n- Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2007 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/compositionoralwOObaldrich COMPOSITION ORAL AND WRITTEN By CHARLES SEARS BALDWIN Essays Out of Hours. Crown 8vo, Cloth, Gilt Top. American Short Stories, Selected and Edited with an Introductory Essay on the Short Story. (Wampum Library) Crown 8vo. Writing and Speaking. A Text-book of Rhetoric for High Schools. Composition: Oral and Written. A Text-book for more advanced students. Adapted in large part from "Writing and Speaking." A College Manual of Rhetoric. Crown 8vo. The Expository Paragraph and Sentence. An Elementary Manual of Composition. 16mo. De Quincey's Flight of a Tartar Tribe. Edited with Introduction and Notes. (Longmans' English Classics.) De Quincey's Joan of Arc and the English Mail Coach. Edited with Introduction and Notes. (Longmans' English Classics.) Btmyan's The Pilgrim's Progress. Edited with Introduction and Notes. (Longmans' English Classics.) NEW YORK: LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. J COMPOSITION ORAL AND WRITTEN BY CHARLES SEARS BALDWIN, A.M., Ph.D. PROFESSOR OF RHETORIC IN COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO. FOURTH AVENUE & 30TH STREET, NEW YORK LONDON, BOMBAY, CALCUTTA, AND MADRAS Copyright, 1909, by Longmans, Green, and Co. AU rights reserved First edition, September, 1909 Reprinted, July, 1910; July, 1911; June, 1912; June, 1914; May, 1 91 6; June, 191 7 June, 1918; September, 1918 November, 1919 «MeLlSH I THX*PX.IMPTON« PRESS NORWOOD* MASS* U*S* A PREFACE This book is an adaptation of my Writing and Speaking to more rapid use by more advanced students. Both the order and the proportions have been changed; parts have been re-cast; many of the exercises have been modified or made over; and the whole has been reduced in size by about a third. Otherwise the two books are substantially the same. The chapters on description and narration and other parts most closely related to the study of literature have been change'd least, since the adaptation demanded in these cases is rather of themes than of text. I hope the book in this form will serve those colleges who wish more detailed review of elementary applications, and less detailed study of style, than are found in my College Manual of Rhetoric, G. S^ B. Yale College, AugiLst, 1909. 426182 CONTENTS CHAPTER I. THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS PAGE 1. The Two Objects op Composition, Clearness, and Inter- est ..... 1 2. Clearness Studied Best in Exposition 2 3. Unity 4 a. Limiting the Subject 4 h. Developing the Subject within the Limits 5 (1) By Instances 7 (2) By Contrast 8 (3) By Iteration 9 (4) By Illustration- 11 (5) The Habit of Questioning . >^ 13 c. Announcing the Subject . , " ,^^ 15 4. Emphasis 19 a. Proportioning the Space 20 b. Iterating at the End 25 5. Coherence 26 a. Beginning where the Audience is 26 b. Leading the Audience Step by Step 27 (1) Plan 28 6. The Distinction between Exposition and Argument . 30 CHAPTER II. THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST 1. Interest Studied Best in Description 33 2. Claiming Interest (Emphasis) 34 a. Abundance of Details 35 b. Definiteness of Details 39 c. Observation 41 3. Fixing Interest (Unity) 43 a. Characteristic Moment 43 b. Characteristic Details 45 vii viii CONTENTS PAGE c. Difference between Exposition and Description in the Means to Emphasis and Unity 48 4. Holding Interest (Coherence) 51 o. Choosing Subjects whose Characteristic Details are Motion and Sound 53 h. Choosing Moments of Action 55 c. Beginning to Describe at Once 55 d. Connecting the Details through the Action of One upon Another 56 c. Keeping One Point of View 60 5. Reaction op Interest on Clearness 61 6. The Distinction between Description and Narration . 63 CHAPTER III. CLEARNESS IN PLAN 1. Paragraphs the Principal Means of Coherence in Longer Expositions and Arguments 67 2. The Paragraph as a Part 69 a. Division, Grouping under Paragraph Headings .... 70 3. The Paragraph as a Stage 73' a. Plan, or Outline, the Order of Paragraphs 74 (1) The Paragraph Subject a Complete Sentence ... 75 (2) Outline by Paragraphs for Analysis 76 (3) Outline by Paragraphs for Practice 79 4. The Paragraph Adjusted to Its Place 83 o. Coherence of the Whole Secured by Paragraph Em- phasis 83 b. Coherence of the Whole Confirmed by Words of Tran- sition 91 CHAPTER IV. CLEARNESS IN DETAILS 1. Sentences AND Words Studied Best in Revision . ... 94 2. Revision of Sentences 94 o. Unity and Coherence in Syntax 95 (1) Gear Simple Sentences 96 (2) Clear Complex Sentences 97 (3) Clear Compound Sentences 99 b. Punctuation and Capitals 102 CONTENTS ix FAGS c. Emphasis in Sentence-form; Putting the Right Word at the End 109 (1) Ending with the Most Important Word of the Sentence 110 (a) Emphasis Defeated by Redundancy . . . . Ill (2) Ending with the Most Important Word for the Para- graph . . \ 113 (a) Other Means of Adjusting the Sentence to the Paragraph 115 (3) Sentence-forms Generally Emphatic 120 (a) Balanced Sentences 120 (6) Periodic Sentences 122 3. Revision of Words 126 a. Good Habits in Words 126 (1) Revision of Writing 127 (2) Alertness in Conversation 127 (3) Care in Enunciation 128 h. Good Manners in Words ~ . ^ . 129 (1) Usage as Recorded in the Dictionary 129 (2) Usage as Reputable, National, Present 131 (3) Slang 132 c. Precision 133 (1) Synonyms 134 (2) Definition 139 CHAPTER V. INTEREST IN DETAILS 1. Adaptation of Sentence-Form by Sound 142 a. Variety . 142 6. Descriptive Sentences 144 2. Adaptation of Words 147 a. Homely Words 148 (1) Idioms 150 (2) Proverbs 152 (3) Native Words and Foreign Words 152 h. Specific, Concrete Words 155 (1) Figures of Speech 158 (a) Figures of Association 159 (6) Figures of Likeness 159 ^ CONTENTS CHAPTER VI. CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION PAGE 1. Collecting Facts 163 a. Taking Notes 163 (1) Notes on Cards 163 (2) Notes Few and Brief . 164 (3) Notes from More than One Source 165 b. Books of Reference 166 c. Reading from Book to Book 167 d. Authority 169 2. Grouping Facts 172 o. Fixing the Single Point in a Sentence 173 b. Brief, or Plan for Analysis of Argument . . . . . 174 (1) For, not Therefore 178 (2) How to Bring In the Other Side 178 (3) Division under a Few Main Heads 179 (4) Exercises in Brief -Drawing 181 (5) Specimen Briefs for Practice . 181 c. Adaptation of the Brief to Analysis of Exposition . . . 192 CHAPTER VII. CLEARNESS AND INTEREST IN EXTENDED ARGUMENT AND EXPOSITION 1. The Oral Presentation of Facts 197 a. Brief and Paragraph Plan . 197 b. Statement and Proof . . ; 200 c. The Three Main Ways of Arguing 201 (1) Deduction 202 (2) Induction 204 (3) Analogy 205 d. Speaking from Outline 206 (1) Better than Reading or Memorizing 206 (2) Insures Adaptation and Emphasis 208 (3) Insures Due Amplification 208 (4) Insures Freedom and Spontaneity 209 e. Debate 210 (1) The Spirit of Debate 210 (a) Reality 210 (6) Courtesy. . •> 212 (c) Honesty. , r 213 CONTENTS ' xi PAGE (2) The Method of Debate: Rebuttal 214 (a) Grouping Rebuttal 215 (6) Closing Positively 216 (c) " How do you Know? " and " What of It ? " . . 216 (d) Listening 217 (e) Workin^Together...^,. ---^ 218 /;- -'^Speeches on Occasions 219 (1) Distinct from Speeches in Debate 219 (2) The Opportunity for Originality 220 (3) The Need of Bringing Home 221 (4) Suggestions for Occasional Speeches ...... 222 g. Revision of Speeches 229 (1) Accuracy in Words 230 (2) Force in Words 2C1 The Written Interpretation op Literature .... 233 a. Intensive Reading as Distinct from Extensive .... 234 b. How Composition Helps the Study of Literature . . . 235 (1) Grouping Notes of Literary Impressions . . . . 237 (2) Subsidiary Use of Biography and History .... 239 (3) Subjects for Essays Interpreting Literature . . . 239 (4) Imitation to Heighten Appreciation 243 c. How Literature Helps the Study of Composition . . . 245 CHAPTER VIII. INTEREST BY NARRATIVE PLAN (? Story-telling as Universal 248 Story-telling as Concrete 249 a. Concrete Revelation of Character 254 Story-telling as Story-planning 261 a. Plan not by Paragraphs 261 b. Plan not Strict in Older Long Stories 262 Unity in Story-telling: Fixing Interest 263 o. Unity as Omission 263 (1) Omission vs. Summary 265 (2) Omission as Limiting the Time and Place .... 267 b. Unity as Selection 269 (1) Unity of Thought, as in Fables, Parables, and Anec- dotes, Exceptional 271 (2) Unity of Feeling Proper to Narrative 273 xii CONTENTS PAGE c. Unity as the Dominance of One Character 275 5. Coherence in Story-telling: Holding Interest . . . 277 a. Coherence as Leading Up to the End 277 (1) Climax and Suspense . 277 (a) Newspaper Way and Magazine Way .... 278 (2) CompUcation and Solution 282 b. Coherence as Moving Steadily and Rapidly 284 (1) Weaving In 284 (2) The Narrator 285 6. Emphasis in Story-telling: Satisfying Interest . . . 285 CHAPTER IX. STYLE The Adaptation op Words - . . 287 a. The Personal Quality 294 The Sound op Sentences 296 a. The Sound of Verse 297 (1) Rime ' . . 299 (2) Rhythm and Meter 299 (3) Adaptation of Verse-form to Feeling 302 h. The Sound of Prose 305 (1) Rapidity 308 (2) Variety 313 CHAPTER X. THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE 1. The Two Fields op Composition 318 2. The Primary Forms op Composition in Literature . . 320 a. Epic: the Realization of Life 321 b. Romance: the Idealization of Life 325 c. Lyric: the Cry of Life '327 d. Drama: the Representation of Life 329 (1) Action Interesting to an Audience 329 (2) Action of Will on Will 334 (3) Action^Limited in Time and Place 335 (a) Climax and Conclusion 337 (6) Dramatic Opening 338 e. Oratory: Persuasion about Life 339 CONTENTS xiii PAGE The Secondary Forms of Composition in Literature . 341 o. Essay: Discussion of Life .341 (1) Looser Essay, the Spectator Type 346 (2) Stricter Essay, the Edinburgh Review Type . . . 346 6. Novel: the Web of Life 348 c. Short Story: a Crisis of Life • • • • 353 CHAPTER I THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS The themes in connection with this chapter should he explanations (expositions) of two hundred to three hundred words. Argue whenever your explanation seems to need proof; try to he inter- esting; hut keep as your main object to explain clearly. Most of the themes should he first spoken connectedly, then urrUten. All themes should he written in ink on paper of one prescribed size, and on one side of the sheet. Each sheet should he num- hered in the upper right-hand corner^ and hear the initials of the writer in the upper left-hand corner. Find out whether the reader prefers the sheets folded (and how) or left flat and held together with manuscript clasps. 1. THE TWO OBJECTS OF COMPOSITION, CLEARNESS AND INTEREST The object of all writing and speaking is to be clear; a further object of most writing and speaking is to be inter- esting. We speak that others may understand; we usually speak that they may share our feelings. Clearness and interest, then, sum up all that we try to achieve by words. How far we achieve these ends we know, not from what we meant to say, not even from what we said, but only from the effect on the people addressed. My letter to you is clear only if it is understood by you, to whom I wrote it; it is interesting only if you were glad to read it. The last speech that you heard was clear in proportion as it was 2 1 2 ^:\': Tif^yp^^mciPLEs of clearness grpi!spe(3L*by*;the 'audience;, it was interesting if they were attentive, if they showed by laughing or crying or applaud- ing that they sympathized. There is no point in saying, "That is clear, whether you understand it or not/' For all composition is measured by its effects. We write or speak, not to satisfy ourselves, but to make the impression that we wish to make on others. In studying clearness and interest, then, we are studying to adapt means to end. The means are the way we put our words together; the end is to make other people understand us and feel with us. The study of composition consists in learning how to write and speak so that people will surely understand and sympathize. 2. CLEARNESS STUDIED BEST IN EXPOSITION To be clear, to be interesting, are objects always; and all the ways of gaining them spring from that root idea of adapting oneself to readers or hearers. But no single composition is concerned with these objects equally. A business letter, for instance, is concerned more with clear- ness, a personal letter with interest. And as letters are thus naturally divided into two class, so are all other forms of writing and speaking. Though we may try to be inter- esting even when our main object is to be clear, and though we must be clear even when our main object is to be inter- esting, nevertheless one object or the other is our main object according to the kind of writing. KipUng's story. The Maltese Cat, is both clear and interesting. It is clear because we understand the game of polo without knowing anything of it beforehand; it is interesting because we are excited to leaiyi how it will turn out, and pleased with each incident on the way. But evidently its main object is the object of story-writing in general, — to be interesting. A THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS 3 manual of history or commercial geography should be both clear and interesting; but of course its main object is to be clear. A httle thinking over a dozen familiar books will show that each has one or the other as its main object. Main Ohjedy Clearness Main Object, Interest A Manual of Navigation Two Years before the Mast. Freeman's Norman Conquest. Ivanhoe, Burke's Reflections on the Revo- lution in France. A Tale of Two Cities. Muir's The Mountains of Cali- Bret Harte's The Outcasts of fornia. Poker Flat. Draw up a similar list with six pieces in each coliunn for com- parison. All the pieces in one column, however different their subjects, are of the same general kind. Those on the left were written to explain or prove; those on the right, to tell a story or describe. The former is known technically as exposition or argument, according as it is written rather to explain or rather to convince and arouse action; the latter kind is known technically as description or narration, accord- ing as it is written rather to call up images or rather to carry on a story. Main Object, Clearness Main Object, Interest Writing to explain or prove. Writing to describe or to tell a story. Writing for business. Writing for pleasure. Technical name, exposition, or Technical name, description, or argument. narration. Such a division does not, of course, rule out interest when we are writing for the business object of clearness, nor rule out clearness when we are writing to arouse pleasant 4 THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS interest; but, by fixing the main object of each kind, it does open the way to study the proper means, as we must now do, in more detail. For each kind, as we learn from the writers who have pursued it most successfully, has its own proper means, its own ways to success. These, then, are / (1) the principles of clearness y and (2) the principles of interest. We can study them best separately by speaking and writing with the attention fixed on the one main object, and by examining those speakers and writers whose attention was fixed in the same direction. For the first step toward good composition is to know exactly what you are at. With our minds fixed, then, on clear explanation, let us seek in this kind of writing the principles of clearness. 3. UNITY Limiting the Subject. — Think of three subjects which you know well enough to explain orally in three or four minutes. The public library? Automobiles? These are too big. You might explain how artisans use the public library, or discuss the increase of motor-cars for business. Evidently the first step is to choose what you can explain clearly in the time. Every speaker or writer must always, / as a condition of success, limit his subject to his space. He may, indeed, speak or write without this, but he cannot speak or write successfully. He will be compelled either to stop half-way or to leave his explanation vague. The subjects below can be explained orally in three or four min- utes. Do not choose any of them if you prefer one of your own; but learn from them how to limit. 1. The Court of Venice Wronged Shylock (?). 2. Why We ^rade with Brazil. 3. The Increasing Use of Reinforced Concrete. 4. Lumbermen are Wasteful, THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS 5 5. Bookbinding for Women. 6. The Meaning of "all men are created free and equal." 7. Sunday Baseball for Workmen. 8. The Group System of Elective Studies. 9. The Principle of the Block System on Railroads. 10. The Main Reason for Supporting Free High Schools. 11. We Need a College Infirmary. 12. The Silhness of the Vicar of Wakefield's Daughters. 13. Itahans Make Good Americans. 14. The Main Good of Expeditions to the North Pole. 15. The Great Advantage of a Small College. 16. MiUtary Drill in College Teaches .... Some of these topics are expressed in phrases, some in clauses, some in sentences, and generally those expressed in sentences are the most definite. Most of the others would gain in definiteness by being put in the same way: The phrase " created free and equal " refers to equality before the law. Our trade with Brazil is a natural exchange of products. Bookbinding is a profitable craft for women. The Vicar's daughters are silly. Therefore, since your first step is to know exactly what you are at, think out your point into a sentence; i.e., before you go on, make your subject clear to your own mind by expressing it in the most definite form. This will save you from wandering or wasting time. The first step toward clearness should result in fixing the Subject as a sentence. Developing the Subject within the Limits. — But the object of this limiting is not to say little; it is to say much — as much as you can in your time; it is to give time for full explanation by holding the attention on one well-defined idea. 6 THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS Gas Stoves are More Convenient than Coal Stoves. Easier and quicker to light. Easier to regulate heat. No fuel to carry, no ashes. Kettle boils in six minutes. Toast in five minutes. Always ready, no waiting. More comfortable in hot weather. Boiler attachment. My experience with steak and potatoes. Can tell cost exactly; compare coal, ashes, repairs. Can regulate cost exactly. Constant heat from coal offset by quick heat from gas, and by having to fill up coal stove, shake down, etc. Thus the idea is thought out by considering the various ways in which it is true, by instances or examples, by contrast and comparison. Such notes need arrangement to make them fit to speak from; but, before you try to arrange the order, think the subject over and over, look at it this way and that, and see that you have a plenty of examples. Expand first. Then, if you have too much to say, you can choose the best. We Trade with Brazil by Exchange of Products. Brazil produces mainly coffee and rubber. United States uses large quantities of coffee and rubber. United States manufacturing nation; Brazil not. United States manufactures rubber goods — overshoes, etc. United States has no tariff on rubber §nd coffee ; but Brazil has tariff on our manufactures; not fair. In United States everybody drinks coffee and wears rubbers. Brazil needs clothing, etc., tools, flour. United States ought to have more ships to Brazil. Compare Argentina — main products there wool, wheat, and hides; same as ours except manufactures. Hence not so easy to trade. THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS 7 This is thought out in the same general ways; i.e., by instances, by contrast, etc. But those notes about the Brazilian tariff and the number of our ships — do they help to show why we trade with Brazil? No. Therefore they ought to be struck out. In trying to expand, it is easy to pass the limits set at the beginning. There is no harm in this; for notes must always be tested afterwards by the subject sentence, and this will tell what to omit. Think as freely and fully as you can; but, before you speak, test all your notes by seeing that each one really helps to bring out the idea of the subject sentence. Leave the rest for another theme. Don't try two things at once. After you have thought out a subject in this way with notes, speak it in your room. This will accustom you to the sound of your own voice in steady explanation, will let you see whether you have made the subject clear in the allotted time, and will insure good practice even if you are not called on in class. When you speak it in class, speak it, not merely to the instructor, but to the class. Look your classmates in the eye and try to make them under- stand fully. Then, as a separate exercise afterward, write out your explanation and hand it in as a theme. Follow the same method; use the same words whenever you remember them easily; but revise your sentences. Development by Instances, — To develop an explanation clearly from the sentence that sums up its main idea, we use instances, contrast, iteration, or illustration. Each of these ways is worth separate attention. In the French country men are used to long walks. In the country, the men are not afraid of a long walk. One of my neighbours would go fifteen miles and back with no other companions than his walking-stick and a little dog, though he 8 THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS had a carriage ; and I know another who sometimes does his twenty miles a day, and very often forty. I also know a surgeon who has a practice which extends over a large tract of hilly coimtry, thinly inhabited, and yet he will not keep a horse, but prefers walking, as more convenient for short cuts. His average day will cover between ten and thirty miles. My boys often go to stay with some young friends of theirs in a wild out-of-the-way village, and during these visits they make daily pedestrian excur- sions, in which the master of the house often joins them. These excursions often extend to fifteen or twenty miles by the time they get back to the village. I remember meeting a friend of ours, an old gentleman, not yet enfeebled by time, who had given us a rendezvous at a certain large pond or lake amongst the hills. It was at least forty miles from his own house ; but he came on foot, and brought three young men with him. They had slept one night on the way, and rambled through a wild coimtry botaniz- ing and geologizing. They went back by another round, exactly in the same manner, guiding themselves by the ordnance map and a mariner's compass, a necessary precaution in crossing broad patches of forest. There is a great deal of this vigorous temper in the real country. — Philip Gilbert Hamerton, Round My House, Chapter vii. This explanation is carried on by instances, or examples. The neighbor, the doctor, the sons, the old gentleman and his companions, — all are examples of a habit of walking. This is the simplest way of explanation and, because it is usually necessary, one of the best. Development by Contrast — The following is carried on in the same way, and also by contract: You cannot he a real sailor till you live in the forecastle. In the midst of this state of things my messmate and I peti- tioned the captain for leave to shift our berths from the steerage, where we had pi-eviously lived, into the forecastle. This, to our delight, was granted, and we turned in to bunk and mess with the crew forward. We now began to feel like sailors, as we never THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS 9 fully did when we were in the steerage. While there, however useful and active you may be, you are but a mongrel, a sort of afterguard and "ship's cousin." You are immediately under the eye of the officers, cannot dance, sing, play, smoke, make a noise, or growl, or take any other sailor's pleasure. You live with the steward, who is usually a go-between; and the crew never feel as though you were one of them. But if you live in the fore- castle, you are "as independent as a wood-sawyer's clerk" and are a sailor. You hear sailors' talk, learn their ways, their pecu- harities of feeling as well as of speaking and acting, and, moreover, pick up a great deal of curious and useful information in seaman- ship, ship's customs, foreign countries, etc., from their long yarns and equally long disputes. No man can be a sailor, or know what sailors are, unless he has lived in the forecastle with them, turned in and out with them, and eaten from the common "kid. " After I had been a week there, nothing would have tempted me to go back to my old berth; and never afterwards, even in the worst of weather, even in a close and leaking forecastle off Cape Horn, did I for a moment wish myself in the steerage. — Richard Henry Dana, Jr., Two Years before the Mast, Chapter viii. Are the people in your neighborhood accustomed to long walks? Think of any instances you have observed. If you£nd no such habit, make a contrast with the French habit explained above. How does your doctor go about? How do your friends take their exercise? Why is walking less common than in the French coun- try? Is it because of the prevalence of bicycles? of trolley cars? Are long walks less common than in your father's youth? Pre- pare in this way, i.e., by instances and contrast, a short oral address We are (not) used to long walks. Revise this afterwards as a written theme. Development by Iteration. — The French are brought up to easy and simple manners, French children are generally well-mannered. They are sel- dom rough or boisterous. Their almost constant contact with 10 THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS their mother and their mother's friends gives them, from their babyhood, a glimmering of the sort of voice and attitude which ought to be adopted before strangers. . . . One of the great causes of the ease with which, as a whole, the French act toward each other lies in this early training. A boy of ten knows per- fectly that, if his father meets a lady in the street, and stops to speak to her, his own duty is to take his hat off and to stand bare- headed. He knows that it would be rude to shake hands with anybody, man or woman, without imcovering. His mother tells him, his father sets him the example; so it seems quite nat- ural to him. He does it simply, without loutishness or shyness. In the same way he learns to be cool and self-collected even if anything occurs which draws attention to him in a crowd. If he drops his book at church and has to leave his place to pick it up, he does not blush; he sees no reason why he should. The girls do not giggle and look foolish if their hair comes down or their hats fall off; they rearrange themselves with perfect calm and self-possession, utterly unconscious that anyone is looking at them, and indifferent if they know it. From these early habits they grow up to regard all ordinary movements as being permissible in public. This is why a Frenchwoman takes off her bonnet and smooths her hair before the glass in a railway waiting-room or a restaurant, or regulates her skirts, or puts in order her baby's inmost clotHbs before fifty people. In her eyes all such things are so natural, so matter-of-course, that she has no kind of motive for making any fuss about them. She does them just as if she were at home; and she is right. The advantage of being educated with views of this sort is immense. The views themselves are wise and practical; and their realization has a marked effect on the development of simplicity and naturalness in manners. — Philip Gilbert Hamerton, French Home Life, Chapter v. This also is developed by instances. Contrast is implied; for when we read that the French boy does not blush when he drops a book, or a French girl giggle when her hair comes down, we think at once of American boys and girls who do blush and giggle on like occasions. Further, the explana- THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS 11 tion is helped by a third method. The second sentence repeats the idea of the first, as if the writer had said : French children are well-mannered. They are not ill-mannered. But the statement is not merely repeated; it is enforced by putting it in another way. For this useful means of clear- ness in explaining, the common name is iteration. "He does not blush; he sees no reason why he should.'' "She has no kind of motive for making any fuss about them. She does them just as if she were at home." In each of these cases the second statement, though it is a repetition, makes the first clearer by putting it in another light. Be- sides, by saying a thing twice, a writer, and still more a speaker, allows time for it to sink in. Be sure that your hearers grasp what you have said. Iteration is more im- portant in spoken explanation than in written; but in both it is a useful means of clearness. Development hy Illustration. — Like the ancient history of man, the ancient history of the earth is studied by digging. The work of the geologist in determining the successive ages of the world is in general principles precisely like that of the stu- dent who concerns himself with the ancient history of man. The likeness will be perhaps clearer to the reader if we suppose him to undertake an inquiry concerning the ancient inhabitants of North America. All over the Mississippi Valley, and in other parts of the country, he will find scattered the plentiful remams of the Indians who were recently expelled by the whites. Arrow- heads, stone hammers and hatchets, here and there bits of pottery, or ancient graves, show the recent possession of the country by savages. Now and then, below the level of the upper or soil stratum, we find remains of a slightly more cultivated tribe of aborigines, the Mound-builders and those folk who made the great fortifications of the Mississippi Valley. It is easy to prove that these Mound-builders were earlier than the tribes known to the whites, by the fact that their remains lie generally below the level 12 THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS occupied by the fragments of worked stone and earthenware left by the later ordinary Indians who were known to our people. Now let us suppose that the observer has a mind to dig deeper, and to pass altogether through the soil coating. He will, at most points in the Mississippi Valley, — indeed, over much of the area of the continent, — come at once upon rocks which are full of fossils. The stone in which they are held is laid in successive layers, which are evidently deposited one after the other, each carrying, in general, numerous remains of animals or plants. He knows these remains to have once been living, by their general likeness to the creatures of to-day; but when he proceeds to compare them with the forms now dwelling on sea and land, he finds that they differ in a very striking way from those now in existence. Probably not a single species will be of the same sort as those now dwelling on the earth. In a word, he has found written in the great stone book a chapter in the history of the earth which came long before the present stage in that history. — N. S. Shaler, The Story of Our Continent, Chapter ii. Here the explanation is carried on mainly by comparison, or illustration. An instance, or example, is drawn from the subject itself. The study of fossils is an instance of the study of geology. An illustration is drawn from another subject which is similar. The study of fossil animals is like the study of buried pottery. The illustration helps us to understand the study of geology by comparing it to the study of ancient history. An instance is drawn from within the subject; an illustration is drawn from outside. The following is developed in the same way. The education of history is like the education of travel. The effect of historical reading is analogous, in many respects, to that produced by foreign travel. The student, like the tourist, is transported into a new state of society. He sees new fashions. He hears new modes of expression. His mind is enlarged by con- templating the wide diversities of laws, of morals, and of manners. THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS 13 But men may travel far and return with minds as contracted as if they had never stirred from their own market-town. In the same n:anner men may know the dates of many battles, and the genealogies of many royal houses, and yet be no wiser. Most people look at past times as princes look at foreign countries. More than one illustrious stranger has landed on our island amidst the shouts of a mob, has dined with the king, has hunted with the master of the stag-hounds, has seen the Guards reviewed and a Knight of the Garter installed, has cantered along Regent Street, has visited St. Paul's and noted down its dimensions, and has then departed, thinking that he has seen England. He has, in fact, seen a few public buildings, public men, and public cere- monies. But of the vast and complex system of society, of the fine shades of national character, of the practical operation of government and laws, he knows nothing. He who would under- stand these things rightly must not confine his observations to palaces and solemn days. He must see ordinary men as they appear in their ordinary business and in their ordinary pleasures. He must mingle in the crowds of the exchange and the coffee- house. He must obtain admittance to the convivial table and the domestic hearth. He must bear with vulgar expressions. He must not shrink from exploring even the retreats of misery. He who wishes to understand the condition of mankind in former ages must proceed on the same principle. If he attends only to public transactions, to wars, congresses, and debates, his studies will be as unprofitable as the travels of those imperial, royal, and serene sovereigns who form their judgment of our island from having gone in state to a few fine sights, and from having held formal conference with a few great officers. — Macaulay, Essay on History, The Habit of Questioning. — No one of these four means of development — instances, contrast, iteration, illustration — can be called better than the others; and no one can often be used alone. Clearness depends so often on fullness that we explain now in this way, now in that. Some good explanations use all four; and before choosing, it is wise 14 THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS to try all. Whichever may seem best for the audience, all are good for the preparation of the speaker or writer. This preparation is the questioning of one's own mind. What is this that I am trying to explain? In what other form may I state my definition (iteration)? Is that instance sufficient? What is this Hke (illustration)? Unhke or opposite to (contrast)? So the subject is developed by putting oneself in the reader's place, by asking oneself the questions that would naturally be asked by the audience. What ? How ? Why ? Like what ? Contrasted to what? Such questions help to think a subject through, to limit wisely, to develop fully. The practice should be extended to the questioning of others as in a reporter's interview, and to the questioning of books (Chapter vi). For a good exposition or argument is a satisfactory answer to natural questions; and a good deal of education comes from look- ing for reasons. In these ways think out a brief oral address on a subject sug- gested by one of the following. Notice that in each case the topic suggested is too broad and vague to be discussed until you have by reflection settled upon some single view of it which you can express in a single guiding sentence. Revise your address as a written theme. 1. A Labor Union. 8. The Out-Door Cure for 2. Wireless telegraphy. Tuberculosis. 3. Competition in College. 9. Irrigation. 4. Dormitories and Fraternity 10. Postal Savings Banks. Houses. IL Direct Primaries. 5. The Forest Service. 12. Prohibition in the South. 6. The Reading of Poetry in 13. Japanese on the Pacific College. Coast. 7. Manual Trakiing. 14. What is a Glacier? 15. Organized Cheering. Listen attentively to each oral exposition in class so as to be THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS 15 ready, when the speaker has finished, for a connected oral report as follows : (1) What did he say? (The subject in a complete sentence.) (2) How did he say it? (Development by instances, illustra- tion, etc.) (3) What should he have said further? (Lack of iteration, or omission of something important for clear understanding). Practice in listening is of great importance, not only for debate (Chapter vi), but also in general for developing alertness and quick- ness of mind and readiness of expression. Such impromptu oral reports should be continued throughout the study of this chap- ter. At first take a few notes to fix attention and refresh mem- ory; but gradually accustom yourself to catch the points and report them connectedly without writing. Announcing the Subject. — Each explanation so far quoted has been summed up in the sentence printed in italics at its head. Such a subject sentence is commonly provided by the writer himself at the beginning. See how many of the explanations above begin in this way. It is a natural means of clearness to make such an announce- ment at the start: and, where the explanation is only one part of an extended composition, it is often necessary. Where the subject is not thus stated fully at the beginning, it is often foreshadowed or stated in part. Comparing the last sentence with the first, see how many of the quotations above end with an iteration of the subject. What is the object of this? Point out the subject sentence of each of the following, or make one if it has not been provided by the writer. Point out any cases of iteration, especially at the end. Study in each case the means of development. I The grouping of the continents and their place in the world of waters brings about one of the most beneficent arrangements in the system of the earth's machinery. By this arrangement the 16 THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS ocean currents are led from the tropics, where their waters are heated, towards the poles, where they give off the heat they acquired near the equator, thus warming the sea and the adjacent islands in a remarkable manner. For instance, the Gulf Stream, which as it flows westward across the tropical part of the Atlantic is a broad current impelled by the trade winds, is turned to the northward by the northern part of South America and the south- ern portion of North America, and made to flow into the northern Atlantic. This current is very broad and deep; it carries many times as much water as all the rivers of the world ; and this stream, warmed by the tropical suns, carries with its tide more heat into the Arctic circle than comes to the earth in that realm from the direct rays of the sun. If the continents did not form great walls across the seas, the equatorial current which the trade winds pro- duce and send in a westerly direction would go straight around the earth, and none of its heat would be turned to high latitudes about either pole. In such a condition of the earth, Europe and the parts of North America north of the parallel of 45° would be uninhabitable by man, from the intensity of the cold. This would also be the case in the southern parts of South America. At the same time the heat of the tropics, not having the chance to escape which is now afforded by the ocean streams which the continents divert towards either pole, would be far greater than at present, probably too great for the life of man. Thus, by their position in the seas, the continents in a very simple way operate to im- prove the climate of the earth, to make the realms of both land and sea better suited for the varied forms of living beings. — N. S. Shaler, The Story of Our Continent, Chapter ii. II Might I give counsel to my young hearer, I would say to him. Try to frequent the company of your betters. In books and life that is the most wholesome society. Learn to admire rightly; the great pleasure of life is that. Note what the great men admired. They admired great things. Narrow spirits admire basely and worship meanly. I know nothing in any story more gallant and cheering than the love and friendship which this THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS 17 company of famous men [Pope and his friends] bore towards one another. There never has been a society of men more friendly, as there never was one more illustrious. — Thackeray, The English Humorists, Pope. Ill In truth we are under a deception similar to that which mis- leads the traveller in the Arabian desert. Beneath the caravan all is dry and bare ; but far in advance, and, far in the rear, is the semblance of refreshing waters. The pilgrims hasten forward and find nothing but sand where, an hour before, they had seen a lake. They turn their eyes and see a lake where, an hour before, they were toiling through sand. A similar illusion seems to haimt nations through every stage of the long progress from poverty and barbarism to the highest degrees of opulence and civilization. But, if we resolutely chase the mirage backward, we shall find it recede before us into the regions of fabuloiis antiquity. It is now the fashion to place the golden age of England in times when noblemen were destitute of comforts the want of which would be intolerable to a modern footman, when farmers and shopkeepers breakfasted on loaves the very sight of which would raise a riot in a modern workhouse, when to have a clean shirt once a week was a privilege reserved to the higher class of gentry, when men died faster in the purest country air than they now die in the most pestilential lanes of our towns, and when men died faster in the lanes of our towns than they now die on the coast of Guiana. We too shall, in our turn, be outstripped, and in our turn be envied. It may well be, in the twentieth century, that the peasant of Dor- setshire may think himself miserably paid with twenty shillings a week; that the carpenter at Greenwich may receive ten shillings a day; tha,t labouring men may be as little used to dine without meat as they now are to eat rye bread; that sanitary police and medical discoveries may have added several more years to the average length of human life; that numerous comforts and lux- uries which are now unknown, or confined to a few, may be within the reach of every diligent and thrifty working man. And yet it may then be the mode to assert that the increase of wealth and 3 18 THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS the progress of science have benefited the few at the expense of the many, and to talk of the reign of Queen Victoria as the time when England was truly merry England, when all classes were bound together by brotherly sympathy, when the rich did not grind the faces of the poor, and when the poor did not envy the splendour of the rich. — Macaulay, History of England, end of Chapter iii. ^ IV Death is at all times solemn, but never so much so as at sea. A man dies on shore; his body remains with his friends, and '*the mourners go about the streets"; but when a man falls overboard at sea and is lost, there is a suddenness in the event, and a diffi- culty in realizing it, which give to it an air of awful mystery. A man dies on shore; you follow his body to the grave, and a stone marks the spot. You are often prepared for the event. There is always something which helps you to realize it when it happens and to recall it when it has passed. A man is shot down by your side in battle; and the mangled body remains an object and a real evidence. But at sea the man is near you, at your side; you hear his voice; and in an instant he is gone, and nothing but a vacancy shows his loss. Then, too, at sea, to use a homely but expressive phrase, you miss a man so much. A dozen men are shut up to- gether in a little bark upon the wide, wide sea, and for months and months see no forms and hear no voices but their own; and one is suddenly taken from among them, and they miss him at every turn. It is like losing a limb. There are no new faces or new scenes to fill up the gap. There is always an empty berth in the forecastle, and one man wanting when the small night watch is mustered. There is one less to take the wheel, and one less to ''lay out" with you upon the yard. You miss his form and the sound of his voice, for habit had made them almost necessary to you, and each of your senses feels the loss. — Richard Henry Dana, Jr., ^ Two Years Before the Mast, Chapter vi. THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS 19 (Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.j Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting-place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note nor long remember what we say here; but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us, — that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion; that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain; that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom; and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. — Lincoln, Gettysburg Address. The means of clearness thus far discussed in this chapter all rest upon one principle, the principle of staying by a single idea until it is thoroughly understood, the principle commonly called unity. 4. EMPHASIS Study of the principle of unity leads at once to a second principle, the principle of emphasis. Unity bids us set up one sentence as our guide throughout. To develop clearly 20 . THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS the controlling idea for which this sentence stands, we often use iteration. We repeat the main idea in various forms for the sake of dwelling upon it; and we are especially- careful to repeat it in some striking manner at the end. In a word, we take care that our point shall be empha- sized. By iteration we give it space; by ending with it we give it prominence. These are the two ways of securing clearness by emphasis. Proportioning the Space. — Emphasis of space, emphasis by dwelling most upon what enforces the point most, is clear in Lincoln^s Gettysburg speech above. The best honor that we can pay these dead soldiers is to preserve the Union for which they died, — every part of the speech helps to bring out this one main idea; i.e., the speech has unity. But not every part helps equally. Some parts enforce the subject directly; others help indirectly by preparing the way. The former Lincoln emphasized by giving them more space; the latter he passed over lightly. In urging his message for the present and the future he referred to the past. This prepared his hearers by reminding them of the great historic principle on which his message was based. But since reference to the past helped him indirectly, since for his purpose it was merely preparatory, he did not dwell on it. He passed at once to the present, and he dwelt upon that only to show its bearing upon the future. The past he disposes of in the first sentence. The second sentence, turning to the present, begins at once to look toward his message for the future, " testing whether that nation . . . can long endure.'^ The third and fourth sentences deal with the present in the same way, looking again toward his message for the future — "that that nation might live." The rest of tlte speech, more than one half, beginning " But . . . lye," dwells upon his message directly. First negatively, and then positively, it urges his hearers to THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS 2\ devote themselves. In a word the speech is well propor- tioned. Now suppose this due emphasis of space changed. Sup- pose the speech, keeping the same number of words, to have dwelt longer on the past, and on the present more for itself than for his message. Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty aad dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. This principle, of democratic free government is our heritage. To establish it, many of the fathers laid down their lives ; to secure it, the others imited imder the Constitution. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether this nation, or any nation, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. For that is the meaning of this terrible struggle. The older nations of Europe long ago prophesied that such a government could not endure. Democracy is on trial. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. The ground upon which we stand trembled with the shock of armies. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting-place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. Where they fought, there we secure their memory and mark our gratitude. But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow, this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far beyond our power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. The obvious inferiority of this form is due partly, of course, to the substitution of other words for Lincoln's; but it is due mainly to the throwing of the whole out of proportion. If Lincoln himself had arranged his space so, however eloquent his words, he would have made his speech weaker. His clearness of thought and his training in public 1 22 THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS address led him to pass rapidly over parts which, however important they might be for another purpose, were for his present purpose subordinate, and to spend upon that present purpose the greater part of his time. He dwelt, not upon the past, nor upon the present for itself, but upon the deep significance for the future. He dwelt, not upon his prep- aration, but upon his point. Every speech or essay in real life must be made to fit a pretty definite space. If, then, the speaker emphasizes his subordinate parts, he sacrifices his main part. Even if his speech have unity, it may fail from faulty emphasis. Lincoln decided to make a very brief, concise speech. In the time that he set for himself he wished to impress the message of responsibility for the future of the Union. He wished his hearers to remember the glory of the past and the solemnity of the present mainly as calling for devotion in the future. This intention is exactly carried out in the proportioning of his little space. He deliberately keeps down the one, that he may dwell upon the other. The principle of unity says, What does not bear on the subject should be left out. The principle of emphasis adds. What bears upon the subject most directly should have most space. This means first of all, since your themes are short, cut down the introduction. Come to your point quickly, that you may have time to develop it fully. Secondly, bring everything to bear upon your point. If an example has some features which, though interesting in themselves, will not make your point clearer, do not hesitate to omit these. Be as interesting as you know how to be; but be interesting on the point. If you use an illustration, be sure that it will really make the whole clearer. Never dwell upon an illus- tration because ^it is pretty in itself. Usually let contrast be brief; for if you spend much time in showing what a thing is not, you may have too little to show directly what THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS 23 it is. In all these ways cultivate a habit of measuring your space. Wind is due to difference of temperature, (First form) Wind is a mysterious thing. It can be felt and heard, but it can never be seen. Wind is air in motion; but what makes the air move? Some winds are strong enough to turn umbrellas inside out and make a bicyclist work as if he were going up a steep hill; others are so gentle that we can hardly feel them; but we cannot see anything to make them strong or gentle, because we cannot see anything to make them at all. But, like some other things that seem mysterious, winds can be explained. Some cold winter day, when the air is so still that you cannot feel it moving at all, come into a warm room and open the window a little. Hold your hand against the crack, and you will feel the air rushing against your hand. That is what we call a draft; and a wind is nothing but a big draft. If you go out to the barn, where the air is as cold inside as it is outside, and hold your hand against a win- dow crack, you will feel no wind at all. There is nothing to make one. The temperature is the same within and without. Air is set in motion by some difference of temperature. When the atmosphere that surrounds our earth becomes heated in a certain area, it expands and rises and colder air moves in from some less heated spot. So there are regular winds, called trade winds, blowing over a large area just because some countries are warmer than others. Other winds blow only for a short time or a short space because they come from some sudden change of temperature. Such is the wind caused by a great fire like the one in Baltimore. If you put some water in a glass retort over a flame and watch it closely, you can soon see it move round and round from bottom to top and top to bottom. The water at the bottom, nearest the flame, expands first and sends up bubbles of gas. The colder water at the top moves down to take its place, imtil the whole is dancing and bubbling and sending out puffs of steam. These currents made by heat in water are like the currents made by heat in air. 24 THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS This theme, though it keeps the principle of unity, vio- lates the principle of emphasis. All its parts bear more or less on the subject; but those which are most important, as bearing most directly, have no more space than those whose importance is much less. The revision below was made on the principle of emphasis. It keeps the' same length. Com- pare the two as to proportion of space. Wind is due to difference of temperature, (Second form, revised for emphasis) What makes the wind blow? However much we hear it and feel it, we can never see it or see what makes it. So we need to investigate. Some cold winter day, when the air is so still that you say there is no wind at all, come into a warm room and open the window a. little. Hold your hand against the crack, and you will feel the air rushing in. That is what we call a draft, and a wind is nothing but a big draft. If you hold your hand in the same way against a window crack in the barn, where the air inside is as cold as the air outside, you will feel no wind at all. Air is set in motion by difference of temperature; and air in motion is wind. The same thing happens in water; only there we can see it. If you heat some water in a glass retort, watching it closely, you can soon see it move round and round from bottom to top and top to bottom. The water at the bottom, nearest the heat, expands first and sends up bubbles of gas. The colder water at the top moves down to take its place, until the whole is heated alike. These currents made by heat in water are like the currents made by heat in air. In other words, they are like wind. When the air over our town is heated by the sun in summer, if the air over the ocean is cooler, pretty soon it comes in to fill the place of the expanding and rising hot air, and we have a sea breeze. A breeze is a light wind. If the difference of temperature is great or sudden and continuous, we have a heavy wind, such as is caused by a conflagration like the Baltimore fire. So in general, when- ever the atmosphere that surrounds our earth becomes more heated over one area than over another, it makes room for the THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS 25 colder air to come in from the less heated area. This colder air is heated in turn ; more cold air moves in ; and so a regular cur- rent of air is set up, — in other words, a wind. The parts of the earth's surface near the equator are warmer than the parts farther away. So there are constant winds, called trade winds, blowing over a large area because some countries are always warmer than others. Thus it is plain that all winds, whether strong or gentle, whether local or general, are set in motion by differences of temperature. Iterating at the End. — This revision follows also the other means of emphasis by ending with an iteration of the point. For emphasis may be secured, not only by due proportion of space, but also by prominence of position. The most prominent position is the end. Whatever is said last sticks in the mind, partly from the very fact of its coming last, partly from our natural expectation of hearing at the end the result of the whole. Therefore end always with the point. This final iteration of the point may be, as in the theme just above, a summary; or it may be, as in Lincoln's great speech, the largest and strongest statement, -r- " here highly resolve that government of the people, by the people, and for the people, shall not perish from the earth.'' The latter form is generally the more emphatic, especially in a speech; but either satisfies everybody's natural desire for a definite conclusion^ Without such a close even a theme otherwise good loses much of its force. It seems, instead of concluding, merely to falter and stop. Readers, and hearers still more, are likely to think the whole is weak if the end is weak. They are not satisfied; they may even forget the point. The first form of the theme above on wind fails to be clear, because it ends lamely with an illustration. Without its title it would by no means be sure of making a reader understand what it all amounted to. That is what every one wishes 26 THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS to know surely at the end, — what it all amounts to. What you wish everybody to remember as the gist of the whole, put at the end. 5. COHERENCE The third principle of clearness in composition is the principle of order, or coherence. The principle of unity holds each part to a single point; the principle of emphasis spaces each part according to its value, and insists upon a clear, strong ending; the principle of order or coherence puts each part in such a place as will make the whole easy to follow. A composition is coherent when the people that listen to it, or read it, follow it readily. "I can't follow you'' — when a hearer says that, or a reader thinks it, the composition is incoherent. You must arrange so that the people you are addressing will go on as fast as you do, will be with you at every stage. Though there is no one fixed order, best for all occasions, there are some helpful general guides. For instance, we have already seen (page 15) that the first sentence is often a statement of the subject, and that the last sentence (page 25) is usually an iteration. But what requires care in coherence is the body of the composition; and here the principle may be applied generally by considering the object. The object of this kind of writing is to explain or persuade. For this purpose it is generally best to put first what your audience knows already or can grasp most readily, to put next whichever of your parts is most readily connected with this, and so on to lead from the known to the unknown, from the smaller to the larger, from the easier to the harder, — in a word, to follow the order of difficulty. Coherence, then, means i^ general, make each part prepare for the next. Beginning where the Audience is, — How to begin and how THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS 27 to go on, — these are the practical questions of coherence. The answer to both will be helped by remembering the maxim, Put yourself in his place. In the light of this the questions become more definite: How shall I begin so as to prepare my hearers for the subject? and, What order of parts will make it easiest for them to go on with me? The beginning of a short theme had better take hold of the subject at once; but it should aim also to take hold of the audience. Try to take hold of both at once. Try at the same time to catch attention and to direct it to the subject. The first form of the theme on wind (page 23) catches the attention of the audience by suggesting a mystery in some- thing familiar; but it is slow in directing the attention to the subject. It spends too much time in talking about the force of winds before coming to the real point, their cause. The beginning of the second form is just as good for catching attention, and much better for directing it. It turns the attention at once to the subject. Think of a beginning that will both catch the attention by referring to something famil- iar and at the same time direct the attention to the subject.- Look back over your themes to see whether they take hold, in this way, of the audience and the subject. When you find one that does not, write a new beginning. Criticize the beginnings of a number of old themes read aloud in class. Look back over the beginnings of the passages quoted in this chapter. Some of them, since they are detached from their context, really need new beginnings to make them effective by themselves. Selecting one of which this seems to be true, write such a new opening sentence for it as will make it take hold better of your class. Others of the passages begin well as they stand. Point out one of these, and show why. Leading the Audience Step by Step. — The next ques- tion is how to go on. Look again at the theme on wind (page 24). The revision for emphasis has also improved 28 THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS its coherence. The illustration of boiling water and the example of trade winds have been transposed. Why does this change of order make the whole clearer? Because now we pass more readily from the simple instance of a draft to the simple illustration of boiling water, which at once makes us see more clearly how heat makes a current. And the Bal- timore fire is more effective before the trade winds because it is at once more marked and so limited in its area that the rise and fall of the current can be easily observed. Thus we can grasp its significance more readily. Having grasped this instance, we are readier to comprehend the trade winds than we should have been if they had come first. The re- vised order of this theme, then, iteration excluded, is: 1. A raising of the question. 2. A simple, familiar instance, with a contrast (a draft). 3. A simple illustration to enforce it (boiling water). 4. Another instance, larger, but still familiar (a sea breeze) . 5. A third instance, very marked (the Baltimore fire). 6. The largest, most general instance (trade-winds). The theme is easier to follow because it has a more careful plan. Plan, — For coherence demands a plan. The order in which thoughts on the subject come into one^s head is not at all likely to be the best order for putting the whole before some one else. What comes to mind first may find its place in the theme last or midway. Our thoughts throng and wander; our speech must be single and connected. Therefore the only way is first to jot down brief notes of our thoughts as they come, and then to arrange these notes according to a plan. And this plan had better be written. It need not be written in marJy words; but it will probably be more definite if it is set down on paper. The order of the theme on wind mav be indicated very briefly: THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS 29 1. Draft at window — current from difference of temperature. 2. Boiling water — current from difference of temperature. 3. Sea breeze, air cooler over water. 4. Conflagration, violent change. 5. Trade winds, large, regular, from tropics. That would mean little to any one else; but to the writer it might be enough as a memorandum to speak or write from; for it indicates what is the only vital concern — the order. Indeed, after once settling the order, a speaker can gradually accustom himself to remember it without having it in his hand. But he can never gain or keep this confi- dence unless he always fixes his plan first; and the best way to fix it in most cases is to put it down in black and white. No one can speak with confidence, or make his hearers or readers follow, unless he is quite sure what to say next. First, jot down thoughts on the subject as they come; then decide what order will bring these out most clearly and strongly, and jot this order down; then speak or write fully and freely according to this plan. See if plan-making, as it grows firmer by habit, does not help you to think more clearly, to speak with more confidence, and to be more effective on others. The oral criticisms prescribed above (page 15) may now be expanded as follows: 1. What main point did he fix? (Give the subject sentence and tell whether it was announced.) 2. How did he take hold? (What was the method of intro- duction?) 3. How did he go on? (a. method of development, by example, illustration, etc.; 6. order of points.) 4. How did he bring home? (a. final iteration for emphasis. b. use of familiar, interesting words. See page 147.) Try now gradually to dispense with notes. The report may be kept in clear coherence by following the four points above in ordet'^ 30 THE PRINCIPLES OF^ CLEARNESS 6. THE DISTINCTION BETWEEN EXPOSITION AND ARGUMENT The main difference between exposition and argument is that argument goes further. It aims to make people understand, indeed, and therefore it gives instances and comparisons; but it aims further to make people assent and act, and therefore it uses instances and comparisons in such a way as to prove. For the subject of an argument' is a sentence requiring proof. The United States was justified in going to war with Mexico, — such a subject sentence needs for its development, not only statement of the facts, but also reasoning from the facts, not only exposition, but argument. It is usually called a proposition; i.e., a state- ment put forward as a challenge. Congress should create a national bureau of health, is a proposition. A proposition does not merely define or sum up; it implies some dispute or opposition, and challenges debate. Those who put it forward say in effect: This is what we believe, and shall try by reasoning to make you believe. Moreover, for argu- ment, a subject sentence is not only desirable; it is necessary. A word or a phrase is not sufficient to guide argument to a definite conclusion. The war with Mexico may be explained, though a brief exposition would demand some further limitation; but it cannot be argued at all. For argument we must have a subject sentence, such as the one above. Employers^ liability — what of it? Employers should be liable for damages received by employees in the course of em- ployment — at once we know what is to be proved or dis- proved. Boycott, prohibition, state railroads, tariff, large navy — any oTf these topics may be argued all day without reaching any conclusion, unless the point at issue be first settled in a sentence. THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS 31 Differing thus in particular, exposition and argument are alike in general; that is, in the fundamental methods of clearness. Both seek unity by Umiting the subject, em- phasis by announcing it and iterating, coherence by orderly plan. And the two are so commonly combined that it is often hard to decide by which name to call the whole composition. Every argument demands exposition; any exposition runs easily into argument as the writer becomes more interested. Some of the expositions written in con- nection with this chapter might as well, perhaps, be called arguments. Nor need any one be anxious as to the name of the whole. But every one should be careful as to which he is doing in a given part, and able to explain without argument when he wishes to or needs to. Exposition shows what a thing is or was; argument shows what a thing ought ! to be or ought to have been. Every honest man must wish, and every educated man must know how, to avoid confus- ing the two or sacrificing the former to the latter. Pro- vided the two are thus distinguished, exposition being put forward as exposition, argument as argument, they may be freely combined in the same speech or essay. Argument is discussed fully in Chapters vi. and vii. Which theme-subjects in the preceding pages suggest argument rather than exposition? Which of the expositions quoted are most argumentative, and which are freest from argument? Frame three propositions for argument on matters of current interest, wording each precisely. Frame propositions for debate on three of the following: 1. Large College or Small? 6. The Restriction of Immigration. 2. College before Business. 7. Postal Savings Banks. 3. The Study of Greek. 8. Direct Primaries. 4. School Fraternities. 9. TheChallenge toRow with. 5. City Life vs. Country Life. 10. Intercollegiate Football. (Informal class or society debates will be of profit here. With- 32 THE PRINCIPLES OF CLEARNESS out formal organization into an affirmative and a negative team, the sides may be called up alternatively. Speeches need not exceed five minutes. Each should be written out after the de- bate (not before) as a theme. Practice should be directed mainly (a) to developing a single main point fully up to an emphatic close; (6) to holding the attention of the audience). SUMMARY OF THE CHAPTER Introduction. Clearness is studied best in that kind of writing which aims to explain or prove. 1. Clear explanation (exposition) or proof (argument) develops fully from a single guiding sentence (unity), 2. Clear exposition or argument proportions the space and ends with the point {emphasis). 3. Clear exposition or argument catches the attention at the start and leads it along by a plan (coherence), 4. In argument the guiding sentence is a challenge supported by reasons. CHAPTER II THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST The themes in connection with this chapter should be frequent turitten descriptionSj daily if that be possible, of about two hundred words. Describe usually in the form of a story. Try above all to be inter- esting by making a reader imagine himself in your scene. 1. INTEREST STUDIED BEST IN DESCRIPTION The principles of unity, emphasis, and coherence are so broad and constant that they will be found helpful in all kinds of writing. But since the rules derived from them in the previous chapter apply mainly to one kind of writing, it is better to seek other rules for the other kind. All writ- ing may be divided into two classes (page 3): (1) exposi- tion and argument, aiming to be clear; (2) description and narration, aiming to be interesting. Having learned some main points about the first, let us now examine the second. Then we can compare conclusions, to see how practice in either kind may help the other. Interest depends upon adaptation, upon choosing what will awaken sympathy between speaker and hearer, between writer and reader. In order to find more definitely how to arouse and keep this sympathetic interest, we need now to study separately that kind of writing which seeks it as a main object. Now that kind of writing is the descriptive or narrative kind; for men and women through all time have always found it the more interesting. 4 33 34 THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST Carving the Christmas Goose Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of all birds, a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matter of course — and in truth it was something very like it in that house. Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready before- hand in a little saucepan) hissing hot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigour; Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple-sauce; Martha dusted the hot plates; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. At last the dishes were set on and grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she did, and when the long-expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur of delight arose all around the board; and even Tiny Tim, excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried Hurrah! — Dickens, A Christmas Carol. 2. CLAIMING INTEREST (EMPHASIS) What makes this description interesting? Not any novelty in the subject; for that is so familiar as to be com- monplace. The same thing has happened over and over again to thousands. Dickens teaches us first of all, then, that in order to be interesting we need not write of any- thing extraordinary. Few of us have seen the glaciers of Alaska, or shot tigers in the jungle, or been wrecked at sea. If novelty of subject were necessary, most of us must give up trying. Now though novelty of subject may be inter- esting too, the passage shows us that we all keep an interest in ordinary, falttiiliar things. Is not the description above interesting precisely because it is familiar? Does it not appeal to us because we have had like pleasures ourselves? THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST 35 A subject may be interesting, then, by reminding us of common human experiences. Abundance of Details. — But how does this description remind us of our own past feasts? Its method of appeal will become clearer by contrast. Carving the Christmas Goose Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought the viands very unusual, phenomena quite unparalleled; and in truth they were nearly so in that house. While several members of the fam- ily prepared the various dishes, the others took their places with great expectation. At last everything was ready, and the grace was said. As the carving began, every one gave vent to eager delight. All the interest is gone. Yet all the facts are kept. The interest, then, cannot be merely in the facts themselves; it must be in the way of telling them. The rewriting leaves out all the specific details: the particular people and things, the particular motions and attitudes, the particular sounds and smells. And it is precisely the mention of such par- ticular things, such definite sounds, sights, and smells, which puts us into sympathy with the writer, which awakens our interest by helping us to imagine ourselves on the spot, which, as we say, puts us there. The first lesson in inter- est is to stimulate imagination by an abundance of sensa- tions, by realizing the situation definitely in its sounds, light, colors, smells, — in a word by specific mention of concrete details. I The way to be interesting, then, is not merely to state / facts, but to suggest feelings. Clearness is sought by developing ideas for the understanding; but interest is sought rather by suggesting sensations to the imagination. Clearness is an affair of the head; interest is of the heart. "The others took their places with great expectation*' — 36 THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST that is clear enough; but it leaves us cold. " The two young Cratchits . . . crammed spoons into their mouths lest they should shriek for goose'' — at once we have a picture in our minds. We sympathize, we share the writer's feeling, we are interested, because he gives us concrete images. Selecting from the topics below the scene most familiar to you, make lists of the characteristic sounds, sights, smells, etc., that you associate with it, as follows: — The End of the Wharf Sound, lapping of water against the piles — creaking of pulleys — distant flutter of paddle-wheels — screaming of gulls, etc. Smelly low tide — tar — fish drying, etc. Motion and Attitude, heaving of a moored schooner — wheeling of gulls — man pulling up a sail — barefoot boy cleaning deck — old sailor sitting on a post, stoop-shouldered, smoking clay pipe, — water dancing, etc. Color and Light, water blue in strong sunlight — white caps — cloud shadows — red flag on yacht club across the bay — green lawn with black cedars behind — aspens on point to right showing silver- white side of their leaves in the wind — new mast of sloop near by yellow in the sun, etc. Form and Outline, looking through leaning masts across open water to yacht-house point and rounded hills behind; harbor a horseshoe made by a jutting point on each side, etc. 1. The Waiting-Room at the Railroad Station. 2. The Bridge over the Railroad Yards. 3. Feeding the Stock on a Winter Morning. 4. A Busy Office on the Tenth Story. 5. In a Sleeping-car. 6. Night in Camp. 7. The Stock Yards. 8. Morning Chapel. 9. A Busy Street Corner. 10. Harvesting Wheat. 11. The Children's Ward in the Hospital. THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST 37 12. The Last Dance. 13. A Baseball Crowd. 14. Mail Time at the Post Office in a Country Store. The object of this exercise is not to arrange these, details. It would hardly be interesting to read them in groups, all the sounds together, then all the smells, etc. The object is simply to see how many concrete details the mention of a familiar scene recalls to you. Consider selection and order afterwards. First simply try to be as abundantly concrete as possible. If your hst be compared on the blackboard with one of your classmates^ for the same scene, each will probably be surprised to find on the other's Hst a striking detail not given on his own. Study in the same way, i.e., by making similar lists, the abundance of concrete detail in the following. They will also give you an idea in advance how to combine concrete details in a connected description. Christmas Eve on the Street For the people who were shovelling away on the housetops were jovial and full of glee, calling out to one another from the parapets, and now and then exchanging a facetious snow-ball — better-natured missile far than many a wordy jest — laughing heartily if it went right, and not less heartily if it went wrong. The poulterers' shops were still half open, and the fruiterers' were radiant in their glory. There were great, round, pot-bellied bas- kets of chestnuts, shaped like the waistcoats of jolly old gentle- men, lolling at the doors, and tumbling out into the street in their apoplectic opulence. There were ruddy, brown-faced, broad- girthed Spanish onions, shining in the fatness of their growth like Spanish Friars. . . . There were pears and apples, clustered high in blooming pyramids. There were bunches of grapes, made, in the shopkeepers' benevolence, to dangle from conspicuous hooks that people's mouths might water gratis as they passed. There were piles of filberts, mossy and brown, recalling, in their fragrance, 38 THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST ancient walks among the woods, and pleasant shufflings ankle deep through withered leaves. There were Norfolk Biffins, squat and swarthy, setting off the yellow of the oranges and lemons, and, in the great compactness of their juicy persons, urgently entreat- ing and beseeching to be carried home in paper bags and eaten after dinner. The very gold and silver fish, set forth among these choice fruits in a bowl, though members of a dull and stagnant- blooded race, appeared to know that there was something going on ; and, to a fish, went gasping round and round their little world in slow and passionless excitement. — Dickens, A Christinas Carol, Early Spring by the Mill Stream The stream is brimful, now, and lies high in this little withy plantation, and half drowns the grassy fringe of the croft in front of the house. As I look at the full stream, the vivid grass, the delicate bright-green powder softening the outlines of the great trunks and branches that gleam from under the bare purple boughs, I am in love with moistness, and envy the white ducks that are dipping their heads far into the water, here among the withes unmindful of the awkward appearance they make in the drier world above. The rush of the water and the booming of the mill bring a dreary deafness, which seems to heighten the peacefulness of the scene. They are like a great curtain of sound, shutting one out from the world beyond. Now there is the thunder of the huge covered wagon, coming home with sacks of grain. That honest wagoner is thinking of his dinner's getting sadly dry in the oven at this late hour; but he will not touch it till he has fed his horses, — the strong, submissive, meek-eyed horses. See how they stretch their shoulders up the slope toward the bridge, with all the more energy because they are so near home. Look at their grand shaggy feet, that seem to grasp the firm earth, — at the patient strength of their necks, bowed under the heavy collar, at the mighty muscles of their struggling haunches! I should like well to hear them neigh over their hard-earned feed of corn, and see them with their moist necks, freed from the har- THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST 39 ness, dipping their eager nostrils into the muddy pond. Now they are on the bridge, and down they go again at a swifter pace; and the arch of the covered wagon disappears at the turning behind the trees. — George Eliot, The Mill on the Floss. Tramping with a Pack-donkey The track that I had followed in the evening soon died out, and I continued to follow over a bald turf ascent a row of stone pillars, such as had conducted me across the Goulet, It was al- ready warm. I tied my jacket on the pack, and walked in my knitted waistcoat. Modestine herself was in high spirits, and broke of her own accord, for the first time in my experience, into a jolt- ing trot that sent the oats swashing in the pocket of my coat. The view, back upon the northern Gevaudan, extended with every step. Scarce a tree, scarce a house, appeared upon the fields of wild hills that ran north, east, and west, all blue and gold in the haze and sunlight of the morning. A multitude of little birds kept sweeping and twittering about my path. They perched on the stone pillars; they pecked and strutted on the turf; and I saw them circle in volleys in the blue air, and show, from time to time, translucent flickering wings between the sun and me. Almost from the first moment of my march, a faint large noise, like a distant surf, had filled my ears. Sometimes I was tempted to think it the voice of a neighboring waterfall, and sometimes a subjective result of the utter stillness of the hill. But as I con- tinued to advance, the noise increased and became like the hissing of an enormous tea-urn ; and at the same time breaths of cool air began to reach me from the direction of the summit. At length I understood. It was blowing stiffly from the south upon the other slope of the Lozere, and every step that I took I was drawing nearer to the wind. — Stevenson, Travels with a Donkey, Definiteness of Details. — The concrete detail in these is not only abundant; it is definite. To describe in an inter- esting way, we must stir the imagination; we must call up 40 THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST in our readers' minds definite sights and sounds; for only thus can they imagine themselves in our scene. It is thus that we appeal in conversation. We say, not vaguely, "Do you remember what a good morning we had there?'' but, ^'Do you remember how hard packed the hill was? And that turn at the bottom? And then that black ice!" Such specific, concrete details, as they help to recall a scene familiar to both speaker and hearer, also help a reader to imagine the scene in the mind of the writer. The more specific the details, the nearer the reader's imagination will come to the writer's. The vessel was rapidly approaching the dangerous shore. That statement is so indefinite that it might call up any one of fifty images, or no image at all. What was the vessel? sloop, schooner, battleship, steamboat? Was it drifting or forging head on? Rapidly approaching applies as well to a ferry-boat entering a slip as to a schooner in distress. Dangerous shore is more suggestive; but it might as well be reef or cliffs. The dismantled schooner rolled helplessly toward the sand spit. Through a rift in the fog the lookout on the steamboat suddenly descried the boiling reef dead ahead. The old oil tank, her funnels crusted with salt, was lifted by every big wave nearer to the jagged black rocks. It is only definite details that can call up definite images. Realize in details of motion, attitude, sound, etc., the scenes implied by four of the following, so as to express them con- cretely and specifically. Add a few sentences if you wish. Try especially for specific verbs. 1. Sheridan was rapidly approaching Winchester. 2. He was plowing a stony field. 3. The pitcher delivered the ball. 4. He narrowly escaped the automobile. 5. The train came to a stop. 6. A squirrel ran up the tree. 7. Fifty girls were working in the room. 8. The crowd before the bulletin applauded. 9. She THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST 41 seemed weary. 10. An old man sat in the sun. 11. Patrick Henry then continued his speech. 12. This last effort carried the ball over. 13. The ferry-boat entered the slip and was made fast. 14. At sunset the flag was taken down. 15. The ambulance sur- geon examined the man on the sidewalk. Observation. — So far, this study of description has shown the interest that lies in concrete details, in the abundance of sound, Hght, color, motion, attitude, smell. Has it not shown something else, — that you cannot always use as many of such details as you wish, because you have not noticed them? Does a cow lie down in the same way as a horse? What is the attitude of a man holding a drill for his fellow-workman to strike with a sledge? What would be the right word to describe the gait of a duck so as to distinguish it from the gait of a hen? The gait of a sailor as distinguished from that of a soldier? What is the look and sound of stevedores unloading boxes from a steam- boat? Barrels? How is a steel girder placed in the frame of a tall building? Distinguish as sharply as you can the impressions of an express train approaching and passing on a level. (A group of such questions, adapted to the environment of the students, should be assigned for oral and written reports, blackboard, and discussion by comparison. Direct attention, not to statistical accuracy, but to fulness and precision in reporting sensations, to the sights, sounds, smells, etc., that make up familiar impres- sions.) Evidently interest depends on observation. How, then, shall observation be intensified? Some scenes, of course, must be given up because they are quite outside of your experience. But it is already plain that within your experience many interesting details have been unnoticed. Cultivate the habit of realizing more in famihar things. Observation is a matter of habit; and the habit will be directly helped by practice in writing description. In fact, 42 THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST one of the best results of this practice is that it makes the writer more and more alive to the sensations of this good world. It increases sensitiveness. Something of this, perhaps, you have gained from nature- study. You have learned to distinguish more accurately the colors and forms of flowers, the bark of trees, the notes of birds. Apply the lesson to observation of people; learn from observing nature how to observe human nature. What are the attitudes, gesture, sound of voice, of a stump- speaker before election? Notice the details of the crowd around him. What are the characteristic sounds and motions of a class let loose from school? Of a baby playing on the floor? Notice a crowd of newsboys snatching their bundles of papers from the tail of the distributing wagon. Try to seize the sound of their cries, the motion of their jostUng and reaching and darting away, the dirty faces, the white flash of outstretched papers, the red of a colored supplement, etc. Workmen eating lunch at noon by an open trench — what are the characteristic details of such a scene? Notice how clerks in a bank despatch their busi- ness behind the glass screen. Open your senses by opening your sympathy with all kinds of people. People are of all subjects most interesting to other people. In order to increase the interest of our writing we must increase our own interest in our fellow men. For we observe best where we sympathize; and the great interest of writing, after all, is human interest. Write a brief description (100-150 words) assigned from the following list as a common class exercise for comparison of choice of details, definiteness of words, and human interest. The remain- der of the list will suggest topics for later themes. THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST 43 At Work At Play The Wood-choppers. The Wrestling. In the Foundry. A Scrimmage. Cotton-picking. The Hundred Yards. The Motorman. The Swimming Hole. In a Woolen Mill. Porpoises. Stoking. In Camp. The Carpenter Shop. The Excursion Steamer. •3. FIXING INTEREST (UNITY) But as a writer becomes more sensitive to sensations, as he becomes readier to use the interest of sound, motion, smell, color, and light, he becomes aware that he cannot record all these just as they come to him. They are too many and too confusing. As the writer of an explanation must compose his thoughts in order to convey them to a reader, so the writer of a description must compose his sensations. His object is to arouse sympathetic interest by making his reader imagine himself in the scene described. To do this he must suggest the concrete details that made the scene interesting to him. But he cannot suggest them all. Life is too full to be recorded completely. And even if he could set all down, all the sounds of a city street, all its lights, colors, motions, attitudes, odors, the record would hardly be interesting, and it would certainly be confusing. There is no use, then, in trying to make a complete record of all sensations. It could hardly be done in unlimited space; and the space of any description is limited. Descrip- tion cannot hold interest very long at a time. The prac- tical problem, then, is how to gain the interest of abundant concrete detail for a short description. Characteristic Moment. — The main way is to limit the time. It is impossible to keep a reader's interest in a short description of a whole day. To put the whole day into a 44 THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST short theme is to squeeze out the very details on which interest depends. It reduces the theme to a dry catalogue. Conversely, to put in abundant concrete detail for a whole day would so swell the theme as to make it tiresome by its very length. In this kind of writing, the only long com- positions that hold interest are connected stories; and these have an art of their own which cannot be mastered until one first knows how to compose short descriptions. Look back over the descriptions quoted in this chapter. The first covers but a few minutes, the time between taking up the dinner and beginning to serve it. The second covers no longer time. Everything in it could have been seen and heard in a few minutes' steady observation. The third, after a brief glance at the stream and its banks, covers only the time taken for the wagon to approach the bridge, cross it, and disappear around the bend. The fourth, which covers the most time, is after all limited to the ascent of one long hill. First, then, do not try to cover much time. The object of limiting the time covered by a description is similar to the object of limiting the scope covered by an explanation (page 5); it is to be abundant within the limits. In either case, that is the only way to be abundant. It is the only way to make an explanation full enough to be clear; it is the only way to make a description full enough to be interesting. But in description the best way to apply this principle of limitation is to select — not any brief time, but that particular brief time which is most characteristic. I wish to describe newsboys. Part of the day, perhaps, they spend at school. No particular interest in describing them when they are just like other boys. In vwhat brief time of the day will they show most of those concrete details of motion, attitude, sound, etc., which I have observed as characteristic of newsboys? Just when they scramble for their papers and rush off crying them. There it is in two THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST 45 minutes. Success in description consists largely in cul- tivating a habit of selecting the characteristic moment^ Select from each of the following general topics which fall within your observation a characteristic moment for de- scription. Select more than one, if you can; but do not try to describe more than one in a single theme. Let each moment be a moment of action; for this opens a wider range of concrete details. In writing out the description, put it into the form of a brief story whenever that seems easier. 1. Firemen. 8. Morning Chapel. 2. A Locomotive Engineer. 9. Haying. 3. Factory Girls. 10. The Railroad Station. 4. In a Department Store. 11. A Country Post Office. 5. Fishing. 12. A Clam-bake. 6. Laying Rails. 13. The Baggage Room. 7. The Drawbridge. Characteristic Details. — One full moment, one short, unbroken space of time in which those concrete details which put the scene before a reader are naturally thickest, and especially a time of characteristic action, — for a brief description first of all select this. But even such a moment may yield more details than can be used; even in this there must still be selection. And already there is a guide to this further selection in that word characteristic. Select the details which are characteristic, which will make the scene seem like itself, the persons seem like themselves. Suppose a phonograph wound up in a children's playroom to record every word uttered there for fifteen minutes. The record would give no better description of the children than their mother's letter, of a quarter the length, which selected the expressions characteristic of those particular children at play. One significant word, look, gesture, color, or other characteristic detail is worth more for description than ten that are insignificant. In describing we do not stand before 46 THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST our subject, like a photographer, to fix every detail. That is impossible. The situation that impresses us as worth description we may have experienced twenty times, or even a hundred. From all these experiences certain details stand out in memory as characteristic. From the throng of sights and sounds certain particular sights and sounds are vividly before us as giving that situation its pecuHar character. These are the ones to select; for these will help to put a reader there in imagination. Selecting a brief, character- istic time, put into it those details which make it charac- teristic. Leave the rest out. Look back at the description of the Christmas dinner on page 34. Abundant as it is in concrete detail, it makes no attempt to include everything. Perhaps the postman knocked. Perhaps Bob Cratchit sneezed. Perhaps there was a spot on the tablecloth. Were the walls white, or dirty? Dickens gives us what is characteristic of the scene. The rest he leaves out. He focuses our attention. He keeps us, not merely on one moment at a time, but in one mood. Each detail adds to the single feeling, the expectation of gooi cheer. A reader's imagination is most effectively stirre(J when every detail of a description adds to a single feeling. Select, then, what is characteristic of your brief time, and especially what is characteristic of its feeling. Try to make your reader feel with you by giving him such details as must lead him to feel in one way. The best approach to this is first of all to select a subject which has made a clear impression upon your own feeling. In order to make others feel, you must feel yourself. No one is likely to care much about your description of something that you do not care about yourself. But having chosen something that makes a strong impres^on upon your own feeling, you stand a fair chance of making it rouse the same feeling in others. For the feeling that you wish to communicate will guide you in THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST 47 choosing details, and the mention of those details that gave it to you will naturally give the same feehng to some one else. You choose to describe the stokers in the engine-room of a steamer, because the sight of them made on you a strong impression of terribly hard work. You will naturally choose those details which will give a reader the same im- pression — the half -stripped bodies, the hot glare, the sweat, the grime, the heaving muscles. You will leave out the various nationaUties of the stokers and the make of the engine, because these details have nothing to do with your impression. A subject is good for your description in pro- portion to the definiteness of the feeling it gives you. In a word, choose a subject which gives you a definite feeling. Choose that moment and those details which are likely to arouse that feeUng most strongly. SUGGESTIONS FOR ASSIGNMENTS TO BE COMPARED ON THE BLACKBOARD Subject Moment Impression Concrete Details Bank Clerks Just Despatch. Scan a check — flip it into a at Work. before compartment — thumbing a closing. pile of bills — clink of specie- stacker — click and clash of adding machine — slap of pass-book on glass counter — telephone bell — typewriter, etc. Haying. Before Heat. Sweat running into eyes — dog's the tongue hanging out — air shower. shimmers in distance — horses panting — no breeze — blue sky with thimder-heads — ' hay scratching blistered neck, etc. 48 THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST SUGGESTIONS FOR ASSIGNMENTS TO BE COMPARED ON THE BLACKBOARD— Continued Subject Moment Impression Concrete Details Haying. Unloading Hard work. Strain of lifting and pushing — in the dust — eyes smart — back mow. aches — swish — great billows of hay breaking over from below — smothered — no end ■ — at last, soimd of forks on wagon bottom, etc. In a Christmas Exhaustion. Shop-girl — black rings imder Department Eve, late. eyes — leans a moment against Store. bales of linen — answers me- chanically — three customers at once — takes down box after box — sharp question of floor-walker — bad air — pallor — complaint of a cus- tomer — others push in, etc. Use in this way the topics suggested in the preceding sections. Difference between Exposition and Description in the Means to Unity and Emphasis. — One moment at a time, one impression at a time, — what is this but the principle of unity? We come back, then, to the first guide in expla- nation (page 4). But the apphcation is different. A description, however well unified, cannot always be summed up in a sentence. A sentence expresses unity of thought; description is concerned rather with unity of feeling or impression; and this kind of unity is not tested by summary in a sentence. Sum up in a sentence each of the descrip- tions quoted hi this chapter. It can be done; but it does not tell what really holds the description together; for in each case the singleness comes, not from a controlling THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST 49 thought, but from a controlling emotion. The impression of the first might be put into some such phrase as the good cheer of the poor^ or hungry expectancy. Its single feeling is plain enough; yet it cannot easily be summed up, even in a phrase. The second might be labeled Christmas jollity in little things^ or the Christmas feeling everywhere. The feeling of the last two might be called equally the joy of being out of doors; yet they are quite different. Now all this teaches two things very important for description. First, the way to convey a feeling in words is not to sum it up or name it, but, keeping it in your own mind as you write, to suggest it by those concrete details which gave it to you. Secondly, though a short description should have unity as well as a short explanation or argument, it need not try to have unity by the same means. Explanation or argument, trying to make a reader think one way, keeps a core of thought, and a core of thought can always — should always, be summed up in a sentence; description or story, trying to make a reader feel one way, keeps a core of feeling, and a core of feeling cannot always, and need not ever, be summed up at all. Enough that it is there; for the details that it leads you to choose will pretty surely give your reader the same single feeling. In a word, do not try to unify these descrip- tions as you unified your previous themes. That might only make them formal or constrained. But simply by your choice of details try to make your reader feel in one way. The principle of emphasis, too, should be appHed to description less strictly. It lies behind that very concrete- ness which is the way of all effective description; for the way to make an impression strongly is, not to state facts generally, but to suggest images specifically by details of sensation. Concrete detail makes an impression stand out in the imagination; therefore concrete detail is emphatic. Something like the emphasis of iteration (page 9) in ex- 5 50 THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST planatory writing is also used at times in description when a single detail which is most directly characteristic of the desired impression is repeated. Joy You never in all your life saw anything like Trotty after this. I don't care where you have lived or what you have seen; you never in your life saw anything at all approaching him! He sat down in his chair and beat his knees and cried. He sat down in his chair and beat his knees and laughed. He sat down in his chair and beat his knees and laughed and cried together. He got out of his chair and hugged Meg. He got out of his chair and hugged Richard. He got out of his chair and hugged them both at once. He kept running up to Meg, and squeezing her fresh face between his hands and kissing it, going from her backwards not to lose sight of it, and running up again like a figure in a magic lantern; and whatever he did, he was constantly sitting himself down in his chair, and never stopping in it for a single moment, being — that's the truth — beside himself with joy. — Dickens, The Chimes. And finally a short description intended to be complete in itself, as your present themes are, may well gain emphasis by a strong ending (page 25). But usually a strong end- ing is gained for description, not by iteration of the whole point, as in explanation, but simply by putting last that concrete detail which is most characteristic or most strik- ing. "Even Tiny Tim . . . beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried Hurrah!'^ Notice the same method in the following: The Christmas Dance Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple, too, with^a good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three or four and twenty pair of partners; people who were not to be trifled with; people who would dance, and had no notion of walking. THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST 51 But if they had been twice as many — ah! four times — old Fezzi- wig would have been a match for them, and so would Mrs. Fezzi- wig. As to her, she was worthy to be his partner in every sense of the term. If that's not high praise, tell me higher, and 111 use it. A positive light appeared to issue from Fezziwig's calves. They shone in every part of the dance like moons. You couldn't have predicted, at any given time, what would become of them next. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone all through the dance; advance and retire, both hands to your part- ner, bow and curtsey, corkscrew, thread-the-needle, and back again to your place; Fezziwig ^*cut" — cut so deftly, that he ap- peared to wink with his legs, and came upon his feet again without — Dickens, A Christmas Carol. In a word, the principle of emphasis, like the principle of unity, though it applies to description as well as to explana- tion, applies in a different way. It applies less strictly. It is followed best, not by remembering particular rules, but by being full of a particular feeling. 4, HOLDING INTEREST (COHERENCE) What of the third principle, coherence? A description, no less than an explanation, should be easy to follow; but following from one image to another image is not much like following from one thought to another thought. The kind of plan that helps a reader to reason out a principle is hardly the sort to help him follow a scene in imagination. In writing an explanation we plan such an order as will make each thought prepare for the next and so lead on to the final full understanding of the single thought that under- lies all. But in writing a description, as we aim at some- thing different, at a final full feeUng rather than a final full thought, so we plan differently. 52 THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST A Shop of Petty Merchandise A little shop, quite crammed and choked with the abundance of its stock; a perfectly voracious little shop, with a maw as accom- modating and full as any shark's. Cheese, butter, firewood, soap, pickles, matches, bacon, table-beer, peg-tops, sweetmeats, toys, kites, bird-seed, cold ham, birch brooms, hearth-stones, salt, vinegar, blacking, red-herrings, stationery, lard, mushroom- ketchup, staylaces, loaves of bread, shuttlecocks, eggs, and slate- pencils: everything was fish that came to the net of this greedy little shop, and all these articles were in its net. How many other kinds of petty merchandise were there it would be difficult to say; but balls of packthread, ropes of onions, pounds of candles, cabbage nets, and brushes, hung in bunches from the ceiling, like extraordinary fruit; while various old canisters emitting aromatic smells established the veracity of the inscription over the outer door, which informed the public that the keeper of this little shop was a licensed dealer in tea, coffee, tobacco, pepper, and snuff. — Dickens, The Chimes. Here Dickens, instead of describing coherently, humor- ously chose to write a jumbled catalogue. Jumble , in fact, would be a good title; for that was the impression he wished to convey. But suppose he had wished to be connected, to make his description move on easily. Would he have planned it by sorting these articles under heads, and then arranging them in some logical order of thought? Prepared Foodstuffs: cheese, butter, pickles, cold ham, sweet- meats, red-herrings, bread, etc. Raw Foodstuffs: bacon, eggs, onions, tea, coffee, etc. Tobacco and Snuff. Condiments: salt, vinegar, pepper, ketchup, etc. Household Supplies {exclusive of food) : firewood, soap, matches, birch brooms, hearth-stones, candles, etc. Toys: peg-tops, kites, shuttlecocks, etc. Order: (1) household supplies exclusive of food, (2) raw food- stuffs, (3) prepared food-stuffs, (4) condiments, etc. THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST 53 Such an order would help us to understand that shop; but it would hardly help us to see it and feel it in imagina- tion. It would greatly help an explanation; it would help a description very little. No, coherence in description must be sought by different means. Choosing Subjects whose Characteristic Details are Motion and Sound. — Now in the first place, if you will look back over your own descriptions, you will find that those move along most easily which have most details of sound, motion, and action. The easiest way to connect the parts of a description, to give it coherence, is to have people, or ani- mals, acting, — in a word, to throw it into the form of a story. Conversely, the hardest descriptions to arrange are those that deal with still life, with a sunset over still water, with a market before business has begun, with a person sitting or standing still, with a factory at noon when no one is working. In fact, concrete descriptive details might be roughly classified thus in the order of their difficulty for description: rt' ^, , . [ with their sounds. 2. other motion ) 3. sound without motion. 4. attitude. 5. smell. 6. touch. 7. form and outline. 8. color. What does this mean? It means in the first place that, since we are using v/ords, and words are moving sounds, we can most easily make them describe things that character- istically move and sound. Painters, on the other hand, since they deal with line and color, can most easily paint things whose characteristics are line and color. Moving, sounding Ufe is easier for description; still Ufe is easier for 54 THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST painting. A painting represents its details to us all to- gether and all at once. It cannot represent motion; it can only suggest that to us by attitude. Sound it can hardly even suggest. But description has to suggest its details in succession. It cannot stand still. Words sound and go on. Therefore, since it is almost forced to bring in some sound and motion, description has greatest difficulty where the characteristic details do not sound or move, that is with still life. In the midst lie smell, which is rather easier for description, because it can only be suggested anyway; and touch, which is easier for painting, because painting can represent surfaces. Now all this does not mean that the details proper to painting should be omitted from description, but that they should not usually be elaborated or relied on mainly. Otherwise the description is likely to be lagging and confused, — in other words, incoherent. Description cannot compete with painting, any more than painting can compete with description, in its own field. The best scenes for description are those in which the char- acteristic details are motion and sound. Practically this means that coherence in description is very much helped or hindered by the choice of subject. Since it is not well to try the hardest problems first, begin with subjects that have in real life a plenty of sound and motion, such subjects as a fire engine coming through a crowded street, the arrival of a train or steamboat, children at play. Such subjects have the further advantage of including people, of appealing directly to human interest. Of course they offer details of the other senses too, the flash of sun on the brass of the fire engine, the smell of soft-coal smoke from the locomotive, the red sweater of a boy playing prisoner's base, Vnd these should by no means be omitted; but the natural succession of sounds and movements will almost of itself help the description to move along, and THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST 55 coherence in description practically means moving along easily. Choosing Moments of Action. — Then let the moments chosen (page 43) for your first descriptions be moments of action. For the subjects just mentioned this is a matter of course. It could hardly be avoided. For other subjects it requires a little management. Haying, for instance, is a subject that offers abundance of motion and sound, but more at some times than at others. Take the fullest moment. Begin, for instance, just as the horses are strain- ing up the incline into the barn, and describe the unloading. Then the description can move along through rapid, con- tinuous action, and end with the rattle of the forks on the bottom of the wagon. This suggests another help toward descriptive coherence. Try to begin with some action and without much explanation. If the moment is well chosen, the description will explain itself as it goes along. Instead of beginning outside the scene with an explanatory intro- duction, begin in the scene. You wish your reader to imagine himself in the scene; imagine yourself in the scene already. Don't stop to explain how you came to be there. Such preliminary explanation is usually both uninteresting and unnecessary. As I was returning from the library the other evening j I had to force my way through the usual crowd at the corner of Washington Street and Union. Suddenly the fire-bell rang. The policeman held up his club and shouted. A pair of truck-horses on Wash- ington Street reared back on their haunches. A trolley car on Union stopped with a jerk just short of the crossing. The crowd, as I looked up the street, seemed to be ploughed in two; and I was pushed back to the sidewalk. Clang! clang! Down the open lane thundered Number 3 . . . etc. Beginning to Describe at Once. — See if anything would be lost in clearness by omitting the opening sentence printed in 56 THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST italics. If the theme began "Suddenly the fire-bell rang," it would catch interest better. It would move better by moving from the start. Such a sudden beginning is appro- priate to the desired impression of suddenness; and, though it is not always appropriate, nor always possible, the prin- ciple of beginning as quickly as possible is generally a help to easy movement. One of the most characteristic sights of country life is the bringing in of the hay from the field to the barn. It was my good fortune to witness this last summer at a prosperous farm in Schoharie County. The great load, with the driver almost hidden in front and two other workmen lying on top, came into the barnyard scraping off wisps of hay against the tall lilacs at the gate. The men on top slid off and pulled out their forks. ^^ Get up," yelled the driver; and the big bays dug their hoofs into the rough planks of the incline, strained the front wheels over the sill, and pounded into the barn, where the load filled the whole passage-way from mow to mow. ** Lively, now!" said the driver, '*or it 11 rain before we get in that last load "... etc. The object of this description being to make us imagine the arrival and unloading of the hay, there is no gain in introducing it by the sentences italicized. Indeed, there is a loss; for the interest does not begin till "The great load," that is, until there is something to see. Since the description itself must make the scene characteristic, there is no need of first telling the reader that it is characteristic. And how the writer came to see the subject is of no interest in itself and no help to the imagination. So far as possible, begin to describe at once; and especially arrange so as to omit explanatory introductions. Connecting the Details by the Action of One upon Another. — Choose first ^subjects full of motion and sound. Take them at those moments that are characteristically fullest of motion and sound, and begin to describe at once. Both THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST 57 these counsels will help to make the description move along, will help, that is, its coherence. And the value of motion and sound may be realized further all through the descrip- tion. Compare the two following. Both use the same details. They differ only in arrangement, or coherence. Waiting for the Train (1) The long, broad platform is full of people. On the steps three newsboys at once shout ''Press," ''Tribune," "Examiner." Here is a woman with a baby on one arm and a folding go-cart on the other. There is a group of chattering school-girls. To the right, at the end, a company of immigrants is waiting nervously. They wear red tags and have their clothing in bundles. They jabber together, and every few minutes one of them hurries forward, apparently to inquire if the train is not coming. In contrast is the portly banker who paces calmly up and down, reading his paper. He takes the train every morning. A baggage truck with a towering pile of trunks moves slowly through the crowd. "One side, please," the men keep calling, as they pull and push it into place. Down to the left the semaphore clacks over to show a clear track. Workmen, who have just driven the last spike of a new rail, move back to the platform. The station master with his megaphone bawls out, "Express for Chicago, making no stops." At once the immigrants move around with their bundles, and every one presses forward. Waiting for the Train (2) ' I was pushed through the swinging doors into a woman with a baby on one arm and a folding go-cart on the other. As I helped her to keep her feet, three school-girls smiled, but calmly con- tinued to block the steps. Once free of them, I set my heavy bag down on the edge of the platform. "One side, please." I picked it up out of the way of a towering truck-load of trimks. The crowd parted slowly before it. The man pushing behind struggled, stopped, and swore. The puller in front was blocked by a swarthy Italian immigrant wearing a red tag and brandishing a green ticket. "Chicago? Chicago?" he cried shrilly, looking at the 58 THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST baggage-master's official cap. '*Here, you/' said the station agent, pulling him aside, ^'sit down till I tell you." The Italian faltered back to a crowd of his fellows, all wearing red tags and sitting on bundles. The portly, placid banker pacing by my side calmly chose a paper from the three that were thrust in his face. Instantly the two other newsboys dodged off, wriggling among the crowd and shouting ^' Press," *' Tribune," ^* Examiner." The semaphore clacked down. After one last stroke on the spike, the workman in blue overalls swung his hammer over his shoulder and motioned his two comrades back. ''Express for Chicago, making no stops," bawled the station master through his red megaphone. At once we began to trip over those Italian bundles. The second description makes more of a story, but only for the purpose of connecting the details. The first descrip- tion, putting the details down side by side in the present tense, makes a kind of catalogue. This is the simplest and easiest method for writing; but for reading, it is often dull and sometimes confusing. Such a list is harder to follow in the imagination. When the writer simply says, first, there are newsboys, then there is a woman with a baby, then there are schoolgirls, over there is a group of immigrants, here is a banker, then comes a baggage-truck, etc., it is hard to connect these details as we read. The description tends to fall apart in our minds, instead of hanging together. But if, using the same details, the writer connects them by some natural action of one upon another, they hang together so much better in a reader^s mind that the whole is easier to follow. It makes Httle difference whether you run into the go-cart or into the newsboys, whether the immigrants rush up to the baggage-master or to the station-agent. Either is natural enough to such a scene. The point is to make the people of y^ur description act upon one another instead of simply standing one after another in a fist. In a word, connect your description by some simple, natural story. THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST 59 This story method of making description coherent is easiest and most natural for scenes of bustle, such as the foregoing; but it will also serve for many that are more quiet. If you avoid at first subjects which naturally have no motion or sound at all, you can soon learn so to arrange the action of your scenes, however sUght it may be, as to connect your details. The End of the Wharf Little puffs of white cloud soared aloft in the blue from behind the far hills. The red flag on the point straight across the bay made its double in the calm water there. But a hundred yards nearer the water crinkled; nearer it ruffled, until the white caps in the middle distance broke and bounded toward me. They slapped against the piles underneath, and made the old scow moored at my feet heave and groan on her hawsers, etc. Here, although there is no bustle, not even any action in the Uvelier sense of the word, the motion of the clouds and waves and scow is made to connect the details easily. Very different would have been the effect of simply putting down those details in a Ust: The blue sky is dotted with little puffs of white cloud. Straight across the bay stands a red flag on the point. It is reflected on the calm surface ; but the nearer water is covered with white caps. .They slap against the piles of the wharf. An old scow moored at the end is heaving and groaning, etc. The former is easier to follow because the action of the wind moves all through. The clouds soared; the water crinkled, ruffled, broke, hounded, slapped, made heave and groan. In applying this method look to the verbs. Put them into the past tense, and see that they too, as well as the nouns and adjectives, describe specifically (page 39). The verbs of the latter form are more vague: is dotted, stands, is reflected, is covered. Avoid especially such flat and weak 60 THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST predicates as are seen, is heard, comes, goes, presents an appearance. Wherever you can without straining, use a verb of action. If the predicates suggest motion, the whole description will move along more easily. In any case, see that the verbs are specific. But all this is only the carrying out of that useful method of coherence, the connection of the details by action of one upon another. A Night in the High Sierras I made my bed in a nook of the pine thicket, where the branche& were pressed and crinkled overhead like a roof, and bent down around the sides. These are the best bedchambers the high moimtains afford, snug as squirrel nests, well ventilated, full of spicy odors, and with plenty of wind-played needles to sing one asleep. I little expected company; but, creeping in through a low side-door, I found five or six birds nestling among the tassels. The night wind began to blow soon after dark, at first only a gentle breathing, but increasing toward midnight to a rough gale that fell upon my leafy roof in ragged surges like a cascade, bearing wild sounds from the crags overhead. The waterfall sang in chorus, filling the old ice-fountain with its solemn roar, and seeming to increase in power as the night advanced, fit voice for such a land- scape. I had to creep out many times to the fire during the night; for it was biting cold, and I had no blankets. Gladly I welcomed the morning star. — John Muir, The Mountains of California, Chapter iv. Keeping One Point of View. — Finally, a description is easier to follow if it keeps one point of view; it may become confused if the point of view is changed without warning. To keep one point of view is naturally easy in a short description, especially a description full of action. Simply imagine yourself in the scene. Either you may say "I did" so-and-so, or you may use the third person, "The pop-corn vender twisted the corners of another little paper bag." In either case keep all through the description the THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST 61 point of view of an actor or of a spectator. If, in describing a football scrimmage from the point of view of one of the players on the field, you suddenly give the way the scene looked from the stands, the description will be confused. But no one is Hkely to make this mistake so long as he keeps imagining himself, as he must do to describe well at all, on the spot. The point of view requires the more con- sideration the nearer the scene approaches to still Hfe. In the former theme above. The End of the Wharf, notice that the point of view is of one sitting on the end of the wharf and looking out across the bay to the promontory and the hills beyond, and that the details begin farthest away and come straight towards the spectator. The latter, inferior form of the theme has no such clear line for the eye to follow. In proportion, then, as you use the more difficult details of form and color, arrange them so that the reader's eye in imagination can follow clearly from one point of view. Coherence in short descriptions, then, may be summed up as follows: Choose first those subjects whose characteristic details are motion and sound. Take them at those moments which are characteristically fullest of motion and sound. Begin to describe with your first words. Connect the details by action of one upon another as in a story, and make the predicates strong. As you use more of the details of still hfe, be careful to make the eye follow from one point of view. Describe one of the following, or another subject in this chapter. Missing a Train. The Return of the Fishing Fleet. The County Fair. The Old Whaler. The Inundation. The First Steamboat on the Hudson. 5. REACTION OF INTEREST ON CLEARNESS Though interest is thus sought differently from clearness, nevertheless each helps the other. The means of each go 62 THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST back to the same general principles of unity, emphasis, and coherence, because each is imperfect without the other. Nothing can hold interest long without clearness; and, though it is possible, it is not easy to be clear without being inter- esting. It is hard to understand thoroughly unless you are interested. Therefore the most successful explanations and arguments use not only instances and illustrations to stir our reasoning, but also other concrete details to stir our imagination. Thus they are the clearer by being the more interesting. For we understand a writer best when we sympathize. The following is the better explanation from being also a good description. A Near View of the High Sierra Shows Nature in Continual Change. Could we have been here to observe during the glacial period, we should have looked over a wrinkled ocean of ice as continuous as that now covering the landscapes of Greenland, filling every valley and canon, with only the tops of the fountain peaks rising darkly above the rock-encumbered ice-waves like islets in a stormy sea — those islets the only hints of the glorious landscapes now smiling in the sun. As we stand here in the deep, brooding silence, all the wilderness seems motionless, as if the work of creation were done. But in the midst of this outer steadfastness we know there is incessant motion and change. Ever and anon, avalanches are falling from yonder peaks. These cliff-bound glaciers, seem- ingly wedged and immovable, are flowing like water and grinding the rocks beneath them. The lakes are lapping their granite shores and wearing them away; and every one of these rills and yoimg rivers is fretting the air into music, and carrying the mountains to the plains. Here are the roots of all the life of the valleys ; and here, more simply than elsewhere, is the eternal flux of nature manifested, ice (^hanging to water, lakes to meadows, and moun- tains to plains. And while we thus contemplate nature's methods of landscape creation and, reading the records she has carved on the rocks, reconstruct, however imperfectly, the landscapes THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST 63 of the past, we also learn that as these we now behold have suc- ceeded those of the pre-glacial age, so they in turn are withering and vanishing, to be succeeded by others yet unbom. — John Muir, The Mountains of California, Chapter iv. Compare the use of the concrete in the paragraph from Macau- lay's history quoted at page 17, and also in the following: Even an author whose reputation was established, and whose works were popular, such an author as Thomson, . . . such an author as Fielding, . . . was sometimes glad to obtain, by pawning his best coat, the means of dining on tripe at a cookshop under- ground, where he could wipe his hands, after his greasy meal, on the back of a Newfoundland dog. — Macaulay, Samuel Johnson. 6. THE DISTINCTION BETWEEN DESCRIPTION AND NARRATION Just as exposition is closely related to argument, so description to narration. Indeed, it is even less easy to keep the latter pair apart. Pure exposition, unmixed with argument, is quite possible and very often profitable; but pure description, unmixed with narration, is neither very common nor very easy. For description is usually subsid- iary. Exposition may be an end in itself; but description is commonly used to help something else. Sometimes it is brought in to enUven an essay or speech, oftener to en- liven a story. Thus, instead of standing by itself as a whole, it is usually a part; instead of being carried out at length, it is usually brief and fragmentary; instead of making the whole fabric of a composition, it is woven into the fabric of essay or speech or, most commonly, of story. Some of the best descriptions in English contain only a few sentences, and are parts of verse or prose narratives. Now this is the only important distinction between description and narra- tion. Narration has a distinct plan of its own; description 64 THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST either is adapted to the plan of some exposition, argument, or narrative, or else borrows the plan of narrative and is written like a story. If it is brief and incidental, it is simply- fitted into the plan of the whole; if it is long enough and distinct enough to demand a plan, it follows the plan of narration. Instances of the former are the description of the New England whalers in Burke's argument for concilia- tion, and the description of the desolate shore to which Sir Bedivere went with the sword of Arthur. Instances of the latter may be found in almost any book of travel or any newspaper. The very fact that these are often called stories shows that description and narration can hardly be sepa- rated. When we tell a story, we naturally bring in descrip- tion; and when we describe at any length, even though we have no series of events to lead to a climax, we still naturally use the narrative order. Narrative is description — and more. What more it is will be discussed at length in Chap- ter viii. Meantime, in themes of the length presupposed by the present chapter, no further distinction need be made between the two. Show that argument is exposition — and more. How many of the descriptions quoted in this chapter are parts of stories? Which have most clearly a narrative order of events, as in a story? Select an instance also from your own themes. In this way prepare a topical recitation on the relation of description to narration. Find two instances of description forming part of exposition or argument. Do these descriptions differ in form from those which are parts of narration? Prepare in this way a topical reci- tation on the relation of description to exposition and argument. Select for reading aloud a striking brief description in one of the following: J^he Lady of the Lake^ Silas Marner, The Vicar of Wakefieldf Ivanhoe, The Idylls of the Kingj The Sketch Bookj The House of the Seven Gables, A Tale of Two Cities, In which of these is the description most closely woven into the narrative, so that it THE PRINCIPLES OF INTEREST 65 must be quoted piecemeal, and in which is it more readily separ- able in longer passages for quotation? Why is there more description in Shakespeare's plays than in more modem plays? SUMMARY OF THE CHAPTER 1. The principles of unity, emphasis, and coherence in their application to interest are best studied through description or story. 2. Interesting description or story appeals to the imagination by abundance of concrete detail {emphasis), 3. Interesting description or story chooses the characteristic details of one characteristic moment at a time {unity). 4. Interesting description or story leads the imagination on {coherence) : (a) by choosing first such subjects as have for their most char- acteristic details motion and sound, (6) by choosing first moments of action, (c) by beginping to describe at once, without introduction, (cQ by connecting the details through the action of one upon another, (e) by keeping one point of view. 5. Interest reacts on clearness. 6. The interest of narration is the interest of description j>lua the interest of a significant series of events. CHAPTER III CLEARNESS IN PLAN: PARAGRAPHS The themes in connection with this chapter and the following should he longer expositions (600 or more words) y admitting argument freely, hut distinguishing it, {See page 30.) They should he written so much less frequently as to insure (1) care in the prelim- inary outline, which should usually he submitted in advance for criticism and revision and sometimes for class discussion, (2) fulness and emphasis for each paragranh, (3) in connection with Chapter iv., revision of sentences and words. In general, they should he first spoken from an outline of paragraphs, then written. Where it is impossible in the recitation periods to call up any large proportion of the class regularly for oral development of a whole theme, single paragraphs may he called for, especially when a common outline has been assigned. But students should prac- tice in private the oral development of the whole from beginning to end within a specified time before writing it; and at least one whole theme should he called for at each recitation period. Profit- able topics are (1) matters of current interest to the class, (2) topics of current study in science and history, (3) topics of current study in literature {definite assignments, not general fields of study). Avoid topics for which the division is likely to he mechanical. A chronological summary of a man^s life, for instance, proceeds merely from year to year, or period to period. So an account of a process of manufacture proceeds merely from room to room. Neither gives any scope for learning how to develop a thought from stage to stage. In order to acquire this progressiveness, use freely the outlines at pages 79-83, and others that may be conven- iently provi(^d. This practice may be kept up for a long period. While it does no harm to originality, it directly helps coherence in extended composition. To the same end, the practice should in* 66 CLEARNESS IN PLAN : PARAGRAPHS 67 dude, besides themes, frequent paragraph summaries of noteworthy addresses, magazine articles, and chapters of hooks. The models chosen should be expository. They may have incidental argu- ment or incidental description; but they should never, except in occasional illustration, be narrative. All the training at this period should center upon the paragraph as a stage of thought. The class should discuss amply the paragraph plans proposed for themes, the oral development of these, the use of paragraph emphasis to make transition easier, — in short, the actual composition of the actual themes. Orally and in written revision of parts, this may well occupy much of the recitation time. The rest, once the few simple principles are understood, may be given to su^h analysis of essays and speeches as is indicated above and exhibited in the text. For analysis of current exposition in periodicals the in" structor should make assignments after careful selection of such articles as have progressive development by clear paragraphs. 1. PARAGRAPHS THE PRINCIPAL MEANS OF COHERENCE IN LONGER EXPOSITIONS AND ARGUMENTS The two constant aims, clearness and interest, and the three constant principles, unity, emphasis, and coherence, once grasped in short compositions, there remains no new doctrine to be learned, nothing that does not follow from these. They contain all rhetoric in a nutshell. But there remain many problems to be solved practically, problems that arise so soon as one attempts to speak or write at greater length. The practice of Umiting the theme in advance (page 4), to secure unity, is equally valuable for longer com- positions. To be clear, a longer composition, as well as a short one, needs to be unified. The main difference between the two is in the extent to which the root idea is carried out. A theme becomes longer by having more amplifica- 68 CLEARNESS IN PLAN : PARAGRAPHS tion — more instances, more iteration and illustration; i.e., by being fuller. It never leaves its point. If it becomes longer by losing its single purpose, by deviating into side- paths, or bringing in foreign matter, it becomes merely confused; it might much better be short. But the prin- ciple of unity may be apphed to a longer theme somewhat less strictly. The very object of making the theme longer may be to bring together several aspects. If these aspects are so closely related that they can easily be held together in mind, the theme has sufficient unity. Suppose a theme on the city Board of Health to consider (1) the prevention of contagious diseases (vaccination, etc.), (2) their isolation when they break out (removal to isolation hospital, or placarding of dweUings, etc.), (3) the inspection of milk and water, (4) the inspection of sanitary conditions (plumb- ing, disposal of refuse, etc.). Though any one of these four would be enough for a short theme, they are so closely related to one another that a longer theme, if well arranged, could include them all as different aspects of one idea. So a longer exposition, even though unified, cannot always be summed up in a single sentence. That test ap- plies rather to each of its paragraphs (page 75) than to the whole. Many themes of considerable length do, indeed, hold throughout to a single sentence. The more a theme aims at persuasion, the more valuable is a single controlling idea so limited that a single sentence will hold it; for the prime requisite of persuasion is to be possessed by a single, very definite idea. But when the object is mainly explana- tion, the root sentence, though often an advantage, is not always a necessity. A sufficient safeguard of unity is simply to limit the topic beforehand to such aspects as can be fully discussed >n the time and easily remembered together at the end (compare pages 30-31). The principle of emphasis applies to longer compositions CLEARNESS IN PLAN: PARAGRAPHS 69 exactly as to short ones. Dwelling most on what brings out the main point most directly, ending with an iteration of the main point (pages 20-25), — both these means of clearness apply without change. The new problems of com- posing at greater length come mainly under the head of coherence. They are problems of plan. The greater the length, the more important the order. When you wish to say more than can be put clearly into brief space, at once you face the problem how to keep the whole together while you present it part by part. The solution is the paragraph. The most important mastery in extended writing of this kind is the mastery of composing by paragraphs. 2. THE PARAGRAPH AS A PART What is a paragraph? Every one knows what a para- graph looks like. It is a block of print or writing set off by a space at its beginning. Whenever an essay extends to any considerable length, we expect to see it divided in this way by certain indentations. Similarly a speech of any considerable length is divided by pauses. These pauses do for the ear what the indented spaces do for the eye; they relax the strain of continuous attention by dividing the whole into parts. But how? Evidently no one can mark off his paragraphs until he has them. No one can make paragraphs by merely dividing a whole already written into a certain number of pieces. Paragraphs made in that way would be merely accidental and mechanical. Instead of being a help to clearness, they might be a hindrance; for the divisions might be too many, or too ^ew, or in the wrong places. No, paragraphs are not made by spacing or pausing. The spacing or pausing merely indicates where they are after they are made. They must be made first. They must be 70 CLEARNESS IN PLAN: PARAGRAPHS planned before the essay or speech is written or spoken. To say that a paragraph is a group of sentences set off by indentation or pause from another group of sentences is to give a merely outside definition of the way in which a para- graph looks or sounds after it is made. What we need is an inside definition, a definition that will tell us how to make it. Before you write a longer essay or speech, divide your subject into such parts as you can most clearly build up one by one into a connected whole. The subject being too extended to be discussed all at once, divide it into con- venient parts. Each of these parts will be a paragraph. A paragraph is planned, therefore, before it is written. It is not yet a group of sentences; it is a group of ideas or facts in the writer's mind. It is going to be one of the little compositions which he will build up into his single whole composition. He does not yet know in what words he will express it; but he knows exactly what ground it will cover. A paragraph is a certain part of a subject, set off in the plan to he discussed by itself. Division, Grouping under Paragraph Headings. — A para- graph is first of all, then, one part of the whole plan. After jotting down any ideas and facts that seem useful to bring out your subject, and striking out any that seem on second thought superfluous, group the remainder, as they seem to belong most nearly together, under a few general headings. These headings will indicate your paragraphs. Each indi- cates that part or tract of the subject which can most clearly be discussed by itself. What the Norman Conquest Meant to England ^ FIRST NOTES 1. Normans — adventurous, ambitious, leaders in France, explorers. English — had just repelled attack of Danes in the north. CLEARNESS IN PLAN : PARAGRAPHS 71 1. English more stay-at-home (put this last), sober, steady. 4. Norman Conquest meant closer touch of England with the Continent in literature. 3. French then chief literary language next to Latin. (French derived from Latin.) 2. Norman victory meant Normans in all important offices of England, French language in courts and schools, subordination of everything English. 3. English language degraded for lack of literature; all writing in French or Latin — result, English kept its native structure, but borrowed hundreds of French words. Thinking over such notes as those above, the writer groups them under headings: (1) contrast of the two peoples, (2) political effects of the Conquest, (3) effects on English language, (4) effects on English literature. Then, by num- bering each note accordingly, as above, he sorts out his material into paragraphs. He provides clearness for the whole by dividing it into convenient parts. This selection of headings is called the division of the subject. It sometimes goes on while the material is being collected; sometimes not until afterward. In either case it is aj)rocess of thought, of reason. A hap-hazard division is not likely to prove helpful. Division demands intelli- gence and patience. It teaches systematic thinking. A good division is a mark of mental grasp. The masters of exposition, men like Huxley and Newman, have helped us all to understand more fully and think more clearly by such divisions of their subjects as group our ideas anew. They help us to sort our facts and ideas into groups that we did not see ourselves. What they have thus done by genius, great knowledge, and long training, every student may learn from simple beginnings to do with more and more intelligence. And the better he does it, the more grasp he gets of his own knowledge. 72 CLEARNESS IN PLAN: PARAGRAPHS But the first thing to remember is that the division is for the benefit of the reader or hearer (page 1). It is a device for making the whole clear to some one else. This does not in the least make the process less valuable to the writer; it merely forces upon him the right point of view. A division is good in proportion as it helps a hearer or reader to follow. Another way of putting this is to say, Look for a simple, natural division. Some subjects seem almost to have their divisions ready made. For instance, the divi- sion suggested above for a theme on the Board of Health would occur to almost any one investigating the subject. Such obvious divisions are best for first attempts. They are the better for being simple; and they are sufficient for clearness. Make such a simple division of three or four parts for some of the following: — 1. The Federal Government. 2. The Duties of a Forest Warden. 3. The Group System of Electives. 4. The Foreign Population of Our Country. 5. The Election of the President. 6. The President's Cabinet. 7. Opportunities for a Young Man in . 8. The Panama Canal. But though a division should always be simple in the sense of being easy to understand and follow, it is not neces- sarily good just because it is simple. It ought not to be superficial or merely formal. Almost every conceivable subject, for instance, may be divided into (1) advantages, (2) disadvantages. That division will usually kill all inter- est without helping clearness; for it is both superficial and formal. It is not a real division; it is only an excuse for one. Equally formal is a division into (1) introduction, (2) body, (3) conclusion. This again is not a real division; for what we need to have divided is (2). The introduction CLEARNESS IN PLAN : PARAGRAPHS 73 can often be best adjusted after the rest is written or planned, and need not be a separate paragraph; the conclusion is merely the iteration at the end; but the theme cannot well be written at all until (2) is divided by some definite plan. Avoid superficial or formal divisions. Divide with your mind. Divide one of the following subjects for an oral address of four or five paragraphs: 1. Why I Chose the Scientific (or the Academic) Course. 2. The Training of a Hospital Nurse. 3. Lumbering in Our State. 4. What a Tree Needs for its Growth. 5. The Effects of the New Rules in Football. 6. How a Play was Given in Shakespeare's Time. 7. Should the Public Library be Open on Sunday? 8. My City (Town, or Village). 9. In What Ways Franklin Showed Himself a Typical Amer- ican. 10. The Importance of the Battle of Saratoga. (For other subjects, see the lists in Chapter i. and below in the present chapter.) So far as possible, these themes, or at least certain paragraphs of them, should be spoken to the class before they are written. (See the head-note to this chapter.) But first the outlines should be discussed and revised. (See pages 15 and 29 for discussion of reports and speeches in class.) 3. THE PARAGRAPH AS A STAGE If these outlines are put upon the blackboard, you will find hardly any two alike for the same subject. That is natural and desirable; for, instead of trying to cover all possible topics in the time, each student will naturally select such aspects as he thinks he can handle with most clearness and interest. Indeed, the making of an outline, instead of being the dry and mechanical process that some 74, CLEARNESS IN PLAN : PARAGRAPHS people fancy, opens room for originality. But the outlines will differ in another way which will give each student a chance to learn from every one else. Some will arrange their parts in clearer order (Review pages 26-29). They will lead on better from part to part up to the close. They will show a progress of thought. Such a progressive outline gives stronger coherence to the whole composition and stronger emphasis to each paragraph. For a good para- graph is something more than a part; it is a part in a certain place. A ^paragraph is a distinct part of a composition planned for that place where it will best help along the whole. Plan, or Outline : the Order of Paragraphs. — The division of a subject into paragraphs, then, means first the choosing of certain parts to be treated separately, one by one. For clearness this is necessary, and sometimes it is sufficient. But if your address or essay is to have that stronger cohe- rence which makes people follow because they feel that you are leading them ahead, you will not be satisfied with mere division into parts; you will seek to arrange those parts in an effective order. You will plan your paragraphs, not merely as parts, but as stages. A good paragraph is a stage in the progress of the whole. Why I Chose the Scientific Course (1) 1. It is more practical. 2. I like laboratory work better than languages. 3. The English course is just as good. 4. The Manual Training High School ranks as high as the other high school. 5. I intend to be an engineer, because I see the best openings for me in that profession. Why I Chose the Scientific Course (2) 1. In general there is no choice as to rank, the teaching in the two being equally good. CLEARNESS IN PLAN : PARAGRAPHS 75 2. In particular, the courses in English are equal in extent and excellence. 3. The decision is mainly because I can prepare more directly for my profession, that of engineer. 4. But, besides, I think a good guide is whether you get better training from laboratory work or from languages. 5. Thus the upshot of the whole to me is that the scientific course is more practical. The Paragraph Subject a Complete Sentence, — The second of the outlines above is a revision of the first for coherence. Both have the same parts; but the second has a more thought- ful order. The paragraphs are so arranged that eacti leads better to the next, and so to the last. Now such a revision cannot be made surely unless each part of the outline, each of the future paragraphs, is expressed in a sentence. 1. More practical. 1. General rank. 2. Laboratory training vs, Ian- 2. English courses. guages. 3. English courses. 3. Engineering my profession. 4. General rank. 4. Laboratory training vs, lan- guages. 5. Engineering my profession. 5. More practical. Set down thus, in mere words or phrases, the two outlines may seem equally good. Neither can be judged as to its coherence. For the connection between two ideas can be tested only by putting each into a sentence. Practically, therefore, the subject of a paragraph is, not a word, nor a phrase, nor a clause, but a complete sentence. Thus the paragraph outline for the notes at page 71 needs to be thought out into sentences in order to test its progress. What the Norman Conquest Meant to England PARAGRAPH OUTLINE 1. The Norman character broke up the English stay-at-home spirit. 76 CLEARNESS IN PLAN: PARAGRAPHS 2. It subjected everything English to the domination of the French. 3. The effect on the English language was, not to change its structure, but to widen its vocabulary. 4. The effect on English literature was to widen it by closer touch with the Continent. This means, as a comparison with Chapter i. will show, that a paragraph is in itself a brief whole. It is a complete unit. Some of the passages quoted in Chapter i. are in fact paragraphs detached from their context. They are complete in the sense of being clear, each by itself. Each fully develops a single root sentence. Whatever else the author had to say he kept for other paragraphs. He gave clearness to his whole long composition by treating each part with separate completeness. If now any coherent, carefully planned speech or essay (not a story or descrip- tion) be summed up by expressing each of its paragraphs in a sentence, such a summary will show from thought to thought the progress of the whole. The making of such outlines is excellent practice, both for study of the thought of others and for help in strengthening the coherence of your own speeches and essays. Outline by Paragraphs for Analysis, — The following sum- maries show that this method, irrespective of subject or style, applies to any composition that has a clear progress of thought. They should be used generally as models, and particularly for the exercises indicated under each. I. JOSEPH ADDISON: LABOR AND EXERCISE Spectator, 115. N. B. The paragraphs of this essay, as it is usually printed, are marked wrongly. It is good practice in such cases to correct the indentations so that they will ^correspond to the real paragraphs. 1. The health of country life comes from its opportunities for both kinds of labor — labor for bread and labor for exercise. CLEARNESS IN PLAN: PARAGRAPHS 77 2. The very structure of our bodies suggests the necessity of labor to keep it in good condition. 3. And health of mind depends no less on bodily labor. 4. As our bodies invite labor, so the necessities of most men's lives compel it. 5. My friend Sir Roger, not being compelled to work for a liv- ing, resorts to hunting for exercise. 6. And riding, indeed, is an exercise most salutary for both sexes. 7. For my own part, when I am cut off from such opportunities in town, I find great profit in dumbbells and wands. 8. For, since I am both soul and body, I feel bound to care for both. Adapt this outline, by omissions and substitutions, to a five- paragraph essay of your own on the same topic. Afterward read Addison's essay, to compare the methods of developing the several paragraphs. Make a similar outline of Irving's English Writers on America or Rural Life in England, Notice that many other papers in the Sketch Booky such as Rip Van Winkle and The Legend of Sleepy Hollow J being narrative, are not developed by paragraphs, and con- sequently cannot be so outlined. II. THOMAS DE QUINCEY: ON THE KNOCKING AT THE GATE IN MACBETH 1. For a long time I could not imderstand why the knocking at the gate after the murder of Duncan reflected back upon the murder a peculiar awe. 2. My failure to understand it did not make it the less awful. 3. But at length I saw that it draws our attention from the ▼nurder itself to the feelings of the murderers. 4. For it shows their fiendish passion by the sharp reaction toward their better selves. 5. Thus even in his least details Shakespeare shows his great- ness. From study of the play, develop this outline into an oral address of five minutes. If you find little to say on 2, for instance, com- 78 CLEARNESS IN PLAN: PARAGRAPHS bine it with 1. If 5 in your treatment is only a brief summary, make it the close of 4. Thus your address will have three para- graphs. Afterwards read De Quincey's essay, to compare the methods of developing the several paragraphs. III. T. H. HUXLEY: HOW THE SEA ATTACKS THE COAST Physiography, an Introduction to the Study of Nature, first four paragraphs of Chapter xi. 1. The sea, by rolling the shore pebbles back and forth, is al- ways wearing the strand into sand. 2. The sea even attacks the shore cliffs with their own fragments. 3. In a storm this attack on the cliffs is equivalent to bom- barding the coast with its own ruins. 4. The destruction is thus accomplished, not by mere water, but by water carrying stones. (incomplete) Make a similar plan for an oral address on some other common natural phenomenon; e.g., clouds, tides, icebergs. Write this out afterward as an essay. IV. GIFFORD PINCHOT: WHERE TREES GROW A Primer of Forestry, Part I, first twelve paragraphs of Chap- ter ii. 1. Where a tree will grow depends upon its native qualities. 2. The regions for certain races of trees, as for certain races of men, is partly determined by temperature. 3. In the same way temperature determines the distribution of trees over smaller areas. 4. In both cases distribution is also determined by moisture. 5. But the thriving of a particular tree, as distinct from a whole species, depends much more on its ability to bear shading by other trees, i.e., upon what is called its tolerance. 6. Tolerance thus determines how many trees of a given kind will grow in a given forest. 7. ToleranceMepends, not only on how much light a tree needs, but also on what kind of light and on how fast the young shoot naturally tends to grow. CLEARNESS IN PLAN: PARAGRAPHS 79 8. Thus, of two intolerant trees, that one will survive which grows faster. 9. And the rate of growth depends again largely on the place. 10. Again, a species will multiply according to whether its seeds are so heavy as to drop or so light and winged as to be car- ried by the wind. 11. The character of the seeds thus largely determines whether a species will be found grouped together or scattered. 12. And this, together with the other conditions mentioned before, makes certain whole species always grow together in one tract. Select such parts of this as you can most readily develop into a connected oral exposition of about five minutes. Outline by Paragraphs for Practice. — Prepare an oral ad- dress of five or six minutes according to the paragraph plan indicated for each of the subjects assigned froin the following list. Develop each paragraph fully, close it with an emphatic iteration of its subject, and pause before beginning the next. Revise this address as a written theme. The outlines may also be adapted in ways such as those suggested in the preceding pages. I. THE MANUAL TRAINING HIGH SCHOOL FILLS AN IMPORTANT PLACE IN THE COMMUNITY 1. The courses combine general education with manual courses of several kinds and grades. 2. The object is to give the technical training that used to be gained by apprenticeship to a trade. 3. Thus it opens a career to many who might otherwise waste themselves in minor business positions. 4. But it has the wider object of giving such general training as is not provided by the study of books — the training of eye and hand. 5. Thus it serves the state by broadening the capacity of future citizens for civic usefulness and the appreciation of the beauty of good craft. 80 CLEARNESS IN PLAN : PARAGRAPHS II. WHY AMERICAN GIRLS PREFER FACTORY WORK TO DOMESTIC SERVICE 1. There are few native-born American girls in domestic ser- vice, and many in factories. 2. Domestic service is generally easier, more healthful, and, since a domestic servant receives board and lodging besides money wages, generally better paid. 3. But a domestic servant has less liberty of time and action. 4. Above all, she is generally regarded as an inferior. 5. So it is clear that most American girls value most highly independence and equality. III. HOW IRRIGATION HAS INCREASED THE NATIONAL WEALTH 1. A map of the westward progress of our settlements shows a check at the borders of far-reaching arid lands. 2. As fertile lands became scarcer, it was discovered that some of these arid lands were naturally fertile, and that water could be brought. 3. The experiments of individuals and private companies proved farming by irrigation to have many advantages over the old farming. 4. The federal government has now recognized irrigation as a national concern. With abundance of material, 3 may be divided into two or three paragraphs in order to discuss the advantages separately with greater fulness; and this in turn may lead to the making of two themes, one including 1, 2, and the general idea of 3, the other developing fully 3 and 4 in several paragraphs. IV. THE BILL (Select a bill, now before Congress or your State legislature, about which you have some information and interest.) 1. The object of this bill is . (Explain why the measur^ is proposed.) 2. Its main provisions for carrying out this object are • (Instead of quoting at length, give a concise summary.) CLEARNESS IN PLAN : PARAGRAPHS 81 3. Thus it is supported by because of , and opposed by because of . 4. Our interest in it here is . V. SUNDAY BASEBALL 1. The question as to Sunday baseball arises from two quite different views of Sunday: (a) that the day ought to be observed with religious quiet and decorum; (h) that the day ought to give recreation to those who work all the week. (Develop this para- graph by contrast.) 2. The first view comes from New England traditions of our older, American-bom citizens; the second, from the European traditions of our increasing foreign-born population. (Develop this paragraph by contrast and instances.) 3. Both these views have partially failed in practice: (a) the old ''blue laws'' as to the ''Sabbath'' are no longer generally ac- cepted; (h) the idea of "the continental Sunday" has sometimes led to license, given opportunity to rowdies, and tended to make the day a noisy holiday. 4. Thus, if both parties claim too much, the law might in fair- ness to both permit baseball on Simday afternoon. 5. And the individual boy or man can help his community by taking his Sunday exercise (a) only so far as his week-day work demands, and (6) in such ways as not to disturb others. This subject may also be divided and adapted for debate. First frame a proposition (page 30) which shall clearly express the issue. Instruction in debate will be found in Chapter vii. VI. THE NEED OF AN ISOLATION HOSPITAL 1. Modern science has shown that contagious diseases are preventable. 2. So the Board of Health placards houses where any one has scarlet fever, diphtheria, etc.; i.e., isolates each case to prevent the spread of the disease. 3. But this method of isolation is imperfect, especially in crowded districts. 7 82 CLEARNESS IN PLAN : PARAGRAPHS 4. A far more effective precaution is isolation in a special hos- pital. 5. The prejudice against having a '' pest-house'' in one's own district is unreasonable. 6. So we should all help to show as many doubters as possible the great advantages of such a hospital to everybody. This should serve as a model for the discussion of some actual present local issue. VII. SHYLOCK WAS WRONGED 1. The fact that we do not feel like crowing with Gratiano when Shylock leaves the stage for the last time shows that we have some sympathy with Shylock. 2. This is partly because, so long as the court had admitted the bond as valid, it was mere quibbling to rule that the poimd of flesh must be without blood. 3. And the sentence on Shylock was excessive to the point of cruelty. 4. Like the sentence, all the actions of the Christians toward Shylock throughout the play show a bigoted ignoring of his rights and feelings. 5. Therefore we cannot but feel that Shylock was the victim of the intolerance of his time against his race. Prepare an outline and develop an address to show on the con- trary that Shylock was not wronged. In this way the subject may be brought into debate, as may also the questions whether Brutus should have joined the conspiracy, whether Lady Macbeth was a virago, and any other topics of current discussion in the course of literature. Such practice in writing from an assigned outline by paragraphs cultivates a habit of orderly presentation, of progressive plan, — in a word, of coherence. It may be continued as long as it seems helpful; it may be applied profitably to any address, magazine article, or chapler, which impresses you by its coherence; but its whole object is to lead you into such plan-making of your own. The United States naval station at Guam, a small island in the CLEARNESS IN PLAN: PARAGRAPHS 83 Pacific, receives from San Francisco a daily summary of news by cable. As your part of this summary, prepare an outline by para- graphs of one or more of the following: — 1. An Important Speech by . 2. The Bill (introduced in Congress). 3. The Report of the Association (or Committee). 4. The Reasons for the Spread of Legislation Prohibiting Sa- loons. 5. This Yearns Wheat Crop. 6. The Progress of Our Navy. The outline should be made from an article conspicuous for its clear coherence. Then by writing the subject-sentences consecu- tively, with proper connectives, a summary can be made at once concise and justly proportioned. Digests for report, e.gr., in his- tory, may often be made in the same way. 4. THE PARAGRAPH ADJUSTED TO ITS PLACE Coherence of the Whole Secured by Paragraph Emphasis. — A paragraph, then, is a complete part of a longer com- position. Being complete, it is unified within itself as a short whole theme is unified, and developed as a short whole theme is developed (pages 5-15). Being complete, it is also emphasized as a short whole theme is emphasized. Emphasis at the paragraph end, moreover, is important for another purpose; it is the greatest help to the coherence of the whole composition. No better help can be given to the progress of the whole than a clear emphasis of each part. Nothing can make it easier for a hearer or reader to take up the next point than to have strongly in mind the point you are just leaving. When you pause in speaking, or make a space in writing, the hearer or reader needs to have firmly fixed in mind the point of that paragraph. If he is sure of this, his mind is open for the next paragraph; if he is not sure, if you have not brought the point home, instead 84 CLEARNESS IN PLAN : PARAGRAPHS of following you readily into the next paragraph he will be guessing about the last one. His attention is divided, per- haps lost. There is no more fruitful cause of incoherence than loose paragraph ends; there is no better help to co- herence than firm paragraph ends. A reader, and still more a hearer, needs to know exactly where he is at the end of each paragraph. For a main object of emphasis at the end of a paragraph is to show the relation of that paragraph to the whole composition. See how this works out in the practice of clear speakers and writers to knit the whole together. I. PHILLIPS brooks: Epilogue to a sermon on Paragraph 1. Subject The birthday of our nation claims your sympathetic re- gard because to-day a nation is the making-place of men. THE FOURTH OF JULY The Candle of the Lord (Introduction) My friends, may I ask you to linger while I say a few words more (Link) which shall not be unsuited to what I have been saying, and which shall, for just a moment, recall to you the sacredness which this day, the Fourth of July, the anni- versary of American Indepen- dence, has in the hearts of us Americans? If I dare, gener- ously permitted as I am to stand in the venerable Abbey, so full of our history as well as yours, to claim (Subject) that our festival shall have some sacredness for you, my claim rests on the simple truth that to all true men the birthday of a nation must be a sacred thing . , . CLEARNESS IN PLAN: PARAGRAPHS 85 Paragraph 2. Subject Your interest in our birth- day is the higher interest of a mother in her son. Paragraph 3. Subject So I ask, not your praise for my country, but your prayer. (Close) ''Show us your man," land cries to land. (Link) In such days (Subject) any nation, out af the midst of which God has led another nation as He led ours out of the midst of yours, must surely watch with anxiety and prayer the peculiar development of our common humanity of which that nation is made the home. (Close) the mother-land will surely lose the thought and memory of whatever anguish accompanied the birth, for grat- itude over the gain which hu- manity has made, ''for joy that a man is bom into the world." (Link) It is for me to glorify to-night the country which I love with all my heart and soul. (Subject) 1 may not ask your praise for anything admirable which the United States has been or done. But on my country's birthday I may do CLEARNESS IN PLAN: PARAGRAPHS something far more solemn and more worthy of the hour, I may ask for your prayers her behalf . (Close) Because you are Eng- lishmen and I am an Ameri- can; also because here, under this high and hospitable roof of God, we are all more than Englishmen and more than Americans; because we are all men, children of God waiting for the full coming of our Father's Kingdom, I ask you for that prayer. Make a similar outline for an oral address on How We Americans Should Keep Our National Holiday, II. BRANDER MATTHEWS: AMERICAN CHARACTER (Five paragraphs from § II) Paragraph Subject Americans care less (Announcement of subject.) In his to have money than to talk with Tolstoi our French critic make it. revealed an imexpected insight when he asserted that the passion of Amer- ican life was not so much the use of money as the delight in the conquest of it (Paragraph close ^ emphasis by itera- tion.) Merely to have money does not greatly delight him — although he would regret not having it; but what CLEARNESS IN PLAN : PARAGRAPHS 87 This is shown also by the free giving of the individual rich man to the community. And the prestige of wealth here is hindered by the rapid shifting of fortunes. does delight him unceasingly is the fun of making it. (Link.) The money itself often he does not know what to do with; (Announcement of subject) and he can find no more selfish use for it than to give it away. . .... (Paragraph close, iteration empha- sized by contrast.) Nothing remotely resembling it is to be seen now in any country of the Old World; and not even in Athens in its noblest days was there a larger-handed lavishness of the individual for the benefit of the community. (Link) Again, in no country of the Old World (Announcement of subject) is the prestige of wealth less powerful than it is here Besides, the United States can show, at least as readily as any other country, many men who have deliberately given (Paragraph close, emphasis by iteror tion of proof.) Wealth is likely to lack something of its glamour in a land where well-being is widely diffused and where a large proportion of the popu- lation have either had a fortune and lost it, or else expect to gain one in the immediate future. (Link.) Probably also there is no country which now contains (Announce^ ment of subject) more men who do not greatly care for large gains and who have gladly given up money-making CLEARNESS IN PLAN: PARAGRAPHS up money-making for some pursuit that they hked better. Still we must deplore many rich men who have the vices charged by for- eigners upon the coun- try as a whole. for some other occupation they found more profitable for themselves. . (Paragraph close, emphasis by sum- mary.) There are not a few men to- day in these toiling United States who hold with Ben Jonson that ' * money never made any man rich, — but his mind." (Link.) But while this is true, while there are some men among us who care little for money, and while there are many who care chiefly for the making of it, ready to share it when made with their fellow-citizens, (Announcement of subject) candor com- pels the admission that there are also not a few who are greedy and grasping, selfish and shameless, and who stand forward, conspicuous and unscrupulous, as if to justify to the full the aspersions which foreigners cast upon us. (Paragraph close, emphasis by appli- cation bringing the point home.) We need to stiffen our conscience and to set up a loftier standard of social inter- course, refusing to fellowship with the men who make their money by over- riding the law or by undermining it. III. macaulay: the life of johnson (Paragraphs 42, 43, 44) Paragraph Subject Johnson ignored the (Link.) Of other assailants (An- published attacks of his nouncement of subject) Johnson took enemies. no notice whatever. . CLEARNESS IN PLAN : PARAGRAPHS 89 But he impaired his own reputation by pub- lishing Taxation No Tyranny, This failure was due, not to decaying powers, but to unfitness for the subject. (Paragraph close, epigrammatic quo^ tation, iteration in effect, though not in wards.) No saying was oftener in his mouth than that fine apothegm of Bentley, that no man was ever written down but by himself. (Link.) Unhappily, a few months after the appearance of the '* Journey to the Hebrides, '' Johnson did what none of his envious assailants could have done, (Announcement of subject) and to a certain extent succeeded in writing himself down. (Paragraph close, summary.) The general opinion was that the strong faculties which had produced the ''Dictionary'' and the Rambler were be- ginning to feel the effect of time and of disease, and that the old man would best consult his credit by writing no more. (Link.) But this was a great mis- take. Johnson had failed, not because his mind was less vigorous than when he wrote ''Rasselas" in the evenings of a week, (Announcement of subject) but because he had foolishly chosen, or suffered others to choose for him, a subject such as he would at no time have been competent to treat. . (Paragraph close, iteration.) Hap- pily, Johnson soon had an opportxmity of proving most signally that his fail- ure was not to be ascribed to intellec- tual decay. 90 CLEARNESS IN PLAN: PARAGRAPHS (These three paragraphs show the same general method of fur- thermg the coherence of the whole by closing each paragraph emphatically and by beginning the next with some reference to this close. The passage above, being expository, needs less explicit connection than an oral argument. The rest of Macaulay's piece, though it is called an essay, is so largely narrative that it shows even less of this explicit reference. Where he pauses to explain, he will often announce the paragraph subject at the beginning and iterate it at the end; but in other parts he is simply following the order of events, and this, rather than any expository plan, is the plan of the piece as a whole. In other words, the importance of paragraph emphasis and of transition from paragraph to para- graph varies according to the degree of logic or reasoning in the whole plan.) Analyze in this way Irving 's English Writers on America or Rural Life in England, noting any places where the printer seems to have put a paragraph space in the wrong place. Both paragraph emphasis and transition (see the section follow- ing) are more marked in oral composition, because they are more important as a means of clearness when the coherence can be caught only by the ear. The need of them is greater also in pro- portion as the composition is more argumentative ; for in argument nothing is more important than the connection. Therefore the best practice toward this particular skill is given by connected oral argument, not mere brief rejoinder in impromptu debate, but a sustained argument involving several steps. Since this is too taxing for many pupils at this stage, the idea is often better en- forced by analysis, as above. Students who are ready for some- what extended argument may use any available subject in this chapter or in Chapter i. as the basis for a proposition, to be devel- oped, not by debate, but by a single speech on one side, or on one group of points. But both these and those who prefer exposition should practice the following order of preparation for at least one theme : (1) Limit the subject to what can be developed fully in six or eight minutes. If you are to argue, the subject must be cast in a definite and complete sentence. CLEARNESS IN PLAN: PARAGRAPHS 91 (2) Divide the material into paragraphs. (3) Express the gist of each paragraph in a subject sentence. (4) Arrange the paragraphs in the order easiest to follow. (5) Write the beginning and the end of each paragraph, so that the outline will look like the analyses above. (6) Develop the body of each paragraph orally without writing. (7) Speak the whole address connectedly with the outline before you. Whether writing out is assigned afterwards or not, do not write out before speaking. The process should be started far enough in advance to insure time for thought, practice, and discussion in class at several stages of preparation. One composition of this kind worked out well is worth three dashed off hastily. Most of the following additional subjects suggest exposition rather than argument, but are adapted for oral discussion : 1. Night Schools. 10. School Yards as Vaca- 2. Our Indian Wards. tion Playgrounds. 3. The Education of the 11. Boone as a Type of Street. American Frontiersman. 4. The Future of Alaska. 12. The Preservation of Our 5. The Search for the Pole. Forests. 6. Fatjier Damien. 13. The American Ideals of 7. The George Junior Re- Jefferson. public. 14. "The White Plague." 8. My Vocation. 15. Montcalm and Wolfe. 9. What our Italian Immi- 16. The Achievements of grants Can Do for Us. Lewis and Clark. Coherence of the Whole Confirmed by Words of Transition. — The outlines in the preceding section show the progress of the whole from part to part. They exhibit each stage in its relation to the whole. And they show something else. The opening of each paragraph, while it announces the new paragraph subject, refers to the preceding para- graph by some word or phrase or clause or even sentence of connection. These link-words complete the chain of 92 CLEARNESS IN PLAN: PARAGRAPHS coherence. They are the finishing touch. Without clear emphasis at the end of the preceding paragraph, the Unking would be harder and longer; with such emphasis preceding, the linking is at once easier to make and clearer to follow. For it often consists in repeating from the close of the pre- ceding paragraph certain significant words. Such repeti- tion is the easiest and most natural way of carrying the thought along. For the rest, the linking is merely an affair of finding the right conjunctions (putj moreover , besides j for, on the contrary J etc.), or of using demonstrative pronouns and adverbs (this, that, here, there, in such cases, etc.). But, as usually in the actual practice of composition, if the prob- lems of structure, of shaping, are solved first, the choice of , words is much easier. First, arrange the parts in effective I order; then bring each part to effective emphasis at its -, close; finally show by Hnk-words, whether repetitions, demon- 'Stratives, or conjunctions, the connection that you have ^ already planned. Thus a well-rounded paragraph finally looks something like this: Pause, or indented space. Words of connection. Subject of the paragraph, tion, etc. Development by instances, contrast. illustra- iteration for emphasis. CLEARNESS IN PLAN : PARAGRAPHS 93 The new problems arising in longer expositions or argu- ments, then, are problems of coherence. The solution is, first, to divide the subject into paragraphs; secondly, to arrange the paragraphs according to a progressive plan; thirdly, to develop each paragraph so that it closes em- phatically upon its point; finally, to indicate at the begin- ning of each paragraph its connection with the preceding. For coherence in longer expositions and arguments means planning by paragraphs and adjusting them to fit. SUMMARY OF THE CHAPTER 1. The principle of unity applying to longer compositions merely with less strictness, and the principle of emphasis without any modification at all, the most important practical considera- tion in longer compositions is coherence. 2. The first step in planning for coherence is to divide the subject into paragraphs. A paragraph is a certain part of a sub- ject, set off in the plan to be discussed by itself. 3. The second step is to arrange the paragraph subjects in such order as will help an easy following from each to the next. A paragraph is a distinct part of a composition planned for that place where it will best help along the whole. Hence its subject must be expressed in the plan as a sentence. 4. After the whole is thus planned, each paragraph is developed and emphasized in the same way as a separate short composition. Good emphasis in each paragraph also serves directly the cohe- rence of the whole composition. CHAFER IV CLEARNESS IN DETAILS: SENTENCES For themes in connection with this chapter see the head-note to Chap- ter Hi. Exercises in revision should be based, not only on the passages quoted in the text, but regularly on the current themes. 1. SENTENCES AND WORDS STUDIED BEST IN REVISION The study of composition is a study of the ways of put- ting thoughts together. It is concerned first with the think- ing out and ordering of the whole, only afterward with the adjustment of parts. But the whole having been planned by paragraphs, and each paragraph having been placed as a definite stage of progress, every one needs to revise his sentences and words in order to niake what he says conform in every part to what he means. 2. REVISION OF SENTENCES Good paragraphs come from prevision; but good sen- tences come from revision. The way to learn clearness and force of sentence-form is to rewrite. For it is hard and unprofitable to think of sentence-form during the writ- ing of the first draft. The important thing then is to put a statement where it belongs, not to put it in a certain form. The line of thought is quite enough to absorb atten- tion. During ^the first writing, therefore, instead of hesi- tating over the form of a sentence, compose as fast and as freely as possible with your mind bent on the thought of 94 SENTENCES 95 the paragraph. Then, when the paragraph is at last a group of sentences, revise every sentence that does not fit its place. So in speaking, the first consideration is to keep on. If in the middle of a sentence you think of a better form, never mind. Finish the sentence nevertheless as you started it. For if you stop in order to start it differently, you tend to annoy and confuse your hearers and to lose your thread. Keep on to the end of the paragraph. Then, if you are practicing alone, go back to revise; if you are speaking in public, simply remember the weak sentence, to avoid that kind in the future. It is precisely because speaking gives less opportunity for revision that sentence-form must be studied mainly through writing. We all expect of writing more careful, more de- liberate sentences. We assume that a writer has settled on just the form he intends. We expect him to revise. Now every time he revises he grooves deeper a channel of good habit. The sentences of his first drafts become clearer and stronger because he has thus, as it were, grooved straighter channels for his thought. He speaks in better sentences because he has revised his writing; and for the same reason he writes better sentences before revising than as a beginner he wrote after revising. But the most expert writers never cease to revise their sentences. More corrections of this kind are made in printers^ proofs than of any other kind. All experience, therefore, makes plain that in matters of sentence-structure the way to learn to write is to rewrite. Unity and Coherence in Sjmtax. — The revision of any sentence has to solve one of two problems, and sometimes both: (1) to make the sentence clear by itself; (2) to make it strong in support of its neighbors. The first is mainly a matter of syntax. The apphcation of grammar to com-- position is so to frame each sentence that a hearer or reader | can follow it instantly. 96 CLEARNESS IN DETAILS Review, with examples, the definition of a simple sentence, a complex sentence, a compound sentence, a clause, a phrase. Clear Simple Sentences. — The easiest form to make clear is the simple sentence; but even this demands some care. Coming nearer, the fire was found to be in the hotel. Grammatical analysis of this simple sentence shows that it lacks a noun to which the participle coming may refer. The fire, coming nearer, was found to be in the hotel. That, indeed, is grammatically correct; but it is not what the writer meant. Coming nearer, we found the fire to be in the hotel. That is what he meant. Why did he not write the sen- tence so? Because, starting with the subject we in his mind, he so far forgot his plan as to make fire the subject instead. A participle standing at the beginning of an English sentence is always understood, except in " abso- lute '^ constructions, to refer to the sentence subject. The error in the first form of this sentence is called the hanging participle. No one will thus leave a participle hanging who remembers that the first way to make a sentence clear is to keep one plan throughout. Correct the following: Turning now to the road-bed, gravel is at hand for miles along the line. Not wishing to insist, this point demands attention. Hoping to receive your order, prompt delivery is guaranteed. Putting this aside for the moment, the antagonism of races cannot be ignored. The following sentence changes its plan in another way: The day endeared by our New England traditions, and which SENTENCES . 97 is annually proclaimed for religious observance, is now little more than a holiday. Starting with the intention of two parallel phrases, en- deared by . . . and proclaimed for, the writer carelessly spoiled his parallel by making the second a clause. Starting to write a simple sentence, he wrote an incorrect complex sentence. For the so-called and which error is merely another case of failing to keep one plan. The following sentence might be a clause except for the period or the fall of the voice at the end: When in Washington he saw the President. It would be clearer from the start if it omitted the when: In Washington he saw the President. For then we should know at once that the first words were intended as a phrase. Cincinnati is nearer St. Louis than Chicago. What does this mean? Cincinnati is nearer to St. Louis than to Chicago. or Cincinnati is nearer St. Louis than Chicago is. We cannot be sure; for the form of the sentence does not show us whether Chicago is nominative or objective. Even a grammatically correct simple sentence may fail to make its construction clear. Never leave the form of a sentence in doubt. Clear Complex Sentences He kept the money that he gained from printing pamphlets in his bedroom. Though it is more probable that a man should keep money in his bedroom than that he should print pamphlets there, 8 98 CLEARANCE IN DETAILS this is no excuse for what is called the squinting construc- tion. He kept in his bedroom the money that he gained from printing pamphlets. The change is simply to put the doubtful modifier in his bedroom next to the word it actually modifies, and away from the word it might otherwise seem to modify. In the same way make the following sentence clear: They were disowned by the very man who had sought their support when the plot was discovered. The second way to make a sentence clear is to place each modifier near the word it modifies. Even in a simple sentence the placing of such adverbial modifiers as only demands attention. I only touched him once is quite different, of course, from I touched him only once. But usually the difficulty arises in complex sentences; and so does the following: When the French explorers met these Indians, their intention was to be friendly with them. The doubtful reference of the pronoun their is corrected best, as in most of such cases, by recasting the sentence: The intention of the French explorers, when they met these Indians, was to be friendly. For the main idea of the sentence (The intention of the French explorers was to he friendly) ' should compose the main clause. Thus the sentence would be even easier to /ead, if it stood thus: SENTENCES 99 When they met these Indians, the French explorers intended to be friendly. If the real subject of a complex sentence be made the subject of the main clause, the plan of the whole sentence will probably be clear. The general advanced to the edge of the platform, when the whole audience cheered. This sentence is upside down. Evidently the main idea is, The whole audience cheered. But, by putting this into the subordinate clause, the writer suggests that the general waited for the audience to cheer before he advanced. The clear form is: When the general advanced to the edge of the platform, the whole audience cheered. The third way to make a sentence clear is to see that the main thought is in the main clause. Revise those of the following sentenceis which leave the con- struction in doubt : — A man who has represented this district faithfully for ten years, and who has convinced us all of his honesty, is not to be cast off for a single indiscretion, granting that it is an indiscretion. Yours of the 14th, received yesterday, and which we have con- sidered with care, we beg to make the following offer, hoping that it will meet your wishes. He sauntered up the trail when he suddenly came face to face with the bear. Clear Compound Sentences. — A compound sentence will probably be clear if it is a true compound sentence. According to definition, a compound sentence has two or more co-ordinate members. Its parts are of equal im- portance. This is its distinction from a complex sentence. 100 CLEARNESS IN DETAILS In a complex sentence the clauses are unequal; in a com- pound sentence the clauses are equal. In a complex sen- tence there is only one main clause; in a compound sentence there are at least two. And this grammatical distinction of form represents a real distinction of thought. A complex sentence is the form proper to express one main statement with its subordinate, modifying statements; a compound sentence is proper to express the comparison or contrast of two statements by placing them side by side. Proper Compound Sentence: Lincoln stood for the principle of Union, and Douglas stood for the principle of states' rights. Here the sentence is properly compound; for it expresses the single idea of contrast by putting the two contrasted parts side by side. These two parts are co-ordinate; they are equal parts of one idea. Improper Compound Sentence: Caesar was afraid of ridicule, and he put aside his wife's entreaties and went after all to the Capitol. Here the sentence is improperly compound; for the state- ments, instead of being co-ordinate, are unequal. There is one main statement: Caesar went after all to the Capitol. The other statements are subordinate. The first, telling why he went, and the second, telling that he had reasons for not going, should be clauses; for, instead of being parallel with the main statement, they are merely modifiers. In a word, the sentence ought to be complex: Caesar was so afraid of ridicule that, though his wife entreated him to remain (orj as a phrase, in spite of his wife's entreaties), he went after all to the Capitol. The fourth why to make a sentence clear is to change its form from compound to complex whenever its parts are not meant to he co-ordinate. SENTENCES. ^, , „ .,.,.,, .IQl Change to the complex form any of the following sentences that are improperly compound: God made the country, but man made the town. Our boat was late, and we had to wait three hours for a train. The manual-training high school offers less work in language; and a boy intending to enter the academic course at the university had better prepare in the regular high-school course. Improper compound sentences, sentences in which the parts are co-ordinate in form though one of them is subordi- nate in meaning, arise sometimes from haste. They are quite pardonable in a first draft. But they arise also from thinking loosely. To recognize them and correct them is an exercise not so much in writing as in thinking. It is a sign of intellectual growth. Children habitually speak in such loose compound sentences because they are not old enough to subordinate one idea to another. And in this the childhood of a language is like the childhood of a man. The earlier prose writing of any nation is full of such loose compound sentences, because the language has not yet grown up to fine logical distinctions. In children and in old prose we expect this. It is natural. But as the prose of a people grows with the people^s intellectual life, it makes larger and larger use of complex sentences. So it should be with your own writing. Slowly, but surely, you ought to revise such a compound sentence as this, Brutus did not know human nature, and his speech failed. to a complex sentence, The speech of Brutus failed because he did not know human nature. For it is a sign of intellectual growth to subordinate in form what is subordinate in thought. In the passages quoted from R. H. Dana at pages 8 and 18, ;02. „. . ^ . , . . , . CLEARNESS IN DETAILS find improper compound sentences and make them complex. When you find such sentences in notices, advertisements, or else- where, copy them for correction on the blackboard. Punctuation and Capitals. — As all these counsels of sentence-form take the point of view of the reader, so also the rules for punctuation and capitals. We should hardly need to punctuate at all, if we wrote merely for ourselves. The object of punctuation is to show a reader instantly I the form of a sentence. For punctuation is simply the 1 indication of sentence-form. Considered so, the rules of ' punctuation become simpler. But first we may set apart certain conventional rules of punctuation. These may be merely memorized as settled by common usage. Conventional Rules of Punctuation, — (1) A period stands after an abbreviation: Hon., D.D., Ph.D., LL.D., Mass., etc., viz. (2) (a) A colon stands at the end of a sentence intro- ducing a long quotation: The formal exercises finished, the President rose and spoke as follows : "Never in the history of our coimtry," etc. Sometimes both a colon and a dash (: — ) are used in this case. The quotation is indented as a paragraph. (b) A colon stands before such an enumeration of particu- lars as requires semicolons between the particulars: The capital leading questions . . . are these two: first, whether you ought to concede; and, second, what your concession ought to be. A colon stands at the beginning of a letter after a saluta- tion consisting of two or more parts: SENTENCES 103 Messrs. Black and White, Gentlemen: A salutation of one line {My dear Mr. Black,) more usually has a comma, but may have a colon. (3) (a) Commas divide a series of words without conjunc- tions: Barrels, boxes, crates, floated downstream. He swerved, slipped, sprawled. If a conjunction is used between the last two of the series, the dividing comma is now usually retained, but the comma after the whole series may be omitted: Barrels, boxes, and crates floated downstream. If the series is in pairs, commas separate the pairs: Great and small, rich and poor, cultured and uncultured, rubbed elbows in that crowd. (6) A comma is used before a short quotation: It was Daniel' Webster who said, "I am a Constitutional Whig." In this case the quotation is not set off by indentation. (4) The other marks are generally self-explaining: (a) A point of exclamation or interrogation stands after a part or after the whole sentence according to whether the part or the whole is exclaimed or asked. In either case it supersedes any other punctuation: Heavens! can this be true? What? Clap him into jail I (6) Single marks of quotation indicate a quotation within a quotation ("' '''). (c) Marks of parenthesis are no longer common, except to 104 CLEARNESS IN DETAILS insert instances, as in these rules. Still more rarely hracketc indicate a parenthesis within a parenthesis, [( )]. Principles of Punctuation, — But most of the rules of punctuation, and all its difficulties, arise from considera- tions of sentence-form. Without understanding clearly the relations of his sentence no one can punctuate it correctly. No one can punctuate with his hand until he has punctuated with his head. No one can make a sentence clear to a reader until he comprehends it clearly himself. On the other hand, considerations of sentence-form will reduce many rules of punctuation to a few groups. In general, then, aside from the conventional rules above, punctua- tion is governed by sentence-structure. Its function is to indicate syntax. (5) The period is used to distinguish sentences from clauses. A period must stand at the end of every sentence. No one can misunderstand that rule; but any one may fail to apply it whenever he has written so loosely as to leave some statement doubtful in form, neither clearly a sentence nor clearly a clause. If it is a clause, the placing of a period after it will not make it a sentence; if it is a sentence, the placing of a comma after it will riot make it a clause. But mispunctuation either way may confuse a reader. First revise the form of the statement till it is clearly one or the other; then punctuate accordingly. (6) The dash marks a place where the construction is brokenf either interrupted or left incomplete. Therefore it should be used rarely. (7) The colon, except in conventional uses (2), is prac- tically obsolete. In older prose it marked a unit midway between a sentence and a clause; in prose of to-day this unit is no longer generally recognized. (8) The semicolon is generally confined to separating the parts of compound sentences. Its use being generally SENTENCES 105 to indicate that the parts between which it stands are co- ordinate, it hardly occurs in complex sentences. But not all compound sentences have semicolons. The semicolon is used to separate parts which have commas within them; or conversely, when the parts of a sentence have commas within them, these parts have a semicolon between them. This may be called the rule of the foot-rule. In making a foot-rule, if you mark the inches by short lines, you must mark the feet by longer lines. Else nobody can distinguish your inch-marks from your foot-marks. The office of the semicolon is to distinguish the larger divisions of a sen- tence from the smaller divisions, the co-ordinate parts from the subordinate parts: If he has any evidence, let him produce it; if not, let him shut his mouth. Where there are no commas within the parts, a comma is now generally sufficient between them; but many good writers still prefer a semicolon between the parts of all compound sentences in which the grammatical subject of the second part is different from that of the first. And the semi- colon is generally used in those balanced compound sentences which dispense with a conjunction: The power of French literature is in its prose- writers; the power of English literature is in its poets. Except in cases, like the example, where the parts clearly balance against each other to express a single idea, such sentences should be avoided. Otherwise there is danger of m^erely running sentences together by using semicolons instead of periods. (9) (a) The comma, in general, is omitted or inserted according as a subordinate part is grammatically necessary or not. Omit the comma between parts which are intended 106 CLEARNESS IN DETAILS to be taken together as one; insert the comma between parts which are not so intended. (6) In particular, a relative clause is or is not set off by a comma according as it is intended to be non-restrictive or restrictive. Compare these two sentences: In this climate there is no opportunity for reading, which taxes the mind. In this climate there is no opportunity for reading which taxes the mind. The former means that there is no opportunity for any reading, since all reading taxes the mind; the latter, that there is no opportunity for that kind of reading which taxes the mind, i.e., for hard reading. The former sentence completes the intended sense at reading, the following clause being merely an added explanation; the latter sen- tence does not complete the intended sense until the end. In the former the which clause is non-restrictive; in the latter, restrictive. (c) On the same principle, commas set off parenthetical expressions, i.e,, words, phrases, or clauses, which are not necessary to complete the syntax of the sentence: This, my friends, is the whole truth. However my opponent may storm, he cannot add one relevant fact. If he brings up the traction dispute, remember what he said about that when he was not a candidate. This passage shows that the rule applies to adverbial clauses of condition, cause, or exception (introduced by if, because, unless, though, etc.), but not to clauses like the last (when he was not a candidate), which are intended re- strictively. ^ A parenthetical expression has a comma after it, before it, or on each side, merely according to whether it stands SENTENCES 107 at the beginning of the sentence, at the end, or in the midst. Conventional Rules for Capitals. — The idea of capitals is to make a word or a form clearer. 1. Thus most languages distinguish proper nouns from common nouns {American j John, Boston) ; and English also distinguishes proper adjectives (Roman, Asiatic), The dis- tinction between democratic as applied generally, and Demo- cratic as applied to a particular party, is thus made clear. 2. Capitals are used for the pronoun /, the interjection 0, the days of the week and holidays, the months of the year (but not the seasons) , the words North, South, East, and West when they refer to sections of a country, the salutation of a letter (Dear Sir, Gentlemen; but My dear Sir), and the first word of the subscription (Yours truly. Faithfully yours), 3. (a) A title of respect or office is capitalized when it immediately precedes the name of a person: Mayor McCleU Ian, Governor Wadsworth, (b) Similarly Street, Mountain, River, and other such common place-names are sometimes capitalized when they immediately precede or follow a proper place-name: Lake Erie, the Ohio River, Mount Ararat; but usage now permits a small letter: Decatur street, Whitney avenue, the Connecticut river. (c) Titles of hooks are usually written with capitals for all the important words, i.e., all words except preposi- tions, conjunctions, etc., and always for the first word (The Advancement of Learning, A Tale of Two Cities) ; but, since titles are otherwise distinguished by italics or quota- tion marks, there is some tendency now to follow the French fashion of capitalizing only the first word (A college manual of rhetoric. The origin of species). 4. All names of God are written with a capital; and this usage is commonly extended to pronouns. The sentence 108 CLEARNESS IN DETAILS Adversity should drive us to Him thus makes its meaning clear. But some writers follow the usage of the King James Bible and the Book of Common Prayer in writing hirrij etc., with a small letter. Bible (derived from the Greek common noun for book) is capitalized to distinguish it from other books; but in referring to several copies, as in twenty hihleSy a small letter is used. 5. In order to make the meter and the stanza clearer, a capital begins each line of poetry. The Single Principle of Capitals. — 6. (a) But aside from these conventional uses there is only one rule for capitals. Begin with a capital the first word of every sentence; or, to put it no less usefully, never begin with a capital a clause or any other group of words that is not a complete sentence. The capital at the beginning and the period at the end say to all readers, I mean this for a sentence; and the twofold indication marks the importance, for all writing and reading, of recognizing the sentence unit. No one can go on in composition who does not know whether the words he has written make a sentence or only a clause. (h) Reporting another's words directly, i.e., as if he were speaking, often brings one sentence within another. In this case the sentence reported also begins with a capital: The gentleman's speech amounts to asking, Can we afford to renominate a man who has antagonized these powerful interests? and the answer is, We cannot afford to nominate any one but the man who has won the people of this whole state. Indirect discourse (reporting with that or whether) dispenses with capitals by reducing the reported sentences to clauses: The gentleman^s speech amounts to asking whether we can afford to . . . and the answer is that we cannot afford . . . (c) By exception following older usage, formal resolu* SENTENCES 109 tions consisting of a series of clauses begin each clause with a capital, and also each whereas and resolved introducing it: WhereaSj This council has heard with profound regret . . . ; and Whereas J The justice of the demands formulated has not been questioned . . .; and WhereaSy The urgency . . . ; therefore be it Resolved, That this council hereby declare . . . ; and be it further Resolved, That . . . Each clause is also indented like a paragraph. For the use of capitals in abbreviations see the list of abbreviations in any large dictionary. Emphasis in Sentence-form: Putting the Right Word at the End. — The second problem for revision is to make each sentence strong in support of its neighbors. This is a problem, not of grammar, but of rhetoric; for, as the word strong implies, it involves the principle of emphasis. As- emphasis is given to a paragraph by giving prominence to its main idea, so emphasis is given to a sentence by giving prominence to its main word. This is felt most clearly in speaking. The following sentences express each thought in two different forms. Which of the pair is easier to stress properly with the voice? I (1) The first thing that strikes us is the lack of scenery in this reproduction of the Elizabethan stage. (2) The first thing that strikes us in this reproduction of the Elizabethan stage is the lack of scenery. II (1) The captain's absolute power sometimes led to petty tyranny in the old days of sailing vessels, according to Dana's Two Years Before the Mast. (2) According to Dana's Two Years before the Mast, the cap- J 110 CLEARNESS IN DETAILS tain's absolute power in the old days of sailing vessels sometimes led to petty tyranny. Ill (1) The idea of the Forest Service is to have lumbering econom- ically done, not to prevent lumbering. (2) The idea of the Forest Service is, not that lumbering should be prevented, but that it should be done economically. In each pair the second is easier to speak because the voice falls with less effort on the main word; for the main word stands at the end. Since the voice naturally falls at the end, since that is the natural place of stress and pause, the best economy is to put there the word or phrase that you wish to emphasize. If, instead, you leave at the end some less important part, you cannot stress the word you wish to stress without slighting the close. The close then sounds feeble. It does not satisfy the ear. Sentence em- phasis means. Put the right word at the end. Ending with the most Important Word of the Sentence. — But which is the "righf word? Which is the "main'' word? In every sentence, considered by itself, some words carry more of the thought of the sentence than others. In the examples above, such words are: I. lack of scenery , ^ II. tyranny y III. economically done . . . prevent The object of the sentence is to make these words stand out so con- spicuously that the hearer or reader cannot miss them. These, therefore, are the "right" words to put at the end. And when, as in III. above, two such words are compared or contrasted, the revision of the sentence must take care, (1) that the contrast shall be brought out by parallel form, and (2) that the more important of the two shall come last. In a word, end the sentence with its point. The point of I. is lack of scenery. To put the phrase in this reproductionf etc., after it is to defeat emphasis in speaking or ease in SENTENCES 111 reading, to deceive the ear or the eye. The point of II. is tyranny. To hide it in the middle is to make the whole sentence lag. The point of III. is done economically. First, the two contrasted ideas, prevented and done economically, are made parallel in form in order to bring out the contrast (see page 120); secondly, the negative one is put first in order to end the sentence positively. The right word, then, to put at the end of the sentence is the word that carries the main thought or point. Emphasis Defeated by Redundancy, — Sentence emphasis is often defeated by a superfluous addition. So with trees ; their needs are different according to the different varieties that we find. The italicized clause adds nothing to the sense. It merely blunts the end of the sentence, making the voice hnger after the point. Emphasis is thus defeated by redundancy. For compactness and directness, the sentence should be revised' to read: So the needs of trees differ according to their varieties. The following is another instance of emphasis defeated by redundancy. Even when the game is a very exciting one, the spectators may find their patience tried by waiting on account of accidents that happen in the course of the game. Here any one can see that the repetition of game is unneces- sary. Repetition emphasizes; and here it emphasizes the very word of the whole sentence which should not be emphasized. To emphasize the wrong word is quite as bad as not to emphasize the right one. The remedy sometimes proposed is to avoid repetition by substituting for game some synonym — say contest or struggle. But this change does not in the least improve the emphasis. It does not 112 CLEARNESS IN DETAILS even remove, but merely covers, the false repetition. In all such cases the remedy is to change, not the word, but the construction. In the sentence above the revision is quite simple. The whole final clause, like the one in the sentence preceding, is superfluous. An accident is necessarily some- thing that happens; and of course it happens in the course of the game. By the omission of this whole clause the sentence ends with the right word, accidents. Further, a very exciting one means no more than very exciting. All such a , , , one combinations are redundant. Finally, patience tried is sufl&- ciently implied by waiting. The revised form, then, would be : Even a very exciting game may weary the spectators by the waits for occasional accidents. Redundancy, therefore, though it may be corrected some- times by omitting superfluous words, demands in other cases the recasting of the whole sentence. In the following, strike out superfluous words and revise re- dundant constructions. There are many who will condemn your ruling as one that is influenced by fear of certain powerful interests. This species, which is of a deep red color, is much more rarely found. The transaction was of a very reprehensible character, and should be condemned at the polls. After the war was over, the State found itself in a poverty- stricken condition. There is another thing which is very significant in this report. There is a large number of men who keep the stores and deal with the lumbermen. It sometimes happens that even the most careful plans prove themselves to be ill adapted to the situation as it actually pre- sents itself. Though his career was a brilliant one, many obstacles that he found in his way prevented it from becoming a complete career. SENTENCES 113 Ending with the most Important Word for the Paragraph. — But the principle of ending positively with the word or phrase that carries the thought will not always suffice, if a sentence be regarded entirely by itself. (1) The marvelous promptness of a fire company is due to the precision of its drill. (2) The precision of drill gives a fire company marvelous promptness. Which form is better? One sounds and looks as effective as the other. Evidently the important words are prompt- ness and precision of drill; hut which is the more important? No one can decide from the sentence taken by itself. But any one can decide by the relation of that sentence to the paragraph. Suppose that it is the opening sentence of a paragraph, that the paragraph deals with the fire drill, and that the preceding paragraph has developed by instances a fire company^s marvelous promptness. At once the choice falls on form (1) ; for this form by putting promptness first would link with the preceding paragraph, and by putting drill last would emphasize the subject of the present para- gi-aph. Suppose, on the other hand, that the preceding paragraph has shown the precision of drill, and that the present paragraph shows how this results in marvelous promptness. At once, for the same reasons, the choice falls on (2). And sentences in the body of the paragraph can often be adjusted by the same principle: emphasize at the end of a sentence that part which is most important for carrying on the thought of the paragraph. The "main^' word or phrase, the " right ^' part to make stand out, is that part which is most important for the progress of the paragraph. The revision of a sentence for emphasis, then, is deter- mined, not only by the point of that sentence, but also by its relation to its paragraph. The object of revision is to 9 114 CLEARNESS IN DETAILS adjust a sentence to its context, to make it fit. For some- what as the emphasis of a paragraph helps the coherence of the whole (page 83), so the emphasis of a sentence may help the coherence of the paragraph. Link the following sentences more closely by transposing new pair to the beginning of the second sentence: He was driven from the quadrangle of Christ Church by the sneering looks which the members of that aristocratical society cast at the holes in his shoes. Some charitable person placed a new pair at his door; but he spurned them away in a fury. Compare the following by reading them aloud: The first cause of the spirit of independence in the American Col- onies is their English descent. (1) First, the descendants of Englishmen settled the colonies. Freedom, Sir, was formerly adored in England, and is still re- spected, I hope. The colonists emigrated from you when this part of your character was most predominant, and they took this bias and direction the moment they parted from your hand. Lib- erty according to English ideas and on English principles, there- fore, not mere liberty in general, is the idea to which they are devoted. Abstract liberty is not to be found any more than any other mere abstractions. Some sensible object must be the test of liberty, etc. (2) First, the people of the colonies are descendants of English- men. England, Sir, is a nation which still, I hope, respects, and formerly adored, her freedom. The colonists emigrated from you when this part of your character was most predominant, and they took this bias and direction the moment they parted from your hands. They are therefore devoted, not only to liberty, but to liberty according to English ideas and on English prin- ciples. Abstract liberty, like other mere abstractions, is not to be found. Liberty inheres in some sensible object, etc. — Burke, Speech on Conciliation with America. SENTENCES 115 In the first form above, the difficulty of bringing out the line of thought is due to the difficulty of stressing the right word, even of knowing which word to stress; in the second, the form written by Burke, all this difficulty is smoothed away by careful sentence emphasis. The voice falls natu- rally on the important words, because these words stand at the end. Yet hardly a word is changed otherwise. The whole difference in paragraph coherence is due to sentence emphasis. Other Means of Adjusting the Sentence to the Paragraph. — Thus the practice of beginning a paragraph with its subject, linked to the preceding paragraph by repetition of an important clause, and of ending a paragraph with an iteration (pages 84-91), to be taken up in turn as the link of the next paragraph, — all this may be appUed also to sentences. But it should be applied to sentences less strictly. It is useful sometimes, not always. For there is no need of linking every sentence as we Unk every para- graph. Not every sentence carries the thought forward. Some must give pause for iteration; some must bring in instances or illustrations. Otherwise we should go ahead too fast. Otherwise speaking and writing would be reduced to mere argumentative outhne, dry bones without meat. Now these frequent sentences of instance, illustration, or iteration often need no link at all. Their connection is plain enough without. And the link, even when one is desirable, need not always be a link of repetition. It may be simply a conjunction (but^ nevertheless^ besides, etc.) or a demonstrative (here, there, thus, this, those, etc.). Care in the choice of such link-words is an important part of precision. To attempt Hnking by repetition of an emphatic close in all cases would make composition mechanical and tiresome, or even impossible. In the following passage, the linking of sentences through 116 CLEARNESS IN DETAILS the repetition of an emphatic close is indicated, wherever it occurs, by itahcizing both the close of the preceding sen- tence and the opening of the following one. Dr, Johnson in his latter days became above all a talker. 1st sentence, link with pre- ceding paragraph. 2d sentence, linked to first by repetition. 3d sentence, iteration of 2d, without link. 4th sentence, instances with- out link. 5th sentence, introducing new aspect. 6th sentence, linked to 5th by repetition. 7th sentence, iteration of 6th without link. 8th sentence, instances with- out link. . But, though his pen was now idle, his tongue was active. The influence exercised by his con- versation, directly upon those with whom he lived, and in- directly on the whole literary world, was altogether without a parallel. His colloquial tal- ents were indeed of the highest order. He had strong sense, quick discernment, wit, hu- mour, immense knowledge of lit- erature and of life, and an infinite store of curious anec- dotes. As respected style, he spoke far better than he wrote. Every sentence which dropped from his lips was as correct in structure as the most nicely balanced period of the ''Ram- bler ''; but in his talk there were no pompous triads, and little more than a fair proportion of words in -osity and -ation. All was simplicity, ease, and vigour. He uttered his short, weighty, and pointed sentences with a power of voice and a justness and energy of empha- sis of which the effect was rather increased than dimin- SENTENCES 117 9th sentence, new aspect, linked by conjunction nor. 10th sentence, linked to 9th by repetition. 11th sentence, linked to 10th by repetition. ished by the rollings of his huge form, and by the asthmatic gaspings and puffings in which the peals of his eloquence gen- erally ended. Nor did the lazi- ness which made him unwilling to sit down to a desk prevent him from giving instruction or entertainment orally. To dis- cuss questions of taste, of learning, of casuistry, in lan- guage so exact and so forcible that it might have been printed without the alteration of a word, was to him no exertion, but a pleasure. He loved, as he said, to fold his legs and have his talk out, etc. — Macaulay, Life of Samuel Johnson. Macaulay is usually quite careless of these means of paragraph coherence. Sometimes his paragraphs are quite abrupt, the sen- tences standing almost detached, save for an occasional and or hut; sometimes the connection is managed entirely by sentence emphasis. In the passage above an emphatic close is repeated as a link for the next sentence only when such linking seems im- portant ; and the repetition is rather the taking up of the same idea in other words. Burke repeats the very word, and in general repeats oftener, because his composition proceeds more logically. For this device is more useful in argument, and most useful in argu- ment that is spoken. In written essays, though it is often of great service, it is not generally so important. Point out explicit transitions in the following: (a) This country superintends and controls their trade and navi- gation; but they tax themselves. And this distinction between external and internal control is sacred and insurmountable; it is 118 CLEARNESS IN DETAILS involved in the abstract nature of things. Property is private, individual, absolute. Trade is an extended and complicated consideration; it reaches as far as ships can sail or winds can blow; it is a great and various machine. To regulate the numberless movements of its several parts, and combine them into effect for the good of the whole, requires the superintending wisdom and energy of the supreme power in the empire. But this supreme power has no effect toward internal taxation ; for it does not exist in that relation ; there is no such thing, no such idea in this Consti- tution, as a supreme power operating upon property. Let this distinction then remain forever ascertained; taxation is theirs, commercial regulation is ours. As an American, I would recognize to England her supreme right of regulating commerce and navi- gation; as an Englishman by birth and principle, I recognize to the Americans their supreme, unalienable right in their property, a right which they are justified in the defense of to the last — Lord Chatham, An Address to his Majesty for the Immediate Removal of the Troops from Boston. (h) Do you ask me, then, what is this Puritan principle? Do you ask me whether it is as good for to-day as for yesterday; whether it is good for every national emergency; whether it is good for the situation of this hour? I think we need neither doubt nor fear. The Puritan principle in its essence is simply individual freedom. From that spring religious liberty and polit- ical equality. The free State, the free Church, the free School — these are the triple armor of American nationality, of American security. But the Pilgrims, while they have stood above all men for their idea of liberty, have always asserted liberty under law and never separated it from law. John Robinson, in the letter that he wrote the Pilgrims when they sailed, said these words, that well, sir, might be written in gold around the cornice of that future banqueting-hall to which you have alluded, ^^You know that the image of the Lord's dignity and authority which the magistry beareth\is honorable in how mean person soever." This is the Puritan principle. Those men stood for liberty under the law. They had tossed long upon a wintry sea. Their minds were SENTENCES 119 full of images derived from their voyage. They knew that the will of the people alone is but a gale smiting a rudderless and sailless ship, and hurling it, a mass of wreck, upon the rocks. But the will of the people subject to law is the same gale filling the trim canvas of a ship that minds the helm, bearing it over yawning and awful abysses of ocean safely to port. — George William Curtis, The Puritan Principle. Examine in this aspect also other passages quoted in this chap- ter and in Chapter i. And; Other Conjunctions, — We sometimes hear that and should not be used to begin a sentence. Though this can- not be urged as a rule of correctness, it is on the whole good advice. Only the real offender is not the and; it is the construction. Good writers use and at the beginning of a sentence; but they use it seldom, because of the con- nection between their sentences is usually more definite. If sentence follows sentence at any length with no more definite relation than can be expressed by andy the thought must be loose or the composition hasty. Use and only when you mean and; and see that you do not mean it too often. A further objection is that no one can use and often to begin a sentence without confusing the distinction between a sentence and a clause. There will be no marked difference between what he writes as separate sentences and what he writes as co-ordinate clauses. For the sake of clear thinking, therefore, first see whether the anc^-sen- tence should not be a clause; secondly, if you mean it for a sentence, see whether it should not have a more precise connective. Explain, with instances, the relations expressed by the follow- ing conjunctions as used to introduce sentences: thuSy alsOy nor, then, well, yet, hence, moreover, nevertheless, so, therefore, further, though, besides, likewise, now, else, but, accordingly, still, however. Arrange them in groups according to similarity of use. 120 CLEARNESS IN DETAILS However and also are seldom used by good writers to begin a sentence. They stand within : Others, also, came to his assistance. In that county, however, party feeUng ran so high that, etc. Which of the other conjunctions above may also stand within? Sentence-forms Generally Emphatic. — Balanced Sentences. — Though sentence emphasis is best secured in each case by revising the sentence to fit that particular place, this revision will show that two sentence-forms are emphatic gen- erally. These two forms are recognized, therefore, by tech- nical names: (1) the balance, or balanced sentence; (2) the period, or periodic sentence. The balance is very commonly an emphatic form for compound sentences. As its name implies, it is a compound sentence whose parts are made alike in form. (1) In the ordinary high school a boy gets all his education with his head; but in the manual-training high school his hands also come into play. (2) In the ordinary high school a boy gets all his education with his head ; but in the manual-training high school he gets part of it with his hands. The second form is plainly the more emphatic. Indeed, the first shows its weakness as soon as it is spoken. In attempting to stress hands one has to slur the end of the sentence. But why stress hands? Evidently because it is contrasted with head. The contrast in thought is most easily brought out by a likeness in form, i.e., by a balance. (1) The United States has prospered during a long period of protection; but under free trade the same period in England has been one of prosperity. (2) The United States has prospered during a long period of protection; but England has prospered during the same period with free trade. SENTENCES 121 Here the emphasis desired to bring out the parallel between protection and free trade is defeated in (1) by placing these main words in different positions, and gained in (2) by pla- cing them in the same position. A compound sentence of comparison or contrast is usually made emphatic by balance. The memory of other authors is kept alive by their works; but the memory of Johnson keeps many of his works alive. — Macaulay, Life of Samuel Johnson. This is simply a wider appHcation of the rule for correla- tives. It applies to the whole sentence what we have all learned about parallel parts. (1) They succeeded neither by land nor sea. (2) They succeeded neither by land nor by sea. (1) A countenance more in sorrow than anger. (2) '*A countenance more in sorrow than in anger." (1) Either he attempted too much or chose incapable officers. (2) He either attempted too much or chose incapable officers. (1) He both amazed his native town by his theories and his practices. (2) He amazed his native town both by his theories and by his practices. In alLthese cases the second form is the one that we expect. Most of us are fond enough of balance to feel in the first form something lacking or something crooked. When a speaker or writer sets out to express a parallel we expect him to express it exactly. If he leaves it not quite ship- shape, we are annoyed. Therefore it is a rule, almost as binding as a rule of syntax, that correlative phrases and clauses shall be exactly alike in form. The same principle may be applied to a whole compound sentence; but this appHcation is less binding. Here it is no longer a rule of correctness, but a useful means of emphasis. As applied to 122 CLEARNESS IN DETAILS a whole sentence, it is often advantageous; as applied to minor parts, it is necessary. Periodic Sentences. — The period, or periodic sentence, is very commonly an emphatic form for complex sentences. In general, a periodic sentence follows the principle of emphasis by putting the main clause last. It puts first all the subordinate clauses, all the conditions, exceptions, or other modifiers of its main idea, in order to end with the point. Thus a period is a sentence suspended up to its close. Instead of making an assertion and then modifying it, the periodic sentence makes no assertion at all until all the modifiers are in. It is a sentence left incomplete up to its period. It does not end until the last word. A period, then, is a sentence so formed that up to its last word its syntax is incomplete. (1. unperiodic) We shall be swamped if we attempt those rapids with our canoe so heavily laden. (2. periodic) If we attempt those rapids with our canoe so heavily laden, we shall be swamped. (1. unperiodic) We may as well signal the boat, since we have missed that train. (2. periodic) Since we have missed that train, we may as well signal the boat. (1. unperiodic) He advanced very near under cover of the dense forest, so that the enemy had no escape. (2. periodic) He advanced so near under cover of the dense forest that the enemy had no escape. Sometimes in an oratorical summary the period holds the syntax in suspense at considerable length. If, then, the removal of this spirit of American liberty be for the greater part, or rather entirely, impracticable; if the ideas of criminal process be Inapplicable, or, if applicable, are in the high- est degree inexpedient; what way yet remains? — Burke, On Condliaiion with America. SENTENCES 123 And yet he, who was generally the haughtiest and most irritable of mankind, who was but too prompt to resent anything which looked like a slight on the part of a purse-proud bookseller or of a noble and powerful patron, bore patiently from mendicants, who, but for his bounty, must have gone to the workhouse, insults more provoking than those for which he had knocked down Osborne and bidden defiance to Chesterfield. — Macaulay, Sarrmel Johnson, But the main use of the periodic form is in such shorter sentences as the following, from the same essay of Macaulay: Being frequently under the necessity of wearing shabby coats and dirty shirts, he became a confirmed sloven. Being often very hungry when he sat down to his meals, he contracted a habit of eating with ravenous greediness. The periodic form is naturally adapted to such sentences of result. Though in conversation we might say. He was overtired, so that he took cold; in writing we should revise to the more pre- cise form. He was so overtired that he took cold. The two are alike brief; but what the former gives in two pieces the latter gives in one. The same is true for concessive clauses and, to a lesser degree, for other subordinate clauses, in short complex sentences. Emphasis is usually served by putting first the if- or though- or since-clsiuse. But the main consideration is always, not to write a certain pattern of sentence, but to bring out the right word. Where the emphasis, as sometimes happens, should fall on the subordinate clause, the periodic form would be false. Make the following sentences periodic. The idea is not, of course, to improve them, but merely to study the form: It was after the hour of the table d'hote j so that I was obliged to make a solitary supper from the relics of the ampler board. The weather was chilly; I was seated alone in one end of a great gloomy dining-room, and, my repast being over, I had the prospect before me of a long dull evening, without any visible means of enlivening it. I summoned mine host, and requested something to read; and he brought me the whole literary stock of his household, a Dutch 124 CLEARNESS IN DETAILS family Bible, an almanac in the same language, and a number of old Paris newspapers. —Irving, The Sketch Book, Make or quote two balanced sentences. Analyze a connected passage of some length, assigned from the quotations in this book or from some author currently studied in the course of literature, to show which sentences are periodic, which have balance, and — what is of much more importance — how the emphasis of each is adjusted to connect it with the next sentence. Point out also the conjunctions, demonstratives, or repetitions used to enforce the connection of sentence with sen- tence. The following may serve as additional material: If we know the velocity and weight of any projectile, we can calculate with ease the amount of heat developed by the destruc- tion of its moving force. For example, knowing as we do the weight of the earth and the velocity with which it moves through space, a simple calculation enables us to state the exact amount of heat which would be developed, supposing the earth to strike against a target strong enough to stop its motion. We could tell, for ex- ample, the number of degrees which this amount of heat would impart to a globe of water equal to the earth in size. Mayer and Helmholtz have made this calculation, and found that the quan- tity of heat which would be generated by this colossal shock would be quite sufficient, not only to fuse the entire earth, but to reduce it, in great part, to vapor. Thus, by the simple stoppage of the earth in its orbit, 'Hhe elements'' might be caused ''to melt with fervent heat." The amount of heat thus developed would be equal to that derived from the combustion of fourteen globes of coal, each equal to the earth in magnitude. And if, after the stop- page of its motion, the earth should fall into the sun, as it assuredly would, the amount of heat generated by the blow would be equal to that developed by the combustion of 5600 worlds of solid car- bon. — John Tyndall, Heat Considered as a Mode of Motion. Mr. President^ and Gentlemen of the Convention: If we could first know where we are, and whither we are tending, we could better judge what to do, and how to do it. We are now SENTENCES 125 far into the fifth year since a policy was initiated with the avowed object, and confident promise, of putting an end to slavery agita- tion. Under the operation of that policy, that agitation has not only not ceased, but has constantly augmented. In my opinion, it will not cease until a crisis shall have been reached and passed. ''A house divided against itself cannot stand." I believe this government cannot endure permanently half slave and half free. I do not expect the Union to be dissolved ; I do not expect the house to fall ; but I do expect it will cease to be divided. It will become all one thing, or all the other. Either the opponents of slavery will arrest the further spread of it, and place it where the public mind shall rest in the belief that it is in the course of ultimate extinction ; or its advocates will push it forward, till it shall become alike lawful in all the states, old as well as new, North as well as South. — Lincoln, Opening of the Spring-field Speechy 1858. In the last sentence above, notice first that the periodic suspense is kept by using correlatives. Either keeps us waiting for or. But this sentence is not periodic as a whole. The syntax is completed at the word forward. Then another clause is added, till . . . states; then a phrase, old as well as new; and finally another phrase. North as well as South, Such adding of phrases and clauses often makes a sentence weak by making it trail through a succession of afterthoughts. But these are not afterthoughts; they are part of the first plan. Lincoln meant from the beginning to put them there. Why? Because each addition enforces the thought, carries it forward, expands it, and finally drives it home. As the sentence goes on, it increases in force. Such a plan of increasing force, without suspense, is sometimes called climax, from the Greek word meaning a ladder. Climax is not a distinct sentence-form; it is merely an application of the general principle of emphasis; but it exhibits the principle in an aspect worth formulating: A strong sentence goes uphill; a weak sentence goes downhill. In 126 CLEARNESS IN DETAILS other passages show which unperiodic sentences have this quaUty of cHmax. The modem modes of travelling cannot compare with the old mail-coach system in grandeur and power. They boast of more velocity, not, however, as a consciousness, but as a fact of our lifeless knowledge, resting upon alien evidence; as, for instance, because somebody says that we have gone fifty miles in the hour, though we are far from feeling it as a personal experience, or upon the evidence of a result, as that actually we find ourselves in York four hours after leaving London. Apart from such an assertion, or such a result, I myself am little aware of the pace. But, seated on the old mail-coach, we needed no evidence out of ourselves to indicate the velocity. On this system the word was, Non magna loquimurf as upon railways, but vivimus. Yes ^' magna mvimus^*; we do not make verbal ostentation of our grandeurs, we realise our grandeurs in act, and in the very experience of life. The vital experience of the glad animal sensibilities made doubts impossible on the question of our speed; we heard our speed, we saw it, we felt it as a thrilling; and this speed was not the product of blind, insensate agencies, that had no sympathy to give, but was incarnated in the fiery eyeballs of the noblest amongst brutes, in his dilated nostril, spasmodic muscles, and thunder-beating hoofs. The sensibility of the horse, uttering itself in the maniac light of his eye, might be the last vibration of such a movement ; the glory of Salamanca might be the first. But the intervening links that connected them, that spread the earthquake of battle into the eyeball of the horse, were the heart of man and its electric thrillings, kindling in the rapture of the fiery strife, and then propagating its own tumults by contagious shouts and gestures to the heart of his servant the horse. — De Quincet, The English Mail-Coach, 3. REVISION OF WORDS Good Habits in Words. — The last consideration for clearness in writing is the choice of words — not the last in WORDS 127 importance, but the last in time. For at first clearness de- pends, not on separate words, but on thought and on form. We fix our minds first solely on what to say, on the thought; then on how to say it, on the form; finally, when this is straight, when the form is made to correspond to the thought, on the fitness of the separate words. For if we Ungered over each sentence and each word at first, we should so interrupt ourselves as to make composition painful and sometimes to lose the line of thought altogether. The most practical way is first to think, perhaps jotting down notes for reminders; then to write from beginning to end with as few pauses as possible; then to revise the order, especially of sentences, wherever there appears an oppor- tunity for clearer form; then finally, with the aid of a dic- tionary, to substitute for any doubtful or obscure words others that are more exact. Revision. — Revision in this way so increases a writer's grasp of expression that he writes more and more easily and clearly his first draft. The revision of the first theme makes the revision of the second easier and simpler, and so on until the writer has acquired a habit of clearness. This applies especially to the choice of words; for every use of the dictionary gives more exact knowledge of a word already known, and probably adds a new word. A prac- tical way to gain clearness in the use of words is to revise with a dictionary. Alertness in Conversation, — For clearness in words can- not be acquired without care. It is gained by cultivating a habit. Now in forming such a habit writing may be much helped by speaking. True, every one needs to be more careful of the words that he writes than of those that he speaks; that is expected; but it is harder to become care- ful of the words written while one is careless of the words spoken. True again, we cannot often hesitate in speaking 130 CLEARNESS IN DETAILS For obeying the dictionary is merely conforming to the general habit of good writers and speakers everywhere. We obey the dictionary because we wish to become familiar with those verbal customs which are not confined to any locality or any set of people, but are recognized everywhere as good manners in language. Otherwise, by some singu- larity of speech we shall distract attention from the matter to the manner. We obey good manners in language in order to widen our influence, in order to be able to address any one with some prospect of effectiveness. Good manners in language, like good manners in eating or greeting, pre- possess people generally toward us by showing our familiarity with the ways of the wider world and our wish to apply these ways to our audience as a mark of courtesy. No one can doubt this value of good manners, in words or in any other form of intercourse, who has seen much of the world. Those who fear lest they be thought to put on airs if they attempt to use words more nicely than some of their friends should remember that every one who extends his influence among his fellows has to conquer this false shame. False shame in intercourse, while it fails to recommend any one long to his own little circle, stunts his growth, hinders all his attempts to appeal to a wider circle. It is a poor com- pliment to his friends, and a real harm to himself. Without in the least disparaging those friends who are afraid to say anything different from the random talk of the neighbor- hood, a young man or woman may learn — indeed, must learn for any real success, better manners, manners more generally accepted. Of such manners in words the record is the dictionary. Good manners are the manners, not of some set, but of all good company in general. As they can never be mastefed in other things by those who have too much false shame to venture beyond any small society in which they find themselves, so they can never be mastered WORDS 131 in language by those who fear to speak better than the uneducated and the careless. The privilege of the best society for the manners of language is universal. The best books are to be had everywhere; and the dictionary, which is the record of their agreement as to spellings, pro- nunciations, and meanings, is open to everybody. To limit oneself to the local and passing usage of the street is to fly in the face of that old proverb which is truer of words than of any other form of intercourse, ^^ Manners maketh manJ'^ True, the use of words changes. Every living language must change in order to grow. A language is never fixed till it is dead. Shakespeare has many words which the growth of English has cast off; he has many more words in certain senses that are attached to them no longer; he lacks, of course, thousands of words that have come into use since his time with the new things for which they stand, thou- sands of uses to which his own words have been turned by the necessary adaptation of language to new conditions. But this constant change in usage is too slow to cause any real difficulty in speaking or writing correctly. It is easy enough to follow the dictionary. In order to record changes in use so soon as they become wide-spread among good writers, the dictionary is always being revised. If a use that we hear is not recorded in the standard dictionaries of our decade, we may confidently assume that it has not yet become general. In such cases the better way is to wait; for the duty of the individual speaker or writer toward his language is, not to lead, but to follow. He knows that language changes; but he does not try to change it. Usage as Reputable, National, Present. — Good use, or correctness in language, has been admirably defined by Dr. Campbell as (1) reputable use, (2) national use, (3) present use. Negatively this means that, for the sake of 130 CLEARNESS IN DETAILS For obeying the dictionary is merely conforming to the general habit of good writers and speakers everywhere. We obey the dictionary because we wish to become familiar with those verbal customs which are not confined to any locality or any set of people, but are recognized everywhere as good manners in language. Otherwise, by some singu- larity of speech we shall distract attention from the matter to the manner. We obey good manners in language in order to widen our influence, in order to be able to address any one with some prospect of effectiveness. Good manners in language, like good manners in eating or greeting, pre- possess people generally toward us by showing our familiarity with the ways of the wider world and our wish to apply these ways to our audience as a mark of courtesy. No one can doubt this value of good manners, in words or in any other form of intercourse, who has seen much of the world. Those who fear lest they be thought to put on airs if they attempt to use words more nicely than some of their friends should remember that every one who extends his influence among his fellows has to conquer this false shame. False shame in intercourse, while it fails to recommend any one long to his own little circle, stunts his growth, hinders all his attempts to appeal to a wider circle. It is a poor com- pliment to his friends, and a real harm to himself. Without in the least disparaging those friends who are afraid to say anything different from the random talk of the neighbor- hood, a young man or woman may learn — indeed, must learn for any real success, better manners, manners more generally accepted. Of such manners in words the record is the dictionary. Good manners are the manners, not of some set, but of all good company in general. As they can never be mastered in other things by those who have too much false shame to venture beyond any small society in which they find themselves, so they can never be mastered WORDS 131 in language by those who fear to speak better than the uneducated and the careless. The privilege of the best society for the manners of language is universal. The best books are to be had everywhere; and the dictionary, which is the record of their agreement as to spellings, pro- nunciations, and meanings, is open to everybody. To limit oneself to the local and passing usage of the street is to fly in the face of that old proverb which is truer of words than of any other form of intercourse, "Manners maketh man,^^ True, the use of words changes. Every living language must change in order to grow. A language is never fixed till it is dead. Shakespeare has many words which the growth of English has cast off; he has many more words in certain senses that are attached to them no longer; he lacks, of course, thousands of words that have come into use since his time with the new things for which they stand, thou- sands of uses to which his own words have been turned by the necessary adaptation of language to new conditions. But this constant change in usage is too slow to cause any real difficulty in speaking or writing correctly. It is easy enough to follow the dictionary. In order to record changes in use so soon as they become wide-spread among good writers, the dictionary is always being revised. If a use that we hear is not recorded in the standard dictionaries of our decade, we may confidently assume that it has not yet become general. In such cases the better way is to wait; for the duty of the individual speaker or writer toward his language is, not to lead, but to follow. He knows that language changes; but he does not try to change it. Usage as Reputable^ National j Present. — Good use, or correctness in language, has been admirably defined by Dr. Campbell as (1) reputable use^ (2) national use, (3) present use. Negatively this means that, for the sake of 132 CLEARNESS IN DETAILS good manners, we should not use a word, or an application of a word, that is (1) disreputable, not used by speakers and writers of reputation; or (2) local , confined to some section, trade, or profession, not used throughout the coun- try; or (3) either past or future, not accepte/ieeZingf in the air above him. Indeed, it is largely by such figura- tive applications that language grows. Wheeling, as appHed to the flight of certain birds, is so common that we hardly think of it as any more figurative than circling. So grit is as common in its figurative as in its literal sense. So in the past history of the language thousands of words have been extended in meaning by being apphed figuratively. Fume literally means smoke. In Latin (fumu^) it was applied figuratively to silly talk. Coming into English through the French, it was applied figuratively to the headache and distaste that fol- low intemperance, and later to the expression of fret and impa- tience. Meantime the original literal meaning has been kept too, as in the word chafe; but in many words the original literal meaning has been dropped for the figurative, and this figurative meaning, thus becoming literal, has in turn given rise to new figures. In vixen and wheedle, what was originally a figurative application has long been the only meaning, i.e., has become literal. Find in a large dictionary what these words meant originally. Inves- tigate also the successive meanings of clog, coward, fret, style. Point out the figurative expressions in the lists at pages 150-152; in the passages quoted throughout the present chapter. Thousands of sucb instances show that figurative appli- cation of words is a natural tendency of speech, especially in description. WORDS 159 For figures of speech arise from the desire to be interesting by stirring the imagination to make pictures. And since this is done by specific and concrete words, figures are of two general kinds: (1) figures of association, arising from the desire to be specific; (2) figures of likeness, arising from the desire to be concrete. Figures of Association. — Instead of saying thirty new workmen, we often say thirty new hands, specifying the significant part that does the work. So the officer on deck, or the boss of a gang, cries ^^ All hands! '^ and the men talk of a green hand, A man in his cups is a picturesque descrip- tion of a tippler, because it calls attention to the significant object. Thirty sail stands for thirty ships by the use of the most visible part for the whole. More poetically we say, The pen is mightier than the sword. Such use of the impor- tant part for the whole, or of the sign itself for the thing signified, is technically called metonymy. Figures of Likeness. — Much more commonly we describe by figures springing from likeness. In order to be con- crete, we stir the imagination to picture something by comparison. Thus the abstract, general idea of the awful shortness of human fife is brought home to us concretely in the famihar ninetieth psalm used at funerals: Thou carriest them away as with a flood. They are as a sleep. In the morning they are like grass which groweth up. In the morning it flourisheth and groweth up; in the evening it is cut down and withereth. Psalm xc. 5-6. A more homely use of the same figure is the phrase to look as black as a thunder-cloud. Such comparisons are called similes. Comparisons which, instead of being thus fully stated by like or as, are merely implied, are called metaphors. "The cock^s shrill clarion," in the fifth stanza of Gray's Elegy, compares the cock-crow 160 INTEREST IN DETAILS to the sound of a horn without saying fully "The cock^s shrill crow was like a clarion." And such implied compari- sons are far more common. Metaphors are more common than similes because they are swifter. Indeed, nothing is more common in description than metaphors. They are so natural a means of concreteness that not only our descrip- tive writing, but even our daily speech, is full of them. Detectives are said to be hounding a suspect. An attorney boils with indignation. A woman flits along a corridor. The baby crows. A lively child is called a cricket or a grasshopper; a monotonously persistent boy, a katydid. A runner steals a base. The locomotive snorts at the station. We are left in the dark as to the intentions of our mayor. And nothing could better show the activity of this habit than the fact that slang is very largely metaphorical. A habit of metaphors is worth cultivating in so far as it helps toward concreteness. As part of the training in ob- servation, it is worth while to notice in common things such picturesque Ukenesses. But neither metaphors nor any other figurative expressions are to be sought for them- selves. A writer not naturally figurative who tries to add figures merely for ornament runs the risk of becoming arti- ficial. It is far better to use a figure only when it comes to mind readily, only when in imagination one sees or hears the thing in that way. There is no need to beat one^s brains for figures. Some of the best description is largely — some of it entirely — literal. The first two stanzas of Gray's Elegy and the fourth, which have hardly any figures, are quite as appeahng as any of the others. No, try simply to be specific and concrete. Whether in so trying you become figurative or not is of comparatively little moment. Prepare a brief list^ of metonymies, similes, and metaphors selected from the passages quoted in this chapter; another from books recently studied in the course of literature. CHAPTER VI CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION The themes in connection with this chapter^ besides the incidental exercises in note-taking and brief-drawing suggested below, should be arguments and expositions of 600 words or more. They should be spread over as much time as is necessary to provide (a) careful choice and limitation by announcement or assignment in advance, (6) class discussion of notes and brief in advance, (c) connected oral presentation, of the whole or of parts, the class being held to discuss the speaker's method, (d) writing out in full and revision after critid^sm. The main paint of instruction being system and order, quantity and frequency are of less importance than thor* oughness. The class work should be focused on preparing, critic cising, and revising the themes themselves. All other exercises and all formal recitation should be subsidiary. At this stage a student needs less to tell how the thing should be done than to do it, to tell how he, or his neighbor, has done it, and to do it over again. Thus a large part of the recitation period may well be spent in hearing themes and giving account of them {See pages 15, 29), in definite tasks of written revision, or in debate. Sub- jects, in addition to those below, should be drawn, not only from current events and the college debating society, but also from current studies, especially history. A single subject will often serve as a field of work through several sections of the text-book and several meetings of the dass. As the study of composition widens its scope, expanding with a student^s development, it calls more and more for compilation of facts from books. How old a student is in his mind can be estimated pretty closely by his use of a 12 161 162 CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION library; that is, by his ability in comparing books, in choos- ing from each the facts that he needs, and in grouping them for use. Unusual abihty in such comparing, choosing, and grouping marks a man as original. He becomes a leader by his power to think for himself. But some of this abil- ity must be acquired by every one whose education is to go on. The process is not the narrowing of study to the single channel of one's profession or business. Indeed, it is just when his studies become more various that a student begins to choose and group for himself. He not only prizes certain subjects most; he begins to look at all subjects for himself. Heretofore his individuality has been shown by the books he drew from the library; now it is shown by a growing abihty to compare books in the Hbrary, find among them what will serve him, and express the results in his own way. By thus expressing what his reading means to him, a student learns to find himself and bring himself to bear. The library is the community center. There each student must find what he needs for his own education, and adapt it to the purposes of his own influence. Knowl- edge is power, says the proverb; but knowledge is con- verted into power only in proportion as it is appUed by each student. Such use of a large library is learned most quickly through being obliged to shape one's notes into some consecutive spoken or written result. Silly as a student would be to think these results important to the world, yet he is wise to compose them by way of thinking them out for himself. One's youthful opinion may be worth nothing; but the habit of finding out for oneself and of fitting knowledge to oneself is worth everything. That is why students are asked to make speecfees and essays on the French Colonial System in the Seventeenth Century, on Municipal Tenements, on the Battle of Saratoga, the ItaUan City States, the Drain- CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION 163 age of Mines, and a hundred other subjects in which they may be interested. The composition gives no new informa- tion to the world; but it gives new discipline to the com- poser. Every wise teacher tries to make the pupil a teacher too. Qui docet discit, said the Latin proverb; he that teaches learns. The endeavor to make one's conception clear to others compels that choosing and grouping which make it clearer to oneself. In order to go on learning, one must begin to teach. Composition of this sort may be applied, as we have seen, in either of two ways. First, it may interpret the bearing and significance of facts merely to explain them; or, secondly, it may interpret in order to convince people or convert them. The former is technically called exposition; the latter, argument, or, more broadly, 'persuasion. For either the Ubrary preparation is much the same. Whether we wish to explain the causes of our war with Mexico, or to justify our waging it, we need to investigate the same facts. 1. COLLECTING FACTS Taking Notes. — Notes on Cards. — Why is the library catalogue on cards in drawers? Library catalogues used to be printed and bound in books; but consequently they were never complete. They had to have supplements continually; the combining of these supplements with the former cata- logue meant reprinting from beginning to end; and mean- time readers often had to consult several volumes in order to locate one book. In the card catalogue a new book means simply the insertion of a new card; the catalogue is always complete; and the time needed for consultation is usually much less. Let this be a hint for your notes. Notes taken in a bound book cannot be easily arranged without being copied; and copying is a waste of time. Notes taken on 164 CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION cards need only be shuffled to be arranged in any order desired. The cards need not be of a particular style. Whether slips of paper, Kbrary cards, or leaves in a loose- leaf note-book, they will answer equally, if only they are (1) separate, (2) small, and (3) uniform in size. The whole point is to take each note on a separate slip, so that it may be arranged in whatever connection you finally plan. The slips can be held together by an elastic band. They should be destroyed after the composition is written or spoken; for, however important they may seem at the time, their value is mainly for practice. It is rarely wise for any one to make a permanent collection of notes except in the m^ature studies of his profession. Notes Few and Brief, — Next to having notes instantly available on separate slips, the most important thing is to have them few and brief. People who heap up notes often write before they think, sometimes write instead of thinking. Notes in themselves never made any one wise or ready. Of course the number of notes must depend somewhat on the subject. A debate on the war with Mexico might require five times as many cards as an essay on the char- acter of Lincoln, because the subject is more compUcated. But in general the aim should be to keep notes down. To this end never quote if you can help it. Quotations add much to the bulk of notes. They are very Hkely to be abandoned after further reading. If they are kept, they hinder expression in one's own way. And finally, they are of little use. Once in a while a debater scores a point by quoting some authority. Otherwise a quotation is likely to be worth no more than the fact it contains; and that can usually be noted better and more briefly in one's own words. No serious student ourght to think there is any value in making of himself a copying machine. Don't quote. Don't paraphrase either. Your object is not to repeat CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION 165 what some one else said, following his order, but to apply his facts to your own quite different end. There is no use in re-writing his cyclopedia article. Parts of it bear on your inquiry; parts do not. Taking a fact that you want, express it on your note-slip in the fewest words that will clearly remind you of that fact. Add always a brief refer- ence to the book and the page. Then if by chance the note is too brief — and this happens rarely — the reference will guide instantly to the place; if the note is disputed, the reference will show your authority. Such note-taking is excellent practice in condensation, in forming a habit of expressing the gist of a thing. When you come to plan, it does not obscure the bearing of a note by superfluous words, or hamper your own application by suggesting some one else^s. And when you come to write or speak, it leaves you quite free from any language but your own. Take a note in your own words, as briefly as is consistent with clear- ness, and add a reference to author and page.^ Notes from more than One Source. — Keeping notes few and brief makes it possible in a given time to consult several books instead of one. This is so important, for real profit in composition based on reading, that it is practically indispensable. A composition based on a single source is hardly a composition at all. At best it is only a summary; at worst it is only a paraphrase. It gives no practice in planning; for it takes the plan ready-made. It requires neither comparing nor grouping and only such choosing as consists in leaving certain details out. Now the very point of using a large library for investigation of facts is to com- pare, to choose, and to group. That is the kind of educa- tion proper to a large public library as distinct from the kind proper to a small private library. One is for extensive reading; the other, for intensive (see page 234). You pore * For subjects see below, and compare the head-note to this chapter. 166 CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION over a book at home from cover to cover. That is one kind of reading, and there is none better. But you go to the Hbrary to gather and focus, for instance, what seem to you the most important differences between the French colonies and the EngUsh colonies in America, or to com- pare views as to the Japanese on the Pacific coast. That is quite another kind of reading. Having a different object, it should have a different method. In this case it is better for the written or spoken production, and far better for the student^s education, to read chosen parts of several books than to spend the same time on one. Thus he will be taught by several teachers, and will himself both learn and teach with better mastery. Always, then, use more than one source of information. Do your own job; don't do another man's job over after him. Books of Reference, — To this end, question at the begins ning and all through the investigation. Before reading a book, know what you are looking for in that book; then read that point, not everything. In some cases we do not know at first exactly what we need. The subject, perhaps, has been assigned as a general topic for each one to limit as he chooses; or for some other reason there is need of guidance. Now every large library keeps certain books for this very purpose, guide-books to knowledge. They are called refer- ence books, and they are usually arranged together in some alcove convenient for constant use. This, in fact, is one of the principal uses of a large Hbrary. No small library can afford to collect the abundance that we expect in a uni- versity or public hbrary. The first lesson of research, then, is to learn where to look, to learn what are the principal reference books and what each is for. Books of reference •levidently serve two purposes: first, they answer our questions briefly, by summing up the most important points of knowledge on a given topic; secondly. CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION 167 they tell us who will answer more fully, by adding a list of the best books on that topic. First, they tell us about some subjects all that we wish to know; secondly, they tell us about others, in which we are more interested, where to look further. Some books of reference are confined to the one purpose or the other. A smaller cyclopedia or a dic- tionary of a special subject, for instance, may give only summaries; a bibliography, or annotated list of books on a certain subject, gives nothing besides the list. But the larger cyclopedias usually give both summaries and lists of books. A little patient experiment will soon enable any one to begin his research, to get his bearings, without waste of time. Reading from Book to Book. — To look further, we go to the card catalogue. Here may arise a difficulty. The books mentioned in the book of reference may be too tech- nical for the purpose, or too elaborate, or in an unknown language, or not in the library. What then? There is no loss; for, even so, the horizon is widened by choosing, and enough has been picked up from the cyclopedia article to guide in consulting the subject catalogue and in limiting the scope of research. In many libraries the next step is made still easier and more profitable by the privilege of access to the shelves. Standing before a whole group of books on the general subject, one begins to choose. How choose between two books without reading both through? In brief, by glancing through before reading, by questioning once more. Sometimes this takes but a mo- ment, as when a book is evidently too elaborate, or too brief, or too old. Sometimes the choice is determined by the author's name, as when the cyclopedia calls him an authority, or when we know by previous experience that he is clear and simple. When there is no such guide, it is worth while to question the table of contents; and this 168 CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION practice is the more useful the more one has already learned, for thus he often finds that, though the book as a whole has little to his present purpose, some chapter is very much in point. By practice one learns to know what he wants and to find what he wants more and more readily, imtil he has acquired that important skill which we call command of books. EXERCISES IN RESEARCH (These exercises may he extended, abbreviated, or otherwise adapted to the class or the individual. They are meant, not to prescribe subjects, but to show kinds of subjects and method.) 1. Report orally from your note-slips on your preliminary investigation for the theme now in hand, somewhat as follows: I consulted 1st, ; 2dly, ; 3dly, . The main dif- ferences among these books are . My particular theme within the common topic will be . On this I propose to read further . The profit of such reports is much en- hanced by watching how others have approached the same task. 2. Look for chivalry in all the dictionaries and all the cyclo- pedias, so as to explain the kind of information on this topic to be found in each. Find a popular history of the Middle Ages containing a chapter on chivalry and make a note of the title of the book and the chapter number. Look for, and note sim- ilarly, a chapter or section on chivalry in a history of France. If you do not find it in a brief, popular history, look in a longer his- tory; if you find it in both, note the differences in length and manner of treatment. Investigate two other references in the card catalogue of subjects under the head chivalry, and note one of two references in this catalogue to related topics, or to sub- topics such as you might use in planning your essay. Find in the library, or mention from your previous reading, two stories of chivalry. Write the title of each of these books on a separate card or slip and, underneath, a brief summary of the kind of infor- mation given by each. \Such a catalogue on a single subject, though incomplete and imperfect, is of the same sort as the full and elaborate printed lists of books on certain subjects which are CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION 169 called bibliographies. These full, printed bibliographies are inval- uable for long and extended research; but for limited investiga- tion with a view to composition it is better to make one's own list of books actually used. 3. Report orally from note-slips how much information about Denmark^ and of what kind, can be found: (1) in an atlas, (2) in a statistical almanac, (3) in a commercial geography, (4) in a small cyclopedia, (5) in a large cyclopedia, (6) (7) (8) in three other sources of your own choosing. 4. Starting with the vague, general notion expressed by the word Indians, find in the library what are the main lines for its investigation. Choosing the line that you like best, read along this far enough to limit your theme for an essay of not more than 600 words. After collecting notes, and before writing, draw up a report of how you began the investigation and how you went on, telling in order what books you consulted^ and why. Authority. — The fullest, latest, and most expert discus- sions in certain fields of common interest are often furnished by the bureaus of the federal government, such as the De- partment of Agriculture, the Forest Service, the Department of Commerce and Labor. Their publications are usually to be found in every public library; and, though they are often too minute and technical for ordinary use, they ought to be known as authorities. An authority is a source of informa- tion so trustworthy that its accuracy cannot be disputed. To judge between conflicting authorities is sometimes diffi- cult even for minds mature and well trained; but to learn where to look for authority in matters of ordinary concern and argument is possible to any intelligent student who will take pains, and becomes of great value as a mental habit. Standard reference books are generally accepted as author- ity, and especially reference books limited to a particular field. Their authority is not, of course, their own; it is merely that of the books from which they draw; but, since 170 CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION the compilers are skilled in gathering and sifting informa- tion, since the summaries are frequently corrected by revi- sion, and since most of us in many cases cannot go back to the original sources, the best books of reference may be trusted. Again, a book is often more readily accepted and usually more serviceable for composition than a magazine or newspaper, because it is probably more responsible and better digested. Expert as newspapers are in collecting information, they are so much concerned with telUng facts promptly and attractively that they lose something in accuracy. In magazines, too, the main object is often interest. The difficulty is not that periodicals are inten- tionally inaccurate, but that they are so unintentionally from the necessity of haste and the occasional sacrifice of information to interest. Accurate information must always be the main concern of a student in collecting facts. Interest he will supply himself by his own way of adapting the subject to his own audience. Periodicals are written to tell us at once what is going on now. In current matters which concern us deeply, or which are in dispute, we compare two or three accounts, checking off one by the other. Excellent practice in discrimination such com- parison is most surely; but it may be very difficult. Now the author of a book has presumably done this sifting for us. At least he has had the time; at least, we may expect him to have selected the most important facts and cast aside the trivial. A book, then, is more prom- ising as a source of information. For the rest, we must measure it by its reputation and by comparison with other books, and in cases of dispute know what is the authority. But not all books are superior to all periodicals. Some books are trash; some fc^w periodicals are themselves author- ities in special fields. Moreover, for certain subjects of current discussion the use of periodicals is necessary. What CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION 171 then? Compare and choose. Don^t accept blindly any- thing printed. Use books as well as periodicals; for even current topics must be discussed with reference to our previous knowledge and ideas. Form a habit of going back, where there is any dispute, as near as possible to authority, and consequently learn where authority is to be looked for. Learn first to use books, and in every investigation begin with books. For example, to argue the advisability of annexing Cuba, one must investigate periodicals. But to begin by reading magazine articles on Cuba indiscriminately will probably waste time. The first thing to consult is an atlas, then one of the briefer cyclopedias, then a statistical almanac. After getting one's bearings in this way from undisputed sources, one may choose from Poole's Index to Periodical Literature certain articles which seem promising by the reputation of the author and the periodical and by being suffi- ciently recent. But if he is to debate, he should not forget to look also for the report of some government official or commission. Or does some one wish to decide for himself whether the United States should maintain the duty on wood pulp? He cannot even read a magazine article on the subject intelligently until he knows what wood pulp is, what the duty on it is, and why. These three pieces of fundamental information are to be found in books of reference. Which? Should the Japanese children in San Francisco be segregated in a school for Orientals? The question is so recent that there are no special books on it. Frame some pertinent questions for preliminary investigation in reference books. Group the following according to the kind of reference books in which most of the facts are to be found. Bring in notes on such of them, and in such way, as may be assigned (see above). As early as possible in the investigation Hmit the field. Argentina. Ptolemaic System. Monastery, Magna Charta, Primary. Cabinet. Temple. University. Tariff. 172 CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION Weather Bureau. Venice. Castle. Alfalfa. Panama Canal. Filters. Congo. Monroe Doctrine. Norman Conquest. Forestry. Cyclone. Cotton. Mirage. Legion. Wireless Telegraphy. Joan of Arc. Louisiana Purchase. Aeroplane. Cobalt. Temple. Assaying. Wheat. Siberia. Injunction. To compare and choose in a library, then, means to select what is important for one's own purpose, to take concise notes on cards from more than one book, to work from general summaries and guides to the particulars that are needed, to know where to begin and how to go from book to book. It means to discriminate more and more among sources of information, until one learns the meaning of accuracy and the value of authority. This is a long task; but, its importance in education once understood, it is neither hard nor dull. For it is the way in which any intelligent student may become a master of books. 2. GROUPING FACTS The next step is to sort and group the notes under headings. Only so can they be used. A good deal of this sorting and grouping is done while one is collecting. For a wise investi- gator does not heap up notes micellaneously; he pauses again and again to take his bearings (page 166); the ma- terial that he has already he groups by writing at the top of his cards trial headings. Thus he can see where he has much material and where he has little by bringing together the notes that are most closely related. Though these headings may need revi^on afterward in the light of further knowledge, and though the notes under them may need to be subdivided, still the trial headings help him to see his CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION 173 way as he goes. But when at last the reading is finished^ when the material seems sufficient for the purpose, it is better to write out all these headings on a large sheet, so as to look them over together, to make tKem more precise, to weed out repetitions, to close side-tracks, — in short, to make a clear chart of the whole. The object of such a chart or plan of the whole is to make all the main headings bear directty upon the single underlying idea that the exposi-^ tion aims to explain or the argument to prove, and to make each sub-heading bear directly upon some main heading. It is a plan for analysis, a plan for the writer or speaker himself, a means to arrange each separate piece of informa- tion where it belongs. Its aim is not so much to determine the paragraphs in which the essay will finally be written, or the speech spoken, as to determine which are the main points, the larger ideas that support the whole object of the composition directly; and which are the subordinate points, the facts that support the object indirectly by sup- porting these main ideas. Therefore such an analysis has for its chief business to settle these main ideas. The para- graphs will be settled later. First comes the necessity of dividing the material by points. For we can hardly make a plan of presentation to others until we have first sorted out the material by a plan of analysis for ourselves. Before we determine how to speak, we must determine exactly what we know. Fixing the Single Point in a Sentence. — Of course, this cannot be done at all until we have fixed the goal, the single object of the whole composition. For debate this is always settled in advance in a single sentence, or proposition. Li- censes for Newsboys — no one can debate that; it is too vague. Licenses from the Board of Aldermen should he re- quired of all newsboys — at once we know from this com- plete and definite statement exactly what is to be proved. 174 CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION Municipal Ownership of Gas Works — what of it? Our city should own and operate its gas works — at once the object is clear. Argument cannot come to anything until its object is fixed in a complete sentence, a definite proposition. If the task is, not to prove something, but merely to explain, the whole essay need not always be held to a single propo- sition; but it still needs to be clearly limited. Chivalry is too vague for a guide. One might read and write on that for weeks without arriving at any result definite enough to be comprehended as a whole; and, until it is comprehended as a whole, no subject can be brought to bear. The Train- ing of a Medieval Boy in Chivalry y Two Lessons of Chivalry for Our TimeSy — either of these is such a limitation of the subject as should be fixed in advance, or settled after a little preHminary reading. And even for exposition it is often possible to fix the object in a sentence. Chivalry taught a medieval boy honor and courtesy — - though that needs no proof, merely explanation, still the putting of it into a sen- tence makes the whole task easier. For argument always, then, and for exposition usually, fix the object of the whole in a single sentence. No one can go far in any composition of facts without knowing where he is to come out. The first question of analysis is. What is your goal? (See page 30.) Frame propositions for debates on the following: 1. Vivisection. 2. Suburbs or City Flat? 3. Military Drill in Schools. 4. Immigration. 5. Prohibition. Brief, or Plan for Analysis of Argument. — Suppose, now, the goal of an argument fixed in a proposition. We will begin with argument because it is easier to analyze, and because the plan for analysis of argument can be adapted CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION 175 with slight change to exposition also. The simplest plan for analysis of argument is: (1) to write at the head of a large sheet the proposition to be proved; (2) to write under- neath, numbering them A, B, C, etc., with spaces between, what seem to be the largest reasons for the proposition, those main reasons that include minor reasons within them- selves and support the proposition directly; (3) to write underneath each of these, numbering them 1, 2, 3, etc., in the blank spaces, the reasons for this larger reason; (4) to write underneath 1, or 2, or 3, numbering them a, b, c, etc., the facts that in turn go to prove this. This sort of plan is often called a brief. It shows at a glance both the whole line of argument and the bearing of each part, even of each separate fact. It shows which are the main arguments, which are the minor ones. It shows how every bit of the material bears, whether as a main point supporting the proposition directly, or as a minor point supporting one of these main points. It is a complete chart or guide to the material. After it has been thought out and revised, it will furnish a complete index to the notes; for these can easily be numbered and grouped according to the plan. SPECIMEN BRIEF Proposition Licenses from the Board of Aldermen should he required of all news-- boys in this city, BRIEF FOR THE AFFIRMATIVE A. Some measure of restriction is demanded, 1. Forty per cent of our newsboys are under twelve. a. This is the estimate of the special committee of the Board of Aldermen. 2. Such work at their age stunts their growth. 3. It also hurts their schooling. a. Late hours imfit them for study. 176 CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION 4. Worst of all, it hurts their morals. a. They are thrown on the street among evil influencses. B. Restriction by parents is insufficient. 1. Some boys are put to this work by their parents. 2. Many parents see no harm in it. o. Many are too ignorant, or indifferent. 6. Many are immigrants, unaccustomed to our American standard of living. 3. In general, newsboys belong to a class improtected by good home influences. C. Restriction by the State is in line with our wisest legislation, 1. It is in line with other restrictions on child labor. a. Factories are forbidden by law to employ children under a certain age. b. It supports the law of compulsory schooling. D. The argument that the measure would work hardship is in- sufficient, 1. No fee is proposed for the license. 2. Only those would be prohibited who would suffer more in the end from selling papers. 3. The few possible cases of actual hardship could be met otherwise by the city. 4. The main consideration must be the good to the whole community resulting from the protection of boys now unprotected. a. These boys are to be citizens. b. Our future depends on the health and education of our citizens. E. The particular restriction proposed is best, 1. Simply to pass a law setting an age limit would be in- sufficient. a. It could be enforced only with great difficulty. (1) Even in factories, where the workers are all together, the federal law ^ sometimes evaded. 2. Licensing gives the opportunity to judge each case on its merits, and precludes unnecessary hardship. CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION 177 3. The Board of Aldermen is the proper municipal body for this work. a. It deals with licenses in general. b. It can handle this additional work with the least pos- sible expense to taxpayers. The object of this system of analysis is to bring every bit of material into some definite bearing. It makes us ask concerning every note, Just what does that prove? To this end, every part must be expressed in a sentence. Only thus can its bearing be determined. If some fact will not fit into the system, it is in the wrong place, or its bearing is not clearly understood, or it has no bearing at all and should therefore be omitted. Each detail of the argument (a, b, or c) must read as a reason for the larger point (1, 2, or 3) under which it stands, as if it were preceded by the conjunction for. Each larger point in turn (1, 2, or 3) must read as a reason for the still larger point (A, B, or C) under which it stands. Each largest point (A, 5, or C) must read as a direct reason for the proposition. Or, to put it the other way, Ay B, C, etc., are reasons for the proposition; 1, 2, 3, etc., are reasons for A or J5 or C, etc.; a, 6, c, etc., are reasons for 1 or 2 or 3, etc. When successive arguments are designated by the same type, as 1 and 2, they are under- stood to be co-ordinate, as if they were connected by the conjunction and; when successive arguments are designated by difference of type, as 1 and a, the second is understood to be subordinate to the first, as if they were connected by the conjunction for. This distinction is marked still more clearly, as in the plan above, by keeping co-ordinate argu- ments in the same column and setting subordinate argu- ments a little to the right. In a word, the object of this system is to classify the notes. Though at first the system may seem complicated, it is never in fact more compUcated than the material to which 13 178 CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION it is applied. A long investigation of a subject in many aspects might, indeed, require not only A's, Ts, and a's, but all the other types in the font. But we are not suppos- ing anything so extraordinary; and in ordinary arguments the plan may be applied quite simply. In fact, it is of constant use in arguments that require no research at all. For, not Therefore. — Still, a few cautions will save trouble. First, this system of analysis excludes the word therefore. It would, indeed, be just as logical to turn the system up- side down, thus: a. Factories are forbidden by law to employ children under a. certain age. 6. Such licenses would support the law of compulsory school- ing. Therefore 1. The proposed licenses are in line with other restrictions on child labor. Therefore C. They are in line with our wisest social legislation. Therefore (Proposition) Licenses from the Board of Aldermen should be required of all newsboys. And in deUvering this argument one might follow that order (see pages 173, 197). But, to give such prominence to the main points as will make them catch the eye, we have started the other way about; and, having started that way, we must not change; we must keep one way throughout. Otherwise the plan will break down. The conjunction implied must always be for. When you feel Uke using therefore^ simply reverse the order. This applies, of course, simply to the brief, not at all to the order of sentences in a spoken paragraph. How to Bring Opposing Arguments into the Brief. — Sec- ondly, this system includes, not only the positive arguments on one's own side, but also the answers to the arguments of opponents. It is all made from one point of view, for CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION 179 no one can argue on both sides at once; but it takes account of the other point of view by bringing in opposing argu- ments to answer them. This is called rebuttal. In the plan above, the main point D, and the subordinate point 1 under £', are rebuttals; for rebuttal may come in either as a main point or as a subordinate point. In either case it comes into the plan always in this one way: E, The argument (or assertion) that (Here state the opposing argument) is insufficient (or not supported by the facts, or unwarranted.) (Here sum up in a word or phrase the way in which you meet the opposing argument.) 1. Here state a fact or reason in support of your objection. 2. Here state a fact or reason in support of your objection; etc. Strict adherence to this form makes possible the bringing in of any argument whatsoever for the other side without upsetting the plan as a plan for one's own side. It has the further advantage of showing just how an opposing argu- ment, as well as a positive argument of one's own, bears on the whole debate. Best of all, it sets up the other side only to knock it down. It forces one to answer. It forces him to consider just where and how any attack should be met. No one can argue well without considering the other side; neither can any one argue well without staying on his own side while he meets the other side squarely. For the way to rebut is so to turn the arguments of an adversary as to strengthen one's own case. Division Under a Few Main Heads, — Finally, the very object of a brief being to bring out the main points, these main points should be few. A plan consisting of ten main points is a plan not carefully thought out. Some of these ten points thus set down as co-ordinate must in fact be subordinate to the others; for any ordinary argument can be grouped under four or five cardinal points, and many a 180 CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION good argument has had only two or three. All the others group themselves under these. A man who has the pro- verbial twenty reasons for a proposition has some larger and some smaller; and the smaller ones, the details, should be grouped under the larger. Indeed, the chief service of this sort of plan-making is to develop a habit of looking, in any question, for the main lines, the large considerations, the great points, — in a word, to teach grouping. People who can thus group readily are said to see through a ques- tion; and no one is further from seeing through a question than the man who has merely accumulated a mass of facts without classification, who has no better idea of discussion than merely to rehearse one fact after another. He is Uke the man in^ the proverb who could not see the forest for the trees. He is bewildered by his own knowledge because his knowledge is disorderly. Apply the brief system so as to group your material finally under a few main sentences which you feel to be necessary and vital. Do not be discouraged if you cannot settle these main headings at first. They require thought. Often the sub- ordinate headings are seen first. Often eight, or even ten, headings will serve well enough for a while, until the better grouping comes with thought. But stop to think. Take your bearings after you have read a Httle; take them again before you read each new book. Make some sort of classi- fication as you go along. Otherwise you will probably waste time (see page 166) and certainly increase the diffi- culty of planning at the end. Repeatedly question, not only the book for facts, but yourself as to how you expect to bring them to bear. Instead of hurrying to accumulate, let a plan grow in your mind by successive revisions. CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION 181 Exercises in Brief-Drawing Put into the form of a brief your reasons for preferring a certain town, school, business, college, or profession. Bring in at least one point of rebuttal: i.e., answer at least one main objection, as well as any minor ones that apply to your supporting arguments. Put into the form of a brief the arguments probably used by Columbus to secure the help of the court of Spain; the argu- ments of Franklin before the Philadelphia convention in 1776 C'We must hang together or we shall hang separately")* Put into the form of a brief your reasons for (or against) one of the following: 1. Ancient warfare made soldiers braver than modem warfare does. 2. Attempts to reach the North Pole have proved themselves worth while. 3. Brutus was right in joining the conspiracy to kill Caesar. 4. Shylock was wronged. 5. The government of England is more truly representative of the wishes of the people than the government of the United States. 6. Savings banks should be operated in connection with the post-office. 7. Business is a school of insincerity. 8. The emphasis on extra-curriculum activities in college is undue. 9. This college should adopt the Princeton honor system. Specimen Briefs The following briefs, while they exemplify more fully the method of brief-drawing, may serve also as preliminary outlines for debate. Though the subjects demand investigation of facts, these briefs will save time enough to make class debates possible, earlier and more frequently. Adaptation should be freely made by omission, insertion, or rearrangement; and each speech will require a new plan by paragraphs (pages 173, 197). 182 CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION Proposition Cooper's Indians are tme to life, EXPOSITORY STATEMENT The American Indians represented in Cooper's novels are types of several tribes in the successive periods from the time of the French wars to the time when the westward migration had passed the Mississippi. Indians of later periods are without the scope of this discussion; and the Indians of each novel are to be judged by their faithfulness to the period and the tribes treated. The novels in question are the Leather stocking Tales. True to life does not exclude minor inaccuracies, provided that these do not distort the general impression. By true to life we mean like the Indians of those times in all essentials. Thus we may call Shakespeare's Juliet true to life, in spite of minor inac- curacies of detail, provided that Juliet is essentially hke Italian girls of that time. BRIEF FOR THE AFFIRMATIVE A. Cooper's distinctions of the traits of different tribes are generally supported by history, 1. It is unhistorical to talk of Indians in general as if they were, or had been, all alike. a. In fact, there were marked tribal differences. (1) (Give instances.) 2. The Delawares, to whom Cooper assigns the nobler Indian traits, were in fact superior. a. Under the Moravian missionaries they reached a high degree of civilization before the Revolution. (1) They followed agriculture regularly. (2) Their religion withstood the severest persecution. 3. The Hurons, or Iroquois, of Cooper's novels are essentially like the actual Hurons of history. a. These were the tribes whose ferocity and stealth made the name of Indian execrated. (1) They tortured the Jesuit missionaries in Canada. (2) etc., etc. CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION 183 B. The representation of certain Indians as having noble traits is warranted by history. 1. The common ignoring of such traits among the Indians is no proof of their absence. a. Many writers have been prejudiced by experiences with later Indians degraded by contact with civilization. (1) It is prejudice to assert that Uncas is made too noble because he is not like the blanket Indians of our reservations. 2. Indian fidelity is well attested. a. (Give instances from history.) 3. 4, 5, etc. (Estabhsh other noble qualities; e.^., fortitude, generosity, eloquence.) 6. The proverbial Indian treachery is insufficient to prove the contrary. a. Treachery must not be confused with cunning. (1) Cunning has not in other races precluded noble qualities. / v /^. . . x (a) (Give mstances.) (2) Cunning is demanded by warfare in general, and especially by the necessities of Indian warfare. 6. Cooper is warranted by history in making treachery a vice, not of all Indians, but of certain individuals and tribes. c. Indian treachery arose in many cases from extreme provocation. 7. The assertion that Indians as a race are incapable of much rehgious development is insufficient to prove the contrary. a. Some Indians have developed religiously. b. The failure of the race to develop religiously as a race is not always, nor altogether, to their discredit. (1) Missionary efforts have often been misdirected. (2) Indians have had too much reason to distrust all agents of the white man. C. The assertion that Cooper^ s Indians are stage Indians is not in point. 1. It is putting the cart before the horse. o. Whatever likeness exists between Cooper's Indians »nd those seen in popular melodrama is due to imitation of Cooper. 184 CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION 2. We are to judge, not imitations of Cooper, but Cooper himself. BRIEF FOR THE NEGATIVE A. Cooper's Indians are superior morally to the Indians of his- tory, 1. Cooper shows little of the characteristic Indian defects, a. The most characteristic Indian vice is intemperance. 6. The Indians' treatment of their women at once marks their moral inferiority. c. Indian treachery was more general than we should suppose from reading Cooper. (1) (Give testimony of explorers and soldiers.) 2. Indian bravery has very little moral quality. a. They always preferred ambush, surprise, and out- numbering. h. Their fortitude was that of animals at bay. 3. Cooper's bad Indians are not enough to prove the contrary. a. The general impression left by his books is that the Indians of those times were higher morally than in fact they were. 4. Missionary efforts among Indians of Cooper's time were generally fruitless. a. Conversions were superficial, and Indian Christianity mainly nominal. B. Cooper's Indians are superior mentally to the Indians of history, 1. The most characteristic mental trait of the actual Indians of those times was savage childishness. a. They could always be swayed by a little tinsel and glitter (1) They gave land for beads. 6. Their so-called dignity was mere lack of expression. 2. The actual Indian has never shown much foresight, a. His cunning is ofia low order. (1) He has been repeatedly and easily deceived. 6. He has never shown himself capable of large plans. CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION 185 3. So-called Indian oratory is no proof of the contrary. a, Indian speeches are remarkable principally for bombast. 4. Modem progress of Indians in education is no proof of the contrary. a. It was late and slow. (1) Very few full-blood Indians have advanced far even to-day. (2) The tendency to relapse to nomadic Ufe has reap- peared again and again. b. The Indians of the time of Cooper's novels had not even begun this progress. C. Cooper constantly casts over Indian life a false glamour of ro* mance. 1. Indian life in reality was narrow, mean, and sordid, a. It was a hand-to-mouth existence. (1) It made no provision for the future. (2) It was subject to famine and sickness. 6. It was conspicuously lacking in that noble freedom and security which are so attractive in Cooper's novels. (1) Indian hfe was not the life of boys on a camping trip. 2. The justification of Cooper's representations as making his books more interesting is not in point. a. This argument begs the question. (1) The question is not why the books are not true to life, but whether they are true or not. (N. B. This brief is merely an oviline of main considerations. Actual discussion of this subject requires that these should be supported by an abundance of details, on the one hand from Cooper's novels, on the other from recognized authorities on Indian life and character.) Proposition The United States should have a large navy. EXPOSITORY STATEMENT The proposition presupposes that our navy now is not large; I.e., it contemplates a change of policy looking toward the making 186 CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION of our navy approximately equal in numbers to that of any nation which is recognized as having, or planning to have, a large navy. It deals, not directly with the efficiency of our navy, but rather with its size. BRIEF FOR THE AFFIRMATIVE A. The objection on the ground of expense is insufficient, 1. A large navy would be our cheapest defense in the end. o. We must otherwise greatly increase our standing army. b. A large standing army is more costly than a large navy. c. Really adequate coast defenses, if we concede the possibility of making coast defenses adequate, would cost no less than a large navy. d. The cost of a large navy should be reckoned as insur- ance. (1) The damage that might be inflicted by a hostile fleet would be far more costly than the largest of navies. 2. The country is well able to bear the expense of a large navy. B. A large navy is demanded for the protection of our own coasts. 1. Our coast-line is miles. 2. We are open to attack from either the east or the west. 3. Our largest cities are on our coasts or navigable water- ways. 4. Coast defenses are inadequate against modem war vessels. 5. The Panama Canal will not meet this need. a. The canal itself will need protection in time of war. C. A large navy is demanded by our interests abroad, 1. The growth of our foreign interests has far outstripped that of our navy. 2. The old arguments against a large navy no longer hold good. a. We are no longer an isolated power. (1) Our foreign possessions have brought us into world politics. h» Our foreign commerce is enormous and increasing. CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION 187 3. Our distant possessions need protection. a. (Show that Hawaii needs protection.) b. (Show that the Phihppines need protection.) 4. The situation in the East may at any time become dan- gerous to us. a. The partition of China may precipitate a world war. 6. A war with Japan must be reckoned with. (1) Japan is very formidable, and is increasing in strength. (2) Japan is our commercial rival, especially in the trade with the East. (3) Japan has already clashed with us. (a) The dispute over Japanese children in the San Francisco public schools was no slight matter. (4) Japan is extremely proud and sensitive. 5. We need a large navy for the maintenance of the Monroe Doctrine. a. We must maintain this for our own interests. 6. We must maintain this for the interests of the South American states. c. We cannot maintain it without a large navy. (1) It is not a recognized part of international law. (2) The interests of other nations in South America are in some cases larger than ours. (a) In general, European nations have more com- merce with South America than we. (6) In particular, Germany has large interests in Brazil, not only through commerce, but through thousands of German colonists there. (3) The blockade of the ports of Venezuela by foreign warships is a case in point. D. The argument from the improbability of war is insufficient. 1. A large navy is the best safeguard of peace. 2. General international arbitration is still remote. a. The Hague Tribunal has no power to enforce its deci- sions. 3. Japan and Russia recently fought a terrible war. 188 CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION 4. We ourselves recently fought with Spain. 5. War with Japan is by no means improbable. a. (See above.) BRIEF FOR THE NEGATIVE A. A large navy is contrary to our historic policy, 1. We have never maintained a war footing. 2. The argument that our historic policy is antiquated in view of our increased foreign interests is unsound. o. We have entered and maintained these foreign inter- ests without protest from foreign nations. b. It has always been, and is now, an advantage to us in foreign relations that we are known to maintain a peace footing as distinct from the war footing of other nations. c. We still have no ''entangling alhances." d. Our foreign interests create no probability of war. (1) There is no evidence that any other power desires the Philippines. (2) We are not menaced l^y the partition of China. (a) This is made yearly less probable by the grow- ing strength of China. (b) Our only interest in China is in assisting to keep the ''open door." 3. The argument that the policy of a large navy is already justified by the recent increase of our navy is unsound. a. Our present navy bears about the same proportion to the large navies of other powers and to our total coast line and territory as before. 6. The negative may admit an increase of our navy proportional to the increase of our coast line and territory. (1) Such increase would not make our navy large, as navies go. B. Competition in number of ships with other powers would be either futile or burdensome, ^ 1. Unless we built ship for ship, like Japan, we should be little better off. CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION 189 a. We must choose between a peace footing and a war footing. 2. To build ship for ship involves great increase of taxation, o. Japan is ground down by taxes. (1) Taxes for military establishment keep down the standard of living in Japan. b. In 1907 the British navy cost more than half as much again as ours. c. The ship-for-ship policy opens the way for extrava- gance with public money. 3. The argument that a large navy promotes peace is in- sufficient. o. We may better seek peace by keeping a peace basis. (1) We have followed this policy successfully through all our history. (2) The Roman proverb, ''In time of peace prepare for war," does not apply. (a) In those warlike times and that warlike nation, peace meant merely the interval between wars. 6. A large navy fosters a warlike spirit. C. A large navy is not warranted by danger of war. 1. The tendency of our time is increasingly toward world peace. a. This is strikingly shown by the Hague Tribunal. (1) The argument that the Hague Tribunal lacks power is insufficient. (a) It has great and increasing influence. (6) It has made substantial progress in decreas- ing readiness to resort to war. 6. Arbitration treaties are more and more common. 2. The affirmative cannot show definite probability of a war with any foreign power. a. War with Japan was never probable. (1) The war talk was confined to sensational news- papers in both countries. (2) The idea was repudiated by the statesmen of both countries. 190 CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION b. War with Japan is highly improbable. (1) Japan would have nothing to gain and every- thing to lose. (2) Japan would hardly dare to send a fleet to our Pacific coast. (a) She has no coaling stations on this side of the Pacific. 3. The maintenance of the Monroe Doctrine does not de- mand a large navy. o. The doctrine is already respected and accepted. (1) It is generally recognized as best for international interests. D. A large navy can be built and maintained only at the sacrifice of more important interests, 1. The most important general interest of our country is the standard of living, and this is directly affected by taxation. 2. Without large increase in taxation a large navy could not be built except by hampering the development of our internal resources. a. E,g,f the federal government has now in hand large projects of irrigation. 3. Even our foreign relations can be served better without a large navy. a. There is great need of larger appropriations for our consular and diplomatic service. Proposition . United States senators should be elected by direct vote of the people EXPOSITORY STATEMENT (to be supplied by the student) SKELETON BRIEF FOR THE AFFIRMATIVE A. The essential and valuable functions of the Senate would be conserved under direct election. 1. (Enumerate the objeqjbs of the Senate in our system of government, one by one, so as to show that some of the most important are independent of the method of election.) CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION 191 2. The idea of the Senate as a check on the House has not been justified by experience. a. The Senate has sometimes been less conservative than the House. 6. The Senate, instead of merely checking haste and rashness in the House, has sometimes thwarted the mature judg- ment of the nation. B. Direct election would remedy certain positive evils in the Senate. 1. (Enumerate evils; e.g.y deadlocks in State legislatures, docility of the Senate to corporate interests.) 2. These evils arise from the method of election. 3. The proposed change would remedy them. C. Direct election would generally improve our politics, 1. The people desire it. 2. It would make the State legislatures more efficient for State business. 3. It would improve the character of the Senate. 4. The success of our system of government depends on the responsibility of the people, and of their representatives to them. SKELETON BRIEF FOR THE NEGATIVE A. Direct election is contrary to the Constitutional purposes of the Senate. 1. The peculiar value of the Senate depends on its indirect responsibility. a. Direct election would make it a second House. h, (Rebuttal of affirmative A.) B. Direct election is unnecessary. 1. The original idea of the Senate has been approved by history. 2. The evils alleged are not inherent in the method of election. a. They would remain under direct election to at least the same degree. C. Direct election is dangerous. 1. No pure democracy has ever survived. 192 CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION 2. New political evils would arise. 3. The present system best embodies the permanent strength of an effective democracy. Other outline briefs may be adapted from Ring wait's Briefs on Public Questions (Longmans, Green, and Co.). Adaptation of the Brief to Analysis of Exposition. — Every course of argument consists of two processes: (1) statement of facts, or explanation; (2) drawing conclusions from facts, or inference. The former is exposition; the latter, argu- ment proper. In the former we are telUng what the facts are, and grouping them only to make clearer what every one admits concerning them; in the latter we are grouping the facts to show what we believe, and wish others to believe, that they prove. By this is not meant that every argument must begin with exposition, nor that exposition and argu- ment are entirely distinct. Exposition may, indeed, be used as a separate and introductory stage before argument proper begins; and many disputes are clarified by a pre- liminary agreement as to what the undisputed facts are and what the words mean in which they are discussed. But, in general, statement of facts and inference from facts, exposition, and argument, are constantly intermingled. As we find facts, we can hardly help drawing conclusions from them; as we argue, we must often stop to explain. Nor should we try to be always either purely expository or purely argumentative. This would unduly hamper the natural impulses of thought and speech. But we should clearly distinguish. We should know when we, or our opponents, are stating facts; when we or they are drawing conclusions. Otherwise we cannot analyze a course of argument or discern how to meet it. We must not let pass, in reading or debate, as mere statement of fact what conceals an inference that ^ may be disputed. Statement and proof may be mingled; but they must not be confused. CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION 193 What is put forward as mere statement of facts sometimes implies certain inferences that ought to be challenged. Every one who wishes to gain power in argument must accustom himself to distinguish between the two. He must neither ignore, nor let others ignore, in debate this funda- mental distinction. He must learn to estimate facts as facts, according to the authority upon which they are asserted; inferences as inferences, according to the logic with which they are inferred. (For examples of pure exposition, see the preliminary statements at pages 182 and 185; for tests of the logic of inference, pages 203-206.) This distinction between exposition and argument proper affects the use, in one or the other, of the brief, or plan of analysis outUned above. When this plan is used merely to group facts for exposition, it does not require that every point should go to prove the point next above it. A sup- porting point in such a plan for expos^ion may be merely one part or aspect of its main point; or it may be merely an illustration, or even an exception. The plan need not even be cast throughout in sentences. The plan of this chapter, for instance, in the table of contents, though it could readily be cast in sentences throughout, would gain nothing thereby in clearness; for I am not trying to prove anything, only to explain. But when the brief system is applied to argument, then only one relation is admissible. Every fact must go to prove the inference under which it is grouped; every inference in turn must go to prove the larger inference next above it. In every case, the relation of larger part to smaller is the single relation expressed by the conjunction /or, until we come down to the facts. These are at the bottom of all. We must be sure that they are facts; else the superstructure of inference will fall. The very form of the plan, then, may show the difference be- tween stating and proving. 14 194 CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION In the following brief of a part of Burke's speech on Concilia- Hon with America notice this difference between the more expos- itory parts A and C, and the more strictly argumentative parts B and D. In the former, clearness is increased by expressing the supporting parts as concisely as possible in phrases; in the latter, the bearing of fact on argument, and of argument on larger argu- ment, needs to be shown exactly and fully by summing up each part in a sentence. When the whole composition is expository, the brief may be cast largely in phrases, like the expository parts A and C below; but where the bearing would be in the least doubtful, the brief should resort to sentences even in exposition. BURKE'S SPEECH ON CONCILIATION WITH AMERICA (1775) Proposition Great Britain should concede to the demands of her American col- onies for representation, A. Conciliation is warranted by the importance of the colonies, 1. in population, o. two millions. 2. in commerce. a. now almost equal to the total commerce of Great Britain seventy years ago. b. in Pennsylvania increased fifty-fold in the same period. 3. in agriculture. 4. in fisheries. B. Force will not answer, 1. It is temporary. 2. It is uncertain. 3. It impairs its own object. 4. It is contrary to experience. C. Conciliation is demanded by an American spirit of liberty rooted in ^ 1. English descent. 2. provincial assemblies. CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION 196 3. dissent in the northern colonies. 4. slave-owning in the southern colonies. 5. fondness for legal studies. 6. remoteness. D. Conciliation is the only feasible plan, 1. Only three courses are open: a. to remove the causes of the American spirit of liberty. b. to prosecute it as criminal. c. to comply with it as necessary. 2. To remove the causes is impossible. a. To stop grants of land would be idle. (1) There is plenty of land already granted. (2) The people would occupy without grants. 6. We cannot alter their descent. c. To check their commerce would be preposterous. (1) We should thereby harm ourselves. d. To repress their religion is impracticable. (1) The only means to this end are execrable. (2) Such means would also be insufficient. e. To enfranchise the Southern slaves would not serve our turn. (1) The slaves might refuse. (2) Their masters might arm them. /. We cannot pump the ocean dry. 3. To prosecute the colonies as criminal is impracticable. a. We cannot indict a whole people. b. It would subvert the very idea of our Empire. c. We should have to be both prosecutor and judge. d. It is inconsistent with our procedure toward Massa- chusetts. /. Our penal laws against the colonies have failed. E. etc. (to be carried out by the student). Draw up a brief for a speech or essay on The Ideal Public School Building. The* theme being mainly expository, most of the divi- sions may be expressed in words or phrases; e.g.: 196 CLEARNESS IN COMPILATION D, Ventilation, 1. natural. a. rooms not crowded, 6. large windows, 2. artificial. o. etc. But use sentences wherever you argue a disputed point, and wher^ ever else the bearing might not otherwise be quite clear; e.g,: F. Beauty, 1. The objection that beauty is not necessary is insufficient. a. American public schools are not confined strictly to necessaries. (1) Some studies have little practical use. (2) Playgrounds are not strictly necessary. b. Beauty in the school building is of benefit to the whole community. (1) Most of our citizens are educated in public schools. (2) Daily association with meanness and ugliness narrows the mind; with things of beauty, expands the mind. (3) The benefit is greatest to the poorer children. (a) These see little beauty at home. (4) School buildings ought to be made beautiful on the same principle by which public parks and monuments are made beautiful. 2. Beauty of architecture is entirely consistent with utility. a. etc. 3. (expository) Suggestions for beauty of decoration. Draw up a brief for a speech or essay on one of the following; The Ideal College Dormitory. The Harvard Union. The Princeton System of Preceptors. Student Management of Athletics. The Y. M. C. A. in the Colleges. Co-education in State Universities. The Study of the Fine Arts in College. (For other subjects see Chapter vii.) CHAPTER VII CLEARNESS AND INTEREST IN EXTENDED ARGtT- MENT AND EXPOSITION For themes in connection with the first part of this chapter, see the head note to Chapter vi. Themes in connection with §2 should he expositions as prescribed in the text. 1. THE ORAL PRESENTATION OF FACTS Brief and Paragraph Plan. — The kind of plan that we have been considering, the index plan or brief, is a plan of analysis. Its purpose is to classify the results of study for reference, not to arrange them in the best order for presentation. This latter purpose it rarely serves well. Sometimes such a plan of analysis is used without any intention of speaking or writing, merely for study. Stu- dents use it, for instance, to classify their notes of reading in history. More often it is used in preparing to speak or write; but in that case it is only the second stage of prepara- tion, not the final stage. The first stage is to take notes; the second stage is to classify notes; the final stage is to make a plan, not merely for classification, but for effective presentation; and this last is a plan by paragraphs. No one can argue effectively by merely speaking off, or writing off, his brief as it stands. To rehearse a brief, merely putting in connectives, is to be formal and dull. The brief tells a de- bater just how a certain fact or argument comes in. He knows where it is among his notes. He can put his finger on it. But the brief does not always tell him at what point 197 198 ARGUMENT in the course of his speech he can use that fact most effect- ively; it does not determine the order of his paragraphs. The brief, for instance, always puts the main conclusion first, the supporting reasons afterwards; but often, for effect- ive speaking or writing, the better order would be just the reverse; often we gain by leading up to a conclusion rather than by announcing it before we prove it. Again, the brief takes no account of iteration and of bringing home at the close. Nor does the brief tell always how to proportion the space. One of the subordinate points in the brief — subor- dinate in the sense of proving a point indirectly — may de- serve more time than a main point. The main points, of course, are the main things to bring out; but, since they depend on the reasons written under them in the brief, it sometimes takes longer to establish these supporting reasons than to draw the conclusion. Finally, the brief is often too elaborate to speak from. A speech needs a fairly simple plan in order to be followed. All this means, not that the brief system is defective, but that it is not meant to speak or write from. It is adapted rather to studying a subject than to presenting. No single plan can thoroughly well serve both these purposes when the reading required is at all extensive. Therefore it is better, after making a brief, to make also a paragraph plan. The brief has settled the classification; the paragraph plan will settle the order of presentation. Nor is the making of two plans a waste of time. Really it is economical to do these two things separately instead of jumbling them together. And the two plans will not differ entirely. The order of main points will probably be the same in both; it is only the supporting points that are likely to need rearrangement^ But the paragraphs should be planned without reference to the numbers of the brief, A with all its sub-headings may, perhaps, go well into one ARGUMENT 199 paragraph, while 1 under B, perhaps, needs a paragraph to itself, or even h under 2 under B, In planning paragraphs we are planning stages by which to lead our hearers along steadily. We are thinking solely of the coherence of the whole and of the amplification^ needed by a given part. By disregarding the divisions of the brief, which were made for another purpose, we set ourselves free to think solely of effective order. First, plan a brief to classify the notes; then plan the paragraphs by which to carry on the speech. Review Chapter iii. Compare the following plan by paragraphs with the brief of the same subject at page 175. Licenses from (he Board of Aldermen should be required of aU newsboys in this city, I. Many of our newsboys are too young to work on the streets without harm to health and education. II. The harm to their morals still more emphatically urges some restriction upon this form of child labor. III. The newsboys' parents are generally too poor or too igno- rant to protect them. IV. Therefore the State must step in, just as it does in the case of child labor in factories. V. Without this further restriction, the wise law of compulsory schooling is in many cases of no avail. VI. The risk of hardship to individuals is slight. VII. The ordinance proposed is wiser than a general law set- ting an age limit. VIII. The additional burden of taxation is nothing compared to the gain of the boys. IX. The strongest consideration is that imless we save these boys now, we shall endanger our whole conununity in the future. Make a similar plan by paragraphs * for one of the subjects of the specimen briefs in the preceding chapter. Such a written plan by paragraphs will be required as a preliminary to each 1 See pages 74-82. 200 ARGUMENT theme. The progress of thought from paragraph to paragraph should be shown by the conjunctions or repeated words that con- nect the subject-sentences m the plan. Statement and Proof. — We have seen (page 192) that every course of argument consists of two processes: (1) state- ment of facts, or exposition; and (2) inference from facts, or argument proper. Though these two processes are naturally intermingled, they must be distinguished. Moreover, state- ment of a set of facts without argument, statement con- fined strictly to exposition, is sometimes of distinct value to both speaker and hearer. There are cases in which we like to have before us whatever is admitted by both sides to be fact, before we consider how each side uses these facts in argument. There are cases in which it is an advantage to prepare the way for our arguments by preliminary exposi- tion. And even where this is unnecessary as a distinct part of the presentation, it is often profitable to the speaker himself as an exercise in discrimination. The ability to discriminate between statement and proof, between what is admitted and what must be argued, is directly cultivated by practice in writing such a statement of facts ^s will be admitted to be free from bias. Such practice, by clearing the ground, helps a debater to see the main issues. By putting aside what he may take for granted, he comes more squarely face to face with what he must establish and what he must overthrow. As part of preparation for a debate on the justifiability of our war with Mexico, draw up a purely expository summary of im- portant events before the formal declaration of hostilities. Include no event that is not accepted as a fact by two standard histories. Arrange this summary in the order of time. Mention two points on which authorities differ as to facts, or on which the facts are not surely known; and indicate as to each of these points which authority you decide to follow. Now analyze this material in a brief, without grouping in such a way as to argue. ARGUMENT 201 In addition to the subjects suggested in the previous chapter, the following may be used for practice in preliminary statement of facts with a view to clearing the ground by making plain the main issue or issues. 1. General Gates should have been, as he was, put in supreme command of the American forces before the battle of Saratoga. 2. Washington should have pardoned Major Andre. 3. The execution of Mary Queen of Scots was justifiable. 4. High-school secret societies should be abolished. 5. The Fifteenth Amendment to the Constitution has been justified. 6. The United States Post Office should materially increase the weight-limit for merchandise, and decrease the rate. The Three Main Ways of Arguing. — To show that elec- tions to the United States Senate should be by direct popular vote, it may be argued: 1. from general principle, that our government is based on the idea of popular representation; 2. from facts, that the present indirect method of elec- tion keeps senators from being directly amenable to the will of the people of their states; 3. by comparison, that the British House jof Lords shows the danger of a privileged body able to obstruct legislation demanded by a large majority of the people. These are three fundamental ways of arguing. The first, arguing from general principles, is called deductiori; the second, arguing from the facts under investigation, is called induction; the third, arguing from a parallel case outside, is called analogy. To apply these three ways on the other side of the same question, it may be argued: 1. by deduction from general principles, that the under- lying ideas of our Constitution with regard to representation are (a) to represent the states as states, not merely the people as a whole, and (b) to maintain a system of checks and balances; 202 ARGUMENT 2. by induction from the facts under investigation, that the Senate has not shown itself less amenable than the House to the will of a majority of the nation; 3. by analogy of a parallel case outside, that the French Senate shows the value of a second chamber in a representa- tive repubUcan government. Deduction, — All these three ways of arguing are so useful that, instead of troubling ourselves as to which is best, we should try to use all. It is well to cultivate all ways of arguing. But the three ways are not equally good for every case. Some propositions depend more on deduction because, the facts being imperfectly known or hard to find, we are thrown back for our decision on the general principles or ideas under which we have come to group our previous knowledge. Other propositions depend more on induction because, the question being new, our previous ideas give us comparatively little guidance. As to analogy, though it may be used in almost any discussion, it is never sufficient by itself. So again, using all ways in a given discussion, we may use them at different stages of the preparation. Deduction, argument from previous ideas, is most useful ^ in~looking ahead, as we sit down to think. It helps us to / question ourselves before we advance to another stage of reading (see page 166). Being argument from reflection, it \J is most useful as preliminary or preparatory. It forecasts the probabilities of the case. Consequently its besetting danger is prejudice. As we thus survey a question in advance by the light of our general ideas, we must not try to settle it in advance finally. We must not shut our eyes to other light. We must keep our minds open. With this caution, we may always profit by arguing deductively in advance and between the stages of research. j In form, deduction is somewhat like that method of paragraph ARGUMENT 203 ject as a general principle, and carries it out by iteration. Only, in deductive argument the general principle is not merely re- * stated; it is proved. The strictest form of deductive argument is always reducible to a syllogism. A syllogism, or deductive summary, is as follows: Major Premise. All immigrants must be naturalized in order to vote. Minor Premise. This immigrant has not been naturalized. Conclusion. This immigrant cannot vote. In ordinary conversation we say simply: This immigrant can- not vote because he has not been naturalized. This is the form of argument followed in proving a proposition in geometry. The argument starts from a truth, already estab- lished and accepted, called the major premise. It proceeds to prove that the particular proposition in question, the minor premr- ise, comes within the scope of the major premise. The concLw- sion follows as a matter of course J A deductive argument is thus seen to consist of proving that the particular case in point comes under a general law. In this sense it argues from the general to the particular. Iii matters of ordinary debate we cannot estab- lish a case entirely by deduction, for the simple reason that we cannot get an undisputed major premise. Otherwise the ques- tion would not be under discussion; it would no longer be a ques- tion, for it would be already settled. But we can strengthen a case deductively by arguing from principles which, if not accepted universally, are yet accepted very generally, and then go on to argue inductively also. Moreover, though we cannot carry on a course of argument by syllogisms without becoming formal and tedious, we can apply the syllogism very effectively as a test. Whenever you are doubtful of a deductive argument, your own or your opponent's, sum it up in a syllogism. Then you can see what it amounts to. Then you can discover whether its major premise is really a generally accepted principle or merely a loose, popular notion; whether its minor premise really follows from the major premise or not. Test the following by putting each into a syllogism: 1. Don't trust him. All Indians are tricky. .V 204 ARGUMENT 2. I vote against this bill for a National Health Bureau on the ground that the United States has no right to interfere with purely- local affairs. 3. Cuba ought to be annexed to the United States because Spanish American peoples are incapable of stable self-government. 4. Employers ought to be liable for compensation to all em- ployees injured in the course of employment, because such acci- dents are part of the inevitable risks of industry. 5. Queen Elizabeth's laws against Roman Cathohcs were wrong because they amounted to persecution. 6. I will not pay my fare unless you give me a seat. Induction. — Induction goes the other way about. , It^ marshals the facts collected on the note-slips so as to make them estabUsh conclusions. It^ groups facts to make proof. Here are two processes, both requiring care. First, the separate facts must be vouched for by good authority (page 169); secondly, the grouping of them must not be forced, but always so natural as to be readily accepted. To this latter end we must have facts enough to make any disputed conclusion clear, and we must be ready to explain any well- known facts that seem exceptions. In other words, we must beware of concluding hastily, and we must take due account of the other side. For instance, in reading about strikes we have found that in a street-railway strike at Waterbury, Conn., the strikers resorted to violence, that violence also occurred in the strike of steel-workers at Homestead, Pa., and again in a miners' strike in Colorado. If we conclude that strikes always lead to violence, our opponents will bring 17* at least as many instances to the contrary. For one of the greatest services of debate is to expose hasty inductions. The caution for inductive argument, then, is, Don't con- V elude hastily from a few f^cts. Consider the facts that make against your conclusion as well as the facts that make for it; and modify your conclusion accordingly. Word the ARGUMENT 205 argument under which you group your facts so carefully that no one can fairly object. When the family wash has been delayed by rain on three successive Mondays, don^t say, It always rains on Monday. Don't jump at conclu- sions. In form, inductive argument is somewhat like that method of paragraph development which supports the paragraph subject by instances. Only, m inductive argument, the instances must not merely show that the conclusion is sometimes true; they must establish a probability that it is true usually, as a matter of cause and effect. In using instances for this purpose, a very effective Tdrm of induction is to prove by absence as well as by presence. We may try to show that the United States should retain con- trol of Cuba by giving instances of prosperity imder our control, such as increase of commerce, improvement of roads and schools, etc. If we can also show that these have declined when the United States withdrew, the inference of the advantage to Cuba of our control will be greatly strengthened. Analogy. — Analogy is insufficient to establish proof by itself, because the single historical case on which the argu- ment is based is Ukely to reveal some points of difference. In arguing that Cuba will gain more in the end by working out its own civilization independently than by being ab- sorbed into the United States, the analogy may be used of the Germans in the days of Julius Caesar. Though un- doubtedly the Germans might have gained more in civiliza- tion at first by being absorbed, hke the Gauls, into the Roman Empire, yet by keeping their independence they developed into one of the greatest peoples of history. Thi" is an effective analogy. Yet an opponent would urge tiiv. racial differences between the Germans and the Cubans, and the differences of government between the Roman Empire and the United States. This does not mean that argument by analogy should be abandoned; it does mean 206 ARGUMENT that the analogy should be real and fundamental, not merely plausible, and further that analogy is best used, not as a main reliance, but in support of other forms of argument. Generally, deduction is most useful in preliminary survey; induction, for the main work of proof; analogy, to enliven the presentation. But analogy has the further use of en- hancing and clarifying exposition. Thus it also strengthens argument indirectly by bringing the necessary explanation home. Burke makes good argumentative use of analogy in citing the case of Wales to prove the advisability of concili- ation with America. -h ^i. SUMMARY Deduction: drawing down principles; arguing from reflec- tioA, or out of one's head; looking forward; arguing from general fjrinciples. 2. Indicction: drawing up evidence; arguing from investiga- tion, or out of books; looking backward; arguing from particular f4cts. jB»^ 3. Analogy: drawing a parallel; arguing by comparison; arguing tnat the present is like the past in a particular aspect; arguing from history. Speaking from Outline. — Better than Reading or Memo^ rizing, — For any kind of speech, the final stage of prepa- ration had better be by speaking. The plan by paragraphs once settled (page 197), that paragraph which promises to be easiest may be developed orally, spoken off consecutively from beginning to end. This first oral form, though it may be rough and halting, will show whether the discussion of that point is full enough to be clear and lively enough to be interesting. Better still, it will begin the habit of public speaking by giving^he sense ^f actually addressing an audi- ence. Imagine l;iearers before you. Try by all means to make the point clear. Exemphfy, taking up a card now ARGUMENT 207 and then if there is need to cite authority; iterate and con- trast, putting the idea in different ways until it must be clear; illustrate by some familiar and interesting parallel; and close by repeating the point emphatically.^ Instead of stopping to choose words or correct sentences, speak straight on to the end, slowly, but without long pauses. Then, after thinking how to express the point more exactly or strongly, speak the whole paragraph a second time. In this way each paragraph may be developed orally in spare moments. In addition, the whole speech should be spoken through without interruption from beginning to end. This gives opportunity to make sure that the close is clear and strong; the opening, pointed and interesting. At this point some speakers enlarge the paragraph outline by writing out the beginning and the end of each paragraph, to make the co- herence of the whole sure by paragraph emphasis.^ Service- able for beginners, such revision is by no means necessary in all cases. The essential method is to prepare the speech by speaking. The result is that the speaker is ready, posi- tively because he knows exactly what he is to say, negatively because he is not bound to recall it in certain fixed words. For by the method of oral development, though no para- graph will be said twice in exactly the same words, the whole will be at command. The important words will be readily remembered; and, what is of greater consequence, the speaker will be free to look his audience in the eye, confident of each thought, and of its place and method of development, and ready to adapt his words as he sees oppor- tunity. The way to learn to speak is by speaking. It is not by writing. To write a speech out in full ajter it has been prepared orally is excellent practice in revision; to write it out in full before it is spoken will probably con- i For these means of paragraph development, see pages 7-13. > Pages 83-92. 208 ARGUMENT demn the writer either to read it aloud or to learn it by heart. Neither reading nor memorizing gives much practice in public speaking. Neither develops the real power of the platform, the power to appeal to an audience directly. In reading aloud, the manuscript seems to come between speaker and hearers, and often gives an impression of unre- aUty, as if the words were those of a third person. In speaking from memory, the necessity of recalling the exact words distracts the speaker's attention from his hearers. He is not directly pleading with them; he is reciting to them; and they quickly feel the difference. It distracts his atten- tion also from his own thoughts and feelings; for these he is no longer uttering spontaneously, but recalling in certain fixed expressions. No student will gain much power in public speaking so long as he confines himself to writing. Insures Adaptation and Emphasis, — The preparation of a speech by speaking it several times from a paragraph outline has other marked advantages. At the very first trial it gives confidence by accustoming the speaker to the sound of his own voice. It takes off the edge of his first stage fright. Secondly, it teaches adaptation to the audience. Phrases that look well enough on paper often sound inap- propriate or insincere when they are uttered. Speaking in preparation leads the speaker to adopt such language as he can put his heart into. Thirdly, it reveals the importance of paragraph emphasis as a means of making the whole coherent. This is much more important for speaking than for writing; and its importance is revealed by the act of speaking. As he speaks, one feels that he must not leave a point until he has cHnched it; he feels that before passing to the next paragraph he must make his hearers quite sure of the paragraph that he is finishing. Insures Due Amplification^, — Again, the oral develop- ment of a paragraph leads naturally to greater fullness, A ARGUMENT 209 statement that might suffice for reading may be too bare for hearing. Feeling this lack as he speaks, one naturally tends to iterate more, or to use more examples and illustra- tions. Speech must be fuller than writing. The very process of speaking may reveal the advantage of omitting some points of the original plan for the sake of expanding others. Here is a direct gain. A speech prevails, not by numbers, but by fullness. The idea of covering many points is often misleading. A speaker really covers no more points than he can make his hearers cover. He gains nothing by hurrying them over others. Not many^ hut much, is the motto for speech-making. Better a few points impressed than many points hurried» An audience cannot hurry. To digest a point from hearing takes time. Preparation by speaking leads to due ampUfication. Insures Freedom and Spontaneity, — But perhaps the greatest advantage of oral preparation has been mentioned already. It is freedom. " He is not tied down to his notes " is often said in praise of a speaker, and justly. When is a man tied down to his notes, and when not? Notes are usually necessary. The only question is how to use them. If the speaker has not merely arranged his notes and made a plan by paragraphs, but also written out his speech in full before speaking it at all, then he must remember certain words or falter. They may be very good words; but, in- stead of helping him, they hinder. They divide his atten- tion. He is compelled to think of two things at once, what he is saying and how he is saying it. He runs the risk of seeming to recite words instead of urging things. If, as he looks at his hearers, he feels that one of his phrases is inap- propriate, or if his opponent in debate has taken an unex- pected turn, he cannot change that part for fear of breaking his thread of memory. If he forgets a word, he is confused and halted. But if he has composed his speech orally from 15 210 ARGUMENT outline, he is quite free to adapt. The outline being easily remembered if it be short, or held in the hand if it be long, he is confident. He cannot lose his way; and in speech- making that is the only real danger. To lose a word is nothing. As a matter of fact, a speaker usually remembers the words most important to remember, the key-words or clue-words. These become fixed in his mind by recurring in the oral preparation. But, even if the word escapes, the idea remains and will suggest another word. Thus being free from bondage to words, he develops a thought or a feeling with the force of real discussion, man to man. Look- ing his hearers in the eye — the speaker from memory is often afraid to do that — he makes his point sure. If he sees that it is not quite grasped, he iterates; if he finds his way of talking too dry, or too solemn, or too anything else, he changes his style. For oral preparation gives a speaker freedom by giving him flexibility. He is free to adapt. He can expand or contract or modify without faltering. His speech is not cut and dried. It keeps its freshness. True, not all these desirable qualities will be achieved at once or without pains; but the point is, how shall our pains be spent? Preparation and practice are necessary either way. To develop skill in public speaking, let the prepara- tion and practice be largely oral. Debate. — The Spirit of Debate, Reality, — The power of such direct, free speech is seen best in debate. The idea of debate is to make the truth prevail over opposition. To the audience it gives the opportunity of understanding a disputed matter fully by hearing both sides. Among all civilized peoples this is a recognized way of settling public questions. To the debater it gives the opportunity of fight- ing for his beliefs. In order to make his proposal prevail, he has to test both his own reasons and those of his opponents. Thus debate has a constant twofold value: it informs the ARGUMENT 211 audience in the liveliest possible way on matters in which they are concerned; and it develops in speakers a habit of clear and thorough thinking, careful investigation and forci- ble presentation. Loose thinking, lazy study, halting pres- entation, cannot withstand attack. Debate puts a man on his mettle. He has to know his reasons and find ways of recommending them. Fortifying his convictions, he learns how to make others at least respect them, and, if he suc- ceeds further, adopt them. Thus, of all kinds of public speaking, it calls most for thoroughness, directness, and practical adaptation. It is composition at close quarters. So the ideal debate is on a question really important to the audience, and by speakers really convinced of the side for which they speak. Then audience and speakers alike have the greatest zest possible to any form of composition, — eagerness for the outcome. Though these conditions are not possible always, they should always be sought, and they can be attained very often. First, the question should be of real interest. It need not be a burning issue; it need not be new; but it should have real interest for the debaters and the audience. Nothing takes more life out of debate than unreality. To fence with words over a matter that no one cares about, or without any audience to care, is uphill work. It may give a certain sort of practice; but at least as much practice can be had from live questions. What questions are alive depends on the community. Every large group of people, every town, every college, every society of more than a few members, buzzes with discussions. Whether these" are on political questions suggested by the newspapers, or on questions of history suggested by books, or on town questions about a hospital or as to the number of saloons, or on college questions, they are alive if people care to talk and hear about them. 212 ARGUMENT A little forethought can almost always put before the debating society a proposition that frames a live question. But there is need of a few cautions. Avoid questions of religion. Experi- ence shows that these usually gain little, and may lose much, by public debate. Avoid questions of taste or individual opinion. Thackeray is a greater author than Dickens — as to this and like questions no general agreefnent is possible. They are subjects rather for conversation than for debate. Avoid questions that involve difficult or complicated research. These compel a young debater either to hesitate from uncertain knowledge or to put on pedantic airs. Finally, be ready sometimes to speak on the side contrary to your convictions. This does, indeed, involve unreal- ity; but it is sometimes necessary, as when most of the debaters favor one side; and it gives valuable additional practice. Every debate necessitates study of the other side. To speak also for the other side increases one's ability to see both sides, and it weakens a habit of prejudice. Nor does it impair loyalty. Every one understands that a debater must sometimes be on the '* wrong" side. By doing his best for it he forces his opponents to defend his real convictions well. As to many questions pro- posed a debater will have no strong preference of side. His mind will be made up by the debate, not beforehand. When the prop- osition frames a matter of his conviction, he should always speak for that conviction if possible. Only by putting his heart in can he do his best. But if the other side lacks a man, he need not hesitate to be what the middle ages called the deviFs advocate. For even by this means he can show the defenders of his belief what they have to overcome. Courtesy. — The manners of all public debate are the manners of Congress. A debater always first addresses the chair. He refers to his opponents only in the third person: "The speaker who has just taken his seat con- tended/' "as the affirmative has asserted,'' "the second speaker for the negative, " " our opponents," etc. He avoids all language that might seem* to impute unworthy motives. He challenges a statement, not as "false" or "untrue," ARGUMENT 213 but as "mistaken," "unfounded," "unwarranted," etc. He faces, not his opponents, except rarely to put a question, but the audience. These are the courtesies of debate. Even in small companies they should not be thought irk- some; for without such restraint debate easily lapses into mere wrangling. A debate implies that certain disputants have agreed to hear one another out fully, in turn, without interruption, and to leave the decision to a third party. Debate ought to be always earnest and never angry. Quar- reling spoils the debate and affronts the audience. Without learning to give and take courteously, no one can learn to debate at all. To lose one^s temper is often to lose one's case. The formal courtesies of debate merely embody this vital principle of restraint. They safeguard the high value of debate by keeping it on a high plane. By prohibiting personalities they not only prevent quarreling; they also direct attention from the speakers to their arguments. They remind us that the object of attack is not the man, but the thing. They bid us rebut, not men, but arguments. They imply that the truth is more important than any man. The desire to display oneself, or to humble an opponent, should be sacrificed to the single aim of advancing one's cause. Thus the courtesies of debate will help the realization of its very object. Honesty, — Honesty, being assumed as necessary to all public dealings, might seem hardly worth a pause, were it not obscured sometimes by the idea of cleverness. Many thoughtless people see in debate little more than an exhibi- tion of sharp practice, evasion, twisting of words and jug- gling with facts. And some debaters seem to be more occupied with laying snares for their opponents, or with wriggling out of an issue, than with discussing squarely. They seem less anxious for a battle than for an ambush. Now the old maxim that honesty is the best policy is 214 ARGUMENT nowhere stronger than in debate. This does not mean that debaters must always disclose their whole case at the start; for their opponents may fairly be kept alert, and unex- pected turns are a fair test of strength. It does not mean that debaters should not expose to the full an adversary's omissions, inconsistencies, or hasty inferences; for the ex- posure of error directly advances truth and the very life of debate depends on making one's own side strong against the other. Truth will be best served in the end by each debater's doing his very best for his own side. A debater is responsible, not for the decision, which belongs to the judges, but for the strength of his own case. But honesty in debate does mean a purpose to meet fairly all issues fairly involved in the question. If a point advantageous to your opponents is not brought up by them, you are under no obligation to mention it. That is their lookout. Your duty is to your own side. But in preparation study, not how to evade your opponents' points by some twisting of the proposition, not how to meet them falsely by statistics that you know to be doubtful or insufficient, but how to meet them squarely. In preparation, again, study, not how much can possibly be admitted in a statement of facts by some ingenious interpretation, or some bias suspected in the audience or the judges, but how much should be admitted by an impartial student. Trickery is poor debate. It usually rebounds upon the tricksters; for their opponents will probably expose it, and it may even dim the value of their sound arguments by casting suspicion on their whole case. A spirit of fairness is of itself a recommendation. Trickery, even when it succeeds at the time, fails in the end. It fails by missing the larger and more important training of debate; and it tends to paralyze debate in that community by cutting a nerv«. The Method of Debate: Rebuttal, — The peculiarity of de- ARGUMENT 215 bate, as distinguished from other forms of pubKc speaking, is give-and-take. Debate has to be adapted, not merely, as all speaking must be adapted, to the audience, but also to op- ponents. Therefore it must be of all forms of public speak- ing the most flexible. The debater must have a two-fold readiness: (1) readiness to advance his case positively by urg- ing those arguments for it which are his part; (2) readiness to advance his case negatively by meeting those arguments against it which have been urged by his opponents. The former demands in general merely the same preparation as for any other form of public speaking. In particular it demands some leeway. Instead of planning for the whole time as- signed, the debater leaves a margin for answering his oppo- nents. Though a second speech is often provided for each speaker to this particular end, still he had better leave room for it also in his first speech. Thus the debate will be a de- bate throughout, and not in great part a series of set speeches. Grouping Rebuttal. — The latter kind of readiness is the readiness peculiar to debate. The life of debate is rebuttal. Preparation for rebuttal has been made already by the brief; for this not only includes answers to the probable attacks of the other side, but also shows the bearing of these answers on the whole case (page 179). Rebuttal, to be effective, must be more than a number of separate answers to a number of separate objections. Like the positive argu- ments, it needs to be grouped under main points. Thus the brief is most useful for reference in showing what a set of objections amounts to as a whole. By its aid a debater can more quickly group his rebuttal so as to show that the attack has left his case strong. Such readiness makes the rebuttal tell as a whole, not merely as a number of answers. Readiness to rebut consists, not merely in having many answers to many separate small points, but in knqwing how to group these effectively. 216 ARGUMENT Closing Positively, — For the same reason rebuttal should always close positively by showing that one^s own side remains strong. Thus it should seize any good opportunity of reviewing briefly the whole course of the debate, so as to show how attack has been resisted, or where it has been weak, and to expose any weakness of positive argument on the other side as a whole. In a word, rebuttal is not con- fined to details. It may well consider also the whole course of the argument. And this it must do in the final speech of rebuttal that closes the whole debate. For the close of a debate, hke the close of any other composition, must be strong and positive. ''How Bo You Knowf' and ''What of It r' — In detail the preparation for rebuttal is a process of analysis. It analyzes the argument of the opposition to see (1) what it is based on, and (2) what it amounts to. Rebuttal, that is, challenges an argument by asking either (1) How do you know? or (2) What of it? In other words, it challenges either (1) the evidence, the basis of facts, or (2) the inference, the conclusion drawn from the facts. In one way or the other, sometimes in both, rebuttal analyzes an argument to test its worth. Cuba should be annexed to the United States, In support of this proposition it is asserted that the Cubans are too illiterate for stable self-government. How do you know? Show us by authorita- tive statistics that the percentage of illiteracy among the Cubans is higher than among peoples having a stable self-government. Rebuttal never lets pass a general assertion; it always pins down to particulars, and to particulars well vouched. And what of it? Supposing a high percentage of illiteracy to be established, does that prove the advantage of annexation? Will Cuba lose or gain in the end by dealing with her own problem of illiteracy? Shall we lose or gain by annexing an Illiterate population? Subsidies should be granted to United States vessels engorged in trade with South ARGUMENT 217 America. In support of this proposition it is argued that trans- portation between the United States and South America is defi- cient. How do you know? From a senator's speech reported in a newspaper. But the number of sailings entered in the last report of the Commissioner of Navigation is 600; and the Commissioner's figures are superior as evidence to the senator's general assertion. And what of it? Suppose the number of sailings to be smaller than is desirable. Would increasing the number of ships be the best way of increasing the trade? Do ships produce trade; or does trade produce ships? How do you know? What of it? These questions in- dicate, not the actual words to be used in rebuttal, but the method of analysis. They mean that analysis for rebuttal must scrutinize both the evidence and the inference; that we must examine whether the facts are accurately stated and sufficient, and whether the reasoning from them is sound. As every argument consists of statement and proof (page 200), so rebuttal must analyze both. Listening, — Rebuttal, like all other argument in debate, should be real. It should meet the points that actually arise, not merely those that might arise. Preparation for debate must, indeed, forecast what the opponents will probably bring forward; but it can rarely forecast exactly what will be the opponents' line. The debater must be ready for anything that may reasonably arise; but he must actually meet what actually does arise. Else debate be- comes a series of set speeches. It ceases to be a combat. Skill in rebuttal comes largely from meeting opportunities. To this end the first means is a habit of Hstening. A good debater is a good listener. He is quick to seize what his opponent says — not the ten or dozen things that he says, but the single thing, or the few things, in which they may be all summed up (page 215). He learns to analyze and summarize as he hears. Now if, on the contrary, he is 218 ARGUMENT absorbed in what he proposed to say himself, or if the first point made by his opponent sets him to running nervously over his notes, he is likely to lose his chance. The only way to meet the actual opportunities of debate is to listen, to listen intently, to seize the main point, and then to attack that. This does not involve abandoning one's main line of argument. If that has been well considered, it will remain good. But no Hne of argument should be planned to fill the whole time. Space should be left for adjusting the in- cidental rebuttal according to the actual turn of the debate, and for expanding the positive argument where it is most heavily attacked. Far from abandoning his main line, a debater should never let himself be drawn aside; but to turn aside is very different from turning to meet an impor- tant argument. For any important argument in a well- prepared debate can always be brought to bear on one's own case. Such adjustment demands alertness; and alert- ness begins in cultivating a habit of listening. Only by listening can a debater learn to measure quickly which arguments demand most attention, and how to rebut them so as to show their relation to his own positive argument.* Working Together. — Debate combines into one effective whole, not merely many arguments, but several persons. Its success depends less on brilliant individual speeches than on the working together of all. It prevails by com- bination. "My colleague has shown you'' — "We have insisted throughout this debate" — words Hke these are not merely formal; they remind us that a debate must hang together. Division of labor should lighten research by making each debater responsible for one main group of arguments and the facts on which they are based. And in rebuttal each debater may well' take care of those points 1 Chapter i, pages 15, 29. SPEECHES ON OCCASIONS 219 which fall within his own field. But the case as a whole should be planned by all and familiar to each in its main bearings. Thus any speaker can briefly rebut an argument which will be met in detail by his colleague who has that group in charge, but which seems to demand some answer at once. Each debater, regarding himself as a part, should be ready to do whatever the debate needs. Though he may foresee a chance for eloquence on a certain point, he must not hesitate, if that point is slighted, to touch it Hghtly for the sake of spending himself where he is needed. Each debater should make his own points sure, and still be ready to help the others if the main attack falls on them. Thus debate has the force and the pleasure of fellowship in contest, y Speeches on Occasions. — Distinct from Speeches in Debate. ^■*" — Public speaking is of three general kinds, according as it is directed toward the past, the future, or the present. The first kind, looking at the past, is forensic oratory, the oratory of lawyers in court. Its object is to determine in a dispute just what happened, and whether it was right or wrong according to the law. The second kind, looking at the future, is deliberative oratory, the oratory of Congress and of all other public discussion. Its object is to determine in a dispute just what ought to be done; i.6., whether a pro- posed measure is wise or unwise, expedient or inexpedient. The third kind, occasional oratory, looking at the present, seeks to make an audience reaUze the significance of an occasion. The first kind is too technical for consideration here. The second has been discussed already under the head of debate. We must now consider the third, speeches on occasions. Perhaps the instances of this most familiar to Americans are Webster's first oration at Bunker Hill, and Lincoln's at the dedication of the cemetery at Gettysburg. At once . we recognize in these speeches a distinct kind of public 220 SPEECHES ON OCCASIONS speaking. The object is not so much to prove or to explain as to interpret. The speaker tries not so much to make us understand as to make us feel. His aim is to bring some event home, to mark some anniversary or other public commemoration upon our hearts, to improve, as the good old-fashioned phrase puts it, — to improve the occasion. It has long been our American habit to observe occasions in this way. The annual Fourth-of-July oration, indeed, has given way to noisier demonstrations; but the birthdays of Washington and of Lincoln, Memorial Day, Thanksgiving Day among Americans abroad, and other public holidays, are still annually commemorated by speeches. The un- veiling of a tablet, the completion of a monument, the presentation of a stand of colors or a loving-cup, school or college "commencements,'' are usually marked in the same way. The public dinners of a society would be otherwise incomplete. Many sermons are occasional speeches. In short, there are few days on which the newspaper does not report some speech on an occasion; and among such speeches we find some of the best oratory of any period. The Opportunity for Originality, — The fact that occa- sional speeches are often the best speeches of the best speakers seems at first to put them quite out of ordinary reach; and indeed it would be fatuous for an inexperienced speaker to put himself forward on a great occasion. On such occasions most of us had better listen. Nevertheless, there are occasions also for students, and they offer oppor- tunities for exercising oneself in ways not offered by debate. Graduation invites speeches, not only by distinguished visitors, but also by the graduates. Some message they too have for that day; and sometimes they may bring it home the better because they speak to their own class- mates. Nor is there any presumption in putting before one's classmates or society some significance felt in Memorial SPEECHES ON OCCASIONS 221 Day or on a lesser occasion of general or local commemora- tion. How can an occasional speech be original? Evidently not by conveying new information. That would usually be impossible for a speaker of any age; for the occasion is usually old enough, either the anniversary of an event often commemorated, or similar to a hundred other occasions. Every Commencement, for instance, is much like every other Commencement. But every audience is somewhat different from every other audience; every community has some interests peculiar to itself or to the time of speaking; and every speaker sees through his own eyes. There is the chance for originality. The subject may be old; but it has never before been presented to those people by that speaker, and this year gives it a significance unthought of last year. The Need of Bringing Home, — Such occasional speeches are quite possible, and are very valuable training in adapta^ ticn. Especial attention should be given to the tone, or manner; for the chief merit of an occasional speech is ap- propriateness. Keeping a clear progress of thought, avoid dividing the speech in the formal manner proper to debate. The commemoration of a great man should never be a chro- nological summary of his life. Besides being tedious, that is too much like reciting from the cyclopedia. Select such aspects of his character and career as appeal most to you and promise to touch the audience at that particular time. Occasional speeches give an opportunity, impossible in de- bate, for description. There is no better way of impressing the democratic spirit of Lincoln, for instance, than by de- scribing certain incidents. The younger the audience, the more room for description. The constant aim of an occa- sional speech is to rekindle interest in the subject by adapt- ing it to the audience and the time. Its originaUty consists 222 SPEECHES ON OCCASIONS in a message felt by the speaker and brought home to the hearers. SUGGESTIONS FOR OCCASIONAL SPEECHES (These suggestions should be freely adapted to the audience and to the speaker. They are meant merely to provide some defi- nite directions in this wide field.) 1. A PRESENTATION Occasion. You have been chosen to present to the academic community a gift made by class subscription, or to the succeeding class some traditional symbol. Theme. The debt of the class to the community. Paragraphs — I. (Addressed to the audience.) Each class in turn grows to feel its debt to the community: (a) to maintain the com- mon spirit, (6) to enhance it by some individual contribution. This occasion is the commemoration of loyalty to the institution. II. We feel that we have received here especially . . . The contribution that we have tried to make is . . . III. (Addressed to the representative who receives.) This is the significance of our gift. It symbolizes the continuity and growth of what we have found best here. We commend it to you as a symbol of loyalty. 2. THE OPENING OF THE NEW PUBLIC LIBRARY Occasion, You are chosen to address the class on the comple- tion of the new public library. Theme. What the new library means to the community. Paragraphs — I. The Occasion: significance of the new build- ing as marking the public spirit of the community (or the gener- osity of a donor) ; beauty and convenience of the building. II. The Library as a Community Center: equal opportunity for all, irrespective of income, race, or creed; instances of value to foreign immigrants, to the **grarfge'' or other local society, to courses of lectures, or to other local uses. SPEECHES ON OCCASIONS 223 III. The Library for General Education or Culture: broadening influence of comparative study. IV. The Library for Education in a Trade. Rising in the world, which is the natural ambition of every American, depends on broadening one's outlook and increasing one's special knowledge; e.g., the library gives opportunities to study designing for textiles, or the strength of modern building materials (reinforced concrete). Choose instances appropriate to the community. V. The Library for Education in Politics. Demagogues and partisans of wild schemes can get little hold on a man who reads for himself. Our government draws its strength from the edu- cated intelligence of its citizens. 3. THE READING OF ROMANCE Occasion. The class having just finished the study of . . • you are chosen to speak on the value of such reading in education. Theme. Romances of chivalry are worth the study of young Americans to-day. Paragraplis — I. ... is typical of class of stories dealing with '*old, forgotten, far-off things and battles long ago." Give other instances, and describe typical scenes. II. Many people have no taste for such reading, because it is not practical. Show wherein it is not practical. How much of our study is practical in the sense of bearing directly on the business of life? What is the rest for? Contrast these two fields of study. III. Stories, being primarily for pleasure, belong mainly to ''outside" or leisure reading. Such reading may be merely lazy; but it need not be. Many stories have a direct bearing on con- duct; e.g., stories of ''real life." Give instances. But romances do not deal with real life. They show us not so much what men and women are as what they wish to be. They "take us out of ourselves." IV. Thus the value of romance is in making us love noble ideals. Give instances of the chivalrous ideals of romance: generosity, bravery, courtesy, devotion to a cause or a person. Show the value of such ideals in our actual modem life. 224 SPEECHES ON OCCASIONS 4. ARBOR DAY Occasion, At a public tree-planting you are chosen to speak on the significance of this anniversary. Theme, Every citizen should do his part in preserving and developing the nation ^s resources. Paragraphs — I. Show the original wilderness wealth of this country by picturing the scene of the tree-planting as it must have looked a hundred and fifty years ago. Wasteful methods, inculcated by the necessity, in the early days, of clearing land, have lasted down to our own day. Show how our forests are wasted, and describe a scene of wasting. II. Show how we all lose by this waste. Increased cost of building and fuel means increased rent, etc. Damage by freshets and loss from idle or ruined land, etc. (describe), increase the price of remaining land, taxation, etc. III. Arbor Day is a national protest against this waste. Show what the national government (Forest Service) is doing to make trees, as well as wheat and corn, add to the pubUc wealth. We must use, not abuse. IV. Our share in this great work is to make our generation under- stand its importance, to increase public sentiment. Our tree- planting is a symbol. We are the citizens of to-morrow. 5. RECLAIMING BOYS FOR CITIZENSHIP Occasion, You are appointed to address the class on the George Junior RepubHc. Theme, A system of self-government has succeeded in making good citizens out of '* hoodlums." Paragraphs — I. One of the most serious social problems to-day concerns wayward boys in cities. Describe the life of young marauders — damage to property and other petty crimes. More dangerous is the education in lawlessness. These boys, to whom every policeman is an enemy, are our future voters. II. The boys not altogether to blame: irksome restrictions of city life, no room for free play, \afik of good home influences. Describe the day and night of a poor boy in a great city. Mr. SPEECHES ON OCCASIONS 225 George's notion is that a boy with wit and energy enough to be bad has energy enough to be good; i.e., that he is simply per- verted. III. The public remedy of reform schools and houses of correc- tion fails (a) by being applied after the boy has already become a criminal, and (6) by herding him with other criminals imder the repression of prison discipline. Boys often come out of reform schools worse than they went in. IV. Mr. George's first experiment was to give the bad street- boy room by taking him into the country. Compare the value of "fresh-air" expeditions. Describe the country at Freeville, N. Y., Mr. George's colony. The moral value of abundant and healthful physical exercise. V. This solution proving insufficient, Mr. George then organized by degrees a complete system of self-government, on the theory that what such boys need most to learn is responsibility to the community. Thus law is found to be, not arbitrary repression from above, but sacrifice by the individual for the good of all. His first application of this was in establishing the rule that every member of the community must pay for the benefits of the com- munity by work. The boys, soon finding that idlers were a bur- den, very effectually made everybody work. VI. The system has been worked out in every detail of a self- governing democracy, legislation, judiciary, police, banking and currency, etc., all conducted by the boys themselves. Describe in detail, and tell stories of particular cases. VII. The results have been successful almost without excep- tion. . Describe and conclude. 6. THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY Occasion. The candidacy (or the election) of a fearless leader. Theme. The district attorney in our modern municipal politics is "the tribune of the people." Paragraphs — I. Describe a significant prosecution famihar to your hearers. Show by this and other instances the present im- portance of the district attorney. II. This invites the legitimate poHtical ambition of young 16 226 SPEECHES ON OCCASIONS Americans, and in fact has given opportunity to rise from poverty and obscurity (instances) to political eminence. III. But the opportunity for pubhc service is much greater than the opportunity for private ambition. The district attorney can . . . (instances). IV. Thus the quahties demanded are . . . V. In such ways and by such qualities the district attorney embodies the rising popular desire to purify municipal pohtics. 7. ITALIANS AS AMERICANS Occasion. The Itahans of the city having placed a statue of Columbus in one of the public squares, you are asked to express the significance of this action. Theme. Our Italian immigrants are becoming .a valuable part of our social and political life. Paragraphs — I. Race prejudice is often ignorant and always un-American. Two generations ago some advertisements added "No Irish need apply." Now these same Irish, who have mean- time become thoroughly Americanized, to the great gain of the repubhc, speak with scorn of "Dagos." II. Every one recognizes the picturesqueness added to Amer- ican life by the Italians (describe). III. Though the bulk of Italian immigrants is of the class of day-laborers, this class is very important to the development of the country, and in places actually necessary. IV. But thousands' of Italians have already advanced into pursuits demanding greater skill, and have thus further developed our industries (instances with description). V. The tendency to congregate in city colonies is (a) not the Itahan's fault, and (d) steadily counteracted by agencies of dis- tribution and assimilation, e.g., public schools. Even the city Italians were in San Francisco among the first to re-establish them- selves after the great fire. VI. This statue, the gift of city ItaUans, is striking evidence of American feeling and of good will to co-operate for civic advan- tage. We welcome it cordially. ^ (The idea of this speech may be adapted to other races.) SPEECHES ON OCCASIONS 227 8. PITTSBURGH Occasion. A public commemoration of some amiiversary. Theme, Pittsburgh is typical of the industrial development of the United States. Paragraphs — I. To our elder citizens Pittsburgh seems to have grown almost by magic. Compare descriptively {e.g., using an old print) the Pittsburgh of a himdred years ago with the Pittsburgh of to-day. II. This development came partly from natural advantages of situation (enumerate, and refer to typical stages of history de- scriptively). III. It came more from American enterprise (typical instances). IV. The dangers arising in this rapid development are also typical: corruption in municipal politics arising from indifference to civic duty, ill feeling of labor toward capital, etc. V. Pittsburgh shows the power and the will of our citizens to solve these problems: beneficent use of wealth for the establish- ment and maintenance of public institutions (Compare the speech outlined on pages 86-88), mimicipal reform. VI. Pittsburgh shows the capacity of American hfe for beauty as well as truth. (Describe Pittsburgh as a center of music, paint- ing, and handicraft, and show, with historical instances, the rela- tion of industrial development to artistic development). (The topic may be adapted to other typical American cities. The following topics are merely sketched.) 9. THE HAGUE TRIBUNAL I. Exposition. II. Ideas on which the Hague Tribunal is founded; spread ot the idea of arbitration. III. Value in reducing the evils of war and the tendency to war. IV. Obstacles. V. Promise for the future. 10. THE CALIFORNIA MISSIONS I. Describe Santa Barbara, or another typical mission. II. Historical significances. 228 SPEECHES ON OCCASIONS III. Survival of a past civilization. IV. Significance and value in modern life. 11. LEXINGTON DAY Occasion, The anniversary of the battle of Lexington. Theme. A few brave men, fighting for their convictions, turned the course of history for generations. Describe the boulder on Lexington green, and its inscription, showing why Captain Parker's words were memorable. Picture the scene on that day. Show the immediate effects on the col- onies, and the Lexington spirit in later events of the Revolution. Set forth the Lexington spirit fully with illustrations. Apply it to our own time. 12. THE OUT-OF-DOOR CURE An exhibition being held in one of the public buildings to show the best methods of preventing and checking the ''great white plague," you are asked to explain the idea and details, and to bring home their importance to the class. 13. NATHAN HALE Occasion. The dedication of a statue. Theme. Hale's last words. 14. MARQUETTE Occasion. A public commemoration. Theme. (1) the success of a life that seemed to fail, or (2) what we owe to the French missionary explorers. (Commemorative speeches, such as the two above, demand always definiteness of theme and adaptation to the actual audi- ence. They offer large opportunity for incidental description.) 15. THE UNITED MINE WORKERS OF AMERICA The ideals and practical development of a typical American labor union. SPEECHES ON OCCASIONS 229 16. "the white man's' burden" The opportunity, duty, and achievement of superior races among the inferior: e.g.y England in India, the United States in the Phihppines. 17. the frontier Describe a typical frontiersman in typical frontier conditions. Show the qualities and habits resulting, their survival in this country, and their value in our development. 18. A GREAT ENGLISH SCHOOL: RUGBY Exposition, with abundant description, by contrast with an American preparatory school: buildings, environment, school Hfe, methods of teaching, athletics, school ideals. 19. THE REBUILDING OF SAN FRANCISCO Exposition, with abundant description, of American power of recuperation. 20. THE MONROE DOCTRINE TO-DAY Recent applications, with reference to the present condition of the South American states. 21. THE COLLEGE COMMUNITY'S MEASURE OF A MAN 22. THE AMATEUR SPIRIT IN COLLEGE Revision of Speeches. — Revision should not be attempted to any great extent while one is actually speaking (page 207 above). Better keep thoughts and words moving together than interrupt the thought to change the words. But when the whole has once been spoken, there is profit in writing out certain parts to put them in just the right way, and sometimes in writing out the whole to smooth transi- tions. The first lesson of form in public speaking, and therefore the most important consideration in revision, is paragraph emphasis (pages 83-92). Next in importance 230 REVISION OF SPEECHES is sentence emphasis (pages 113-115). Revision of words, discussed in general above (pages 126-141), needs special attention with reference to argument. Accuracy in Words. — Both statement and proof depend on the use of words that leave no doubt. Achilles was not a hero — the discussion of this will come to nothing without definite agreement as to the meaning of hero. First, then, the proposition must be put into words that make the issue clear, and must further be expanded by an introductory statement, as at pages 182 and 185, wherever there is any risk of ambiguity. Secondly, the discussion must con- stantly beware of looseness in words. By insisting, for ourselves and our opponents, on accurate definitions and clear distinctions we merely avoid waste of time. Expres- sions that give apparent support to a proposition by merely stating it in other terms are said to "beg the question." The government of England is more representative than ours; for it answers more truly the will of the people. The second member of that sentence begs the question by bringing forward as an argument what is really nothing but a restate- ment. " Answers more truly the will of the people," is only another way of saying, " more representative." Writing can- not be taught. If a man has the natural ability to write^ he will learn for himself; if he has not, no teaching will make him a writer. This is more plausible; but, when we scrutinize the terms, we find that writing in the first sentence covers more than write and writer in the second. The first sentence is a proposition about writing in general. The second sentence tries to prove this by assertions about that particular excel- lence in writing which is called Hterary. Therefore the oppo- nent should ask at once, What do you mean by writing? If you mean literature, there is Httle debate left. We are not here to maintain that the writing^ of poetry, for instance, can be taught. But if you mean writing in general, includ- REVISION OF SPEECHES 231 ing reports, letters, essays, speeches, descriptions, etc., then your reason does not apply. It begs the question. Force in Words, — A logical brief, a progressive para- graph plan, and scrupulous accuracy in words, necessary as all these are, will not in themselves suffice. They may fail to move. We need in public speaking, not only to prove, but to appeal. We need to bring our message home. Nor should appeal be thought of as separate from proof. A good speaker does not confine himself to argument in one part and to appeal in another. True, he is most careful of appeal in his close. True again, speeches on occasion offer more opportunity for appeal than speeches in debate. Nevertheless a speaker should endeavor to appeal always. Not content with the logic that has satisfied his own reason, he should always try to bring this logic home to his hearers' feelings. For if they are not interested in his points, if they do not care, he may pile up reasons in vain. This means that appeal, or bringing home to an audience, though it has more room at some times than at others, naturally runs all through. It means further that appeal depends on the way of putting a point, on the choice of words. How does Burke bring home his point about the fisheries of America? Not by statistics alone, but by such concrete words as stirred the sympathy of his hearers by suggesting pictures to their imagination. And pray. Sir, what in the world is equal to it? Pass by the other parts, and look at the manner in which the people of New England have of late carried on the whale fishery. Whilst we follow them among the tumbling mountains of ice, and behold them penetrating into the deepest frozen recesses of Hudson's Bay and Davis' Straits, whilst we are looking for them beneath the Arctic Circle, we hear that they have pierced into the opposite region of polar cold, that they are at the Antipodes, and engaged under the frozen Serpent of the South. Falkland Island, which 232 REVISION OF SPEECHES seemed too remote and romantic an object for the grasp of national ambition, is but a stage and resting-place in the progress of their victorious industry. Nor is the equinoctial heat more discouraging to them than the accumulated winter of both the poles. We know that whilst some of them draw the Hne and strike the harpoon on the coast of Africa, others run the longitude, and pursue their gigantic game along the coast of Brazil. — Burke, Conciliation with America ^ paragraph 30. Such appeal by concrete words he makes again and again, now in a single sentence, now in a whole passage: Already they have topped the Appalachian mountains. From thence they behold before them an immense plain, one vast, rich, level meadow, a square of five hundred miles. Over this they would wander without a possibility of restraint ; they would change their manners with the habits of their life; they would soon forget a government by which they were disowned; would become hordes of English Tartars; and, pouring down upon your un- fortified frontiers a fierce and irresistible cavalry, become masters of your governors and your counsellors, your collectors and comp- trollers, and of all the slaves that adhered to them. Such would, and in no long time must, be the attempt to forbid as a crime, and to suppress as an evil, the command and blessing of Provi- dence, '^Increase and multiply." Such would be the happy re- sult of an endeavour to keep as a lair of wild beasts that earth which God, by an express charter, has given to the children of — Conciliation with Americay paragraph 51. Yet Burke was most logical of speakers. Analysis shows his briefs to be models, and the march of his paragraphs irresistible. His chief strength is his structure; but his words also are no less carefully adapted to bring each point home. Swift, in attempting to arouse Ireland against a certain coinage act, was even more specifically concrete; for he had to deal with people of ^uch less average educa- tion than Burke addressed in Parliament. Thus Swift's EXPOSITION OF LITERATURE 233 Drapier^s Letters were written in such simple, homely words of feeling as appeal to the imagination. And let me in the next place apply myself particularly to you who are the poorer sort of tradesmen. Perhaps you may think you will not be so great losers as the rich if these halfpence should pass; because you seldom see any silver, and your customers come to your shops or stalls with nothing but brass, which you likewise find hard to be got. But you may take my word, whenever this money gains footing among you, you will be utterly undone. If you carry these halfpence to a shop for tobacco or brandy, or any other thing that you want, the shopkeeper will advance his goods accordingly, or else he must break and leave the key under the door. *Do you think I will sell you a yard of tenpenny stuff for twenty of Mr. Wood's halfpence? no, not under 200 at least; neither will I be at the trouble of counting, but weigh them in a lump.' I will tell you one thing further, that if Mr. Wood's pro- ject should take, it would ruin even our beggars; for when I give a beggar a halfpenny, it will quench his thirst, or go a good way to fill his belly; but the twelfth part of a halfpenny will do him no more service than if I should give him three pins out of my sleeve. 2. THE WRITTEN INTERPRETATION OF LITERA- TURE Beyond the writing that is done for revision of speaking, there is a field for the written presentation of facts as distinct from the spoken — the field usually covered by the word exposition as distinct from argument. For persuasion we naturally prefer the oral appeal; for explanation we prefer writing, we like to "have the thing in black and white." Thus what is sometimes called strict, or pure, exposition, excluding all argument or appeal, is better accomplished by writing. But since the written presentation of facts differs otherwise from the oral presentation of facts only in compression, and since all its mechanism of paragraphs 234 EXPOSITION OF LITERATURE and sentences has been discussed in preceding chapters, we may turn now to another field of written exposition, a field in which facts have Httle to do, the field of literature. Intensive Reading as Distinct from Extensive. — Quite another sort of reading is the study of literature. In pre- paring speeches we are reading for information; in studying literature we are reading for inspiration. In the former we are concerned only with facts and conclusions, with what is said; in the latter we are concerned also with form, with how it is said. We go to Shakespeare's historical plays, not for the facts of English history, but for the noble beauty of verse, for imaginations of human character that reach our hearts, for such play-building as catches, fixes, and holds our interest up to the final dramatic solution. Though both kinds of reading depend more or less on a large library, the latter depends much less than the former. One may go a long way in the study of literature with a few books in his own room. The books corresponding to these two uses De Quincey called respectively books of knowledge and books of power. Books of knowledge, being many, various, and often superseded in the progress of science, are the especial field of the large pubHc library. The great books of power, being few and never superseded, we may have on our own shelves. The former are books to consult with an eye simply to what they contain for our use at the time. We turn from one to another, selecting, omitting, comparing, combining anew (page 165). We may use several in a single hour. The latter are books to ponder for what they suggest, to become familiar with, not merely as so much thought, but as feeling expressing itself in beauty. We read them one at a time and slowly. The former sort of reading, then, we may call extensive; the latter, intensive, \ EXPOSITION OF LITERATURE 235 In collecting facts from books of knowledge what books of power have you met? Instance a book of knowledge and a book of power on the subject of chivalry; on two other subjects of your own choos- ing. Explain these instances to make the distinction clear. Of the books of power included in your present study of literature, which have also some value as books of knowledge? Show thus that the distinction sometimes holds between parts of the same book, as well as between different sorts of books on the same sub- ject. Illustrate the discussion by the difference between building and architecture. Contrast an experience of yours in reading for debate with an experience in making the acquaintance of a work of literature. Arrange all this for connected oral presentation in five minutes. Write it out afterwards as an essay. How Composition Helps the Study of Literature. — In- tensive reading, too, as well as extensive, may be furthered by composition. Though writing about a piece of literature is never an important object in reading, it may be an impor- tant means. To read The Deserted Village in order to write about it would be trivial and perverse. We read it to appre- ciate it, to feel it, to get an impression. Nevertheless, having read it thus, we may sometimes realize better what we feel by trying to make others sympathize; we may come to ap- preciate its art better ourselves by explaining its method to others; in a word, we may sharpen impression by expression. Selecting from the literature recently studied in common some piece that appealed to you more than to your fellows, try to awaken more sympathy in them by showing orally what aspects of it you Hked. Present each of these aspects distinctly (melody of verse, excitement of plot, revelation of character, message to us, or whatever else they may be) but group in one paragraph such minor ones as you have least to say about, and put into the last para- graph what seems to you the most important single aspect. Discuss in the same way why does not appeal to you. In both cases use comparison and contrast, with abundance of instances. Write these out afterward as essays. 236 EXPOSITION OF LITERATURE To say that this kind of reading is different is to say that the preparation for composition on it is also different. In- stead of collecting facts as the very object of composition, we are not dealing, except by the way, with facts at all; and our reading has been slowly assimilated before we think of writing. Instead of grouping facts from several books, we group our own opinions concerning one book, or perhaps one poem. Having appreciated it, we take account of our appreciation; we analyze our impressions so as to give account of them to others. We group and order our impressions because without grouping we cannot present. To convey our impressions, we have to arrange them. This part of the process is like the preparation to present facts; for all exposition demands a plan. But the preceding part is different. Instead of facts common to all, we deal with opinions and feelings of our own. Thus that kind of exposi- tion in which we interpret literature is prepared from beginning to end by thinking. The preparation is all in one^s own head. But suppose your opinion on a piece of literature is hasty, biased, or ignorant. Suppose your appreciation is very imperfect in your own eyes. Nevertheless your expression of it is not worthless. It may be worth something in gen- eral discussion; it is at least worth something to yourself. The object is not to influence the opinion of the larger public. That may be left to more expert critics. It is to show what literature means to you. The value of the study of liter- ature is its value to each student; and a direct means of enhancing this value is to interpret in connected composi- tion whatever appreciation each reader has reached for himself. This does not mean that he must avoid the opinions of others. Novelty is no virtue here; and the discussion of teacher and class, for instance, ou^ht to stimulate appre- ciation in everybody. Nor does it mean that he must not EXPOSITION OF LITERATURE 237 read the opinions of critics. But it does mean that he should first of all read the book itself by and for himself, and that throughout he should think for himself. Write an essay of three or four paragraphs, setting forth the good qualities of a book that you read some time ago and have re-read since. The object is to recommend to others what you have enjoyed yourself. Paragraph I, Tell what kind of book it is (story, history, travel, narrative, poetry, speech, etc.) and give a summary of its contents. Paragraph IL Tell some of the details that you liked, e.g., description of people or scenery, nobil- ity or simplicity of language, clearness of arrangement, humor. Paragraph III., etc. Set forth more fully what seems to you the chief point of excellence or the quality that especially makes the book distinct and different from others. Grouping Notes of Literary Impressions. — The prepara- tion for such essays may be a slow accumulation, and indeed is better so. Throughout the study of literature, one^s own impressions and the ideas brought out in conversation and class discussion may be set down from time to time on slips or cards (page 163), or in a loose-leaf note-book, and in- dexed by headings. By this means there is soon a plenty of material from which to choose and amplify topics for essays. Though our appreciation of literature is happily not confined to what we can explain under headings, though sometimes our enjoyment of it is too deUcate to be ana- lyzed, still there will always be much that we can explain clearly with profit to others and to ourselves. Composition thus makes the study of Uterature more definite. Notes of the study of a story can be grouped under the general headings: 1. kind, or general character and main traits (romance of chivalry, novel of modern manners, sea-story, etc.); 2. plot (see Chapter viii), arrangement of the story to heighten interest, skill of the author in combining several plots and in making each situation appeal to our imagination; 3. characters, truth to life, 238 EXPOSITION OF LITERATURE distinctness as of real persons, or vagueness as of mere types, noble traits of character, many or few characters, etc.; 4. setting or scen- ery, skill in description, i.e., in making us imagine the surround- ings; 5. special qualities not included under other headings. Thus the details that strike the attention separately during a course of study can be grouped for connected exposition. Notes for the study of a play may be grouped largely under the same headings. In detail it is often profitable to note why a certain scene is put in a certain place, and what is the effect of a certain character upon others in the play. The time supposed to be covered by the action, the climax, crisis, or turning-point of the play, what is supposed to have happened before the curtain rises and how these facts are commimicated to the audience, — all these may be sub-headings under the general heading of plot. Notes on character may be subdivided into (a) character as re- vealed by habit of speech, (b) character as revealed by actions, (c) character as revealed by the opinions and attitude of other characters. Thus we may judge the imaginary persons of a play as we judge the real persons of actual life. Notes of a poem may be grouped under: 1. verse, meter, melody etc.; 2. description of nature; 3. style, or choice of words; 4. con^ ception and sentiment, the idea of the whole, the poet^s sentiments regarding human life, and his mood as shown in particular pas- -^ Notes of speeches and essays may be grouped under headings from this book; e.g., 1. outline, general plan and progress of thought; 2. paragraphs; 3. sentences; 4. style, or choice of words. Not all these headings should be used in every case, nor should each be confined always to a single paragraph. What seems most important or interesting in each work should have most space. For the same reason, the order of points should be adjusted to the subject and the audience. The idea is, not to adopt the same plan for every essay, nor to make the treatment formal. On the contrary, the treatment should freely reflect the feelings of the writer. The idea of the suggested headings is merely to group the notes so as to make clear their bearing. The choice and use of the notes is a different and a later task. EXPOSITION OF LITERATURE 239 Subsidiary Use of Biography and History, — So far noth- ing has been said of notes on the author and the history of his time. That is because, for the study of literature, the first and most important consideration is always the book itself. With this we should usually begin; on this we should always spend most of our time. The book itself expresses the author's surroundings, and reveals himself, better than he can be revealed by any other means. The study of biography and history as a means to the appreciation of literature should therefore be kept subordinate. Its value in this connection is only to correct or increase our impres- sions of the literature itself. And there is another reason for considering the subordinate study of biography and history separately. It is distinct from the study of liter- ature proper in that it deals with facts (see page 234). Thus its method, in both preparation and presentation, is essentially the same as that explained in Chapter i. and in the first section of the present chapter. To prepare an essay on certain aspects of Shakespeare's time or on the character of Scott is much the same task as to prepare a speech or essay on Lincoln or on our trade with South America. Both demand the collection, grouping, and in- terpretation of facts as distinct from opinions and feelings. For this reason, as well as to keep such study subordinate, it is well to eschew any mere chronological summary of an author's life Better consider his life in such aspects as are most clearly related to his writing; or insert in an essay giving your own interpretation of his book a para- graph on the book as revealing the author. Subjects for Essays Interpreting Literature Subjects from the following list should be chosen according to one's familiarity with the books, and should also suggest similar use of other books. 240 EXPOSITION OF LITERATURE 1. The Character of Cassius (or any other of Shakespeare's personages). Group your impressions under (1) habit of speech, (2) effect on the other characters on the play, (3) actions. After analyzing thus, select what seem to you the main aspects of his character for an essay of three or four paragraphs. 2. The Structure of Macbeth (or any other play). Use the head- ings suggested on page 238. 3. Franklin as a Typical American, What qualities of Franklin, appearing in his autobiography, are typically American? Group your impressions of his character under these heads. 4. Gray's Elegy. (1) What is an elegy? Define, compare, contrast, by some investigation in the library. Theme of this elegy? Meter? Make this a paragraph of clear definition; but arouse interest by beginning with some quotation that is at once striking and typical of the whole poem. (2) Discuss Gray's descriptions of nature, giving instances, comparisons, and con- trasts. Close with a summary of the characteristic traits of Gray's description. (3) Sentiments regarding human life, mood of the poet in this and other poems, reflection of the poet's own hfe (select incidents from his life to show this). (4) Message and impression of the poem as a whole. 5. The Ancient Mariner as a Ballad. (1) Tell what a ballad is, and give instances (see page 263). Compare a ballad by Scott. (2) The narrative structure: select headings from Chapter viii.; compare the story-telling with that of some old ballad. (3) The descriptions. (4) The message and impression of the whole. 6. Comus as a Mask. (1) The occasion and the theme. De- scribe the audience, actors, and scene at the opening as you imagine them. Bring out the underlying idea or conception and show how it was adapted to the circumstances. (2) Differentiate a mask from other forms of drama by comparison and contrast, so as to bring out the characteristic traits of this form. (3) Con- trast certain parts that are dramatic in action with other parts that are merely spectacular. (4) The meter, beauty of the verse, incidental songs. (5) Is Comus characteristic of Milton as you know him from other poems and from reading his life? 7. The Castle. From Scott's Ivanhoe ^d other of his works EXPOSITION OF LITERATURE 241 that you have read, and from reference books, explain fully a medi- eval castle. Use incidental description freely. 8. A Tournament, From Scott's Ivanhoe, Tennyson's Idylls of the King, and any other books familiar to you, explain the idea and methods of a tournament. Use incidental description freely. 9. Scott the Romancer, Show how Scott's sympathies and read- ing led him to choose the kind of subjects that are most common in his works. 10. Scott the Story-teller. Discuss under headings chosen from Chapter viii. Scott's story-telling in The Lady of the Lake or Mar^ mion (Subjects 9 and 10 may be combined). 11. The Stage-coach and the Railroad, De Quincey, in the thir- teenth paragraph of his English M ail-Coach (see page 126), says: '*The modern modes of travelling cannot compare with the old mail-coach system in grandeur and power." Does he convince you of this? Explain and describe *Hhe old mail-coach system" as you understand it from De Quincey, Dickens, Hughes {Tom Brown at Rugby), or other books, whether history or fiction. Contrast with this the railways of 1849, the date of De Quincey 's essay (Consult a cyclopedia under Railroad), How far do De Quincey's objections stand against ste/im railways to-day? Elec- tric railways? Automobiles? The subject may be outlined for a speech before it is worked out as an essay. 12. The Coffee House, Explain fully, with incidental descrip- tions, London coffee houses in the time of Addison. 13. English Country Life, Compare the notions that you get of English country life in the early nineteenth century from Irving's Sketch Book, George Eliot's Silas Marner, and Mrs. Gas- kell's Cr an ford, with those of country life in the eighteenth century derived from Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield and Deserted Village, and Addison's papers in the Spectator. Other works may be added or substituted. 14. Essays and Reviews. Compare the method and style of an essay by Addison with those of an essay by Macaulay, grouping your material under headings chosen from this book; e.g., cohe- rence of the whole, use of description, paragraphs, sentences, choice 17 242 EXPOSITION OF LITERATURE of words as adapted to the readers in each case, etc. Entitle your composition The Two Kinds of Essays (see page 343). 15. Why Has the Pilgrim^ s Progress Endured ? Write an essay to explain the enduring popularity of the Pilgrim's Progress and its acknowledged rank as a classic of English literature. Show the extent of its popularity and the causes, the popular qualities that you yourself find in the book. Compare it in this regard with other books. Are classic and popular synonymous? Are all works of enduring popularity classic? Give instances. Devote a paragraph to making quite clear what is meant by calling the Pilgrim's Progress classic. Conclude with a summary of its funda- mental qualities. 16. The Pilgrim's Progress as an Allegory, (1) Definition of allegory, with instances. (2) Comparison with other allegories, especially with those of life as a pilgrimage. (3) Consistency of this allegory, whether it is carried out clearly and naturally; e,g., do you feel yourself excited by certain parts as by real life? Does the allegory seem sometimes to be forgotten? 17. The Character of Bunyan (or of some other author). Write, not a chronological summary of his life, but an estimate of his character in its most striking traits. 18. The Puritans of Bunyan's Time; e.g., what they believed, how they looked and acted (contrast with the Cavaliers; describe), why they were dishked, what they accomplished. Use your read- ing of the Pilgrim's ProgresSj the character of Malvolio in Twelfth Night, and any other works of fiction known to you, as well as your knowledge of English and American history. 19. Milton as a Puritan, (1) Explain who the Puritans were and what they stood for. (2) Tell of Milton's political activ- ities. (3) Certain Puritan qualities in Milton's poems. (4) The main traits of the man, as we gather them from his work and his life; how far his religious attitude affected his art. Make any contrast that you can (A striking contrast is Dante). 20. Bunyan's Use of the Bible, Group in four or five paragraphs some of the following; and arrange the paragraphs in such order as will make a progressive essay. (a) What translation of the Bible did Bunyan use? When and IMITATION 243 by whom was it made? Has it had much influence on English religion? on English thought in general? on English literature? (6) Does Bunyan seem usually to copy texts or to quote from memory? (c) In what sense is Bunyan 's style Biblical? Mention two passages in the Pilgrim's Progress which are derived directly from the Bible, and tell how the Bible is used in them. (d) Is Bunyan 's use of the Bible like that of the Puritans of his time? (e) Compare Bunyan 's use of the Bible with that of some other author. (/) Does Bunyan seem to have read the Bible as a collection of books or as a collection of texts? Does he usually speak of books, or of separate passages? (g) Is Bunyan 's simplicity due to the influence of the Bible? Imitation to Heighten Appreciation, — Another way of applying composition to further the study of literature is imitation. Instead of explaining our appreciation, we try to show it by writing in the same way. This sort of writing, of course, is quite limited. To attempt a scene like one of Shakespeare's would be absurd. No less absurd would be the attempt to equal the literary excellence of any other great author. But without trying to imitate the inimitable, and without any thought of equaling our models, we may yet heighten our feeling for some works by trying to follow their methods and, to some extent, their style. Thus we come to appreciate them better. Write Spectator papers on some of the following, or other topics of your own choice. Instead of using obsolete turns of expression, try by using Addison's methods to reach something like the im- pression that he makes on you. The length of these essays is \m import ant. Instead of a single long essay, several short ones (150-200 words) on as many different topics may be much more profitable. 244 IMITATION The Country Store. Uncle Bob at the Theater. A Country Sunday. One-cent Newspapers. A Certain Tendency of Woman- kind in Leaving a Street-car. Chicago Lodgings. My Friend the Captain. St. Valentine's Day. On Studying Human Nature. Election Speeches in the Street. The Bridge. The Idle Rich. Modern Gipsies. Pin Money. ''Hoodlums.'' On the River. Economy of Time. False Shame. On Being a Good Fellow. '* Strap-hangers." Talking about One's Health. Bill Boards. A Lady's Library. Public Manners. The Real Farmer and the Comic-paper Farmer. ''Extra! Just Out!" Practical Jokes. The Ward Boss. Public Speaking To-day. The Art of Conversation. Stage Properties. The Old Meeting-house. "Takmg to the Woods." Sunday Newspapers. The Village Loafer. The Circus. Some of these topics suggest a more expository, some a more descriptive, treatment. In this variety they are like Addison's; and, like Addison, the student should aim to make every essay, whatever its main object, interesting by abundance of descriptive detail. (The following assignments are intended as suggestive of others. Such work should be adapted to the individual and offer consid- erable range of choice.) Write an essay (500-600 words) in the style of the two opening and the three closing paragraphs of De Quincey's Joan of Arc on some historical person that you admire, or some historical scene that stirs your imagination; e.gr., Nathan Hale, The Execution of Andre, Montcalm at Quebec. Try not to use De Quincey's phrases, but to keep a similar tone or style. Taking hints of method from paragraphs VI to X of De Quin- cey's Joan of ArCy write on The Cross-Ro^ds, choosing as your subject Albany in the Revolution, for instance, or some other IMITATION 246 important cross-roads at a particular period of history, and imag- ining how it must have seemed to live there then. " Taking hints of method from paragraphs XX to XXII of De Quincey's English Mail-Coach (Going Down with Victory), de- scribe a crowd that you have seen waiting for some great news, as of war or election. Write a character sketch of Mr. By-Ends, or some other person in the Pilgrim's Progress, using the headings suggested at page 240 for analysis of the characters of Shakespeare. Outline a character sketch of some real person who reminds you of a person in the Pilgrim's Progress. Instead of working this out as an essay, describe him as to looks, actions, attitudes, speech, etc., and suggest how he is regarded by his companions.^ Now write a dialogue between this person and a companion, imitating Bunyan's method, but keeping to the language of our own day. Try to make both these persons speak and act accord- ing to their characters. Compose in the language and characters of our own day a scene like the one between Christian and Hopeful and Mr. Demas. Make Mr. Demas an unprincipled stock-broker, for instance, and put the scene in Wall Street. Imitate another scene of the Pilgrim^ s Progress in the same way. Write in the style of the Pilgrim's Progress the dialogue between Little-Faith and the robbers. Write part of the Vanity Fair chapter in the language, charac- ters, and surroundings of our own day, setting the scene at Coney Island, in the Bowery of New York, Kearny Street in San Fran- cisco, Butte in Montana, the pleasure-ground of some great exposi- tion, or some other appropriate place known to you. How Literature Helps the Study of Composition. — But helpful as imitation may be in heightening appreciation of literature, it is far more widely helpful in improving our own composition. Every chapter of this book brings in literature to the help of composition. From the masters * For descriptive methods, see Chapter ii., and page 254 below. 246 IMITATION we learn method. Imitation for this purpose is not of style, but of structure, of composition in the literal sense, of the way of putting together. Macaulay will show us how to develop a paragraph or balance a sentence; Burke, how to group facts and build up a progressive series of paragraphs; Dickens, how to describe vividly by concrete detail. In each author we study most that particular method in which he excels. The result is not at all a patch- work or composite of other people; for we deal with our own matter. What we write is our own. We do not write on conciliation with America because Burke wrote on it; we learn from Burke how to make more effective our own debate on the increase of the navy. We learn from Macaulay how to make our interpretation of literature clear and in- teresting. We learn from Dickens's description of the Cratchits' Christmas dinner how to make more lively our own descriptions of Thanksgiving Day. In a word, this kind of study should be, not paraphrase of an author's matter, but imitation of his method.^ ^ For systematic application of this principle, see the present author's How to Writej a Handbook Based on the English Bible (The Macmillan Company). A different method of imitation, admitting more para- phrase, is applied in detail to Irving's Sketch Book by the Rev. Francis P. Donnelly in his Imitation and Analysis (Allyn and Bacon). CHAPTER VIII INTEREST BY NARRATIVE PLAN Themes in connection with this chapter should be short stories. The difficulty of this task for most students precludes any such degree of achievement as is possible in argument and exposition; but the very effort is of direct value in heightening appreciation of lit" erature. Therefore the stories written out from beginning to end should be few, and very carefully revised as a study in height- ening interest by the form, or plan, of the whole. Other stories may be merely planned, i.e., thought out as to characters, scene, time-lapse, opening, etc. Thus a single plot may sometimes be assigned to the whole class for each to plan and all to discuss together. In such cases it is well to write out the first hundred words or two; for the way of beginning shows pretty well how one has grasped the notion of narrative structure, or plan. Such plan, or outline, as is taught in the preceding chapters for exposition and argument must be studiously avoided for narrative. The main lesson of this chapter is that narrative form is quite dis- tinct. Excellent additional practice may be found in reviewing description with such assignments as are suggested in Chapter ii; for narrative differs from description mainly in that sustained structure which is the studenfs greatest difficulty. Without being able to sustain a story of any length, he may yet learn to make single suggestive scenes interesting and significant. Several scenes of this sort are suggested as exercises in the text. Besides the writing and planning of stories, there should be written as well as oral expositions of stories assigned for analysis. {Compare pages 235-240.) Further suggestions will be found in the text. 247 248 NARRATIVE PLAN 1. STORY-TELLING AS UNIVERSAL Of all writing and speaking, the most popular is the telling of stories. This has been so always, from the days when men lived in huts and sat about a fire on the ground. In- •deed, when we go back now to such primitive customs, when we sit about the camp-fire in vacation, we feel most appropriately the primitive impulse to hear and tell stories; but even in ordinary routine few days pass without story- telling. Story-reading, too, in one form or another, fills a large part of the time that we spend on books. Sixty per cent of the books drawn from our public libraries is fiction; our newspapers consist largely of stories of fact; in short, the most constant and extensive kind of composition is narrative, or story. Yet some people continue to do it very ill. Though every one has to write letters, many people never learn to write them well; though every one has to tell stories, many people have never learned to make them interesting. Be- sides lack of education, this shows two things : first, that story-telling is an art; second, that its main object is to be interesting. Story-telling is an art evidently, because the same events become in one man's mouth confused and tedious, in another's clear and hvely. Its first object is to be interesting, because everything else depends on that. The ultimate object of a story may be to convey information, or to instruct by example, or merely to amuse; but none of these things can it accomplish unless it is interesting. In order to influence a reader, the story-teller must first learn how to hold his interest. An essay may perhaps succeed merely by being clear; but a story will not succeed at all unless it is interesting. NARRATIVE PLAN 249 2. STORY-TELLING AS CONCRETE The art of story-telling, then, means the ways of making a story interesting. Interest in general depends first on adaptation to the audience, and secondly on abundance of definite, concrete detail. Children of fairy-tale age like to begin with " Once upon a time.'' Older readers usually pre- fer a story that omits all introductory explanation; they had rather begin as it were in the middle. But all readers and hearers alike, whatever their age or race, enjoy abun- dance of concrete detail. Every one likes in a story to have his imagination stirred by specific mention of colors, atti- tudes, smells, and other matters of sensation, but, above all, of the details of motion and sound. This is one reason for the popularity of the Ancient Manner with young and old alike. From beginning to end it is very concrete, constantly suggesting to the imagination sights and sounds and movement. The bride hath paced into the hall. Red as a rose is she. Nodding their heads before her goes The merry minstrelsy. The wedding gtiest he beat his breast, Yet he cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man. The bright-eyed mariner. "And now the storm-blast came, and he Was tyrannous and strong. He struck with his o 'ertaking wings And chased us south along. " With sloping masts and dripping prow, As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe 250 NARRATIVE PLAN And forward bends his head, The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And southward aye we fled." Point out the concrete detail in the passage above: sound, motion, attitude, color, etc. Choose from one of your favorite stories in verse or prose a passage containing abundance of con- crete detail. Bring this to read aloud and discuss in class. Point out the concrete detail in the following newspaper story. Walter of AUentown, Penn., is spending a few days in this burg. He may stay longer if he likes the lay of the land — also if he sells his bay mare and single buggy. It was four or five days ago when Walt hitched up Bess to his single, topless buggy down near AUentown, and, saying good-by to the boiler shops and other show places in AUentown, started for New York City. He had only a few dollars in his pocket, but he had those things in his buggy which would carry him along the route. There were three half -gallon jars of mother's peach marmalade, a jar of quince preserves, and another of strawberry jam. He had four pounds of country butter, a peck of potatoes, a slab of bacon, coffee and sugar, salt and pepper, and four or five huge loaves of mother's bread. There was a sack of mixed feed for Bess, and a bucket out of which he could water her at the passing brooks. As for himself, he wore all three of his suits of clothes, and in addition carried two big blankets as supplemental protection from chill night airs. , thirty or thereabout, he says, is a blacksmith. He brought a kit of tools with him in the buggy. What may have been the adventures of along the road from AUentown is not now known, for he is a taciturn young man. At any rate he reached Harlem yesterday at the very popu- lar and proper Sunday hour of 4 a.m. He swung Bess under the Central Railway elevated structure at Park Avenue and 133d Street and prepared for a short rest before penetrating further into the strange country. ^ He gave Bess a bucket of water, tied a bag of feed over her NARRATIVE PLAN 251 head, loosened her harness, and then began on a little snack foi himself before turning in. He was munching bacon, boiled po- tatoes, bread and butter, and preserves when PoHceman Shevlin of the East 126th Street Station walked up to the side of the buggy and asked Walt what he thought he was doing. was just about ready to pull the two blankets over him and go to sleep, and was in a peevish mood, so he answered Shev- lin thus : "I don't know as thet's any of your business, whoever you be." He then curled up on the seat for his snooze. Shevlin got up on the buggy seat. He told Mr. that he couldn't camp in the streets of the metropolis, whatever he could do out in the country. "Huh! think I'm from the country?" asked . "I do," quoth Shevlin; ''just got in." "You're right," murmured Walt, whereupon he lay down to sleep again. Well what with ShevHn trjdng to enforce the majesty of metro- politan law upon Walt and his desire to sleep in his own way, there came about what must have been a great fight. When it was over Shevlin had whip marks all over his face and Walt had club dents on his head. With assistance, Shevlin got Walt to the East 126th Street Station, where he was locked up as a disorderly person. Bess and the buggy were put in a stable at 153 East 126th Street. Mr. was much incensed when he told his story to Magis- trate Harris in Harlem Court later in the day. The Magistrate himself thought that if Walt had needed punishment he had already got it, and so he turned him loose. Mr. went back to the stable, had a good dinner out of his supplies, and then started out to hunt a room. He said that, in spite of the police, he thought, taking one thing with another, that New York City was "a purty good sort of a place to Uve in — leastways for a while." He left word at the stable to try to find a purchaser for Bess and the single buggy. He left the stable with his three suits on and two $2 bills stowed in them. He got back to the stable last 252 NARRATIVE PLAN midnight for a cold snack. He said confidently to one of the stable boys: "Well, bub, I guess IVe seen a little bit of this yer town to-day. She's great.'' _ ^^^ ^.^^^ ^.^^^^ ^^^ ^^ ^^^^^ Compare as to abundance of concrete detail two different news- paper stories of another event chosen by you as interesting. Prepare an oral report to show the application of the passage from Macaulay quoted on page 314 to this section. The first way of interest, then, is to tell the story in the concrete, to give the light, sound, color, and movement of things, and especially the gesture, attitude, and speech of persons. For this is the way to put the reader there, to make him imagine himself in the scene. By this means a reader enters into the story instead of having it explained. Now to explain a story is to forfeit interest. Among the greatest bores are the people who insist on stopping to explain each incident instead of trusting to our imagination. "Go on," we feel like saying, "Tell me what happened, what the people said, how they looked and moved. Then I shall understand as much as you did.'' For the way to be Hvely in story-telhng is not to sum up in explanation, but to choose those concrete details which, as we say, tell the tale. After the battle with Mordred, Sir Bevidere bore King Arthur from the field, threw the magic sword back into the lake, and placed his master on the mystic barge. Compare as to abundance of concrete detail Malory's story of these events jn the twenty- first book of the Morte d^ Arthur with Tennyson's in the Idylls of the King, A child has just fallen off the end of a crowded pier into the water. Instantly there is consternation, confusion, clamor, attempt at rescue. Instead of explaining in such abstVact terms, tell how the crowd moved, what the mother said and did and how she NARRATIVE PLAN 253 looked, how a lad dived, etc. Try to give the impression of con- sternation, etc., without using any such word, merely by what people say and do. Stir the imagination to picture the scene. Use the preceding story on page 250 as a model in any point of method that seems to you effective ;6.gf., the use of dialogue. Express the happiness of a family reunion on Thanksgiving Day by telling of the arrival of the grandchildren and the gather- ing about the dinner table. Just as the company sits down the yoimgest son unexpectedly returns from the Klondike. Two men in an automobile, after listening at the top of a hill, swung rapidly down grade around a curve to cross a railway. Just as they were about to cross, they became aware of a fast express almost upon them. By reversing and braking, the driver halted the machine within three feet of the passing train. As if you were the driver, tell your sensations and motions and what you saw and heard of your friend's. Then write another story as if you were the engineer of the express. Two travelers in an automobile were attacked by timber wolves in a solitary part of Wyoming. Being unable to draw away on account of the steep grade and the mud and snow, or to frighten the wolves by the horn or head-light, they fired as the circling animals closed in. Stopping only to devour the dead, the others closed in again. Ten wolves were killed, and the ammunition nearly exhausted, before the pack fled. A fireman is carrying a half -suffocated woman along the cornice of a burning building. He reaches the ladder, slips, recovers, descends. Make the incident vivid by telling what the watching crowd below said and did. The assassination of Lincoln was announced in the midst of business on Wall Street. How do you imagine the shock to have affected people? Tell the incident by imagining what people said and did. Close the story with Garfield's standing on the steps of the sub-treasury to say, ^*God reigns, and the government at Wash- ington still lives." The winter at Valley Forge was full of privation for the Conti- nental Army. What does privation mean in concrete, physical details? Did the men have blankets enough? Shoes? What 254 NARRATIVE PLAN did they have to eat? Collecting as many of such concrete details as you can from histories, weave them (review pages 56-60) into the story of a young enlisted farmer who (1) resolved at his scanty camp breakfast to endure such hardship no longer, (2) complained to his captain, and (3) was abashed and silenced, at the unexpected arrival of Washington, by discovering that the general fared no better than the men. (4) Going back to his hut and finding his comrades .... he said .... Try throughout to suggest the recruit's character by his manner of speech and action. Concrete Revelation of Character. — The last exercise suggests that talk and actions may reveal something of each person's feeling and character. For concrete detail is especially effective in putting the reader there when it awakens sympathy with persons. A woman's way of talk- ing or walking, a man's gestures, the physical expression of excitement by pallor or trembUng of the hands, — such things in actual life are very eloquent to us of states of mind, and, when they are habitual, reveal character. So in story-telling the most important use of concrete detail is for revelation of emotion and character. Thus Dante tells by concrete details the anguish of a father imprisoned with his sons and seeing them starve with him. When I awoke before the morrow, I heard my sons, who were with me, wailing in their sleep and asking for bread. Truly thou art cruel if already thou grievest not, thinking on what my heart foretold; and if thou weepest not, at what art thou wont to weep? Now they were awake, and the hour drew near when food was wont to be brought to us, and because of his dreams each one was apprehensive. And I heard the door below of the horrible tower locking up ; whereat I looked on the faces of my sons without saying a word. I wept not, I was so turned to stone within. They wept; and my poor little Anselm said, **Thou lookest so, father; what aileth thee?" Yet I did not weep; i\or did I answer all that day, nor the night after, until the next sun came out upon NARRATIVE PLAN 255 the world. When a little ray entered the woeful prison, and I discerned by their four faces my own very aspect, both my hands I bit for woe. — Dante, The Divine Comedy ^ Hellj Canto xxxiii (Norton's translation). Thus Thackeray expresses in a significant action the feeling and character of General Webb when he found himself cheated of due honor by the Duke of Marlborough's report in the gazette. Mr. Webb, reading the gazette, looked very strange — slapped it down on the table — then sprung up in his place, and began, '*Will your Highness please to — " His Grace the Duke of Marlborough here jumped up too — '* There's some mistake, my dear General Webb." **Your Grace had best rectify it," says Mr. Webb, holding out the letter. But he was five feet off his Grace the Prince-Duke, who besides was higher than the General . . . and Webb could not reach him, tall as he was. ^^Stay," says he with a smile, as if catching at some idea; and then, with a perfect courtesy, drawing his sword, he ran the gazette through with the point and said, ^* Permit me to hand it to your Grace." — Thackeray, Henry Esmond, Book II. Chapter xv. A critical moment in Silas Marner is brought home to us by the same means. , "But you must make sure, Eppie," said Silas, in a low voice — "you must make sure as you won't ever be sorry because you've made your choice to stay among poor folks, and with poor clothes and things, when you might ha' had everything o' the best." . . . "I can never be sorry, father," said Eppie. "I shouldn't know what to think on or to wish for with fine things about me, as I haven't been used to. And it 'ud be poor work for me to put on things and ride in a gig, and sit in a place at church, as 'ud make 256 NARRATIVE PLAN them as I 'm fond of think me unfitting company for 'em. What could / care for then?" Nancy looked at Godfrey with a pained, questioning glance. But his eyes were fixed on the floor, where he was moving the end of his stick, as if he were pondering on something absently. . . . '*What you say is natural, my dear child — it's natural you should cling to those who've brought you up," she said mildly; '*but there's a duty you owe to your lawful father. There is perhaps something to be given up on more sides than one. When your father opens his home to you, I think it's right you shouldn't turn your back on it." ''I can't feel as I've got any father but one," said Eppie, impetu- ously, while the tears gathered. ''I've always thought of a little home where he 'd sit i' the corner, and I should fend and do every- thing for him: I can't think o' no other home. I wasn't brought up to be a lady, and I can't turn my mind to it. I like the working- folks, and their victuals, and their ways. And," she ended passion- ately, while the tears fell, ''I'm promised to marry a workingman, as '11 live with father, and help me to take care of him." Godfrey looked up at Nancy with a flushed face and smarting dilated eyes. . . . "Let us go," he said in an imdertone. . — George Eliot, Silas Marner, Chapter xix. So also we are made to feel the strong emolion of a war- time scene in more familiar surroundings. We are before the country post-office in a crowd filled with the rumor of a great battle. "Run in for me — that's a good boy — ask for Dr. Stratford's mail," the teacher whispered, bending over me. It seemed an age before I finally got back to her, with the paper in its postmarked wrapper buttoned up inside my jacket. I had never been in so fierce and determined a crowd before, arid I emerged from it at last, confused in wits and panting for breath. I was still looking about through the gloom in a foolish way for Miss Stratford, when I felt her hand laid shj^rply on my shoulder. "Well — where is it? — did nothing come?" she asked, her voice NARRATIVE PLAN 257 trembling with eagerness and the eyes which I had thought so soft and dove-like flashing down upon me as if she were Miss Pritchard, and I had been caught chewing gum in school. I drew the paper out from under my roundabout, and gave it to her. She grasped it, and thrust a finger under the cover to tear it off. Then she hesitated for a moment, and looked about her. ''Come where there is some light," she said, and started up the street. Although she seemed to have spoken more to herself than to me, I followed her in silence, close to her side. For a long way the sidewalk in front of every lighted store- window was thronged with a group of people clustered tight about some one who had a paper, and was reading from it aloud. Beside broken snatches of this monologue, we caught, now groans of sor- row and horror, now exclamations of proud approval, and even the beginnings of cheers, broken in upon by a general ''Sh-hl" as we hurried past outside the curb. It was under a lamp in a little park nearly half-way up the hill, that Miss Stratford stopped, and spread the paper open. I see her still, white-faced, under the flickering gas-light, her black curls making a strange dark bar between the pale-straw hat and the white of her shoulder shawl and muslin dress, her hands trembling as they held up the extended sheet. She scanned the columns swiftly, skimmingly for a time, as I could see by the way she moved her round chin up and down. Then she came to a part which called for closer reading. The paper shook percep- tibly now, as she bent her eyes upon it. Then all at once it fell from her hands, and without a sound she walked away. — Harold Frederic, The Eve of the Fourth^ from In the Sixties. By abundance of concrete detail Dickens makes us gradu- ally familiar with Uriah Heep. ''You are working late to-night, Uriah," says I. "Yes, Master Copper field," says Uriah. As I was getting on the stool opposite to talk to him more con- veniently, I observed that he had not such a thing as a smile about him, and that he could only widen his mouth and make two hard creases down his cheeks, one on each side, to stand for one. 18 258 NARRATIVE PLAN '*I am not doing office-work, Master Copperfield/' said Uriah. ''What work, then?" I asked. '*I am improving my legal knowledge. Master Copperfield," said Uriah. ''I am going through Tidd's Practice. Oh, what a writer Mr. Tidd is. Master Copperfield!" My stool was such a tower of observation that, as I watched him reading on again after this rapturous exclamation and following up the lines with his forefinger, I observed that his nostrils, which were thin and pointed, with sharp dints in them, had a singular and most uncomfortable way of expanding and contracting them- selves — that they seemed to twinkle instead of his eyes, which hardly twinkled at all. '*I suppose you are quite a great lawyer?" I said, after looking at him for some time. ''Me, Master Copperfield?" said Uriah. "Oh, no! I'm a very umble person." It was no fancy of mine about his hands, I observed; for he frequently ground the palms against each other as if to squeeze them dry and warm, besides often wiping them, in a stealthy way, on his pocket-handkerchief. "I am well aware that I am the umblest person going," said Uriah Heep modestly; "let the other be where he may. My mother is likewise a very umble person. We live in an umble abode. Master Copperfield, but have much to be thankful for. My father's former calling was umble. He was a sexton." — Dickens, David Copperfield, Chapter xvi. These instances show the suggestiveness of concrete de- tails, not only of action, but also of speech. Of all details, the most suggestive of feeling or character is the way of talking. What does the dialogue in the tenth chapter of Don Quixote reveal of the character of the knight and of his squire? Read aloud as expressively as possible from some story of your own choosing a short passage in which the actions, gesture, and speech are strongly suggestive of emo- tion and character. s NARRATIVE PLAN 259 (a) Write a dialogue between a shrewd farmer's wife and a no less shrewd ragman over an exchange of rags for tinware. De- cide first how you will end the story. Put in look and gesture as you go along. (6) Write a dialogue between an unreasonably angry passenger who finds himself on the wrong train and the polite but firm con- ductor who will not stop the express at the passenger's way sta- tion. Decide first how you will end. Put in abundance of look and gesture. (c) Describe an auction mainly by the words of the auctioneer. (d) Write a dialogue between an Irish poUceman and an Italian fruit-vender. (e) A high-school girl, on an errand to the superintendent, crossed a factory yard in which a hundred men were eating luncheon. As she hesitated, embarrassed, and uncertain of her direction, the yoimgest workman sprang to his feet, civilly offered his services, and conducted her to the right door. Returning through the groups of his companions, he was jeered at until an old workman said something which imposed silence. What did he say? What did the others say? What did each of the principal persons say and do? How did they stand, sit, look, etc? Tell the whole incident in this way. (/) A tramp, half-starved and half -frozen, with a bad cold in his lungs, came one morning to a New England farmhouse. Only the farmer's wife was at home; and the dog was harmless. In spite of the fact that he had obviously had a drink lately, he suc- ceeded in convincing her of his real need, so that she took him in to the fire and fed him. What did the tramp say? (g) A college man and a boarding-school girl went canoeing in August on a salt-water inlet. Losing track of the time, they were left by the ebbing tide aground in the salt marsh, surrounded by acres of bottomless mud crawling with small sea-beasts. A violent thunder-shower approached. What did they say and do during the first few minutes after discovering their plight? (h) An upper-classman was summoned to the Dean's office on account of a disturbance in his room. Write the ensuing scene so as to bring out the character of each in the dialogue. 260 NARRATIVE PLAN (i) A workingman and his wife, industrious and self-respecting folk, with a babe in arms and four other children, of whom the eldest was six years old, found utter poverty staring them in the face. Having already pawned all their available possessions, the parents, dividing the last loaf among the children, set out early in the morning, the man once more to seek work, and the woman to borrow money. When they returned successful in the evening, the man with a dollar and a half earned by carrying trunks in spite of his lameness, and the woman with a dollar borrowed as advance pay for washing, they found that a charity society had removed all their children, the three elder to the Home for the Friendless, the two younger to the Foundling Hospital. Narrate the home-coming of the parents, so far as possible in dialogue, so as to bring out their feelings and character. Use attitude, action, and gesture as well as speech. (/) An old soldier lay sick and feeble in bed on Memorial Day while a parade of his fellow veterans passed in the street below, escorted by the local militia. His grandson, a schoolboy, sitting by the window, reported what he saw. Each asked questions of the other. Unexpectedly there was a halt just when the grandfather's own company were beneath the window. The band played the Star-Spangled Banner. The old man .... Tell this incident with dialogue and significant gesture. {k) Write a conversation among football players between halves, realizing individuals distinctly in speech, attitude, and gesture. Let the captain be the chief speaker, and let at least two others reply. Put in what certain others, who do not speak, are doing meantime. The score is 6-0 against the team. (l) In the single passenger coach at the end of a "mixed" train the conductor, the brakeman, a flashy commercial traveler, and a cattle-man returning from a spree were exchanging doubt- ful stories. The train stopping at a lonely prairie station, a woman got on with her twelve-year-old daughter. Begin with the con- versation just before the train stopped. The cattle-man has just finished a story. Without telling the story, show its character and effect by the way in which it is received^- Express in action, attitude, etc., the sharp change produced by the entrance of the NARRATIVE PLAN 261 two passengers. End with the starting of the train. Use through- out, not only characteristic talk, etc., but abundance of other concrete detail (e.g., the noise and motion of the train, the cattle- man's whiskey bottle, the commercial traveler's clothes). Let the point of the incident be that these men, in spite of their care- lessness and crassness, had at least the goodness to be ashamed and courteously considerate. Tell the whole as a succession of actions, using significant verbs in the past tense. These themes should be read aloud in class and discussed. 3. STORY-TELLING AS STORY-PLANNING Plan not by Paragraphs. — The first means of interest in story-telling is the appeal to imagination and feeling by the concrete. But this is simply the means of all effective description, — indeed, we might almost say of all interest. Concreteness is especially important in story-telling, because here interest is absolutely necessary; but it is not all. There remain questions of composition, of story-telling considered as story-planning. How shall a story be put together? To these questions no application thus far made of general principles gives sufiicient answer. The plan of a story is not like the plan of a speech or an essay. A story does not proceed by paragraphs. True, it has indented spaces; but these, instead of indicating stages of thought as in an essay or speech, merely mark a change of speaker in dialogue, or somebody's arrival on the scene, or perhaps a pause in the action, — in short, something quite external. No, though a story has convenient spaces, it hardly has paragraphs. Instead of proceeding from thought to thought, it proceeds from incident to incident, from action to action.^ Story- ^The paragraphs at the opening of Irving's Rip van Winkle f Hawthorne's Scarlet Letter, and some other stories of like method, are really introductory essays. The story proper has not yet begun. 262 NARRATIVE PLAN telling tries less to make us think than to make us feel. So a plan of thought will not answer. Plan not Strict in Older Long Stories. — Why plan at all? Why not simply tell the events in chronological order as they happened, beginning at the beginning and going on to the end? This is possible. Sometimes it is even successful. If the events of the story are novel, or important as facts, and if they are told with abundance of definite concrete detail, a story will go of itself without plan. Such a story is Robinson Crusoe, It is interesting almost entirely from the vivid description of each separate incident, and very little from any excitement we feel as to the outcome. We are interested, not so much in going on, in finding how the whole will come out, as in each incident separately. Doubt- less Defoe told it thus without plan, in order to imitate the style of a diary; for he pretended that it was the record of a shipwrecked sailor, just as it was written by himself. At any rate, it is interesting without plan, merely from the abundant concreteness of its incidents. It is a thousand vivid descriptions connected only by happening in succes- sion to the same person. The same kind of interest attaches to certain stories of actual fact, such as Dana's Two Years Before the MasL This method in the twenty-fourth chapter of Genesis involves frequent repetitions. The story of Isaac and Rebekah is told, not to hold our interest in a succession of events, but to instruct us in their meaning. Stories without plan, then, may be interesting for their description or valuable for their instruction. They are interesting in parts, not as united wholes. Compare two long stories familiar to you so as to bring out a contrast between them in structure, or story plan. Choose for this purpose (1) a story merely accumulating^ incident, like Rob- inson Crusoe^ and (2) a story in which the incidents are so arranged NARRATIVE PLAN 263 as to excite interest in the outcome, like A Tale of Two Cities. Write out afterwards as a short theme. 4. UNITY IN STORY-TELLING: FIXING INTEREST Unity as Omission. — But this kind of story, simply adding description to description in chronological order, is for most of us at most times practically impossible. For ordinary use it is altogether too long. Short stories are the only ones our friends permit us to tell. Even the student who wishes to become a novelist must learn more about narrative composition than was necessary in the time of Defoe; and only one in a thousand has any story-telling to do that is not short. Our problem, then, is how to plan a short story. Of all short stories in English, none have been more widely popular than the ballads.^ It is worth while, therefore, to seek the reason for this popularity in their way of telling, or narrative method. SIR PATRICK SPENCE 1 The king sits in Dumferling town, Drinking the blood-red wine. '*0 where will I get a good sailor To sail this ship of mine?" 2 Up and spake an elder knight, Sat at the king's right knee: '*Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor That sails upon the sea." *The most convenient complete edition of the ballads is English and Scottish Popular Ballads, edited from the collection of Francis James Child by Helen Child Sargent and George Lym^n Kittredge, Houghton, Mifflin & Co. Of the many volumes of selections the best is the one edited by Professor Gummere for Ginn and Co. 264 Narrative plan 3 The king has written a broad letter, And sealed it with his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence, Was walking on the sand. 4 The first line that Sir Patrick read, A loud laugh laughed he; The next line that Sir Patrick read, The tear blinded his ee (eye). 5 "O who is this has done this deed, This ill deed done to me, To send me out this time o' the year To sail upon the sea! 6 ''Make haste, make haste, my merry men all; Our good ship sails the morn." '*0 say not so, my master dear; For I fear a deadly storm. "Late, late yestreen I saw the new moon With the old moon in her arm ; And I fear, I fear, my master dear. That we will come to harm." 8 Loth, loth, were our Scottish lords To wet their cork-heeled shoon (shoes) ; But long ere all the play was played^ » Their hats they swam aboon (above)^ NARRATIVE PLAN 265 9 O long, long may their ladies sit, With their fans into their hand, Ere ever they see Sir Patrick Spence Come sailing to the land. 10 O long, long may the ladies stand, With their gold combs in their hair, Waiting for their own dear lords; For them they 11 see no mair (more). 11 Half over, half over to Aberdour, It's fifty fathom deep; And there lies good Sir Patrick Spence With the Scots lords at his feet. Omission vs. Summary. — Here is an interesting story short enough to be read in a few minutes. The events narrated must have covered several days, perhaps weeks. Told in the manner of Robinson Crusoe, they would cover many pages of prose. Yet we would not have them thus spun out. We like this brief way. How is the story made brief? First, mark that it is not made brief by summary. A summary would be something like this: A king of Scotland, wishing to send a new ship to Norway, inquired for a skilful captain. Sir Patrick Spence being praised as the best sailor afloat, the king gave the commission to him. Though appreciating the honor. Sir Patrick knew so well the dan- gers of navigation at that season that he suspected treacherous influence on the king. Nevertheless summoning his men promptly, he set sail in spite of their forebodings. The embassy of Scotch lords whom bp carried was ill prej)ared for hardship; and all, 266 NARRATIVE PLAN passengers and navigators alike, were drowned half-way over to Aberdour.* No, that is not a story at all, but merely something out of which a story might be made. And if the summary were as long as the ballad, it would still lack the ballad interest. For the ballad does not summarize; it speaks concretely. We hear the actual words of the king, the captain, the old sailor. The wine is blood-red, the letter is broad, the Scotch nobles wear cork-heeled shoes, the ladies have gold combs in their hair, the ominous look of the moon is suggested in a striking figure. Everything is concrete. There is all the difference in the world between this and such a chronological summary of a man's life as we find in a cyclopedia. That is all very useful; but this is interesting. How, then, does the ballad-maker put all this into so little space ? In a word, by selection. Instead of giving all the details in full, instead on the other hand of compressing all the details into a summary, he picks out certain details. The rest he simply omits. The first lesson in telling a short story is to select and to omit. What has the ballad-maker omitted? First, how the king happened to be sitting in Dumferling, how he happened to have a new ship, why he wished to send it out; then who Sir Patrick was, how he happened to have men at hand, what the grudge was against him, who brought him the letter, where he found his men, who the man was that spoke of the weather, and, most striking omission of all, what happened between stanzas 7 and 8. Some of these details might be interesting; most of them would be uninteresting; none of them is necessary. He has omitted, then, first, V all that is uninteresting; secondly, all that he could safely / leave to our imagination. * Other ballads may be summarized for assignments to be worked up into stories. These stories may then be compared with the ballads. NARRATIVE PLAN 267 Omission as Limiting the Time and Place, — In particular, he has limited the time and the place. Instead of beginning with Sir Patrick's boyhood and going on through his training at sea and his incurring the displeasure of the " elder knight/' the story-teller has begun after all these things. Some of them he has taken for granted; some of them he has implied, as by Sir Patrick's words in the fifth stanza. He has made no attempt at completeness. He has none of the cyclo- pedia method. As to place, the story begins in the king's hall, goes down to Sir Patrick on the beach, goes aboard with him, and stays there. It is all either going aboard or being aboard for a single brief voyage. The lesson of omission, then, in the telling of short stories means in par- ticular to leave out as much as possible of the previous history, and to make little change of scene. Since the object is to make the reader imagine himself in the story, do not ask him to imagine himself in rapid succession living through many scenes in many places. Instead, focus atten- tion on some striking brief period, a period so full of sig- nificant actions that by living through it in imagination the reader understands all he needs to understand of what went on elsewhere before and after. For the attempt to make a story clearer by introducing it with previous history leads to summary and so to dulness. Just as description is unified by focusing attention on a characteristic moment, so story-telling is unified by focusing on some brief period full of significant action within a limited area. This is the way to hold attention and make a single im- pression. People who wish to begin at the beginning forget that there is no beginning. Our Uves are so commingled and crossed, events are derived from causes so remote, that if we are too anxious to begin at the beginning, our hearers will flee before we have fairly started. 268 NARRATIVE PLAN A young subordinate, left in temporary charge of a construc- tion gang on a bridge, received word of a flood coming from a broken dam far up the valley. By his prompt and energetic action at the risk of his own life, he saved his company's property and the town below. This should make an interesting story. Must the teller explain why a bridge came to be built at that point? The railroad, having prospered, had decided to lay double tracks throughout its system. This necessitated a wider bridge. Not only so; but to cut off a curve, the company had decided to build an entirely new bridge higher up. But what of the dam? Was the break due to carelessness, or to some imavoidable pres- sure? A history of the dam might make this clear. And the hero — how came he there? Was his resourcefulness inherited from his father? Let us know the family history. But this method is absurd. There will be neither beginning nor end. The story will be lost in a maze of other stories. The teller will be a bore. No, the very object of telling a story is to pick out of the throng of happenings something which you think worthy to stand by itself. In order to make it stand by itself, interesting, significant, giving to others the emotion that it gave to you, you must omit all that is distracting, and especially limit the time and place. Life goes on and on without pause. In history, in the daily newspapers, in our own experiences, it unrolls to us thousands of stories all tangled together. The story-teller's art is to pick out one story at a time and make it stand out by itself. The following Bible stories intensify interest by limiting the time and place. Though each is part of a longer history, each stands out by itself. Each is complete, needing nothing more for its interest and significance. Judges vii. 1-22. The Sword of the Lord and of Gideon. 2 Samuel xviii. Absalom, My Son. Daniel v. The Writing on the Wall. Daniel vi. The Lion's Den. ^ Compare these with the simple, implanned chronological tale NARRATIVE PLAN 269 of Isaac and Rebekah in Genesis xxiv. All alike are told for instruction; but the others take stronger hold of our interest by- limiting the time. Select a short story of Hawthornes's, such as The Ambitious Guest or David Swan, which limits the time, and compare it as to intensity of interest with one of his stories which does not so limit the time. Find a current magazine story which limits the time of action to a single day^ Unity as Selection. — Omission, of course, is the converse of selection. A story-teller omits superfluous events by selecting that period which is most eloquently suggestive, most characteristic, fullest of the interest for which the story is told. And even within that little period he has to select and reject details. What has the teller of Sir Patrick Spence selected? Six incidents: (1) the king^s demand over his wine, the recommenda- tion of Sir Patrick, and the instant commission; (2) Sir Patrick's reception of the commission and his distrust; (3) his summons to his men and their foreboding; (4) how the king's emissaries took the storm; (5) how the ladies waited in vain; (6) the disaster, Sir Patrick and his men at the bottom of the sea. Evidently he selected what was most interesting and most picturesque. But scrutiny will reveal more. Why is the opening dialogue interesting? Because it makes us wish to hear more, because it is significant. Why is the sailor's forecast of the weather interesting? Again because we wish to know whether the event tallied with his fear; again because it is significant. Significant of what? Significant of what is to happen at last, significant of the outcome of the whole story, of the point. The story is a little tragedy. 270 NARRATIVE PLAN Che story-teller has chosen those incidents which most _aggest its tragic significance. Since each incident thus tends in the same direction, strengthens the same signifi- cance, leads to the same point, he is able to make a few do the work of many. He has made his story short by select- ing those incidents which are most strikingly suggestive of a single impression. How do you wish the reader to feel at the close of your story? Select all your incidents with a view to that final impression. The paragraph below is a summary of the character and habits of Rip Van Winkle at the time of his memorable journey up the mountain. Irving did not bring this into his story in detail, because it is merely preliminary to his particular purpose. Make from this material a separate story of your own as follows: — (1) Aim by concrete details of action, speech, etc., without explanation, to give the impression summed up in the first sen- tence; i.e., make us feel by what Rip says and does in your story, and by what others say and do, his ''insuperable aversion to all kinds of profitable labor. " (2) Limit the time to some one day before the adventure of which Irving tells, and make every thing happen in or near the village. (3) Let the story end with a characteristic dialogue between Rip and his wife about some piece of farm work that he has neg- lected ; e.g., mending a fence to prevent cattle from straying. (4) Let the story begin with a dialogue between Rip and his wife about that farm work, which he then apparently sets out to do. (5) Choose from the hints given by Irving in this and the fol- lowing paragraphs two or three scenes which will lead up to this close, and in which you will actually picture Rip fishing or hunting, or leaving his own work for others'. (6) Instead of saying ''he would sit,'' "he would stand," "he would carry," etc., say "he sat," etc.; write all in the past tense as a connected story. (7) Do not try to imitate Irving 's choice of words. Write in your own way, trying simply to make the story move along so as to hold interest. NARRATIVE PLAN 271 The great error in Rip's composition was an insuperable aver- sion to all kinds of profitable labor. It could not be from the want of assiduity or perseverance ; for he would sit on a wet rock, with a rod as long and heavy as a Tartar's lance, and fish all day with- out a murmur, even though he should not be encouraged by a single nibble. He would carry a fowling-piece on his shoulder, for hours together, trudging through woods and swamps, and up hill and down dale, to shoot a few squirrels or wild pigeons. He would never even refuse to assist a neighbor in the roughest toil, and was a foremost man at all country frolics for husking Indian corn or build- ing stone fences. The women of the village, too, used to employ him to run their errands and to do such little odd jobs as their less obliging husbands would not do for them. In a word, Rip was ready to attend to anybody's business but his own; but as to doing family duty and keeping his farm in order, it was impossible. — Irving, Rip Van Winkle. What time, place, and incidents would you select for a short story of Sheridan's Ride? Write the first hundred words of this story; the last hundred. Select incidents in the same way, according to the suggestions of this chapter, for a story of one of the following, or for a story of some other event of your own choosing. Give your story an attractive title. After criticism of an outline of the successive incidents, write it out in full. The Capture of Andre. Manila Bay. Fire! The Siege of the Legations in A Hard-Won Victory. China (1900). Molly Pitcher. The Old Whaler. Nathan Hale. Perry on Lake Erie. The Lost Cause of France The Constitution and Guer- (Montcalm). ri^re. Unity of Thought^ as in Fables^ Exceptional, — In certain distinct cases the unity of a story is almost like the unity of an essay or speech; that is, a story may be told to illus- trate some maxim or other sentence summing up worldly 272 NARRATIVE PLAN wisdom. Such stories are parables and fables. The fable of the Fox and the Grapes has a subject sentence, just as an essay or speech might have: we often pretend indifference to what we cannot attain. The fable of the Lion and the Mouse has for its core the idea that small kindnesses may bring great rewards; the fable of the Miller, His Son, and the Ass, that it is folly to be ruled by public opinion; and so on. A fable is a short story told to illustrate a maxim of worldly wisdom. Since it is really a kind of explanation by illustration, it has the same kind of unity, the unity of an underlying proposition. This kind of unity is seen again in those illustrative stories which we call anecdotes. Anecdote, indeed, differs from fable only in being a story of fact and often drawn from one's own observation. Both aUke aim to explain or prove something; and this core idea is usually stated in a sentence at the beginning or end, like the subject of a paragraph. The following anecdote begins with a subject sentence, just as a paragraph might begin. In fact, it is very like a paragraph of illustration. On the other hand, if the introductory sentences were omitted, we should have a fairly complete little story. Shelley's thirst for knowledge was unquenchable. He set to work on a book, or a pyramid of books, his eyes glistening with an energy as fierce as that of the most sordid gold-digger who works at a rock of quartz, crushing his way through all impediments, no grain of the pure ore escaping his eager scrutiny. I called on him one morning at ten. He was in his study with a German folio open, resting on the broad marble mantelpiece, over an old-fash- ioned fire-place, and with a dictionary in his hand. He always read standing if possible. He had promised over night to go with me, but now begged me to let him off. I then rode to Leghorn, eleven or twelve miles distant, and passed the day there. On returning at six in the evening to dine with Mrs. Shelley and the Williamses, as I had engaged to do, I went into the poet's room and found him exactly in the position in which I had left him in the morning, but looking pale and exhausted. NARRATIVE PLAN 273 ''Well," I said, ''have you found it?" Shutting the book and going to the window, he replied, "No, I have lost it " (with a deep sigh) ; '*I have lost a day." "Cheer up, my lad, and come to dinner." Putting his long fingers through his masses of wild, tangled hair, he anwered faintly, "You go. I have dined. Late eating don't do for me." "What is this?" I asked, as I was going out of the room, point- ing to one of his bookshelves with a plate containing bread and cold meat on it. "That?" (coloring) "Why, that must be my dinner. It's very foolish. I thought I had eaten it." — E. J. Trelawney, Records of Shelley, Byron, and the Author. Chapter vii. Unity of Feeling the True Narrative Unity, — But in this respect fables and anecdotes differ from most stories. Our object in telling stories is not usually to instruct directly, but to suggest by appeal to feeling. Instead of summing life up, as fables and anecdotes do, it is usually our object in story-telling to interpret life through the imagination, to make people feel it more by seeing and hearing more keenly. You tell a story of the brave lad who saved his schoolmates from fire at the risk of his own life, not because you wish by your telling to prove anything or explain any- thing, but because you wish others to feel the same joy and inspiration that you feel in that deed. The story of Sir Patrick Spence does not explain or prove anything; yet it is well held together; it gives us a definite feeling. Its unity is not so much like the unity of an essay or speech as like the unity of a description. Therefore, instead of being achieved by summary, it is achieved by selection. Poetry carries this method of selection to the extreme. As a few incidents are made to do the work of many, so a very few details are made to suggest a whole incident. In Sir Patrick Spence the opening scene is flashed upon us by 19 274 NARRATIVE PLAN the briefest possible dialogue and the mere mention of blood-red wine and the king's right knee. Sir Patrick's feel- ing and temper are left to a laugh, a tear, a sudden order. See how eloquent in this way is a single stanza of the Ancient Mariner. He holds him with his skinny hand, ** There was a ship,'' quoth he. * * Hold off ! Unhand me, grey-beard loon ! " Eftsoons his hand dropt he. Prose cannot well do with so little; but prose can follow the same method of selection. For prose story-telling, like poetry, gains conciseness, not by summary, but by making a laugh, a tear, a frown, stand for a whole explanation, by making a few significant details tell the story. We tell just the motions, attitudes, colors, sounds, that gave us the impression; but we tell only the strongest of these, and we leave out all details that were distracting or insignificant. In general, then, what we call narrative unity, as distinct from logical unity, consists, not in working from a single idea or proposition, but in working toward a single impres- sion. Here are the facts on which is based Hawthorne's Ambitious Guest, the raw material of the story. Analyze Hawthorne's story so as to bring out the single impression intended and the selection and omission of details and incidents to this end. In 1826 there was in Crawford's Notch a mountain tavern kept by a Mr. Willey. His family consisted of his wife, five chil- dren, of whom the eldest was a girl of thirteen, and two hired men. Having been warned some time in June that a landslide was probable, Mr. Willey prepared a shelter in a place of safety at a little distance. On the night of August 28th the family were awakened by the roar of the slide. Rushing out from the house, they were overtaken and buried under a mass of earth and debris. The house remained uninjured; for the slide divided against a large NARRATIVE PLAN 275 rock some distance above it and passed by on either side. The bodies of the parents, of the two hired men, and of two of the children were found. Unity as the Dominance of One Character. — And unity in story-telling also focuses attention on one main person. To make a single impression, a short story should confine itself to a few persons, and center on one. The story is his story; our interest is in him; our sympathy is with him. Of the Bible stories cited above (page 268) , the most poig- nant is the story of David and Absalom, because all through it we feel with the king. The whole story is told with refer- ence to David. Whose story is it? is one of the first ques- tions in planning a story for singleness of interest. Most stories that leave a strong single impression keep always before us one main character. In the Ancient Mariner our interest is always on the narrator himself. In Sir Patrick Spence our sympathy is with Sir Patrick. In the Chimes all the incidents are held together by their reference to old Scrooge. Though it is too much to say that every short story must have one dominant character, yet any short story becomes by this means surer of its impression. Nar- rative unity, then, means negatively omission, and especially the Hmiting of time and place; it means positively selection of such incidents as bring out the desired feehng and reveal a single dominant character. Show in two stories that you like which is the main character of each, and how the whole story is told with reference to him. Suppose the story of Andr6 told with Washington as the main figure. How would you plan this story? Write the opening and the close. Now plan in the same way another story of the same events with the main figure Andre himself. In the same way plan a story from the following so as to make Dugan the main figure, keeping the interest on him from the start and all through. 276 NARRATIVE PLAN The fire started in the cellar, just how nobody knows. It got going with extreme rapidity, and by the time the firemen got there the house was full of smoke and the blaze was sniffing up the rickety staircase. Most of the tenants hustled out of the back windows, scurried down the fire escapes, and dropped in safety into the little back yard. There was no getting down staircases for anybody. But George Dietz wasn't so lucky. He is a bellboy who bell- boys at the Grand Union Hotel at night. He lives on the top floor of 725 with his mother, and she had gone out some time before, leaving him asleep in the flat. By the time the uproar awakened him the back hall was full of smoke and fire, so that he couldn't get to the fire escape. He rushed back into the flat, threw open a window, and fell gasping across the sill. A burst of smoke, with here and there a tinge of flame, enveloped him as he lay there. At this apparition there came a big roar from the crowd below and the firemen tried to raise an extension ladder. Somehow the cogs got jammed and the thing wouldn't work. It looked pretty bad for Dietz, because he was practically help- less. To jump meant sure death and no fireman could have lived long enough on that burning staircase to get up to the fifth floor. Nor would he have been any use if he had got there. Tom Du- gan saw the only thing that could be done, and singing out to Sythes to follow him, he ran up the stairs of the house next to the one that was blazing so merrily. The burning house was five stories high. Its next door neighbor is only four, so that the roof of 723 comes about to the level of the top windows of 725. Dugan and Sythes hurried to the roof. Then Dugan crawled to the edge, keeping close to the wall of the burning house, and cautiously let himself over the edge. Sythes sat down and took a good grip on Dugan's ankles. Dugan was then hanging head downward over the sidewalk and if Sythes had let go it would have been all over with him. Sythes had no such intention. Dugan clawed desperately at the window blind of the burning building until he managed to drag his shoulders so far in that NARRATIVE PLAN 277 direction as to get a grip on Dietz, who was by this time Hmp and helpless as he lay across the sill, more dead than alive. Thus the fireman dragged the unconscious boy out of the window. More firemen had reached the roof by this time to help Sythes, and between them they hauled rescuer and rescued up to the roof. The crowd had up to this time watched the thrilling perform- ance in absolute silence, but now a tremendous cheer went up. Dugan suffered a compound fracture of the cutaway coat and much adulation. Dietz was taken to the Flower Hospital, but he wasn't badly burned. Fireman Burns got one finger badly crushed trying to make the extension ladder work. Fireman Brennan was cut by broken glass, and had his wounds dressed at the hospital. Mrs. Dietz, George's mother, came home about the time it was all over. When they told her what had happened she made a remark about the Deity and fainted. The Fire Marshal made an investigation after the fireman got the blaze under. He said it looked like an incendiary fire. The loss was $5000. — New York Sun, April 18, 1908. 5. COHERENCE IN STORY-TELLING: HOLDING INTEREST Coherence as Leading up to the End. — Climax and Sus- pense. — The difference between the unity proper to an essay and the unity proper to a story affects the story plan. If a short story be told to explain or prove something (page 272 above), the point may be announced at the beginning, as in a paragraph. But if, on the other hand, the story be told for itself, for its own interest, not urging any message, but rousing our sympathy through our imagination, then it is planned by making each incident and each detail heighten our feeling until we reach a climax at the close. Climax, in- deed (the Greek word for ladder), sums up in a single figure of speech a good deal of the planning of a story. The close of a story told for interest is the top rung, the height of 278 NARRATIVE PLAN interest. The object is to lift the interest, as it were, rung by rung, incident by incident, to the highest interest at the close. Thus it happens that the close, the last and strongest impression, is often settled, and sometimes even written, first, because the teller must plan everything to lead up to this scene. But that which he himself has in mind from the beginning he usually holds from the reader till the end. Realizing it fully in his own imagination before he tells his story, he works constantly toward it without divulging it to his reader. In a word, story-telling for interest usually keeps suspense. The Newspaper Way and the Magazine Way, — Story- telling for information or explanation, on the contrary, has quite the opposite plan. The difference is plain in any newspaper. A newspaper report of such events as are told in the ballad of Sir Patrick Spence would put the point first instead of last. Its aim being to give the information as quickly as possible, it would have a heading in large type, DROWNED; then a summary, still in large type, NEW ROYAL SHIP LOST WITH ALL ON BOARD; then a somewhat longer summary. The Caledonia, Captain Sir Patrick Spence, carrying the royal embassy to Norway, foun- dered in yesterday^ s storm. Last would come the details in chronological order. This is a natural method of story- telUng for news, that is for information. The more impor- tant the information, the more important to give the gist of it as soon as possible. The reader may be content with this or with the short narrative immediately following, or he may go on to the more detailed account that is put last. The story is told three or four times, each time with greater fullness. The reader may take as much of it as he chooses. Climax and suspense are out of place. But outside of newspapers there is hardjy any occasion for this method. Where the object, as usually in stories, NARRATIVE PLAN 279 is not to give information, but to arouse feeling, the point is withheld till the last; for else interest is released too soon. The story-teller's object is to hold and increase interest till the close. Whenever a newspaper writer has this object, he too keeps suspense; but there is so little room in news- papers for anything but news that we may call the former the newspaper method. In a family of six, the youngest, a girl of two years, showing alarming symptoms of fever, the mother tried to telephone to the family physician. The connection with central being interrupted, she sent her eldest boy, aged ten, to the doctor's house. While he was on the way, the connection being restored, she succeeded in summoning the doctor by telephone. The doctor, hastening in his automobile, ran over the boy, and, picking him up uncon- scious, brought him home. Reviving him in the presence of his mother and the rest of the family, he found no serious injury. The child to whom he was originally summoned had only acute indigestion. Filling in details from your imagination, tell this story in two ways: (1) as a newspaper story for information, in the following order — (a) summary in a single word for the heading of the column, (6) summary in a phrase or clause for the next line, (c) simi- mary in a sentence for the third line, or third and fourth lines, (d) brief account in one hundred words, (e) extended account, three hundred or more words; (2) as a magazine story for interest (six hundred or more words) by suspeuvse, omission, and climax. Coherence in story-telling, then, means movement up to a climax, the heightening of interest step by step to the last scene. In this respect again, as in unity, the story of David and Absalom, 2 Samuel xviii. (see page 275), is more intense than any of the others mentioned.^ ^ See an analysis of this story in Chapter iii. of How to Write j a Handbook Based on the English Bible, New York, The Macmillan Company. 280 NARRATIVE PLAN With this story as a model, and with the King of England as the principal person, make a story from the following. Imagine fully at first what scene is to be the climax, what people are to be in this scene besides the king, and what they are to say and do. At the battle of Crecy the young '* Black Prince," son of the King of England, was in a division with the Earl of Oxford, Sir Reginald Cobham, and other tried knights. This division was so fiercely attacked by the French that the outlying English archers were driven in, and the fight was hand to hand. Another English division gave assistance; but still the French pressed so hard that the old knights sent word to the king of his son's danger. The king asked whether his son were dead, or hurt, or brought to ground. When the messenger said no, the king bade him com- mand the prince's men to make no more appeal, so long as the prince was alive, but to let the lad win his spurs and the glory of victory. The messenger having returned with the king's reply, the prince and his company fought till they won. Having thought out the final scene, select those incidents which will lead up to it most effectively. Probably nothing of the bare summary above need be omitted; but all needs to be made vivid by concrete detail, and rapid by means of dialogue. Plan one of the following stories so as to lead up to a climax. Select, omit, or add details freely. Limit the time-lapse. Use no more persons than you can make active and significant. Write out the beginning, the ending, and bits of dialogue here and there. On September 22, 1887, a dead albatross was found on the beach at Fremantle, Western Australia, around whose neck was fastened a bit of metal on which had been scratched in French: Thirteen shipwrecked men took refuge upon the Crozet Islands on August 4, 1887. The news was cabled around the world by Governor Robin- son of Western Australia, and the French Minister of Marine at once ordered the transport Meurthe to leave Madagascar for the Crozets to search for the castaways. The story appeared in the Paris newspapers, and next day the commercial house of Bordes & Sons of Bordeaux announced that they feared the thirteen sailors were the crew of their three-masted ship Tamaris, which had NARRATIVE PLAN 281 sailed many months before for New Caledonia on a course not far from the Crozets. Her crew numbered thirteen souls and she was long overdue. The Meurthe returned from her search to Madagascar on Janu- ary 6, 1888. She found no human beings on the Crozets, but abundant evidence that one of the four islands had recently been occupied, and under a heap of stones was a sheet of paper on which was written in French with lead pencil the details of the wreck of the ship Tamaris of Bordeaux with thirteen men in the crew. She went ashore on the island of Cochous during a heavy fog. The crew had lived on the islands for nine months and, their food being exhausted, they were about to set out for Pos- session Island. This island is eighty miles from Cochous. The Meurthe at once went there and also to East Island, but found nothing, and the castaways have never been heard of since. It is quite certain that they were lost in the perilous passage to Possession Island. These poor fellows never dreamed that eight days before they set out from the desolate rock where they had lived so forlornly, the bird they sent over their waters had finished its wonderful flight and told the world of the unhappy situation. The winged messenger had made a journey of over 2000 miles with few chances to rest on the way. NaturaUsts and sailors have told us much of the albatross's remarkable powers and endurance on the wing, but no testimony of this fact will outlive the story of the bird that was the means of letting the world know that poor castaways in ihe waste of southern waters sorely needed succor. — From a letter to the New York Sun, July 14, 1908. "Starved to death," was all that the police surgeon could say the other day when the concierge of a house in the Rue Campagne Premiere showed him the body of a young woman lying in the middle of a third-floor studio. She was a student from some village in Hungary. She was a mere girl and all alone. Those who knew her best — a few American girls who studied in the same atelier — called her Mary. They knew that she was very poor and not very well. She came seldom to the restaurant they 282 NARRATIVE PLAN frequented. Now and then they met her carrying a two-sou bottle of milk and half a loaf of bread. She was described as talented. And now the police are trying to find out who her family is while Mary's body lies in the morgue. Such cases are not very frequent in the Montparnasse quarter. They only occur once or twice a year. The last time that it hap- pened the victim was an American girl, and before that it was again a Hungarian — a boy that time. The story of his passing is now one of the legends of the Ecole des Beaux Arts. His name was Ernest. He was a hard worker and something of a dreamer. He always smiled when there was any fun going, but he never shared actively in the sport. His fellow-students, with whom he was popular, put this down to bad health. Ernest was pale and ethereal. He had a tremendous amount of talent, and worked from the fall of the flag to closing time. The students remembered afterward that he had been getting paler and paler, thinner and thinner for a long time. But these things passed unnoticed at the time. One day, to the surpise of every one, Ernest failed to appear. There were a few jokes about a possible flirtation. His absence was again noticed on the following day; then every one forgot all about him. One day, a fortnight afterward, as the anatomy class of the Beaux Arts filed into the dissecting room, there was a sudden stop to horse play and jokes. The great silence that fell on the class was broken only when some one murmured, ''Mon Dieu!" There on the slab was poor Ernest. There was no anatomy lesson that day. An investigation showed that Ernest had dropped in the street — the hospital doctors said from starvation. He died, and, as there was no means of identification, he was taken to the morgue. The students afterward took up a collection and paid for a funeral. — New York Times, April 19, 1908. Complication and Solution, — Sometimes interest is height- ened by telling of the hero's difl&culties until we wonder NARRATIVE PLAN 283 how he will conquer or escape. The story-teller ties, as it were, a knot of difficulties and then unties it at the last. The French word, indeed, for the ending of such a story- means untying, denoument. Tying and untying — com- plication and solution are the more technical terms — is the way of many fairy stories. The knot in Cinderella is the loss of the slipper. Tying and untying is the way of most stories that aim at excitement; and it is found in many others. The Ancient Mariner has a knot in the slaying of the albatross. But the turning-point is likely to be more marked in a long story, such as a novel, and most marked in a story put upon the stage (page 337). Short stories may or may not follow this method. The sixth chapter of the book of Daniel makes this overcoming of difficulty, not the turning-point of the story, but the whole story. It opens with danger to Daniel, passes through increasing dan- ger up to his apparent death, and gives his release at the end as a climax of surprise. With or without complication, then, the skilful story-teller aims to hold and heighten interest by such a plan of incidents as will make us eager to hear more. Though we can have the interest of surprise only when the story is new, yet with some of the best stories we keep an interest of sympathy through many tellings. Knowing at the start that Daniel was delivered, that Ab- salom was killed, we enjoy passing once more through those experiences, feeling with the principal person, the hero, as we call him, more and more intensely up to the cUmax. In fact, the object of coherence in story-telling is to hold each reader for the time in the feeUng that he himself is the hero. Apply these considerations to your last story. How many persons did you include, and how many days of action did it cover? Review the present chapter in this way by application to your own stories. 284 NARRATIVE PLAN Coherence as Moving Steadily and Rapidly. — Weaving In. — In all these respects narrative coherence is closely bound up with narrative unity. The art of beginning a story in a striking and significant manner is learned most quickly through a habit of Umiting the time (page 267 above). By beginning at the right point the story-teller can move on the more easily. Again, the art of narrative coherence is largely the art of going on without interruption, without stopping to explain; and this too depends on skilful omis- sion. For the rest, it consists in linking details by the action of one upon another. When Andr6 is challenged by the American pickets, the story need not stop to explain how they came there. Either that may be left out as insignifi- cant or, if it will help the interest of the story, it can be hinted in the dialogue, somewhat as follows: "No, we must not stay," said Paulding, taking hi& long rifle from the corner. **The General thought we might be more useful for the lack of uniforms," he added, glancing rather ruefully at his shabby homespun coat. ''Does he expect you to spy aught on this road?" cried she. '*Spy?" said Paulding with a quick flush. A brief dialogue such as that gives all the necessary explana- tion without stopping the story. We learn that the three are shabby countrymen without uniforms, but none the less proud, that they carry rifles, and that, for some reason which arouses our curiosity, Washington thinks a certain road should be watched. So, with poetic brevity, the ballad-maker explains in the fourth and fifth stanzas the situation of Sir Patrick Spence while at the same time he goes on with his action. In a word, leaving out all explana- tion that is not strictly necessary, weave the rest into the action and dialogue, that as in real life we may pick up hints while we move along. NARRATIVE PLAN 285 The Narrator. — Sometimes a story will move more easily if you imagine yourself to be one of the characters. Thus you can give the impression of an eye-witness. Of course, it is difficult to tell in the first person a story of one's own bravery or skill without unpleasant boasting. But the narrator can imagine himself to be one of the minor persons, for instance a friend of the hero. Tell over again the story on page 280, making the main char- acter the Black Prince, and writing to honor him. Tell the story as if you had been a favorite companion of the prince, a noble youth of his own age, fighting by his side and carrying the message from Sir Reginald Cobham to the king. For the final scene, imagine yourself returning to the prince's side just at the turning- point of the fray, seeing the prince's victory, and then reporting the king's reply. Write the story partly in dialogue, without attempting to imitate the language of the period. Limit the time to a few hours. David Copperfield is told in the first person. Henry Esmond^ though told in the third person, gives the impression all through of having been written by the hero himself. What instances do you remember of short stories told effectively in the first person? But most stories are told conveniently and simply in the third person without reminding us of the narrator at all. 6. EMPHASIS IN STORY-TELLING: SATISFYING INTEREST The demands of emphasis have been clearly implied throughout this chapter. The very idea of concreteness in story-telling (page 249) is an idea of heightening our images of life, and that is an idea of emphasis. The idea of climax is no more an idea of coherence, of leading up, than it is of emphasis, of cuhninaLting. In fact, the commonest aspect of emphasis in composition is that of a strong ending. Empha- 286 NARRATIVE PLAN sis in story-telling means that the interest which has been stimulated and heightened, incident by incident, should be satisfied at the end. It means reahzing the final scene so vividly in word and action and gesture and other significant detail that it sticks in the memory, and leaves nothing more to be desired. Concrete all through, the best stories are most vividly concrete in that last scene which we read with a sigh of relief. Now we feel the full import. It may be joyous after misery and difficulty; " they lived happy ever after." It may be sad, or even tragic. In either case we sympathize and are satisfied. We feel the outcome as the necessary issue of the story. In that sense the story is finished. It has not merely ceased or broken off; it has made upon us a distinct impression. The scenes that we remember most vividly from stories are often their last scenes, the scenes in which the whole story finally comes out. The practical lesson is, Take \ care that your story comes out in vivid suggestion at the end. Recall the last scene of a favorite short story so as to show how its details reveal finally the course of action and the main character. Write an essay on one of the short stories read in the course of literature, using the headings of this chapter CHAPTER IX STYLE Themes in connection with this chapter should be short, frequent^ and revised with reference to diction, or details of style. Unified impressions, such as those suggested on page 295, a single point on a single sheet, will give fluency and directness in the writing, and enhance the sense of style in the revision. Incidental longer themes are suggested in the text, 1. THE ADAPTATION OF WORDS Throughout this book the stress has been laid upon com- position, upon placing and arranging and putting together. Composition, indeed, being definite in principle and prac- tically efficient as a measure and means of education, is the main subject of teaching. What every one wishes above all to learn is how to put what he has to say into effective form. But though clearness is mainly a matter of form, we have seen how much it depends also on precision of words (pages 133-140) ; and though interest may be achieved by form, it depends even more generally, for most people, on specific concreteness of words (pages 155-157). Underlying both the idea of precision and the idea of concreteness is that fundamental principle of all choice of words, aptness. Every composition, spoken or written, is a problem in adaptation to the audience; and this problem is very largely a problem of aptness in words. We succeed with the people that we address, generally in proportion as we make our form clear, but particularly as we use words suited to |. 287 288 STYLE them. Style, which may be simply defined as interest in words, consists largely in finding and keeping the right tone. Now the right tone is first of all the tone suited to the audience and the occasion. We choose words, not only for their precision or their concrete suggestiveness to the imagination, but also for their fitness. We try to make our words suit the occasion and the readers or hearers. The same explanation or appeal we have to phrase quite differently according as we address a club of newsboys, or a class in college, or an audience at commencement, or a friendly correspondent, or an employer. Though we may say the same things, we do not keep the same tone. The right tone — that is aptness. Certain words, exact though they are, and concrete, are excluded from general conversa- tion because their associations are too disagreeable. We reject them because they are not apt. On the same ground we choose between synonyms. The difference between boast and brag is a difference of aptness. Which we use depends upon whom we address, and when, and about what. So of rot and decay ^ dear and 'precious, fellow and companion, scold and blamCy sly and astute, sweat and perspiration. Thus we must constantly choose among words the one that suits the occasion. Revision for style consists in choosing such words as will make what is significant to you signifi- cant to your reader. To bring you two together, to attune his feehng to yours, to make him sympathize, — that is the task of style. Prepare an oral application of this principle to letter-writing. Write an essay to show that practice in business letters teaches five aspects of aptness which are useful in all affairs: (1) to make , and keep acquaintances by the manner of presenting topics of com- I mon interest ; (2) to praise and blame without exaggeration ; (3) to give an order clearly concisely, and courteously; (4) to acknowledge with due appreciation; (5) to be courteous Adthout wordiness. STYLE 289 Treat each in a paragraph, and arrange the paragraphs in such order as seems to you effective. Burke's speech on Conciliation was addressed to an audience largely hostile to his ideas. Point out a passage in which the style is adapted to remove prejudice or win sympathy. For what sort of people was The Spectator written? Explain with instances any trait of Addison's style adapted to rouse and hold their interest. To what kind of readers, or what mood, are the following works respectively adapted? Find reasons for your answer in the style of each: Sir Patrick Spencej Lyddas, Macaulay^s Essay on Addi- son, The Rape of the Lock, Cranford, The Sketch Book, The English M ail-Coach J The Pilgrim^ s Progress, a favorite book of your own choice. Write as problems in aptness of style three of the following let- ters, or three others to meet distinct situations of your own choosing: — 1. A friend (fix a distinct person in mind) is estranged by an apparent slight of yours. Write to explain and conciliate without seeming either over-anxious or haughty. 2. Your uncle, who has done many kindnesses to your family, has written to offer you a place in his business at , with good salary and better prospects, so soon as you are graduated from college. But you wish to study forestry, or some other pro- fession, though you must work your way through. Write to decline his offer, explaining your position, thanking him warmly without fulsome praise, trying to win his S3nnpathy, though you know that he is not convinced. 3. Your room-mate has fallen dangerously ill. His widowed mother is in , four days' journey away. Telegraph the fact to her in ten words with a view to bringing her at once without alarming her unduly. Telegraph to her again in ten words next morning that his condition, though no worse, is still critical. Ac- cording to her telegraphed directions, write a letter to her in care of the station master at , where she will change cars. 4. Write to the Railroad Company to claim damages for the loss of your baggage. 20 290 STYLE 5. Your associate in the engineering work (or any other occu- pation that you know better) at , through the jealousy of other associates has been misrepresented to the managers. In reply to a confidential letter from the managers asking your opin- ion of his work, clear him without imputing bad motives to the others, and without writing so warmly as to give the impression that you are biased in his favor. 6. Write explanatory regrets at forgetting an appointment with . He (or she) must be vexed. Reinstate yourself in favor without making false excuses. 7. Write a letter of thanks to a friend, describing your pleasure at in the society of , to whom she gave you a letter of introduction. 8. Describe the same interesting event in three letters: (a) to an intimate college friend; (6) to a child in your Sunday-school class; (c) to Major C, an old friend of the family. 9. Write a letter of congratulation to your rival on his winning the prize (appointment, scholarship, election) for which you have both been working. 10. Write a letter from Montcalm to the minister in Paris, urg- ing that more troops be sent to save New France before it is too late. Montcalm explains what the English have accomplished, and what must be the outcome of their consistent and determined policy imless the French government takes immediate measures to check it. Though the French soldiers in Canada are ready to dispute every foot, and to give their Hves, they must soon yield to superior numbers imless France acts promptly. The new world is at stake. Montcalm writes with a soldier's conciseness, with dignity, without complaint or blame, but with patriotic earnest- ness. Try to write as he would have written to officials whom he wished to stir without offending them. Prepare an oral address (page 219) as to an audience of Italian Americans, Swedish Americans, or other recently naturalized im- migrants, on the significance of some national hoUday (Independ- ence Day, Thanksgiving Day, Memorial Day, etc.). Prepare an oral address to a hostile audienc^, e.g,, urging an unpopular reform, espousing a distrusted cause, trying to reinstate STYLE 291 a suspected member of the coimnunity, or restraining from rash punishment. Besides being apt to the audience and the occasion, words should be apt to the speaker. They should sound like him. We see this most readily in the speech of the fictitious per- sons of novels and plays. The author has so keenly realized his persons in imagination that he has made each speak like himself (see pages 254-258). How much of the char- acter of Shy lock is revealed in his way of speaking! So the fanciful extravagance of the duke in Twelfth Night is evident in his habit of speech; so the lovely candor of Des- demona, the pompous ignorance of Dogberry, the worldly wisdom of Mark Antony. Each speaks like himself, in his own individual way. What Shakespeare has thus achieved supremely, every writer of fiction in his degree achieves in the same way. He reveals his characters by their style. Mr. Micawber, in Dickens's David Copperfield, always speaks in the following grandiloquent style. Tell the same facts as they would be told by a man of blunt, plain speech. '*In reference to our domestic preparations, madam," said Mr. Micawber, with some pride, *'for meeting the destiny to which we are now under- stood to be self-devoted, I beg to report them. My eldest daughter attends at five every morning in a neighboring establishment, to acquire the process — if process it may be called — of milking cows. My younger children are instructed to observe, as closely as circum- stances will permit, the habits of the pigs and poultry maintained in the poorer parts of this city — a pursuit from which they have, on two occasions, been brought home, within an inch of being run over. I have myself directed some attention during the past week to the art of baking; and my son Wilkins has issued forth with a walking-stick and driven cattle, when permitted, by the rugged hire- lings who had them in charge, to render any voluntary service in that direction — which I regret to say, for the credit of our nature, was not often, he being generally warned with imprecations to desist." — Dickens, David Copperfield, Chapter liv. 292 STYLE Select for reading aloud a passage in the characteristic style of Sir Roger de Coverley, the Vicar of Wakefield, or some other per- sonage studied in the course of literature. IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS Write some of the following dialogues (about 200 words) or others of your own choosing, as exercises in the adaptation of speech to character and mood. Some of the exercises at page 258 of the previous chapter may be used at this point. 1. Sir Roger and the Vicar. Write a dialogue (about 200 words) between Sir Roger de Coverley and the Vicar of Wakefield on Sunday worship or the maintenance of a country parish. 2. Washington and General Braddock. Write a dialogue between the young Colonel Washington and General Braddock, in which the former dogmatically announces his plan of attack upon the Indians, and the latter courteously tries to dissuade him. Intro- duce details of manner and gesture. 3. Arnold and Gates. At the battle of Saratoga, General Gates having been placed in command over Generals Arnold, Schuyler, and Morgan, Arnold urged a more vigorous attack, and finally persuaded Gates to let him lead one division against the enemy. Arnold was quick, impetuous, jealous, eager for fame; Gates, cool, cautious, irritated at Arnold's boldness. Reviewing the facts in some history, write a dialogue between the two showing the char- acter of each. 4. The New Inspector and the Old. Re-reading the introduc- tion to Hawthorne's Scarlet Letter, write a dialogue between the new inspector, who is much stirred in imagination by his discovery of the scarlet letter, and the old inspector, who, having no imagina- tion, regards the letter in a matter-of-fact way as a bit of rubbish. 5. Grant and Lee. Write a dialogue between General Grant and General Lee at Appomattox concerning the articles of surren- der. Try to make each speak according to his character as you understand it: Grant, rather bluntly, but with honest concern and admiration; Lee, with somewhat more formal courtesy, with greater fulness, and with a calm dignity. Review the facts in some history. Imagine the details of attitude and gesture. STYLE 293 6. The Captain and the Boy. The captain of a New Bedford whaler dissuades a boy from running away to sea. 7. (300 or more words ) Before Calais. When Edward III of England had taken Calais after much hard fighting and loss, he angrily declared that he would put the inhabitants to the sword. Then the French knights recanted their surrender, declaring that they would suffer beside the poorest lad that had helped to defend the city. The English knights, headed by Sir Walter of Manny, finally persuaded the king to change his purpose; but he insisted on taking the lives of the six chief burgesses. Sir Walter having protested in vain, Queen Philippa, who had accompanied Edward to the war, knelt and interceded with tears till the king jnielded. Without attempting extended dialogue, make this scene vivid by attitude and gesture, with occasional dialogue to show the character and mood of the actors. Begin with Sir Walter's report of the decision of the French knights. The king replies angrily, Sir Walter pleads for consideration; the king, after some conversation, yields in part. Give then the words of the queen, and finally, in one sentence, the last words of the king. (For further suggestions see Landor's Imaginary Conversations.) These are exercises of the imagination. They are valu- able for fixing the idea of style as the expression of person- ality rather than for any practical use. Practically, aptness to the speaker means aptness to oneself. The main object of studying words is not that we should speak or write like somebody else, but that we should better express ourselves. We study the style of the Spectator , not in order to acquire Addison's style, but to improve our own. From his De Goverley papers we learn to write a more interesting letter about our own experiences in the country, to give so speci- fically the concrete details of the people that we meet as to make them interesting to others, to substitute more precise and suggestive words for the vague, general terms that may occur to us at first. In that sense only we study to write like Addison, or Irving, or Hawthorne, not in the 294 STYLE sense of attempting to sound like them. What we write will sound like ourselves so long as we choose the subject and the details that appeal to us, and the words that seem to us most expressive. (See pages 243-245.) The Personal Quality. — The danger, therefore, is not that our talk and our letters should sound like Addison, but that they should sound like anybody — or nobody. There is a real danger of talking and writing in such set, commonplace words as give no inkling of ourselves. The danger comes from carelessness or laziness. Thus we may make our letters dry catalogues instead of making them express ourselves. The expression of oneself — that is the fundamental interest, not only in literature, but in all familiar conversation and letters. With this aim, any educated person who really cares to may make himself interesting. He need not talk about himself. If he habit- ually chooses for subjects the things of daily life that have impressed him, and if he expresses them frankly in such words as will sharply convey the impression, he will acquire a personal style, a style of his own. Profiting by all the hints that he gets from his reading, it will be none the less his own; for it will express his own way of looking. Since no two of us on the same journey will notice always the same things, or be affected by them in the same way, each of us, by accustoming himself to express his own impressions, may reach a certain personal quality. Though it may not be style in that higher sense which we attach to the personal quality in literature, it will be style in that more common sense in which we speak of his style in walking or gesture, in intonation or manner. It will be, even more than these, the expression of himself. Any one who is not content to talk and write like everybody else may learn to talk and write like himself. V Think of some incident within your own experience, the more STYLE 295 recent the better, which roused in you strong feeling — pity, anger, admiration, fear, enthusiasm, or whatever else it may have been. Recall this to mind as distinctly as you can in all its significant details: how people spoke, looked, acted; the sounds and motion of the scene; the lights or colors of the surroundings, etc. With- out naming your feeling, and without explaining more than is absolutely necessary, describe the scene in not more than two hundred words by choosing such concrete details and such words as will make the reader feel with you. Let the following list suggest other subjects from your experi- ence for themes limited to 200 words. Sometimes write a little essay; but usually describe (Review Chapter ii. for nicer and sharper application of the principles learned there.), unifying by such choice of details and words as will suggest your personal impression. For such descriptions choose in each case (a) an incident that suggests to you a definite feeling, and (6) a characteristic moment at which the details that give this feeling are naturally thickest. Narrate the scene in the past tense and (usually) the first person. Use characteristic dialogue wherever it will help your impression. Without aiming at style, write frankly as the thing strikes you. 1. The Crowd. Recall your experience in some crowd, audi- ence, or congregation. How did you feel? Express this feeling, without naming it, by giving specifically, those concrete details of touch, soimd, motion, odor, light, etc., which made you feel so. 2. The Campus at Night. 14. On the Bridge. 3. Home for the Holidays. 15. Under the Bridge. 4. Lost. 16. A Country Dinner. 5. The Restaurant. 17. The Swimming Hole* 6. Pluck. 18. Selling a Horse. 7. In My Room. 19. The Grocery. 8. On the Road. 20. The Drug Store. 9. On the Street. 21. The Last Examination. 10. The Camp Meeting. 22. A Student Waiter. 11. Catching the Boat. 23. A College Snob. 12. The Ninth Inning. 24. A Street Fakir. 13. A Hot Day in the Field. 25. Captain Jerry and his New Boat* 296 STYLE 26. Hazing. 32. A Field Goal. 27. Being a Good Fellow. 33. Gypsies. 28. A Lecture in . 34. With the Glee Club, 29. Buying Clothes. 35. Circus Day. 30. The Camp Fire. 36. Morning Chapel. 31. The Haunted House. 37. The Last Paper. 2. THE SOUND OF SENTENCES On, then, all Frenchmen that have hearts in your bodies! Roar with all your throats of cartilage and metal, ye sons of libertyl Stir spasmodically whatsoever of utmost faculty is in you, soul, body^ or spirit; for it is the hour! Smite thou, Louis Tournay, cartwright of the Marais, old soldier of the regiment Dauphin^! Smite at that outer drawbridge chain, though the fiery hail whistles roimd thee I Never, over nave or felloe, did thy axe strike such a stroke. — Carlyle, French Revolution^ V. vi. The force of this passage is due partly to specific, con- crete words, especially to the apt verbs, roaVy smites whistles^ etc. But it is due also to the form of the sentences. They swing, as it were, in time with the action. Our imagination is stirred, not only by the suggestiveness of the words, but by the very sound of the sentences. This will become plainer if we combine the same words in different sentence- forms: All ye Frenchmen that have hearts in your bodies, ye sons of liberty, on, then! roaring with all your throats of cartilage and metal, stirring spasmodically, for it is the hour, whatsoever of utmost faculty is in you. Louis Tournay, cartwright of the Marais, old soldier of the Regiment Dauphine, though the fiery hail whistles round thee, smite at that outer drawbridge chain ; for thy axe never struck such a stroke over nave or felloe. The words are the same; but the description no longer carries us with the same swing. Evidently feeling is con- veyed, not only through the force of separate words, but STYLE 297 also through the movement of sentences. We are not fanciful, then, when we speak of a passage as sounding right or wrong. The effect of the sound of sentences con- tributes also to the dignity and solemnity of the familiar Gettysburg address: Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. The effect of this is of course primarily the effect of the thing said, and secondarily of the aptness of the separate words. But without the change of a word this impressive opening will lose much of its effect by mere change in the sentence-forms: Our fathers brought forth upon this continent a new nation. It was conceived in liberty. • It was dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. That was fourscore and seven years ago. The great civil war in which we are now engaged is a test. Can this nation, so conceived and so dedicated, long endure? Can any nation? The impression is quite changed, as when a piece of music is played in the wrong time. What is thus apparent in two passages so widely different is true of all composition that appeals to feeling. Aptness, or appropriateness to the mood that we wish to awaken, depends, not only on the choice of words, but on the sound of clauses and sen- tences, on their rise and fall, — in a word, on their movement. The Sound of Verse. — The effect of sentence-movement upon feeling is plainest, of course, in verse. Poetry is the highest expression of feeling in words; and much of its power to stir us comes from its movement, from the way in which its sentences run or flow; t\6., from its sound. This 298 STYLE is never independent of its meaning; for we are not much moved by versified nonsense; but it has, nevertheless, an effect of its own. The beauty or pathos or gaiety of verse is partly an effect of the sound of its sentences. The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. The slow and solemn effect of this stanza is due first to the choice of details; that is, to the things talked about. It is due also to the specific, concrete words in which they are expressed: curfew (not bell), knell (not stroke), plods (not walks), etc. So much is plain from our previous study. But there is something else. The impression of slowness and solemnity is enhanced by the very sound of the long vowels and by the flow of the verse. Contrast these sounds and this movement with those of Browning's Pied Piper: All the little boys and girls, With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, And sparkhng eyes and teeth like pearls, Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after The wonderful music with shouting and laughter. Again the effect is due to the choice of details and to the concrete, specific expression; but the impression of lightness and gaiety is very much enhanced by the short vowels, the short lines, the quick rhythm. The verse dances in time to the feeling. What is felt in this striking contrast is true of poetry in general. Poetry, being the expression of feeling, communicates the poet's mood by aptness of sound. Blow trumpet ! he will lift us from the dust. Blow trumpet! live the strength, and die the lust! Clang battle-axe, and clash brand! Let the King reign! — Tennyson, Idylls of the King, The Cohiing of Arthur. STYLE 299 I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he ; I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three. **Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew. **Speed!'' echoed the wall to us galloping through. Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, And into the midnight we galloped abreast. « — Browning, How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix, Notice the marked effect of the short clauses in Old English poetry as imitated at page 324. Select for reading aloud a passage of verse in which the soimd is adapted to the feeling. Rime, — Rime, which is characteristic of most modern poetry, shows the pleasure that we have in mere sound. The regular recurrence of a certain sound at the end of the line adds nothing to the sense; but it adds much to our feel- ing. Aside from the emphasis that it gives to certain words, it is there purely for the pleasure of the ear. Similar is that habit in Old English verse of repeating, not the sound at the end, but the sound at the beginning. Alliteration, as it is called, long used before the adoption of rime, has been retained in modern verse as an added appeal to feeling, an added means of pleasure: Shook after shook, the song-built towers and gates iKeel, 6ruised and 6utted with the s/iuddering War-thunder of iron rams. ^ rr.. - — Tennyson, Tiresias. Rhythm and Meter. — But far more important than rime or alliteration in aptness to the mood of the author or the scene is the beat of the verse, the rhythm. The rhythm of verse is the regular recurrence of accent or stress. This is the chief means of suggesting feeling by sound. The quickness or slowness of the movement, its lightness or heaviness, is mainly an effect of the rhythm. Verse began 300 STYLE in dancing. The beat of the word chimed with the beat of the foot, as in marching songs to-day. And as our English language has kept, more than some other languages, the old habit of marking the root syllable of every word by p stress or accent, English verse still depends mainly upon beats or stresses. The rhythm of English, whether in verse or in prose, is the recurrence of beats or stresses as in dancing or marching; and the rhythm of English verse — what we call meter — is regular or fixed recurrence of beat or stress. Thus we speak of a verse of two accents or a two-stress verse: Over the mountains And over the waves, Under the fountains And under the graves. The ballad of Sir Patrick Spence (page 263), like many other ballads, is in four-stress lines alternating with three- stress lines. Shakespeare and Milton wrote oftenest in a five-stress verse: To b^ or not to h6, that is the question. The movement or flow of the verse depends on the number of unaccented syllables coming between two stresses. When there is regularly one unstressed syllable between, the verse is called trochaic: Tell me not in mournful numbers. The stressed syllable taken with the corresponding un- stressed syllable is called a foot. Thus moHrnful or numbers is called a trochaic foot, or trochee; i.e., a running or rapid measure. When two unstressed syllables follow the stress, the foot is called a dactyl. The word means finger. It is ap- plied in this way because a finger has one long joint and two short ones, as: . Rashly importunate. STYLE 301 These terms, borrowed from Greek verse, are commonly expressed by signs: _ v^ for a trochee; -_ v^vy for a dactyl. The signs, which are the same as those used in dictionaries to mark the length of vowels, are more appropriate to Greek verse, which really depends on the alternation of long and short. In English verse, though they express rather stress and unstress, they are nevertheless convenient. To scan a verse is to read it aloud, or to write it out in these signs, so as to show its rhythm; I.e., the number and frequency of its stresses. When the verse goes the other way about, beginning with the unstressed syllable, it has a different effect, and is called by a different name. With one unstressed syllable between, it is called iambic: It bl^sseth him that gives and him that takes. The single foot is called an iambus or iamb (\j _ ). This is merely a trochee turned around. A dactyl turned around is called an anapest (wv^ __): For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair fiUen of young Lochinvar. \^ \J — \^ \y WW — WW WW WW WW WW But in dividing verses thus we must remember two im- portant facts. First, in using iambic or anapestic verse the best EngUsh poets admit an occasional trochee or dactyl for variety : Cassio, The riches of the ship is come on shore Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees. Hail to thee, lady ! and the grace of heaven. Before, behind thee, and on every hand, En wheel thee roimd. Desdemona. I thank you, valiant Cassio. — O^^etto, II., i. S2. 302 STYLE This passage, like many another in Shakespeare, though it follows generally the iambic measure of all his plays, has in its third line a movement rather trochaic and dactylic. Being too sHght to disturb the normal iambic flow of the meter, such variations give a pleasant relief. A poem that is strictly iambic throughout, with no such variations, tends to become monotonous. Besides, in English verse, the number or place of the unstressed syllables is of less conse- quence than the stresses. English meter is determined not so much by the number of syllables as by the number of stresses. Hence arises a second important fact of English meter. The unstressed part of the foot is sometimes omitted. Thus two stresses are brought together, with an effect of slowness, weight, or pause, and the foot is said to be syn- copated: Break! break! break! On thy cold gray stones, O seal w w — w _ v^ — These two lines, though the first has three syllables and the second seven, are metrically equivalent; for they have the same number of stresses. We feel them so as we read them, dwelling longer on each syllable of the first verse; and we feel also the variety and the adaptation to feeling in the lingering measure of the first. The opening verse of Hamlet's soUloquy, quoted above, has syncope in the fourth foot; and the marching hymn of Arthur's knights, quoted on page 298, derives from this device much of its effect. Adaptation of Verse-Form to Feeling. — The adaptation of rhythm to mood, indeed, is the chief way in which verse makes its appeal to feeling by sound. Thus certain verse- forms are felt to be appropriate to certain kinds of com- position. For narrative poems of weight and dignity we are accustomed to the five-stress iambic. "Ij^his is called the English heroic verse. It is the verse of Shakespeare's plays. STYLE 303 of Milton^s Paradise Lost, of Tennyson's Idylls of the King. Rhymed in couplets (heroic couplet) j it is the favorite verse of the eighteenth century, and is heard at its best in Pope. On the other hand, the simple ballad tales use a shorter verse: The king sits in Dumf^rling town, ^ v/w — w— . Drinking the blood-red wine. — vy w — >^ — O wh^re will I g^t a good sailor \j ^ kj \y ^ \j \j To sail this ship of mine? w __ w — >^ _« Similarly Scott uses a four-stress verse in the Lady of the Lake and Marmion, A still shorter Hne enhances the feeling of stir and go in Drayton's fine Ballad of Agincourt: Fair stood the wind for France, -_ w w __ vy _« When we our sails advance, w __ ^ — w — Nor now to prove our chance w \j \y Longer will tarry; >^ w \j But putting to the main, v^' — w _ w _ At Caux, the mouth of Seine, w »__ ^ — ^^y — With all his martial train, v^ __ w _ v>' Landed Ejng Harry. ^ \j \j ^ \j Poitiers and Cressy tell, When most their pride did swell, Under our swords they fell. No less our skill is Than when our grandsire great Claiming the regal seat, By many a warlike feat Lopped the French lilies. Any group of lines forming, as in the two poems above, a definite part is called a stanza. The ballad of Sir Patrick Spence is written in stanzas of four lines riming alter- nately, the first and third of four stresses, the second and fourth of three. This is the simplest of stanzas, entirely 304 STYLE appropriate to the simple ballad stories. Drayton in his Agincourt uses a stanza of eight three-stress lines. 1, 2, and 3 rime together; 5, 6, and 7; 4 and 8. Thus the scheme of rimes may be indicated by letters : aaah c ccb. In the familiar love-poem To Althea, from Prison, two ballad stanzas are combined in one : ah ah cd cd: When love with unconfinM wings Hovers within my gates, And my diviae Althea brings To whisper at the grates; When I lie tangled in her hair, And fettered to her eye, The birds that wanton in the air Know no such liberty. Poetry of this latter kind, not telling a story, but simply expressing emotion, is called lyric, or song (see page 327). The difference between lyric movement and narrative movement is marked in those scenes where Shakespeare introduces songs, as also in Tennyson's Princess. After the steady march of the longer narrative verse the charm of the lyric stanzas is felt the more by contrast. A reading aloud of the close of Act II. in As You Like It, for instance, begin- ning with "All the world's a stage,'* will mark the adapta- tion of rhythm to feeling. Further, poets suggest or heighten feeling by the choice and adaptation of the lyric stanza itself. The best English lyrics reveal an almost infinite variety of adaptation, ranging all the way from the frank and simple stanza To Althea to such complex and subtle rhythms and rime-schemes as those of Gray's Bard or Wordsworth's Intimations of Immortality. Find the following lyrics and read them aloud. By scansion of each, and by comparing one with another, show the adap- tation of the verse and the stanza to the toood. STYLE 306 Where the bee sucks, there suck I. Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky. A wet sheet and a flowing sea. Of all the girls that are so smart. Piping down the valleys wild (Blake). Toll for the brave. O World! OLife! O Time I Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom. Go, lovely Rose I Oft in the stilly night. Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances I O wild west wind, thou breath of Autumn ^s being. Break! break! break! The Sound of Prose. — Thus poetry shows us clearly how far suggestions of feeling are heightened by sound. It shows us that the heightening comes mainly from rhythm. This method of enhancing emotion by sound is proper to poetry; but it is possible also to prose. Indeed, the differ- ence in this regard between the poetry of feeling and the prose of feeling is not in the presence or absence of rhythm, but in its regularity. In poetry the rhythm is fixed. Each line has a fixed number of stresses; and the whole poem has a regular system of recurrences, a fixed rhythm, which is called meter. Prose, on the other hand, is unmetrical; its rhythm is not fixed. But though it must be un- metrical, it may be rhythmical; it may add to the sug- gestions of concrete imagery or of elegant precision the suggestions of rhythm. Thus we often speak of an emo- tional prose passage as rapid or slow, sonorous, monotonous, smooth, or abrupt; and in every such case we are speaking of its rhythm. We mean that there is adaptation to feeling in the very sound of the sentences. In prose and verse alike, the adaptation of sound to feeling may be gained by imitative words, such as clash, roar, whizz, 21 306 STYLE hiss, boom. Though such words are comparatively few, and their frequent use would be childish, we may without direct imitation use words whose sounds harmonize with the sense and the feeling. The phrase drums and tramplings, without imitation, suggests soldiers marching. Dickens's Miss Peecher, cherry-cheeked and tuneful of voice, sounds like the twittering of a bird. Newman's description of surf is suggestive both by the sound of the separate words and by the rhythm: . . . those graceful, fan-like jets of silver upon the rocks, which slowly rise aloft like water spirits from the deep, then shiver, and break, and spread, and shroud themselves, and disappear in a soft mist of foam ; nor of the gentle, incessant heaving and panting of the whole liquid plain; nor of the long waves, keeping steady time, like a line of soldiery, as they resound upon the hollow shore. — Newman, Historical Sketches, I., iii. For the longer, smoother, and statelier rhythms, verse and prose alike depend largely upon Latin derivatives which are appropriate aUke to deliberate movement and to deliberative mood. We were now treading that illustrious island which was once the luminary of the Caledonian regions, whence savage clans and roving barbarians derived the benefits of knowledge and the bless- ings of religion. To abstract the mind from all local emotion would be impossible if it were endeavored, and would be foolish if it were possible. Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses, whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future pre- dominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings. Far from me and from my friends be such frigid philos- ophy as may conduct us indifferent and unmoved over any ground which has been digraified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue. The man is little to be envied whose patriotism would not gain force upon the plain of Marathon, or whose piety would not grow warmer among the ruins of lona. — Johnson, A Journey to the Western Islands of "Scotland, IcolmkiU, STYLE 307 Again, verse and prose alike may use alliteration (page 299), or enhance an effect of slowness, lingering, or heavi- ness, by syncope (page 302). The main difference is that prose rhythms are freer. Prose is not only unmetrical; it also permits a longer succession of unstressed syllables. Between two stresses verse can rarely have more than two unstressed syllables; prose very often has three, or even four. To consider such details in the writing of ordinary prose would probably lead to affectation and feebleness; but to read fine prose aloud with this view increases the appreciation of literature. For practical purposes of revi- sion, the main consideration of rhythm is sentence emphasis. The rule that a sentence should end with its most significant word arises from the fact that at the end of the sentence the voice falls naturally and then pauses. If we put into this place the word most important for carrying on the thought of the paragraph, we make the rhythm serve the sense. If, on the contrary, we put there some less im- portant part, we lose an opportunity. If finally we put there some phrase that merely fills out the rhythm, we sacrifice sense to sound. This last is the cause of bombast or padding. For redundancy, the use of more words than are demanded by the sense, arises very often from the natural tendency to carry the rhythm to a full close, to fill out the cadence; and the corresponding remedy is so to recast the whole sentence, by bringing the important word to the end, that sound and sense may be satisfied at once.* Observe in the following how the cadence of each sentence at once chimes with the feeling and marks the word that is significant for carrying forward the thought : It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of France, then the Dauphiness, at Versailles; and surely never 1 See pages 109-112. 308 STYLE lighted on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vision. I saw her just above the horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she just began to move in; glitter- ing like the morning star, full of life, and splendor, and joy. Oh! what a revolution! and what a heart must I have to contemplate without emotion that elevation and that fall! Little did I dream when she added titles of veneration to those of enthusiastic, dis- tant, respectful love, that she should ever be obliged to carry the sharp antidote against disgrace concealed in that bosom; little did I dream that I should have Hved to see such disasters fallen upon her in a nation of gallant men, in a nation of men of honor and of cavaliers. I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards to avenge even a look that threatened her with insult. But the age of chivalry is gone. That of sophis- ters, economists, and calculators, has succeeded; and the glory of Europe is extinguished for ever. Never, never more, shall we behold that generous loyalty to rank and sex, that proud sub- mission, that dignified obedience, that subordination of the heart, which kept alive, even in servitude itself, the spirit of an exalted freedom. The unbought grace of life, the cheap defence of na- tions, the nurse of manly sentiments and heroic enterprise, is gone ! It is gone, that sensibility of principle, that chastity of honor, which felt a stain like a wound, which inspired courage whilst it mitigated ferocity, which ennobled whatever it touched, and under which vice itself lost half its evil, by losing all its grossness. — Burke, Reflections on the Revolution in France, Observe also in this passage the use of Latin derivatives to give a dignified and sustained rhythm, and the variety of the sentences (page 313) in length and form. Notice the marked and appro- priate rhythm, and the incidental aUiteration, in such clauses as / thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scab- hards. The whole paragraph should be read aloud to mark its cadences. Rapidity, — In revising our own prose to enhance the suggestion of feeling, rhythm may withoilt affectation be STYLE 309 considered definitely in its application to the length of sentences. By reading our descriptions aloud we may quite simply adapt the length of the sentences to the quick- ness or slowness of the action and to the agitation or tran- quilHty of the mood. Generally, short sentences are better to express haste, suddenness, or tumult; long sentences to express deUberation or calm. The sea, the atmosphere, the light, bore each an orchestral part in this universal lull. Moonlight and the first timid tremblings of the dawn were by this time blending; and the blendings were brought into a still more exquisite state of unity by a slight sil- very mist, motionless and dreamy, that covered the woods and fields, but with a veil of equable transparency. Except the feet of our own horses, which, running on a sandy margin of the road, made but little disturbance, there was no sound abroad. In the clouds and on the earth prevailed the same majestic peace; and, in spite of all that the villain of a schoolmaster has done for the ruin of our sublimer thoughts, which are the thoughts of our infancy, we still believe in no such nonsense as a limited atmosphere. Whatever we may swear with our false feigning lips, in our faithful hearts we still believe, and must forever believe, in fields of air traversing the total gulf between earth and the central heavens. Still, in the confidence of children that tread without fear every chamber in their father \s house, and to whom no door is closed, we, in that Sabbatic vision which sometimes is revealed for an hour upon nights like this, ascend with easy steps from the sorrow-stricken fields of earth upwards to the sandals of God. — De Quincey, The English Mail-Coach^ The Vision of Sudden Death. The reading of this passage aloud reveals a rhythmical rise and fall. Not the fixed rhythm of meter, it is never- theless felt as we read. It heightens our sympathy with the mood of peace; and it naturally becomes plainer, though never metrical, as the feeUng of peace expands to the feeling 310 STYLE of faith at the close. The delicate adaptation of sound to feeling is due partly to the choice of those longer, smoother words that we have from the Latin; it is due partly to un- obtrusive alliteration (page 299); but the impression of calm is given mainly by a certain even rise and fall of rhythm in long, deliberate sentences. When this mood is broken, the sentences break accordingly. The rhythm changes: What could be done — who was it that could do it — to check the storm-flight of these maniacal horses? Could I not seize the reins from the grasp of the slumbering coachman? . . . The sounds ahead strengthened, and were now too clearly the sounds of wheels. Who and what could it be? Was it industry in a taxed cart? Was it youthful gaiety in a gig? Was it sorrow that loitered, or joy that raced? The more rapid effect of breaking the rhythm by short sentences is felt in Thackeray's description of the excite- ment in Brussels during the battle of Waterloo: The merchants closed their shops, and came out to swell the general chorus of alarm and clamor. Women rushed to the churches, and crowded the chapels, and knelt and prayed on the flags and steps. The dull sound of the cannon went on rolling, rolling. Presently carriages with travelers began to leave the town, galloping away by the Ghent barrier. The prophecies of the French partisans began to pass for facts. ''He has cut the armies in two," it was said. ''He is marching straight on Brussels. He will overpower the English, and be here to-night.'* — Thackeray, Vanity Fair, Chapter xxxii. In choice of words this description is not very striking. The effect of tumult is due almost entirely to the length and form of the sentences. The shorter, unconnected sentences of the following description are more fully adapted to the agitation of strong feeUng. The abrupt, broken rhythm STYLE 311 helps us feel the tumult of a young father as he rushes out into the forest and the storm: He left the high road and pierced into the forest. His walk was rapid. The leaves on the trees brushed his cheeks, the dead leaves in the dells noised to his feet. Something of a religious joy, a strange, sacred pleasure, was in him. By degrees it wore. He remembered himself; and now he was possessed by a propor- tionate anguish. A father! He dared never see his child. . . . The ground began to dip. He lost sight of the sky. Then heavy thunder-drops struck his cheek. The leaves were singing. The earth breathed. It was black before him and behind. All at once the thunder spoke. The moimtain he had marked was bursting over him. Up started the whole forest in violent fire. — George Meredith, The Ordeal of Richard Feverely Chapter xliii. To combine these detached statements into more logical sentences would much mar the impression; for it would make the sentence-movement, or rhythm, slower and more deliberate (see pages 144-146). When he left the high road and pierced into the forest with rapid walk, the leaves on the trees brushed his cheek, and the dead leaves in the dells noised to his feet. That something of relig- ious joy within him, that strange and sacred pleasure, wore by degrees until, remembering himself, he was possessed by a pro- portionate anguish. Though he was a father, he dared never see his child. ... As the ground began to dip until he lost sight of the sky, while the heavy thunder-drops that sang in the leaves struck his cheek, the earth breathed out of the blackness before and behind him. When, as if with the bursting over him of the mountain he had marked, the thunder spoke all at once, the whole forest started up in violent fire. Try the effect of combining thus the short, detached sentences of the following: Gerard looked wildly down. He was forty feet from the ground. 312 STYLE Death below. Death moving slow but sure on him in a still more horrible form. His hair bristled. The sweat poured from him. He sat helpless, fascinated, tongue-tied. As the fearful monster crawled, growling towards him, incon- gruous thoughts coursed through his mind : Margaret, — the Vul- gate, where it speaks of the rage of a she-bear robbed of her whelps, — Rome, — eternity. The bear crawled on. And now the stupor of death fell on the doomed man. He saw the opened jaws and bloodshot eyes com- ing, but in a mist. As in a mist he heard a twang. He glanced down. Denys, white and silent as death, was shooting up at the bear. — Charles Reade, The Cloister and the Hearth, Chapter xxiv. Agitation, then, and swift or sudden action, are naturally suggested by short sentences; for these give the impression of abruptness by preventing any sustained rhythm. Calm, revery, slowness, and the like are naturally suggested by long sentences; for these, by necessitating subordination, are more deliberate, and they give opportunity for sustain- ing a rhythm evenly. Revise the themes written at page 295 above, in order to increase their suggestiveness by adaptation of the sentences to the action and mood. On the platform of a country railroad station at a hot summer noon idlers are sitting and chatting quietly. The telegraph in- strument clicks, a locust buzzes in a roadside tree, and the brook swirls gently. The heat makes waves in the air. With these details, and others of your own choosing, describe the scene so as to give an impression of lazy quiet. Then describe the sudden coming of an excursion train and the excitement on the platform. Revise the theme so as to enhance the impression of quiet and indolence in the first part by long, deliberate sentences, and the impression of bustle in the latter part by short sentences, with exclamation and dialogue. With like adaptation of sentences, describe children quietly STYLE 313 making mud pies in a remote country road, and then suddenly dispersed by an automobile. Describe the scene at a wharf on a still night, the coming of the steamboat, the making fast, the imloading of freight, the departure of the boat. Variety, — But the very freedom of prose rhythm naturally demands variety. A series of sentences keeping about the same length soon becomes tiresome by its monotony. Still more monotonous is a series keeping, not only the same length, but the same form. The sentence-form most Ukely to offend in this particular is the compound. Thus there are reasons of rhythm, as well as of logic, for revising into the complex form all sentences that are improperly compound.^ And in general, reading aloud will sometimes suggest the combination of two sentences in one, or the breaking of one into two, for the sake of variety. Variety of style is almost entirely an affair of the form and length of sentences. Of the following passages from Macaulay's History of England, the first, by the monotony and abruptness of the sentences, jars upon the impression of pathos suggested by the incidents and the words; the second, on the other hand, moves in tune with the action and at the same time has greater variety of sentence-form: (a) Hampden, with his head drooping, and his hands leaning on his horse's neck, moved feebly out of the battle. The mansion which had been inhabited by his father-in-law, and from which in his youth he had carried home his bride Elizabeth, was in sight. There still remains an affecting tradition that he looked for a moment towards that beloved house, and made an effort to go thither to die. But the enemy lay in that direction. He turned his horse towards Thame, where he arrived almost fainting with agony. The surgeons dressed his wounds. But there was no hope. The pain which he suffered was most excruciating. But he en- dured it with admirable firmness and resignation. His first care » See pages 100-101. 314 STYLE was for his country. He wrote from his bed several letters to London concerning public affairs, and sent a last pressing mes- sage to the headquarters, recommending that the dispersed forces should be concentrated. When his public duties were performed, he calmly prepared himself to die. He was attended by a clergy- man of the Church of England, with whom he lived in habits of intimacy, and by the chaplain of the Buckinghamshire Green- coats, Dr. Spurton, whom Baxter describes as a famous and excel- lent divine. (6) Sir Roger Langley answered '*Not guilty!" As the words passed his lips, Halifax sprang up and waved his hat. At that signal, benches and galleries raised a shout. In a moment ten thousand persons, who crowded the great hall, replied with a still louder shout, which made the old oaken roof crack; and in another moment the innumerable throng without set up a third huzza, which was heard at Temple Bar. The boats which covered the Thames gave an answering cheer. A peal of gunpowder was heard on the water, and another, and another: and so, in a few moments, the glad tidings were flying past the Savoy and the Friars to London Bridge, and to the forest of masts below. As the news spread, streets and squares, market-places and coffee- houses, broke forth into acclamations. Yet were the acclama- tions less strange than the weeping. For the feelings of men had been wound up to such a point that at length the stern English nature, so little used to outward signs of emotion, gave way, and thousands sobbed aloud for very joy. Read aloud the following passages to study and compare their rhythm in general, and in particular the variety in sentence- length and sentence-form: (c) The poetry of Milton differs from that of Dante as the hieroglyphics of Egypt differed from the picture-writing of Mex- ico. The images which Dante employs speak for themselves; they stand simply for what they are. Those of Milton have a signification which is often discernible only to the initiated. Their value depends less on what they directly represent than on what they remotely suggest. However strange, however grotesque may be the appearance which Dante undertakes to describe, he STYLE 315 never shrinks from describing it. He gives us the shape, the color, the sound, the smell, the taste; he counts the numbers; he measures the size. His similes are the illustrations of a traveler. Unlike those of other poets, and especially of Milton, they are introduced in a plain, business-hke manner, not for the sake of any beauty in the objects from which they are drawn, not for the sake of any ornament which they may impart to the poem, but simply in order to make the meaning of the writer as clear to the reader as it is to himself. The ruins of the precipice which led from the sixth to the seventh circle of hell were like those of the rock which fell into the Adige on the south of Trent. The cataract of Phlegethon was like that of Aqua Cheta at the monastery of St. Benedict. The place where the heretics were confined in burning tombs resembled the vast cemetery of Aries. — Macaulay, Essay on Milton, % 32. (d) The last cause of this disobedient spirit in the colonies is hardly less powerful than the rest, as it is not merely moral, but laid deep in the natural constitution of things. Three thousand miles of ocean lie between you and them. No contrivance can prevent the effect of this distance in weakening government. Seas roll, and months pass, between the order and the execution; and the want of a speedy explanation of a single point is enough to defeat a whole system. You have, indeed, winged ministers of vengeance, who carry your bolts in their pounces to the remotest verge of the sea. But there a power steps in that limits the arro- gance of raging passions and furious elements, and says, **So far shalt thou go, and no farther." Who are you that you should fret and rage and bite the chains of nature? Nothing worse happens to you than does to all nations who have extensive empire; and it happens in all the forms into which empire can be thrown. In large bodies, the circulation of power must be less vigorous at the extremities. Nature has said it. The Turk can- not govern Egypt, and Arabia, and Curdistan, as he governs Thrace; nor has he the same dominion in Crimea and Algiers which he has at Brusa and Smyrna. Despotism itself is obliged to truck and huckster. The Sultan gets such obedience as he 316 STYLE can. He governs with a loose rein, that he may govern at all; and the whole force and vigor of his authority in his center is derived from a prudent relaxation in all his borders. Spain in her provinces is, perhaps, not so well obeyed as you in yours. She complies, too; she submits; she watches time. This is the immutable condition, the eternal law, of extensive and detached empire. ^ — Burke, Conciliation with America, ^ 44. (e) The poor, forsaken girl, on the contrary, drank not herself from the cup of rest which she had secured for France. She never sang together with the songs that rose in her native Dom- T6my as echoes to the departing steps of invaders. She mingled not in the festal dances at Vaucouleurs which celebrated in rap- ture the redemption of France. No! for her voice was then silent; no! for her feet were dust. Pure, innocent, noble-hearted girl! whom, from earliest youth, ever I believed in as full of truth and self-sacrifice, this was amongst the strongest pledges for thy truth, that never once — no, not for a moment of weakness — didst thou revel in the vision of coronets and honour from man. Coronets for thee! Oh no! Honours, if they come when all is over, are for those that share thy blood. Daughter of Domremy, when the gratitude of thy king shall awaken, thou wilt be sleeping the sleep of the dead. Call her. King of France, but she will not hear thee ! Gte her by thy apparitors to come and receive a robe of honour, but she will be found en contumace. When the thunders of uni- versal France, as even yet may happen, shall proclaim the grandeur of the poor shepherd girl that gave up all for her country, thy ear, yoimg shepherd girl, will have been deaf for five centuries. To suffer and to do, that was thy portion in this life; that was thy destiny; and not for a moment was it hidden from thyself. Life, thou saidst, is short; and the sleep which is in the grave is long! Let me use that life, so transitory, for the glory of those heavenly dreams destined to comfort the sleep which is so long. This pure creature — pure from every suspicion of even a visionary self- interest, even as she was pure in senses more obvious — never once did this holy child, as regarded herself, relax from her belief in the darkness that was travelling to meet her. She might not STYLE 317 prefigure the very manner of her death ; she saw not in vision, per- haps, the aerial altitude of the fiery scaffold, the spectators without end on every road pouring into Rouen as to a coronation, the surg- ing smoke, the volleying flames, the hostile faces all around, the pitying eye that lurked but here and there, until nature and im- perishable truth broke loose from artificial restraints; — these might not be apparent through the mists of the hurrying future. But the voice that called her to death, that she heard for ever. — De Quincey, Joan of Arc, first paragraph. (/) The town of Abdera, notwithstanding Democritus lived there, trying all the powers of irony and laughter to reclaim it, was the vilest and most profligate town in all Thrace. What for poisons, conspiracies, and assassinations, — libels, pasquinades and tu- mults, — there was no going there by day; — 'twas worse by night. Now when things were at their worst, it came to pass that the Andromeda of Euripides being represented at Abdera, the whole orchestra was delighted with it. But, of all the passages which delighted them, nothing operated more upon their imaginations than the tender strokes of nature which the poet had wrought up in that pathetic speech of Perseus, '^O Cupid! prince of gods and men.'' Every man, almost, spoke pure iambics the next day, and talked of nothing but Perseus' pathetic address — "O Cupid! prince of gods and men!" In every street of Abdera, in every house — "O Cupid! Cupid!" in every mouth, like the natural notes of some sweet melody, which drop from it whether it will or no, — nothing but "Cupid! Cupid! prince of gods and men!" The fire caught, and the whole city, like the heart of one man, opened itself to love. No pharmacopolist could sell one grain of hellebore; not a single armorer had a heart to forge one instru- ment of death. Friendship and Virtue met together and kissed each other in the street. The golden age returned and hung over the town of Abdera. Every Abderite took his oaten pipe; and every Abderitish woman left her purple web, and chastely sat her down, and listened to the song. " 'Twas only in the power," says the fragment, "of the god whose empire extendeth from heaven to earth, and even to the depths of the sea, to have done this." — Sterne, The Sentimental Journey, CHAPTER X THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE Themes in connection with this chapter are indicated in the text. In general they are of two kinds, either criticism or imitation; but they review incidentally many of the studies assigned through- out the whole book and should suggest further review by practice. The textj a brief review of literature from the point of view of composition, is intended to show how writing may help reading, and to give outlook for both, 1. THE TWO FIELDS OF COMPOSITION We have seen that the four kinds, or processes, of writing and speaking are argument to convince, exposition to ex- plain, narration to tell a story, description to suggest a scene, and that these four kinds naturally go in pairs, exposition with argument, description with narration. For composi- tion has two great fields. Writing and speaking have two main objects, clearness and interest, information and sug- gestion, appeal to reason and appeal to imagination, business and pleasure. Though these objects are not incompatible, though we may even pursue both in the same composition, still one or the other will be our main concern. And accord- ing to this main object, according as business or pleasure is the more important, we adjust the form of the whole. When the main concern is to inform or prove, to expound or argue, the composition is planned by paragraphs; when the main concern is to stir the imagination, to tell a story or describe, paragraphs are ignored. Indeed, Ml writing and 318 THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE 319 speaking may be practically divided into that which is com- posed in paragraphs and that which is not. Exposition and argument may, indeed should, have concrete descriptive detail; but the outline, the form of the whole, is determined by paragraphs. Narration, in some cases, may stop to explain or argue; but the plan of the whole story is not determined by paragraphs. Thus in a broad, general way the paragraph may be called the sign of structure. By paragraphs we carry on the ordinary business of writing for clearness; the pleasure of writing, the appeal to imagina- tion for interest, we carry on without paragraphs. Review pages 1-4, 33, 48-53, 61-64, 67-69, 74, 234, 261, 273, 277. Apply these to expand the summary statements of the pre- ceding paragraph into a connected oral explanation of about five minutes, with examples drawn from your own reading and your own themes. Write this out afterwards as an essay. Write two short themes on the same topic — one of the follow- ing, or one of your own choice — (a) an exposition (or argument), (b) a description (or narrative) : At a Small College. Freight-handling at the Terminal. The Amusement Park. ** Fresh-air" Children. Intercollegiate Football. This broad distinction is so fundamental that it runs throughout literature. First, it divides literature by time. In Enghsh, as in every other language, the literature of reason, composed in paragraphs, is later than the literature of imagination. Early Uterature, being imaginative, has almost always some sort of narrative structure. It is poetry, not prose; for strong feeling moves it to regular rhythms, and the people has not yet thought out the logical relations of connected prose. For the same general reason its structure is narrative. It is a literature, not of thought, but of feeling; not of ideas, but of images. Prose literature, 320 THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE when it arises, follows at first the steps of poetry in being mainly narrative. The prose of thought, reasoning by paragraphs, finds its way into the literature of any nation much later. In English, for instance, there is very little prose of this kind in literature before the beginning of the modern age in the fifteenth century. Meantime the way for it has been prepared by public speaking. In sermons and other speeches a prose of orderly, logical exposition is gradually developed until it is brought to literary achieve^ ment when the time and the language are ripe. 2. THE PRIMARY FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE The object of literature, as of the other arts, is to reveal life. What the mass of men is too dull to see or feel, the artist, whether in words or in colors, makes significant. He interprets life to us, makes us see and feel more keenly. In pursuing this common object of all literature, writers have followed or modified from age to age, through many varieties of personal expression, certain great types, or literary forms. The primary forms, that is the earlier and simpler, are epic and romance, lyric, and drama, — all, as has been said, within the general field of narrative and description.' The only form within the other field is oratory; and even this, in the earlier periods, often uses narrative. The secondary forms, that is the later, derivative forms, are essay, novel, and short story. Of these, only the first is within the field of logic. The other two are special developments of the primary forms of narrative. Thus literature, from beginning to end, speaks oftenest to the imagination in some form of narrative. Whereas our ordinary composition for the business ends of fife goes on by paragraphs, Htera- ture naturally adopts some form of story** or description. THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE 321 Instead of ideas in paragraphs about life, it oftenest gives us scenes from life itself. To write about life, to explain it in greater scope or smaller, with large view or in the details of daily business, — that is what composition means to most of us at most times; to write life, as it were, to inter- pret it by such forms as shall stir the imagination and feel- ing through some sort of imitation, — that is Uterature. Though the boundary is readily crossed, though literary artists write essays in paragraphs and common men tell stories, nevertheless the narrative development is far oftener used for Uterature and the paragraph development for business. Thus the historical succession of literary forms shows at once that development by paragraphs is late in literature and that it has comparatively Uttle space. For literature tries far less often to discuss life than to reveal it. In studying the forms of literature we too are studying how to reveal life within our capacity and our influence, how to tell the stories of life that touch us in such ways as to make them interesting and significant to others. Without pretensions to Uterary eminence, we may achieve some degree of Uterary interest, and we shall surely sharpen our appreciation. To this end, let us examine in turn each of the great typical forms. Epic : the ReaUzation of Life. — Epic, the earliest narra- tive Uterature, is full of inspiration to interest in writing from its vivid reaUzation of life in concrete details. Epic is full of the joy of Uving and doing. Such reflections on Ufe as it contains are few, brief, and simple. Rather it aims, not to reflect on Ufe, but to reflect life. The difference is sometimes expressed by the words subjective, relating to the writer, and objective, relating to the external world apart from the writer. Epic is very objective. It teUs us, not what the poet thought or felt about his world, but how his world sounded and looked and moved. It expresses not 22 322 THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE SO much the poet as the life about him. Its peculiar pleasure in the reading and its lesson for writing, is the vivid force of concreteness, the stirring of imagination by words of physical sensations. Thus we realize with extraordinary distinctness the life of the Homeric age, and sympathize with the strong, simple emotions of its men and women. THE SON OF ODYSSEUS AND THE SON OF NESTOR CLAIM HOSPITALITY OF MENELAOS Then, greeting the pair, said light-haired Menelaos: **Take food, and have good cheer! and after you have enjoyed your meal, we will inquire what men you are." ... So saying, he set before them fat slices of a chine of beef, taking up in his hands the roasted flesh which had been placed before him as the piece of honor; and on the food spread out before them they laid hands. But after they had stayed desire for drink and food, Telemachos said to Nestor's son, his head bent close that others might not hear: '*0 son of Nestor, my heart's delight, observe the blaze of bronze throughout these echoing halls, the gold, the amber, silver, and ivory! The court of Olympian Zeus must be like this within. What untold wealth is here! I am amazed to see." What he was saying light-haired Menelaos overheard, and speaking to them in winged words he said: **Dear children, surely mortal man could never vie with Zeus. Eternal are his halls and his possessions. But one of humankind to vie with me in wealth there may or may not be. Through many woes and wanderings I brought it in my ships, and I was eight years on the way. Cyprus, Phoenicia, Egypt, I wandered over. I came to the Ethiopians, Sidonians, and Erembians, and into Libya, where the lambs are full-horned at their birth. Three times within the ripening year the flocks bear young. No master nor herdsman there lacks cheese, meat, or sweet milk, but the ewes always give their milk the whole year round .... Yet in my grief it is not all I so much mourn as one alone, who makes me loathe my sleep and food when I remember him ; for no Achaian met the struggled that Odysseus THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE 323 met and won. Therefore on him it was appointed woe should fall, and upon me a ceaseless pang because of him ; so long he tar- ries, whether alive or dead we do not know. Doubtless there mourn him now the old Laertes, steadfast Penelope, and Tele- machos, whom he left a new-born child at home.' So he spoke, and stirred in Telemachos yearnings to mourn his father. Tears from his eyelids dropped upon the ground when he heard his father's name; and he held with both his hands his purple cloak before his eyes. — Homer, Odyssey, iv. 59, Palmer's prose translation. The richness of specific concrete detail makes us enter into the scene and feel the boyish admiration of Telemachus and the garrulous pride and grief of Menelaus in their very way of speaking. ODYSSEUS SWIMS ASHORE FROM THE SHIPWRECK Odysseus swam onward, being eager to set foot on the strand. But when he was within earshot of the shore, and heard now the thunder of the sea against the reefs — for the great wave crashed against the dry land belching in terrible wise, and all was covered with foam of the sea, — for there were no harbors for ships nor shelters, but jutting headlands and reefs and cliffs; then at last the knees of Odysseus were loosened and his heart melted, and in his heaviness he spake to his own brave spirit: '*Ah me! now that beyond all hope Zeus hath given me sight of land, and withal I have cloven my way through this gulf of the sea, here there is no place to land on from out of the grey water. For without are sharp crags, and roimd them the wave roars surging, and sheer the smooth rock rises, and the sea is deep thereby, so that in no wise may I find firm foothold and escape my bane ; for as I fain would go ashore, the great wave may haply snatch and dash me on the jagged rock, and a wretched endeavor that would be." — Homer, Odyssey, v. 410, Butcher and Lang's prose translation. Even so English epic makes us realize the land and the life of the old English heroes: 324 THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE THE LANDING OF BEOWULF Straightway they went, bode near the beach safe at anchor, over their cheek-guards, fair and fire-hard, Warlike went they; kept their company of the royal roof-tree, That was foremost of houses under heaven. Lightened its light The warship waited still; the broad-stretched bark, Shone the boar-images chiseled in gold ; fended them from foes. warriors, they hasted, till they might catch glimpses all rich with gilding. for folk of earth In it Hrothgar bode. over lands a many. The street was stone-set, goodmen together, hard, hand-locked, sang in the steel in their grimly garnished Sea-tired, they set targets terrible. Bent they to benches; heroes' harness, stood their spears, ashen, tipped with grey. straight leading them, Glittered their mail; the hammered rings as on they strode to Heorot, gear approaching. their spacious shields, by the towering wall. byrnies clattered. Huddled together, the seafarers' weapons, — Beowulf, 301-330.^ Review pages 35-42, 147-160, 231-233, 249-258, to prepare a connected oral exposition of the force of concreteness. Write with epic fullness of specific concrete detail a short theme on each of several topics following. The topics presuppose a crowd or company in sympathy with the actions of their leader or their representatives; for the larger epic interest is the com- munal interest in heroes. Epic is full of local pride. Write as one of an enthusiastic crowd. iThe translation follows the rhythm and the alliteration of the original. ^ THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE 325 1. The End of the Second Half. A hard-fought football game has been played to a tie. One of the players having been ex- hausted, a substitute is put in. An excellent player, and very popular, he has been kept out of the game by illness. Describe his reception as he comes on the field. By a clever and daring play he wins the game. 2. The Choice of the People, A crowd comes to congratulate a strong and fearless leader on his election to . Coming out on the porch, he thanks his friends and pledges his best endeavor. Try to give the impression of the enthusiasm and love of the crowd. 3. The Clam-hake, barbecue, barn-dance, or other local cele- bration gathering a crowd of neighbors in common feasting and mirth. 4. The Coast-guard, A retired veteran life-saver in an anxious crowd on the beach comments on the heroic efforts of his old corps as they venture and toil to save the crew of a fishing schooner wrecked within sight of home. 5. How We Won the Race, 6. The Return of the Regiment, 7. News of Battle, 8. Custer ^s Last Fight, as told by a survivor. Write an essay on National Songs (America, The Star-Spangled Banner, Die Wacht am Rhein, La Marseillaise, etc.), showing how they express national pride in national history and the spirit of common loyalty. Do you find the same feeling in Maryland, My Maryland, Dixie, The Song of the English? In ballads and similar poems; e.g.. Chevy Chase, Agincourt, The Charge of the Light Bri" gade, Sheridan^ s Ride ? Romance : the Idealization of Life. — To the early epic literature succeeded the medieval literature of romance. In romance story-telling took a new turn. Whether in prose or in verse, the medieval romances rely no longer on local pride and on distinctness of characterization. All the best romances passed so readily from nation to nation that the heroes became in literature mere types of the manly virtues 326 THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE then most admired in all nations, — bravery of course, devotion in love, courtesy, — in a word, chivalry. Spring- ing from courtly love-stories and popular fairy-stories, the medieval romances appealed to a new interest in adventure. The interest of a romance is in wondering what difficulty or marvel the knight will encounter next, and how he will prevail. Thus romance brought into story-telhng the in- terest of extraordinary situations, of such situations as we like to imagine, not because we meet them in real hfe, but just because we do not meet them. Romance is the liter- ature of adventure and dreams. For reading, it has the interest of sweet fancy or noble imagination; for writing, it has the lesson of the value of plot, or narrative structure, of holding attention from situation to situation and satis- fying it by a happy issue (see pages 277-283). This romantic interest in plot is rarely sustained through a whole long romance; for a long medieval romance, such as that of King Arthur, is usually a compilation of several separate stories. But it is present to a greater or less degree in each of these component stories, such as Tristram and Yseult and Sir Perceval of Galles (Wales); and it is quite marked in some of the shorter romances that were not combined with others, such as Havelok the Dane and Gawain and the Green Knight. Some of these were shaped to hold a keen interest by suspense and solution (page 283). The same way of heightening narrative interest by narrative form appears in Chaucer's tale of the Pardoner; it was kept before the common people by the oral transmission of bal- lads (page 263 and foot-note); and it adds much to the popularity of Scott's Lady of the Lake and Marmion, Show orally how a good fairy-story {Cinderella, Hop o' My Thumb, etc.) is arranged to heighten interest by suspense up to a climax, and to satisfy it at the end. Exemplify orally from some interesting story \?ith which you THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE 327 are familiar the meaning of the common saying '*the plot thickens. " Show orally how Tennyson's version of the romance of Gareth and Lynette is arranged to hold and increase interest. Comment in the same way on Scott's Lady of the Lake (What, for instance, is the effect of Murdoch's whoop in Canto iv.?) or Marmion. Ljrric : the Cry of Life. — Epic always, and usually ro- mance, hides its author. His name, if we know it at all, is only a name. He has revealed himself only by that view of hfe which runs through his writings. He has not wished to utter his own loves or griefs. But the poetry that does utter the author's love and grief, the poetry of personal feeling, arose in all literatures early. It is called lyric j or song. Poetry it is naturally, not only because it arose early, but because it expresses strong personal feeling. The stronger and more personal the feeling, the more rhythm tends toward meter. And the name lyric, from lyre, the Greek harp, marks it further as musical. Most early poetry was probably chanted; but lyric is song in the more special sense of having usually such shorter, smoother rhythms, and such brevity, as fit it to be sung on occasion. As the poetry of occasion, it shows in the highest degree the adapta- tion of tone and sound within small space. Of all poetry it is usually the most finished. The effect of spontaneity comes, as in most writing, not from careless facility, but from very careful revision. The lyric impulse must, indeed, be satisfied at once by some expression; but it is by the revision of this first draft that lyric poets have attained their surest effects. This is plain alike from the manu- scripts of modern poets and from analysis of the best lyrics of any period. A successful lyric, whether simple or com- plex, is a fine piece of adaptation. And lyric reminds us also that expression of strong per- sonal feeling is naturally brief. It can hardly be prolonged 328 THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE without seeming extravagant or tiresome. Some of the best lyrics have only a few lines; many have only a few stanzas. Lyrics that are prolonged, unless they are rather meditations than songs, hardly hold their effect. Reviewing pages 302-304, apply the same study to the follow- ing, so as to show the adaptation of rhythm and stanza to feel- ing and the compressed poetic suggestion. A SONG FOR MUSIC Weep you no more, sad fountains. What need you flow so fast? Look how the snowy mountains Heaven's sun doth gently waste. But my Sun's heavenly eyes View not your weeping, That now lies sleeping Softly, now softly lies Sleeping. Sleep is a reconciling, A rest that peace begets. Doth not the sun rise smiling, When fair at even he sets? Rest you, then, rest, sad eyes. Melt not in weeping, ■] While she lies sleeping Softly, now softly lies ' Sleeping. — Anon, UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE Earth has not anything to show more fair. Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty. This city now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning. Silent, bare. %• THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE 329 Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open imto the fields and to the sky, All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendor valley, rock, or hill. Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep. The river glideth at his own sweet will. Dear God I the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still. — Wordsworth. A POET'S EPITAPH FOR HIMSELF Even such is Time, that takes on trust Our youth, our joys, our all we have. And pays us but with age and dust; Who in the dark and silent grave, When we have wandered all oiu- ways, Shuts up the story of our days. But from this earth, this grave, this dust, The Lord shall raise me up, I trust. — Raleigh. Examine in the same way a lyric of your own choice. Drama : the Representation of Life. — What do we mean when we say "That situation is dramatic''? The word, like epic and lyric, comes from the Greek; and its Greek root means to do, or act. That is dramatic, then, which deals with doing or acting. A drama represents action; a dramatic situation is a situation or a scene involving action. We speak of the action of a play, and of the players as actors. Action interesting to an Audience} — Still, this does not distinguish drama from other forms of narration. Almost « The divisions of this section are in the main those suggested in Prof. Brander Matthews 's various essays on the drama, especially in his Development of the Drama, 330 THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE all story-telling involves action. A drama is a story put upon the stage. What kind of action is appropriate to representation on a stage before an audience? The clue is in the word representation. A drama does not tell about actions; it represents them. Its situations are not described; they are acted. Now in this regard situations that are much the same in general narrative interest differ very much in dramatic interest. Some we are content to hear or read about; others we should Uke to see. A dramatic situation is a scene such as we like to see on the stage. Frankhn eating bread in the streets of Philadelphia, while his future wife laughs at him from a doorway, — interesting to read about, but not especially interesting to see. Haman coming in his pride before King Ahasuerus to contrive the ruin of the Jews, and bidden to honor the Jew Mordecai (Esther vi.) , — interesting to read, but how much more interesting to seel How we should Hke to see Haman^s face and attitude! The dialogue between Haman and the king, in which neither comprehends the drift of the other, while we, comprehending both, are all agog for the issue, — • how striking that would be on the stage! There evidently is a dramatic situation. The feeling can be suggested by telhng about it; but how much more impressive it would be if expressed visibly! Arnold's decision to betray his coun- try, Lincoln's decision to emancipate the slaves, — interest- ing both; but would they be interesting on the stage? What could the actor do to express the great decision visibly? Merely to seize a pen would seem trivial. Such a situation is hardly dramatic. A dramatic situation is a scene in which the feeling is visibly expressed in some positive and significant action enjoyed by the audience. Drama is made up of such situations as are best expressed by actors before an audience. It is made to be seen. The plays of Shakes- peare, admirable as they are for reading, weve composed THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE 331 for the stage. A dramatic situation is a scene interesting to an audience. Even the word audience hardly expresses the distinction; for audience rather implies hearers. The significant word is theater. A theater is a place in which to see. A drama, then, is a composition interesting for an audience to see. Nothing that lacks this particular appeal is really dramatic. Aside from the skill of the actors, on which, of course, every play depends more or less, the merit of a play is fairly measured by its hold upon the people who see it. A play is made, not primarily to be read, though it may also be read with interest, but to be seen. This is the par- ticular end to which its composition must be adjusted. From its very origin, drama has always been in this sense popular. It arises spontaneously from a natural love of acting. " Let's pretend you're a pirate, and I'm a captain in the navy." What child has not taken pleasure of this sort? Many children's games are dramatic; and many of them are centuries old. Centuries old also is Punch and Judy, and well-nigh universal. Either to act oneself, espe- cially if he can play the hero, or to see acting, is a tendency so old and so wide-spread as to seem almost like an instinct. In the childhood of civilization this instinct for acting was appHed to certain popular observances of religion. Greek drama began in the rites celebrated annually by the whole village to honor Dionysus, the god of fertility and enthusiasm. In the shouting, singing chorus there were at first no actors in the modern sense; but that was because in a broader sense all were actors. There was rude, impromptu mimic action, as in "So the farmer sows his seed" and similar games. There was probably a good deal of impro- vised verse by individuals, and still more probably a good deal of recurring refrain by the whole crowd; for thus began, not only drama, but all poetry. Out of this communal 332 THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE impersonation at the vintage of the story of Dionysus grew very naturally individual impersonations of the god and his more prominent mythical attendants, the crowd re- sponding with impromptu variations of the familiar refrain. Every crowd produces a leader. The leader of the Greek chorus became an actor in the modern sense of taking a fixed part. In time other fixed parts were assigned to individuals, till the mimic action had a definite dialogue; but the chorus persisted as representative of the whole community. Then, as always, came the individual genius to discern the capacity of what had been wrought by the people, to reveal and enlarge that capacity, and to fix a great form of art. iEschylus, and after him Sophocles and Euripides,, shaped the drama to express the ideals of the Greek race and their own individual genius; but it always remained answerable to its original popular impulse. The Greek throng upon the open seats of the theater under the clear sky during the great period of Greek drama felt, not only that the chorus chanting in the orchestra represented them, but that they themselves were assisting at a communal celebration. The drama was always the enactment of their mythology or history, known to every spectator by heart. It was always judged sternly, not only by its poetic beauty, but by its faithfulness to their beliefs and their feelings. Its success was measured by the feeling of the community. So in medieval France and England, in a society quite different otherwise, indeed, but similar in communal re- ligious observance and in general ignorance of reading, arose the modern drama. The medieval community center was the church; and the drama arose from the communal observance of the great annual Church festivals. "Whom seek ye?'' came the thrilling chant at Easter, when the whole village or city district would be gathered in -the parish THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE 333 church. And then, in further response, "He is not here; He is risen. ^^ To make this interlude more impressive, the clergy had it chanted responsively by singers impersonating the angel and the women. So at Christmas there were responses of the angels and the shepherds. These so effec- tively answered the popular feeUng that in time other scenes from the sacred history were thus recited; the custom passed out of the church; and the whole town, through its trade unions, maintained an annual series of dramatic representations, setting all the main scenes of the Bible. Each scene, provided by a separate guild, was mounted on a cart and drawn through the market-place before the church, where the spectators were assembled in the open air. Miracles^ these series were called, as representing the most dramatic scenes of Revelation; or Mysteries, as repre- senting the supernatural truths of the creed. As the sep- arate scenes were represented and combined with better skill, they opened the way for other representations of dramatic scenes from history, and so for the predecessors of Shake- speare. From the beginning, then, modern drama also was a popular performance, developed in response to a popular demand, and always answerable to the people. In both the ancient development and the modern, mark that the drama was there before it was written, before there was any thought of writing it. The drama is primarily, not a hterary product, but a popular product. It began, not as something written by a man of letters and then acted before the people, but as something acted by the people and only afterward written down for preservation. In spite of all differences of time and race, drama has always depended, more than any other form of composition except oratory, upon immediate appeal to the people. Romance and lyric may* be enjoyed by oneself apart; but epic and drama are communal. Epic grew out of the hero-songs of 334 THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE the clan; drama, out of the choral celebration of the village. Since epic early passed out of popular life, drama has been for centuries the only form of literature that people can enjoy together. What spectators as a crowd can watch with sympathetic interest, and feel some share in, — that is properly called dramatic. What scenes from Silas Marner could most readily be adapted to the stage? From David Copper field f From A Tale of Two Cities f From The Vicar of Wakefield f From another novel of your own choice? Which of the following stories are best suited for making into plays? Ruth, Joseph and his Brethren, Nathan Hale, Washington at Valley Forge, Major Andre, Montcalm and Wolfe, The Great Strike at , The Man Who Gave up College to Support his Family. From the stories that you choose, what scenes would you select as particularly dramatic? Action of Will on Will. — Drama is not only for spec- tators; it is for actors. It is far more than a tableau. No other form of composition can so vividly reveal the force of personality. And this is revealed most vividly by the crossing and clash of human wills. The whole tissue of drama is the action of persons upon one another; and its main nerve is the conflict of wills. lago's seduction of Othello is the main line of action by which Cassio is be- trayed, Desdemona killed, and Othello ruined. The motive of jealousy works out visibly in strong and subtle action and interaction upon all the main persons. Cassius makes the ambition of Caesar work upon the patriotism of Brutus; and both alike are thwarted and ruined by the policy of Antony. No mere telling of this story of ambition can give so vivid an impression of these personalities. The book of Esther could be readily made into a play because the story hinges upon the clash of two wills, the stsong purpose THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE 335 of Haman and the stronger purpose of Mordecai.* Thus the most intense scenes of drama are usually between two; for drama is made of the visible actions of will on will. Select for comment one of Shakespeare's scenes showing most vividly the action of will on will. (It is well to have a scene or two of this kind acted by students before the class.) Recast in dramatic dialogue a similar scene from a novel. Write in dialogue a dramatic scene from real life (200-300 words). Action Limited in Time and Place, — Drama is not only for spectators and actors; it is for the stage. The very fact that the dramatic representation of life must be made by a few actors on one spot within three hours or less im- poses upon drama stricter limits than are necessary for any other form of composition. All the art of the modern theater in shifting scenes cannot do away with this neces- sity; and in the days of the great playwrights who brought dramatic form to perfection the stage was comparatively bare. In fact, it is the triumph of dramatic composition to give the illusion of Ufe within these strict conditions. To some extent these are the conditions of all story-tell- ing (page 267). In order to tell a story at all, we must limit time and place, and select from the confusion of actual life those situations which are significant. Only thus can we achieve any unity, or singleness of impression. But in drama the selection must be even stricter. There can be no pauses for description or explanation. At every moment the action and dialogue must be significant and decisive. " Something will come of that,'' the spectator must feel, or his interest is relaxed. Drama reduces the various and dispersed actions of real life to a few critical scenes, ^ The dramatization of this story is sketched in the third chapter of the author's How to Write, a Handbook Based on the English Bible, 336 THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE or turning-points. It reduces the conversation of real life, which is often random and insignificant, to a dialogue of which every sentence has meaning. On the stage whatever is done or said must be significant. Else the play would be interminable, and it would miss its aim, which is inter- pretation. Drama does not try to reproduce life. That, even if it were possible, would be tiresome. Drama imi- tates. It represents life by interpreting within a few scenes the significances that in actual experience we might spend years to gather. Thus the structure of drama may be said to consist in composing dramatic situations in a single, steady course of action within a strictly limited time toward a definite result. These situations the dramatist deliberately chooses out of many; this result and the course leading up to it he dehberately contrives. From his point of view, therefore, drama is artificial. It is the most artificial of all forms in being the most highly simpHfied, the most strictly com- pressed. From the throng of daily experiences, confused and apparently insignificant, he chooses what counts for his interpretation, and omits all else. The slow processes of life he forces into the compass of a few hours. The fate of Romeo, the passion of Juliet, is compressed within a single evening. And this is done by contriving a series of highly significant situations in a single, swift course of action. Yet the drama, as the spectator sees it, is most natural. Unless it creates and keeps an illusion of real Hfe, it fails. A slip that might pass unnoticed in reading becomes flagrant when illumined by the foot-fights. '^That will not go,'' we say; it is "not convincing'' or "false," or "unnatural." Thus drama, more clearly than the other forms of composi- tion, shows us that naturalness in writing is the result, not of careless freedom, but of labor, method, art. Composi- tion seems just as natural as it is made to seem, no more. THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE 337 And drama shows most vividly that art creates the illusion of real life, not by going out with a phonograph and a kinet- oscope, but by the interpretation that comes from personal selection and combination. How much time is the action of She Stoops to Conquer supposed to cover? Twelfth Nightj Much AdOj Othello? (Use instances best known to you.) The history of Greek drama and the condi- tions of the Greek theater were such as to develop a strict limiting of the time and place covered by the dramatic action. The con- ditions of English drama were different. But it is important to notice that few of Shakespeare's plays bring the lapse of time to our attention. That generally we do not think of time at all is really the main point. Reviewing pages 267-270, and investigat- ing in the library the so-called ''dramatic imities/' write an essay on The Lapse of Time in a Play. Did the Elizabethan theaters have scenery? Was change of scene made behind a curtain, as to-day? How were the scenes managed in a Greek play? Mention a play, old or new, in which all the action takes place on the same spot; a play which changes scene very often or very widely. Work out thus a connected oral exposition of Change of Scene in a Play. Climax and Concluswn. — In contriving his course of action, the dramatist fixes most distinctly its turning-point, or crisis. This is the core or heart of the play. Everything before is to lead up to this; everything after is to lead down from it to a satisfying conclusion. Thus Romeo and Juliet, since it hinges upon Romeo's fatal error in leaving his bride, has for its central scene, or crisis, the parting. Othello, turning upon jealousy, has for its central scene the great dialogue in which lago succeeds in kindUng suspicion. This crisis, or turning-point, is usually called the climax; but it is not quite like the cUmax of a story. The cUmax of a drama is usually, not near the end, but near the middle. Thus the interest is not released; it is merely changed. The 23 338 THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE climax in a play is the turning-point. It is that decisive scene in which the heroes fortunes turn, in a comedy, from bad to good; in a tragedy, from good to bad. The climax of Macbeth is the banquet scene which marks the height of his power. He has achieved all he sought. Suddenly, with the ghost of Banquo, begins his downward course to ruin. Our interest is not relaxed at this point; it is merely changed. Guessing that doom is approaching, we yet follow its steps eagerly to the end. The difference in this regard between drama and other forms of narrative is that a drama usually works out its conclusion more fully. In a story, especially a short story, the conclusion may be merely sug- gested; it is left to our imagination. In a drama we like to see it worked out before us. Thus in the Merchant of Venice^ though at the end of the fourth act we can guess the result, we still enjoy the following scene at Belmont, the honeymoon of Lorenzo and Jessica, the playful reclaim- ing of the rings, the restoration of Antonio to prosperity. And in most of Shakespeare's plays the conclusion has much more dramatic interest. A play, then, usually aims to satisfy the audience fully at the close. Point out the crisis, or climax scene, in each of three other plays of Shakespeare. Reviewing page 283, show that the ** solution" of a play is usually longer than that of a story. Told as a story to be read, Julius Ccesar, for instance, might end soon after Antonyms speech to the mob ; for in that we foresee the doom of Brutus. But for the stage the solution is worked out fully. What is the climax scene of this play? Show how the rest of the play leads up to this, or down from it. The Greek term for the conclusion of a drama, catastrophe^ meant in this application the subsidence of the action to rest. Is there any analogy between this and the conclusion of a speech? Dramatic Opening. — Drama begins at once with action. This is common in other forms of story-telling.to-day; but THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE 339 in drama it is necessary always. There can be no intro- ductory explanation. The rise of the curtain discloses people moving and talking. We have no previous knowl- edge of who they are or of what they are at. All this the dramatist must tell us as soon as possible by what they do and say, while at the same time he carries his main action forward without delay. This is a particular application of his skill in selecting that place and that brief time in which the important situations can happen most naturally and best explain themselves; in other words, it is part of his problem of securing unity by limiting time and place. His very first situation is significant. It catches our interest in these people; it lets us know enough of what has already passed; it gives us exciting hints of what is to come. Before we are aware, the action is in full swing, and we have picked up enough to understand it fully. Why the prologue and epilogue in Henry Vf Are there other cases of this in Shakespeare? Give an instance from another dramatist. Does a modern play ever have a prologue? What do we learn from the first scene of a play about the hero, the previous history, and the present situation? With this view examine several other plays. Do you find any significance in the opening lines of Twelfth Night and Macbeth as setting the tone of the play? Make a brief plan of acts and scenes for a play of the Bible story of Esther. Write out the first scene. Oratory : Persuasion about Life. — Most oratory lies out- side of literature. It belongs to the world of affairs; and, from the very fact that its appeal is oral, it cannot have adequate Hterary record. Now and then, oftenest in the field of occasional oratory (pages 219-221), arises an orator whose power over men's feelings and originality of personal expression are of a sort to give him literary eminence. But the measure of oratory can never be its eminence among 340 THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE printed books. Burke, who is deservedly famous in print, was ineffective on the platform. Bunyan's printed sermons, perhaps much changed from their oral form, do not convey that power which he wielded for years over masses of men. From the fact that oratory is meant, not for a book, but for a platform, it cannot be fairly represented in literature. Some of the best speeches must have passed away with the day on which they were uttered. Some of those preserved in print ought to be judged by their aptness to situations that we can hardly reconstruct in imagination. If by literature we mean writing, then oratory, though it is a primary ^nd permanent form of composition, is even less than drama a form of literature. In phrase it has often — • oftener, perhaps, than any other form of composition — imaginative force and immediate adaptation of sense and sound to mood; but in form it follows the paragraph. For persuasion, which is its field, is the great practical com- bination of clearness and interest, of logical structure with imaginative appeal. As it goes on logically from paragraph to paragraph, oratory may be almost lyric in the fervor of its diction. Form for reason, words for feeling, — this is the practical lesson of oratory. The lesson may be ap- plied also to essay-writing; but its main opportunity is in the great form of persuasion. In this field, no writing can quite equal, or ever supersede, pubHc speaking. The print- ing-press and the telegraph, deeply as they have affected society, have not done away with man^s desire to move his fellow-men by the word of his mouth, nor with their desire to hear him. So long as this is true — and it seems to be a per- manent fact of human nature — oratory will hold its place as the most immediately powerful of all forms of composition. Reviewing pages 219-233, prepare an oral discourse, with in- stances of your own choosing, on Training for Oratftty. Be sure THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE 341 that the paragraphs are developed with the fulhiess necessary to speech-making, and that they are well emphasized. Write an essay comparing the oratory of Burke with that of Webster. Show that a sermon has the opportunities and the methods of an occasional speech. 3. THE SECONDARY FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE Primarily, then, literature gave us in the field of imagi- native interest epic, romance, lyric, and drama, and in the field of clear, progressive thought, oratory. After them and from them have been developed in modern times, as secondary forms, essay, novel, and short story. ^ The essay developed from oratory, and especially from sermons and other discourses on morals. The novel, developing from the long romance, derived much from the older epic and from the essay. The short story is a very modern, special, and strict development from the short romance. These three forms, therefore, may be called derivative, or secondary. Essay : Discussion of Life. — Of all the forms of literature, essay seems at first sight the least definite. The word means merely a trial, or sketch; and the thing has varied in form from Bacon to Addison, and from Lamb to Macaulay. Really the term covers more than one literary form; but it can be divided more surely after taking account of its gen- eral meaning. Vague though it is, it nevertheless repre- sents a certain general attitude of mind and method of writing. First, essays of all kinds deal, however variously, with ideas. Their common goal is less to suggest or repre- sent fife as it comes to us through our five senses than to comment on life, to explain its underlying principles, to * It is beyond the scope of this book to discuss the modem devel- opment of the fonns of poetiy. 342 THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE set forth the writer^s ideas. However specific and concrete it may sometimes be in detail, its goal is some general, abstract idea, some principle or proposition, in a word, some idea. "Men fear death," says Bacon at the beginning of an essay, "as children fear to go in the dark.'' This is an idea, a thought, a reasoning from experience. His little essay on Deaths though it has concrete instances, is planned to set forth certain ideas. So each of Emerson's essays, abundant though some of them are in concrete descriptive detail, sets forth certain ideas concerning Friendship, or Books, or Eloquence, etc. Each has for its goal something abstract and general, not a reflection of life as in a story or play, but a reflection on life. Lowell's essay On a Certain Condescension in Foreigners begins with anecdote and abounds in description; but its purpose is to enforce upon the reader his reflections, his ideas, concerning the attitude of foreigners toward our country. Many of Addison's essays, especially the De Coverley papers, are very largely descriptive; but they are habitually led from, or led up to, an abstract idea which serves as a text, or proposition for the whole. Number 107 begins: "The reception, manner of attendance, undisturbed freedom and quiet, which I meet with here in the country has confirmed me in the opinion I always had that the general corruption of manners in servants is owing to the conduct of masters." Number 110 passes from the haunted walk near Sir Roger's house to the general belief in ghosts. Number 112 begins: "I am always very well pleased with a country Sunday, and think, if keeping holy the seventh day were only a human institu- tion, it would be the best method that could have been thought of for the poHshing and civilizing of mankind." Of course critical essays, such as Macaulay's, are evidently devoted to the developing of ideas. In general, then, an essay is a discussion of ideas. f* THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE 343 This being the object of an essay, its method is generally by paragraphs, as in a speech. As to its form, indeed, an essay might roughly be called a speech in writing; for both proceed generally by paragraphs. The difference between the two is the difference between persuasion and exposition. True, either speech or essay may persuade, and either may expound; but when our main object is persuasion we prefer to speak if we can, and when the main object is explanation we prefer to write. So with the audience. If we are to be stirred, we had rather hear; if we are above all to under- stand clearly, we had rather read, had rather, as we say, have the thing in black and white. We may revise our general definition, therefore, by calUng an essay an exposi- tion of ideas. For the object of an essay is usually more than enumeration of parts, more than statement of facts. An essay aims from the parts to interpret the whole, from the facts to show the underlying principle. An essay pro- ceeds by paragraphs because it is a process of thought. Finally, then, an essay may be defined as an exposition by paragraphs of a single controlling idea. The Two Kinds of Essay, — On the basis of this definition, essays may be divided into two classes, according as they follow the paragraph method of exposition more or less strictly. When the author's main concern is the underlying idea and the leading of other people to accept it, he casts his essay in the stricter way of exposition by definite, care- fully emphasized paragraphs. His paragraphs, though they may be less full, are as definite as those of a speech, and, as in a speech, they are arranged in progressive, logical order. When, on the other hand, the author cares more to show his idea concretely as he sees it at work in life, when, instead of developing it by definite stages, he is content to suggest it, when in other words his aim is rather to interest his readers in it than to reason it out with them, — then he 344 THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE casts his essay in a looser form. His paragraphs are not so clear-cut as the paragraphs of a speech; for some of them are largely descriptive, and the whole essay has less logical progress. Both classes of essays deal with ideas; but the one reasons them out in a series of expository paragraphs, and the other partly reasons them out and partly suggests them by description. Thus we may divide essays, according to their method of composition, into stricter and looser; and the ear-mark is the handling of the paragraph. The stricter, expository type is clear in Bacon, our first great essayist and still among our greatest. OF CEREMONIES AND RESPECTS'^ He that is only real had need have exceeding great parts of virtue, as the stone had need to be rich that is set without foil. But if a man mark it well, it is in praise and commendation of men as it is in gettings and gains. For the proverb is true, that light gains make heavy purses; for light gains eome thick, whereas great come but now and then. So it is true that small matters win great commendation, because they are continually in use and in note, whereas the occasion of any great virtue cometh but on fes- tivals. Therefore it doth much add to a man's reputation, and is, as Queen Isabella said, like perpetual letters commendatory, to have good forms. To attain them it almost sufficeth not to despise them; for so shall a man observe them in others, and let him trust himself with the rest. For if he labour too much to express them, he shall lose their grace, which is to be natural and imaffected. Some men's behaviour is like a verse wherein every syllable is measured. How can a man comprehend great matters that breaketh his mind too much to small observations? Not to use ceremonies at all is to teach others not to use them again, and so diminish respect to himself. Especially they be not to be ^i.e., On Etiquette and Observances. For the obsolete meanings of other words in this essay consult a large dictionary or an annotated edition. ** THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE 345 omitted to strangers and formal natures. But the dwelling upon them and exalting them above the moon is not only tedious, but doth diminish the faith and credit of him that speaks. And cer- tainly there is a kind of conveying of effectual and imprinting pas- sages amongst compliments which is of singular use, if a man can hit upon it. Amongst a man's peers a man shall be sure of famil- iarity; and therefore it is good a little to keep state. Amongst a man's inferiors one shall be sure of reverence; and therefore it is good a little to be familiar. He that is too much in any thing, so that he giveth another occasion of satiety, maketh himself cheap. To apply one's self to others is good, so it be with demonstration that a man doth it upon regard, and not upon facility. It is a good precept generally in seconding another yet to add somewhat of one's own: as, if you will grant his opinion, let it be with some distinction; if you will follow his motion, let it be with condition; if you allow his counsel, let it be with alleging further reason. Men had need beware how they be too perfect in compliments; for be they never so sufficient otherwise, their enviers will be sure to give them that attribute, to the disadvantage of their greater virtues. It is loss also in business to be too full of respects, or to be curious in observing times and opportunities. Solomon saith, He thai consider eth the wind shall not sow, and he that looketh to the cloud shall not reap, A wise man will make more opportimities than he j&nds. Men's behaviour should be like their apparel, not too strait or point device, but free for exercise or motion. This is clearly systematic; but where are the paragraphs? The answer is in the habit of Bacon's mind. He was con- tent to formulate in concise, suggestive summary. He had none of the public speaker's wish to develop an idea fully. He has very little amplification. Thus for the average man his essays make too hard reading. In formulating an idea concisely he has never been surpassed, and very rarely equaled; but in expanding an idea — that he leaves to the reader. Thus Bacon^s readers are limited to the in- tellectual. Thus his paragraphs are undeveloped. Instead 346 THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE of a full paragraph, he gives a few sentences, sometimes only one. In the essay above, the first undeveloped para- graph ends to have good forms. Point out the ends of other undeveloped paragraphs. For somewhat fuller paragraph development see the essays on Simulation and Dissimula- tion, Envy, and Friendship. Bacon, then, wrote in the strictly expository type of essay; but did not usually develop his paragraphs. Looser Essay, the Spectator Type. — In marked contrast to this is a form of essay developed in the eighteenth cen- tury. Steele, Addison, Swift, and their friends addressed their essays, not to the intellectual few, but to the larger public; and while Swift commonly used the logical develop- ment by paragraphs, Steele and Addison struck out in the Spectator a new line. Though their object was to circu- late truer ideas of life, they thought that a better way was to awaken and sustain interest. To this end the Spectator papers depend largely on description; and for this reason they often have very slight logical progress and rather loose paragraphs. Though longer than most of Bacon's essays, these papers are still short, much shorter usually than the essays of to-day. But they are not short by Bacon's intellectual method of compression; they are short because the thought is not sustained and carried out. Rather the essays are pleasantly suggestive. They may be even fragmentary; for they aimed to keep the character of good conversation. This type of easy, fluent, picturesque com- ment on life gained enduring popularity. Not only was the Spectator imitated by later journals, but outside of regular periodical publications its form of essay was followed long after by Lamb, Irving, Hazlitt, and Lowell, and is still popular to-day. Stricter Essay, the Edinburgh Review Type. — Early in the nineteenth century the Edinburgh Review wag founded THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE 347 for more serious, thorough, and sustained exposition. The idea was to provide systematic criticism of literature, and, ' through that, of life. Francis Jeffrey, the first editor, had a remarkable faculty of exposition. He loved to think a thing through, stage by stage, to a conclusion. Though his diction is often strong and suggestive, his chief excel- lence is his grasp of the paragraph. The paragraph became in his hands a clearer and more logical unit of composition than had been at all common in Enghsh. This trick of the paragraph was learned through apprenticeship to Jeffrey by the greatest of the Edinburgh reviewers, Macaulay. Macaulay's essays are the most famiUar examples of the type. They are longer than the Spectator essays — often twenty times as long — because their audience and their object are different. They are not only critical; they are systematic and sustained. The books that they review are treated merely as points of departure for an extended, systematic treatment of the subject. The Edinburgh re- viewers wished their readers to know, not only the worth of a new book, but the worth of its ideas in relation to all the best thought upon the subject. They wished to carry a reader through a definite course of thought to a definite conclusion. He might accept it or reject it; but at least he had been made to think. Thus many of Macaulay^s para- graphs have the clearness and emphasis of the paragraphs of a speech. * Whether they are argumentative — and they often are — or expository, they carry us through a progress of thought. Not content to throw out ideas or to suggest them by descriptive detail, they discuss ideas fully and progressively. This type of essay was followed later by Cardinal Newman, Matthew Arnold, and so many others of recent times that when we hear the word essay to-day we think naturally of an orderly, logical development by para- graphs. 348 THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE SUMMARY Spectator Type Edinburgh Review Type short, sometimes fragmentary long, logically sustained loosely expository more strictly expository largely descriptive descriptive incidentally paragraphs often loose paragraphs logical units, or Addison, Steele, etc.. Lamb, stages Irving, Hazlitt, Lowell (in such pieces as A Good Word Jeffrey, Macaulay, Newman, for Winter) Arnold Novel, the Web of Life. — The word novel, though for some centuries applied loosely and uncertainly, has come to mean in our time a story long enough to unfold an ex- tended series of events and develop character. A novel is a long story in the sense that it is sustained and carried out. Other narrative forms may sketch or hint; but the novel works out in a whole series of situations. Hawthorne's Ambitious Guest is limited to a single situation. How the guest became ambitious is left out. In one scene of one evening the disturbing influence of his ambition, and its utter futility, are suggested sufficiently. This is the method of the modern short story. But in the Scarlet Letter Haw- thorne works out the consequences fully, shows its effect upon character step by step, till we feel something of the accumulated and progressive force of a long series of real experiences. This is the method of the modern novel. For a novel is a long story in this sense also, that it is large and full. It is worked out, not only at length, but in detail. It reminds us of the fullness and complexity of Ufe. To read a good novel is to see Hfe through keener eyes; it is to realize hfe through fuller presentation of its significance than is possible in any other form of story. That is why we always demand of a novel that it shall be true to Hfe. THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE 349 Hawthorne wrote beneath the title of his Ethan Brand *'a chap- ter from an abortive romance." If the story had been worked out into a novel, would this have been the last chapter? Suggest the contents of two or three preceding chapters. Do you think the story would have gained by being thus worked out at length? How many persons in Dickens's Chimes or Cricket on the H earth f How many in A Tale of Two Cities^ or of any other of his novels that you know better? Compare as to lapse of time and change of place, and development of character. The modern novel is full as the old epic was full, by dwelling on the details of actual life (see page 321 above). These the medieval romances tended to pass over, giving a hero's whole history, perhaps, from the cradle to the grave, giving his fights and his victories, but not giving much sense of the people and things about him. In the romances life is all fighting and loving. We pass from dream to dream of surpassing strength and bravery, loveliness and constancy, without ever setting foot on the ground of ordi- nary real things. But the modern novel, seeking to give us the illusion of actual life, abounds in the concrete (see page 249). As he carries forward the course of action, the novelist suggests the significant details of the life and sur- roundings of his characters. He tells us that George lounged on the leather sofa at the club, that Henry's three years of prison were written in his walk and carriage, that Mabel was cool at the wheel of the motor-car, just what sensa- tions in the tunnel under the river made Tom break down, just how New Yorkers rushing home to Brooklyn look and sound and feel in the crowd at six o'clock. For the novelist tries to make us in imagination live life more intensely. Selecting one of the principal characters in a famous novel, write down from memory a summary of the kind of Hfe by which this character is surrounded; t.6., the environment of things and persons. Then try to recall some of the significant concrete details 350 THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE that gave you this conception. Then choose for reading aloud a brief passage in which such details are especially abundant. For instance, when you think of David Copperfield as a little boy at home after the arrival of his stepfather, what impression have you of the people and things around him? Sum this up; then try to recall definite concrete details making pictures in memory; then find a characteristic passage in which your conception is conspicuous. Thus living in imagination with the persons of the story, we are brought to sympathize with their actions and to understand their characters. A novel gives us time to become familiar with its persons. Do we not feel ourselves as well acquainted with certain imaginary persons in novels as with the actual persons of our daily experience? Do we not, indeed, sometimes know the imaginary persons better than the real ones by seeing more clearly their mo- tives and characters? For the novelist, though he gives us a sense of the fullness of real life, gives us none of its con- fusion. Real life is often a tangle of events, a criss-cross of motives. The novelist has so selected and interpreted that we get from the events of his story, and from the behavior of his characters, a sense of order, of cause and effect. Much of our pleasure in a novel comes from feeling events move on to a definite issue, and chakTacter develop through the action of human will on circumstances to fuller and more distinct manhood and womanhood. Thus in the best novels character is not merely depicted; it is developed. Show the effect of adversity in developing the character of Rebecca in Ivanhoe. Is the character of the Templar developed or depicted as constant from beginning to end? What influences on Silas Marner were strongest in developing his character? What motives explain the sacrifice of Sidney Carton? Let these ques- tions suggest many others for discussion of characterization in novels. See also pages 254-258. g* THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE 351 This full, consecutive form of the novel was not reached at once. Defoe's Robinson Crusoe^ which is one of its early forms, has the epic concreteness of detail, but makes no attempt either to develop character or to sustain and heighten interest in plot. Richardson's novels, though they express fine shades of character by letters, are so lacking in every- thing else to sustain interest that they have almost ceased to be read. Smollett not only caught the trick of charac- terizing persons by word and act, but, using such events as had been used by Defoe, arranged them for the excitement of suspense. Often less distinct than Defoe in detail, he is livelier in method. Meantime the example of the Spec- tator studies in character and manners was gradually leading novelists to nicer characterization and fuller description of environment. Sir Roger de Coverley, whom we realize more clearly and sympathetically than any character in any English novel before Fielding, showed the novelists how to enhance the impression of a personality by putting him in an environment of appropriate manners, how to make a man stand out in his proper neighborhood. Sterne worked out to perfection the art of using narrative form for description. His pictures of eighteenth-century life are- not, indeed, brought into any consecutive story; but each in itself has a brilliant distinctness. The writer who combined these arts, who brought the novel to its modern form, is Fielding. Some experience as a dramatist taught him how to bring people together in action and interaction of character. Besides the interest of concreteness, the interest of suspense, and the interest of description, he achieved the interest of complication, the crossing of char- acters and motives, the struggle that we feel beneath the surface of life. In his hands the novel became, and at its best it has ever since remained, a web of life. 352 THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE Show how the story of the Cass brothers affects the story of Silas Marner. In what way principally are the two stories connected? How is Silas made the main character (page 275) ? David Copperfield comprises, besides the account of David's own career, the story of Steerforth and Emily, of Rosa Dartle, of Traddles, of Agnes Wickfield, — and what others? Are there so many narrative threads as to produce confusion? Which is the main thread, or clue; and which of the others are woven with it most closely? Compare the book as to the number of threads and the closeness of the weaving with A Tale of Two Cities; as to nimiber of characters, with Silas Marner, Analyze, with similar comparisons. The House of the Seven Gables. Substitute for these books any other famous novels with which you are more familiar; and eventually put your result into an essay developing consecu- tively the idea How a Novel Suggests the Fullness of Life by Com- bining Several Stories in One. Contrast the mere collection of stories, as in the Sketch Bookj and the insertion of stories inciden- tally, as the story of Peter in Cranford. As a help in analyzing a long or complicated novel, a chart showing when the characters appear may be drawn up by writing the name of each character at the head of a column, the chapter numbers at the left end of the horizontal lines, and a hint of the action and place at the right end, thus: Chap. Mrs. Copperfield David Steerforth Peggotty Betsy Trotwood etc. Scene I. 1 1 1 Bliinderstone II. I 1 etc. III. IV. 1 etc. 1 1 1 By drawing a vertical line under each character opposite each chapter in which he appears in action a comprehensive view, THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE 353 inexact, but graphic, will be given of how much space a character has, whether his part in the story is continuous or interrupted, and with what other characters he is most often grouped. To make such a chart still more suggestive, draw a red line across the sheet under the chapter of climax (page 277) and imder each previous chapter that narrates an especially important situation, or crisis. A chart of Vanity Fair, for instance, would underline as the climax the chapter in which Rawdon Crawley throws the jewels into the face of the Marquis of Steyne, and, as the first im- portant crisis, Becky's refusal of Sir Pitt. Again, such a chart shows a story Hke Cranford to be, hardly a novel, but rather a series of loosely connected sketches, something like the Coverley papers in the Spectator, Short Story, a Crisis of Life. — The difference between the short story and the novel has been already defined as a difference in fullness and consecutiveness. A novel develops action and character fully at length; a short story, taking action and character as already developed, presents them strikingly at some crisis. One brief, uninterrupted period is so carefully chosen and so filled with significant incidents and characteristic words and actions that we receive a single strong impression (pages 263-274). The modern short story is not merely brief; it is single. Everything that might hin- der the single impression is omitted (page 265). The short story has its own fullness. It is full, not by carrying us through a series of situations, but by enhancing with abun- dance of significant detail the force of a single situation. It is multum in parvo. In this respect the short story differs, not only from the novel, but from the tale. A tale is a simple summary of events. It may — it often does — cover as many years and as many characters as a novel. It simply covers them less fully. It covers the long series by touching each event lightly and passing rapidly to the next. A summary of a 24 354 THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE novel, reducing each chapter to a half-dozen sentences, would have the same form as a tale. Now this form is quite different from the form of a short story. For the short story differs from novel and tale aUke in confining itself to a single critical event or situation. Like the tale in length, it is unlike in form. Instead of covering a series of situations, it is focused on one.^ The story of Isaac and Rebekah (Genesis xxiv) is in form a tale; the story of the death of Absalom (2 Samuel xviii) is in form a modern short story. Compare the two as to method, using the headings of Chapter viii. If the former were told in the way of the latter, at what point would it begin? What might be omitted without loss of vividness? The object of the comparison is, not to prove one superior to the other — each is excellent of its own kind — but to show in what consists the difference of method. Prepare the comparison as a connected oral recitation. Write it out afterward as an essa}''.^ The following are told in the way typical of the modern short story. Examining two of them according to the discussion above and the headings of Chapter viii., prepare a consecutive oral report on each. Work up one report into a written essay. Hawthorne's The Ambitioics Poe's The Fall of the Hoicse of Guest Usher The Wives of the The Cask of Amontillado. Dead The Masque of the Red The White Old Death Maid Kipling's Little Tobrah Bret Harte's The Outcasts of Poker Flat The Maltese Cat ^ For full definition and discussion of the short-story form see The Philosophy of the Short-Story by Brander Matthews, the standard book on the subject; and the present author's introduction to American Short Stories, which discusses the development of the form. ' The comparison is worked out in the third chapter of the present author's How to Write, a Handbook Based on the English Bible. THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE 355 Which of the Tvnce Told Tales follow the method of the modem short story, and which the method of the tale? Make a Ust of each and select one of each for comparison. Show which method is usually followed by Irving in the Sketch Book, Show that the Ancient Mariner begins in the way typical of the short story. Plan a modern short story from one of the sunamaries below as follows: (1) How many persons will you bring into your story? Omit any that you will not clearly need, and summarize briefly the char- acter of each one that you choose. These summaries are not to be inserted in the story. They are merely to help you^ee the people before you attempt to make others see them. From whose point of view shall the story be told? (2) What shall be the single scene of action? (3) To what single, short period of time will you limit the action? Make this as brief as possible. (4) What shall the characters be saying and doing at the close? Having planned the story thus, write the first hundred Words, taking as your model one of the best short stories that you have recently read in a good magazine. (a) An old Welsh knight inherited a considerable treasure. Having been poor, he had no house strong enough to guard it; and, in spite of his precautions, word of it came to the ears of an outlaw in the neighboring forest. After studying the approaches to the knight's lonely manor-house, the outlaws arranged to break in. Meantime a strong knight in disguise, seeking adventures, having overheard part of their plan, knocked at the old knight's door to ask food and shelter. Hospitality prevailing over anxiety, he was welcomed, made known his suspicions, and with his host planned to foil the outlaws. A peasant, seeing him enter, told one of the outlaws, who advised postponing the attack till the guest should have departed, lest by violating hospitality they should get ill luck. The chief persisting, they made a rush on the ap- pointed night, and were repulsed with loss, the guest keeping the front door with his sword, and the outlaw chief having his leg 356 THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE broken by the beam of a trap as he attempted to force the back door. (6) The story of Paul Revere. (c) The story of Peter in Cranford, (d) A freight train on a single-track branch railroad breaking in two at the top of a long, steep grade, the last six cars ran away down the mountain. The operator in the first station they passed telegraphed to the tower-man at the junction with the main line. The tower-man shouted the news to the engineer of a freight engine standing just below on the branch Hne, adding that the local passenger train on the main Hne, having just passed the block, could not be warned in time. The engineer, instantly un- coupling his tender, and dismissing his fireman, started up the steep grade of the branch line to intercept the rimaway. Making all speed possible to his slow engine until he saw the runaway approaching, he stopped and ran back to lessen the impact. The shock almost threw his engine from the track, but not quite. Immediately reversing, he fought the six cars all the way down hill, and finally brought them to a stand on the level just as the passenger train approached. The engineer of the passenger train, grasping what had happened, stopped, and the train crew thanked their deliverer, who was trembUng from the reaction. The tower- man telegraphed the news to headquarters. The brave engineer went on with his day's work. In a few days the company rewarded him. (e) King Richard Lion-heart, on his return from Palestine wrecked off the coast of Dalmatia, fell into the hands of Leopold of Austria, whom he had mortally offended in the Holy Land. Henry II bought him from Leopold, and kept him prisoner in the castle of Trifels. Blondel, the minstrel, his favorite, went in quest of him from castle to castle all over Europe. At last, on some vague surmise, stopping at the foot of the fortress rock of Trifels, Blondel began to sing a lay that they two had composed together. From within a voice finished the couplet. Richard was found. Not long afterward he was ransomed. (From Henry, Cours Pratique et RaisonnS de Style, page 358.) r' THE FORMS OF COMPOSITION IN LITERATURE 357 (/) The crew of the steamer Adelaide vainly fought fire in the hold. At length they were forced to take to the boats. After days of hardship one boat-load, entirely separated from the others, sighted a steamer, succeeded in attracting attention, and was carried to San Francisco. (g) A young couple — the husband an artist, the wife a musi- cian — being in sore need of money, each unknown to the other goes to work at manual labor. Mutual discovery arises from the fact that both find employment with the same business house. (See also the plots suggested in Chapter viii.) Make in one sentence a logical definition^ of each of the fol- lowing: epic, romance, drama, lyric, essay, novel, short story. In what form has De Quincey composed the story of Joan of Arc? How might this story be composed (1) as a drama? (2) as a novel? (3) as a short story? Consider in each case what persons are necessary, what is the most marked trait and motive of each, and by what actions these would be shown most strikingly; what place or places would make the best scene or scenes of action; what crisis or crises would give the best opportunity for revealing the characters and motives in decisive action. For a drama make a synopsis of scenes, grouping them in three acts; for a novel, a synopsis of chapters. Change the scene, or place of action, only when you can show the change to be necessary or advantageous. Aim to have as much of the action as you can in one spot. Plan in the same ways one of the following stories: Andr^, Robin Hood, Queen Esther, The Lady of the Lake, » See page 139. r INDEX Abstract (see concrete). action, in description 53-60, 284. adaptation (see aptness). Addison, poems 157; Spectator 76, 243, 289, 346, 351, 353. alliteration 299, 307, 308, 324. amplification 5-15, 208, 345. analogy 205 (see illustration), analysis of argument (see brief, — of exposition 192. anecdote 271. Anglo-Saxon 153. announcing the subject 15. antonjrms 137. aptness 147, 208, 221, 287, 305. argument 3, 30, 68, 318. — analysis of (see brief). — distinguished from exposition 30, 68, 163, 173, 193, 200, 318, 343. — deduction 202. — induction 204. — analogy 205. audience, sense of the 1, 15, 26, 206, 329. authority for facts 169. Bacon, Essays 342, 344, 345. balance 120. Baldwin, C. S., How to Write 246, 276, 335, 354; American Short Stories 354. ballads 263-270, 300, 303. begging the question 230. Beowulf 324. Bible: Genesis 262, 269, 364; Judges 268; RtUh 157; 2 Samud 268, 275, 279, 354; Esther 330, 334; Psalms 157, 159; Daniel 268, 283. Blackmore, R. D., Lorna Doone 145. brief 174, 197. Brooks, Phillips, sermons 84. Browning, How they Brought the Good News from, Ghent to Aix 157, 299; The Pied Piper of Harndin 157, 298. BuNYAN, The Pilgrim's Progress 242, 245. Burke, Conciliation with America 64, 114, 122, 194, 231, 232, 315; Reflections on the Revclution in France 308. Cadence 142, 296, 305. Campbell, George 131. capitals 102. Carlyle, The French Revolution 145, 296. cause and effect 204. Cervantes, Don Quixote 258. character, in story 254, 275, 291, 349. characteristic moment, in descrip- tion 43, 295. — details 45. characterization (see character). Chatham, Lord, Removal of the Troops from Boston 118. Chaucer, Pardoner's Tale 326. chronological summary 239. 359 360 INDEX clearness (see coherence, emphasis, paragraphs, sentences, unity, etc., and the table of contents). — distinguished from interest 1-3, 265, 318. climax 125, 277, 285, 337. coherence 26, 51, 277. — in sentences 95. — in exposition 26, 52, 67-93. — in description 51. — in narration 277, 350. — secured by paragraph emphasis 83. — of paragraphs secured by sen- tence emphasis 113. Coleridge, The Ancient Mariner 249, 274, 275, 283, 355. color, in description 53. complex (see sentences), compound (see sentences), concrete 34-41, 62, 155-162, 231, 249, 265, 285, 296, 298, 322. conjunctions 92, 115, 117, 119, 125, 143. contrast, in exposition 8, 141. — in defining words 137, 141. — in balanced sentences 120. conversation 127, 129, 132. correlatives 120, 125. Curtis, G. W., The Puritan Prin- ciple 118. Dana, Richard Henry, Two Years Before the Mast 3, 8, 18, 101, 262. 'Dante, The Divine Comedy 254. debate 31, 210. deduction 202. definiteness of details in description {see concrete), definition 139. Defoe, Robinson Crusoe 262, 265, 351. deliberative oratory 219. d^notiment 282. De Quince y, The Knocking at the Gate in Macbeth 77; The English M ail-Coach 126, 241, 245, 309; Pope 234, Joan of Arc 244, 316, 357. description (see table of contents). — sentences in 144. — in speeches 221, 231. — in essays 61, 346, 348. development of a theme in exposi- tion 5-14, 208, 345. — by instances 7. — by contrast 8. — by iteration 9. — by illustration 11. dialogue 252-261, 284, 292, 335. diary 262. Dickens, A Christmas Carol 34, 37, 50; The Chimes 50, 52, 275, 349; David Copperjield 257, 285, 291, 334, 350, 352; A Tale of Two Cities 263, 334, 349, 350, 352. dictionary, use of the 126-139. digest 164. division 70. Donnelly, F. P., Imitation and Analysis 246. drama 238, 329. Drayton, Agincourt 303. E Edinburgh Review 346. Eliot, George, The Mill on the Floss 38; SUas Marner 241, 255, 334, 350, 352. Emerson, essays 342. emphasis, in exposition and argu- ment 19, 69, 216. by proportioning the space 20. by iteration 25, 216. — in description and narration 35, 50, 285. by abundance of details 35. by definiteness of details 39. by iteration 50. — of a paragraph furthers the co- herence of the whole 83, 208. — of a sentence 109-115, 307. furthers coherence of the para- graph 113, 307. enunciation 128. epic 321, 349. essay 233-243, 341 (see eiqposi- tion). INDEX 361 examples (see instances). explanation {see exposition). exposition 2-32, 61, 163-172, 192, 200, 233-239, 318, 341 {see para- graph, sentence, etc.). — distinguished from description 2, 33, 48, 271, 318, 341. — distinguished from argument 30, 68, 163, 174, 192, 200, 343. extempore speaking 219. extensive reading compared with in- tensive 234. Fables 271. feeling {see interest). — words of 148-157, 231. Fielding, novels 351. figures of speech 158. — of association 159. — of likeness 159. \ force {see aptness, concrete, home- liness, definiteness). forensic oratory 219. Frederic, Harold, In the Sixties 256. Gaskell, Mrs., Cranford 241, 352, 353. Gawain and the Green Knight 326. Goldsmith, The Deserted Village, 241; The Vicar of Wakefield 241, - 292; She Stoops to Conquer 337. Gray, Elegy 154, 155, 157, 159, 239, 297; The Bard 304. Hamerton, Philip Gilbert, Round My House 7; French Home Life 9. Harte, Bret, The Outcasts of jf^oker Flat 354. Havdok the Dane 326. Hawthorne, The House of the Seven Gables 352; The Scarlet Letter 261, 348; The Ambitious Guest 269, 348, 354; David Swan 354; Ethan Brand 349; The Wives of the Dead 354; The White Old Maid 354. Hazlitt, William, essays 346, 348. homeliness 148-155. Homer Odyssey, 322, 323. Huxley, T. H., Physiography 78. Idioms 150. iUustratioir 11 {see analogy), imagination {see concrete, figures), imitation, for the study of style 243. — of sound in description 306. — of life in drama 336. induction 204. instances, to develop exposition 7, 140. — in argument 205. intensive reading compared with ex- tensive 234. interest 1-4, 33-66, 248-286 (see aptness, definiteness, observa- tion, words, etc.). — distinguished from clearness 265, 318. — reacting on clearness 61, 231, 234, 346. introduction in exposition 22, 27. — in description 55. — in narration 249, 267. *=— in drama 338. Irving, The Sketch Book 123, 241, 261, 271, 348, 352, 355. iteration 9, 50, 115, 203, 216. Jeffrey, Francis, essays 347, 348. Johnson, A Journey to the Western Islands of Scotland 306. K Kipling, Rudyard, Little Tobrah 354; The Maltese Cat 354. 362 INDEX -Lamb, essays 346, 348. Latin derivatives in English 152, 306, 308, 310. letters 289. library, use of 163-172, 234. limiting, the subject in exposition 4, 67-68. in argument 30, 173, 174. — the scope in description 43-45. in narration 267, 353. in drama 335. Lincoln, Gettysburg Speech 19, 20- 22, 219, 297; Springfield Speech 125. listening, practice in 15, 29, 217. literature, relation of composition to 235-246. logic (see deduction, induction, analogy). Lovelace, To Althea 304. Lowell, essays 342, 346-348. lyric 304-305, 327-329. M Macatjlay, Essay on History 12; Johnson 63, 116, 121, 123; MU- ton 314; Addison 289; History of England 17, 313. Malory, Sir Thomas, Morte d^ Ar- thur 252. Matthews, Brander, American Character 86; Development of the Drama 329; Philosophy of the Short Story 354. memorizing speeches 206. Meredith, George, The Ordeal of Richard Fever el 311. metaphor 159. meter 299-302. meton5rmy 159. Milton, Comus 240; Lycidas 289. moment, characteristic, in descrip- tion 43, 47, 55, 295. monotony 142. MuiR, John, The Mountains of Cali- fornia 60, 62. N Narration (for sub-headings see table of contents) 248-285, 318. — distinguished from description (see description). Newman, Cardinal, Historical Sketches 306. newspaper stories 278. notes 163-166, 209, 237. novel 348. O Observation 41, 160, 295. occasional speeches 219. Old English 153. onomatopoeia 305-306. oral reports 15, 29. oratory (see speeches), order (see coherence), outline 74-83, 206 (see plan, para- graph, brief). Painting and writing 53-55. paragraphs 67-93, 197-199, 261, 272, 277, 318. — unity 67, 75, 83, 272, 343. — emphasis 83-91. Pinchot, Gifford, a Primer of Forestry 78. plan, for exposition and argument 28, 74-83, 174, 192, 197 (see brief). — for narration 261-285. play (see drama). PoE, stories 354. point of view in description 60. precision 133, 204, 230, 287 (see synonyms, definition), proof (see argument), proportion (see emphasis), proposition for argument 30, 173. prose and verse 305-307. proverbs 152. punctuation 102. INDEX 363 Q Questioning, the habit of 13, 166, 167. R Rai.eiqh, a Poet's Epitaph for Him- self 329. rapidity of sentence movement 308. , rebuttal 178, 214. redundanc}^ 111, 146, 307. reference, books of 166. review of a book 239-243. revision 94, 229. rhythm 299, 305. Richardson, novels 351. rime 299. romance 325, 349. S Scott, Kenilworth 151; The Lady of the Lake 241, 326, 327, 357; Ivan- hoe 241, 350; Marmion 326, 327. selection for unity of impression 269-275 {see imity). sentences 94-126, 143-147, 307, 309-313. — simple 96. — complex 97. — compound 99, 120, 143. — balanced 120, 142. — periodic 122. — climax 125. — emphasis 109, 307. further paragraph coherence 113, 307. — in description 144, 309-313. — rapidity 309-313. — variety 313. Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice 82, 291, 338; Jvlius Ccesar24Q, 291, 334, 338; Macbeth 240, 338, 339; Twelfth Night 291, 337, 339; Otheao 291, 301, 334, 337; -4 s You Like It 304; Much Ado about Nothing 337; Romeo and Juliet 337; Henry V 339. Shaler, N. S., The Story of Our Continent 11, 16. short story 353. simile 159. Sir Perceval of Galles 326. slang 132, 160. Smollett, novels 350. solution, of a story 282. — of a play 337. sound, in description 53. — of sentences 142, 305. specific (see definiteness). speeches 206-232, 339. stanza 303-305. statement of facts, in argument 192, 200, 216. Sterne 317, 350. Stevenson, Robert Louis, Travels with a Donkey 39. story {see narration). style 287-313 {see words, aptness, and the table of contents in gen- eral). subject-sentence in exposition and argument 5, 7, 14, 15, 30, 68, 75, 173. suspense 277. Swift, Drapier's Letters 233. syllogism 203. synonyms 134, 153. Tale 353. Tennyson, Idylls of the King 64, 241, 252, 298, 327; Tiresias 299; The Princess 304. Thackeray, The English Humorists 16; Henry Esmond 255, 285; Van- ity Fair 310, 353. transitions, in exposition and argu- ment 83-92, 113-116, 143, 208. — in description 56, 284. Trelawney, E. J., Recollections of Shelley, Byron, and the Author 272. Tristram and Yseidt 326. Tyndall, John, Heat Considered as a Mode of Motion 124. 364 INDEX U unities, the dramatic 335. unity, in exposition and argument 4-15, 30, 67, 173 (see limiting). of a paragraph 75. — in description and narration 43, 263. usage 129-132. variety 142, 313. verbs in description 59, 146, 296. verse 297, 327. vocabulary, increasing 127, 130, 134 W Webster, First Bunker HiU Oration 219. words 126-141, 147-161, 287 (see aptness, concrete, definition, homeliness, idioms, precision, synonyms, etc.). Wordsworth, Intimations of Immor- tality 304; Westminster Bridge 327. 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