when at 
 length my powers were released from the 
 enfeebling physical conditions which had 
 borne upon them as a galling chain, and I 
 was permitted to speak for myself, I was too 
 full of the thing I had to say to be con- 
 sciously occupied with the manner of giving 
 it forth. * Gerard's Monument ' was my first 
 true utterance, the first that came from any 
 inner depth. When it was written I had 
 passed the imitative age, although I am con- 
 scious in that poem of a certain indebtedness 
 to Coleridge ; in no other of my writings have 
 I moulded my thought, in ever so remote a 
 degree, upon the form adopted by any other. 
 In the formation of style, the sole advantage 
 of which I am aware in my own case is, that I 
 have never been forced to write when I had 
 nothing to say. When I have composed, it 
 was that I wished to reveal to other minds 
 a thought which, for the moment, had become 
 dear to me as a child of my own. I tried 
 
304 TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 Mrs. E. to exhibit it in the clearest light, because I 
 Pfeiffer. ^afl ^-^ in -^ wor th # if I adorned it at all 
 
 in my effort to commend it, it was not in 
 cold blood, but in a sort of motherly pride. 
 I rocked it, turned it about, and sung to it, 
 because the thought was my tyrant and 
 would have it so. Finally, I have put it 
 from me with regret, and from discretion, fear- 
 ing lest it should weary my few readers to 
 whom it could never be all that it had been to 
 me. With the exception of the endeavour for 
 clearness — lucidity — which is the basis of all 
 that is good in style, I fear there is nothing in 
 what I have been able to tell you at all likely 
 to be useful. One thing more : perhaps in 
 style, the symmetry of the whole is more 
 even than the perfection of the parts; 
 and I found myself from the outset much 
 helped in this by a somewhat deeper know- 
 ledge of the art of design in painting than 
 I had of literature. When my thought 
 had become concrete, taken upon itself 
 a body of external circumstance, I looked 
 at it, placed it upon the canvas of my 
 mind, and judged it as if it had been a 
 picture. The sense of Jiarmony and pro- 
 
TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 305 
 
 portion in one art was thus transferred to Mrs. E. 
 the other." *&*"• 
 
 Other writers in other realms of literature Arminius 
 claim consideration. That Hungarian patriot, Vambery. 
 full of the romantic and adventurous spirit of 
 his people, Arminius Vambery, the author of 
 a story of his own life stranger and more stir- 
 ring far than any fiction, has kindly contributed 
 a few lines upon our subject which are sure 
 to be read with grateful interest. "I would 
 gladly comply," he says, " with your desire, 
 referring to what may be called the appropria- 
 tion of a clear and intelligible style, but this 
 would require a long treatise upon the art of 
 writing and composing, a task to which I could 
 hardly respond. The fundamental law, ' Le 
 style c'est I'homme,' makes all theories and 
 speculations illusory ; and if there is anything 
 by which our pen is rendered expressive it can 
 only be found in the frequent and attentive 
 reading of good books, and in the fervent 
 desire to communicate our thoughts to the 
 reader with the same fire and in the same 
 spirit which agitates our own mind. I cannot 
 invite the attention of a reader to a subject of 
 
306 TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 Arminius the truth of which I am not fully convinced ; 
 Vambery. an j j am a ^ ft | osg ^ £ n( ^ ^e proper expression 
 
 for ideas which do not animate me. Style is 
 the channel from one heart to another; 
 and the art, how we transmit, depends greatly 
 upon the nature of the material which we 
 intend to transmit. This is the case with me, 
 but I could not vouch whether it is also the 
 case with others." 
 
 j, a. James Anthony Feoude, the historian, is 
 
 Fronde. a writer whose style is almost startling in 
 its brilliance. It is crisp, nervous, energetic, 
 beautiful. Whatever comes from the pen of 
 Mr.Froude — history, essay, novel — is composed 
 with a vigour and power of fascination unex- 
 celled by any living English author, with the 
 single exception of the incomparable John 
 Euskin. " I have never thought about style at 
 any time in my life," he says. " I have tried 
 merely to express what I had to say with as 
 much simplicity and as little affectation as I 
 could command. When I have been tempted 
 into exaggeration, I have checked myself with 
 imagining what some one whose judgment I 
 respected would say if I used such language in 
 
TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 307 
 
 speaking or writing to him ; and this was J. A. 
 usually sufficient. As a rule, when I go over rou e ' 
 what I have written, I find myself striking 
 out superfluous epithets, reducing superlatives 
 into positives, bringing subjunctive moods 
 into indicative, and in most instances passing 
 my pen through every passage which had 
 seemed, while I was writing it, to be particularly 
 fine. If you sincerely desire to write nothing 
 but what you really know or think, and to say 
 that as clearly and as briefly as you can, style 
 will come as a matter of course. Ornament for 
 ornament's sake is always to be avoided. There 
 is a rhythm in prose as well as in verse, but you 
 must trust your ear for that. This is very vague 
 and inadequate, but it is all that I can give you." 
 
 F. W. Newman says : "I am afraid my F. W. 
 reply will disappoint you. Buffon is quoted ew ~ 
 as saying : ' The style is the man.' The form 
 of the utterance is French ; but I seem to hold 
 the same belief in saying : Good composition 
 depends on the total culture of the mind, and 
 cannot be taught as a separate art. It de- 
 mands habitual accuracy of thought, accuracy in 
 the acceptance of words, accuracy in logic, and 
 
 man. 
 
308 TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 F. W. habitual consideration how others — the public 
 
 New- — w ijj \ 00 ^ a t an utterance, from what side 
 man. . . _ _ . . 
 
 they must be approached, in what way your 
 
 arguments must be ranged, and in what order 
 of words a clause has best emphasis. No one 
 will write well who has to make a study of 
 such matters when he sits down to write. All 
 must previously have become an ingrained 
 habit, perhaps without his being aware of it. 
 Thus, indeed, many ladies are beautiful com- 
 posers and powerful speakers. Love of truth, 
 eagerness for the right, a mind that drives 
 direct at the object and is not seeking to 
 display itself, are moral factors of good 
 composition. 
 
 "You ask concerning myself. I have no 
 objection to name one habitual exercise which 
 I believe to have been from my early youth 
 beneficial to my English writing, though it 
 never was resorted to with any such idea, and 
 that is, my elaborate culture of that difficult 
 accomplishment, the writing of Latin prose. 
 Classical Latin writers eminently avoid ab- 
 stract and metaphysical diction, by which, 
 as I suppose, the mediaeval schoolmen have 
 corrupted Europe extensively. In writing 
 
TKUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 309 
 
 Latin one has carefully to study every am- F W. 
 biguity of the English words, and in recloth- 1 
 
 7iian, 
 
 irig thoughts largely to discard abstract forms 
 and replace them by the concrete. Ambiguity 
 of pronouns must also be guarded against, 
 and everything redundant in the English 
 thrown away. Such exercise conduces to 
 habitual terseness, which is in general a virtue. 
 Amplification, and even repetition, have their 
 fit place; but mere verbosity and want of 
 point are very common failings. My advice 
 to a pupil would be : — Cultivate accuracy of 
 words and things ; amass sound knowledge ; 
 avoid all affectation ; write for practical objects 
 and on topics which most interest you, on 
 which you seem to have something worth 
 saying. To a prepared mind words will come 
 of themselves." 
 
 Edwin A. Abbott, till lately the head- Dr. 
 master of the City of London School, the 
 author of many thoughtful books dealing with 
 vital questions of the day, says of himself: 
 " Looking back on the means that helped me 
 to write clearly, I think I must have learned a 
 great deal from teaching. Perhaps I learned 
 
 Abbott 
 
310 TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 Dr. to classify and to avoid some errors and 
 
 Abbott. ambiguities and faults of taste by constantly 
 being forced to note them. In one's earlier 
 training, too, I think, one learns much from 
 the practice of translating from Latin and 
 Greek into English. Ancient thought, as well 
 as the structure of ancient language, is so 
 different from modern thought, that it is very 
 difficult sometimes to express the meaning of 
 the classical authors in English without 
 ransacking one's English vocabulary, and also 
 turning in one's mind many varieties of 
 English expression. But I think I have 
 learned something from noting convenient, 
 terse, and happy turns of language when I 
 have met them in my English reading. I can 
 remember that I was past twenty before it 
 ever occurred to me to use in English that 
 idiom — very common in French, and now 
 also, perhaps, too common in English — which 
 places the passive participle before the noun 
 with which the participle agrees. You find it 
 now in every obituary column : ' Born in 18 — , 
 this celebrated man was destined, &c.' It 
 ought never to be used except where you wish 
 to call special attention to the participle, but 
 
TBUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. Bll 
 
 when rightly used it has the effect of varying Dr. 
 the form of the sentence, besides emphasizing A ^ ott - 
 its participial word. 
 
 " Unconsciously, I dare say, I have taught 
 myself something of English composition in 
 this way, but I think a caution is needed if 
 one reads English authors with a view to the 
 improvement of one's own style. It is so easy 
 to fall into a servile trick of imitation that a 
 student of style ought constantly to test and 
 examine himself, to see that he is not being 
 carried away by style from the thought which 
 he is striving to express. Clearness and force 
 of language must depend on clear and forcible 
 thought, and that again depends on nature, 
 experience, and training. As a part of this 
 kind of training, I would especially recom- 
 mend every one to master the meaning of 
 metaphor, and to exercise himself in expand- 
 ing metaphor into simile ; also he should 
 practise the art of denning, and learn the 
 exact distinctions of words, and sometimes 
 amuse himself by making up new words, not 
 for public use, and by discovering combina- 
 tions of thought which deserve, but have never 
 yet received, the dignity of a separate name. 
 21 
 
812 TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 \ 
 
 Dr. I ought perhaps to add that I never publish 
 
 Abbott. anything till it has been so long in proof that 
 I am able to forget it and criticise it coldly 
 and dispassionately, picking holes in it where 
 I can ; and I freely invite friends to do the 
 same. That is a great help to writing 
 clearly." 
 
 Cardinal HENRY E . , CARDINAL MANNING, writes : — " I 
 Man- believe one of the chief hindrances of the 
 *" Christian Father is pulpit oratory. I mean 
 the studied, elaborate, artificial, self-conscious 
 declamation of Divine and Eternal truths. 
 Simple nature, reality, forgetfulness of self, 
 consciousness only of truth and souls, is the 
 highest, most convincing, most persuasive of 
 all preaching. If a man knows his mother- 
 tongue, his logic, and his theology, let him 
 avoid studied style and manner, and he cannot 
 fail." What the Cardinal says so forcibly of 
 preaching may be said with equal truth of 
 written composition. 
 
 C. II. Charles H. Spurgeon, like the Cardinal 
 
 Spur- already quoted, is not only a powerful 
 geon. preacher, but a prolific author. As an 
 
TKUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 313 
 
 author his books have perhaps the largest C. H. 
 circulation of any living pulpit luminary. J )ur ~ 
 "I cannot say," writes Mr. Spurgeon, "that 
 I read in my early days at all with a view 
 to style, but I think my Saxon comes of the 
 Bible and John Bunyan. I have generally 
 had too much care about what I had to say 
 to give serious thought to the way of saying 
 it. Tell your readers to get their matter into 
 their minds, feel its tremendous weight, and 
 then with their whole hearts endeavour to 
 impart it. The style will come." 
 
 Stopfoed A. Beooke, the author of Stopford 
 Robertson's Life and many another helpful ^ rooke ' 
 book, can no more say how he learned to 
 write than he could say how he learned to 
 walk. " But there is one rule which always 
 holds good," he adds ; " study the masters of 
 any art in which you wish to excel, and study 
 their masterpieces before you study their ordi- 
 nary work. And next, whatever you desire to 
 do, the only way to learn how to do it is 
 to do it incessantly. If you want to learn 
 how to walk, walk ; if you want to learn how 
 to write, write. Incessant practice, for years 
 
314 TBTJTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 Btopford and years, is the only secret ; but never 
 Brooke, without having before you, lest you become 
 slovenly or verbose, lest, in fact, you forget 
 fine form, the masterpieces of the masters." 
 
 Canon B. F. Westcott, Canon of Westminster, 
 
 Westcott. cann ot say that he ever had the advantage of 
 any special or definite training, either in writing 
 or speaking. " It was my privilege at school 
 to learn, under the first Bishop of Manchester, 
 to believe in the exact form of words and to 
 weigh their meaning carefully. As a school- 
 master, in my turn, I sought to convey to my 
 pupils what I firmly believed ; and in later 
 years, with a wide field of teaching, it has 
 been my single desire to show to others, as 
 well as I have been able, the fragments of 
 truth which have been made known to me, 
 just as I saw them. As far as I can judge, 
 personal conviction is the one secret of moving 
 men. And as for expression, I do not know 
 any other rule than that of taking infinite 
 pains with the thought itself, which be- 
 comes clothed by the effort. (I shrink from 
 studying even the greatest authors with a 
 view to catching their manner. Words and 
 
TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 315 
 
 thoughts alike must be the outcome of the Canon 
 whole man." ) WestcotL 
 
 Hugh Macmillan brings to his work a h. Mac- 
 wide range of reading and a most sympathetic Lilian. 
 power. He is a genuine lover of Nature, 
 familiar with her truth and beauty. His style 
 of writing is graceful and forcible. " I am not 
 sure," he says, " that I can give you any con- 
 tribution on the subject of your letter of the 
 least value. Literary style is so much an in- 
 dividual thing, more appreciated perhaps by 
 others than by the possessor himself, who is 
 generally more alive to its defects and dis- 
 abilities than to its excellences. At least, for 
 myself, I can truly say that I wish often- 
 times my style were quite different, aud that I 
 envy greatly the style of others I could name. 
 I am painfully sensible of my weaknesses, 
 and my inability to express as I would the 
 thoughts that come to me by meditation, or 
 from observation of the world of nature and 
 man. My style, however, such as it is, has 
 become part of myself, and I cannot change 
 it. It has been the slow growth of nearly 
 forty years ; for I began to write for the Press 
 
316 TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 H. Mac- when I was fifteen years of age. I have cer- 
 millan. tainly taken as much pains as possible to make 
 my meaning clear, and to find the most suit- 
 able words; and having a somewhat poetic 
 imagination, I could not help giving; a chro- 
 matic edge to the thoughts that passed 
 through it. I have never consciously copied 
 any models, and never tried to acquire a 
 special style. Mine grew naturally; but 
 having been brought into personal contact 
 with Christopher North, Professor Aytoun, 
 and men of that school, I suppose I learned 
 unconsciously to imitate their flowing, re- 
 dundant manner, and to write not bullet but 
 sheet lead ! I have often regretted the in- 
 fluence of such a style, which was the pre- 
 vailing one in my younger days, upon my 
 mode of composition, and wished I could have 
 a more concise and graphic style. It is almost 
 impossible to give any advice upon a subject 
 so varied and individual as literary manner. 
 You can only seek to impress upon others the 
 necessity of being clear, concise, and expres- 
 sive. The other peculiarities will be acquired 
 insensibly by the individual, whose stream of 
 thought will be as much tinctured by the 
 
TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE*S SELF. 317 
 
 medium through which it passes as a stream- H. Mac- 
 let tastes of the qualities of its channel. millan * 
 Every writer should seek, above everything 
 else, to be natural, to be himself. Imitation 
 is always poor and weak. Every human 
 being is unique ; has some quality in which 
 he is singular ; and if he succeeds in im- 
 pressing his own individuality by his writing 
 upon others, he will have done them a ser- 
 vice which no amount of imitation or con- 
 ventional writing can impart. After all, the 
 thought is the main thing ; and, when the 
 fountain of thought is stirred by some angelic 
 inspiration, however dark and dim it may be 
 at first, it will clarify itself as it flows along, 
 and ultimately become limpid and transparent, 
 which is the perfection of style." 
 
 Theodore T. Munger, author of " The t. T. 
 Freedom of Faith " and other religious books Munger. 
 that have a manly ring from cover to cover, 
 says that he knows nothing of composition as 
 an art. " I somewhat distrust treatment of 
 composition as an art in the ordinary sense. I 
 am not conscious of having a style. I simply 
 try to say the thing I have in mind as well as 
 
318 TEUTHFULNESS TO ONE*S SELF. 
 
 T. T. I can. If it happens to be good in style, I am 
 Munger. -^conscious of any process or rule by which 
 it is such. If the thing is well said, it is 
 because I saw clearly, felt deeply, and poured 
 it out. Possibly I may have what we Yankees 
 call a knack, but I am not conscious of it. 
 So far as the art of composition can be taught, 
 it seems to me to depend upon a knowledge of 
 the elementary rules of grammar and rhetoric, 
 and familiarity with good literature. Beyond 
 that, it depends upon the man himself, the 
 intellectual and aesthetic condition into which 
 he brings himself. Therefore, I would not say 
 to him, ' Study the art of composition,' but I 
 would say, ' Improve yourself ; learn to think 
 clearly and intelligently ; learn to feel nobly ; 
 purify and perfect your taste ; fill yourself full 
 of knowledge, &c.' That is, when you have 
 got your man, you have got your style. All 
 things are from within, out. Style is very largely 
 moral — in the wider sense. An intelligent, 
 trained, true, earnest, refined man will have 
 a good style, and not without. Of course good 
 judgment must preside. Without this the 
 man will fall into all sorts of evil ways. But 
 if one is not endowed with this faculty he 
 
TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 319 
 
 cannot be taught. I might also say that what T. T. 
 is called a good style is a matter of ear, as in hunger 
 music. I have a friend who does not know a 
 rule of grammar, but writes perfect and 
 elegant English simply by the force of a clear 
 mind, a fine nature, and a good ear. My own 
 rule would be : — Be something, know some- 
 thing, feel truly, practise, and then let the 
 style be what it will. It will reflect the man, 
 and that is the true end of composition." 
 
 I will now invite my readers to consider the 
 experiences of a different class of authors to 
 those we have already quoted in this connec- 
 tion. Some few of our present-day novelists, 
 and one or two more general writers, may find 
 a place here. 
 
 H. Eider Haggard is one of our most H. Rider 
 successful sensational romancers. Written in ^ a S m 
 a cleverly realistic style, full of stirring ad- 
 venture and picturesque description, weirdly 
 uniting prosaic characters and common-place 
 scenes with supernatural creatures like " She," 
 or the witch in " King Solomon's Mines," his 
 stories are truly effective, however doubtful 
 
320 TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 H. Riaer may seem the wholesomeness of such litera- 
 
 S j ture. " I never entered on any special course 
 gard. m t m J r 
 
 of training with the view of succeeding in 
 literature," says Mr. Haggard. "To be 
 frank, I doubt the efficacy of such preparation. 
 Of course, a certain amount of practice is 
 necessary for the manufacture of successful 
 fiction, inasmuch as the writer must know 
 what to treat of and what to leave alone, what 
 to select and what to reject. Also he must 
 have a sense of proportion. Whether or not 
 these things are to be learned it is beyond 
 my power to say. Given those natural powers 
 which are necessary to the production of really 
 good fiction, it is probable they are ; but with- 
 out those natural powers disappointment must 
 result." 
 
 Thotnas Thomas Hardy, author of "Far from the 
 ■Hardy. Madding Crowd," whose realistic and delicate 
 skill in character painting is well known, says : 
 " Any studied rules I could not possibly give, 
 for I know of none that are of practical 
 utility. A writer's style is according to his 
 temperament, and my impression is that if 
 he has anything to say which is of value, 
 
TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 321 
 
 and words to say it with, the style will come Thomas 
 of itself." Hardy. 
 
 F. W. Eobinson, a profuse novelist, best jr. w. 
 known by his story entitled " Poor Humanity," Robin- 
 says he had no special training. " I think son% 
 if all young writers would try to be unaffected 
 and clear, and begin early enough, they would 
 soon attain a style of their own, and a 
 fair one, too. One hint I may give you, 
 not a new one, I have been in my little 
 way always in earnest about my work. The 
 scenery of the London slums I have seen and 
 studied before writing about, and the char- 
 acters of my stories are parts of real beings I 
 have met. This gives clearness of expression 
 in style, probably always. Authors like 
 artists, must have life models." 
 
 Maxwell Geey is the nom de fyuerre of Maxwell 
 Miss M. G. Tuttiett, the author of a few finely- Grey, 
 conceived stories, written with rare charm. 
 After excusing herself for sending so short a 
 note on the ground of ill-health, she being 
 scarce able to work for an hour and a-half a 
 day, and that only on her "good days," she 
 
322 TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 Maxweh says: "My personal experiences with regard 
 Grey, to preparation for authorship and formation 
 of style are a long series of heart-breaking 
 failures, crowned at last by comparative suc- 
 cess. Being self-educated, and having, accord- 
 ing to the proverb, a fool for teacher, I tried 
 to finish the steeple before laying the founda- 
 tion. I will, however, say, that I believe 
 the following to be the best methods for the 
 acquisition of a good style : A thorough know- 
 ledge of that branch of logic called grammar ; 
 the habit of grammatically analysing, according 
 to the rules given in Morell's Analysis ; 
 when possible, the study of grammar and 
 analysis in other languages, the more the 
 better; familiarity with the best writers in 
 one's own and as many literatures as possible ; 
 a thorough historical knowledge of one's native 
 language. But, after all, style, though it may 
 be improved by cultivation, is in the end but 
 the natural clothing of the thought, and a 
 loose thinker will always express himself in 
 a slovenly manner, for which reason I distrust 
 Emerson. Further, more moral qualities go 
 to the making of style than is commonly sup- 
 posed; such homely virtues as self-restraint, 
 
TKTTTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 323 
 
 modesty, sincerity — see Raskin's ' Seven Maxwell 
 Lamps of Architecture ' — serve to light other rey ' 
 than building arts. The habit of making 
 verses is not to be despised ; it is a pity an art 
 so graceful and instructive is not more culti- 
 vated. It educates the ear, and accustoms 
 people to select words ; though it is liable to 
 abuse, and tempts people to be flowery, and to 
 fill in rhymes and stanzas with meaningless 
 jingle. If there is any good in my style, 
 which I have always aimed at perfecting, it is 
 owing to the methods I have indicated. It 
 ought to be a small lesson on style to compare 
 ' Annesley ' in Murray's with the * Annesley ' 
 in volumes, just to show young folk the 
 necessity of labour." 
 
 Elizabeth Eundle Charles is the author Mrs. 
 
 of "Chronicles of the Schonberg - Cotta 7;; \ 
 i-. -i » <. i . Charles* 
 
 Family, a series of pleasant stories, pure and 
 
 lofty in tone, admirably written, and well- - 
 
 calculated to interest and benefit young 
 
 readers. She says : "I can only give you 
 
 my experience very briefly. I have never 
 
 made. any effort or special study how to say 
 
 things. To be quite clear what I wanted to 
 
324 TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 Mrs. say seemed to me to ensure saying it in the 
 
 Charles ^ eS * Wa ^ P oss ^l e f° r me - I nave as little 
 thought of manner in writing as in speaking, 
 and I believe the best I have written I have 
 written most easily. Labour, honest work, 
 there must indeed be ; but that has been in 
 grasping the subject and in thinking it out. 
 I believe, also, the best way to ensuro a good 
 manner is to keep good society, and that, 
 happily, is open to all of us. The best 
 thoughts of the best thinkers are ours. 
 They are there, even if we do not go beyond 
 our own great English literature— the sweetest 
 singers, the most eloquent orators, the keenest 
 investigators, the most imaginative and pro- 
 foundest writers — they are there, in their 
 books, at their very best, with their very best 
 for us. Let us keep that high and gracious 
 company, Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, 
 Bunyan, Herbert, Taylor, and then the great 
 later group, Scott, Wordsworth, Tennyson. 
 But above all, before all, and through all, 
 the English Bible, with its direct, rhythmical-, 
 homely English, simple enough for any fire- 
 side, stately enough for any solemnity." 
 
TEUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 325 
 
 Maey E. Kennaed says : " I can assure you Mrs. 
 I am a veritable ignoramus, and have no Mary E, 
 pretensions whatever to being a literary nar & 
 authority. I had no training, being one of 
 five sisters .imperfectly educated by foreign 
 governesses who were unable to teach 
 English composition. What little talent I 
 possess is probably hereditary. My grand- 
 father, Mr. Samuel Laing, was a well-known 
 Norwegian traveller and author. My father, 
 S. Laing, besides being a public man most of 
 his life, is also the author of several scientific 
 works. My own motto is — work. Never be 
 content with what you have done, but try 
 always to progress. To this end no pains 
 should be spared. As an instance, the first 
 book of mine, * The Eight Sort,' was written 
 no less than four times from beginning to end, 
 thus making twelve volumes of manuscript. 
 One of my critics said that ' Mrs. Kennard'a 
 book had been written at a gallop.' I knew 
 this was not the case, and that, whatever 
 errors of inexperience I had committed, I had 
 at least given to the public what was at that 
 time my best endeavour. This consciousness 
 consoled me for the criticism. ... I generally 
 
326 TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 Mrs. make a rough copy in pencil of each chapter, 
 Mary E. nav j n g the general plot in my head. This I 
 nard. proceed to write down carefully, and revise 
 every chapter three or four times as I go on. 
 When finished, I frequently put my manu- 
 script away for three or four months, and do 
 not look at it in the interval. Then one's eye 
 becomes keener to detect faults. People often 
 say to me, * Is it not a great amusement to 
 write novels ? ' I do not think these people 
 quite understand the sense of responsibility 
 novel- writing brings. It is no more an 
 amusement than any other work which 
 requires long and sustained endeavour, per- 
 severance, and mental attention. It has its 
 rewards in the shape of occupation, increased 
 knowledge of life and powers of observation ; 
 but it neither is nor ought to be regarded 
 in the light of an amusement by any con- 
 scientious author." 
 
 Miss J9. Another lady novelist, F. Mabel Eobinson, 
 
 Robin- sa y s : " ^ G ^ ea °^ wr ^i n g books never 
 
 son. occurred to me until a few years ago, and I 
 
 devoted most of my girlhood to painting, so 
 
 that my literary education was comparatively 
 
TEUTHPULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 327 
 
 neglected and my work is less methodical Miss K 
 than it would have been had I turned my jjFff[ 
 attention to literature earlier. I expect, too, S0Hm 
 that I give myself a great deal of trouble that 
 more methodical persons avoid. As my own 
 style is far from what I wish it to be, and as 
 I am conscious of a great want of classical 
 knowledge, I feel some diffidence in expressing 
 my views ; for if I say that a very great atten- 
 tion to style seems to me an error, I feel that 
 I am open to the retort, ' Yes, I should have 
 guessed so from your writings; ' but none the 
 less do I think that the leading writers of our 
 time are disposed to certain affectations and 
 graces that will not add to the lasting value 
 of their work. What you say is of more im- 
 portance than the grace with which you say it ; 
 and if I were advising young writers, I should 
 bid them first make quite sure of what they 
 want to say, and then say it as plainly and 
 as exactly as they can. It is better to hunt 
 the right word half a morning than to rest 
 satisfied with a word a plie-pres. Style is to 
 a very great extent a thing of fashion, but 
 human feeling is for ever interesting. If the 
 mind of an author be cultured his style is sure 
 22 
 
328 TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 Miss F. to be sufficiently elegant, and if he be a person 
 Robin- °^ n *^ e education his work may be none the 
 son, less valuable, provided he be content to 
 
 express himself with sincerity. I expect that 
 had Burns striven to emulate the language 
 of the English gentleman, his genius would 
 have been smothered by the affectation of 
 his style. At the best a laboured manner 
 detracts from the illusion which the writer of 
 fiction tries to produce." 
 
 Lady Emilia F. S. Dilke, one of our most cul- 
 
 Dilke. tured and most delightful female writers, 
 whose books are always charming both for 
 their lucidity and vivacity, writes : "As a 
 child I had the run of an old-fashioned 
 library, and I used to read a great deal of 
 old English. I had scarcely ever any chil- 
 dren's books, but knew Mallory's ' Morte 
 d'Arthur/ Spenser's ' Faerie Queene,' and a 
 good deal of Elizabethan and earlier literature 
 almost by heart. All my life I have read 
 much in this way, such classics as I could, in- 
 cessantly, over and over again, but hardly any 
 general literature. When I began to ^ write 
 for money on reviews, I used to try to be very 
 
TKUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 329 
 
 sure that every word I put on paper repre- Lady 
 sented exactly what I had it in my mind to ■ L)lltze ' 
 say ; and still, if I cannot get the matter to my 
 mind I write and rewrite till I have got it as 
 near as possible. And, in the same way, if I 
 think the arrangement of an argument or of 
 any loDg piece of exposition unmethodical, I 
 pull it to bits at once, and rewrite three or 
 four times, until I feel sure that it is as lucid 
 as I can make it. Only once or twice I have 
 deliberately tried, as an exercise, to write 
 something as elaborately modern as I could ; 
 but as soon as I found I could do it, I went 
 back to the simple habit of insisting with 
 myself that I should be sure of my thought, 
 and next, sure that my words fitted, as well as 
 words could, that thought. Any success I have 
 had I think must be due to the taking of infi- 
 nite pains to this end. After all, my husband 
 thinks my French style in ' Claude Lorraine ' 
 better than my English style, except in my 
 stories ; and in those I believe the early read- 
 ing of such things as the * Morte d'Arthur ' 
 has unconsciously influenced every line." 
 
 I have a series of interesting contributions I 
 
Carle ton. 
 
 830 TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE*S SELF. 
 
 will now place before my reader, bearing more 
 or less directly upon the topic of this chapter, 
 written by several eminent American authors. 
 Their names are mostly known to English 
 readers, and, except in one or two instances, 
 their works have a wide circulation here. 
 
 Will Carleton, the author of " Farm 
 Ballads," and several books of poetry written 
 with a genuine and homely pathos seldom 
 equalled, says : " My preparation for life work 
 consisted of a fair common-school training, 
 four years in college, and what human nature 
 I could gather in travelling through different 
 parts of my own country. My purpose in 
 writing is to connect all classes of people 
 w 7 ith one common bond of sympathy ; to 
 picture all grades of life in such a way that all 
 grades will read, understand, and feel it, thus 
 learning about each other and themselves ; 
 to induce the rich to help the poor, and the 
 poor to pity even the sorrows of the rich ; and, 
 in fine, to touch and draw out that vein of 
 poetry and feeling which exists somewhere in 
 every human nature. My method of writing 
 is to tell, as far as possible, my Own thoughts 
 and feelings in my own language, and the 
 
TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 331 
 
 thoughts and feelings of others in their Will 
 language, and to remain unprejudiced and Car ^ eton - 
 uninfluenced by other writers, using what I 
 find in them as suggestions and not as dicta- 
 tion ; to use them, indeed, not as masters, hut 
 as fellow-pupils. I cannot always escape the 
 influence of old and established styles ; I 
 admire the genius of those who have done 
 good work ; but I cannot feel that it is my 
 interest to be their slave. This often brings 
 me attacks from the critics, especially in my 
 own country ; but I endure their bitterness very 
 well, so long as the people continue with me, 
 which I may say, without vanity, they have 
 done. I do not often say so much about 
 myself, and hope that in complying with your 
 request I have in your estimation steered clear 
 of egotism." 
 
 John Boyle O'Eeilly, the Irish-American /. B. 
 poet, is described as having won, by his gifts O'Reilly. 
 of imagination and the captivating grace of his 
 social presence, the reputation of being the 
 most romantic figure in literary Boston. " If 
 there is any style about my work," he says, 
 u it is a style of thinking, not writing. The 
 
332 TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 /. B. writing will take care of itself. I gave myself 
 O Keilly. no S p ec i a i training in youth to form a style ; 
 I never thought of it. I was born among 
 books, in a lovely and lonely country place in 
 Ireland, surrounded with wonderful historical 
 associations and monuments of ancient and 
 unknown races. I am sure that this asso- 
 ciation, first of all things, made me think — by 
 thinking I do not mean mere reflection, or 
 reviewing of what might have been, but true 
 excogitation. I found, even as a little boy, 
 that many or most other people did not think ; 
 and that my thought, no matter what it was, 
 excited more or less attention and remark. 
 My father, and particularly my mother, were 
 persons of fine sentimental individuality, and 
 they unconsciously directed me. Then, in 
 boyhood and manhood, I followed an ideal 
 that led me through briers and marshes — the 
 national liberty of my native country. This 
 taught me great things — sincerit}', faithfulness, 
 silence, sacrifice, and hatred of injustice — and 
 also opened my mind to the woful truth that 
 error, prejudice, tyranny, &c, are habitual and 
 conventional more than deliberate — that gene- 
 rations inherit their opinions as ttjey do their 
 
TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 333 
 
 conditions. Then followed years of suffering /. B. 
 for thinking these things .... during which ° Reilly* 
 the inner man was formed, and the style was 
 only the flowing of the welled-up thought. 
 
 " A man of this training, coming at twenty- 
 five to this seething Bepublic, must go on 
 thinking and speaking, and hence gain more 
 or less facility of expression. All my life, 
 from childhood, I have read great books. I 
 knew Shakespeare at twelve as thoroughly as 
 my little daughters of ten and twelve know him 
 now. All children will love Shakespeare if he 
 is read to them. I have passed all my waking 
 leisure -time reading. The boy who reads 
 Shakespeare year after year must acquire style, 
 for he acquires thought and words — his deeper 
 feelings are stirred. Growing into manhood 
 the two writers who most profoundly affected 
 and held me were Victor Hugo and Carlyle — 
 strange masters for style, but noble masters 
 for the inner and higher thing. Later, in 
 Boston, I knew and loved our most eloquent 
 American, Wendell Phillips. But the effect 
 of all these upon me was without conscious 
 desire on my parfc. That which we yield 
 to becomes parfc of us, though. The only 
 
334 TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 /. B. style I have ever sought was clearness — to 
 O Reilly. ga y m y thought completely, briefly, and 
 simply ; to say it so that all should read my 
 meaning. An involved sentence, or an imper- 
 fect sentence, seems to me to be a symptom of 
 disease, a result of some twist, or pleurisy, or 
 lesion in the finer brain-lines. A thought is 
 always beautiful, and the less formality or ver- 
 bosity about its expression the better. Were 
 we well educated it would express itself as a 
 seed expresses itself, simply, individually, nobly 
 — here a grass-blade, there a strawberry, yonder 
 a tree, elsewhere a field-flower. Style is a vile 
 study. Individualism is the highest style ; to 
 be able to say how we see the world with our 
 own eyes, and not with the conventional 
 spectacles fitted on us at school." 
 • 
 
 W. D. William Dean Howells has been called 
 Howdls the Meissonier of literature. His ideal is to 
 paint life as it is, simply to hold up the mirror 
 to nature. This has led him to an elaborate 
 analysis and minute portraiture, which cer- 
 tainly proves more of a weakness than a 
 strength, in that the moralist is apt to get the 
 better of the artist. Still, his books are always 
 
TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 335 
 
 powerful, and are composed with much grace W. D 
 and charm. Of himself he writes :•— " I began HoweUs - 
 to compose by imitating other authors. I ad- 
 mired, and I worked hard to get, a smooth, 
 rich, classic style. The passion I afterwards 
 formed for Heine's prose forced me from this 
 slavery, and taught me to aim at naturalness. 
 I seek now to get back to the utmost simplicity 
 of expression, to disuse the verbosity I tried 
 so hard to acquire, to get the grit of compact, 
 clear truth, if possible, informal and direct. It 
 is very difficult. I should advise any beginner 
 to study the raciest, strongest, best spoken 
 speech, and let the printed speech alone ; that 
 is to say, to write straight from the thought 
 without bothering about the manner, except 
 to conform to the spirit or genius of the 
 language. I once thought Latinised diction 
 was to be invited ; I now think Latinised ex- 
 pression is to be guarded against." 
 
 Geoege W. Cable is one of the greatest G. TV. 
 American literary artists since Hawthorne. Cable, 
 His stories of Creole life are full of dramatic 
 action, of warm feeling, of a humour and a 
 colouring all bis own. " From quite an early 
 
336 TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 G. W. date in my school-experience as a boy," he 
 CaOlc. says, " I developed a bent for literary produc- 
 tion and construction, and by natural instinct 
 studied style, but never had a teacher compe- 
 tent to teach the art ; and as to books, studied 
 only rhetoric, among' text-books. As to my 
 method, I am only conscious of one feature of 
 it, and that is to conceive my reader as being 
 a wise, noble, sincere person, able to appreciate 
 grave and light treatment of subjects according 
 to their fitness, and utterly intolerant of all 
 affectation and ungenuineness ; also a person 
 with very little time to spare to listen to what 
 I have to indicate. I am almost tempted to say 
 that, as far as I know, this is my whole art." 
 
 F. R. Frank E. Stockton is one of the most 
 
 Stockton, delightful humorists of America, skilful in 
 discovering impossible and most amusing 
 situations. His books are crowded with 
 clever, bright, though extravagant, touches 
 of nature. " I think I never studied any 
 author," he writes, " with a view to the 
 formation of my own style. I found, however, 
 it was a very easy thing for me to uncon- 
 sciously imitate the peculiarities of certain 
 
TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 337 
 
 styles which interested J and pleased me, and R R. 
 it was for this reason, when a young man ^ iockton * 
 and writing for children, that I gave up 
 entirely the reading of Hans Christian 
 Andersen's books, for I found myself 
 imitating his methods of expression. This 
 I did not wish to do. His style, even as 
 indicated in the translations I read, belonged 
 to him, and I had no right to endeavour to 
 acquire it. I mention this because I 
 think it is the only instance in which 
 I have considered the style of an author 
 in reference to my own. Whatever merit 
 my methods of expression may possess, 
 is due, I believe, to my constant, 
 earnest, and ever-anxious desire to make 
 my readers understand what I mean. I 
 work slowly, because I am not willing to 
 have a sentence put upon paper until I am 
 fairly certain that I could not have expressed 
 it more clearly." 
 
 John Townsend Trowbridge is one of J. T. 
 the purest American humorists. Both in ^ r ?Y ) ' 
 poetry and prose he writes m spirited, 
 realistic style. "I am almost as much at 
 
338 TBUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 / T, a loss to explain," he says, u how I came by 
 
 Trow- , i n •■• T 
 
 my style of writing m prose or verse as I 
 
 bridge. 
 
 should be to account for the colour of my 
 hair. It has been a more or less uncon- 
 scious growth, and the essential quality of 
 it, if it has any, is, I suppose, something 
 inherent and inevitable. Yet a man may 
 train his style as he may comb and arrange 
 his hair and beard, and I have spent a good 
 part of my life in trimming mine. I have 
 never found treatises on style of very much 
 use, although from my boyhood I was in- 
 terested in books of that sort. The most 
 they can do is to set up danger signals in 
 places where youug writers are prone to 
 go wrong. For any positive help one must 
 go to the works of authors who have really 
 something to say, and can say it with free- 
 dom and force. How vast is the debt I 
 owe to such inspiring examples I cannot 
 express ; I do not even know. But, after 
 all, the key to a good, individual style I con- 
 ceive to be this : A clear conception of 
 what one wishes to portray, coupled with 
 a conscientious and persistent endeavour to 
 give it in words just the right colour. Con- 
 
TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 339 
 
 stant practice, with this principle in view, J. T* 
 
 is what enables a writer to form a style f r ?™~ 
 
 . bridge, 
 corresponding with the qualities of his mind, 
 
 the only true and natural style for him. He 
 
 must learn to prune away unflinchingly 
 
 all that obstructive and superfluous verbiage 
 
 which veils his thought to his own mind 
 
 or the reader's, and never rest contented to let 
 
 a sentence or a line leave his pen that does 
 
 not convey just the image, just the shade 
 
 even, which he inwardly sees and feels. He 
 
 will not always be able to satisfy himself in 
 
 this, but the aim to do so is what makes 
 
 style." - 
 
 George Parsons Lathrop, the author of G. P. 
 " An Echo of Passion," an eminent novelist Lathr0 P' 
 and true poet, says : " It is not easy for me to 
 tell you with exactness, and in short space, 
 just what the influences have been which have 
 formed me as a writer. On a general view 
 they appear to have been simple enough, and 
 yet I am aware there has been a good deal of 
 complexity about them. I think I owe 
 much, more than can be calculated, to the 
 earnest, eager, conscientious, and unremitting 
 
340 TKUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 G. P. efforts of my mother to make me write every- 
 Lathrop. thing, as a boy, even to the simplest letter or 
 note in ordinary correspondence, just as well 
 as it was possible for me to do it within my 
 powers and with the aid of her criticism. She 
 would often make me rewrite a single letter, 
 whether it were long or short, a dozen times, 
 until its form and expression had been made 
 simple, clear, graceful, serviceable, and spe- 
 cially fitted to the particular purpose for which 
 the missive was intended. This established a 
 habit of mind which, I am sure, has been the 
 root of all my endeavours to develop a natural, 
 pure, and harmonious style. My mother 
 taught me more in this way than all the 
 teachers, lecturers, and manuals that I ever 
 encountered. 
 
 " For years, while I was a boy and when 
 I was growing into manhood, it became my 
 custom to observe carefully everything that 
 struck me particularly, to try to analyse the 
 characteristics which caused it to impress me, 
 and then to define those characteristics in 
 words within my own mind. As I walked the 
 streets, or when I travelled, or met peculiar 
 and interesting objects or persons anywhere, I 
 
TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 341 
 
 kept on trying to translate everything I saw o, p, 
 into words, without following any conventional Lathrop* 
 model, but, on the contrary, seeking only to 
 find the form of words and word-sounds that 
 would reproduce instantly and vividly the im- 
 pression which I had just received. Often I 
 would brood over these forms of words for 
 hours, discarding one member of the phrase, 
 inserting another, repeating the various forms 
 half aloud, so as to see whether the music and 
 the arrangement of the syllables reproduced 
 sympathetically the feeling inspired by the 
 original object. I think I gained more skill 
 in the subtle art of using language pic- 
 turesquely and penetratingly by these years 
 of silent, incessant self-discipline, than in any 
 other way. 
 
 " Certain books and authors had a stimulat- 
 ing and formative influence. Virgil did a great 
 deal for me; Homer, oddly enough, not so 
 much, although the Greek language inspired 
 and helped me much more than Latin did. 
 I count the study of German especially, and 
 of Greek and Latin through German, at a 
 * gymnasium ' in Saxony, as having done an 
 immense amount for me in cultivating a fine 
 
G. P. discrimination as to the delicate shadings 
 Lathrop. f • wor( j g an( j significance of verbal sounds. 
 Hawthorne, Dickens, Thackeray, were my 
 chief masters in prose, although later I re- 
 ceived a strong impulse from Milton's prose 
 From De Quincey I learned a great deal 
 that was very valuable to me in the manage- 
 ment of, or at least an appreciation for, subtle 
 cadences and sonorous harmonies. In poetry, 
 after Shakespeare and Milton, Keats, Tenny- 
 son, and Ealph Waldo Emerson have exerted 
 the greatest sway over me I think, although 
 Robert Biowning has also entered largely into 
 my intellectual life. 
 
 " I feel that I have now only begun to touch 
 in lightly some of the points in this outline of 
 my literary growth. But I can hardly be 
 more elaborate in a letter. I may say, how- 
 ever, that the building up of a good style, 
 which demands, first of all, the study of 
 language, must find its chief support, next after 
 that, in an absolutely earnest and unaffected 
 determination to remain perfectly true to one's 
 own thought, to express it simply, piercingly, 
 yet delicately, with due knowledge of verbal 
 melody and harmony, and to reproduce, 
 
TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 343 
 
 with single-minded fidelity, all the im- G. P. 
 pressions we may receive from the life Lathrop. 
 around us in words so true and direct that, 
 like the rays which fall upon a sensitised 
 photographic plate, they will record the im- 
 pression and leave it to he reproduced on the 
 reader's mind with a verisimilitude that defies 
 doubt. 
 
 " Lest I he misunderstood, let me add here 
 my belief that a writer, if he studies his own 
 language deeply enough, whether in the 
 formal, scholastic way, or in the way of inten- 
 tion and keen observation, which was presum- 
 ably Shakespeare's method, can attain to the 
 highest merits of style, with little or no aid 
 from foreign and classical tongues. The study 
 of dead languages, and of living languages 
 other than our own, is just as likely to hurt 
 the study of English style as to help it. All 
 depends on the spirit and manner in which 
 you use your acquirements from these sources. 
 It is chiefly for comparative study they are 
 useful ; as a means of enlarging and illumin- 
 ating one's conception of the structure and 
 spirit of language in general and English in 
 particular, and of sharpening the mind and 
 
 23 
 
344 TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE S SELF. 
 
 G. P. ear so that they may sensitively discriminate 
 Lathrop. s h a( j es f meaning and delicacies of verbal 
 sound. 
 
 " Another point. I have found the actual 
 study of music, and of a long observation of 
 the aims and methods of painting, without 
 actually trying to practise the latter art, 
 advantageous as aiding to define the limita- 
 tions of language, so that I might avoid trying 
 to obtain exactly, with words, those effects 
 that may be rendered more fitly in tones or 
 tints ; and at the same time leading me to feel 
 and utilise the close relation between the 
 three arts — literary, musical, and pictorial. 
 The quality of style in literature is akin to 
 touch in music, say on the piano or violin, or 
 a composer's method of handling and combin- 
 ing the various tones in an orchestra, and 
 to colouring in the work of a painter. I can- 
 not agree with Herbert Spencer that it should 
 vary in one individual, accordant with varying 
 mood and theme, to the extent of taking on 
 at different points the traits of other writers' 
 styles. Let your style be as flexible as you 
 can make it, bold, free, yet nicely adaptable to 
 the most diverse moods and subjects ; yet, if 
 
TBUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 345 
 
 it be a good and honest style, it never can be G. P. 
 chameleonised into imitation of other authors. a r ?* 
 Never allow the integrity of your own way of 
 seeing things and saying things to be swamped 
 by the influence of a master, however great. 
 And while you resolutely avoid straining after 
 an appearance of originality, do" not easily be 
 persuaded to give up an epithet or phrase 
 which may seem to another mind forced, if 
 you are once convinced, in all proper humility, 
 that it is the only medium by which you can 
 convey your own meaning as it presents itself 
 to you. It seems to me that your mode 
 of using written speech and my mode of 
 using it ought to emanate from and indicate 
 our several individualities as clearly as our 
 voices do. You may train and develop your 
 voice, may improve its modulations, learn to. 
 pronounce well and enunciate plainly and 
 finely, and you may increase the range of your 
 tones so that they will play with freedom and 
 power through the gamut of emotional utter- 
 ance, of emphatic and convincing declaration, 
 of tender, soothing, or pathetic accent, and 
 at another time will sing forth in im- 
 passioned appeal. But all the elocution in 
 
346 TRUTHFULNESS TO ONES SELF. 
 
 G. P. the world cannot change your voice into 
 Lathrop. ano th e r's. The same principle underlies lit- 
 erary style. An author's style must be dis- 
 tinctly his own: sterling, individual, and 
 inconvertible." 
 
 Blanche Blanche Willis Howard, an American 
 Howard, novelist, whose stories are full of pathetic 
 beauty and human interest and written with 
 charming freshness of style, says she cannot 
 relate any personal experiences, nor can she 
 give any statement of method, because she has 
 none, but can only contribute a few desultory 
 hints. " What an author writes," she urges, 
 "is, after all, the sum total of his life, his 
 knowledge, his experience, his temperameut, 
 his soul ; and ' style ' is the attire in which he 
 clothes his thoughts. The only advice, then, 
 which I should give, which I would presume 
 to give young writers, is : ' Look in thine own 
 heart and write.' In other words, be true. My 
 theory may be false, but I believe that every 
 author's soul may be found in his works, some- 
 times masked, it is true, sometimes well-con- 
 cealed ; but always there, and always most per- 
 ceptible to the spirits akin to his own. What 
 
TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 347 
 
 comes from the heart, and only that, touches Blanche 
 the heart. There is room for many kinds of -Howard. 
 writers in this great world ; there is room 
 for the romancists and the realists, as 
 there is room for the Sistine Madonna and 
 a Meissonier battle-piece, for a Defregger 
 peasant-interior and a visionary, saintly, tender 
 Fra Angelico. 
 
 " Each artist, writer, or painter tells his 
 story. He cannot pass beyond his limitations, 
 he cannot write more than he is, or knows — 
 but his aspiration, his endless longing for 
 something better than he is or knows, reveals 
 itself in his work ; and therefore, while 
 methods, fashions, and tastes change, truth is 
 the note that lives and sounds on through the 
 ages. In adventure, in fanciful and wild ro- 
 mance, there can be this note of truth, which 
 may fail in commonplace description. For in- 
 stance, in the work of an undoubtedly gifted 
 young author I observed recently these expres- 
 sions : ' his lush smiles,' and somebody's ' claret 
 eyes.' Now, in the light of pure reason, what 
 is a ' lush smile,' and what are ' claret eyes ' ? 
 This is not poetry. It is not genius. It is 
 balderdash, and it makes one ill. Contrast 
 
348 TKUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 Blanche these untruths with Tennyson's lines on the 
 Howard, eagle: 
 
 He clasps tlie crag with crooked hands j 
 Close to the sun in lonely lands, 
 Eing'd with the azure world, he stands. 
 
 The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls j 
 He watches from his mountain walls, 
 And like a thunderbolt he falls. 
 
 Here the poet uses his license, but his figure 
 is strong, simple, and true. Whereas, in the 
 prose which I quote, 'lush' and 'claret' are 
 untrue. The extreme of realism is ugliness, 
 crime, and the sights, sounds, and odours 
 of hospitals. The extreme of idealism is 
 1 lash ' and ' claret,' as quoted. Surely truth 
 may be found between the two. Surely a 
 rose is as true as an onion ; surely a youth 
 sauntering down the Boulevard des Italiens is 
 no truer than when he gives up his life for his 
 friend, or when he leads a forlorn hope in 
 deadly battle for his fatherland ! 
 
 " We all preach better than we practise. 
 I know no reason why I should lay down 
 the law before any writer, old or young. I 
 perceive too clearly what I would do, and 
 what I cannot reach, to attempt to instruct 
 any human soul. Yet without arrogance J 
 
TEUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 349 
 
 would say to any and every young writer, as I Blanche 
 say every day and every hour to myself : Be Howard, 
 honest, be fearless. In every heart lie the 
 possibilities of love and suffering and 
 tragedy. Seek the truth that is near you — 
 do not imagine it in India, or in the planet 
 Mars. Write the truth as you see it, with- 
 out fear or petty prejudice. If it be truth it 
 will finally prevail. Picture the ugly, and 
 the hospital atmosphere, and animal life if 
 you will, but not always, since — thank God ! 
 — though these be true, faith, and friend- 
 ship, and peace, and loyalty, and love, and 
 rapture are no less true in this changing 
 world of ours (whatever comes, God's world!), 
 and whoever paints only the painful, cruel, 
 and loathsome is no less morbid and false 
 than he who paints only the ' lush ' and the 
 ' claret.' The true, the wholesome, the 
 human, with all its pain and temptation 
 and error, yet always with its hope and 
 heart and loving- kindness, is around us, 
 near us on every side. Let the young writer 
 paint this as he sees it. Let him be fearless 
 and true. Let him read in season and out 
 of season ; let him observe, and feel, and live, 
 
350 TEUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 Blanclie and write. Let him avoid ' scarlet lips,' since 
 owar . j£p g are never SC arlet, as an eminent French 
 painter once informed me. Let him ask him- 
 self sternly : Is this true ? Could Adolph bear 
 the tolerably plump and well-grown Araminta 
 hours and hours in his arms through the 
 primaeval, trackless forest? To prove it, let 
 Tom try to carry Mary a half-hour ! And so 
 in other and more important examples. 
 
 "I end as I began: Be honest. Write the 
 simple truth, and style will take care of itself. 
 My own attainments seem so slight to me, I 
 hesitate to refer to them. Except that I have 
 read largely, omnivorously, and lived fear- 
 lessly, even when to my own worldly dis- 
 advantage, I can think of nothing to say of 
 my own life. It would interest me to know 
 what others, and those better able to give 
 suggestions and instruction, have replied to 
 your appeal." 
 
 * * * * 
 
 At last I bring this series of interesting and 
 useful experiences and counsels to a close. It 
 has proved a long, though far from unpleasant 
 labour, to gather these fragments and work 
 them into their present association. I would 
 
TETJTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 351 
 
 fain hope that what has thus been placed 
 before the reader will not be without 
 special interest and value, but will at least 
 have some small influence in quickening him 
 to higher and better endeavours in his own 
 special field of duty and service. For, how- 
 ever varied these testimonies are, their teach- 
 ing is the same. In one form or another all 
 express the fact, which indeed some have, in 
 so many words, stated, that truthfulness to self 
 is, in any and every sphere of life, the only 
 secret of power. And that is a lesson we all 
 need, and all may profit by. To take what- 
 ever work God has given us to do, and with 
 our whole heart strive to do it honestly, 
 heartily, truthfully, careless whether men 
 praise or condemn, careless whether the out- 
 come be reward of fame or censure, only 
 anxious that it shall be well and nobly done, is 
 the one sure path to the highest, purest, best 
 and worthiest art. For what is art but the 
 doing of anything as well as it can be done ? 
 To be artistic is to be faithful, to be true to 
 our highest ideal, conscientiously to finish 
 everything and to leave nothing in a slovenly 
 condition, to do with our might whatevei 
 
352 TRUTHFULNESS TO ONE'S SELF. 
 
 our hands find to do. The humblest worker 
 becomes an artist when moved by such a 
 purpose ; the simplest work becomes a work 
 of art when thus accomplished. 
 
INDEX OF CONTRIBUTING AUTHORS. 
 
 Abbott, Edwin A., 309 
 Alexander, Mrs. A. H., 223 
 Allen, Grant, 141 
 Allingham, William, 291 
 ^ Argyll, Duke of, 262 
 Armstrong, G. F., 282 
 Arnold, Sir Edwin, 126 
 Austin, Alfred, 61 
 
 Bain. Alexander, 110 
 Ballantyne, R. M., 21 
 Barr, Mrs. Amelia E , 62 
 Bayne, Peter, 176 
 Bede, Cuthbert, 46 
 Birrell, Augustine, 296 
 Black, William, 161 
 Blackie, J. S., 215 
 Blackmore, R. D., 98 
 Blind, Karl, 254 
 Boyd, A. K. H., 201 
 Boyesen, H. H., 37 
 Bright, John, 193 
 Brooke, Stopford A., 313 
 Brooks, Phillips. 196 
 Broughton, Bhoda, 63 
 Browning. Eobert, 58 
 Bryce, James, 175 
 Buchanan, Robert, 160 
 Burroughs, John, 232 
 Burton, Lady, 256 
 Burton, Sir R. ¥., 256 
 
 Cable, G. W., 335 
 Caine, Hall, 4 
 Cameron, Mrs. L., 159 
 Carey, Miss Rose N., 157 
 
 Carleton, Will, 330 
 Carr, Comyns, 298 
 Charles, Mrs. E. R., 323 
 Collins, Wilkie, 89 
 Collyer, Robert, 197 
 Cooke. Mrs. Rose Terry, 27! 
 Corelli, Marie, 6 
 Craik, Mrs., 3 
 Crawford, F. M., 133 
 Crawfurd, O., 272 
 Curtis, G. W., 179 
 
 Dilke, Lady, 328 
 Dowden, Edward, 40, 113 
 
 Edersheim, Alfred. 261 
 Edwards, Amelia B., 263 
 Eggleston, Edward, 277 
 
 Fawcett, Edgar, 211 
 Fenn, G. Manville. 162 
 Fitzgerald, Percy, 99 
 Francillon, R E., 100 
 Freeman, Edward, A., 250 
 Froude, J. A., 306 
 
 Galton, F.,104 
 Gardiner. S., 230 
 Gilbert, W. S„ 213 
 Gissing, G., 81 
 Goodwin, Harvey, 203 
 Gosse, Edmund, 297 
 Gould, S. Baring, 147 
 Grey, MaxAvell, 321 
 
 Haeckel, Ernst, 26 
 
3E4 INDEX 01- CONTRIBUTING AUTHORS. 
 
 Haggard, H. Eider, 319 
 Hale, E E., 182 
 Hataerton, P. G., 294 
 Hardy, Thomas, 320 
 Hare, A. J. C. 42 
 Harte, Bret, 67 
 Hatton Joseph, 163 
 Hawthorne Julian, 34 
 Heath, F. G., 3u0 
 Henty, G. A., 19 
 Higginson. T. W., 32 
 Hoey, Mrs. F. Cashel, 267 
 Holmes, Oliver W., 207 
 Howard. Blan he W., 346 
 Howe, E. \\ ., 75 
 Howells, W. D., 334 
 Hughes, Tom, 214 
 Huugerford, Mrs. M., 17 
 Huxley, T. H., 11 
 
 Ingelow, Jean, 14 
 
 James, Henry, 207 
 Jewett, Sarah O., 177 
 Jowett, Benjamin, 201 
 
 Kennard, Mrs. M. -E., 325 
 Kinglake.A. W.. 141 
 Knox, T. W., 209 
 Kuenen, A. . 202 
 
 Lang, Andrew, 141 
 Lathrop, Geo. P., 339 
 Laveleye, Emile de. 260 
 Layard, Sir A. H , 108 
 Lecky. W. E. H., 229 
 Lee, Vernon, 80 
 Liddon, E. P., 194 
 Linskill, Mary, 97 
 Linton, Mrs. E. Lynn, 155 
 Lowell, J. R., 29 
 Lubbock, Sir J., 231 
 LyalL Edna, 152 
 
 McCarthy, Justin, 140 
 Macdonald, George, 51 
 Mack ay, Charles, 243 
 Macmillan, Hugh, 315 
 Manning, Cardinal. 312 
 Marston, West-land, 142 
 Massey, Gerald, 225 
 Matthews, Brander, 279 
 Meade, Mrs. L. T., 266 
 Meredith, George, 129 
 Merivale, Hermau, 143 
 Minto, William, 236 
 Mivart, St. George. 231 
 Molesworth, Mrs. L., 93 
 Moore, George, 73 
 Morris. Lewis, 246 
 Morris, William, 59 
 Moult on, Mrs. Chandler, 16 
 Hunger, T. T., 317 
 Murray, Christie, 216 
 Mvers.'E., 227 
 Hyers F. W. H , 1H 
 
 Newman. F. W., 307 
 
 Oliphant, Mrs., 78 
 O'Reilly, Loyle, 331 
 
 Parker, Dr. Joseph, 289 
 Parkman, F., 181 
 Parr, Mrs., 96 
 Pater, Walter, 292 
 Patmore, Coventry, 226 
 Payne, John, 68 
 Peabody, A. P. , 199 
 Peard, Miss F. M., 159 
 Pfeiffer, Mrs. E., 302 
 Phelps, Elizabeth Stuart, 66 
 Poynter, Hiss E. F., 221 
 
 Rawlinson, George, 205 
 Renan, Ernest, 123 
 Riddel], Mrs., 158 
 
INDEX OF CONTRIBUTING AUTHORS. 355 
 
 Rita, 16 
 
 Ritchie, Mrs. Eichmond, 91 
 Robinson, Miss F. M., 326 
 Robinson, F. W., 321 
 Roe, E. P., 210 
 Rossetti, Christina, 150 
 Russell, W. Clark, 270 
 
 Schaff, Philip, 197 
 Shorthouse J. H. : 146 
 Smiles, Samuel, 44 
 Smith G-oldwin, 227 
 Spurgeon, C. H., 312 
 Stedman, E. C, 30 
 Stephen, Sir J. F., 254 
 Stephen, Leslie, 228 
 Stockton, Frank R., 336 
 Stoddard, R. It., 180 
 Symonds, J. A., 170 
 
 Taine, H., 125 
 Thaxter, Mrs. Celia 111 
 Trevelyan. Sir Q. O., 117 
 Trowbridge. J. T., 337 
 Twain, Mark, 85 
 Tyndall. John, 27 
 Tytler, Sarah, 264 
 
 Vambery, Arminius, 305 
 Vere, Aubrey de, 167 
 
 Wallace, Lew. 65 
 "Warner, C. Dudley, 234 
 Westcott, B. F.,314 
 Williams,SirMonierM.,18i 
 Winter, John Strange, 23 
 Wood, J. Gr., 106 
 
 Yates, Edmund, 272 
 Yonge, Charlotte, 79 
 
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