I Mil; ' T ' h mkiiML ' 'IP m'i I! I, ' 'T I' mmmm Oloruf U Slam §rl|onI Eibrarg Cornell University Library The original of tliis bool< is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924024919304 THE WORKING PRINCIPLES OF RHETORIC EXAMINED IN THEIR LITERARY RELATIONS AND ILLUSTRATED WITH EXAMPLES BY JOHN FRANKLIN GENUNG Professor of Rhetoric in Amherst College A RESTUDIED AND REPROPORTIONED TREATISE EASED ON THE author's PRACTICAL ELEMENTS OF RHETORIC BOSTON, U.S.A. GINN & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS 1901 Copyright, 1900, by JOHN FRANKLIN GENUNG ALL EIGHTS RESERVED To THE SUCCESSION, NOW GOODLY IN NUMBER, OF THOSE WHO RECALL FROM THEIR COLLEGE DAYS THE ROOM WITH THE INSCRIPTION QVI • NOVIT ■ NEQVE ■ ID QVOD ■ SENTIT EXPRIMIT ■ PERINDE ■ EST - AC ■ SI • NESCIRET ■ PREFACE. THE preface to the volume on which the present work is based, written nearly fourteen years ago, forecast and not inaptly characterized the purpose of this new venture, in its remark i propos of the old subject of rhetoric, that " old things, in proportion to their living value, need from time to time to be newly defined and . distributed, their perspective and emphasis need to be freshly determined, to suit changing conditions of thought." The old subject is newer than it was then ; its living value, in life no less than in school, more generally recognized. If along with this the conditions of its study have changed, one element of the change niay particu- larly be noted : the tendency to specialization which a deeper interest always brings. Rhetoric, in its higher reaches, is studied nowadays largely by topics and sections, in which single stages or processes of the art literary are taken up and by a kind of laboratory method carried to any depth or minuteness desired. A laboratory method, of whatever sort, is not absolutely empirical. Its essence is indeed observation, discovery, experiment ; but in its outfit must also be included a labora- tory manual, to direct and determine its lines of work. Special monographs and records of research have their place, but they do not take the place of this. There is needed, to covet the whole field, some treatise which, presenting the basal principles on a uniform scale and from one point of view, shall thereby exhibit also the mutual relations and proportions vi PREFACE. of the various parts. A treatise of this kind is in its nature both a text-book and a book of reference, something to be studied and also consulted. The specific use to which it is put, and the order in which its parts are taken up, are matters to be determined largely by the teacher and the course; As a laboratory manual it does not profess to embody the com- plete outfit ; while it stands, as a basis of reference and direc- tion, at the centre, it presupposes other things, accompanying, which shall supply the praxis and model-study necessary. Such a manual as this the author had in mind in preparing the present volume. He has aimed to traverse broadly the field of rhetoric, setting forth its working principles by defini- tion, explication, and example. In his aim have also been included the utmost attainable clearness, simplicity, and sound sense in the presentation. It is not for him, of course, to say how far he has been successful. Some principles — nay, all of them — go deep ; they cannot but do so, if their working begins within ; but those inner points of human nature to which they penetrate are not beyond the recognition of the undergraduate, and to every writer who attains to a degree of mastery they are consciously present as points both of outset and of aim. Sooner or later, therefore, these vitalizing principles must be taken into the account ; they are what colors and finishes the whole work of authorship. A liberal course of instruction is recreant to itself if, cramping itself to wooden rules of grammar and logic, it neglects what may be called the practical psychology of the art, or leaves it to that education which began two hundred years before the student's birth. This, then, is what the author has tried to exhibit : /the process of composition traced genetically, through its large y working principles, with those living considerations which con- l^nect these with writer, reader, and occasion. The book does not set up as an authority, except so far as its statements, fairly tested, prove self-justifying. Of any of the assertions PREFACE. vii here made the simple desire is, that student and teacher look at them, give them all possible verification of trial and example, and see if they are not so. One thing further also : that as the upshot of all and each it may be seen how great a thing it is, how truly a matter of ordered art, yet withal how simple and business-like, to write. There is only one name to give to the point of view thus brought to light. It is the literary. Rhetoric .is literature, taken in its details and impulses, literature in the, making. What- ever is implied in this the present work frankly accepts. Its standard is literary ; it is concerned, as real authorship must be, not with a mere grammatical apparatus or with Huxley's logic engine, but with the whole man, his outfit of conviction and emotion, imagination and will, translating himself, as it were, into vital and ordered utterance. It is in this whole man that the technique of the art has its roots. Begun as a revision of the author's Practical Elements of Rhetoric, the work, as thus conternplated, was seen to be, almost from the outset, so truly a new treatment of the subject that the decision was made to issue it as a new work, of which the other is merely the basis. The exposition is throughout subjected to a restatement for which the author can think of no word so fitting as reproportioned ; it is brought by . its terms and ordering more into the line of scientific literary study as it is pursued to-day and into more rigid consist- ency with itself. To give in any detail the changes from the former work would serve no useful purpose here. A few of the more salient ones may be mentioned. What was before given in chapters and occasional subdividing sections now appears in books and chapters, the latter being numbered continuously through the volume. Chapters viii. and ix. cover substantially the ground formerly entitled Fundamental Processes. Chapter vii., on Rhythm, is nearly all new. The substance of the chapter formerly entitled Reproduction of viii PREFACE. the Thought of Others is incorporated with Chapter xvi., as Exposition of the Symbols of Things. The subject of Persua- sion now appears, under the heading Oratory, in connection with its controlling literary type. Argumentation. Whether these changes will all justify themselves is a question that must be left to the judgment of those who have used the older book ; they seem to come in the way of the reproportioning which the subject has undergone. The additional matter furnished by the numerous corrobo- rative footnotes will, it is hoped, be of service to those teachers and students who desire further rhetorical reading. Of the value of these notes such names as Earle, Pater, Stevenson, Bagehot, De Quincey, are a sufficient guarantee. No voluminous reading of this kind, of course, can be given ; but many wise and weighty remarks from critics of recognized authority are thus gathered from widely scattered sources and made available in connection with the principles to which they apply. The body of these appended readings is especially indicated, at the end of the book, in the Directory of Authors Quoted. This book, as is intimated above, is contemplated only as part of a rhetorical apparatus, the laboratory manual on which other lines of work are founded. For the praxis work of com-' position, and for more extended study of models than the examples furnish, the present volume has no room. It is the author's intention, in due time, to publish in a companion volume what is here lacking. In the reading of the proofs the author has had, and hereby thankfully acknowledges, the much-valued assistance of Pro- fessor William B. Cairns, whose suggestions have been care- fully weighed and generally followed, though, as sometimes the casting-vote went adversely, no responsibility for mistakes or imperfections should be laid to his charge. Amherst, March 4, 1901. CONTENTS. •<>• PAGB Introductory. i-g Definition of Rhetoric .... . i Rhetoric as Adaptation . . i Rhetoric as Art .... 4 Province and Distribution of Rhetoric . ... 8 I. STYLE. BOOK I. — STYLE IN GENERAL. Chapter I. — Nature and Bearings of Style. 16-26 Definition of Style ..... . . ig Adjustments of Style, and the Culture that promotes them . 20 The Principle of Economy 23 Chapter II. — Qualities of Style. 27-43 I. Clearness . . ..... 29 II. Force ..... • • • 33 III. Beauty -37 Temperament of Qualities . . . .41 BOOK IL — DICTION. Chapter III. — Choice of Words for Denotation. 46-74 I. Accurate Use .46 II. Intelligible Use 52 III. Present Use .... . . 61 IV. Scholarly Use 68 CONTENTS. Chapter IV. — Words and Figures for Connotation. I. Connotation of Idea Overt Figures of Association Implicatory Words and Coloring II. Connotation of Emotion Overt Figures of Emotion . Animus of Word and Figure Chapter V. — Prose Diction — Standard and Occasional. I. St&ndard Prose Diction . The Prose Vocabulary Prose Arrangement of Words . Prose Connection of Words II. Prose Diction as determined by Occasion The Diction of Spoken Discourse The Diction of Written Discourse Manufactured Diction III. Maintenance of the Tone of Discourse . Chapter VI. — Poetic Diction, and its Interactions with Prose. I. Poetic Traits in Poetry and Prose Tendency to Brevity or Concentration Partiality to Unworn Words and Forms . Language employed for its Picturing Power Language employed for Qualities of Sound II. The Approaches of Prose to Poetry The Intellectual Type .... The Impassioned Type .... The Imaginative Type Chapter Vn. — Rhjrthm in Poetry and in Prose. I. Elements of Poetic Rhythm The Metrical Unit : the Foot . The Metrical Clause : the Verse The- Metrical Sentence: the Stanza II. The Life of Verse Overtones of Musical Rhythm . Pliancy of the Recitative Measures Undertone of Phrasal Rhythm . 75-106 • 76 77 ■ 87 94 95 102 107-138 109 109 "3 "5 118 118 126 132 '3S 139-170 141 141 ■ 144 146 "53 • 163 164 166 . 168 171-220 172 172 178 183 189 190 197 202 CONTENTS. XI III. The Rhythm of Prose .... As maintauied against Poetic Rhythm Its Main Elements .... PAGE 2IO 210 BOOK III. — COMPOSITION. Chapter VH 1. — Phraseology. 223-267 I. Syntactical Adjustments . . . . • 223 II. Three Idioms ... • 232 III. Collocation ... 240 IV. Retrospective Reference . . . . 246 V. Prospective Reference . ■ 254 VI. Correlation - 257 vn. Conjunctional Relation . . . . • 259 Chapter IX. — Organic Processes. 268-310 I. Negation . 268 II. Antithesis 271 III. Inversion . 276 IV. Suspension ■ 279 V. Amplitude 287 VI. Climax . 292 VII. Condensation • 29s VIII. Repetition . . • . ■ 302 Chapter X. — The Sentence. 3"-3SS I. Organism of the Sentence • 312 Elements of Structure • 312 Types of Structure 316 II. Interrelation of Elements • 320 Errors of Interrelation ■ 320 Logical Relations Consistent with Unity • 323 Office of Punctuation • 325 III. Massing of Elements for Force • 33S Distribution of Emphasis . • 335 Dynamic Stress . ... ■ 340 IV. The Sentence in Diction ■ 345 As to Length ■ 345 As to Mass ... • 350 Combinations and Proportions . ■ 354 CONTENTS. Chapter XI. — The Paragraph. I. The Paragraph in Sum . II. The Paragraph in Structure . Relation of Parts to Sum . Relation of Parts to Each Other Claims of Proportion III.. Kinds of Paragraphs 356-383 • 358 364 • 365- • 370 • 37S ■ 379 II. INVENTION. BOOK IV. — INVENTION IN ITS ELEMENTS. Chapter XII. — Approaches to Invention. I. The Sense of Literary Form II. The Support from Self-Culture The Spirit of Observation Habits of Meditation . Ways of reading Disposal of Results 389-419 • 390 ■ 396 • 397 402 . 408 • 417 Chapter XIII. — • The Composition as a Whole. 420-474 I. The Theme . .... .421 As related to the Subject . . . 421 As related to Form of Discourse .... 426 As distinguished from the Title . 429 II. The Main Ideas .... . 432 The Making of the Plan .... .432 Principles of Relation and Arrangement . 438 Appendages of the Plan .... 449 III. The Amplifying Ideas .... . 458 The Province of Unamplified Expression . . 460 Objects for which Amplification is employed . 462 Means of Amplification . . . 464 Accessories of Amplification ... 471 CONTENTS. ■txA.j ■ ' j, -' -'"- '"' -' BOOK v. — THE LITERA-kY TYPES. Chapter XIV. — Description. I. The Underlying Principles Problems of Material and Handling . Mechanism of Description . Subdual of Descriptive Details 11. Accessories of Description Avails of Imaginative Diction The Human Interest . Aid from Narrative Movement III. Description in Literature General Status and Value . Forms of which Description is the Basis . Chapter XV. — Narration. I. The Art of Narration The End : to which all is related as forecast The Narrative Movement . II. The Vehicle of the Story The Supporting Medium Discursive Narration . Combination of Narratives III. Narration in Literature . History Biography Fiction Xlll PAGE 477-510 478 479 481 486 493 493 499 503 ■ 506 506 508 511-553 Chapter XVI. — Exposition. Exposition of Things Exposition Intensive : Definition Exposition Extensive : Division Exposition. of the Symbols of Things Exegesis of Terms Explication of Propositions Forms of Reproduction Exposition in Literature Criticism .... Forms of Expository Work • 513 • 514 520 • 529 53° • 535 537 ■ 543 • 544 • 548 550 554-596 557 558 568 575 576 578 582 591 591 594 XIV CONTENTS. Chapter XVII. — Argumentation. Section I. — Argumentation in its Type Forms I. Argumentation Constructive Direct Discovery of Facts Inference from Particulars Inference from Generals II. Argumentation Destructive Analyzing by Alternative Exposure of Fallacies Section II. — Argumentation in Ordered System I. Debate Preparation of the Question Measures looking to Attack and Order of Arguments . II. Oratory .... The Essence of Oratory The Basis of Relation with the Audience Forms and Agencies of Appeal Index of Shbjects Directory of Authors Quoted . Defense PAGE 597-662 • 598 • 599 • S99 606 . 616 622 623 626 633 634 63s 637 639 642 642 645 650 663 673 THE WORKING PRINCIPLES OF RHETORIC. " I hope that your professors of rhetoric will teach you to culti- vate that golden art — the steadfast use of a language in which truth can be told ; a speech that is strong by natural force, and not merely effective by declannation ; an utterance without trick, without affecta- tion, without mannerisms, and without any of that excessive ambition which overleaps itself as much in prose writing as it does in other things." — John Morley. INTRODUCTORY. Definition of Rhetoric. — Rhetoric is the art of adapting discourse, in harmony with its subject and occasion, to the requirements of a reader or hearer. Note. — The word discourse, which is popularly understood of some- thing oral, as a speech or a conversation, will be used throughout this treatise to denote any coherent literary prodaction, whether spoken or written. The term is broad enough to cover all the forms of composition, and deep enough to include all its processes. I. Rhetoric as Adaptation. — To treat a subject rightly, to say just what the occasion demands, are indeed fundamental to effective discourse ; but what more than all else makes it rhetorical is the fact that all the elements of its composition are adopted with implicit reference to the mind of readers or hearers. The writer learns to judge what men will best understand, what they can be made to feel or imagine, what are their interests, their tastes, their limitations ; and to these, as subject and occasion dictate, he conforms his work ; that is, he adapts discourse to human nature, as its require- ments are recognized and skilfully interpreted. The various problems involved in such adaptatio n constitute the fie ld^of^ t he art of rhetoric . This idea of 'adaptation is the best modern representative of the original aim of the art. Having at first to deal only 2 INTRODUCTORY. with hearers, rhetoric began as the art of oratory, that is, of convincing and persuading by speech. Now, however, as the art of printing has greatly broadened its field of action, rhetoric must address itself to readers as well, must therefore include more forms of composition and more comprehensive objects ; while still the initial character of the art survives, in the general aim of so presenting thought that it shall have power on men, which aim is most satisfactorily defined in the term adaptation. Note. — The derived and literary uses of the word rhetoric all start from the recognition of the adaptedness of speech, as wielded by skill and art, to produce spiritual effects. When, for instance, Milton says of Satan, " the persuasive rhetoric That sleeked his tongue, and won so much on Eve," or speaks, in Comus, of the "gay rhetoric That hath so well been taught her dazzling fence," he sees, in smoothness of speech and deftness of argument, rhetorical devices that in their place are quite legitimate, and incur reproach only as used unscrupulously. In the line " Sweet, silent rhetoric of persuading eyes," the poet Daniel regards the influencing effect as produced by means other than speech ; a not infrequent use of the word. Distinguished by this Characteristic from the Sciences on which it is founded The two sciences that mainly constitute the basis of rhetoric are grammar and logic, both of which it supplements in the direction of adaptation. Grammar, which deals with the forms, inflections, and offices of words, and their relation to each other in phrases and sentences, aims to show what is correct and admissible usage, not what is adapted to men's capacities. A sentence quite unexceptionable in grammar may be feebly expressed, or crudely arranged, or hard to understand ; and if so it is to INTRODUCTORY. 3 just that degree unrhetorical. Rhetoric, while making its sentence grammatical as a matter of course, inquires in addi- tion by what choice and arrangement of words it can best work its intended eiiect. Nor does its inquiry stop with the sentence. In every stage and form of composition, wherever the problem of adaptation may be involved, the art of rhetoric has its principles and procedures. Logic, which deals with the laws of thinking, aims to deter- mine what sequences of thought are sound and self-consistent. In so doing it works for the sake of its subject alone, not for the convenience of a reader. A passage whose logic is quite unassailable may be severe, abstruse, forbidding, and there- fore unrhetorical. Rhetoric, while its expression must of necessity conform to the laws of sound thinking, aims to bring its thought home to men by making it attractive, vivid, or otherwise easier to apprehend. Lines of Rhetorical Adaptation The requirements of a reader or hearer are determined not by his mental capacities alone, but by his whole nature ; which, in one way or another, as subject and occasion dictate, is to be acted upon by the power of language. The common psychological division of man's spiritual powers will indicate broadly three main lines of adaptation. There is first the power of intellect, by which a man knows, thinks, reasons. Discourse that addresses itself to this power aims merely to impart information or convince of truth ; and its adaptation consists in giving the reader facilities to see and understand. This practical aim is what gives substance and seriousness to all literary endeavor ; but its sole or pre- dominating presence gives rise to the grpat body of everyday writing, — news, criticism, science, history, discussion, all that deals with the common facts and interests of life ; which may be included under the general name of Matter-of-fact Prose. 4 INTRODUCTORY. Secondly, there is the power of emotion, by which a man feels and imagines. Discourse that addresses itself to this power aims to make men not only understand a truth but realize it vividly and have a glow of interest in it ; and the adaptation is effected by using language that stimulates and thrills. This aim has a large part in the more literary forms of prose ; but it appears most unmixedly in Poetry. Thirdly, there is the power of will, by which a man ven- tures life and action on what he believes or thinks. Dis- course that addresses itself to this power must make men both understand clearly and realize intensely ; it must there- fore work with both intellect and emotion ; but through these it must effect some definite decision in men's sympathies or conduct. Its adaptation consists in making its thought a power on motive and principle ; and the aim results in the most complex literary type, Oratory. From the consideration of these human powers and capaci- ties, with the countless limitations that culture, occupation, and original character impose upon them, it will easily be seen how broad is the field of rhetorical adaptation, and how comprehensive must be the art that masters and applies its resources. II. Rhetoric as Art In the adapting of discourse to the requirements of reader or hearer, under the various condi- tions that call for such work, it is evident that there must be all the fine choice of means and fitting of these to ends, all the intimate conversance with material and working-tools, that we associate with any art, fine or useful. Rhetoric, here called an art, is sometimes defined as a science. Both designations are true ; they merely regard the subject in two different aspects. Science is systematized knowledge : if then the laws and principles of discourse are INTROD UCTOR Y. 5 exhibited in an ordered and interrelated system, they appear in the character of a science. Art is knowledge made effi- cient by skill ; if then rhetorical laws and principles are applied in the actual construction of discourse, they become the working-rules of an art. From both points of view rhetoric has great practical value in liberal culture. Studied as a science or theory, in which aspect it may be called critical rhetoric, it promotes understanding and appreciation of literature, and thereby not only aids those who have natural literary aptitude but deepens and enriches the reading of those to whom such gift is denied. Cultivated for practical ends, as an art, in which aspect it may be called constructive rhetoric, the study, while it can set up no pretensions to confer the power to write, can do much to steady and discipline powers already present, and keep them from blundering and feeble ways. And each mode of approach so helps the other that in practice the two, science and art, cannot attain their best disjoined. Note. — The present manual, because it regards the student always as in the attitude of constructing, of weighing means and procedures not for their mere scientific or curious interest but as adapted to produce practical results, starts from the definition of rhetoric as an art. Analogies with Other Arts. — What is. true of other arts, such as painting, music, sculpture, handicraft, is so exactly paralleled in the art of rhetoric, that it will be useful to trace some of the analogies. I. Aptitude for masterful expression, like an ear for music or an eye for color and proportion, is an inborn gift. Exist- ing in infinitely various degrees, this aptitude may sometimes be so great as to discover the secret of good writing almost by intuition ; while sometimes it may lie dormant and unsus- pected, needing the proper impulse of culture to awaken it. In the great majority of cases it exists merely in such moder- 6 INTRODUCTORY. ate degree as to suffice for useful and common-sense work in the ordinary occasions of writing. So much aptitude may be talcen for granted ; and if the higher degree is present it will according to its insight find the higher ranges of the art congenial. 2. Just as in these other arts one does not think of stop- ping with mere native aptitude, but develops and disciplines all his powers so that they may be employed wisely and steadily ; so in the art of expression one needs by faithful study and practice to get beyond the point where he only happens to write well, or where brilliancy and crudeness are equally uncontrolled, and attain that conscious power over thought and language which makes every part of his work the result of unerring skill and calculation. 3. Like other arts, this art of rhetoric has its besetting faults, which it requires watchfulness, conscientiousness, and natural taste to avoid. — The most prevalent of these, perhaps, is the fault of falling idly into conventional and stereotyped ways of expression, without troubling to think how much or how little they mean. This is at bottom insincerity; it is taking up with something that has embodied another man's thought and passing it off for one's own, thus pretending to think or feel what one does not. — A second fault is trust- ing too much to one's cleverness and fluency, and not having patience and application in the exercises necessary to deepen and steady one's powers ; in other words, neglecting the technic of the art. This is especially the tendency of those to whom writing comes easily ; they think their native apti- tude will make up for discipline, — always a fatal mistake. — A third fault is being so taken with tricks, vogues, manner- isms of expression as to think more of the dress one gives the thought than of the thought itself ; thus making rhetoric the manipulation of devices of language for their own sake. It must be borne in mind that this art of rhetoric does not INTRO£>UCTORY. 7 exist for itself, but only as the handmaid of the truth which it seeks to make living in the minds and hearts of men.' 4. As in the mastering of other arts, so in this, there is an initial stage during which the submitting of one's work to severe artistic standards seems to spoil it ; the powers that when running wild produced results uneven and uncertain indeed but full of native vigor and audacity become, as dominated by art, labored, wooden, self-conscious. This, however, is merely a temporary period in the necessary proc- ess of changing artistic power from arbitrary rules to second nature. To discard rhetorical discipline on this account, as many do, does not help the matter ; it is merely to abandon what experience has contributed to a difficult art and set one's self to evolve one's own modes of procedure, with all the risks of mannerism and blundering. The wiser way is to work up through that self-conscious stage to the eminence where the art becomes at once artistic, uniform in quality, and full of the spontaneousness of nature. Fine Art and Mechanical Art The distinction ordinarily made between mechanical or useful art and fine art has its application to rhetoric ; which may be classed with either, according as its results are merely practical, as in journalism and matters of everyday information, or more distinctively literary, as in poetry,_ oratory, romance. Nor is it either easy or desirable to define the point where one kind of art passes into the other. Both the sense of the practical and the sense of the beautiful may each in its way control the same work ; and thus the composition may be at once masterful contriv- ance and fine art, with each quality reinforced by the other. 1 The above remarks on the faults of the rhetorical art are suggested by a sentence from Ruskin's Introduction to "Roadside Songs of Tuscany": " All fatalfaults in art that might have been otherwise good, arise from one of these three things ; either from the pretence to feel what we do not ; the indolence in exercises necessary to obtain the power of expressing the truth ; or the presumptuous insistence upon, and indulgence in, our own powers and delights, and with no care or wish that they should be useful to other people, so only they may be admired by them." 8 INTRODUCTORY. To every writer who enlists a well-endowed nature in it, the art of expression is comprehensive enough to include the highest and most exquisite literary achievement ; while at its beginning, accessible to all, are the homely and useful details of plain words and clear thinking. Nor is any stage of the work so insignificant but genius can give it the charm of a fine art. III. Province and Distribution of Rhetoric. — The province of the study is suggested in the foregoing definition of rhetoric as art and as adaptation. Its province js_to expound in sys- tematic order the technic of an art. But inasmuch as this is an art governed in all its details by the aim of adaptation, its problems are not primarily problems of absolute right and wrong, but of fitness and unfitness, or, where various expedi- ents are in question, of better and worse.^ What is good for one occasion or one class of readers or one subject may be bad for another ; what will be powerful to effect one object may be quite out of place for another. Thus it traverses from beginning to end that field of activity wherein the inventive constructive mind is supposably at work making effective ' discourse. The distribution of the study bases itself most simply, per- haps, on the two questions that naturally rise in any under- taking, the questions what and how. Round the first cluster the principles that relate uxmatter or thought_ of discourse ; round the second whatever relates to manner or expression. Of course a question of expression must often involve the question of thought also, and vice versa ; so the two lines of inquiry must continually touch and interact ; but on the whole they are distinct enough to furnish a clear working basis for the distribution of the art. 1 See Wendell, English Composition, p. 2, INTRODUCTORY. 9 Reversing the order here suggested, for a reason presently to be explained, the present manual groups the elements of rhetoric round two main topics : style, which deals with the \ manner of discourse ; and invention, which deals with thej matter. Style The question how, which underlies the art of style, divides itself into the questions what qualities to give it in order to produce the fitting effect ; then, more particu- larly, how to choose words both for what they say (denote) and what they imply or involve (connote), that is, both literal and figurative expression ; how to put words together in phrases and sentences, with fitting stress and order; and how to build these sentences into paragraphs. This division of the study is commonly regarded as the dryest; but it is the most indispensable, and its dryness gives way to intense interest in proportion as the importance of one's work is apprehended. No word or detail can be insignificant which makes more powerful or unerring a desired effect. Invention. — The question what, which underlies the art of invention, must be held to suggest more than the mere find- ing of siih.J£st::matter, which of course must be left to the writer himself. No text-book or system of study can do his thinking for him. It belongs to invention also to determijie what concentration and coordination must be given to every line of thought to make it effective ; then, niore particularly, what forms o f discourse are at the writer's disposal, and what peculiarities of management each demands. This division of the study, while not more practical, has the interest of being more directly concerned with the making of literature, and the demands of self-culture therein involved. I. STYLE. " Have something to say, and say it, was tlie Duke of Wellington's theory of style ; Huxley's was to say that which has to be said in such language that you can stand cross-examination on each word. Be clear, though you may be convicted of error. If you are clearly wrong, you will run up against a fact some time and get set right. If you shuffle with your subject, and study chiefly to use language which will give you a loophole of escape either way, there is no hope for you." — Life and Letters of Thomas H. Huxley. BOOK I.. STYLE IN GENERAL. It is as important in this art of rhetoric as in any other to distinguish between the order of performance, and the order of_^raining. When a writer, trained presumably to the point of mastery, sets about the actual construction of a work of literature, his first step, of course/ is invention : that is, determining in what form of discourse he will work, and devising a framework of thought. / The case is different with a student setting out to attain/proficiency in the art. He must begin with practice in details of word and phrase and figure ; just as a musician begj^s with scales and finger exer- cises, and an artist with drawing from models. This is the natural order in every art /first, patient acquisition of skill in workmanship; then, mjltured design or performance.^ It is as a recognition of this fact that in the course of rhetorical 1 " In all arts the natural advance is from detail to general effect. How seldom those who begin with a broad treatment, which apes maturity, acquire subsequently the minor graces that alone can finish the perfect work I . . . He [Tennyson] devoted himself, with the eager spirit of youth, to mastering this exquisite art [of poetry], and wreaked his thoughts upon expression, for the expression's sake. And what else should one attempt, with small experiences, little concern for the real world, and less observation of it?" — Stedman, Victorian Poets, p. 156. " As I walked, my mind was busy fitting what I saw with appropriate words ; when I sat by the roadside, I would either read, or a pencil and a penny version-book would be in my hand, to note down the features of the scene or commemorate some halting stanzas. Thus I lived with words. And what I thus wrote was for no ulte- rior use, it was written consciously for practice. It was not so much that I wished to be an author (though I wished that too) as that I had vowed that I would learn to write. That was a proficiency that tempted me ; and I practiced to acquire it, as men learn to whittle, in a wager with myself." — Stevenson, Memories and Por- traits, Works, Vol. xiii, p. 211. 13 14 STYLE IN GENERAL. art here traced the part relating to style precedes the part relating to invention. If this distinction were made merely to justify the plan of a text-book, it would be of little consequence. It is made rather because the claim of style, with all its demands on the writer, is logically first and fundamental. Care for style is the mood that ought to control every stage of the work, pro- jecting and finishing alike. In every literary undertaking, and with the sense of its importance increasing rather than diminishing, the faithful writer's most absorbing labor is devoted to studious management of details and particulars, weighing of words, sifting and shaping of subtle turns of phrase, until with unhasting pains everything is fitted to its place. And the result of such diligence is increasing fineness of taste for expression, and increasing keenness of sense for all that contributes, in however small degree, toward making the utterance of his thought perfect. Ideal as this sounds, it is merely the rigorous artist mood applied to literary endeavor ; nor is it anything more than becomes actual in the experience of every well-endowed writer. The constant pressure of an ideal standard engen- ders a certain sternness and severity of mood which for the practical guidance of the student may be defined in these two aspects : First, an insatiable passion for accuracy, in statement and conception alike, which forbids him to be content with any word or phrase that comes short of his idea or is in the least aside from it. Secondly, an ardent desire for freedom and range of utterance, for such wealth of word and illustration as shall set forth adequately the ful- ness of a deeply felt subject. The practical questions that rise out of this mood are deeper than the search for qualities of style, though also they include this latter quest ; they are, in a sense, not questions of style at all, but of truth and fact. If the student of composition would be a master of expression STYLE IN GENERAL. IS this earnestness of literary mood must become so ingrained as to be a working consciousness, a second nature.^ This is what is involved in giving style the first and fundamental claim. 1 " I hate false words, and seek with care, difficulty, and moroseness those that fit the thing." — Landor. " Nor is there anything here that should astonish the considerate. Before he can tell what cadences he truly prefers, the student should have tried all that are possible ; before he can choose and preserve a fitting key of words, he should long have prac- tised the literary scales ; and it is only after years of such gymnastic that he can sit. down at last, legions of words swarming to his call, dozens of turns of phrase simul- taneously bidding for his choice, and he himself knowing what he wants to do and (within the narrow limit of a man's ability) able to do it." — Stevenson, Memories and Portraits^ Works, Vol. xiii, p. 214. CHAPTER I. NATURE AND BEARINGS OF STYLE. Definition of Style. — Style is manner of choosing and arranging words so as to produce determinate and intended effects in language.^ It is evident that the thought must be developed enough to contain some question of manner and effect before we can associate style with it. Bare facts could be exhibited in sub- stantives, or formulae, or statistics ; but this would not be style ; it would display no degrees of effectiveness, nor would there be any interest in it beyond the thing that is said. A work characterized by style derives equal importance from ' the particular manner of saying a thing : there is a fitness, a force, a felicity in the use of language which adapts the thought to the occasion, and gives it dignity and distinction. By its style the thought is made to stand out as adapted to act upon men. Note. — To illustrate how much style may have to do with the effective presentation of a subject, compare the two following descriptions of the same thing ; the one from an encyclopsedia, simply giving information, the other from a romance and told in the person of an ordinary man of the people. "Avignon. The capital of the department of Vaucluse, France, situ- ated on the east bank of the Rhone, in lat. 43° 57' N., long. 4° 50' E. . the Roman Avenio : called the ' Windy City ' and the ' City of Bells.' It has 1 This is given as -. working definition, suitable to 1 course of study, not as including all the literary refinements of style. The distinction, general though not absolute, between style, which centres in manner, and invention, which deals with matter, has been given above, pp. 8, 9. 16 NATURE AND BEARINGS OF STYLE. 17 a large trade in madder and grain, and manufactures of silk, etc., and is the seat of an archbishopric and formerly of a university. It was a flourish- ing Roman town, and is celebrated as the residence of the popes 1309-77, to whom it belonged until its annexation by the French in 1791. At that time it was the scene of revolutionary outbreaks, and of reactionary atroci- ties in 1815. . . . The palace of the popes is an enormous castellated pile, built during the 14th century, with battlemented towers 150 feet high and walls rising to a height of too feet." 1 The second account is laid at the time of the revolutionary outbreaks mentioned above. "At last I came within sight of the Pope's City. Saints in Heaven I What a beautiful town it was I Going right up two hundred feet above the bank of the river was a bare rock, steep and straight as though cut with a stonemason's chisel, on the very top of which was perched a castle with towers so big and high — twenty, thirty, forty times higher than the towers of our church — that they seemed to go right up out of sight into the clouds I It was the Palace built by the Popes ; and around and below it was a piling up of houses — big, little, long, wide, of every size and shape, and all of cut stone — covering a space as big, I might say, as half way from here to Carpentras. When I saw all this I was thunder- struck. And though I still was far away from the city a strange buzzing came from it and sounded in my ears — but whether it were shouts or songs or the roll of drums or the crash of falling houses or the firing of cannon, I could not tell. Then the words of the lame old man with the hoe came back to me, and all of a sudden I felt a heavy weight on my heart. What was I going to see, what was going to happen to me in the midst of those revolutionary city folks .' What could I do among them — I, so utterly, utterly alone ? " ^ From these examples it would appear that we must enlarge our conception of what is involved in producing effects by means of language. If it meant merely setting forth bare facts of iiiformation, then writing like the first quoted paragraph would be enough ; rhetorical study would be learning to make catalogues and annals, and all excellences of style would be reducible to various kinds of painstaking. But while good writing includes this, while one of its most 1 The Century Cyclopedia of Names, s.v. 2 Felix Gras, The Reds of the Midi, p. 69. 18 STYLE IN GENERAL. imperative aims is faithful transcription of fact, it includes ■with this also the writer 's individual sense of fact ' ; and this latter imparts to it the literary quality, a character and color- ing due both to the intrinsic nature of the fact or thought itself and to the writer's own personality. Both of these relations of style require a few words of explication. Style and the Thought. — It is a common notion among practical-minded people that the style of a literary work is an addition from without ^ ; as if the thought existed first by itself and then some one who. could manipulate words dressed it up for effect. To thefn literature seems a trick and a trade, having to do with devices and ornaments of expression, or with cunning artifices of argument. This idea it is that so often weights the word rhetoric with reproach, and casts a slur on anything that is not expressed in the plainest and directest manner. But the truth is, if in good writing a thought is told plainly it is because the thought itself is plain and simple, requiring only a bare statement for its full setting- forth. If another thought is told elaborately, it is because wealth of word, illustration, figure, clever phrasing and arrange- ment are necessary to sound its depths or be just to its subtle shadings. To a trained sense thoughts are essentially beauti- ful or rugged, dignified or colloquial, dry or emotional ; con- taining therefore the potency of their own ideal expression : his aim is simply to interpret this character, whatever it is, and by making his word and phrase correspond thereto, to tell exactly and fully the truth that lies enwrapped in it.' 1 The distinction adopted from Pater, Appreciations., p. 5. 2 See tliis illustrated, Newman, Idea of a University^ p. 277. 8 " In the highest as in the lowliest literature, then, the one indispensable beauty is, after all, truth : — truth \.^ ' 'in the latter, as to some personal sense of fact, diverted somewhat from mt. , sense of it, in the former; truth there as accuracy, truth here as expression, that hnest and most intimate form of truth, the vraie veriti. And what an eclectic principle this really is 1 employing for its one sole purpose — that absolute accordance of expi . ision to idea — all other literary beauties NATURE AND BEARINGS OF STYLE. 19 It is only for purposes of study and discipline that we regard style as separable from thought. It is not, it cannot be, something added from without. Anything not required by the thought, brought in as a bit of finery or a mere eccen- tricity, betrays its unfitness at once. For jdeally the^ style is the^ thought, freed from crudeness and incompleteness, and p resen ted in its intrinsicpower and_beauty. And the writer's effort is not directed to achieving a style, but to satisfying the demands of his subject, in order to bring out in its ful- ness what is essentially there. Note. — In the two descriptions quoted above, while both writers deal with the same basis of fact, the thought embodied in the fact, as fits in each case the object had in portraying the fact, is different. In tlie first the controlling thought is simply plain information ; It gives numbers, measurements, statistics, in a perfectly unadorned style. In- the second the controlling thought is the beauty and impressiveness of the city ; it is important on that account, and on account of its part in the story ; so the style is colored and heightened to correspond. Style and the Man.^ — True as it is that the style is the- thought, it is equally true that the style is the man. No two persons have the same way of looking at things. Each writer imparts something of his own personality, the coloring of his spirit or his moods, to what he writes ; so that the vigor of his will, the earnestness of his convictions, the grace of his fancies live again in a manner of expression that would be natural to no one else. Thjs manner of expression moves in its individual lines of thought, begets. its individual vocabu- lary and mould of sentence, and isjnfapt the incomrnunicable element of style. Note. — In the two descriptions quoted above, there is little if any suggestion of individuality in the first, because all the interest is centred ; 1 p-t ■■; and excellences whatever : how many kinds of styfj,,.t covers, explains, justifies, and at the same time safeguards I " — Pater, Appreciations, p. 31. l"Le style est I'homme mSme." — Buffo jj, Discours de Riception h I'Aca- demie, 1753. The most famous maxim,g^rhaps, concerning style. 20 STYLE IN GENERAL. in the bare thought. The second is strongly colored by individuality ; we read in it not only facts about Avignon, but the glowing interest of a man of the people, iniiuenced by astonishment and awe. And if this is a feigned mood, still we see beyond it, in the author, a, man of vigorous and penetrative imagination, whose clear mind realizes the vital contact of the soul vrith the world. It is evident, then, that a man cannot obtain a good style by imitating another man's style. It is his own peculiar sense of fact that is to be cultivated, and his own natural expression that is to fit it with words. He may indeed get from the writings of others many a valuable suggestion or inspiration for the management of his own work ; he ought to be a diligent student of literature for this very purpose. He may, in common with his whole generation, obey the influence of some type of expression set by a vigorous thinker or man of letters. There are styles that he may admire and emulate, one for one quality, another for another. But any direct imitation is sure to be weak, affected, insincere. His one chance of success in style, as also his one road to origi- nality, is to be frankly himself; having confidence in his own way of realizing truth, and developing that to its best capabilities.' II. Adjustments of Style, and the Culture that promotes them. — Three factors are to be noted as necessary in the perfect adjustment of any style, or any quality of style, to its pur- pose. To satisfy these is the work of skill and calculation in any particular case; these accomplish their end, however, not as labored effort but as second nature, that is, the skill is so grounded and confirmed in the writer's whole culture that the adjustment makes itself. *^ ' "v,^^ ''ho would write with anything worthy to be called style must first erow thoughts which are worth communicating, and then he must deliver them in his owl natural language." — Earle, English Prose, p, 347. NATURE AND BEARINGS OF STYLE. 21 1. The_adjustment that recognizes the relation between stjle and thought. Just as there are different planes of thinking, so there are different levels of expression, from the stately to the colloquial ; different colorings, too, from that severity of word and phrase which centres in precisely defined ideas, to that unstudied ease or fervor which is the sponta- neous mirror of personal feeling. Of all this the nature of the thought is the first dictator : it is from a vital sense of thought and its prevailing tone that the fitting key of words and cast of sentence rise. The culture necessary to the perfect adjustment of style to thought is the culture of taste. Taste is to writing what tact and good breeding are to manners. Much of it may be native, the goodly heritage of ancestry and refined surround- ings ; but much of it is imparted, too, by one's companionship with cultivated people and with the best literature. By his daily habits of reading and conversation, if these are wisely cared for, a man may acquire almost insensibly a literary instinct, which enables him to feel at once what is false in expression and what is true : he is aware when words are eloquent and when they are merely declamatory ; when a prosaic word or turn flats the tone of a poetic passage ; when a colloquialism impairs dignity as well as when it adds vigor ; when the unique word for a vital idea glows on the page or flashes into his questing mind. To profit by such culture is the real joy of literature. 2. The adjustment of the style^to the conceptions and capacities of the^ reader. The need of such adjustment is suggested in the oft-made criticism that an orator "speaks over the heads of his audience," that is, is too inflexible in his individual ways of thinking and speech, does not sim- plify for the needs of others than himself. Every subject of thought, especially every scholarly subject, acquires as soon as it is specialized a vocabulary, a point of view, a thought- 22 STYLE TN GENERAL. mould of its own. With these the writer moves in familiar acquaintance and intercourse ; he thinks in their terms and technicalities. But the reader has to be introduced to them from outside, has to apprehend their truths, if at all, in sim- plified expression. Much is done by the popular publications of the day to bring learned subjects into the life of ordinary readers ; still, much will always remain to be done, the problem that besets the thinker always is, how to translate his thought into the language and conceptions of average minds. The culture necessary for the perfect adjustment of style to the reader is the culture of broad interests and of the knowledge of human nature. Every well-written book con- tains evidence that not only its subject but the mind of its reader has been closely studied. To the masterful writer an audience is always imaginatively present, even in the solitude of his study ; he writes as if he were conversing with them, meeting their difficulties and adapting himself to their view of things. This is not what is called " writing down " to a reader ; rather it is divesting hard thought of its technical dress and exhibiting it in the light of everyday standards. And it is in this direction that literature lies. 3. The adjustment of the_st^e to the writer's self, so that it shall be a true and spontaneous representation of his mind and character. The ability to make this so is by no means a matter of course. A writer's mind may be glowing with the beauty or greatness of a truth, and yet his attempt to express it may result, with his best efforts, only in frigid and stilted language. He may in conversation be perfectly fluent and natural, may tell a story capitally or conduct an argument with spirit and point, and yet write a pedantic or lifeless style.'- The reason is that he has not mastered his medium of 1 " Tom Birch is as brisk as a bee in conversation ; but no sooner does he take a pen in his hand, than it becomes a torpedo to him, and benumbs all his faculties." Remark attributed to Dr, Johnson, BosweWs Life. NATURE AND BEARINGS OF STYLE. 23 communication ; the mechanical work of putting down his thoughts absorbs so much of his energy that he cannot be free with a pen. His power over expression needs to be so devel- oped by culture, needs to become so truly a second nature, that his written words shall be a reflection of his truest self, mind and mood alike. Until such mastery is attained, his style belies, not represents himself. Evidently here is where the culture due to training and practice comes in. The most limpid and natural-seeming style is simply the result of the finer art, which has become so ingrained as to have concealed its processes. Such art does not become unerring with the .first attempt, nor with the sec- ond ; it is the reward only of long labor, and patient subdual of the rebellious elements of expression, until they become an obedient working-tool responding to every touch, and repre- sent not only the writer's thought but himself, in all the rich endowments of his nature.^ Cultivation of literary taste, of hearty sympathy with men and affairs, of skilful wo'rkmanship in language ; a pretty well- rounded culture is thus laid out for him who would enter the domain of literary art. Such culture can employ as belonging integrally to its fulness not only a riian's whole scholarship, however deep or various, but the power and effluence of his whole character. III. The Principle of Economy The foregoing ideals of style, with their various lines of adjustment and culture, may be reduced to one practical object, which, adopting the central 1 See above, p. 20. — Flaubert thus gives expression to his sense of the relation between his thought and himself : " I am growing so peevish about my writing. I am like a man whose ear is true but who plays falsely on the violin : his fingers refuse to reproduce precisely those sounds of which he has the inward sense. Then the tears come rolling down from the poor scraper's eyes and the bow falls from his hand." — Quoted by Pater, Affreciations, p. 30. 24 STYLE IN GENERAL. idea of Herbert Spencer's Philosophy of Style.^ we may define as the economizing of the reader's attention. Note. — The following is the paragraph of Mr. Spencer's book in which the principle is set forth : — " On seeking for some clue to the law underlying these current maxims, we may see shadowed forth in many of them, the importance of economiz- ing the reader's or hearer's attention. To so present ideas that they, may be apprehended with the least possible mental effort, is the desideratum towards which most of the rules above quoted point. When we condemn writing that is wordy, or confused, or intricate — when we praise this style as easy, and blame that as fatiguing, we consciously or unconsciously assume this desideratum as our standard of judgment. Regarding language as an apparatus of symbols for the co.nveyance of thought, we may say that, as in a mechanical apparatus, the more simple and the better arranged its parts, the greater will be the effect produced. In either case, whatever force is absorbed by the machine is deducted from the result. A reader or listener has at each moment but a, limited amount of mental power avail- able. To recognize and interpret the symbols presented to him, requires part of this power ; to arrange and combine the images suggested requires a further part ; and only that part which remains can be used for realizing the thought conveyed. Hence, the more time and attention it takes to receive and understand each sentence, the less time and attention can be given to the contained idea ; and the less vividly will that idea be conceived." If we take economizing the reader's attention to mean employing it to the best advantage, this theory of Spencer's requires a more extended application than he gives it. Some kinds of subject-matter, too, require a more strenuous atten- tion than others ; and there are various kinds as well as various degrees of attention to work for. The following main appli- cations of the principle are important to keep in mind : — 1. The most obvious meaning of economy is, giving the reader less to do ; that is, making the words as plain and the grammatical construction as simple as possible, in order that 1 Spencer's Philosophy of Style, one of the classics of rhetoric, is an essay of his volume, Essays, Moral, Political and ^Esthetic; to be had also separately (New York : D. Appleton & Co.). A well-annotated edition, edited by Professor Scott is published by AUyn & Bacon, Boston. NATURE AND BEARINGS OF STYLE. 2S the reader's energy, as it is not needed for interpreting the language, may be employed in realizing the thought itself. Every one has observed the futility of a public address when the listeners have to strain their ears to catch the words, or when the words are indistinctly enunciated. In the same way every ambiguity that has to be resolved, every hard construc- tion that has to be studied out, uses up just so much of the reader's available power for nothing ; the thought, with all its interest and importance, suffers, for it. Economy begins, therefore, with making the expression plain and easy. 2. But some thoughts are in their nature hard or intricate ; besides, what is too cheaply obtained is too little valued, in literature as in everything else ; and frequently a thought is prized the more from some effort made to master it. This consideration creates no plea against simplicity of word and construction ; that need is universal. But it suggests that in many cases it is true economy, instead of giving the reader less to do, to stimulate him to do more ; to use such striking language as sets him thinking or awakens his imagination. This kind of economy is what dictates the use of vivid and suggestive language, picturesque imagery, and skilful phrasing and grouping of ideas ; it is the economy which makes up in vigor for what is sacrificed in facility. 3. It is to be borne in mind also that by the very progress of the thought a reader's attention is continually being used up ; it has to be maintained and reinforced. If an image is roused in his mind, if a train of suggestion is started, every such effect must be cherished and utilized ; and here is room for the writer's wisdom. For a subject may be so exhaustively presented as to deaden interest; the reader is given no share in the thinking. It is true economy to leave something for him to do ; to set him by wise suggestion on the road of the thought, and know what to leave unsaid. It is not easy to give directions for accomplishing this, depending as it does 26 STYLE IN GENERAL. SO much on the writer's delicate knowledge of men ; but the fact is to be noted that it is an object to be had in mind.^ 4. The reader's esthetic sense, his sense of congruity and fitness, is to be recognized and conciliated. It is using up attention for nothing when a word of ill connotation or a harsh construction, a crudeness of sound or a lapse from tasteful expression is left for him to stumble over and make allowance for.^ Economy is not secured to the full until the intrinsic beauty of the thought, as well as its logical content, has undisturbed course in fitting language. 1 " To really strenuous minds there is a pleasurable stimulus in the challenge for a continuous effort on their part, to be rewarded by securer and more intimate grasp of the author's sense. Self-restraint, a skilful economy of means, ascesis, that too has a beauty of its own ; and for the reader supposed there will be an EEsthetic satis- faction in that frugal closeness of style which makes the most of a word, in the exaction from every sentence of a precise relief, in the just spacing out of word to thought, in the logically filled space connected always with the delightful sense of difficulty overcome." — Pater, Appreciations.^ p. 14. 2 " Readjusting mere assonances even, that they may soothe the reader, or at least not interrupt him on his way." — Ib.^ p. 21. CHAPTER II. QUALITIES OF STYLE. Determinate qualities of style, being merely the practical traits by which desired effects in expression are produced, manifest their need in all literary work, and therefore under- lie all rhetorical study. Under various names and applica- tions they will be constantly coming to view in the ensuing pages. The most comprehensive of them are here exhibited together, and some general means of securing them pointed out, in order that the present chapter may stand as a basis of reference and summary. The Deeper Conception. — We call them qualities of style, but this they are only superficially. For what the writer is consciously working with, in any act of composition, is not qualities of style in themselves, but a rounded idealized thought, which he is concerned to express so truly that nothing of its intrinsic significance shall be lost. This significance, answering to nature and occasion, assumes some ruling aspect : it may centre in the exact con- tent of the thought, or in its interest and moment, or in its fine appeal to the imagination, or in all of these. According as he feels this intrinsic power the writer will seek to give his thought such form and illustration as will bring it out ; and thus, if adequate skill in work and phrase has been disciplined in him to second nature, the qualities of style come of them selves, attracted by his single-minded fidelity to the thought.' 1 " Truth indeed is always trutli, and reason is always reason ; they have an intrinsick and unalterable value, and constitute that intellectual gold which defies destruction : but gold may be so concealed in baser matter, that only a chymist can 27 28 STYLE IN GENERAL. Nor is it merely in the thought that we discern the potency of these qualities residing. It belongs primarily to the fibre of the writer's mind and the deep bent of his character. Through a clean and clear style is revealed a mind clean and clear, a nature too honest to let slipshod expression pass ; the opposite holds, too, and a bemuddled mind or a shallow char- acter betrays itself inevitably. Earnestness of conviction or the lack of it, grace or coarseness, are in the soul's grain ; the style is their mental photograph. The qualities that the writer would impart to his expression he must cultivate in himself.^ Summary of the Qualities. — Corresponding to the main directions that a writer's endeavors for effect may take, the qualities of style reduce themselves to three : — Clearness, which answers the endeavor to be understood ; Force, which answers the endeavor to impress ; Beauty, which answers the endeavor to please.'^ For all general aims in discourse these qualities cover the whole range of expression ; other qualities being interpreted as aspects of these or as applications of them to purposes more specific. recover it ; sense may be so hidden in unrefined and plebeian words, that none but philosophers can distinguish it ; and both may be so buried in impurities, as not to pay the cost of their extraction." — Johnson, Lives of the Poets, Vol. i, p. 73. 1 The classic utterance of this truth is Milton's : — " And long it was not after, when I was confirmed in this opinion, that he, who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things, ought himself to be a true poem, that is a composition and pattern of the best and honoura- blest things, not presuming to sing high praises of heroic men or famous cities, unless he have in himself the experience and the practice of all that which is praise- worthy." — Milton, Apology for Smectymnuus. The following remarks on the relation of style-qualities to character were inspired by study of the mind and art of Tennyson : — " Clearness in thought and words ought to be a part of a writer's religion ; it is certainly a necessary part of his morality. Nay, to follow clearness Uke a star, clear- ness of thought, clearness of phrase, in every kind of life, is the duty of all." — Stopford Brooke, Tennyson, his Art and Relation to Modern Life, p. 5. " We have critics not a few who regard sweetness and strength as attributes of style, and are ignorant that they are not attributes of style, but attributes of mind and character, expressed in style." — Dixon, A Tennyson Primer, p. ijj, s Compare Wendell, English Comfosition, p. 193. QUALITIES OF STYLE. 29 + I. Clearness. — To be intelligible, to make one's self understood, is the fundamental aim in all seriously meant writing ; an aim prior to and largely promotive of all others. Not only what is to add to the reader's information and knowledge, but what- ever is to thrill his emotions or stir his fancy, must come to him first through the brain, the thinking power. Hence the primal need of clearness, in conception and expression. So rigorously is this ideal of intelligibility held by conscientious writers that no word or phrase that would puzzle the dullest reader is willingly tolerated i the supreme aim is, not merely style that may be understood, but style that cannot fail to be understood.' No room for the lazy plea, " Not quite right, but near enough," or for the arrogant one, "I cannot write . and provide brains too " ; the ideal is absolute, the occasion universal. To be clear, the writer must first be sure of a meaning very definite and literal, and then say just what he means, without seeming to say s'omething else, or leaving the reader in doubt what he does say.° This requirement, so much easier to • define than to satisfy, looks two ways, toward the thought and toward the reader ; and accordingly, the quality of clearness takes tw,o quite distinct aspects, each with its dominating usages, and procedures. Precision : or Clearness in the Thought. — • Obviously the first and paramount duty is to be perfectly true to the thought, to set it forth exactly as it is, whether hard oreasy, simple or involved.' With the plain conceptions and events of everyday 1 " Non ut intellegere possit, sed ne omnino possit non intellegere, cutandum." — QuiNTiLIAN. — Economy applies here; see p. 24, i. 2 The technical name for this literal core of expression is denotation ; see Wen- dell, English Composition, fassim, and especially Chapter vi. " The secret of clear- ness," he says, "lies in denotation." This important subject of denotation and connotation will come up for detailed discussion later ; see below, pp. 34, 46, 75. s This first duty has already been repeatedly suggested, pp. 14, 18. 30 STYLE IN GENERAL. life this is no great problem ; ideas do not transcend the com- pass of the commonest words ; but when it comes to strenuous and deep thought, requiring close analysis and discrimination, evidently clearness and simplicity are not synonymous. An easy word for an abstruse idea, while it may produce a sem- blance of clearness, may actually becloud the thought more than it helps it. Some degree of difficulty, as exacted by the sphere of ideas in which one is moving, cannot be avoided. The only sure resource is to work for the exact setting-forth of the idea, nothing else, nothing less ; and the clearness thus obtained, whether ideally easy or not, will be clearness of thought, yielding a shapely idea, or as it is called, c\sa.r-cut expression. « Such precision depends mainly on the writer's vocabulary, the words he chooses to name his thought, rather than on the way words are put together. The following are the principal aspects that the endeavor for precise denotation assumes : — ^ I. Choice of words for the sake of their unique aptness, their fine shades and degrees of meaning, their delicate impli- cations and associations. 2. The judicious employment of helping and limiting expres- sions, such defining elements as are needed to fix the true • sense and coloring in which the word should be understood. 3. Where the thought may gain by it, the juxtaposition of words whose relation to each other, whether of likeness or contrast, throws mutual light. This may often be done so unobtrusively as to attract no special attention, yet be very effective for its object. While precision is the first and most incontestable object in style, the literary ideal is not satisfied with being precise and nothing else. Too exclusive endeavor after precision makes the style stiff and pedantic, like, for instance, a law document ; this fault is of course to be guarded against. The words and colorings may be just as true to the idea, and yet the pains of QUALITIES OF STYLE. 31 choosing them be so concealed that the reader absorbs the thought without realizing the perfection of the art ; this is what a writer of true literary sense will work for. Perspicuity : or Clearness in the Construction As soon as the claim of perfect fidelity to the thought is satisfied, the next step is to adapt the style to the comprehension of the reader. This, as has just been said, is practicable in different degrees, according to the intrinsic difficulty of the thought" but in all cases the aim to be sought is the greatest plainness and simplicity of which the thought is capable. The deriva- tion of the word perspicuity, denoting the property of being readily seen through, or as we express it by another word, transparency, is a just indication of this quality of style. Such simplicity of texture, such freedom from intricacy it is, that we think of first under the general conception of clear- ness. It is not necessarily a bald or rudimental style ; it may indeed be the backbone and support of a full, richly colored, even elaborate scheme of treatment, the unmarked source of its vitality and power.^ That aspect of clearness which we thus name perspicuity depends, as intimated above, for the most part on grammati- cal and logical construction, on the way in which the reader is kept aware of the mutual relations of words and phrases, and of their orderly progress in building up the sentence and paragraph. The following are the general aspects that such regard for structure assumes : — I. A keen grammatical sense ; instant adjustment of all syn- tactical relations and connections of words ; constant watch- 1 " He [the great author] may, if so be, elaborate his compositions, or he may pour out his improvisations, but in either case he has but one aim, which he keeps steadily before him, and is conscientious and single-minded in fulfilling. That aim is to give forth what he has within him ; and from his very earnestness it comes to pass that, whatever be the splendor of his diction or the harmony of his periods, he has with him the charm of an incommunicable simplicity." — Newman, Idea of a University, p. Z91. 32 STYLE IN GENERAL. fulness against the two foes that most beset composition: ambiguity, or structure that suggests two possible meanings ; and vagueness, or structure that cannot with certainty be reduced to any definite meaning. '2. Making sure that elements which are to be thought of together, whether as principal and subordinate or as paired and balanced against each other, be so treated by expression and I arrangement that the reader shall not fail to mark the relation. 3. Looking out for the joints and hinges of the structure, that no gaps be left unbridged, and no new thought be intro- duced too abruptly to produce its due effect. An ideally clear thought is clear-moving, a continuous progress. While centering chiefly in construction, perspicuity is not unmindful of choice of words and figures, so far at least as to require the simplest words and the homeliest illustrations consistent with accuracy. To go farther than this, employ- ing on the score of their plainness words and illustrations not discriminative enough, is to sin against the thought, and in the long run to deceive with a false semblance of clearness.' Where such a clash between precision and perspicuity occurs, the only safety is in keeping to precision. The difficulty may, however, almost always be remedied, as we note in the usage of careful writers, by repeating hard ideas in simpler or more everyday terms. Clearness based in the Intellect As related to the writer himself, clearness, in its double aspect of precision and per- spicuity, may be called the intellectual .quality of style, the quality wherein we see predominantly the thinking brain at 1 See above, p. 30. — Minto {Manual of English Prose Literature, p. 494) men- tions this as a discount to the much-famed clearness of Paley's style. " Perspicuity," he says, " is possessed by Paley in a very high degree, but the precision of his state- ments and definitions is a good deal affected by his paramount desire to be popular. Too clear-headed to run into confusion, he is at the same time anxious to accommo- date himself to the plainest Intelligence, and, like many simple vreiters, purchases simplicity at the expense of exactness." QUALITIES OF STYLE. 33 work transferring its ideas fully and accurately to the mind of the reader. The training for this clearness, therefore, is just whatever best develops the thinking powers, in keenness, in discrimination, in grasp, in calm poise and judgment ; but besides this there is also needed much patient and systematic culture in language, to subdue it to perfect flexibility and obedience. To him who has a passion for clearness the vocabulary and the grammar are a veritable workshop ; a source also of the sternest practical interest. II. Force Clear and intelligible expression, being the staple, the backbone of composition, is of course to be cultivated first andNnost conscientiously of all ; but the cases in which mere clearness is enough, without the aid of other qualities, belong to thk relatively elementary undertakings of litera- ture, those works in which the bare information or reasoned thought is all-sufficient to supply the interest. But when the idea comes homeXmore closely to reader and writer, — when on the one hand k must gain a lodgment in dull minds or stimulate a laggardXattention, when on the other its impor- tance kindles the wr\ter's enthusiasm or stirs his deep emo- tions, — there is in itXor must be imparted to it greater life than its merely intelligible statement would demand ; the question of making it mteresting and impressive comes to the front. Thejvarious features that go to give life and_y,igor to style w e gather_updej the general _name of force. While by clearness the object is to economize the reader's powers by making the style plain and easy, by force the object is to economize indirectly by stimulating his mind to do more, to realize more vividly or bring more interest and ardor to the subject.^ Hence whatever imparts force to the style is something that gives a kind of shock or challenge to 1 See above, p. 25, ;i. 34 STYLE IN GENERAL. the mind, urging it to some centre of interest. The ways of doing this may be grouped under two general principles. Connotation : or Force through Choice of Expression. — By the connotation of a word or phrase we mean what it implies or makes one think of, over and beyond what it literally says. Such connotation may suggest an associated object or idea ; as when in saying, "The words immediately fell oily on the wrath of the brothers," the writer makes us think not only of mollifying words but of oil poured on agitated water. Or it may suggest how the writer feels, and would have us feel, about what he says ; as when in saying a thing he puts it not as an assertion but as an exclamation, thus conveying with it his feeling of wonder. Connotation, as it may take an infinity of shadings and implications, may influence the reader in the subtlest ways ; but just so far as it enriches thought or rouses feeling, to that degree it infuses force into the style. Only the more obvious ways of connotation can here be noted ; others will be left for more detailed treatment in other parts of the book. , I. The employment of vernacular words, words that connote the vigor and plain simplicity of homely thought. A specific word is stronger than a general or comprehensive one ; short words ordinarily more forcible than long ; Saxon derivatives than Latin or Greek; idioms than formal and bookish words. 2. The employment of descriptive words ; which, while they have their relation to beauty of style, are yet more truly instruments of force. By descriptive words is meant words that portray some striking or concrete or picturesque aspect of the subject ; connoting thus the vividness of an object of sight. This is very useful in abstract subjects. 3. The employment of words in a tropical or polarized sense ; as when they are used out of their natural place in the vocabulary, or connote some implication that one would not expect. Under this head comes the use of figurative QUALITIES OF STYLE. 35 expression, in all its aspects. Such use of words gives them force by setting the reader thinking about them. I 4. The cutting out of the minor and expletive words of a I passage, so that the strong elements, the vital words, may i stand forth unshaded. — Emphasis : or Force through Arrangement In oral discourse emphasis may be given to any word by giving it greater stress in enunciation. Written discourse is not open to this means ; the reader has to judge what words are emphatic by the posi- tion in which they are placed. Through the structure of the sentence the emphasis is directed at the writer's will on the , points of special impressiveness ; these accordingly are points at which force is concentrated. The following are the main aspects of this means of secur- ing force : — 1. Differences of stress, in all degrees of delicacy, are secured by placing a sentence-element before or after sbmej other, at the beginning or end of the sentence or clause, or somewhere out of its natural and expected place. The ability ; to estimate accurately the effect of every smallest change in 1 order, and so to arrange the whole that every element will seem to emphasize itself, is one of the most imperative and valuable accomplishments in composition. 2. Antithesis, which has been implied as an arrangement that promotes clearness by making one idea set off another,' is no less truly an instrument of force, concentrating attention as it does on paired or contrasted elements and thus putting them into stress. 3. A strong impression needs in most cases to be a quick impression. Hence one of the acknowledged promoters of force is an arrangement or parsimony of structure which secures brevity ; shown in some form of what is variously known as condensed, pointed, or epigrammatic expression. 1 See above, p. 30, 3. 36 STYLE IN GENERAL. In endeavoring to secure force by brevity occasions some- times rise where there is a clash between force and clearness.' For while clearness demands the presence of particles and explanatory elements that though they articulate the thought tend also to cumber its movement, force demands that these be cut down or dispensed with, as far as may be, in order not to enfeeble the important words. In such cases, when one quality can be secured only at some expense to the other, the question must be decided by the determinate object in view, the writer considering whether that object can best be pro- moted by fulness of detail or by vigor of impression.'' Note. — A brief and pointed assertion, like an aphorism or proverb, sets one thinking ; an assertion detailed and amplified does one's thinking, as it were, for him. The former is the more forcible, the latter more clear. Emerson's expression, " Hitch your wagon to a star," is striking by its brevity ; one remembers it and is stimulated by it ; but to think out what it means and how it applies requires some meditation. On the other hand, if it were traced out in some amplified form it would run the risk of becom- ing tame and platitudinous. Skilful writers, and especially public speakers, generally combine the two ways of expression, the detailed for explanation, the briefer for summing up and enforcing. Compare Whateley, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 351. Force based in Emotion and Will. — • As related to the writer himself, force in style is the result and evidence of some strong emotion at work infusing vigor into his words. He realizes vividly the truth of what he says, and so it becomes intense and fervid ; he has a deep conviction of its importance, and 1 The classic recognition of this clash is Horace's well-known remark : — "brevis esse laboro, Obscurus fio." — De Arte Poetica, 25. 2 Brevity thus goes deeper than style and relates itself to the organism of subject- matter. " In order to be brief," says De Quincey, " a man must take a short sweep of view : his range of thought cannot be extensive ; and such a rule, applied to a general method of thinking, is fitted rather to aphorisms and maxims as upon a known sub- ject, than to any process of investigation as upon a subject yet to be fathomed." — De Quincey, Essay on Style, Works (Riverside edition), Vol. iv, p. 214. QUALITIES OF STYLE. 37 SO it becomes cogent and impressive. Along witli this fervor of feeling his will is enlisted ; he is determined, as it were, to make his reader think as he does, and to make his cause pre- vail. Every employment of word and figure is tributary to this. Genuine force in style cannot be manufactured : if the style has not serious conviction to back it, it becomes contorted ; if it has not a vivifying emotion, it becomes turgid. Force is the quality of style most dependent on character. The writer's' culture for force, therefore, is in its deepest analysis a culture of character. To think closely and seri- ously ; to insist on seeing fact or truth for one's self and not merely echo it as hearsay ; to cherish true convictions, not mere fashions or expedients of thinking, — these are the traits in the culture of character that make for forcible and virile expression. III. Beauty. — ■ This third fundamental quality of style is supple- mentary to the others, that is, not ordinarily to be sought until first clearness and then force are provided for, and not to be cultivated at expense to them. Beauty, however, is just as necessary, and, broadly interpreted, just as universal, as are clearness and force. It^Ae quality ofstyle which answers t o the endeavor to please. It can easily be seen how real is the occasion for beauty. An idea may be stated with perfect clearness, may make also a strong impression on the reader's mind ; and yet many of its details may be an offense to his taste, or crude expression and harsh combinations of sound may impair the desired effect by compelling attention to defective form. Any such disturb- ing element is a blemish none the less though the reader may not be able to explain or even locate it. His vague sense that the form of expression is crude and bungling, that the thought 38 STYLE IN GENERAL. therefore is not having free course, is sufficient reason, albeit negative, for seeking a quality of beauty in style, whereby it may be a satisfaction to the reader's taste, as well as to his thought and conviction. A prevalent misapprehension may here be corrected. Beauty in style is not the same as ornament ; it does not necessitate word-painting or imagery or eloquence. The question whether such elaborations shall be introduced belongs to the peculiar susceptibilities of a subject or the individual bent of a writer ; the question of beauty, on the other hand, is so fundamental that a definition must be sought for the quality which will fit all types of subject andtreatment. It is a requisite of all style, simple as well as elaborate. Beauty is a quality both negative and positive ; to be secured, that is, partly by the pruning away of what is unpleasing and partly by traits peculiar to itself. In this double character it is here analyzed. Euphony : the Negative Preliminary As a matter of work- manship, the quality of beauty depends largely on sound : the writer is working to make his words read smoothly, according to his standard of smoothness. An indispensable requisite, therefore, is the education of the ear and the constant test of one's work by reading aloud, thus forming the habit of esti- mating and balancing sounds. The following are the main aspects of revision thus engendered : — I — I- A constant detective sense for harsh-sounding words I and for combinations or sequences of words hard to pro- j nounce together. I 2. Quickness of ear for what are called jingles: recur- rences of the same or similar sounds, like an inadvertent rhyme. Much the same effect is produced by too frequent repetition of the same word in a passage. No one can realize, whose attention has not been called to it, how liable every writer is to these unnoticed lapses in sound ; they constitute. QUALITIES OF STYLE. 39 after typographical errors, one of the chief kinds of blemish found in reading proof. 3. A matter requiring still finer education both of ear and of critical acumen is a sense for that general tone and move- ment of the style which, while not definably harsh or jingling, is crude, lumbering, heavy. Not always is this reducible to exact causes ; it appears oftenest in some form of monotony, as in a predominanoe of long words, of sentences of like length and construction, or pet habits of expression. Harmony : the Positive Element. — It is only negatively that euphony, or smoothness of expression, may be regarded as beauty of style. It makes beauty possible by clearing away obstructions, leaving as it were the field open, but the real beauty is something positive, with a character of its own as definite as force or clearness. For this character it is not easy to find an adequate name ; the nearest, perhaps, is Har- mony, a term here chosen to indicate that fine correspondence of word and movement to the sense and spirit of discourse which is doubtless the vital principle to which beauty in style is reducible.^ The following are the salient ways in which this harmony reveals itself : — 1. The spontaneous answer of sound to sense; most pal- pable in prose in the choice of descriptive words, which have a physical reference, but also equally real in the subtler con- sonance of words to spiritual sentiments and moods. 2. The rhythm of phrase and sentence, a music rising from the finely touched emotion of the writer and the fitting key of^ the subject-matter. After the measured rhythm (metre) of poetry, this music is most apprehensible in the impassioned . sweep of eloquence and the graceful flow of imaginative prose ; but rhythm of some kind is equally real and present, though 1 " All beauty is in the long run on\y fineness of truth, or what we call expression, the finer accommodation of speech to that vision within." — Pater on Style, Appre- ciations, p. 6. 40 STYLE IN GENERAL. revealing a different movement, in all well-written discourse, even the most matter-of-fact. 3. Underlying all the foregoing is what may be called the architectonic nature of the style, that artistic structure which is analogous to a crystal, with all its molecules unerringly deposited, or rather to a vital organism, with all its functions answering to one another and contributing each its part to a rounded whole. Just so a satisfying passage in discourse so builds together its parts as to conform in sound, word, and phrase to an organic ideal in the writer's mind. Beauty based in Imagination and Taste As related to the writer himself, beauty is the aesthetic quality of style ; it is the outcome when the shaping imagination is at work on its keen sense of fact or of organic thought,^ and when the taste has developed a standard of language to which the thought- organism spontaneously adjusts itself. A writer's individual type of beauty in style, as it is the highest reach of his liter- ary faculty, is also the slowest to mature ; coming as it does with the gradual discovery and discipline of tastes and that sureness of touch vfhich makes the writer aware of his mas- tery. Beauty, being the assthetic quality, is preeminently the artistic. The best discipline for the aesthetic sense in style is famil- iarizing one's self with what is beautiful in literature and thought. By a law of nature he who dwells habitually among beautiful thoughts will become imbued, in mind and feeling, with their beauty. Here is where the study of good literature renders its service ; especially of that literature which has survived fluctuations in fashion and taste and become classic. 1 " For just in proportion as the writer's aim, consciously or unconsciously, comes to be the transcribing, not of the world, not of mere fact, b\it of his sense of it, he Ijecomes an artist, his.work^«« art ; and good art ... in proportion to tlie truth of his presentment of that sense ; as in those humbler or plainer functions of literature also, truth — truth to-bare fact, there — is the essence of such artistic quahty as they may have." — Pater on Style, Apfrcciations, p. 6. QUALITIES OF STYLE. 41 It ministers to a severe and permanent standard of taste, lift- ing the student free from the superficial and tawdry. Thus the effects of this discipline are all the more potent because in large proportion they are wrought unconsciously ; they are in the atmosphere of the region in which the writer is at home.^ IV. Temperament of Qualities. — On a musical instrument, the scale of eachl key, instead of being tuned to an absolute standard of pitch, is modified to some extent so that its notes may be equally in tune as parts of other scales. For an analogous ixjodification of the qualities of style, each yielding something of its absolute claim in order to secure the integrity of the others, we may here borrow the same name, temperament. While each of the qualities is indispensable and seems in turn, as attention is centred upon it, to present the only worthy claim, none of them can do its best work alone. Cul- tivated exclusively, without regard for the others, each in its way leaves the style unbalanced, untempered ; it is in fact only part of a style, the complete ideal requiring all the quali- ties to work together as one. For study we have had to con- sider them apart ; but in the perfected literary organism, while one quality or another, predominating, may give a prevailing tone to the discourse, all the qualities are blended and tem- pered to produce unity of effect. Without going into the matter minutely, we may here name under each quality of style, the two chief foes that beset it according as that quality is untempered by the others. I. A clear style, untempered by the emotional element which produces vigor, is dull. Untempered by the imagina- 1 The cultivation of taste, as a training for adjusting style to thought, has already been discussed; see above, p. 21. 42 STYLE IN GENERAL. tive element which introduces a sense of grace and beauty, it is dry.^ 2. A forcible style, or rather its elements, un tempered by that clear and sane thinking whose essence is good sense, — that is, wherein emotion dominates at the expense of intellec- tual sobriety and sturdiness, — becomes rant or bombast.'' Untempered by that flexible imagination whose essence is tact and good taste, — that is, where the will to impress dominates at the expense of urbanity and beauty, — it becomes hard and metallic' 3. A style that seeks only the beauty of sound and imagery, untempered by a passion for clear simplicity, — that is, where thought is at discount before elegant form, — becomes labored and trivial. Untempered by earnest conviction and will, — that is, wherein emotion is indeed present but not robust or deep-reaching enough, — it becomes maudlin and sentimental. In each case above described, the corrective lies not in any manipulation of word or phrase but in throwing one's self into the spirit of the supplementing quality ; in other words, set- ting the whole inner man in active work, the sturdy brain, the vitalizing earnestness and will, and the tactful meditative taste. It is doubtful if a subject that cannot call on all these for aid is worth writing up at all. The Element of Repose. — The name temperament suggests the mood that ideally controls the processes of composition : namely, that reserve power, that large repose of mastery, which forbids forcing any quality or device to its extreme, and which broadens the intellectual and emotional horizon to recognize 1 The collision between the two aspects of clearness, precision and perspicuity, has been discussed on p. 32, above. 2 Its unbalanced extreme is described by Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act v, Scene 5 : — " full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing." 8 The clash between brevity and clearness, and the treatment of it, have been dis- cussed above, p. 36. QUALITIES OF STYLE. 43 the proper claims of all. The highest reach of good art is repose, that self-justifying quality wherein everything is obvi- ously right, in place, coloring, and degree. If in any point the work is violent or unfit, there is lack of wise temperament somewhere, some element is forced at expense to others. And the only adequate adjuster of the qualities is something deeper than skill ; in the last analysis it is a sound, balanced, mas- terful character.^ 1 Hamlet's advice to the players {Hamlet, Act. iii, Scene 2) is as full of good sense for writers as for speakers : " Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus ; but use all gently : for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness.'' BOOK II. DICTION. Definition of Diction. — Th e ter m diction is the name here adopted Jor that aspect or department of stylejvhich has to do -with words, — primarily with the choice of wordSj but^Jso, in a general way, and independently of the specific details of composition, with t he connection and arrangement of words. The kind of words habitually used, and peculiarities in the management of them, give a coloring or texture to the style by which we may identify it with some type of diction.^ Every author has individualities of diction, and so has every kind of literature. But below these personal and class char- acteristics there is also a general standard or ideal of diction which every writer owes it to his mother-tongue to regard sacredly. For while' from one point of view language is a working-tool, to be used according to our free sense of mas- tery, from another it is our heritage from an illustrious line of writers and speakers — to be approached, therefore, in the spirit of reverence, and loyally guarded from hurt and loss. Every onfe who has much to do with language feels the weight of this solemn obligation. The universal standard of diction is best expressed, per- haps, by the word purity : the writer must see to it first of all that he keep his mother-tongue unsullied, inviolate; and this by observing, in all his choice of language, the laws of derivation, formation, good usage, and good taste. Whatever 1 " The culture of diction is the preparatory stage for the formation of style." — Earle, English Prose, p. 213. 44 DICTION. 45 liberties he takes, — and there is all the room he needs for untrammeled expression, — he must first move in obedience to these fundamental laws ; else his literary deportment, what- ever genius may underlie it, will have blemishes exactly analo- gous to coarseness and bad manners in conversation. The ensuing six chapters (iii-viii) traverse the field of dic- tion, beginning with particular considerations relating to the use of words and figures, and going on to more general aspects and types. CHAPTER III. CHOICE OF WORDS FOR DENOTATION. What is meant by the denotation of a word has already been intimated, both directly and by contrast with connota- tion ' ; it is what the word literally says, as distinguished from its secondary associations and implications. To get at this, its fundamental note, so to say,^ to make sure of this whatever else is obtained or sacrificed, is the first endeavor in the choice of words ; an endeavor that takes more time and pains, prob- ably, than any other procedure in composition. For in this earnest quest for the right word, preeminently, is enlisted that insatiable passion for accuracy, in thinking as well as expres- sion,' which is the spring and conscience of literary art, govern- ing alike all moods grave or gay, all styles from the severest to the most colloquial. It is as hard, though hard in another way, to find the unique word in a sketch as in a scientific treatise. To secure the proper denotation of words for one's purpose a variety of considerations may have to be taken into account, reducible, in general, to the following four groups. --?> I. ACCURATE USE. This, which answers the endeavor to adjust the word exactly to the meaning had in mind, has been so insisted upon already 1 See above, pp. 9, 29 and footnote 2, and 34. 2 A vitally chosen word is like a bell : in addition to its fundamental note it has overtones, Vfhich in various ways enrich its meaning ; and these it takes mainly from its setting and associations ; see below, p. 93. a See above, p. 14 ; also under Precision, p. 29 sf. — " The first valuable power in a reasonable mind, one would say, was the power of plain statement, or the power to 46 CHOICE OF WORDS FOR DENOTATION. 47 that farther definition of it may be dismissed here with a single remark. The meaning to which the writer is trying to fit his word may lie in thought alone, or it may carry with it a mood, impassioned or humorous or imaginative ; and so the search may be not only for a closely discriminative word, but for a word vigorous or facetious or descriptive. In any case, how- ever, t he effort is simply for accura te jijjustm^t to th_e^jdga. as cxm cei-ved ^ ; this covers the whole field, and no other use of words, whatever its claim, can interfere with it. Of the culture of accuracy in the broad sense the following are leading phases : — • 1. Finding the Right Shade of Meaning This is dohe by the habitual weighing of synonyms, a practice more constant with careful writers, probably, than even the study of the dictionary. Synonyms are words alike in meaning. As, however, no two words_ cover exactly the same field of meaning, use may be made both of their points of likeness and their points of divergence to secure fine shadings. Note. — The practical use of synonyms may be illustrated from the ordinary process of choosing a word. Some word comes to mind. It is nearly the word wanted ; but perhaps it sounds ill with other words of the sentence, or the writer may have a vague sense that the vocabulary con- tains a closer fit, if he could but find it. , He takes his Dictionary of Syno- nyms and turns to the word that has already occurred to him. Let it be, for instance, the yio^A judgment, the nearest word he can think of for a par- ticular quality of mind that he wishes to name. Here is the result : — ■ " Judgment, «. I. Discernment, understanding, intelligence, discrimina- receive things as they befall, and to transfer the picture of them to another mind unaltered." — Emerson on The Superlative, Works, Vol. x, p. 164. -1 Of Flaubert's passion for accuracy, which has become typical in literary history. Pater remarks : " All the recognized flowers, the removable ornaments of literature (including harmony and ease in reading aloud, very carefully considered by him) counted certainly ; for these too are part of the actual value of what one says. But still, after all, with Flaubert, the search, the unwearied research, was not for the smooth, or winsome, or forcible word, as such, as with false Ciceronians, but quite simply and honestly, for the word's adjustment to its meaning." — Appreciations, p. 28. 48 DICTION. tion, taste, sagacity, penetration, wisdom, brains, prudence, ballast, depth, sense, mother-wit, quick parts, common-sense, good sense, long head. " 2. Determination, decision, conclusion, opinion, notion, estimate. " 3. (Law.) Sentence, award, decree. "4. (Psychol) Power of judgment, intellect, faculty of comparison or synthesis, unitive faculty, faculty of thought. " 5. (Log.) Sentence, proposition." Here, certainly, would seem to be material enough ; but we will suppose a more delicate sense still haunts him, the nearest approach to which is the word sagacity. He turns to this word, and here is the result : — " Sagacity, n. i. Sagaciousness, quickness of scent. "2. Shrewdness, acuteness, sharpness, astuteness, penetration, ingenuity, discernment, perspicacity, sense, insight, mother-wit, quickness, readiness, wisdom." But he is very hard to suit ; and though the word perspicacity (we will suppose) is almost what he wants, he will try again, for the search is becom- ing interesting as well as exacting, and here is the result : — " Perspicacity, «. 1. Quick-sightedness, acuteness of sight. " 2. Perspicaciousness, acuteness, sharpness, shrewdness, discernment, penetration, sagacity, astuteness, insight, acumen." Acumen, — here at last, let us suppose, is the word that vaguely haunted him all along. He tests by the dictionary and finds that it. just suits his purpose. In seeking it, too, he has traversed a whole realm of kindred words, which will hardly be used so loosely hereafter as heretofore. Soule's Dictionary of Synonyms, from which the foregoing lists are quoted, is a very valuable desk companion for work of this kind. Used for their likeness, synonyms enable one to repeat an idea in varied terms, thus disguising the fact of repetition, while at the same time the new word brings a new aspect of the thought to view. Used for their unlikeness, synonyms enable one to determine delicate yet important distinctions in the thought, distinctions on which, perhaps, much depends. In both uses synonyms are often employed cumulatively ; the successive words, nearly alike, yet distinct, serving as it were to build up the thought stage by stage before the reader's eyes, so that the whole idea is compassed by no one term, but by several added together. CHOICE OF WORDS FOR DENOTATION. 49 Examples. — i. Synonyms used for repetition. The need of a repeti- tionary word may be illustrated by the following sentence : " The House of Commons on Saturday was the scene of another of those discreditable scenes which of late years have, unhappily, become only too frequent." Substitute for the word scenes the word occurrences, and the repetition is disguised. The following passage is quoted to show how unobtrusively and yet effectively the sense is conserved by the employment " not always of abso- lute synonyms, but of words which for the purpose in hand have at once a harmonious sense and a various sound: — moribund, expire, die [extinc- tion] ; — jffout, insult, outrage, defy ; — unhonoured, disgrace, ignominious ; — blind, unmindful, indifferent" " The X,ondon County Council yesterday practically made an end of the Metropolitan Board of Works. That moribund and discredited body might have been allowed to expire quietly on the ' appointed day,' or, as Lord Rosebery put it, to ' wrap its robe round it and die with dignity,' if it had not resolved to flout its successor, to insult Parliament, to outrage public- opinion, and to defy the Executive Government. . . . " After what Mr. Ritchie said on Friday there can be no doubt, we pre- sume, that this will be the end of the Metrop9litan Board of Works. The Board will never meet again. The good works that it did in the days of its ingenuous youth will be forgotten amid the misdeeds of its unhonoured age and the disgrace of its sudden and ignominious extinction. There is, indeed, some danger that less than justice may be done to its memory. Universal London will feel that it is well rid of a body which was so blind to its own dignity, so unmindful of the plainest precepts of public duty, so indifferent, indeed, to the ordinary restraints of public decency as the Metro- politan Board of Works has shown itself in the last few weeks." ^ 2. Synonyms used for distinction. The foUbwing are instances of fine discrimination between nearly synonymous words. From Carlyle : " He was a man that brought himself much before the world ; confessed that he eagerly coveted y5z»z^, or if that were not possible, notoriety ; of which latter as he gained far more than seemed his due, the public were incited, not only by their natural love of scandal, but by a special ground of envy, to say whatever ill of him could be said." ^ From James Russell Lowell: "The Latin has given us most of our canorous words, only they must not be confounded with merely sonorous ones, still less with phrases that, instead of supplementing the sense, encumber it." — " In verse, he [Dryden] had a pomp which, excellent in itself, became pompousness in his imitators." ^ 1 Both examples, with remark, from Earle, English Prose, pp. 201, Z03. 2 Carlyle, Essay on BosweW s Johnson. s Lowell, Essay on Dryden. so DICTION. 3. Synonyms used cumulatively. No single one of the following syno- nyms gives the whole idea ; it has to be gathered from all. From the North American Review : " It is true that all these criticisms were written some years ago, and in the meantime a tendency toward a better state of things has begun to show itself. But at present it is only a tendency, a. symptom, a. foreshadowing." From James Russell Lowell : " So also Shakespeare no doubt projected himself in his own creations ; but those creations never became so per- fectly disengaged from him, so objective, or, as they used to say, extrinsical, to him, as to react upon him like real and even alien existences." 2. Securing the Right Degree of Meaning. — Words practically synonymous differ from each other as often in degree as in shad- ing; one is stronger, more intense, more dignified, or more sweep- ing and absolute than the other. A recognition of this quality underlies climax ; and the vivid feeling of it, with the skill to put feeling into words, is the source of vigor in expression. Examples. — i. Of varying intensity of meaning. In the following, from Pitt, the difference in the words used is mainly a difference in degree : "I am astonished, I am shocked, to hear such principles confessed ; to hear them avowed in this house and in this country." 2. Of too absolute or sweeping terms. " There are very good proofs that Chaucer was a Wyckliffite." The difficulty with the word proofs is that it is too strong, too absolute ; history would not bear it out. The word indications is as strong as one has data for saying. — "An attempt to justify the treachery of Benedict Arnold " is the title of a paper that really undertook a task much less hardy ; the softer word extenuate would better name what was intended. 3. The dashing, off-hand words used in the excitement of conversation, such as " I have a horrible cold," " I am dying to hear about your visit," " The whole affair was simply perfect," err principally in degree ; and if somewhat excusable on the score of emotion (see under Spoken Diction, p. 122), are after all too intense to be at all definite, and the habitual use of them may lead to great poverty and lack of sharpness in vocabulary. In this respect they are as bad as slang ; see below, p. 64. 3. Support from Derivation and History Beyond doubt the most valuable aid to the accurate and vital choice of words CHOICE OF WORDS FOR DENOTATION. 51 is afforded by a knowledge of their root-meanings, by which latter is meant not the unsympathetic knowledge which comes from looking up derivations in a catalogue, though this is better than nothing, but that more intimate feeling or tact which comes from familiarity with the structure and spirit of the original language. Herein lies the true practical value of classical study : it gives ancestry and family distinction to one's mother-tongue. A word whose derivation is felt defines itself ; the writer is so far forth independent of a dictionary. Examples. — Ujider the foregoing paragraph the difference between the two words justify and extenuate is felt, and the accurate use of them assured, as soon as one thinks of the Latin originals underlying them, Jus- tus a.n& facia on the one hand, and tenuis on the other. So also between the two words (p. 49, 2) canorous (cano, " to sing ") and sonorous (sono, " to make a noise"). In the following sentence Dr. O. W. Holmes has the support of deriva- tion for deepening the meaning of a common word : " He used to insist on one small point with a certain philological precision, namely, the true mean- ing of the word ' cure.' He would have it that to cure a patient was simply to care for him. I refer to it as shovring what his idea was of the relation of the physician to the patient. It was indeed to care for him, as if his life were bound up in him, to watch his incomings and outgoings, to stand guard at every avenue that disease might enter, to leave nothing to chance ; not merely to throw a few pills and powders into one pan of the scales of Fate, while Death the skeleton was seated in the other, but to lean with his. whole weight on the side of life, and shift the balance in its favor if it lay in human power to do it."i In the following sentence Matthew Arnold builds his whole conception of urbanity on the support of the root-word urbs: " For not having the lucidity of a large and centrally placed intelligence, the provincial spirit has not its graciousness ; it does not persuade, it makes war ; it has not urbanity, the tone of the city, of the centre, the tone which always aims at < a spiritual and intellectual effect, and not excluding the use of banter, never disjoins banter itself from politeness, from felicity." ^ 1 Holmes, Medical Essays, Works (Riverside edition). Vol. ix, p. 307. 2 Arnold, Essays in Criticism, First Series, p. 66. — Derivation is an impor- tant aid in Exposition ; see below, p. 5 76. 52 DICTION. A knowledge of derivation alone, however, may be mislead- ing, for sometimes in the course of their history words pass through different shadings and applications, until their root- meaning is only very indirectly helpful. The present status of a word also must be recognized — not a difficult or uncer- tain task for one whose habitual observation of etymology has sharpened his sense of words. ^ Examples. — In the verse, "And when he was come into the house Jesus prevented him, saying, What thinkest thou, Simon ? of whom do the kings of the earth take custom and tribute ? " the root-meaning of the word (from pre and venio) is followed ; but since the translation was made the word prevent has so changed in meaning that it is no longer an accurate word. It is interesting to trace the history of such words as pagan, heathen, barbarian, •villain, knave, knight, and see how, in addition to what they reveal of original meaning, they have preserved the spiritual attitude and sentiment of their original users. To trace the steps by which the word nice connects itself with the Latin nescius would be quite baffling and unpractical ; one must depend wholly on its present status. II. INTELLIGIBLE USE. The adaptation of the word to the idea, which calls for accurate use, has its limits. The word must also be adapted to the reader ; and in general literary work the reader must be treated not as a learned man but as a man of average information and intelligence. In the choice of words, there- fore, the sensible rule is tQ, keep S-%. close to everyday Jiabits of speech and thinjking as is consistent with accuracy; and where the subject-matter is necessarily abstruse, endeavor to 1 The science which treats of the development of words through different senses is called Semantology ; see Earle, English Prose, p. 137. Another good result of familiarity with the history of words is thus described by Pater, Appreciations, p. 12 : "And then, as the scholar is nothing without the historic sense, he will be apt to restore not really obsolete or really worn-out words, but the finer edge of words still in use: ascertain, communicate, discover — words like these it has been part of our * business ' to misuse." CHOICE OF WORDS FOR DENOTATION. S3 ^®?J^-!^™M.-^-?°""^°^ ^y^^ ^^^ translate so far as practi-, cable into the current medium. The following considerations are important in adapting words to the reader. 4. The Tissue of Idiom. — Idioms are turns of expression peculiar to the language ; generally irregular, not to be squared with_ strict grammar, and for that reason having the flavor of sturdy unstudied speech. A test of an idiom is that it cannot be translated literally into any other language. At first effect rugged, perhaps odd and racy of the soil, it is after all quite consistent with all due dignity and refinement, while it adds a strength and homeliness that no other way of speaking could do. As the best basis or ground-tissue of plain lan- guage, therefore, idiom is to be valued and cultivated ; it is preeminently the medium through which cultured and uncul- tured may feel their common interests and kinship.' In certain stages of culture a young writer is apt to regard everything that presents any ruggedness of diction, or that is not transparently conformed to grammatical rules, as a blem- ish ; and he is tempted to smooth down everything into pro- priety and primness. This tendency is to be watched and repressed, for in yielding to it, even in the interests of elegance, a writer may easily throw away much of the native strength and character of his mother-tongue. Examples. — i. The following, from the great store of English idioms, will suffice merely to give an idea of idiomatic homeliness and flavor : " It was something that he could not put up with"; " They unexpectedly ^0^ 1 " I have been careful to retain as much idiom as I could, often at the peril of being called ordinary and vulgar. . . . Every good writer has much idiom ; it is the life and spirit of language : and none such ever entertained a fear or apprehension that strength and sublimity were to be lowered and weakened by it." — Landor, Imaginary Conversations, Vol. i, p. 150 (Demosthenes and Euhulides). " In the breath of the native idiom there is as it were a moral fragrance, akin to the love of home and domestic faith ; — it is in discourse what the tenderness of nat- ural piety is in the beauty of human character."— Earle, English Prose, p. 308. 5* DICTION. , the start of him " ; " In the long run this will prove its utility " ; "A man instinctively tries to get rid of his thought in conversation or print as soon as it is matured " ; "He could never get used to this new manner of living." 2. While the above examples serve to illustrate the flavor of idiom, the extent to which idiom is a tissue, a basis of common speech, needs to be illustrated by enumerating some of the most prevalent idioms of English: — a. The double genitive ; as " that dark and tempestuous life of Swift's " (where one possessive is expressed phrasally, the other by inflection). b. The noun phrase, one noun doing duty as adjective for another; as, " the country schoolmaster," " a two-foot rule," " the small coals man." c. The English use of shall and will, should and would, of which more under Phraseology ; see below, p. 233. d. It with singular verb and plural or collective predicate ; as, " For who, when they had heard, provoked ? — nay was it not all who came out from Egypt by means of Moses ? " e. The use, in many cases, of the adjective form for the adverbial, and its obviously greater naturalness; as, "speak louder," "walk faster" ("speak more loudly," "walk more rapidly" are hard to tolerate). /. The use of a preposition at the end of a clause; as, " Where do you come from ? " " What are you blaming me for ? " " This is a thing I can- not get used to." (The alternative expressions, " Whence " or " From whence do you come ? " " For what are you blaming me ? " " This is a thing to which I cannot get used " or " become accustomed," sound bookish.) Grammar, as Professor Earle remarks,^ is the natural enemy of idiom, and is continually trying to replace its rugged forms by something more amenable to rule. Of course, wherever grammar succeeds, it, rather than idiom, is the arbiter of usage. Note. — Grammatical insistence has succeeded, for example, in banish- ing " it is me," which used to be natural and idiomatic, and substituting " it is I." Also, whereas men used to say, " I do not doubt but what this is so," it is at once better grammar and better usage to say, "I do not doubt that this is so." The word but is sometimes retained even when what is changed to that ; but this is unnecessary. The proper particles to use with doubt are : affirmative, " I doubt //, " " I doubt whether " ; nega- tive, " I do not doubt that." 1 Earle, English Prose, p. 255. CHOICE OF WORDS FOR DENOTATION. 55 5. Provincialisms, Americanisms, Dialect. ^- Provincialisms' are words, idioms, or meanings current in some limited region, but not universal enough in usage to be admissible in general literature. Within their district they are accepted conversa- tional formg ; elsewhere they sound somewhat like slang ; employed in literature they savor of crudeness and lack of culture. Examples of Provincialisms. — The- word clever, in the sense of good-natured ; as, " He is so clever that he will do anything for you " ; likely, in the sense of promising ; as, " William is a likely lad " ; favor, in the sense of resemble ; as, " He favors his father " ; near, in the sense of close or stingy; as, " He is an honest man and just, but a little near " (a New Eng- land provincialism, savoring of euphemism); smart, in the sense of able; as, " Luke is the smartest scholar in his class "; mad, in the sense of angry ; as, " Such treatment as this makes me mad." For the proper use of these words consult the dictionary. Americanisms are words or phrases wherein, owing to vary- ing conditions of life and history, American usage has come to differ from British. For the use of these we are much criti- cised by our friends across the water, as if they, being the mother nation, must necessarily set the standard and we count as provincial ; but the truth is, while some of our ways of speaking, in the light of standard literature, are provincial, some of theirs are equally so ; while for the rest, our peculiar usage has- as good right and as good pedigree as theirs. There is no more call on us to ape their manner of speech than on them to ape ours.' Examples. — The American use of the'word^^jj, for think or conjec- ture, is indeed too provincial for literary usage ; but so, it would seem, is the English use of different to for different from. We have a peculiar use of the word right, as in " Put it right there " ; and of the expression right away for immeiiiately ; these are provincial. So, on the other side, is the use of very pleased for very much pleased and directly or immediately for 1 Brander Matthews, Americanisms and Briticisms, pp. 1-31. 56 DICTION. as soon as ; for example : " Directly the mistake was discovered the leaf was cancelled " ; " Immediately the maid had departed, little Clare deliberately exchanged night attire for that of day." In many cases like these the standard is with neither side, both being alike provincial. In other cases the standard is with both ; that is, both usages are equally good and equally worthy of a place in literature, representing as they do perfectly natural variations where nations so widely separate are engaged in naming the same or corresponding things. Accordingly, we say freight train for the English goods train ; street-cax for their tram-cax or tram ; riaXroad for their railwoj/ ; editorial for their leader ; editorial paragraph for their leaderette. Such variations are neither avoidable nor deplorable. Dialect or patois, apart from its occasional use for flavor or local color,^ calls for a word here as an important source of addition to the vocabulary. The words imported by story- writers and tourists from the mountains or backwoods rank simply as provincialisms, and are subject to the cautions regarding such. Another class of words, however, forms an element of graver omen : those numerous terms and phrases picked from the argot of the mining-camp, the cow-boy ranch, the gambling den, and the slum, and turned loose into a long-suffering vocabulary. Largely unintelligible, their connotation, even when understood, is so apt to be low and immoral that proficiency in them is productive of more harm than good. Note. — The "Chimmie Fadden " stories will occur to the student as representative of this unsavory exploitation of coarse dialect. While their raciness is undenied, it is, after all, the raciness of abysmal vulgarity. The serious attitude of a writer toward such aberrations of usage is emphati- cally a case for the admonition given on p. 44, above. 6. Technical Terms and Coloring. — Technical terms are words peculiar to some art, science, industry, or other special- ized pursuit; indispensable, therefore, in their own sphere 1 This aspect of dialect, with the cautions and liberties regarding it, will come up for treatment under Manufactured Diction ; see below, p. 134. CHOICE OF WORDS FOR DENOTATION. 57 and in writings intended for specialists, but for the most part unknown outside. Example of Technical (Scientific) Terminology. — In the fol- lowing, taken from an article in The Journal of Geology, the prevalence of geological terms, though entirely fitting for those scholars to whom alone the article has interest, removes the language from the standard of literary usage : — " Here the formation is composed of well-foliated, fine-grained, musco- vite-biotite-schist with abundant mica. The molar contact is found on the eastern end of the hill. It strikes N. 25° W., and is parallel to the schistos- ity of the mica-schist and to the pronounced foliation of the porphyritic granite. All the structure planes dip westward at a high angle. Going across the strike from the contact toward the porphyritic granite a remark- able series of elongated horses of the schist interrupt the continuity of the granite. They are usually much longer than their width. ... In most cases there is a definite orientation of the horses parallel to the contact line, while the foliation of the porphyritic granite wraps around the inclu- sion in a significant way. ^ They are uniformly schistose with that structure as well developed as in the main body. Crumpling of the horses is also characteristic. For about two hundred yards east of the contact, the schist is cut by several intercalated sheets of porphyritic granite, varying from five to ten yards in thickness. Their phenociystic feldspars lie paral- lel to the walls between which the sills were intruded. "^ The part that technical language plays in general literature is notable in two aspects. I. Owing to the constant movement to popularize all kinds of learning, words from these special sources are continually- finding their way into current knowledge and usage. The problem for the literary writer in employing them is one of judgment : how clear and diffused knowledge of them he may take for granted — a problem to be decided by his literary sense. The safest procedure is exemplified in the work of such writers as Huxley and Tyndall, who work on the basis of everyday language, as untechnical as possible ; and where, as must frequently happen, such unfamiliar terms are neces- 1 The Journal of Geology, October-November, 1S97, pp. 715, 716. 58 DICTION. sary, they make the context repeat or define them in simpler speech. It is a kind of translation from the erudite into the popular. Examples. — The following sentences, from Huxley,^ will illustrate his care to make his language intelligible to current thought. The descriptive and simplifying parts are here put in brackets. " Again, think of the microscopic fungus — [a mere infinitesimal ovoid particle, which finds space and duration enough to multiply into countless millions in the body of a living fly]." — " The protoplasm of Alga and Fungi becomes, under many circumstances, partially, or completely, freed from its [woody case], and exhibits movements of its wholfe mass, or is propelled by the contractility of one, or more, [hair-like prolongations of its body, which are called] vibratile cilia.'' — " Under sundry circumstances the corpuscle dies and becomes distended into a round mass, in the midst of which is seen [a smaller spherical body, which existed, but was more or less hidden, in the living corpuscle, and is called] its nucleus." Many of the words used above, though technical, have become so natu- ralized in the common vocabulary that they may be used without apology ; e.g. fungus, ovoid, protoplasm (this word, however, is explained earlier in the essay), contractility, corpuscle. 2. Technical language, especially such as is pretty well naturalized, has been much employed by such writers as Emerson and Holmes, to give their thought a scientific color- ing or connotation. Employed to illustrate ideas in other departments of thought, such terms have the force of a figure of speech, and are often very suggestive. The use of them thus is a compliment to the increasing culture of general readers, recognizing as it does that learned and scientific ideas are becoming more widely known ; and in fact this very usage is an important means of diffusing such ideas. Of course the same literary liberties and limits are to be kept in mind as in the foregoing case. Examples. — In the following extracts the italicised words and turns of expression are colored by their significance as belonging to scientific or philosophical terminology. 1 Huxley, On the Physical Basis of Life (Lay Sermons, Addresses, and Reviews). CHOICE OF WORDS FOR DENOTATION. 59 " The divine circulations never rest nor linger. Nature is the incarnation of a thought, and turns to a thought again, as ice becomes water and gas. The world is mind precipitated, and the volatile essence is forever escaping again into the state of free thought. Hence the virtue and pungency of the influence on the mind of natural objects, whether inorganic or organ- ized. Man imprisoned, man crystallized, man vegetative, speaks to man impersonated" l " All uttered thought, my friend, the professor, says, is of the nature of an excretion. Its materials have been taken in, and have acted upon the system, and been reacted on by it; it has circulated and done its office in one mind before it is given out for the benefit of others. It may be milk or venom to other minds ; but, in either case, it is something which the pro- ducer has had the use of and can part with. A man instinctively tries to get rid of his thought in conversation or in print so soon as it is matured ; but it is hard to get at it as it lies imbedded, a. mere potentiality, the germ of a germ, in his intellect." ^ 7. Foreign Words and Idioms. — As in the case of technical words, . and due likewise to the general increase of culture, there is a constant importation of words and idioms from for- eign languages, many of which expressions are eventually naturalized, but all for a period have the effect of exotics. When the culture is lacking the employment of such terms may be simple vulgarity and display ; this is the chief cau- tion to be noted in the use of foreign words. For when there is culture enough to use them tastefully the writer can ordi- narily be trusted to look out for the claim of intelligibility, and make sure he is understood. Note. — The technical term for unnaturalized foreign words is Alien- isms. They are indicated by being printed in italics ; and the adoption of them as accepted English words is indicated by printing them in Roman. Such words, for instance, as connoisseur and renaissance have passed their alien stage, and are good literary English. The exact status of such words is not easy to determine, except by writers thoroughly conversant with the standards of literature. 1 Emerson, Nature, Works, Vol. iii, p. 187. 2 Holmes, Autocrat of the Breakfast Table, p. 227. 60 DICTTON. How far the use of foreign words and idioms is justifiable is to be gathered from the two ways in which they come into use : as deliberately chosen terms, and as a chance growth. 1. By scholarly thinkers foreign terms are sometimes chosen for the sake of exactness ; they fit an idea better than would any English term, and when properly set and explained have a pointedness and distinction very useful for the occasion. Pro- fessor Earle calls them "beacon-words," and justifies them, though he notes that " the practice of inserting foreign words, Latin, French, or Italian, is much less in use than it formerly was."-' The evident effort to make the idea luminous and precise saves such usage from the reproach of pedantry. Example. — Consider how closely Matthew Arnold discriminates his idea in the following passage, by employing and defining a German term : — " But this latter belief has not the same character as the belief which it is thus set to confirm. It is a kind of fairy-tale, which a man tells himself, which no one, we grant, can prove impossible to turn out true, but which no one, also, can prove certain to turn out true. It is exactly what is expressed by the German word ' Aberglaube,' extra-belief, belief beyond what is certain and verifiable. Our word ' superstition ' had "i)y its derivation this same meaning, but it has come to be used in a merely bad sense, and to mean a childish and craven religiosity. With the Ger- man word it is not so ; therefore Goethe can say with propriety and truth : 'Aberglaube is the poetry of life, — der Aberglaube ist die Poesie des Lebens.' It is so. Extra-belief, that which we hope, augur, imagine, is the poetry of life, and has the rights of poetry." ^ It will be noted that as much care is taken to explain a foreign word thus used as in the case of technical terms ; see p. 57, above. 2. It is as a chance growth that these foreign additions to the language most need watching. Words picked up in travel, or floating round in menus, journals of fashion, society gossip, and the like, have simply the status of ephemeral or fad words, and until naturalized in standard literature are to be so estimated. The same may be said of foreign idioms, 1 Earle, English Prose, p. 292. See the whole section, pp. 276-297. 2 Matthew Arnold, Literature and Dogma, p. 70. CHOICE OF WORDS FOR DENOTATION. 61 which as literal translations of foreign phrases, sound strange and affected. Examples. — i. The French language, as the language of polite society, is the greatest source of such words and phrases ; e.g. " A keen observer might have seen about him some signs of 2ijeunesse orageuse, but his man- ner was frank and pleasing." Every reader can recall such words as heau monde, savoir /aire, faux pas, entre nous, hatit ton, en grande toilette, blase, debutante, as used in writings of the day. i. Foreign idioms, too, are constantly creeping into the language, and are to be recognized and treated for what they are, exotics ; e.g. "That goes without saying" (CV/a va sans dire); to assist, in the sense of being present at a ceremony; according to me (selon moi); to give on, in the sense of open toward, as a window ; to be in evidence. Of course many of these may be on the way to accepted usage. Words used in travel, or in giving information about foreign countries and customs, or citations of foreign literary expres- sions, may sometimes be fittingly used in works obviously intended for readers to whom such terms will be familiar and suggestive or ought to become so. The writer thus pays a compliment to the culture of his reader. Example. — " You are in Rome, of course ; the sbirro said so, the doganiere bowed it, and the postilion swore it ; but it is a Rome of modern houses, muddy streets, dingy caffis, cigar-smokers, and French soldiers, the manifest junior of Florence. And yet full of anachronisms, for in a little while you pass the column of Antoninus, find the Dogana in an ancient temple whose furrowed pillars show through the recent plaster, and feel as if you saw the statue of Minerva in a Paris bonnet. You are driven to a hotel where all the barbarian languages are spoken in one wild conglom- erate by the Commissionaire, have your dinner wholly in French, and wake the next morning dreaming of the Tenth Legion, to see a regiment of Chausseurs de Vincennes trotting by." ^ III. PRESENT USE. Under this head come the considerations that should influ- ence the writer on account of the age of words : in general, he should admit only words in good standard present usage. 1 Lowell, Leaves from my Journal in Italy and Elsewhere, Works, Vol. 1, p. 190. 62 DICTION. Language evinces its life as do all living things : by growth on the one hand, taking in and assimilating new expressions, as advancing thought or discovery or invention demands them ; and on the other hand, by excretion, continually dis- carding old locutions for which there is no further use. It is this phenomenon of growth and excretion that distinguishes a living language from a dead one ; the latter kind, like Latin or Hebrew, can be added to mechanically, but it does not grow, nor on the other hand does it diminish, being fixed and crystal- lized in its existing literature. But because it is thus fixed it does not take hold as does a living language ; the spirit has gone out of it, so that at best its life can be only galvanized life. In a living language there are always many words on the frontiers of the too-new or the too-old whose use is a matter of uncertainty and debate ; and has to be determined by a general consensus of literary usage and authority, in which not only refined speech but the relative rank of authors has to be taken into account. 8. Words too New to be Standard. — From the standard of the best literature, which is the only safe one for a writer to ado£t,_the many new words and phrases constantly appear- ing, and for a while in everybody's mouth, — neologisms they are technically called — must pass through a period of testing and seasoning, in which it will become gradually apparent whether they are to be a permanent addition to the vocabu- lary or to die. His only reasonable attitude towards them is wariness, suspicion ; not that he is not to use them at all, — to lay down this rule would be to hamper him too much, — but that he is not to use them unadvisedly, or merely because they are the fashion. " Be not the first by whom the new are tried " is Pope's maxim. These new words come ordinarily without observation, and from a variety of sources, of which, as including the great predominance, may here be mentioned three : — CHOICE OF WORDS FOR DENOTATION. 63 1. Words adopted to name new advances in science, dis- covery, invention, and the like.' The leading tendency now- adays is to derive these from the Greek, and generally they are regularly enough formed. Such new words become standard almost at once. Examples. — ■ The development of some new invention or department of science may bring into daily use a whole new section of the vocabulary ; consider, for instance, how many new words electrical motor power alone has originated: dynamo, volt, ampere, ohm, trolley, and hosts of others, words unknown a few years ago. The same may be said of microscopic science, with its microbes, bacteria, antitoxin, antiseptic ; and of photog- raphy, with its kinetoscope, cinematograph, etc. Along with these addi- tions, one has to be on the lookbut for grotesque formations ; as in the sentence, " Do not speak to the molorneer," found on some electric cars. The new words made by quack medicine dealers and advertisers, too, are often ludicrous. 2. Words rising spontaneously in the discussion of public and political questions, as also in the shifting phases of the people's life ; often adopted by newspapers for the sake of point and smartness, and at once becoming current phrase of conversation. Some of these expressions become established in the language, but for the most part they serve a transient occasion. In his attitude toward them the writer has to judge how far they are worthy of perpetuation, and whether they answer to the dignity and permanence of literature. Note. — So much has been said about newspaper English of late years that the metropolitan press at present uses a fairly pure vocabulary, the 1 " English, for a quarter of a century past, has been assimilating the phraseology of pictorial art ; for half a century, the phraseology of the great German metaphysi- cal movement of eighty years ago ; in part also the language of mystical theology : and none but pedants will regret a great consequent increase of its resources. For many years to come its enterprise may well lie in the naturalization of the vocabu- lary of science, so only it be under the eye of a sensitive scholarship^. in d. liberal naturalization of the ideas of science too, for after all the chief stimulus of good style is to possess a full, rich, complex matter to grapple with. The literary artist, therefore, will be well aware of physical science ; science also attaining, in its turn, its true literary ideal." — Pater, Appreciations, p. 12. 64 DICTION. " awful examples " of such English surviving mostly in provincial papers. Of course, as suits their ephemeral purpose, all newspapers have a right to a rather more dashing and audacious employment of neologisms than book literature ; it suits the spirit and interests of the day. Such words as to burgle or burglarize; to suicide; to extradite; to run (the government or an enterprise), in the sense of conduct or direct; a. steal, in the sense of a theft; to see, in the sense of arrange with; log-rolling; scalawag, are evi- dently of this sub-literary vocabulary, to be recognized and employed, therefore, for what they are. 3. Words and phrases that take a popular fancy and are bandied about in conversation, and become slang. Every year sees a new crop of such expressions, which for the time are used so much that purists almost despair of the integrity of the language. Racy and spirited they undeniably are dur- ing their vogue, and, used masterfully, that is, with adequate estimate of their significance, they may have the point and beacon ■^ quality of a figure of speech. The disadvantage of them is, that the frequent or thoughtless use of slang impairs the earnestness and seriousness of speech ; further, as it speedily becomes not a vehicle of thought but a substitute for it, standing as a meaningless counter for ideas that ought to be discriminated and fitted with their right words, the use of slang causes a poverty of vocabulary truly deplorable. Examples. -^ The following sentence suggests how a slang expression may on occasion enrich the thought : " Sooner or later, to use the forcible slang of the day, ' the cover must be taken off,' and the whole matter laid before the public conscience." ^ This is really a figure of speech ; its abuse consists in bandying it about until it is everybody's word. Such expres- sions as " That 's right," for " that is true " ; " That is great," for anything desirable or interesting or surprising ; " I draw the line "; " Is that straight goods ? " "I am twenty-five cents shy " will occur to every one as speci- mens of current slang. There is a risk in recording such expressions as current, their day goes by so soon. 9. Coinage for an Occasion It is to be remembered that though language is a sacred heritage, to be cherished and 1 See above, p. 61, 1. 2 Quoted from Tlie Outlook, Jan. 2, 1897. CHOICE OF WORDS FOR DENOTATION. 65 guarded with all solicitude, yet after all it was made for man, not man for language. There is, therefore, both a freedom and a caution to be observed with regard to new coinages and formations. Because language is a living organism, and thought is living, there must be flexibility, adaptation, liberty ; and so, not infrequently, a juncture of thought occurs where the masterful writer has to make his word from materials already existing, and where such a new coinage, though serv- ing only the present occasion, may be precisely the most effective word possible.^ The justification or non-justification of new coinage con- nects itself with the question how real is the occasion. I. The one real occasion, it would seem, is the demand of precision ; a shading or fine distinction in the thought arises, for which there is no existing word, and some word has to be modified or made from existing materials and terminations to fit it. 2 Examples. — The following, used by Professor Henry Drummond, is a word that the author himself would perhaps never have occasion to use again, nor would it ever be put into a dictionary, yet it fits its idea as no other word could do. " No one point is assailed. It is the whole system which when compared with the other and weighed in its balance is found wanting. An eye which has looked at the first cannot look upon this. To do that, and rest in the contemplation, it has first to uncentury itself." ^ The following, from W. D. Howells, serves to differentiate a fine shade of meaning which the occasion requires : " But for the time being Penelope was as nearly crazed as might be by the complications of her position, and received her visitors with a piteous distraction which could not fail of touching Bromfield Corey's Italianised sympatheticism"^ 1 " New material must be found somehow. Even the Latin purist confesses so much as this. After speaking of the riskiness of new and unauthorized expressions, he says that nevertheless it must be risked — audendum tamen .' " — Earle, Eng- lish Prose, p. 2i8. Reference to Quintilian. 2 " The coining industry in the present age of English Prose will be found to draw its materials mainly from the vernacular, and far less than formerly from classi- cal sources." — Earle, English Prose, p. 230. See the whole section, pp. 221-231. 8 Drummond, Natural Law in the Spiritual World, p. 30. * W. D. HoWELLS, Rise of Silas Lapham, p. 490. 66 DICTION. Bishop Brooks and R. L. Stevenson use the word busy-ness to denote a shade of meaning that business does not. Lowell somewhere coins the ■^oxAproveable, hecSMse probable is inadequate to his purpose. The termi- nations in -ness, -less, and -ism are, perhaps, most drawn upon to make new words ; also the use of words in changed part of speech, as, to umpire, a. climb, 2ifind, is frequent. 2. Other occasions, less real, are to be watched and sub- jected to the exactions of good taste, because the freedom of coinage easily passes into mannerism and license, developing a fondness for vagaries in language for the sake of smartness or humor or pungency. Humorous formations and com- pounds are an acknowledged license analogous to the free- dom of conversational style ; and like any word-play they are a rather cheap and ephemeral type of pleasantry. Examples. — i . Of hasty or thoughtless coinage. " This, coupled with the fast-spreading gloom, and the wild tum-blefication, and the fierce crack- ing of flapping noises, frightened her."^ The following is quoted from a sermon : " You may seem to be drifting, oarless and helmless and anchor- less and almost everything-else-less." This last example suggests how easy and how risky it is for a writer of imperfect culture to make coinages for an occasion ; they may really impair the dignity of what he intends to convey, if he lacks the fine sense of congruity. 2. Humorous coinage. " Her spirits rose considerably on beholding these goodly preparations, and from the nothingness of good works she passed to the somethingness of ham and toast with great cheerfulness." — " Amidst the general hum of mirth and conversation that ensued, there was a little man with a puffy say-ndthing-to-me-or-I 'll-coniradict-ymt sort of countenance, who remained very quiet." ^ 10. Employment of Archaic Vocabulary In the general effort to secure fresh and unworn terms for literary use, there is a strong tendency at present to work the resources of the older and more native elements of the language, reviving terms and especially formations that were in complete or 1 \V. Clark Russell, /ac/6 'j Courtshif. 2 Dickens, Pickwick Papers, Chap. vii. CHOICE OF WORDS FOR DENOTATION. 67 partial desuetude, and utilizing thereby both their renewed life and their antique flavor. This tendency has both its wholesome and its untoward sides. I. The wholesome side shows itself in the decided prefer- ence for the homely Saxon words, which has succeeded to the classical tendency of a century ago ; also in the custom of using the native powers of the language for new forms and terminations. This is the revival of a power that during the period of Latin influence was in abeyance. Examples. — The most prevalent ways in which the old powers of the language may be used are the following : — 1. The widening of the sphere of the strong verb; as in shone (which has come in since 1700), clomh. 2. The free employment of an archaic pronominal adverb ; as, thereto, thereunder, wherethrough, whereof ; also of such words as albeit, howbeit. 3. The freedom of making the comparative in -er and the superlative in -est in the case of long words ; as exalteder, insufferablest. 4. The use of the Saxon negative un- in widely enlarged application ; as, ttnwisdom, unfaith. Tennyson has been a great influence in this century in reviving the older elements of the language. 2. The untoward side is simply the excess that is apt to attend all good movements ; ill-furnished writers may take the plea of homely Saxon and push it into a craze, an affectation. In religious language, also, there is a tendency to employ the archaic diction of the Bible so much as to impair genuine fervor and run into the " holy tone " and cant. No fashion in language, however good, can take the place of plain con- viction and power. Examples. — To Interlard one's writing with such archaisms as hight, yclept, swain, wight, quoth, y^ (for the), j/' (for that), is simply word-play and humorous affectation ; the fact that Charles Lamb could indulge his fancy for such quaintnesses does not create a case for imitators. The sur- vival of the Biblical coloring is noticeable in old connectives and adverbs, such as perchance, peradventure, furthermore, verily, in sooth, haply. 68 DICTION. . words against which there is no objection except on the score of ungenu- ineness and affectation. It may be laid down as a rule that when a man- ner of speaking becomes a fad, a mannerism, it should be discarded.^ IV. SCHOLARLY USE. While, as has been noted above,'' the reader must be recog- nized and worked for as a person of average culture, it is more than average culture that must be involved in what the writer brings him. By the very fact of his venturing to write, the writer sets up as a scholar, that is, as a model and authority in his subject, and, no less, as a standard in the way of pre- senting it. This has its application not only to invention but to choice of words as well ; his work should evince a sound and refined estimate of his resources of language, individual skill of choice, and good taste. II. Native and Added Elements of the Vocabulary. — In the primal duty to " be completely in touch with the English vocabulary," one of the first things is to know not merely the philological history, but more especially the feeling and savor of the different ground-elements of the language. For this general purpose these strata, or elements, may be regarded as two : the Saxon and Romanic, comprising the everyday words used by the Saxon pioneers and added to afterwards by the Norman conquerors ; and the Latin, comprising the more learned words introduced since the Revival of Letters and the Reformation. Each of these elements has its place and its practical uses ; the writer's duty is to employ each for what it is worth, and be not anxious, on the score of a mere vogue or wave of taste, to discard either.' 1 The affected use of any device of speech incurs the reproach of the third fault in art ; see above, p. 6. — Poetic archaisms will come up for discussion later ; see below, p. 144. 2 See above, p. 52. 8 " Especially do not indulge any fantastic preference for either Latin or Anglo- Saxon, the two great wings on which our magnificent English soars and sings ; we can spare neither. The combination gives us an affluence of synonymes and a deli- CHOICE OF WORDS FOR DENOTATION. 69 Note. — It will be useful here to give a passage illustrating each source ; one made up of words predominantly Saxon, the other freely using words of classical (Latin and Greek) origin. 1. In the first, from Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, the almost pure Saxon character is like the natural, unstudied, conversational language of common intercourse : — " Now they had not gone far, but a great mist and a darkness fell upon them all, so that they could scarce for a great while see the one the other. Wherefore they were forced for some time to feel for one another by words, for they walked not by sight. But any one must think that here was but sorry going for the best of them all, but how much worse for the women and children, who both of feet and heart were but tender. Yet so It was, that through the encouraging words of him that led in the front, and of him that brought them up behind, they made a. pretty good shift to wag along. The way also was here very wearisome through dirt and slabbiness. Nor was there on all this ground so much as one inn or victualing-honse, therein to refresh the feebler sort. Here therefore was grunting and puff- ing and sighing. While one tumbleth over a bush, another sticks fast in the dirt ; and the children, some of them, lost their shoes in the mire. While one cries out, I am down; and another. Ho, where are you? and a third. The bushes have got such fast hold on me, I think I cannot get away from them." l 2. In the second, from De Quincey, while the body of the passage must still be Saxon, words of Latin and Greek origin are freely chosen for the sake of a more accurate discrimination in thought, and these give to the style, whether designedly or not, a certain formal and erudite flavor : — " Every process of Nature unfolds itself through a succession of phe- nomena. Now, if it be granted of the artist generally, that of all this mov- ing series he can arrest as it were but so much as fills one instant of time, and with regard to the painter in particular, that even this insulated moment he can exhibit only under one single aspect or phasis, — it then becomes evident that, in the selection of this single instant and of this single aspect, cacy of discrimination such as no unmixed Idiom can show." — Higgikson, Atiantic Essays, p. Si. " Racy Saxon monosyllables, close to us as touch and sight, he will intermix readily with those long, savoursome, Latin words, rich in ' second intention.' In this late day certainly, no critical process can be conducted reasonably without eclecticism." — Pater, Appreciations, p. 13. In Earle's English Prose, Chap, i, from which this classification is adapted, is a very valuable list of equivalent words from these different sources. 1 BuNYAN, Pilgrim 's Progress, Pt. ii. 70 DICTION. too much care cannot be taken that each shall be in the highest possible degree pregnant in its meaning; that is, shall yield the utmost range to the activities of the imagination." ^ What these two classes of words are good for, respectively, is deducible from the relative places they fill in the history of the language. 1. The Saxon or native element comprises, to begin with, all the words and forms that determine the framework of the language : its particles, its pronouns, its inflections, — in gen- eral, its symbolic element.^ This element, and in almost equal degree the immediately superinduced Romanic, come from a pioneer age when men's thoughts were absorbed with plain matters of the home and the soil, of labor and warfare, of neighborhood and common traffic. It ranges, therefore, over the vocabulary of everyday life, wherein the work of the hand and ordinary activity and suffering are more concerned than the subtilties of the brain. In the Saxon element, therefore, are to be found the terms that come closest to universal experience : words of the family and the home and the plain relations of life. They are, therefore, the natural terms for common intercourse, for simple and direct emotions, for strong and hearty sentiments. Saxon, with its short words and sturdy sounds, and by its very limitation to the large and rudimentary emotions, is especially the language of strength.^ 2. The Latin, and in later years the Greek element, came in as men began to study.and discriminate, came in as scholar- ship and literature claimed men's interests. By advancing and refining thought, therefore, a want was created for new terms ; the vocabulary must be enlarged in the direction of greater discrimination, particularization, precision. Delicacies and 1 De Quincey, Essay on Lessing, Works (Riverside edition), Vol. ix, p. 390. 2 For the symbolic and presentive elements, see below, p. 117. 8 For the relation of such words to force, see above, p. 34. CHOICE OF WORDS FOR DENOTATION. 71 subtilties of thought must be named as well as sentiments in the gross and lump. To do this, and in a time when Latin was the recognized language of learning, men had recourse more to the Latin than to the native Saxon resources ; hence the strong classical coloring and body given to our composite tongue. In the Latin element, therefore, are to be found the more erudite and precise terms of the language, terms that deal with abstruse ideas and with the close discriminations of scholarship. This same scholarly quality lends dignity and formalism to the words of Latin origin. Being also, on the average, longer and more euphonious, these derivatives have greater flow and volume, are more readily graduated to a climax ; and thus from their value on the score of sound they frequently serve well the higher requirements of poetry and oratory.^ If the requirements of precision, fineness, and sonority are not especially present, it is best to keep as near as pos- sible to the Saxon basis of the language, because that, as the! speech of common people and common events, is less studied | and artificial. And further, if one's style is predominantly Saxon, the more unusual words occasionally employed are more distinguished and effective, having the power of beacon- words.^ 12. The False Garnish of " Fine Writing." — " Fine writing," what journalists call "flub," is the name given to the use of pretentious words for trivial ideas, or the attempt by high- sounding language to dress up something whose real impor- tance is not great enough to bear it. Under the same head comes also the habit of interlarding one's language with scraps of trite quotation and outworn phrases for the sake of smart- ness and display. 1 See below, under coloring of words and figures, p. 94, 3. 2 For beacon-words, see above, pp. 60, 64. 72 DICTION. Example. — Dickens makes his character of Micawber a representative of this pretentious kind of style ; the following paragraph will exemplify his manner of saying a commonplace thing in a very big way : — " ' Under the impression,' said Mr. Micawber, ' that your peregrinations in this metropolis have not as yet been extensive, and that you might have some difficulty in penetrating the arcana of the Modern Babylon in the direction of the City Road — in short,' said Mr. Micawber, in another burst of confidence, ' that you might lose yourself — I shall be happy to call this evening, and instal you in the knowledge of the nearest way.' " 1 Since Lowell, in the introduction to The Biglow Papers, Pt. ii, has shown up this kind of style, its real character and lack of taste have been more generally recognized, and as a consequence the newspapers and popular literature have been less infested with it. The copious list of words that he there gives illustrates this vice of " fine writing " very fully. As words and phrases are continually becoming worn, and as novelty in expression is a perennial claim, there is a con- stant effort on the part of writers to put familiar thoughts and facts in fresh and striking ways. Beyond this, too, there is the unceasing quest after an ever-refining ideal of expres- sion, the desire, as Landor puts it, for " finer bread than can be made of wheat." These objects are natural and legiti- mate ; but they need to be tempered and kept sane by good taste. The requirements, or at least the susceptibilities of the thought must furnish the justification. Governed by good taste, the use of words a little more pretentious than the literal subject warrants is one of the acknowledged instru- ments of humor. Attempted by a coarse or inexperienced hand, it is a case of fools rushifig in where angels fear to tread ; and the result, while it may happen to be felicitous, may be, and often is, such as to make the judicious grieve. Example of Humorous Exaggeration. — The good taste of the following from Hawthorne, if we grant him the initial privilege of writing about so trivial a matter at all, will not be impeached : — " The child, staring with round eyes at this instance of liberality, wholly unprecedented in his large experience of cent-shops, took the man of ginger- bread, and quitted the premises. No sooner had he reached the sidewalk 1 Dickens, David Copferfield^ Chap. xi. CHOICE OF WORDS FOR DENOTATION. 73 (little cannibal that he was !) than Jim Crow's head was in his mouth. As he had not been careful to shut the door, Hepzibah was at the pains of closing it after him, with a pettish ejaculation or two about the troublesome- ness of young people, and particularly of small boys. She had j ust placed another representative of the renowned Jim Crow at the window, when again the shop-bell tinkled clamorously, and again the door being thrust open, with its characteristic jerk and jar, disclosed the same sturdy little urchin who, precisely two minutes ago, had made his exit. The crumbs and discoloration of the cannibal feast, as yet hardly consummated, were exceedingly visible about his mouth." ^ 13. Stock Expressions and Cant. — It is not the slang of the day alone that is ephemeral.^ Good expressions also, happy terms and phrases, may lose their power by becoming worn ; as soon, in fact, as they become stock expressions they are liable to creep into one's speech unbidden, and thus to become not representatives of thought but substitutes for it. And just then the use of them seems to strike the note of insin- cerity ; the writer seems to be saying what he does not fully mean.' This may or may not be the case ; the outworn phrase may just express the writer's thought ; but the chances are that it does not, and at least the reader also should recog- nize it as freshly and independently expressed, and should be convinced of it by the individual manner of expression. The name given to speech or manner of thinking which by becoming conventional has become insincere is cant. The matter resolves itself into a plea for self-reliance and independence. Use no expression thoughtlessly, or merely because it is current, but from yout own recognition of its fitness, plainly because, whether new or old, it represents your own thought. Illustration. — Boswell once asked Dr. Johnson, of certain poems just published, "Is there not imagination in them. Sir.'" "Why, Sir,'' 1 Hawthorne, The House of the Seven Gables, p. 69. ^ See above, p. 64. 8 Compare the first artistic fault mentioned, p. 6. 74 DICTION. replied the Doctor, " there is in them what was imagination, but it is no more imagination in him, than sound is sound in the echo. And his dic- tion too is not his own. We have long ago seen ■urhite-robed innocence and flower-bespangled meads" 1. The way in which phrases may become stock expressions may be illustrated by the old religious expressions, now going by, as : " the sacred desk " for pulpit ; " the vale of tears " ; " worms of the dust " ; " to hold out faithful." Also by words and phrases much over-worked to-day; as, "to be in touch " with something; "survival of the fittest"; "the trend" of things or events; "to go without saying" (a foreign idiom translated; see above, p. 6i). 2. The following happily illustrates the breaking up of the trite phrase " without let or hindrance " : " No one will question that the whole nature of the holiest being tends to what is holy without let, struggle, or strife — it would be impiety to doubt it." The good effect of this is easily felt. CHAPTER IV. WORDS AND FIGURES FOR CONNOTATION. Hitherto we have considered the various problems in- volved in the choice of words for what they literally say, — literally (Jitera), that is, according to the letter. But there is a way of employing not only words but sentences and whole compositions, in which more is meant than meets the ear. A writer may talk about something entirely aside from his theme, yet in such a way that the theme is not departed from but vivified and illustrated ; or he may use such terms and colorings of expression as serve tb infuse into the passage some indication of how he feels, and how he would have his reader feel, about the idea he is conveying. This is figura- tive language ; or to use a more comprehensive and scientific term, connotation, "^ — conveying, besides the literal meaning of the word, a secondary force or meaning. Practical Value of Figures. — Figures of speech are popu- larly regarded as ornaments and artifices of style. This they are not, primarily, as is shown by the fact that any suspicion of artifice or over-elaboration in the management of them destroys their flavor at once. They generally add beauty to the style, it is true ; but this is because the associated idea, brought in for usefulness, is in itself beautiful ; besides this, there is an intrinsic beauty in the art of crowding expression with manifold suggestion and enlisting imagination and emo- tion in it. Under all this, however, is the sturdy basis of 1 Further definition of denotation and connotation need not be dwelt on here ; see above, pp. 9, 29, 34, 46. 75 76 DICTION. practical use ; figures enable us to say more in a given space, and to say it with more life and vigor.^ The test of a figure's practical value is its naturalness : it should rise so spontaneously out of the idea or situation as to go without question or sense of unfitness. If the figure connotes an illustrative thought, it must be reasonable for the writer to think in that way ; else the figure is far-fetched or fantastic or superfine. If the figure connotes emotion, it must be natural for the writer to have that mood or feeling, else the figure will be violent or maudlin or unreal. There is a fine sympathy of thought with illustrative thought, and of expression with emotion, which it is one object of this chap- ter to indicate ; it will not do for the writer to let these run away with him ; he must hold them well in hand and make them do ,his skilfully calculated work. To say this is merely to say that the greater the apparent naturalness the truer the actual art. Summary of Connotation. — The natural division of the sub- ject has already been repeatedly recognized. A figure may be employed either for the sake of enriching the thought of the idea, that is, for its illustrative value ; or for the sake of creating in the reader a certain mood or feeling about the idea, that is, for its emotional value. In either case the figu- rative force may be overt, that is, revealing its object openly ; or implicit, that is, imparting its power unobtrusively through the tone and coloring of words and style. I. CONNOTATION OF IDEA. The principle underlying all the figures of this class is the principle of association. Along with the thought to be 1 " Simile and figure may be regarded as a natural short-hand, which substitutes well-known things for the unknown qualities of whatever has to be described, and which therefore gives the general effect of the things to be described without neces- sitating the task of minute description." — George Brimlev, Essays, p. 43. WORDS AND FIGURES FOR CONNOTATION. 11 enforced or the object to be described the reader is made to- think of something else : it may be something more familiar, better known, in which case the object gains in clearness ; or something less abstract, more impressive to the senses, in which case the object gains in concrete reality. Both these qualities, are usually present, the proportion varying some- what between different figures, especially simile and meta- phor, but blending always into a general effect of enhanced life and vigor.^ ^ '• ' i Overt Figures of Association. — In these the fact of conno- tation is presented most typically : the associated object being plainly evident, either as definitely named or_ as so clearly assumed that the reader thinks without effort in its sphere of ideas. Simile and Analogy. — When the thing to be illustrated and the associated object are named together, with a particle or phrase of comparison (^like, similar to, resembling, comparable to, etc.) expressed or implied, and when these compared objects are of different classes, the figure thus arising is called Simile, — which word is simply the neuter singular adjective «>«?7«>, "like." A simile is an expressed likeness. When the likeness is not between simple objects but between relations of objects, the more complex figure thus arising is called Analogy, from the Greek words ava. and Xoyos, an asso- ciated or comparing word. If we were to represent the two figures algebraically, simile would be expressed by a ratio (a:b), and analogy by a proportion (a:b::c:d). The principle of the two, however, is the same ; and often they interact so naturally that it serves no practical purpose to discriminate them. 1 For connotation as a general instrument of Force, see above, p. 34, 7S DICTION. Examples. — i. Of Simile. "He shall \>e.like a tree planted by the rivers of water." ^ — "Of the two kinds of composition into which history has been thus divided, the one may be compared to a map, the other to a painted landscape." 2 — "His (Lord Bacon's) understanding resembled the tent which the fairy Paribanou gave to Prince Ahmed. Fold it ; and it seemed a toy for the hand of a lady. Spread it ; and the armies of powerful Sultans might repose beneath its shade." ^ 2. Of Analogy. " She told me her story once ; it was as if a grain of corn that had been ground and bolted had tried to individualize itself by a special narrative."* Here the likeness is between relations : her story was to other stories as the particles of one grain of corn are to the particles of another. — " Many were the wit-combats betwixt him (Shakespeare) and Ben Jonson ; which two I behold like a Spanish great galleon and an Eng- lish man-of-war : master Jonson (like the former) was built far higher in learning ; solid, but slow, in his performances. Shakespeare, with the English man-of-war, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about, and take advantage of all winds, by the quickness of his wit and invention." ^ Here the analogy might be thus expressed : Jonson : wit-combats : : Spanish galleon : stately sailing. Shakespeare : wit-combats : : English man-of-war : manoeuvring. Analogy is generally a more formal and elaborated figure than simile, and its illustrative purpose is more avowed. Two or three remarks are necessary in further explication of this figure. I. There are comparisons which are not similes, and are not figurative. They are used as freely and naturally, per- haps, as the figure, the noting of similarities being one of the constant impulses of thought. To be a simile, the com- parison, as intimated above, must be between objects of dif- ferent classes ; so different that there is a shock of surprise and interest that things in general so unlike should have one point or relation so similar. Example. — " It is in vain that he spurs his discouraged spirit ; in vain that he chooses out points of view, and stands there, looking with all 1 Psalm i. 3. 2 Macaulay, Essay on Hallnm's CotistHutional History. 8 lb., Essay on Lord Bacon. * Holmes, Autocrat of the Breakfast Table p So c Fuller, H^orM^j o/£n^/aK<;, Vol. iii, p. 2S4. ' WORDS AND FIGURES FOR CONNOTATION. 79 his eyes, and waiting for some return of the pleasure that he remembers in other days, as the sick folk may have awaited the coming of the angel at the pool of Bethesda." l Here the comparison, being merely between a man waiting in one place and men waiting in another, is not a simile. 2. The associated object, being generally more familiar or more concrete than the thing illustrated, has the effect of reducing the latter, as it were, to simpler terms. A peculiar imaginative effect, more easily felt than defined, is produced when the associated object is less palpable or concrete than the thing illustrated. Example. — "This evening I saw the first glowworm of the season in the turf beside the little winding road which descends from Lancy towards the town. It was crawling furtively under the grass, like u. timid thought or a dawning talent." ^ This may be regarded as a kind of inverted simile. 3. The great office of simile and analogy being to picture and illustrate, these figures are more promotive of clearness and definiteness than of passion and strength. Hence they are more naturally used in the less impassioned kinds of discourse : in imaginative prose, and in descriptive rather than dramatic poetry. When men are under strong emotion they are not likely to indulge in comparisons ; they strike at once for the more trenchant metaphor. Illustration. — Shakespeare, in his King Richard II, portrays a character that is too unmoved and essentially too shallow for the hard circumstances in which he is placed, by making him amuse himself with similes and poetic fancies : — " I have been studying kow I may compare This prison where I live unto the world : Arid for because the world is populous, And here is not a creature but myself, I cannot do it ; yet I '11 hammer it out." 3 1 Stevenson, Ordered South, Works, Vol. xiii, p. 83. 2 Amiel's Journal, Vol. i, p. 58. 3 Shakespeare, King Richard II, Act v. Scene 5, i. 80 DICTlt)N. He emphasizes the characterization further by making the king, at a time ■when his emotions should be impassioned, spin out his figures to the point of the ludicrous : — " For now hath time made me his numbering clock : My thoughts are minutes ; and with sighs they jar Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch, Whereto my linger, like a dial's point, Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is Are clamorous groans, which strike upon my heart, Which is the bell." 1 These passages show Shakespeare's keen sense not only of character but of the proper and timely use of figure ; they are a study in rhetoric. Metaphor. — A closer association of objects than by simile is made when, instead of comparing one thing with another, we identify the two, by taking the name or assuming the attri- butes of the one for the other. This figure is named Meta- phor, a term derived from the Greek words /xtTci and t^kpm, " to carry over," "transfer," indicating, therefore, exactly what the figure is, a transfer of meanings. Examples. — i. The associated object-directly named. " The man who cannot wonder, who does not habitually wonder (and worship), were he Presi- dent of innumerable Royal Societies, and carried the whole Mecanique Celeste and Hegel's Philosophy, and the epitome of all Laboratories and Observatories with their results, in his single head, — is but a Pair of Specta- cles behind which there is no Eye." ^ " He [Shakespeare] had now reached the very summits of his genius, and if we oblige ourselves to express an opin- ion as to the supreme moment in his career, the year 1605 presently offers us an approximate date. We stand on the colossal peak of King Lear, with Othello on our right hand and Macbeth on our left, the sublime masses of Elizabethan mountain country rolling on every side of us, yet plainly dominated by the extraordinary central cluster of aiguilles on which we have planted ourselves. This triple summit of the later tragedies of Shakespeare forms the Mount Everest of the poetry of the world." ^ 1 Shakespeare, King Richard 11^ Act v. Scene 5, 50. 2 Carlyle, Sartor Resartus, Chap. a. 8 GossE, Modern English Literature, p. 103. The word aiguilles is a foreign term treated as if naturalized ; compare above, p. 59, note. For the allusive epithet Mount Everest, see below, p. go, 1. WORDS AND FIGURES FOR CONNOTATION. 81 2. The associated object taken for granted, its attributes being assumed. — A man assumes characteristics of a cat : " But I beg of you, my dear Fields, don't let my paternal zeal prevent you from giving your views always and freely. If I seem to be stirred up at first, on being stroked the wrong way, you may be sure it is only a temporary electrical snapping, I shall soon be purring again." ^ In the following the simple assumption that dramatic characters are real, not manufactured, persons, has a meta- phorical effect : " He has no style at all : he simply throws his characters at one another's heads, and leaves them to fight it out as they will."^ The following remarks are necessary in further explication of metaphor. 1. Many, probably most, of the words and phrases that take the popular fancy and are adopted into the current vocabulary involve metaphor. But as soon as they become familiar expressions the metaphorical feeling begins to fade, and in course of time they produce only the effect of a literal term. The language is full of such outworn metaphors ; " fossil poetry " it has been called on this account ; and the way in which a writer or speaker uses these furnishes often a delicate test whether his conception of language is keen or dull. Examples. — Such expressions as " to catch on," " to get a cinch," " to draw the line," " to be on the fence," originally slang, are simply meta- phors, destined either to become idioms and take their place in the standard vocabulary, or to die out; see above, p. 64. How a metaphor may fade is seen in the word circumstances (things standing around"), whose metaphorical sense is now so little recognized that we say " under these circumstances " oftener, perhaps, than " in these circumstances." The phrase " to drop in " is well established for a casual call ; how it has become faded, as a metaphor, was illustrated in a person's invitation to another " to drop up " and see him. 2. This tendency of metaphor tp fade, or to be too vaguely apprehended, shows itself in the mixture of metaphors, the 1 Life and Letters of Bayard Taylor, Vol. it, p. 508. 2 GossE, Modern English Literature, p. 192. 82 . DICTION. fault most to be guarded against in the use of the figure. It arises from giving too little attention to the successive images that crowd upon the brain ; they are, in fact, not images at all, that is, not conceived by the imagination, but uncon- sidered stock forms of expression ; and the fault is to be avoided by surrendering one's thoughts to the picture sug- gested until it becomes real and works itself out consistently. This is analogous to the avoidance of cant, and is referable to the same cause.^ Examples. ■ — " The very recognition of these or any of them by the jurisprudence of a nation is a mortal wound to the very keystone upon which the whole arch of morality reposes." ^ Here the words " mortal wound " treat the object spoken of as a person ; but as soon as the word " keystone " is reached this suggestion is forgotten, and the image of an arch is in mind. The incongruity would not have risen, probably, had the figure been thought out originally ; but the fact is, both expressions, " mortal wound " and " keystone," have been so frequently in use that their figurative edge has become dulled. Sometimes figures become mixed not by carelessness but by a kind of impetuosity of thought, an impulse to crowd the assertion too full for one image to suffice for it ; such is Shakespeare's well-known line, " to take arms against a sea of troubles " ; such also Ruskin's expression, " allows himself to be swept away by the trampling torrent." These are cases where the master asserts his authority over language, and are to be left to the masters, who are aware of their powers and liberties. 3. Akin to mixture of metaphors is the injudicious or thoughtless mixture of metaphor and literal statement, which either produces the effect of bathos ' or else fills the whole passage with confusion. Examples. — The following produces the effect of a drop into bathos : " When thus, as I may say, before the use of the loadstone, or knowledge of the compass, I was sailing in a vast ocean, without other help than the pole-star (metaphor) of the ancients, and the rules of the French stage (literal) among the moderns." * 1 See above, p. 73. 2 Hodgson, Errors in the Use of English, p. 227. 8 For Bathos, see below, p. 294. * Dryden, Preface to Dramatic Writing-. WORDS AND FIGURES FOR CONNOTATION. 83 In the following it is impossible without other information to tell where history ends and metaphor begins : " The object of the conspirators was to put between thirty and forty barrels of gunpowder into the mine, and to blow the King and the Prince of Wales, the lords and the bishops to atoms. They shortly found a cellar which answered their purpose better. Here they banked up their barrels under a suspicious quantity of coal and other fuel. [Hitherto historic, from this point the account is metaphorical.] When the train was laid, it led, however, to themselves, and when the explosion came, it was under their own feet. They were scattered to the four winds." i 4. Sometimes simile and metaphor are united in one expression, the thought being introduced by the one and carried on by the other. By this combination of figures the illustrative quality of simile and the vigorous directness of metaphor are both secured with a distinctly pleasing eifect. Example. — The following is from a conversation between the sisters Irene and Penelope : — ' " ' Oh, how can you treat me so ! ' moaned the sufferer. ' What do you mean, Pen ? ' " ' I guess I 'd better not tell you,' said Penelope, watching her like a cat playing with a mouse. ' If you 're not coming to tea, it would' just excite you for nothing.' " The mouse moaned and writhed upon the bed. " ' Oh, I would n't treat you so 1 ' " The cat seated herself across the room, and asked quietly — " ' Well, what could you do if it was Mr. Corey .' You could n't come to tea, you say. But he '11 excuse you. I 've told him you had a headache. Why, of course you can't come I It would be too barefaced. But you need n't be troubled, Irene ; I '11 do my best to make the time pass pleas- antly for him.' Here the cat gave a low titter, and the mouse girded itself up with a momentary courage and self-respect. " ' I should think you would be ashamed to come here and tease me so.' " 2 5. Metaphor is both bolder and more condensed than simile, and by virtue of both these qualities it is naturally 1 From an article in The English Illustrated Magazine. 2 HowELLS, The Rise of Silas Laphayn, p. 118. 84 DICTION. better adapted to produce a forcible and vivid impression. Hence it is more used in impassioned discourse, and in dra- matic poetry, which is the poetry of passion as distinguished from the poetry of fancy. Note. — This distinction between simile and metaphor is already brought out in the Illustration, p. 79, 3. There not only the form of the figure but the image itself is ill adapted to a moment of supreme passion ; it is too leisurely and descriptive. Personification. — This figure endows inanimate things, or abstract ideas, with attributes of life and personality. It is closely related to the preceding figure, being indeed, in some of its uses, merely personal metaphor. The English language is well adapted to personification, because it is not cumbered, like Latin, Greek, and German, with the incongruities of grammatical gender ; so when personality is attributed to something inanimate, the fact is significant and striking. Examples. — "Do we look for Truth.' she is not the inhabitant of cities, nor delights in clamor; she steals upon the calm and meditative as Diana upon Endymion, indulgent in her chastity, encouraging a modest, and requiting a faithful, love."' — "And then came autumn, with his immense burden of apples, dropping them continually from his overladen shoulders as he trudged along." ^ " Yet Hope had never lost her youth ; She did but look through dimmer eyes ; Or Love but play'd with gracious lies, Because he felt so fix'd in truth." s I. The use of personification inheres in the fact that we can follow the traits and acts of a person better than the attributes of a thing or an abstraction ; as soon as the per- sonality is suggested we are conscious of a kind of communion with it, a sympathy with its life and character. 1 Landor, Imaginary Conversations^ Vol. i, p. 242 {Epicurus, leontion, and Ternissa). 2 Hawthorne, Mosses from an Old Manse, p. 21. ' Tennyson, In Memoriam, cxxv. WORDS AND FIGURES FOR CONNOTATION. 8S Example. — In the following, from Stevenson, consider how the vivid- ness is increased as soon as personality is attributed to the river: "The river was swollen with the long rains. From Vadencourt all the way to Origny it ran with ever-quickening speed, taking fresh heart at each mile, and racing as though it already smelt the sea." i 2. The abuse, or rather the cheapening of personification, consists in annulling its proper effect by employing it where no end of concreteness or vividness really calls for it. Unless something real is gained by it the effect of it is crude or artificial. Note. — In the following sentence there is really no occasion for the personal pronoun, nor is anything gained by regarding the world as a person : " It is to scholarly men that the world owes her progress in civili- zation and refinement." There is a strong tendency with young writers to make a feminine of every familiar abstraction: the world, our country, our college or fraternity, science, and the like ; a tendency to be watched and subjected to the claims of practical use. Another cheap and rather empty device is to treat mental and moral traits as persons ; Lowell calls it " that alphabetic personification which enlivens all such words as Hunger, Solitude, Freedom, by the easy magic of an initial capital." Allegory. — In this figure an abstract truth or lesson is conceived under the form of a fundamental metaphor, and followed out into detail, generally as* a narrative, sometimes as an extended description. Thus, in the most celebrated of allegories, Bunyan's Pilgrim 's Progress, the trials and experi- ences of the Christian life are set forth in the story of a pilgrimage from the " City of Destruction " to the " Celestial City." I. Allegory, as a means of conveying abstract truth, has a twofold utility. First, it has the concreteness of its under- lying metaphor; we apprehend the truth as an object of sense or a thing of life, and follow its fortunes accordingly. Secondly, instead of having to follow the logical plan of an 1 Stevenson, An Inland Voyage, p. 59 (Thistle edition). 86 DICTION. essay, we trace the unfolding of a plot, a story, which is the easiest and most engaging of literary forms. Example. — The following, beiog the opening paragraph of Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, will illustrate something of the fundamental machinery of that story : — " As I walk'd through the wilderness of this world, I lighted on a certain place where was a Den, and I laid me down in that place to sleep ; and as I slept, I dreamed a Dream. I dreamed, and behold I saw a Man doathed with Rags, standing in a certain place, with his face from his own house, a Book in his hand, and a great Burden upon his back. I looked, and saw him open the Book, and read therein ; and as he read, he wept and trembled ; and not being able longer to contain, he brake out with a lamentable cry, saying What shall I do ? " 2. Allegory is so predominantly associated, in ordinary minds, with its great monuments, like the Pilgrim's Progress and Spenser's Faerie Queene, and with moral virtues and les- sons, that it is quite generally thought to be obsolete, or something to be shunned, like a sermon. The fact is, how- ever, it is a very vital and by no means infrequent figure, though more in the way of allegoric touches, and used with the reticence and delicacy that obtains in the more modern art of literature. It is often a valuable means of exposition, being closely allied to analogy.^ Example. — The following paragraph illustrates Dean Swift's peculiar ways, often bullying and insolent, of obtaining his ends in politics and his disappointment at not obtaining a bishopric for himself : " Could there be a greater candor .' It is an outlaw who says, ' These are my brains ; with these I '11 win titles and compete with fortune. These are my bullets ; these I '11 turn into gold ; ' and he hears the sound of coaches and six, takes the road like Macheath, and makes society stand and deliver. They are all on their knees before him. Down go my lord bishop's apron, and his Grace's blue ribbon, and my lady's brocade petticoat in the mud. He eases the one of a living, the other of a patent place, the third of a little snug post about the Court, and gives them over to followers of his own. The great prize has not come yet. The coach with the mitre and crosier in it, which he intends to have for his share has been delayed on the way 1 For Analogy, see above, p. 77 ; in Exposition, see below, p. 567. WORDS AND FIGURES FOR CONNOTATION. 87 from St. James's ; and he waits and waits until nightfall, when his runners come and tell him that the coach has taken a different road, and escaped him. So he fires his pistols into the air with a curse, and rides away into his own country." ^ Various modifications of the figure Allegory, such as Para- ble, Fable, Apologue, belong rather to invention than to style, and being well enough defined in any dictionary, need not be further discriminated here. 11. Implicatory Words and Coloring. — The connotation of a sup- porting or illustrative idea, which is the enriching source of all the figures of this class, is generally made more gracefully and with less suggestion of labor and artifice, by some means of implication, putting the reader as it were in the atmosphere and attitude of the connoted idea without making it obvious how he got there. The effect of this is not only illustrative ; it gives also a picturesque tone and coloring to the whole passage, making it a verbal cloth of gold. Trope. — This word, from the Greek Tpi^u>, " to turn," which is popularly used as nearly synonymous with figures of speech, is here adopted to denote a word so turned from its literal setting and suggestiveness as to flash a figurative implication in one swift term. As to principle, it is not new ; it involves metaphor, simile, or personification, but it does not work them out, it merely suggests and leaves them. Trope is the commonest of figurative expedients; every style that has vigor or imagination is full of it. From the beginning it has so truly been the spontaneous means of imparting lightness and lucidity to abstract ideas that nearly the whole vocabu- lary of moral and intellectual terms is in its origin tropical.^ 1 Thackeray, English Humorists, Lecture on Swift. 2 « We should often be at a loss how to describe a notion, were we not at liberty to employ in a metaphorical sense the name of anything sufficiently resembling it. 88 DICTION. Examples. — i. An involved Simile. "The tanned complexion, that amorphous crag4ike face,'' etc.' — " Those graceful fan-like jets of silver upon the rocks." ^ — "The light sparkled golden in the dancing poplar leaves." ' Many of the adjectives in -like, -ly, -en, involve an original simile. 2. Involved Metaphor. " It [a university] is the place where the cate- chist makes good his ground as he goes, treading in the truth day by day into the ready memory, and wedging and tightening it into the expanding reason. It is a place which wins the admiration of the young by its celebrity, kindles the affections of the middle-aged by its beauty, and rivets the fidelity of the old by its associations." ■* — In the following a single word suffices to associate the object named with the sun, whose spots are invis- ible from the excess of light : " There are poems which we should be inclined to designate as faultless, or as disfigured only by blemishes which pass unnoticed in the general blaze of excellence." ^ 3. Involved Personification.^ " But in the apparent height of their power and prosperity the progress of decay had already begun, and once begun it was rapid. Floods, sieges, and sacks all contributed to it, but it was chiefly due to the course of physical change, conspiring with the increase in the burthen of vessels." Synecdoche and Metonymy. — These, from their unobtrusive- ness and spontaneity, may be classed with the implicatory figures. Their connotation is very close, lying, in fact, within the radius of the thing illustrated, with its natural relations and attributes. The two figures, being essentially alike in principle, are here described together. I. Synecdoche lets some striking part of an object stand for the whole, or, less frequently, the whole for a part. It is There would be no expression for the sweetness of a melody, or the brilliance of an harangue, unless it were furnished by the taste of honey and the brightness of a torch." — JEVONS, Principles of Science. See also Earle, English Prose, p. 241. 1 Corresfondence of Carlyle and Emerson, Vol. i, p. 247. 2 Newman, Historical Sketches, Vol. iii, p. 22. s Stevenson, An Inland Voyage (Thistle edition), p. 60. ^ Newman, ut supra, p. 16. 6 Macaulay, Essay on Hallam's Constitutional History. " One of the richer sources of Figure is tlie attribution of human qualities to objects which are naturally devoid of them. Sometimes it hardly amounts to what we should call Personification, it is merely a tinge of anthropomorphism." — Earle, English Prose, p. 246. The example is quoted by him. WORDS AND FIGURES FOR CONNOTATION. 89 essentially synecdoche, too, and gives a peculiar coloring to an assertion, when a verb that denotes a more partial or limited action is used for the larger or more comprehensive action natural to the object. Examples. — i. Of Name-Synecdoche. It will be noted that the part named in the following is just the part most useful for setting forth the idea or picture : — " There moved the multitude, a thousand heads" 1 " The gilded parapets were crown'd VJithfaceSj and the great tower fiU'd with eyes Up to the summit, and the trumpets blew." 2 2. Of Verb-Synecdoche. " Coleridge sat on the brow of Highgate Hill, in those years, looking down on London and its smoke-tumult, like a sage escaped from the inanity of life's battle." ^ The literal fact is that he resided at Highgate. — " Many a more fruitful coast or isle is washed by the blue jEgean, many a spot is there more beautiful or sublime to see, many a territory more ample ; but there was one charm in Attica, which in the same perfection was nowhere else." * Washing is an insignificant act for a sea. 2. Metonymy (ji,erd. and ovvfui, " change of name ") names not the object but some aspect or accompaniment of it so closely related in idea as to be naturally interchangeable with it. Examples. — " He was a capable man, with a good chance in life ; but he had drunk up iwo thriving businesses like a bottle of sherry, and involved his sons along with him in ruin." ' — " There are places that still smell of the plough in memory's nostrils."^ " The bright death quiver'd at the victim's throat ; Touch'd; and I knew no more." 'i It will be noted in the above examples that while in synecdoche the con- noted part is more restricted than the original, in metonymy it is more 1 Tennyson, The Princess, Prologue, 1. 57. 2 lb., Pelleas and Ettarre, 1. 158. s Carlyle, Life of John Sterling, p. 52. 4 Newman, Historical Sketches, Vol. ili, p. 20. 6 Stevenson, The Amateur Emigrant (Thistle edition), p. 33. » n.. Picturesque Notes on Edinburgh (Thistle edition), p. 326. 7 Tennyson, A Dream of Fair Women, st. 29. 90 DICTION. abstract, it enlarges the scope of the idea by identifying it with some gen- eral significance or result of it. The above-quoted examples are purposely chosen for their comparative boldness ; how common and natural the figure may be, however, may be seen from this metonymy from Gibbon: "The frontiers of that extensive monarchy were guarded by ancient renown and disciplined valor." ^ Concerning both these figures it is to be remarked that their principle is to choose merely the serviceable part of the idea, whether it is the actual part that is most intimately concerned in the picture or the relation that deepens its sig- nificance, and, employing merely this, to let the rest go. Thus they reduce an idea to its focus and centre, and make that do the work. Allusion. — An allusion {ad and ludo, literally a " play upon ") is an indirect reference to or suggestion of something that the reader may be trusted to understand, some personage, incident, expression, or custom. The employment of allusion connotes all that the reader knows of the thing alluded to, making it throw light on the idea in hand. Often a whole region of implication is thus opened. The following are some of the most striking uses of allusion. I. The name of some noted personage of history or litera- ture is sometimes used to connote the traits with which the personage is identified ; as when a person is called a Solomon, a Judas, a Napoleon, a Tartuffe, a Pecksniff. Examples. — The familiar line "A Daniel come to judgment," from The Merchant of Venice, will at once suggest itself to the student. " He [Donne] was the blind Samson in the Elizabethan gate, strong enough to pull the beautiful temple of Spenserian fancy about the ears of the worshippers, but powerless to offer them a substitute." 2 The word Samson, by its allusive suggestion, connotes strength of a blind brute kind, yet not without sublimity and greatness. 1 Gibbon, Decline and Fall, Introductory paragraph. 2 GOSSE, Modern English Literature, p. 123. WORDS AND FIGURES FOR CONNOTATION: 91 2. Some characteristic deed or achievement of a man is often put for his name, connoting and applying to the situa- tion the achievement's peculiar significance. Examples. — " The conqueror of Austerlitz might be expected to hold different language from the prisoner of St. Helena." Here the two epithets for one person connote the antithesis of victory and defeat. " The book, to be plain, is a long gibe at theology, and it is not surpris- ing that no bishopric could ever be given to the inventor of the Brown Loaf and the Universal Pickle." i Here the names of Swift's inventions give by implication the reason why he failed of church preferment. 3. Some incident of history, mythology, or fiction may be so mentioned as to furnish a kind of metaphorical or allegori- cal mould for the thought in hand. The prosperity of such an allusion depends, of course, on the reader's knowledge of the event referred to ; it is a compliment to his reading, tak- ing him as it were into the writer's confidence, and giving him a connotation denied to his less-read neighbor. Examples. — " It is due neither to the historical interest of the subject, nor even to the genius of the writer, that this purely scientific work, which does not recoil upon occasion from the driest exegetical discussions, should have fascinated and impressed even the critics of the boulevard, and given them a. momentary glimpse of the grave and vital problems involved : it is due to the touch of the magic wand with which the histo- rian has struck the old stony text and caused the entire modern soul to gush forth." 2 Here the allusion is to Moses striking the rock in the wilderness. Numbers xx. 10, 11. " The fifth decade of the century was a period of singular revival in every branch of moral and intellectual life. Although the dew fell all over the rest of the threshing-floor, the fleece of literature was not unmoistened by it." 3 Here the allusion is to the story of Gideon, Judges vi. 36-40. The following allusion combines the kinds described in paragraphs 2 and 3 : " ' .Sign-post criticism ' is scoffed at by many who do not need it ; but compasses are constantly required, in spite of the world's Giottos."* 1 GossE, Modern English Literature^ p. 222. 2 Essays of lames Darmesteter^ p. 23. 3 GossE, Modern English Literature^ p. 352. 4 McLaughlin, Literary Criticism^ p. xvi. 92 DICTION. Here the allusion is to the story of Giotto's marvelous skill in drawing a perfect circle with free hand. 4. Frequently the allusion is more delicate still, being merely a play on a quoted expression from literature, amount- ing in spirit sometimes to parody, and serving as a sly vehicle of humor. A caution is needed against the temptation to make such use of Scrip'ture ; it may secure audacity and pointedness at the expense of reverence and good taste. Examples. ■ — " Give him the wages of going on and being an English- man, that is all he asks ; and in the meantime, while you continue to associate, he would rather not be reminded of your baser origin." 1 Here use is made of Tennyson's line in the poem Wages : " Give her the wages of going on, and still to be." — "But on other occasions, taking no thought what he should put on, he [Newman] clothed his speech in what he supposed would best please or most directly edify his immediate audience."^ Here use is made of the Scripture expression "Take no thought for the morrow, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink, or what ye shall put on." The following examples, though literal quotations, may fairly be called parody, on account of the entire change of application. " One especial gift Mr. Gladstone very soon showed the House — his wonderful skill in the arrangement of figures. He came of a great commercial family, and he might be said to have been cradled in finance. To paraphrase (sic) Pope's famous line, he lisped in numbers, for the numbers came."' — " These gentlemen seemed to have imagined that they were about visiting some backwoods wilderness, some savage tract of country, 'remote, un- friended, melancholy, slow. ' " * Of course parody involving change of words as well as spirit may also be used as an instrument of allusion ; e.g. " Ponder thereon, ye small antiquaries who make barn-door-fowl flights of learning in ' Notes and Queries'!"^ Parody of Tennyson's "Short swallow-flights of song." 1 Stevenson, Memories and Portraits^ p. 13. 2 GossE, Modern English Literature, p. 351. Here, as the use is a turn of expression only, and does not involve a change in the spirit, there is no transgression of proper reverence. 8 Justin McCarthy, Article in The Outlook, Jan. 1, 1897. 4 Stories by American Authors, Vol. v, p. 144. 6 Holmes, Autocrat of the Breakfast Table, p. 75. WORDS AND FIGURES FOR CONNOTATION. 93 Coloring due to Association. — The inner life and power of words cannot all be obtained from their dictionary meanings and shadings, nor from their accommodated use as tropes ; there still remains a coloring, a flavor due to the company they are in, or perhaps to the association in which they natu- rally belong, a latent figurative suggestiveness which yields its vitality to the passage without apparent design or effort. The following are main aspects of this subtle coloring. 1. The use of what are called pregnant words, words not reducible as tropes to any definite image, yet acquiring from their association a more than literal color, a tinge of senti- ment or vigor which imbues the life of the passage with a new interest. Examples. — "His [Hobbes's] views are embodied in his Leviathan, a work of formidable extent, not now often referred to except by students, but attractive still from the resolute simplicity of the writer's style." ^ " But when he spake, and cheer'd his Table Round With large, divine, and comfortable words, Beyond my tongue to tell thee — I beheld From eye to eye thro' all their Order flash A momentary likeness of the King." 2 Here the words " resolute " and " large " are the most striking and potent words of their sentences, yet the reason of this defies analysis ; there is in them a kind of overtone, a reverberation, due to their association by a skilled hand. 2. Closely akin to this is the transplanting of a word to another part of the vocabulary than that in which it is ordi- narily used, as from the scientific or technical to the common, and vice versa. Thus it imparts the coloring of its origin to the thought in hand ; it is like a man of learning — or the opposite — giving his conception of an object out of his line. Examples. — This use of words to ' impart a scientific coloring has already been discussed under Technical Terms and Coloring ; see above, 1 GossE, Modern English Literature, p. 154. 2 Tennyson, The Coming of Arthur, 11. 266-270. 94 DICTION. p. 56. — Also in the example given on p. 88: "that amorphous crag-like face," where the word is adopted from the vocabulary of geology. — In the following a peculiar effect is produced by the use of a colloquial word : " The bother with Mr. Emerson is that, though he writes in prose, he is essentially a poet." ^ Here the tropical suggestiveness is strong, but some- thing is due also to the sudden irruption of the more homely vocabulary. 3. A Strong coloring may also be imparted by associating the sound of a word or turn of expression with the descriptive feeling of the thought ; as when volume of sound is employed to portray volume of sense, or a limpid phraseology conforms itself to a suggestion of eloquence or beauty. The Latin element of the vocabulary, from the greater average length and sonorousness of its words, is well adapted to such effects. Examples. — • In the following, from Macaulay, the sonorous Latin words are chosen for their descriptive volume : " The whole book, and every component part of it, is on a gigantic scale. . . . We cannot sum up the merits of the stupendous mass of paper which lies before us better than by saying that it consists of about two thousand closely printed quarto pages, that it occupies fifteen hundred inches cubic measure, and that it weighs sixty pounds avoirdupois." ^ — In the following the whimsically coined Latin word, corresponds to the big scale on which the writer would have us judge his subject : " The ventripotent mulatto, the great eater, worker, earner and waster, the man of much and witty laughter, the man of the great heart and alas ! of the doubtful honesty, is a figure not yet clearly set before the world ; he still awaits a sober and yet genial portrait ; but with whatever art that may be touched, and whatever indulgence, it will not be the portrait of a precisian."^ For the relative merits of Saxon and Latin words, see above, p. 70. The subject, in one aspect, will come up again later, under the head of The Key of Words ; see below, p. 104. II. CONNOTATION OF EMOTION. Some uses of word and figure are not natural to cold blood but rise spontaneously out of some excited mood or emotion 1 Lowell, Prose Works, Vol. i, p. 351. Quoted by Earle, English Prose, p. 298. 2 Macaulay, Essay on Burleigh and his Times. 8 Stevenson, Memories and Portraits, p. 322 (Thistle edition). WORDS AND FIGURES FOR CONNOTATION. 95 and by connotation tend to set the reader into the same ■emotional sphere. What we connote with them, therefore, is not an associated idea but a feeling, a state of mind. This is brought out by some peculiar turn or manceuvre in the expression. It is needless to say that an expression charged with emo- tion is much less obedient to mere manipulation than one that is not, nor will it submit to be manufactured. The emotion must compel and produce the expression, not the expression the emotion. Hence a question always hear in this kind of connotation is, how genuine, how well-motived, is the informing mood. Overt Figures of Emotion. — In these there is a direct line of suggestion from the figure to the particular emotion it connotes ; the figure is the sign and label of the writer's mood. Exclamation This is the figure perhaps most typical of the whole class, its emotion is so evident on the surface. This is to be distinguished from interjectional words (as ah, alas, fie, hush), which latter are not in themselves iigures of speech, though they may go with the figure as its sign. Exclamation as a figure of speech is the abrupt or elliptical expression that a strongly felt thought takes before it has calmed itself down to a logical affirmation. It connotes wonder, or intense realization. Example. — Note the difference in effect between the tame assertion, "A man is a most wonderful creature ; he is noble in reason, in faculties he is infinite," etc., and the same truth held up to view, as it were, by exclama- tion : " What a piece of work is a man I how noble in reason ! how infinite in faculty ! in form and moving how express and admirable ! in action how like an angel ! in apprehension how like a god I " ^ 1 Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act ii, Scene 2. 96 DICTION. If exclamation • does not proceed from a valid and reason- able cause for wonder, it is maudlin, giving the impression that the writer is too easily excited, a "small pot soon hot." This is especially applicable to the beginning of a discourse, before the subject has acquired an emotional momentum ; if then the writer or speaker is exclamatory, he is liable to encounter not an answering wonder but amusement at his impassioned performance.^ Note. — The exclamation-point is the natural mark of this figure ; but there is a tendency in modern writing to use it less than formerly, and often the figure is intended to connote so moderate an emotion -that the point is omitted. Sometimes exclamation competes with interrogation in the same expression, and when wonder predominates, the exclamation-point may take the place of the question mark, as, "Alas ! what are we doing all through life, both as a necessity and as a duty, but unlearning the world's poetry, and attaining to its prose ! " ^ Interrogation Here, as in the preceding case, distinction is to be made between figurative and unfigurative uses. The figure interrogation asks a question, not for the purpose of obtaining information, nor even as an indication of doubt, but in order to assert strongly the opposite of what is asked. It presupposes the idea as so certain that the reader or hearer may be challenged to gainsay the affirmation; and in this, its character as a virtual challenge, consists the energy of the figure. Thus interrogation connotes strong conviction, and is naturally adapted especially to argumentative and oratorical subject-matter. Examples. — " What ! Gentlemen, was I not to foresee, or foreseeing was I not to endeavor to save you from all these multiplied mischiefs and disgraces ? . . . Was I an Irishman on that day that I boldly withstood 1 " The note of Exclamation is less in use than formerly : a social symptom ; as the progress of manners more and more demands the subduing of moral commo- tion." — Earle, English Prose, p. io8. 2 Newman, Idea of a University, p. 331. WORDS AND FIGURES FOR CONNOTATION. 97 our pride ? or on the day that I hung down my head, and wept in shame and silence over the humiliation of Great Britain ? I became unpopular in England for the one, and in Ireland for the other. What then ? What obligation lay on me to be popular ? " ^ The unfigurative asking of questions for the purpose of rousing interest, and then answering them, is just as legiti- mate and natural as oratorical interrogation ; it is a means of taking the reader into partnership with the writer, as it were, in conducting an investigation. Example. — " What is it to be a gentleman ? Is it to have lofty aims, to lead a pure life, to keep your honor virgin ; to have the esteem of your fellow-citizens, and the love of your fireside ; to bear good fortune meekly ; to suffer evil vrith constancy ; and through evil or good to maintain truth always .' Show me the happy man w^hose life exhibits these qualities, and him we will salute as gentleman, whatever his rank may be ; show me the prince who possesses them, and he may be sure of our love and loyalty."^ Here if the emotion were a little more intense we should expect, not the investigation spirit, but the argumentative, and the question would natu- rally be so framed as to challenge the reverse, " Is it not to have lofty aims," etc. Apostrophe and Kindred Figures. — The derivation of the word apostrophe, from a-ao and Tpicfxo, " to turn from," does not seem, at first thought, to suggest the principle of the figure. The term refers to tuining/rom the unemotional way of expression, which speaks of objects in the third person, to address some object directly, as if it were present. When the object addressed is inanimate, the figure Apostrophe involves also personification. Apostrophe, carrying as it does the imagination of an absent thing as if present and conscious of the address, con- notes intense realization and fervor. Example. — In our. present logical and undemonstrative age the figure apostrophe has become somewhat obsolescent, and if attempted now would 1 BuRKp, Speech to the Electors of Bristol. 2 Thackeray, The Four Georges (Riverside edition), p. io8. 98 DICTION. run some risk of seeming manufactured or forced. The following, from the Bible, is a very vivid example : — " O thou sword of the Lord, How long will it be ere thou be quiet ? Put up thyself into thy scabbard, Rest and be still. How can it be quiet, — seeing the Lord hath given it a charge Against Ashkelon, and against the sea-shore? There hath he appointed it." 1 The transition to the third person, in the fifth line, intensifies the figure ; so also does the use of interrogation. Two figures, or devices of expression, connoting a rather more subdued feeling of realization, call for remark here. r. Vision, still retaining the ordinary speech of the third person, regards something distant in space as present and under observation. This fact of course calls on the imagi- nation to ignore absence and recall the traits of the object definitely. Example. — " I see the wealthy miller yet. His double chin, his portly size. In yonder chair I see him sit, Three fingers round the old silver cup — I see his gray eyes twinkle yet At his own jest — gray eyes lit up With summer Ughtnings of a soul So full of summer warmth, so glad. So healthy, sound, and clear and whole. His memory scarce can make me sad." 2 This figure is a means of calling attention to minute details which other- wise would escape their due. 2. The Historical Present regards some event that is past in time as present and going on before the reader's eyes, that is, narrates it in the present tense. The historical present is serviceable when the event re- 1 Jeremiah xlvii. 6, 7. 2 Tennyson, The Miller'' s Daughter. WORDS AND FIGURES FOR CONNOTATION. 99 counted is of such cardinal importance that all its stages, and details have intensity of interest. It is often misused by ■writers, of crude taste who imagine that the tense makes the vividness, whereas it is only thp impressiveness of the event that makes the use of the present natural. When adopted, the historic present should be maintained consistently through- put the passage, or at least not departed from except with wisely calculated reason. Example. — In the following, note not only the increased life imparted by the Historic Present, but the consistency with which it is maintained, and the careful skill shown in entering upon and departing from it : — " Let me remember how it used to be, and bring one morning back again. " I come into the second-best parlor after breakfast, with my books, and an exercise-book, and a slate. My mother is ready for me at her writing- desk, but not half so ready as Mr. Murdstone in his easy-chair by the window (though he pretends to be reading a book), or as Miss Murdstone, sitting near my mother stringing steel beads." [After a page or so of this reminiscence in the present tense, the story is brought back to the ordinary past tense of narration by the remark, beginning a new paragraph] : — " It seems to me, at this distance of time, as if my unfortunate studies generally took this course."' [From here onward the tense is past.] Hyperbole. — This figure magnifies objects beyond their natural bounds, in order to make them more impressive or more vivid. It connotes lively realization of some striking trait, and results simply frt)m the effort so to describe an object that no element of its effect on the writer shall be lost in transmission to the reader. Hyperbole is a recognition of the fact that, while the observer may conceive an object vividly there is a shrinkage in the reader's apprehension of it. Its exaggeration does not mislead ; it simply allows for the shrinkage, so that the net result on the reader's part is a just realization of the object, plus a touch of the emotion, exalted or whimsical, in which ' the object is to be viewed. 1 Dickens, David Copperfield, Chap. iv.. MX) DICTION. The predominant use of hyperbole nowadays seems to btf for humorous description. Its misuse consists in not answer- ing intimately to the spirit of the passage. Overdoing the passion, it becomes bombast; employed on too trivial an occasion, it is ludicrous. Examples. — " The groom swore he would do anything I wished ; and, when the time arrived, went up stairs to bring the trunk down. This I feared was beyond the strength of any one man : however, the groom was a man Of Atlantean shoulders fit to bear The weight of mightiest monarchies ; and had a back as spacious as Salisbury Plains." i — "In the way of furni- ture, there were two tables : one, constructed with perplexing intricacy and exhibiting as many feet as a centipede ; the other, most delicately wrought, with four long and slender legs, so apparently frail that it was almost incredible what a length of time the ancient tea-table had stood upon them." 2 Irony. — This figure expresses, or presupposes, the contrary of what is meant, there being something in the context or in the writer's tone to show the true state of the case. It is a kind of reductio ad absurdum, assuming as it does that false is true, and following the idea to its inverted conclusion. Irony connotes contempt for an opposing view or opinion, a contempt that under the various forms of satire, innuendo, and sarcasm, ranges all the way from playful banter to invective. Examples. — " How devotedly Miss Strickland has stood by Mary's innocence ! Are there not scores of ladies in this audience who persist in it too ? Innocent ! I remember as a boy how a great party persisted in declaring Caroline of Brunswick was a martyred angel. So was Helen of Greece innocent. She never ran away with Paris, the dangerous young Trojan. Menelaus, her husband, ill-used her ; and there was never any siege of Troy at all. So was Bluebeard's wife innocent. She never peeped 1 De Quincey, Confessions of an Of turn Eater, p. 24. 2 Hawthorne, The House of the Seven Gables, p. 49. WORDS AND FIGURES FOR CONNOTATION) into the closet where the other wives were with their heads off. SheT dropped the key, or stained it with blood ; and her brothers were quite right in finishing Bluebeard, the cowardly brute ! Yes, Caroline of Bruns- wick was innocent ; and Madame Laffarge never poisoned her husband ; and Mary of Scotland never blew up hers ; and poor Sophia Dorothea was never unfaithful; and Eve never took the apple — it was a cowardly fabri- cation of the serpent's." ^ In the following the irony consists in describing evil in terms belonging to the good : — " It may well be conceived that, at such a time, such a nature as that of Marlborough would riot in the very luxury of baseness. His former treason, thoroughly furnished with all that makes infamy exquisite, placed him under the disadvantage which attends every artist from the time that he produces a masterpiece. Yet his second great stroke may excite won- der, even in those who appreciate all the merit of the first. Lest his admirers should be able to say that at the time of the Revolution he had betrayed his King from any other than selfish motives, he proceeded to betray his country." ^ One or two further remarks on the figure Irony may here be made. I. A passage not predominantly ironical in tone may be made more spirited by an occasional ironical touch, which, being less obtrusive, is correspondingly more graceful. Young writers who employ this device often betray their anxiety that their irony may not be missed by marking such touches with an interrogation-point enclosed in parenthesis ; but this is generally quite needless, and in poor taste. Examples. — " He leaned forward suddenly, and clutched Pete by the throat, and the old man and Solomon were fain to interfere actively to prevent that doughty member of the family from being throttled on the spot. Pending the interchange of these amenities, Rick Tyler lay motionless on the ground." ' — " He [Browning] partially failed; and the British pub- lic, with its accustomed generosity, and in order, I suppose, to encourage the others, has never ceased girding at him, because forty-two years ago he 1 Thackeray, The Four Georges, p. i6. 2 Macaulay, Essay on Hallam's Constitutional History. 8 Miss Murfree (Charles Egbert Craddock), Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains, p. i6o. 102 DICTION. published, at his own charges, a little book of two hundred and fifty pages, which even such of them as were then able to read could not understand." ^ 2. Irony, more especially in its modified form of satire or innuendo, is an edge-tool of which the writer needs to be very careful. Used habitually, or with zest, it begets a cap- tious, cynical spirit which puts one out of touch with large and noble ideals. Further it almost inevitably gives to writ- ing an element of offense to simple and straightforward minds ; they are afraid of a statement that scores them and gives them no chance to reply. A man may make himself dreaded in that way, may gain a reputation for keenness and penetration, but he sacrifices something far more valuable. Even Thackeray, kind-hearted as his friends know him to have been, contracted such an inveterate habit of satire, on certain subjects, that he is apologized for fully as much as he is praised. II. Animus of Word and Figure The emotional figures hitherto recounted seem to our modern taste rather forced and declama- tory ; as overt and constructed figures they take themselves too seriously and insistently ; and there is a very prevalent tendency to soften them down to humorous uses or to subtle touches, rather than bear weight upon them. Nowadays, partly because literature is less emotional, partly because the art of putting things is both more delicately managed and more quickly responded to, more is left to suggestion, the reader's emotion is played upon or awakened indirectly, not so much by obvious means as by a tone and animus that resides in the whole passage. This is a very pervasive and Protean feature of literary art, of which the following are the more prominent and outlying aspects. 1 Augustine Birrell, Obiter Dicta, p. 91. WORDS AND FIGURES FOR CONNOTATION. 103 The Spirit of a Comparison. — In addition to the illustra- tive value of simile or metaphor, a delicate revelation of the writer's mood or feeling is often made through the choice of the object to which the matter in hand is compared. Thus the figure may disparage or elevate, may convey contempt or connote admiration or poke fun, and thus induce in the reader a touch of the same mood. Examples. — i. Of Simile. With the following passage it is natural to associate sublimity ; this feeling, in fact, is stronger than the illustrative value : — " On the other side, Satan, alarmed, Collecting all his might, dilated stood. Like Teneriff or Atlas, unremoved : His stature reached the sky, and on his crest Sat Horror plumed." 1 The following connotes Ruskin's feeling of contempt for the object described : " We have got into the way, among our other modern wretched- ness, of trying to malce windows of leaf diapers, and of strips of twisted red and yellow bands, looking like the patterns of currant jelly on the top of Christmas cakes ; but every casement of old glass contained a saint's history." 2 — The following evidently indulges in a sly laugh at its object : " The unwonted lines which momentary passion had ruled in Mr. Pick- wick's clear and open brow, gradually melted away, as his young friend spoke, like the marks of a Hack-lead pencil beneath the softening influence of India rubber." ^ i. Of Metaphor. The following both illustrates the manner of an action and conveys a disparaging estimate of its character : " Pierre Bayle wrote enormous folios, one sees not on what motive principle ; he flowed on for- ever, a mighty tide of ditch-water ; and even died flowing, with the pen in his hand."* — The following, by a double entendre in the trope-word, conveys a sly innuendo : " Sentences of the same calibre, some even of far larger bore, we have observed in this and other works of the same author." * 1 Milton, Paradise Lost, Book iv, U. 985-989. 2 RUSKIN, Two Paths, p. loi. S Dickens, Pickwick Papers, Chap. xv. * Carlyle, Sartor Resartus. 5 De Quincey, Literary Criticism, p. 206. 104 DICTION. In the employment of figure a sound sense of humor and congruity — in other words, a sane literary sense — must always be present, or in some lapse of taste the comparison may flat the note, or introduce unintentionally some uncon- genial or ludicrous suggestion. It is eminently here that the fineness of a writer's literary endowment shows. Examples. — When, for instance, a young writer says of John Quincey Adams's statesmanship that it was as pure as a lily, the figure may in part illustrate, but it does not really belong with the idea statesmanship, it is more congruous with more delicate ideas. — I once heard a clergyman, endeavoring to describe pictorially some great heaps of white summer cloud, say that they looked like immense great balls of popcorn. The picture was successful ; but — . The Key of Words This expression, adopted from Robert Louis Stevenson,^ suggests that in a masterfully written pas- sage there is a certain relation of words to each other, by which they aid each other in maintaining a congruous emo- tional level ; they comport with a mood of homeliness or severe dignity, of contempt or whimsey, of enthusiasm or meditative pensiveness. This key of words is kept fine and unerring only by skill in the various strata or levels of the vocabulary ; a writer must be at home in the dialect of beauty or bluntness, of grace or coarseness, and know not only the denotation but the feel, the congenial mood, of his word. Examples. — There is a scale of expression by which the same idea or act may be coarsened to various depths ; as is exemplified in the expres- sions "to become intoxicated," " to get drunk," coarsest of all, " to get fully — A whole vocabulary of disparaging words is thus available, as poetaster, criticaster, pulpiteer, fellow, manikin, and the like ; e.g. " It is time for even the fiery pulpiteers to pause and reflect," where we know well the writer's feeling toward the clergymen mentioned. One of the most serviceable forms of this connotation is in a kind of reduction of the idea to its lowest or boldest terms ; e.£^. " A fool he was, if you will ; but so is a sovereign a fool, that will give half a principality for a little crystal as big as a pigeon's egg, and called a diamond : so is a 1 See above, p. 15, footnote. WORDS AND FIGURES FOR fONNOTATION, 105 wealthy nobleman a fool, that will face danger or death, and spend half his life, and all his tranquility, caballing for a blue riband ; so is a Dutch mer- chant n fool, that hath been known to pay ten thousand crowns for a tulip." 1 How such words may color a passage, forming a key or scheme of expression, may be seen in the following : " What spectacle is more august than that of a great king in exile ? Who is more worthy of respect than a brave man in misfortune ? Mr. Addison has painted such a figure in his noble piece of Cato. But suppose fugitive CzXo fuddling himself at a tavern with a wench on each knee, a dozen faithful and tipsy companions of defeat, and a landlord calling out for his bill ; and the dignity of mis- fortune is straightway lost. The Historical Muse turns away shamefaced from the vulgar scene, and closes the door — on which the exile's unpaid drink is scored up — upon him and his pots and his pipes, and the tavern- chorus which he and his friends are singing." ^ On the side of the connotation of idqa, which in fact often blends -tfith the connotation of emotion, this subject has already been treated under the head of Coloring due to Association ; see above, p. 93, which section ought to be studied along with this. Reserve, or Understatement. — One result of the more deli- cate literary art of our day is the frequent custom of describ- ing intense or exciting facts in studiously mild terms, but with such connotation as to lay the hint of it on the reader's imagination, trusting to that to supply the commensurate realizing mood. This reserve of statement is thus in a sense the opposite of the overt figures of emotion. Instead of exhibiting a great passion of excitement and by violent lan- guage pulling the reader up to it, it works as it were to keep the reader's emotion in • advance of the expressed idea, by sending his thoughts out toward a generously suggested effect or situation. A principle so broad as this is hard to cover by typical examples. One of the most striking ways of understatement is by LITOTES,^ which suggests its intended idea by negating its opposite ; connoting at the same time an animus of inten- l Thackeray, Henry Esmond, Book ill, Chap. 11. 2 n,,^ Book 1, Chap. i. ' The connection of litotes with the double negative will come up for further men- tion ; see below, p. 271. 106 DICTION. sity, or challenge, or it may be satirical playfulness, the mood being evident from the kind of terms employed. Examples. — " He [the Puritan] had been wrested by no common deliverer from the grasp of no common foe. He had been ransomed by the sweat of no vulgar agony, by the blood of 910 earthly sacrifice." ^ Here the negation of ordinary qualities sends out suggestion toward extraordi- nary as far as the reader's imagination will go, and setting no limits, sug- gests endless intensity. The animus of innuendo is illustrated in the following : " The editor is clearly no witch at ^ riddle," ^ where it is playfully intimated that he is surprisingly stupid. — "I made up my mind that ambulances, viewed as vehicles for driving distinguished ladies to military reviews, were not a stupendous success, and that thereafter they had better be confined to their legitimate uses of transporting the wounded and attending funerals." ^ In this last example the innuendo is a little overdone ; it lacks fineness. 1 Macaulay, Essay on Milton. 2 Carlyle, Essay on BosweWs Johnson. 3 Porter, Campaigning with Grant. CHAPTER V. PROSE DICTION — STANDARD AND OCCASIONAL. Entering now upon a new stage of our subject, we are to consider the general effect and resultant of the words and figures employed, the _prevailing charac ter and color that these impart to the whole passage or composition. This is what' is meant distinctively bydiction, ;the mere study and choice of expression being virtually the primitive stage of getting out the raw material. The problem of diction, then, is a problem of artistry : of giving such marshaling and man- agement to a scheme of words as to produce a homogeneous tissue and movement of a certain determinate kind. The most fundamental distribution of the subject is into Prose Diction and Poetic Diction, to each of which a chapter will be devoted, though each division, being subject at every point to invasions from the other, must be considered con- stantly with reference to the other. Under prose diction we are first to inquire after the principle or standard to which all prose, as prose, must conform, and secondly, to recount some of the claims or liberties of prose, as determined by some particular object or occasion. Definition of Prose. — It is important to have as starting- point ajuiFiHea~of what is most central and character-giving in prose, and this is well furnished by the various terms that in time past have been used to designate it. The designating word, to begin with, merely sets prose over against verse. It comes from the 'Latin prosa, a contracted form of prorsa, which itself is a contraction of the compound 107 108 DICTION. pro-versa, an adjective, feminine in form because the noun to be supplied is the feminine oratio, " discourse " ; the whole mean- ing, therefore, "straightforward discourse." The name was first given, no doubt, because, instead of turning back and begin- ning anew when it has reached a certain measured length (its antithesis, versus, means a " turning "), the line keeps straight on, as far as there is room for it. This seems a mere mechani- cal distinction ; it reaches, however, deeper than chirography, to the fundamental reason why a writer should turn back or keep on. And for our modern distinctions this characteristic straightforward lends itself just as legitimately to another application. Prose discourse, we may say, is straightforward in two large senses : it does not change the natural order of words ; it does not depart from the common usage of words. This is indicated in a figurative way by a second Latin term for prose : sermo pedestris, discou rse that goes cycy foot, as distinguished from discourse that soars. Prose moves on the earth, where common people and everyday practical affairs belong ; it is the language of ordinary moods, ideas, senti- ments, the form that unstudied speech and intercourse assume. Like M. Jourdain,^ to whom the discovery was such a delight, we have been talking prose all our life. A third designation, oratio soluta, " loosened " or " unbo und disc ourse." may seem at first thought to sanction a negligence or carelessness in the construction of prose, engendered perhaps by its common uses. The name, however, is simply another contrast to metrical composition, bound as the latter is by rigid rules. Nor, indeed, does the humbler office of prose absolve it from the strictest and finest artistry. It is a mis- take to suppose that good prose is easier to write than good poetry ; it is just as hard and just as great a triumph, its difficulties and problems being merely of another kind. 1 In Moli^re's Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme. FROSE DICTION— STANDARD AND OCCASIONAL. 109 I. STANDARD PROSE DICTION. Prose diction covers too vast and complicated a field, and depends on too great a number of relative considerations, to reduce itself easily, as does poetic diction, to formulated rules/ All that can be undertaken here is to summarize the main principles that condition prose diction, as traced in the choice, arrangement, and connection of words. I. The Prose Vocabulary. — When it is said above that prose discourse is straightforward in the sense of not departing from the common usage of words, it is not meant that any part of the vocabulary is closed to it ; though, of course, some words have a more poetic tinge than others, and some have withdrawn almost entirely to the poetic realm, leaving more homely equivalents to represent them in prose. It is doubtful, however, if some legitimate prose situation may not exist for even the rarest poetic coinages ; the principle of inclusion and exclusign being not so much in the actual word chosen as in the mood or standard of choice. The mood that governs prose composition may on occasion turn almost every resource to its service, so that the mood itself be not invaded. Words chosen for Utility. — The ruling standard of choice, made imperative by the dominating prose mood, is utility. This, because it is the characteristic of prose, as distinguished from verse, to use expression not for expression 's sake, not for the beauty or music or charm of the words in themselves, but always with some ulterior end in view, — ■ to instruct, or con- vince, or impress, or persuade. As an objective point, exists 1 " To summarize the Art of Writing Prose in a code of rules would be something like trying to do the same for the Art of behaving in the intercourse of the world. This is a matter in which it is easier to indicate principles, than to lay down rules." — Eaele, English Prose, p. 151. no DICTION. always a practical truth or fact ; it is the object of prose to get the reader effectively to that point, without distracting his mind with the scenery that he traverses on the way. As long as this standard of utility dominates, any expres- sion that promotes the end is open to prose ; it is free on occasion to employ plainness of language or elaborateness, simplicity or elegance, terseness or fulness, according as any of these qualities may commend themselves as most practi- cally useful for its purpose. Under this standard, in fact, the rarest and most exotic words become simple working-tools, — means to an end ; we do not think of the words themselves, but of the fine shading or accurate definition that they give to the thought. The staple of a diction governed by such practical mood will, of course, be the words of ordinary life and the recognized usage of the day. Any departure from this into a more abstruse or dignified region carries with it its sober justification.^ The hardest words to reconcile with this utilitarian vocabulary are the archaic and abbreviated forms of poetry ; if in any prose they are found, it is such prose as seeks confessedly to pro- duce poetic effects. This exception aside, inasmuch as the pedestrian movement of prose has no occasion for quaintness,, and the rhythm of prose does not require abbreviation, when such terms are employed they have merely the effect of affec- tation and finery.^ Note. — The illustration of this point may best be quoted from Pro- fessor Earle : " As a general rule sober words should be chosen in prefer- ence to those which are elevated or romantic. The young writer should not write brethren for brothers, should not call a horse a charger, or a palfrey, or a steed; should not write ■welkin for sky, or mhilome for once, or ere for before, or vale for valley, or thrall for slave, or thraldom for slavery." ^ 1 As is seen, for instance, under paragraph ii, p. 68, above. 2 See Fine Writing, p. 71, above. 8 Earle, English Prose, p. 153. PROSE DICTION— STANDARD AND OCCASIONAL. Ill In the same way, if picturesque language, word-painting or epithet is employed in prose, it must have its justification in utility. Picturesqueness may be part of the information con- veyed, or it may be needful in order to give an assertion due distinction. Epithet ' is, of all these poetic devices, most easily overdone in prose ; it is apt, unless watched, to clog and cloy the expression ; the only way to keep it within the bounds of good taste is to keep the practical claims of utility always in sight. Note. — To illustrate how picturesqueness may be an integral part of the information conveyed, one or two examples, taken from Abbott and Seeley's English Lessons for English People, may here be given. It would hardly be fitting to use the expression " Emerald Isle " in ordi- nary prose, as for instance, " Parliament, during this session, was mainly occupied with the Emerald Isle " ; but the expression serves a useful pur- pose, by reason of its descriptive character, in such a sentence as, " Accus- tomed to the arid and barren deserts of Arabia, the eye of the returning soldier rested with pleasure upon the rich, bright vegetation of the Emerald Isle." Again, the essential epithet in "IHe drew his bright sword " is evi- dently only a bit of useless finery ; but in the sentence, " Laughing at the peasant's extemporized weapon, the soldier drew his own bright sword," the epithet is a help in sharpening the antithesis and making the information more vivid. Figures for Clearness and Condensation. — Figures are as natu- ral to prose as to poetry ; but when they are used the reader is aware merely of their illustrative or illuminative value ; he is not thinking of the figure but of the thought which it sup- ports and interprets.^ So it is utility still, as in the choice of words, which is the governing standard in prose diction. The standard of utility has to be varied according to the kind of information or instruction conveyed. If the thought in hand is something that the reader must be made to under- stand, it gives occasion only for the plain and literal class of words ; if it is something that he must be made to imagine, 1 The subject of Epithet will come up again under Poetic Diction ; see below, p. 147, 2 See difference between prose and poetic imagery, p. 146, below. 112 " DICTION. occasion immediately arises for the picturing power of words, and for the elucidative value of analogy and simile.^ Hence descriptive language is always heightened ; its work requires imagery and vividness. As soon as any idea becomes com- plex, it seeks to make itself realizable by the same means ; its figures are a kind of description. Example of Figure used to illustrate. — The following analogy is used not for ornament at all, but to illustrate the tendency respectively of conservatism, radicalism, and Christianity : " The bird is in prison in the egg ; conservatism would leave the egg unbroken, leave everything as it is and has been : it will get an addled egg. Radicalism would impatiently break the shell to let the imprisoned captive free ; it will get a dead bird. Christianity broods the egg and the bird breaks its own shell." ^ The more incisive figures, and the figures that connote emo- tion, are for prose a kind of shorthand ' ; by their vivid and thought-awaking quality they enable the writer to convey his thought as it were by flashes, to say much more and more effectively in a given space. The picturing quality remains, it is true, but so as to give the reader just so much more than he bargained for ; he set out to gain a thought and he gains with it an inspiration and delight. As prose becomes impassioned or imaginative, thus rising in aim and tissue toward poetry, all these effects are corre- spondingly heightened, until, in fact, prose diction and poetic diction are subtly blended together ; but still the logic * of the two remains distinguishable, and mainly on this standard of utUity. As long as all the subtle colorings and implications of the diction focus in this, prose has almost unlimited realm 1 " There are two kinds of things — those which you need only to understand, and those which you need also to imagine. That a man bought nine hundredweight of hops is an intelligible idea — you do not want the hops delineated or the man described ; that he went into society suggests an inquiry — you want to kno* what the society was like, and how far he was fitted to be there." — Bagehot, Literary Studies, Vol. 11, p. 241. 2 Abbott, Christianity and Social Problems, p. 136. 3 See above, p. 76, footnote. < Coleridge's word, used by Matthew Arnold. PROSE DICTION— STANDARD AND OCCASIONAL. 113 in vocabulary, and can on occasion carry a good weight of poetry without burden.' Note. — How prose may take elements of poetic diction, and on what occasion, will come up for more detailed discussion in the next chapter; see under Poetic Diction and its Interactions with Prose, pp. 163-170, below. II. Prose Arrangement of Words. — This same principle of utility, or practical effect, pushed forward into the arrangement of words, identifies itself with the truth, already stated, that prose as straightforward discourse does not depart from the natural order of words. Liberties of arrangement, of course, are open to it, as great perhaps as to poetry ; but they are taken only for a reason which makes the new order, however unusual, for the time being the natural order. The Rationale : Directness and Emphasis. — The practical object that dominates the order of a sentence is to steer its thought directly and without dislocation to its goal, and at the^saine time to put each word and clause in the position where they will emphasize themselves in the degree commen- surate with their intrinsic importance. If in any sentence this reason for a particular arrangement is not fairly traceable, the effect is either crude or artificial ; either the writer does not know better, or he is indulging some fantastic whim. Note. — ^In the following sentence the inverted order of the verbs (the auxiliary before the subject) is not called for by any specially impassioned character of the thought ; and the effect is simply crudeness : " Indeed, in nearly all of George Eliot's novels can we trace in some character a like- ness to their creator ; in Gwendolen even has the writer infused, perhaps unconsciously, something of her own personality." — The slang exclamation " Right you are I " current a few years ago, owed its vogue to its fantastic change of order ; there is no other reason for it. 1 " Prose on certain occasions can bear a great deal of poetry ; on the other hand, poetry sinks and swoons under a moderate weight of prose." — I.andor. 114 , DICTION. In poetry the exigencies of metre often necessitate arbitrary changes in the order of words. Objects are put before verbs and even before prepositions, verbs march freely before their subjects, and many other inversions equally violent pass unchal- lenged, the reader mentally translating the order of expression to the order of thought. . But in the finest poetic artistry even this amount of license is a suspect ; and the problem is either to keep it down to its lowest limits or to justify it by emphasis as well as by metre. The poems whose phrasing seems most monumental and inevitable move most nearly in the natural order. In prose such license does not weigh at all ; it is sim- ply turning the thought without reason out of its direct line. Inversions are, indeed, frequent in prose ; it is perfectly natu- ral to transpose words and clauses into almost any desired position ; but the change is made for one or both of two ends : to throw an element into a desired stress or emphasis ; or to group related ideas together, thus securing greater continuity in the movement of the thought to its goal. Note. — In the well-known hymn of Cowper's, " God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform," the second line has to be inverted for no other reason than the demands of accent and metre ; such Inversion would not be admissible in prose. To show, however, that such inversion is a necessity, by no means a requisite, of poetry, we might quote Wordsworth's " She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there was none to praise And very few to love " ; in the three stanzas of which there is not a single violation of what would be quite admissible prose order. For the Rationale of Inversion, see below, p. 276. How Euphony ranks in Prose. — Euphony or smoothness of word and structure, dependent as it is on sound, is more PROSE DICTION— STANDARD AND OCCASIONAL. 115 generally associated with poetry than with prose ; the latter, on its standard of utility, relying for all its processes on the requirements of the idea. The question of agreeable sound, then, cannot well come to the front until the claims of direct- ness and force, with all their practical problems of unambiguous- ness and stress, are satisfied. Just here a caution is needed, especially on the part of young writers. Passages that in the ardor of creation they compose with great though perhaps uneven vigor are apt to seem intolerably rough when they look them over in a more critical mood ; and so in revising they are liable to smooth all the life out of them. Here is a case where smoothness gets the whip hand ; and the probleiri^ of rhet orical art is to retain the life and vigor, which are essen- tial to the proper interpretative mood, and at the same time remove so much of the roughness as imports crude lack of skill. There is a phase of euphony, however, which plays a large part in prose. It is that conformity of sound to some descrip- tive picture, or more inwardly to some sphere of ideas, which is shown in the key of words.' More striking still in poetry, this plays a part in prose all the more artistic because it has to be hidden and to a degree unsuspected. As soon as such subtle manipulation of phrase sets up for itself, the immediate effect is disenchantment ; the passage seems to have become effeminate. Let the idea dominate : its intrinsic vigor, its trenchancy, its rudeness, even its imaginative beauty ; and the resulting smoothness or ruggedness of the passage justifies itself. This is giving euphony its proper ancillary place. III. Prose Connection of Words. — As the quality of impressive- ness or force, whether of passion or imagination, dominates in 1 See above, p. 104 sq. 116 DICTION. poetry, so tii£__dg min ant and indispensable quality of_prosei_ whatever, else is secured or sacrificed, is clearness ; and to this end its texture must be a continuity, wherein all the relations of part to part are plainly recognized and marked. It is in the maintenance of this clear continuity of texture that the connection of words assumes an importance in prose, and a fine delicacy, beyond what it has in poetry. Joints and Bridges in the Structure. — What poetry would often be free to omit, or leave the reader to supply, prose must be more scrupulous to express, namely the subordinate parts, the particles and phrases of relation which define the turning- points of the thought and which make the transitions from one stage or phase of the thought to another. There are thus at every step both a distinction and a continuity to be looked out for : the successive assertions both to be set apart from each other in parallel or subordinate or contrasted relation, and at the same time joined with each other as parts of one tissue and movement. If at any point these relations are not obvious, or not natural, the effect is that of a jolt or disloca- tion, and not infrequently some part may appear in false light or prominence. Note. — To illustrate how much and what kind of material that may be absent from poetry must be present in prose, let us endeavor to express the thought of the following stanza from Browning, a stanza characterized by great condensation, in such prose as by the ordinary standard will be adequate to give the idea its requisite fulness : — " ' Why from the world,' Ferishtah smiled, ' should thanks Go to this work of mine ? If worthy praise, Praised let it be and welcome : as verse ranks, So rate my verse : if good therein outweighs Aught faulty judged, judge justly I Justice says : Be just to fact, or blaming or approving : But — generous f No, nor loving I '" 1 In changing this to prose, we must occasionally substitute a prose word or idiom, or a prose order, for the poetic. The added matter is put in 1 Browning, Ferishtah 's Fancies, xii. PROSE DICTION— STANDARD AND OCCASIONAL. 117 brackets. " Why," [said] Ferishtah [with a] smile, " should thanks be rendered by the world for this work of mine ? If [it is] worthy [of] praise, let it be praised, and [the praise will be] welcome. [Let men simply] rate my verse as verse ranks. If [what is] good in it outweighs [what is ad-] judged [to be] faulty, [let them at all costs] judge justly. Justice demands [merely] that they honestly acknowledge [whatever is] fact, whether [in] blame or [in] approval ; but [that they should be] gener- ous? No; [it does not demand that], — nor [that they should be] lov- ing [either]." Here it will be seen that the words to be supplied are almost exclusively particles, — that is, words and phrases of subordinate rank whose business it is to supply the joints and shadings and bridgings of the thought. The Symbolic Element. — Apart from this distinction between prose diction and poetic diction, it is important here to take note of the two classes of words that make up the vocabulary of every language, — called by Professor Earle presentive and SYMBOLIC words.^ The presenjtive are ' those which by themselves present a definite concejftion to the mind ; such are nounSj_verbs, and in lower degree adjectives and adverbs. On these we depend for the body and substance of the thought. The symbolic words are those whichi by themselves contribute nothing to the thought, except as symbols of some presentive idea or of some relation between ideas ; such are pronouns, articles, prepositions, conjunctions. On these we ^d^end for well-nigh all that makes the thought over from a loose accretion of words to an organism. It is evident, then, that the masterly management of the symbolic element is of unspeakable importance in the literary art. In the skilful use of this element lies the secret of fine- ness and flexibility of language. Symbolic words, in their endlessly varied offices of modifying, repeating, connecting, coloring the thought, are what make provision " for the lighter touches of expression, the vague tints, the vanishing points." Hence it is mostly by these that we estimate the efficiency of 1 Earle, Philology of the English Tongue, pp. 218 sqq. ; English Prose, p. 60. 1 18 DICTION. a language as an instrument of thought. The ancient Greek language, for instance, universally accounted the most flexible of tongues in its adaptability to all intricacies of the idea, holds that position chiefly by virtue of its fine and copious symbolic element, its particles of relation and color. The English language, from its lack of inflections, must be correspondingly more scrupulous in its words of relation. The syntax becomes more complex in proportion as the etymology is more simple ; and thus the art of building words together, so that order, relation, and modification shall be adequately provided for and managed, is that which, in Eng- lish, makes perhaps the most strenuous demands on the writer's skill. This is especially true of prose writing, wherein clearness is the paramount consideration : not only the words chosen, but whatever belongs to the consecution^ and mutual dependencies of the thought, goes to give complexity and interest to the problem.^ II. PROSE DICTION AS DETERMINED BY OCCASION. Different occasions of composition engender different moods and forms of expression ; this is especially notable between spoken discourse and written. While a general body of stand- ard diction underlies both, the consciousness of the object in view and the particular occasion of utterance give natural rise to certain ways peculiar to each. I. The Diction of Spoken Discourse. — The occasion of speaking, exemplified most typically in oratory, as also the occasion of 1 " It is in the relation of sentences, in what Horace terms their 'junctura,' that the true life of composition resides. The mode of their nexus, — the way in which one sentence is made to arise out of another, and to prepare the opening for a third, — this is the great loom in which the textile process of the moving intellect reveals itself and prospers." — De Quincey, Essay on Language. FROSE DICTION— STANDARD AND OCCASIONAL. 119 writing discourse for public delivery, gives traits of its own to the choice of words and to the general character and coloring of sentences, which need here to be noted. The Nucleus of Literary Prose The standard with which all_£rose writing begins is naturally and propetlyjcoiive^_; tioiij the spoken word^ Fundamentally literature is but the means devised for putting speech into permanent form, so that persons beyond the range of the voice and the limits of the moment may profit by it. Whatever refinement literature reaches, therefore, there still inheres in it as it were the vibra- tion of a voice, dictating, as a sound universal rule, to write as if speaking. T hat is, aim at the directness, the simplicity of structure, the buoyant life, that belong ideally to conversa- tion. If too great departure is made from this standard, the style becomes either over stiff or over dainty. There is a limpidness and at the same time a homely sturdiness in word and phrase, which cannot so well be imparted as by ^yriting with the presence of an audience in mind, and with constant thought of its capacities, its interests, its needs. This it is that keeps expression near enough the earth for practical comradeship.^ In the evolution of literary prose from conversation, the first step, common to spoken and written diction, is taken by becoming literary ; it has reached a stage of dignity and refinement beyond the merely colloquial. In so doing it has discarded what is merely of the day : the slang, the cant phrase, the vulgar smartness of the street ; and whatever rises from lack of disciplined thought : the halting inaccuracy and poverty of vocabulary, the bald crudity of phrase, and the disjointed chaotic sentences of heedless speech. Its words are weighed, sifted, selected; its assertions conscientiously 1 " Prose is the literary evolution of conversation, as Poetry is the literary evolu- tion of singing." — Earle, English Prose, p. 171. 2 See adjustment of style to the reader, p. 21, above. 120 DICTION. faithful in emphasis and coloring to a truth; its progress moulded to an organic plan and current. This is true, or ought to be true, of the "most extemporaneous as well as of the most premeditated discourse ; it inheres with the primal literary quality. The truth to be noted here is, that this is a virtue of writ- ing imported into speech. The diction of sppken discourse, in its evolution to the literary, profits thus by written diction. Here is a point where many public speakers have failed, or reached only a mediocre success : they have neglected the preliminary discipline. To gain control over public speech, to learn to express himself well on his feet, the speaker must both be constantly watchful over his everyday conversation and exercise himself much in writing. Only so can he make his tongue obey his will. What the Occasion accentuates. — The occasion — direct appeal to an audience, with its variety of minds and of apprehending capacity — makes some characteristics of spoken diction imper- ative whose claim written diction does not feel, and at the same time grants some liberties denied to written discourse. TJie following, indicated in a general way, are the most salient of these. r. The speaker must make his meaning intelligible at once, must arrest the attention and arouse the interest of his audience from the outset of his discourse, and not let that attention slip. He has only the single opportunity to make his impression, and everything must contribute to utilizing that. To this end, the thought must be massed in short and direct sentences or sentence members, with plain grammatical struc- ture ; the points of emphasis must be strongly marked ; and often some pointed manner of expression, such as antithesis, epigram, strongly balanced clauses and phrases, or trope, may be employed to bring the thought out in bold relief. PROSE DICTION— STANDARD AND OCCASIONAL. 121 In general, spoken diction calls for the more overt and clearly marked ways of expression. Note. — This applies in a notable degree to the particles and phrases of relation, which, indeed, supply the place of an audible punctuation mark. Where, for instance, a w'ritten passage would employ the colon, spoken dis- course must often use " namely " ; and such expressions as " moreover," "in the next place," and the careful enumeration of points made or to be made are much more numerous and much more necessary in spoken than in written discourse. 2. The matter of spoken discourse is generally such thought as needs not only to be made clear to the mind but enforced in motive and conduct ; and in any case the speaker has to contend to a greater or less degree with inert or wandering attention. In consideration of these facts the element of repetition plays a much more prominent part in spoken than in written dic- tion. All the important thoughts have to reappear not once but many times, according to their importance ; they must be reiterated, held up in different lights, subjected to various illustrations and elucidations, until they have impressed them- selves on the mind of every hearer. Note. — Of coarse the problem is to repeat without seeming to repeat, to keep hammering at the same thought in such a way as to pound it in, yet not make it a monotonous iteration like the ding-dong of a bell. This important matter of Repetition is touched upon in various places; see especially under Shade of Meaning, p. 47 above, under Organic Processes, p. 302 below, and under Amplification, p. 465 below. 3. In conversation, from which public spoken discourse springs, there is a spontaneity, an extempore current, which public speech cannot safely forego. It will not do to let the sense of literary exertion iron it down into flat propriety and regularity, like a book; for then it is no longer speaking, but a recitation. Accordingly, spoken discourse is naturally more irregular, 122 DICTION. in structure and flow, than written. Declarative sentences are interspersed more freely with exclamation and interroga- tion ; trains of thought are sometimes suggested and left to the hearer to finish ; ellipsis of words or constructions is indulged in when the hearer can be trusted to supply the lack. All this, it need not be said, does not happen ; it belongs to speaking as an art. Note. — The overt figures of emotion, which, as mentioned on p. 102, there is a tendency nowadays to tone down, belong more naturally to spoken than to written diction ; they answer to the more emotional and vivid nature of conversation, and they serve to bring out into relief effects which the allusive figures are too delicate to make impressive before an audience. It is a phase of the greater overtness and pointedness mentioned under paragraph i, above. 4. The vigor and vividness of conversation show themselves especially in the degree oi meaning in words ; there is a natural tendency to use expression stronger or more sweeping than literal sobriety will bear.' Public spoken discourse, too, obeys the same tendency ; not in choosing words aside from the meaning, — which is inexcus- able anywhere, — but in pitching its expression in a more intense key, using words charged with a more absolute or extreme significance than can be brought strictly to book. This excess of vividness easily corrects itself in the occasion and object ; so that when the natural shrinkage is allowed for, the overstatement is not an over effect. Note. — A notable example of this oratorical absoluteness or exaggera- tion occurs in the Gospels, where Christ says : " He that cometh after me and hateth not his father and his mother," etc., " he cannot be my disciple." Every one understands that this does hot enjoin hatred : it simply sets in strong light the supreme claim of discipleship and allegiance to Christ, as compared with any other. Discourse written for Public Delivery Although the ideal of spoken discourse is that its expression be extemporaneous, a 1 See above, p. 50. PJiOSE DICTION— STANDARD AND OCCASIONAL. 123 large proportion of such discourse is, and will continue to be, written and then read or recited in public. With some literary tasks, as for instance public lectures, this is indeed almost a necessity ; and doubtless the temperament and habits of thought of a great many public speakers are such that they can represent themselves better by discourse read from manu- script than by purely extemporaneous utterance. 1. The difference between unpremeditated utterance and manuscript discourse is a difference not of arbitrary election merely but largely demanded by subject-matter. Where the endeavor is merely to set forth a plain proposition, with amplification of particulars, figures, anecdote, all the resources of expression needed can ordinarily be trusted to the inspira- tion of the moment. Where, on the other hand, the logical structure is close, the discriminations and colorings fine, the issues weighty, it is an advantage to commit the expression carefully to writing. Something therefore depends, for the settlement of this question, on the kind of thinking that the orator elects to do. The extempore kind is of course entirely worthy ; but many, committing themselves to it out of reluc- tance to undergo the labor of pen work, simply commit them- selves thereby to thin and sloppy habits of thought. 2. The motive for writing a public address beforehand is simply conscientious fidelity to a deeply felt truth, and the overmastering desire to put it in such words as the speaker can stand by. Many are the indignant denials on the part of public speakers who, carried away by the ardor of debate or interest, overstate their case or say what they do not mean. The manuscript speech furnishes a means of keeping within bounds.^ 3. The thing most necessary to be remembered, and yet 1 " Do not think that I am speaking under excited feeling, or in any exaggerated terms. I have written the words I use, that I may know what I say, and that you, if you choose, may see what I have said." — Ruskin, Tvio Paths, p. 50. 124 DICTION. oftenest disregarded, in such writing, is that its texture is pre- cisely that of spoken discourse. The quiet mood of the writer in his study must give way to the impassioned mood of the orator in the presence of his audience. Sentences must be simple and pointed ; the distance between pauses should be sh6rt ; the articulations of the thought should be vigorously marked ; and the hearer should not be made to carry a burden of thought in mind, waiting for its result or application. The same need exists for repetition and amplitude as in purely spoken discourse. The irregularities of style, and the exagger- ation due to intensity, while still perceptible and spontaneous, are naturally somewhat toned down, both on account of the subject-matter which this discourse- generally works in, and by the transmission through the process of writing. Illustrations of Spoken Diction. — Two passages are here adduced to show the general texture of spoken diction and how it answers its occasion. I. The first, from one of Cardinal Newman's sermons, in its simplicity of structure, brevity of sentence members, and skilful repetition and ampli- fication of thought, well illustrates the tissue of style suitable alike to extempore discourse and to discourse written for public delivery : — " There are two worlds, ' the visible and the invisible,' as the Creed speaks, — the world we see, and the world we do not see ; and the world which we do not see as really exists as the world we do see. It really exists, though we see it not. The world that we see we know to exist, because we see it. We have but to lift up our eyes and look around us, and we have proof of it : our eyes tell us. We see the sun, moon and stars, earth and sky, hills and valleys, woods and plains, seas and rivers. And again, we see men, and the works of men. We see cities, and stately buildings, and their inhabitants ; men running to and fro, and busying themselves to provide for themselves and their families, or to accomplish great designs, or for the very business' sake. All that meets our eyes forms one world. It is an immense world ; it reaches to the stars. Thousands on thousands of years might we speed up the sky, and though we were swifter than the light itself, we should not reach them all. They are at distances from us greater than any that is assignable. So high, so wide, so deep is the world ; and yet it also comes near and close to us. It is everywhere ; and it seems to leave no room for any other world. PROSE DICTION— STANDARD AND OCCASIONAL. 125 " And yet in spite of tliis universal world which we see, there is another world, quite as far-spreading, quite as close to us, and more wonderful ; another world all around us, though we see it not, and more wonderful than the world we see, for this reason if for no other, that we do not see it. All around us are numberless objects, coming and going, watching, working or waiting, which we see not : this is that other world, which the eyes reach not unto, but faith only." ^ ■z. The second, from Charles James Fox, illustrates the impetuous, irreg- ular, intensified structure of extemporaneous speech : — " We must keep Bonaparte for some time longer at war, as a state of probation. Gracious God, sir ! is war a state of probation ? Is peace a rash system .' Is it dangerous for nations to live in amity with each other? Are your vigilance, your policy, your common powers of observation, to be extinguished by putting an end to the horrors of war ? Cannot this state of probation be as well undergone without adding to the catalogue of human sufferings.' 'But we must pause!' What! must the bowels of Great Britain be torn out — her best blood be spilled — her treasure wasted — that you may make an experiment ? Put yourselves, oh ! that you would put yourselves in the field of battle, and learn to judge of the sort of horrors that you excite I In former wars a man might, at least, have some feeling, some interest, that served to balance in his mind the impressions which a scene of carnage and of death must inflict. If a man had been present at the battle of Blenheim, for instance, and had inquired the motive of the battle, there was not a soldier engaged who could not have satisfied his curiosity, and even, perhaps, allayed his feelings. They were fighting, they knew, to repress the uncontrolled ambition of the Grand Monarch. But if a man were present now at a field of slaughter, and were to inquire for what they were fighting — ' Fighting ! ' would be the answer ; ' they are not fighting; they are /a«««^.' ' Why is that man expiring ? Why is that other writhing with agony ? What means this implacable fury ? ' The answer must be, 'You are quite wrong, sir, you deceive yourself — they are not fighting — do not disturb them — -they are merely pausing ! This man is not expiring with agony — that man is not dead — he is only pausing! Lord help you, sir! they are not angry with one another; they have now no cause of quarrel; but their country thinks that there should be a. pause. All that you see, sir, is nothing like fighting — there is no harm, nor cruelty, nor bloodshed in it whatever : it is nothing more than a. political pause ! It is merely to try an experiment — to see whether Bonaparte will not behave himself better than heretofore; and in the meantime we have agreed to a pause, in pure friendship I ' And is this the way, sir, that you 1 Newman, Parochial and Plain Sermons, Vol. iv, p. 200. 126 DICTION. are to show yourselves the advocates of order ? You take up a. system calculated to uncivilize the world — to destroy order — to trample on religion — to stifle in the heart, not merely the generosity of noble senti- ment, but the affections of social nature ; and in the prosecution of this system, you spread terror and devastation all around you." ^ It will be noted that the logical structure of this second example, which is very simple, consists mostly in ringing changes on the idea of pausing, and in supplying such descriptive amplification as suggests itself to an excited mind : a structure, therefore, well adapted to the purely extempore. II. The Diction of Written Discourse.- — As has been intimated above, writing is merely the permanent form given to what is fundamentally the spoken word. Its^ determining motive therefore is permanence. What is spoken is for the occasion ; what is written is for /all occasions. Further, modern times add another standard : what is "written, that is, as seriously meant literature, is for print. The marks and methods of printt apply also to the manuscript ; there is no more reason for the writer to neglect the conventional signs of print, or to devise methods of his own, than there is for him to translate oral discourse from speaking into singing. The motive of per- manence, with observance of the standards that represent permanent rather than temporary expression, is to govern him. This engenders for writing a dominating mood of accuracy, — the desire to get the expression just right, beyond the need of revision or correction. Along with this mood goes undeniably a certain sense of formalism and dignity, different in degree according to the undertaking, from a descriptive sketch to a state document ; a mood to be watched and corrected by constant recollection of the primal standard, speech, and over- come in favor of a greater approach to the colloquial accord- ing as the sense of formalism tends to pass into the stiff and 1 Charles James Fox, Speech on Rejection of Bonaparte's Overtures, Select British Eloquence, p. 549. It is this edition that must be responsible for the punctuation. PROSE DICTION— STANDARD AND OCCASIONAL. 127 pedantic. In the management of this quality is scope for the writer's skill and naturalness. Distinctions from Spoken Discourse. — Three general charac- teristics may here be given, in which the differences between written and spoken discourse are marked enough to- affect the tissue of the diction : — 1. The prevailing mood of accuracy and form shows itself in the somewhat scrupulous tone of statements. The words chosen must express neither more nor less than the thought ; and often statements are guarded and qualified in order to be kept safe within the bounds of truth ; for the writer needs to say only what he can stand by, having no opportunity of oral explanation or correction. Note. — This disposition to supply saving clauses and guarding modi- fiers may of course become excessive. ' It is softened and di^uised in the lighter forms of prose, as narrative and description ; but even in its disguised form an actual conscientiousness for the exact word and color exists and is traceable. 2. Writing, except when it imitates conversation, discards the contractions of unguarded speech, such as, don V, can 't, it V for it is, he 's for he is, he '// for he will, and the like ; not that these lack in correctness or even in dignity, but they connote a mood too informal for written literature. It also supplies particles where conversation is freer to omit them, and dis- cards many of the elliptical, inexact phrases used in speech. Note. — In discourse written for public delivery, as, for instance, one of Professor Huxley's lectures, the conversational contractions are often retained in the printed edition, serving to limber up the somewhat abstruse subject-matter of science, and keep the style within hailing distance of conversation. 3. Writing is less varied in construction, and at the same - time more complex, than speech. Less varied, because it must keep, for the most part, to one tone of discourse ; it has not the impassioned occasion of speech ; hence interrogation, 128 DICTION. exclamation, and other means of variety and vividness, instead of belonging to the genius of the style, are reserved for an occasional touch. More complex, because suspensive structure, long sentences and sentence-members, and involved modifica- tions of the thought can be more safely employed, since the written or printed page is there, to be studied at leisure. Note. — The following sentence, in its complex structure and the length between joints, is an extreme of what is admissible in writing, and far beyond what is natural to a spoken utterance : — " On her first arrival in Leicester, in a milieu, that is to say, where at the time ' Gavroche,' as M. Renan calls him — the street philosopher who is no less certain and no more rational than the street preacher — reigned supreme, where her Secularist father and his associates, hot-headed and early representatives of a, phase of thought which has since then found much abler, though hardly less virulent, expression in such a paper, say, as the ' National Reformer,' were for ever rending and trampling on all the current religious images and ideas, Dora shrank into herself more and more." i Mechanical Aids to Written Diction. — One reason why spoken diction may be left less finished is that the speaker conveys his meaning not only by words but by gesture, expression of countenance, modulation of voice. All these written dis- course must forego ; but all these, so far as they are neces- sary to the thought, must be in some way represented. This demand gives rise to certain signs and marks of relation which, as they do not affect the articulation of the sentence,^ but merely modify the • stress and current of the style, need here to be mentioned. — ±. For increasing the stress of a word or clause the accepted 1 Mrs. WaiId, David Grieve, p. 165. 2 Printers' marks are of various orders. Some, as capitals, apostrophe, and elision mark, diaeresis, hyphen, and quotation-marks, belong to grammar ; they are no more a part of rhetoric than is spelling. Others, used for modifying the stress or coloring of a passage, belong to written diction, and are discussed here. Still others, the distinctive marks of punctuation, belong to the composition or articulation of the sentence, and will be found discussed in the chapter on The Sentence, pp. 325-334, below. PROSE DICTION— STANDARD AND OCCASIONAL. 129 means is the use of italics, represented in manuscript by underlining. The custom of italicizing for emphasis is on the decrease, partly for the same reason that applies to excla- mation,^ namely, the prevalent tendency to subdue the signs of emotion, and partly because the skilful placing of words is more relied on to make important elements stress themselves. The effectiveness of an italicized passage depends largely on its infrequency ; the device is to be employed only for the exceptional occasions when the utmost advantage of position fails to give the word stress enough.^ A means of increasing distinction, more used by English writers than by American, is the occasional employment of a capital to begin a word not a proper name nor personified, solely to mark it as a car- dinal word in the passage. In this usage personal idiosyn- crasy plays some part ; Carlyle, for instance, employed this device incessantly. Examples. — i. Of Italic. In the following sentence the first use of italics is for stress, the second to mark non-English words, as noted above, p. 59 : " His various and exotic knowledge, complete although unready sympathies, and fine, full, discriminative flow of language, fit him out to be the best of talkers ; so perhaps he is with some, not quite with me — proxime accessit, I should say." ^ , 2. For diminishing or otherwise shading the stress of a word or clause, several marks are used. — The marks of parenthesis () are used to inclose a subordinate phrase used for elucidation. This phrase occupies a plane of its own, and 1 See above, pp. 96, 102. 2 It will be recalled how Thackeray uses italicizing as a sign of vulgarity or lack of culture, in the letters that he makes some of his characters write ; see, for instance, Henry Esmond, p. 317. Hawthorne, it is said, detested the employment of italics for stress ; a feeling that we can well understand from the perfect poise and sanity of his sentences, — they do not need it. 3 Stevenson, Memories and Portraits, p. 277. In this whole volume, though Stevenson employs itaUcs more freely than is usually done for foreign words, titles of books, and quoted conversation, I can find no more than three or four clear cases of italicizing for stress. 130 DICTION. is read aloud with an attenuated tone of voice. As paren- thesis is an interruption, the rule is to make it as short and light as possible ; it is poor form to make a parenthesis out- weigh the main assertion, or draw away attention from it. — Parenthesis is less used than formerly, its place being largely taken by the double dash, that is, a dash at each end of a clause or phrase, inclosing it much as do marks of paren- thesis. The inclosed matter is in fact a minor parenthesis, that is, used for a lighter touch and less of an interruption to the course of the sentence than the old-fashioned paren- thesis, — a sign, perhaps, of the more buoyant and delicately balanced diction that marks present artistry in prose. — As the double dash, like the parenthesis, marks the lowering of the plane and then the return to the former level, the single dash marks a similar sinking without return. It is used to set off sometimes a restatement with variation of form, some- times a sly comment by way of surprise. The use of the dash may easily become a disagreeable mannerism, producing a kind of jaunty, skittish effect. Examples. — i. Parenthesis. "It is remarkable that this Evangelist (said to be anti-Jewish) has alone recorded our Lord's attendance at these feasts, and has used them as landmarks to divide the history." ^ 2. Double Dash. " I have seen some Olivias — and those very sensible actresses too — who in these interlocutions have seemed to set their wits at the jester, and to vie conceits with him in downright emulation." ^ 3. The Single Dash. For varied restatement : " Philosophy may throTi doubt upon such yearning, science may call it a dream ; but there is ir humanity what is above and beyond science — r the language of the heart, whose voice speaks in tones which echo through eternity." ' — For surprise " All this is excellent — upon paper. Unfortunately, we have always had a very efficient army upon paper," etc.* 1 Salmon, Introduction, New Testament, p. 318. 2 Lamb, Essays of Elia, On some of the old Actors. 8 Davidson, The Doctrine of Last Things, p. 130. * The London Times, March 12, 1889. In writing this paragraph, and in adopt ing the quotations, use has been made of Earle, English Prose, pp. 103-109. PROSE DICTION— STANDARD AND OCCASIONAL. 131 - 3. For securing differences in distinction and movement, the ordinary marks of punctuation are intensified or attenu- ated, commas raised to semicolons and vice versa, thus retard- ing or accelerating the current according to the sense to be conveyed. In a sentence of subordinate or parenthetical significance, punctuation is dispensed with or reduced to its lightest possible, in order that the thought may be rapidly traversed ; in a sentence of much importance every phrase may be set off by commas, or what would naturally require a comma may take a semicolon, in order that each detail may secure its due attention. It is thus that a strong individuality may be given to punctuation, so that it ceases to be merely mechanical and becomes an instrument of interpretation and shading. Examples. — Compare the follovring two sentences from Huxjey. In the first he wishes to make every detail prominent : " Anything which pro- fesses to call itself education must be tried by this standard, and if it fails to stand the test, I will not call it education, whatever may be the force of authority, or of numbers, upon the other side." In the second he attenu- ates the punctuation of the parenthesis, striking out the comma that would naturally come in the middle: "The object of what we commonly call education- — that education in which man intervenes and which I shall dis- tinguish as artificial education — is to make good these defects in Nature's methods ; to prepare the child to receive Nature's education, neither inca- pably nor ignorantly, nor with wilful disobedience ; and to understand the preliminary symptoms of her displeasure, without waiting for the box on the ear." ^ In the part after the double dash the punctuation is very full : commas supplied at each small pause, and semicolons setting off phrases that some would mark with commas. This intensifying of the comma into the semicolon is very noteworthy in the following: " Some earlier and fainter recollections the child had of a different country; and a town with tall white houses ; and a ship." 2 It is evidently the writer's intentioh to make his reader stop and consider every detail. 1 Huxley, Lay Sermons, Addresses and Rerviews, pp. 32, 34. 2 Thackeray, Henry Esmond, p. 19. 132 DICTION. III. Manufactured Diction. — There remain to be noted some such special types as antique diction, foreigner's English, and dialect. All these are grouped under the head of manufac- tured diction because the composing of them has necessarily to be a tour deforce, a made product, like speaking in a for- eign language. The thinking is done in the writer's own tongue, and then translated into a medium more or less alien according to the less or greater thoroughness of his ante- cedent training. The Preliminary Discipline It is important, therefore, to insist at the outset upon thorough preparation for this kind of writing ; it must be the work of an expert, eliminating entirely the flavor of the manufactured article, and sounding like the spontaneous utterance of one to the manner born. A foreign language is mastered in its delicacy only in the country where it is native ; otherwhere it cannot get beyond the "scole of Stratford-atte-Bowe."^ Just so it is with these exotic kinds of diction. To an extent their words and turns of expression may be picked up, as it were, from the flotsam lying around loose ; but the real flavor comes only from long conversance, until thinking in that medium is the primary process. Used mostly for lighter purposes, for playfulness or humor, such diction exacts a discipline and special scholar- ship eminently serious and strenuous. Note. — One of the most celebrated instances of success in an alien diction is found in Thackeray's Henry Esmond, which not only recounts a story, but reproduces the manner of speech of Queen Anne's time; and the enormous pains taken in preparation for the writing of it, in reading the literature of that period for years, until the writer's mind was saturated with its colorings and ways of thinking, is a matter of record. The Usage portrayed. — What makes all this preliminary train- ing imperative is of course the demand of utter faithfulness 1 Chaucer's expression ; see Canterbury Tales, Prologue, 1. 125. PROSE DICTION— STANDARD AND OCCASIONAL. 133 to the usages of the diction adopted. No amount of literary deftness can dispense with this, any more than a story or essay can dispense with correct grammar ; it is fundamental. A word of remark may here be given about each kind of diction named above. 1. The antique comes from the study of some past usage or period of literary expression, like that of Malory's Morte Darthur, for instance, or the Bible. To be kept free from lapses of consistency requires not only the literary spirit which can move at home in past habits of thought and phrase but the sound philological knowledge- which can sepa- rate the strata of usage peculiar to the different ages and follow the analogies of form, derivation, and the like, charac- teristic of each period. Working in the antique is cheapened and vulgarized by the throwing about of catchwords like whilom, quoth, in sooth, yclept.; such relics of the "by my hali- dome " period of writing are nowadays beneath the dignity even of humor ; and this because the real proficiency is felt to be more a matter of flavor and texture than of single hard- used words. Imitation of biblical diction, inasmuch as the Bible is always with us a sacred possession, is hazardous, not to say a foregone failure, because if applied to thought less serious than that of Scripture it is necessarily a parody of what is most venerated, while if applied to solemn thought it runs the risk of being either artificial — which defeats its end — ;9r goody-goody. Note. — The peril of an assumed diction of a past period arises from the fact that a very small slip will betray the manufacture and destroy the illusion, it will be remembered how Lowell pointed out to Thackeray the modem provincialism " different to " in Henry Esmond ; and how Ignatius Donnelly's Baconian cipher was discredited by the occurrence therein of the modern split infinitive. 2. The composition of foreigner's English — that is, of the lame articulation and uncouth idiom adopted by persons. 134 DICTION. especially uneducated persons, to whom a foreign language is native — may, in the language of fire insurance, be marked "extra-hazardous." The conversance required is that of one •who is able to think at first hand in the foreign tongue, and who from this ability as a centre can look out through the peculiarities and limitations of articulation, the idioms, the general spirit of the language portrayed. There is not only a changed set of words in question, but a different approach to thought ; an American joke translated into German or German English would not be at all like German humor. The hardest yet the most indispensable thing in the representation of for- eigner's English is suffusing the whole tissue of the diction with the foreigner's natural mood. If this cannot be done, the foreign English is merely an empty shell of expression. 3. The same remarks apply to the writing of dialect, and a like conversance is required ; for this reason it is that novelists laying their scenes in a certain district take the pains of a long sojourn and acquaintance to work up what is called "local color," and still better it is when, as in the case of George W. Cable .and Ian Maclaren, a lifetime has been spent in contact with the people and the dialect portrayed. The mastery of a dialect comes from a systematic and sym- pathetic study of provincialisms, colloquial peculiarities, and traits of articulation ; in this way a language is worked up which can be traced in its entirety to no one person, perhaps, but which in general represents the usage of a whole region. The Literary Shaping. — To say that the writer, in compos- ing the foregoing kinds of diction, must be faithful to the usage portrayed is to give only half his task. All these have to undergo a process of tohing-down and modification ; on the crude usage adopted there is superinduced a literary shap- ing, by which they are freed from what is unintelligible or estranging and adapted to present readers. This in .two ways. In the first place the diction in question is carefully PROSE DICTION— STANDARD AND OCCASIONAL. 135 moulded to self-consistency ; it obeys its analogies and con- gruities, its laws of formation and taste, like a vernacular. Secondly, it is not carried to extreme. If a manufactured usage were absolutely true to the actual, reproducing all the pecul- iarities accessible, it would be neither pleasing nor artistic nor intelligible : the writer would simply be wallowing in dia- lect, as if that were his end. The value of these usages is merely as a flavor, "^ a means of coloring thought and giving some characteristic human quality. Accordingly, the literary shaping or workmanship leaves the usage just enough accen- tuated to suggest the desired flavor, while it leaves the senti- ment of the thought unimpeded. There is a delicacy about it, a refinement, which counteracts the native vulgarity or uncouthness : it is like displaying jewels in the rough, or like nature's noblemen expressing the sentiments of the court in the tongue of the multitude. Any such manufactured dic- tion, after all, is merely a means, not an end ; the moment it is employed /or its own sake, or in greater degree than is necessary for its end, it becomes unreal and tawdry. III. MAINTENANCE OF THE TONE OF DISCOURSE. This is an important matter, a general summing-up of artistic prose diction, which calls for the alert and cultivated literary sense. I. To merit the name of diction, to presume on the suf- frage of a reader, the style must not content itself to be abso- lutely raw and pedestrian, however correct ; it must possess a dignity and distinction which will evince at least the writer's desire to please. The literary endeavor in itself produces a certain elevation of tone, a table-land of expression below which the conscientious writer will be careful not to fall.^ 1 See Bates, Talks on Writing English, pp. 245-250. 2 " But, whatever becomes of details, the general requisite is that there must be something of elevation. There is a certain distinction of manner which cannot be 136 DICTION. This noblesse oblige operates to prune away negligences, to make each phrase full and rounded, to induce a play of imagination and apt choice and urbanity which will make the reader aware at every moment that the writer values his good will. Thus in every well-meant discourse the key of words, as compared with colloquialism or dead reportage, will be high, will be mindfully self-consistent, will be watchful not to flat the note.^ Examples of Untuned Prose. — As an illustration of lack of tone and distinction, with a criticism upon it, the following is quoted by Pro- fessor Earle from the Saturday Review: — "Notwithstanding the praise heaped upon them by Mr. Laing, these Sagas cannot be called a model of historical writing. Although occasion- ally picturesque and incisive, the style is, on the whole, bald in the extreme. Here is a specimen, taken absolutely at random, which sets out the history of a certain Halfdan : ' Halfdan was the name of King Eystein's son who succeeded him. He was called Halfdan the Mild, but the Bad Entertainer — that is to say, he was reported to be generous, and to give his men as much gold as other men gave of silver, but he starved them in their diet. He was a good warrior, who had been long in Viking cruises, and had collected great property. He was married to Hlif, a daughte^- of King Vestmara. Holtar, in Vestfold, was his chief house, and he die4 there on a bed of sickness, and was buried at Borro under a mound.' This kind of writing, although it has the merit of simplicity, when followed over an expanse of fourteen hundred pages, ends by confusing the mind." 2. In addition to this elevation incumbent upon all, every literary work strikes a certain keynote, elevated or colloquial or humorous or graceful ; and while it is often an elegance defined, and yet is felt. It is a blending of modesty and dignity. It is the difference between presentable and unpresentable. Literary diction must not wear an appear- ance of slackness or negligence, it must not be in undress ; — it must not ignore the presence of the public before whom it appears. Without incorrectness or the break- ing of any rule, a sentence may betray a want of something, we can hardly say what, which makes it unsatisfactory, we can hardly say why. This is the defect which is vaguely characterized as 'bald.'" — Earle, English Prose, p. 173. 1 The key of words, as related to connotation and emotional congruity, has already been discussed; see above, p. 104. FHOSE DICTION— STANDARD AND OCCASIONAL. 137 and advantage to rise on occasion into a higher strain, it is unfortunate to fall unadvisedly below the level adopted. This is most noticeable when prosaic words and turns of expression creep into poetry. While prose, especially on im- passioned or exalted occasions, may easily rise into the poetic,^ as soon as poetry sinks, by as much as a single phrase, to the level of prose, the disenchanting effect is felt at once. Example. — In the following stanza of poetry, none of which indeed is keyed very high, the prosaic tone and movement of the bracketed lines, as compared with the rest, are plainly felt : — " So, from the sunshine and the green of love, We enter on our story's darker part ; [And, though the horror of it well may move An impulse of repugnance in the heart, Yet let us think,] that, as there 's naught above The all-embracing atmosphere of Art, So also there is naught that falls below Her generous reach, though grimed with guilt and woe." ^ The fact that the vocabulary is in strata, lower and higher, and. that the congruous level must be maintained, is apparent when a slang or colloquial expression creeps inadvertently into a severe discourse, or when a very commonplace thing is said in a solemn way or vice versa ; it makes the literary sense at once aware of the claims of tone, of taste, of keeping. Example. — In the following passage the objection to the italicized words is not that they are incorrect, but that they flat the note : " The task was indeed mighty, but Luther was a giant among men. Nor was his fatherland entirely out of sorts. The Ufe-lessons of Wycklifte and Huss had not been lost." ' A few years ago a very amusing little biography, written in English by a native Hindostanee, was published in Calcutta ; and the most ludicrous faults in its style were owing to the fact that the writer, having obtained all his words from a dictionary, had no sense of the difference of tone and spirit in different expressions. Words, idioms, proverbial expressions ^ See above, p. 113, footnote, and the chapter on Poetic Diction »low. 2 Lowell, A Legend of Brittany. 8 From a student essay. 4i< 138 DICTION. belonging to the most curiously discordant strata of thought were junibled together. The following sentences will illustrate this : " His first business, on making an income, was to extricate his family from the difficulties in which it had been lately enwrapped, and to restore happiness and sunshine to those sweet and well-beloved faces on which he had not seen the soft and fascinating beams of a simper for many a grim-visaged year.'' "It was all along the case, Eind it is so up to this time with the Lieutenant Governors, to give seats to non-professional men (who are or were as if cocks of the roost, or in other words, Natives of high social status) in the Council." " He then came in his chamber to take his wonted tiffin, and felt a slight headache, which gradually aggravated and became so uncon- trollable that he felt like a toad under a harrow." ^ It is dne of the privileges of humor or of satire to lower the key intentionally, in some word or passage, thus by the connotation furnished by a different association infusing a passing shade of emotion — ridicule or contempt — into the idea conveyed. This is one of the refinements of litera- ture, pleasing y^ according to the good taste with which it is employed. Example. — In the following sentence the writer's contempt is conveyed simply by choosing words out of a more rudimentary and sordid sphere of ideas than that in which the account would naturally move : " George III., who took a deep personal interest in the war, which, consciously or uncon- sciously, he felt to be the test of his schemes and the trial of his power, set his agents running over Europe to buy soldiers from anybody who had men to sell."^ This matter has already been discussed to some extent under the Key of Words; see above, p. 104. 1 Life of Onookool Chunder Mookerjee. 2 Henry Cabot Lodge, in Scribner's Magazine, April, 1898, p. 387. V ♦ . \ v^ CHAPTER VI. POETIC DICTION AND ITS INTERACTIONS WITH PROSE. In our discussion of prose diction we have had in mind merely a form of expression. Its antithesis, then, as confined correspondingly to form of expression, is not poetry, but verse. Poetry is more than an antithesis to prose ; it includes not only form but material, mood, and thought. To this compre- hensive term poetry it is hard to get an exact antithesis ; the nearest, perhaps, is matter-of-fact, that is, practical knowledge or instruction, as distinguished from thought idealized by fancy and subjective feeling. Between prose and poetry, then, there is a tract of common ground, left over after vetse has taken up as much of the anti- thesis as it can. On this tract there is tendency to incursion from both sides : prose occupying it in greater or less degree as its occasion becomes more like that of poetry ; poetry occu- pying it in the peculiarities of word and phrase by which both it and prose are vitalized. The result is, that while in the two kinds of discourse the bulk of usage remains identical, any access of poetic feeling in either shows itself in those ways of expression which we name distinctively poetic diction.^ 1 " Prose is distinct from Poetry as the offspring is distinct from the mother. Their nature is one, but their functions apart. Both Poetry and Prose are children of ' Music' Both retain the virtue of their origin, and share in the family patri- mony. By the detachment of Prose, Poetry has gained increased elevation through limitation to her highest and truest province. Poetry has retained, not a// the Music, but only its mightiest department, the Music of the heart. The mind also has its Music, and that branch has fallen to the lot of Prose. So the nuisic of Prose is that which chimes with Reason, the music of Poetry that which haAionizes with hope and fear, with love and aversion, with aspiration and awe. Y^ Poetry and 139 140 DICTION. Poetic diction is in part dictated by, or rather blends artis- tically with, the exactions of poetic metre, which latter subject will be discussed in the next chapter. Its principle, however, is more fundamental than this : it goes down to the mood, the feeling, that underlies expression, and that makes diction and metre alike its medium of utterance. What Poetic Diction is. ^ — ^The motive of poetic diction is reducible to a single principle : spiritual exaltation. As poetry is the language of emotion and imagination, its verbal pecul- iarities answer to the spontaneous endeavor to make utterance more effective, in impressiveness or picturesqueness. In a word, poetic diction is heightened language, — the result in words of the inspiration that controls the poet's mind. Or to express it according to the more scientific conception required by a text-book of rhetoric, it is language so em- ployed and ordered as to connote fervid feeling and imagina- tive beauty.^ This elevated diction interacts with the diction of prose ; that is to say, when prose has an emotional or imaginative occasion it takes on very much the same peculiarities of expression, but with a difference, due to its different pre- dominance of motive. In prose the motive is practicaLand didactic, with spiritual exaltation as the helper.'' In poetrjL- the motive is fervid and ideal, with matter-of-fact as _the hglpetu. Naturally, then, in poetry itself the poetic diction is freer and bolder, has more the abandon of existing for its own sake ; while in any kind of prose, however poetic, the diction Prose are not estranged, they are still akin, and neither is quite shut out from the heritage of the other. Poetry abhors unreason, and Prose clierishes right feeling." — Earle, English Prose, p. 330. 1 A poet's sense of the office of poetic diction is indicated in this couplet from Tennyson's poem, The Wreck : — " The word of the Poet by whom the deeps of the world are stiir'd, he music that robes it in language beneath and beyond the word." 2 See thirillustrated above, p. iii. POETIC DICTION— INTERACTIONS WITH PROSE. 141 must always be subdued enough to allow the practical motive to show through. I. POETIC TRAITS IN POETRY AND IN PROSE. In recounting these traits, we follow the stages of divergence from the language of common life, beginning with the charac- teristics least removed from didactic prose. I. Tendency to Brevity or Concentration In poetry and prose alike, poetry only slightly predominating, the first impulse of heightened feeling is to hasten to the point of the idea, with as little impediment as possible. In order to this, the central attack is made upon the symbolic words,^ with the object of making these as light, as rapid, as little lengthy,^ as they will bear, so that more distinction may be left for the words of capital significance. Thus in the end this first impulse has to do with movement ; the vigor of its feeling infuses vigor into the sequence of words. 1. Omission of Symbolics When articles, relatives, and conjunctions can be spared they are freely omitted. Such words, from their subordinate office, are necessarily unem- phatic, and if used with scrupulous fulness tend to drag the movement. 1 For the symbolic element of the language, see above, p. 117. — This means of condensation is defined and illustrated below, p. 295. 2 Here a distinction must be made. Lengthine;s in expression is not synonymous with length ; nor does poetry shun long words or long constructions in themselves. Take, for instance, this line from Shakespeare, "The multitudinous seas incanjadine," and you feel no lack of poetic thrust in the long rolling words ; they help both metre and picture. Take, on the other hand, the word " indubitably," and you feel that its very movement is prosaic ; it would be hard to fit into a really poetic passage. The relation it denotes is not important enough to require so many syllables for expres- sion ; it uses up vocal force for nothing. 142 DICTION. Examples.! — i. Omission of article : " When/^daywas gone " ; "Some :njury done to/^sickle,Aflail, or/\SCythe " ; " Not fearing toil nor/^length of weary days.'' — 2. Omission of relative : " Even if I could speak of. thingsy\ ;hou canst not know of"; "Exceeding was the love/^he bare to him." — 3. Omission of conjunction: " But/\Soon as Luke could stand." The omission of the relative is less frequent in Wordsworth than in some others ; nor does he make any omitted or condensed construction /iolent. Compare with him some passages from Browning, with whom :he omission of the relative is so constant as to be a mannerism : — " You have the sunrise now,AJoins truth to truth, Shoots life and substance into death and void," vhere the subject-relative is omitted ; " Whence need to bravely disbelieve^report Through increased faith iny^thing/^reports belie," vhere the omission of articles and object-relative gives a decided impression )f forced concentration. 2. Abbreviation and Condensation. — This shows itself most itrikingly, perhaps, in the termination -/y of the adverb, which s so frequent in poetry as to be almost the rule. But in nany other words also, poetry chooses shorter forms both jy discarding terminations and by squeezing out interior syl- ables. Such abbreviation, being so generally necessitated by netrical exigencies, sounds affected and trifling in prose. Examples. — i. From Michael: "The hills which he so oft had ilimbed " ; " When Michael, telling o 'er his years " ; " Ere yet the boy had )ut on boy's attire "; " Though naught was left undone "; " ''Twere better o be dumb than to talk thus." 2. From the general poetic vocabulary : scarce for scarcely ; list for isten; marge for margin; vale for valley; mount iox mountain; e'er and le'er for ever and never ; aye for ever in the sense of always ; save for ixcept. The relation of such words to prose is defined above, p. 1 10. 1 In order more clearly to ascertain the natural stages of poetic diction I have tudied Wordsworth's poem Michael, a poem standing in style and subject at only moderate remove from prose ; and it is by citations from this work that the first wo main traits above given are exemplified. POETIC DICTION— INTERACTIONS WITH PROSE. 143 3. The Possessive. — This form, which in prose is mostly confined to actual possession and to some few idiomatic expressions {e.g. the law's delay ; for brevity's sake ; a year's leave of absence), is more freely employed in poetry for the condensation it effects. It should be noted here, however, that there is at present a newspaper tendency to enlarge the use of the possessive (as e.g. "London's hospitality"; free- dom's opportunity) ; — a tendency to be watched, as it is not yet good literary usage, except for an obvious emergency. Examples. — From Michael : " by the streamlet's edge " ; " with mor- row's dawn " ; " his Heart and his Heart's joy." All these would sound somewhat affected in ordinary prose. 4. Compounding of "Words. — Both in poetry and in prose, poetry taking the lead, there is a tendency to use the resources of the language in the interests of concentration by making compounds for an occasion. Carlyle was one of the greatest innovators of the century in this liberty of prose usage ; a freedom of his which brought against him the charge of Ger- manizing, though as matter of fact he was merely reviving an old usage of the language.' Such coinage of compounds answers in audacity to the intensity of the thought, being more marked as the passion or picturesqueness is greater. Examples. — • i. From Michael, which, it will be remembered, is pitched in a rather low key :" Surviving comrade of uncounted hours"; " Did overdraw large space beneath " ; " Brings hope with it, axiA forward- looking thoughts " ; " Turned to their cleanly supper-board " ; " With Luke that evening thitherward he walked." All these sound nearly as natural to prose as to poetry ; especially compounds in un-, as unwisdom, unfaith, unbosom, unman. See above, p. 67. 2. From poems of intenser sentiment. Shakespeare : " the always- wind-obeying deep.'' Tennyson : " love-loyal to the least wish of the king" ; "the peak haze-hidden." Swinburne: "Ye starry-headed heights"; "In 1 See Earle, English Prose, p. 205. 144 DICTION. \he far-floated standard of the spring." Browning : " the cloud-cup's brim "; " yet human at the red-ripe of the heart." From Carlyle's prose, passim : " Quivering agitation of death-terror " ; "grim fire-eyed Defiance"; "London and its smoke-tumult" ; "a heavy- laden, high-aspiring, and surely much-suffering man " ; " vacant air-castles and dim-melting ghosts and shadovirs " ; " the fever-fire of ambition is too painfully extinguished (but not cured) in the frost-bath of Poverty " ; "if not Religion, and a devout Christian heart, yet Orthodoxy, and a cleanly Shovel-hatted look." II. Partiality to Unworn Words and Forms. — A second tendency, decidedly more potent in poetry than in prose, is to seek words that are unencumbered with everyday and common- place associations, so that they may be more free to take the pure and undivided connotations required by the present work. Poetry is thus always searching for unworn material of expression ; it shuns conventional and stock phrases. This manifests itself in three main ways. I . Archaisms An archaism (from the Greek a.pym,o- Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones,0 Seal m eSe ?^:p: -V- Break, break, break. On thy cold gi-ay stones,0 Sea 1 4. As a further general illustration of this subject, let us try to set the first stanza of Tennyson's Bugle Song to musical rhythm : — 1 ^ ^ .^ J. 4 ^ 4 ^ 4 J . The splen - dor falls on cas tie walls, ^ ^ ^ .^ ^ / ^ ,^ ^ S 1 And snow - y sum - mits old in sto - ry : 4 / ^ J. ^ ^ N 1 4 4 4- 1 The long light shakes fcL cross the lakes. 3 * Id ca a ^ J .^ 3 leaps in glo - ry. 1 And the wi Lt a - ract ^2 1 ^ ^ ^4 4 4 J / ^ 4 J .^ / J 1 4 Blow, bu - gle, blow, set the wild ech - oes fly ing, J .^ / ^ ^ IN ^ 4 4 4 J /^ J .N J J Blow, bu- gle. an-s wer ech - oes. dy ing >■ d; 1 - ing, dy- ing. 1 This measure of triplets might be set in I time. 2 This, it will be observed, is the true quantitative dactylic measure. 196 DICTION. 5. The following is offered as an attempt to represent the various feel in their appropriate musical equivalents : — i J J J J J J J J J u Iambic : I The voice I of ' days I of old I and days I "to ' be. I Trochaic : Hopes and J 4 fears, be - J J hef and J J dis - be : J J liev - ing. Spondaic : i .^ j^ Anapestic : 1 It will 1 ^ N ei 4 » come, I sus- pect, at the 1 end 1 of J life. 1 a Dactylic 1; J J, J Af ter it, 7 J J fol ^ low it. Fol -low the ■J Gleam. Amphibrach : ^ 4 Re - J J J mem ^ ber, 1 re J J J mem ber 1 These notes represent, as nearly as possible, the typical measure ; but of course in every poem the notes are subject to prolongation or abbreviation, according to the pauses and the sense. It will be seen from these last examples that the predominating lyric movement in English is some form of triple time. This is true, and owing, as the early poetry would seem to show, to a native genius of the language. 1 Compare the footnote on the previous page. RHYTHM IN POETRY AND IN PROSE. 197 II. Pliancy of the Recitative Measures. — In the dissyllabic measures, and more especially in blank verse, there is an ever-present danger of monotony to be guarded against. The very faithfulness to the metrical type engenders it : if the scheme is not broken and varied continually the result is hard and wooden. It is this fact which makes blank verse, apparently so easy to compose, in reality the hardest and highest achievement in poetry. Five iambic feet succeeding each other line after line indefinitely form a rigid type of poetic construction, dictat- ing apparently an eternal sameness of tune ; and yet if we examine the master-work of our language in this kind of verse — the work of Milton, Wordsworth, and Tgnnyson — we find that no two lines are alike, that in pause and accent the verse, while still faithful to the pattern, is infinitely pliant and varied, a thing of free life and movement. The causes of this we are to consider. One, which we seek in the phrase, will come up for discussion in the next section ; what we are to specify here has already been in part suggested, the skilful variation of the foot. Rationale and Limits The artistic ideal of any variation or modulation is, that it should not seem to be necessitated by poverty of resource, as if it were a means of getting out of a difficulty; rather it should justify itself, passing from a license to a positive grace, by its evident flexibility to the sense ; should add a condensive point or a descriptive sugges- tion, a distinction as it were born of and compelled by the inner sentiment. Herein lies that poetic masterliness which even in apparent disregard of law conceals the highest artistry. Note. — The examples already quoted on pp. i6o and i6i have intro- duced us to the onomatopoetic wording and coloring imparted to poetic diction ; and these effects, as is there seen, are in part produced by the variation or temporary suspension of rhythni. 198 DICTION. In all liberty of variation the chosen metrical scheme is a kind of tether, which, though it may be stretched, should never fail to keep the underlying type within hailing distance. Another measure than the one in hand may be transiently sug- gested ; but if this is carried so far as to obscure the original key, or make the controlling scheme uncertain, there must be a palpable artistic reason for it or it becomes a crudity and a blemish.^ Note. — In the line from Milton quoted on p. i6i above, — " Burnt after them to the bottomless pit," — there is a palpable artistic reason for the entire suspension of rhythm ; but one thing remains intact, the ten syllables, the material so to speak for a pentameter iambic line ; and the iambic setting all around keeps us within the metrical tether. This, while perhaps an extreme instance, is very instructive. Interchange and Blending of Measures. — This pliancy of the recitative measures reduces itself to a free interchange of metrical units, suggesting momentarily a change of tune, but not carried on far enough to make or even seriously to pro- pose a change of key. That is, the interchange is to be so managed and so recovered from that the metrical scheme shall remain intact. I. As applied to the single foot, the most frequent exercise of this pliancy, so frequent indeed as hardly to be felt as an irregularity, is the introduction of an occasional trochee into iambic measure, lightening the touch ; or, when the measure is trochaic, the similar introduction of an occasional iambus for weight. To both measures, too, a very convenient relief, with its offsetting effect of largeness, slowness, or dignity, is the occasional introduction of the spondee, which thus serves the purpose of a general helping measure. Examples. — i. Instances of the introduction of trochaic feet into blank verse are 50 numerous that examples may be taken absolutely at 1 See below, p. 208, 3. RHYTHM IN POETRY AND IN PROSE. 199 random. The opening line of Milton's Paradise Lost, Book ii, begins ■with a trochee, which has the effect, by the two short syllables thus thrown together, of hurrying the voice on to the important word throne : — " High Sn I a thrSne | Sf roylSl state, | which far Outshone the wealth of Ormus or of Ind." The second line, here quoted, is regular ; so is the third f but in the fourth and fifth lines we come upon trochees again, the first foot of the fourth making up a long syllable by blending two short ones : — " Showers Sn | her kings | bSrbar|ic pearl | and gold, | SatSn I gxalt|ed sat." ■^. The following, from Browning's One Word More, illustrates the introduction of an iambus into trochaic verse : — " DantS, I wh6 loved | well be|cause he | hated, | Hatgd I wicked|ness that | hinders | loving." 3. The peculiarly large and epic effect of the opening of Tennyson's Morte d' Arthur, due partly, as has been said, to its open vowels (see above, p. 157), is also due in part to the spondees of the beginning: — " So all I day long | the ntiise | Sf battle roll'd | AmSng I the moiintlSins by | the wln|ter sea." | 2. But this interchange of measures seldom confines its effect to a single foot. It immediately produces, with the next foot, a secondary rhythm which blends with the primary or type rhythm, suggesting the flash of a new scheme. Thus a trochee followed by an iambus (— ^ I v.^ — ), by its grouping of two short syllables together, produces an interweave which we read either dactylic (—ww) or anapestic (ww_), according to the pause. An iambus followed by a trochee ( w _ I w), by its grouping of two long syllables together, produces an interweave of spondaic ( ). Examples. — In the following examples the secondary measure, or interweave, is marked from above, the primary measure from below, thus : — I High ' on I a thrSneT I Fast by I the ' SriaciJi Sf- God 1 200 DICTION. Here the important word throne attracts the two shorts, forming with them an anapest ; and the long syllable Fast, attracting the next two syllables, forms with them a dactyl. In this second example the word oracle forms a second dactylic interweave — a rare example.^ Sometimes the trochaic substitute confines its effect to a single foot, as in the line quoted under i, above : — SatSn I exalt iSd sat but it will be noted that an amphibrach interweave succeeds, — I Satan|exalt|Sd sat, i This will be further explained by the phrasal undertone ; see below, p. 204. In the example from Browning the iambus offsetting the trochee goes on to the next foot to form a spondaic interweave : — r Dante, | wh5 loved | well. 3. Another way of producing a blending of rhythms, not sufficiently noticed in prosody, is by shortening the long syl- lable of a foot, leaving the iambus, for instance, represented only by two short syllables. To explain this, which is by no means infrequent, we must count the influence of a contiguous pause, which takes "into itself some of the value of a succeed- ing foot or syllable. Examples. — It will be observed that in the quotation from Tennyson's Morte d' Arthur, p. 199, one syllable of the second line is left unmarked. The reason is that while the scheme calls for a long the syllable is really short, leaving the measure only two shorts and a pause (rhetorical) in length. The effect is to produce with the next measure an anapestic blend : — by|thg win'ttgr sea, t This word by is shortened by the appreciable pause after mountains. In the following well-known lines from Wordsworth, notice the marking we are compelled to adopt : — " Whfise dwellling "1 Is | thS light | Sf setlting suns, | *lAnd thS I round SIce'an "1 Snd | thS liv|ing air, | »|And thS I blue sky, | ind in | thS mind | 8f man." | 1 The seemingly defective iambic foot, " SclS," is perhaps explainable by the natural pause after it ; see paragraph 3. RHYTHM IN POETRY AND IN PROSE. 201 Here there is much shortening of syllables which by the scheme should be long; but in each case of shortening there is a pause (here marked by »i) to compensate. This deliberate slighting of syllabic values, by hurrying over to succeeding feet, produces the following mterweaves : — 15 1 thg light I (Anapest.) I And thSitound 0|Cean, (Anapest and trochee, here exceptional on account of the spondee of the second foot.) Snd thS I liVjing air r (Anapest.) I And the 1 blue sky I (Anapest and spondee ; a double blend.) 4. Not SO frequent, and correspondingly more striking, is the introduction of two short syllables as equivalent for one long syllable. This, by its effect of crowding short sounds together and blending with the next foot, gives a rapid, rug- ged movement to the verse. Examples. — The line from Tennyson's Gareth and Lynette, — " Then would he whistle rapid as any lark " — has been cited on p. i6r as illustrating the quick effect of pronouncing two syllables in the time of one (w rapid | as a|ny lark). The following, in which the crowded shorts are offset by a spondee, is from the same poem : — " ' H5w he ] went down,' I said Ga|r6th, ' 5s a | false knight | Or e|vil king | bgfore | my lance.' " In the following, from the song of Arthur's knights (The Coming of Arthur) the variations of metre are carried so far as almost to obscure the underlying scheme : — " The king | will folllBw Christ, | and we | the king | In whom | high God | hath breathed | S selcret thing. | Fall bStiSlaRe, and | flash brand I | "I Let the | king reign." | In this third line there is not a single iambus ; the comparative regularity of the previous lines is depended on to preserve the metrical scheme intact. 202 DICTION. III. Undertone of Phrasal Rhythm. — At the beginning of the chapter it was said that metre is not the only rhythmical motive in poetry. It is in fact merely one of two, — a conven- tional pattern whereby the diction is set to tune ; but this pattern is constantly opposed by and blended with an uncon- ventional rhythm which by its undertone of new syllabic combinations enlivens and endlessly varies the metrical color- ing. This latter rhythm we call phrasal, or the rhythm of the phrase. Let it be noted here, then, as a preparation for the next section, that in poetry we have to deal with a double rhythm, in which the metrical, the distinctively poetic element, is superimposed upon a rhythmical undertone already existing in the comely structure of the phrase. In prose, as the metri- cal element is dropped, we have to deal merely with a single rhythm, the phrasal undertone surviving as the determining element. The rhythm of the phrase cannot be reduced by any writer or teacher to laws which another must follow. It must be left to the finely attuned and cultivated ear, to the writer's own sense of pleasing melody.^ All we can do here is to trace its interactions with metre ; postponing the question of its principles and components to the section on prose rhythm. The Caesura. — Phrasal rhythm makes its first and most palpable assertion, especially in blank verse, through the caesura, which is a pause, real though not always marked by 1 " Each phrase of each sentence, like an air or a recitative in music, should be so artfully compounded out of long and short, out of accented and unaccented, as to gratify the sensual ear. And of this the ear is the sole judge. It is impossible to lay down laws. Even in our accentual and rhythmic language no analysis can find the secret of the beauty- of a verse; how much less, then, of those phrases, such as prose is built of, which obey no law but to be lawless and yet to please." — Steven- son, On Some Technical Elemctiti of Style in Literature, Works, Vol. xxii, p. 252. RHYTHM IN POETRY AND IN PROSE. 203 punctuation, somewhere in the interior of a verse. This pause, though nearly all verses have it, is not designed to divide the verse into sections, nor indeed with reference to the verse at all ; it merely marks the bounds of the larger grammatical phrase or clause, as independent of the metrical. The section that it bounds, then, may either have begun with the verse or may have run over from the previous verse, just as the sense may happen to dictate ; and so the verse itself may or may not be paused at the end. In other words, the caesu- ral pause is the constant assertion that while the metrical clause (that is, the verse) is bound, the grammatical phrase or clause is free to move boldly in and out of the metrical, making its own ways and limits. Illustration. — In the following passage, from Tennyson's Lucretius, the place of the csesura is marked by the sign (||), and opposite the lines are placed figures indicating the number of feet from the beginning at which it comes. Along with these things, in order better to reckon the bounds of the grammatical phrase, the reader should note whether the end of the verse has a pause or runs on. " Storm, and what dreams, || ye holy Gods, what dreams I (2) For thrice I waken'd after dreams. || Perchance (4) We do but recollect || the dreams-that come (3) ■ Just ere the waking : || terrible! for it seem'd (254) A void was made in Nature ; || all her bonds (3 J4) Crack'd; || and I saw the flaring atom-streams (14) And torrents 1| of her myriad universe, {\%) Ruining along the illimitable inane, ( — ) Fly on to clash together again, || and make (4) Another and another frame of things ( — ) For ever : || that was mine, my dream, I knew it." (i J4) In the two lines marked (— ), we may regard the caesural pause as coming at the end, that is, as coinciding with the metrical. In the case of the run-on lines, it may be seen how the phrases move independently; e.g. Perchance we do but recollect For it seem'd a void was made in Nature. All her bonds crack'd. These are virtually lines within lines, not to be scanned apart from the existing metrical scheme, but read by the sense.' 204 DICTION. The utility of the caesura is obvious. It is first of all the great means of averting the ever-menacing monotony of verse and from a dead level of formal metre making it into an ever- shifting, ever-varied thing. This it does by the fact that its place is seldom twice the same. Nor is it merely the length of the phrase, of the line within the line, that is affected. Often the metre too, from being a tyranny of iambics, melts into the evasive suggestion of a new tune, particularly when the pause occurs in the middle of a foot ; and thus a shade of new coloring is added to the verse. Examples of This Latter. — When the caesura occurs after the first syllable of a foot (iambic) it leaves the long syllable to begin the next phrase, and thus naturally suggests a trochaic sequence. An instance of this is seen in I " F6r ev gr : ' that i wSs ' mine, i my ' dream, 1 1 knew , It," where the effect is increased by completing the trochee at the end. Some- times, however, this trochaic sequence is averted by shortening the long syllable (cf. p. 200, 3), and suggesting an anapest; e.g. " 3nd I saw | the flaring atom-streams," "Bf fier myrliad universe." Only a shade of effect, but appreciable, in the complex modulation of the rhythm. The Phrasal Segmentation The csesural system may be regarded as the phrasal undertone relating itself to the verse, making it varied and flexible. Beyond this, however, and relat- ing itself similarly to the foot, there is a further segmentation of phrase, detected in the pauses made by a good reader, whereby the verse already made up of five feet by the con- ventional metre, is really read in three or four syllabic groups, each pronounced virtually as a single word and making up a new rhythmical pattern. Thus arises the singular fact that while a verse is scanned according to a rigid system of feet, oftener than not it is read and ought to be read with regard not to these feet at all but to the underlying natural grouping RHYTHM IN POETRY AND IN PROSE. 205 of phrasal rhythm. This is the marvel of the double pattern according to which poetry is composed.^ This phrasal segmentation, by far the most potent and constant means of modulating poetic rhythm, is as it were the mediator between the formalism of poetic utterance and the unstudied naturalness of speech. At every point, by its undertone of homelier melody, it suggests the presence of the real controlling the imagined, of the practical domesticating the ideal ; so that poetry, which by its very metrical exactions must be an achievement of artistry, approves itself as an utterance of life. In reading the phrasal rhythm under the metrical our con- ception of the involvements of prosody is enlarged by several discoveries. First, we find that we must recognize a much larger range of grouping, longs and shorts, than are laid down, or can be laid down, in a classification of poetic feet. To the phrasal foot, if such it can be called, are open all possible combina- 1 " We have been accustomed to describe the heroic line as five iambic feet, and to be filled with pain and confusion whenever, as by the conscientious schoolboy, we have heard our own description put in practice. ' All night I the drfeadlless ^njgel tinjpursiied,' goes the schoolboy; but though we close our ears, we cling to our definition, in spite of its proved and naked insufficiency. Mr. Jenkin was not so easily pleased, and readily discovered that the heroic line consists of four groups, or, if you prefer the phrase, contains four pauses : ' All night I the dreadless | angel ] unpursued.' four groups, each practically uttered as one word : the first, in this case, an iamb ; the second, an amphibrachys; the third, a trochee ; and the fourth, an amphimacer ; and yet our schoolboy, with no other liberty but that of inflicting pain, had trium- phantly scanned it as five iambs. Perceive, now, this fresh richness of intricacy in the web ; this fourth orange, hitherto unremarked, but still kept flying with the others. What had seemed to be one thing it now appears is two ; and, like some puzzle in arithmetic, the verse is made at the same time to read in fives and to read in fours." — Stevenson, On Some Technical Elements of Style in Literaturej'W ork^, Vol. xxii, p. 253. 206 DICTION. tions, from one to five syllables, that contain not (ordinarily) more than two longs. Secondly,' we discover that a good proportion of the articu- late sounds which for metrical purposes must be read long or short, are really common or neutral in quantity, and may at the same time be long in prosody and short in the phrasal undertone. This fact greatly enlarges the capacity of the language for rhythmical shadings and variation. Thirdly, we get a new light upon the pliancy of the recita- tive measures. When feet are interchanged, or take redun- dant or slurred syllables, it is for the sake of a comelier or more descriptive phrase, a measure nearer the rhythm of the sense. Thus the seeming irregularity is not such at all, but the obedience of a finely tuned' ear to the demands of a more fundamental melody. Illustrations of Phrasal Rhythm. — The phrasal segmentation may be regarded theoretically as the subdivision of the csesural (cf. p. 203, above) ; hence the typical grouping of phrases is into fours. A group of three makes <>. more rapid line ; the exceptional grouping into two, more rapid and descriptive still ; the occasional single syllable having the oppo- site effect of abruptness and weighty pause. We can now understand the line already quoted from Milton : — " Burnt after them to the bottomless pit." The phrasal segmentation into two, coincident mth the caesural, and with the caesura itself the lightest possible, gives an exceedingly rapid move- ment, which is further enhanced by the congestion of short syllables: — - Burnt after them \j \j To the bottomless pit \j \j "wTT^ The treatment of monosyllabic lines, which are apt to become monoto- nous, is instructive. Sometimes only the phrasal segmentation, and not variation of quantity, operates to temper the monotony ; e.g. " The voice of days of old and days to be." The voice \j of days of old \j \j and days to be \j \j RHYTHM IM POETRY AND IN PROSE. 207 Oftener, however, some prolongation or shortening of syllables modifies the line by infusing its lighter or weightier influence into the phrase ; e.g. " And sang all day old songs of love and death." And sang \j . all day old songs of love and death w w or as in this line from Browning : — " This low-pulsed, forthright, craftsman's hand of mine." This low-pulsed forthright, craftsman's hand \j of mine \j In the following the number of shorts, especially toward the end, produces a palpable effect : — " But all the play, the insight, and the stretch — Out of me, out of me ! " But all the play, \j \j the insight, \j \j and the stretch — \j \j Out of me, \j \j out of me ! \j \j It is the phrasal rhythm that brings out the value of the polysyllable in poetry, both by its new grouping of the regular sequences and by its free introduction of the triplet and like variations ; e.g. " the new campanula's Illuminate seclusion swung in air." the new w campanula's * \j w w Illuminate w w w seclusion w w swung in air \j Examples of the triplet : — " The multitudinous seas incarnadine." The multitudinous w w ^^ ^^ seas incarnadine \j w " Ruining along the illimitable inane." Ruining \j ^ \j along \j the illimitable ;y^ \y ^ w "^ inane \^ 208 DICTION. Relations of Phrase and Metre. — As the phrasal rhythm is the instrument of that opposition and variety which is the life of verse, it must be mindful of the relations to metre which it is free to adopt or bound to shun. The following are of importance. 1. Except for the special descriptive effect of monotony, the phrase should not to any considerable extent coincide with the metrical foot ; as soon as it does its undertone becomes inaudible. Note. — The following monosyllabic line from Milton, descriptive of the arduous journey of Satan through chaos, produces the effect of diffi- culty and monotonous toil by making metrical and phrasal rhythm coin- cident through the whole verse : — " And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies." In the nature of the case, however, such a line is rare; while it justifies itself, it suggests that general procedure should be different. 2. Ordinarily the phrase should be ampler than the foot ; on this increase of breadth depends its music. A phrase smaller than the foot (namely, a single syllable) suggests abruptness, or concentration of intensity, obviously only an occasional requisite. Coincidence with the foot, as intimated above, suggests some aspect of monotony. 3. The phrase, while it limbers up the metrical tune by suggesting new syllabic groupings, should not suggest any other metrical scheme than the one in hand. It follows from this that ordinarily no two phrases of a line, especially no two contiguous phrases, should scan the same ; if they did there would be danger of substituting one scheme for another. It must be remembered that, while the phrasal rhythm is a con- stant undertone, the metre exists as the determining principle of the verse ; a principle whose integrity must be preserved through all modulations.* 1 From the article of Stevenson's above referred to, which has been freely used in this study of phrasal rhythm, a few more sentences may be quoted : — " The groups which, like the bar in music, break up the verse for utterance, fall RHYTHM IN POETRY AND IN PROSE. 209 A word of summary may here be of service, before we enter upon the next section. As all literature is evolved ultimately from speech, so in all literary diction, prose and verse alike, there survives a fundamental speech-rhythm, or rhythm of the phrase, corre- sponding to the pauses, the breathing points, and the vocal modulations observed by a good speaker or reader. As poetry submits itself to the new law of metre it does not discard this original rhythm, but rather blends it as an undertone with its own melody, deriving life and flexibility of movement from its opposing yet harmonizing presence. This undertone sounds more clearly and is more vital as the poetry, being of the recitative order, is less removed from the movement of prose. As, however, the poetry becomes more intense and lyrical, the phrase rhythm, though not obliter- ated, coincides more closely with the metrical, both being in fact swept on by an overtone of musical rhythm, which raises the speech into the movement of song. Of all these uniambically ; and in declaiming a so-called iambic verse, it may so happen that we never utter one iambic foot. And yet to this neglect of the original beat there is a limit. * Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts,* is, with all its eccentricities, a good heroic line ; for though it scarcely can be said to indicate the beat of the iamb, it certainly suggests no other measure to the ear. But begin ' Mother Athens, eye of Greece,' or merely ' Mother Athens,' and the game is up, for the trochaic beat has been sug- gested. The eccentric scansion of the groups is an adornment ; but as soon as the original beat has been forgotten, they cease implicitly to be eccentric. Variety is what is sought ; but if we destroy the original mould, one of the terms of this variety is lost, and we fall back on sameness." With the succeeding sentences we may sum up this subject : — " Thus, both as to the arithmetical measure of the verse, and the degree of regu- larity in scansion, we see the laws of prosody to have one common purpose : to keep alive the opposition of two schemes simultaneously followed; to keep them notably apart, though still coincident ; and to balance them with such judicial nicety before the reader, that neither shall be unperceived and neither signally pre- vail.". — Stevenson, On Some Technical Elements of Style in Literature, Works, Vol. xxii, p. 254. 210 DICTION. modulations, phrasal, metrical, and musical, we must take account in analyzing the complicated texture of poetic diction. III. THE RHYTHM OF PROSE.i We are now in position to understand that there is a rhythm in prose no less truly than in poetry ; for we have already recognized the presence of its elements. The rhythm of. prose is the phrasal rhythm, no longer an undertone but a determining" principle, moving unconventionally by itself ; the single pattern of .fhythm existing before the metrical or musical movement has "i^een adopted to make the pattern double." In other words, .itjs the n atural melodious flow of elogufint .or well-ordered speech. Obviously, if rhythm is to be found in all prose it must exist in great variety. In colloquial speech and ordinary reportage we think of it little if at all ; it is only where there is care for the best-chosen words and the most skilfully and closely knit texture that the question of rhythm is raised, it being essentially an affair of artistry. Nor has rhythm a fair opportunity in the short sentence, such as concentrates its power in a single word ; it calls rather for some roll and rich- ness of movement, and for the balance of clause and clause. Further, it becomes more marked and elaborate as prose approaches in elevation and imaginative sentiment toward poetry.* I. As maintained against Poetic Rhythm. — To work with the thought of securing rhythm so naturally suggests some meas- ure and regulator of rhythm, some metrical scheme, that the writer has to be on his guard against the poetic elements 1 " The other harmony of prose." — Dryden. 2 See above, p. 171. 3 See The Approaches of Prose to Poetry, pp. 163 sqq., above. RHYTHM IN POETRY AND IN PROSE. 211 that constantly seek to obtrude themselves ; has to keep his ear alert in order that, while the phrase is kept large and comely, it shall never fall into a set tune, or at least that the tune shall be constantly varied, unconventional, elusive. The only sure preparation for this is a musical ear, and a taste that is trained instinctively to associate any sentiment with its appropriate vocal movement and coloring. In prose all rhythmic rules are ignored, while all the rhythmic potencies are in full sway, responding to the vital moulding power of the thought. Hence prose rhythm, while it is ideally free, cannot be left to happen ; its very freedom requires that it be main- tained against anything, metre or diction, that suggests the invasion of poetry.' Tendency to Sing-Song This positive shunning of poetic rhythm needs to be insisted on, because in certain stages or moods of literary art there is a great tendency to run into a too regular rhythm, — into the beat of bad blank verse, or as it is here called, sing-song. Stevenson attributes such tendency to the bad writer, to the inexperienced writer try- ing to be impressive, and to the jaded writer.^ It may become, like word-play or antithesis, a mannerism, a disease of style. It is, in the literary diction, analogous to what is called the " holy tone " in the usage of the pulpit,' and is equally fatal to sturdy impressiveness. Examples. — Dr. Johnson, it is said, in the course of a discussion on . this very tendency to fall into metre, remarked : — " Such verse we make when we are writing prose ; We make such verse in common conversation." 1 " The rule of scansion in verse is to suggest no measure but the one in hand ; in prose, to suggest no measure at all. Prose must be rhythmical, and it may be as much so as you will ; but it must not be metrical. It may be anything, but it must not be verse. A single heroic line may very well pass and not disturb the somewhat larger stride of the prose style ; but one following another will produce an instant impression of poverty, flatness, and disenchantment." — Stevenson, On Some Technical Elements of Style in Literature, p. 256. 2 Stevenson, ib. ^ See above, p. 67, z. 212 DICTION. Dickens, in his earlier works, is often cited as the awful example of this tendency ; it is said that he sometimes had to call on his friend Forster to break up the metrical tune in which, in spite of himself, he would find himself writing in some moods. The following, from the account of the funeral of Little Nell, in Old Curiosity Shop, is not changed at all in expres- sion but only printed in lines : — Oh ! it is hard to take to heart the lesson that such deaths will teach, but let no man reject it, for it is one that all must learn, and is a mighty, universal Truth. When Death strikes down the innocent and young, for every fragile form from which he lets the panting spirit free, a hundred virtues rise, in shapes of mercy, charity, and love, to walk -the world, and bless it. Of every tear that sorrowing mortals shed on such green graves, some good is born, some gentler nature comes. In the Destroyer's steps there spring up bright creations that defy his power, and his dark path becomes a way of light to Heaven." 1 This is virtually in the ode measure, and, printed as an ode, has much beauty ; as prose, however, it is an instance of sing-song. What the Prose Standard dictates. — The dominating stand- ard of utility,^ in the choice, arrangement, and connection of words may here be recalled, to determine the negative ele- ments in the maintenance of a true prose rhythm against encroachments of the poetic movement. — I. A prose rhythm will bear no displacement or inversion of words or sentence-elements for the mere sake of a smoother or more regular flow. Such displacements and inversions there are in abundance, but their object is utilitarian ; if no such object is traceable the immediate effect is artificial and insincere. 1 Dickens, Old Curiosity Shop, Part ii, Chap. xvii. 2 See above, pp. 109 sqq. RHYTHM IN POETRY AND IN PROSE. 213 ■^ 2. Prose rhythm does not bear the abbreviation of words, as o'er, oft, ne'er, 'neath; and only to a limited extent the briefer poetic forms, like scarce for scarcely, save for except, ere for before, words chosen obviously to reduce the number of syllables. Nor does it accept aid from slurred or elided syllables. One element of its varied movement is to make a pleasing combination of the articulate sounds at disposal, working the full value of every syllable into the rhythmic tissue, without seeming to go out of its way for a melodious vocabulary. ~ 3. A greater temptation it is, when the swing of rhythm is developed into a craving, to introduce meaningless or watered phrases for the sake of helping out the balance of sound. Thus a tendency to group the phrasal architecture in uniform patterns of twos or threes may become a real bond- age, to be watched, and remedied by varying the tune, or by making sure always that the balancing phrase ad_,ds propor- tionately to the sense. II. Its Main Elements. — While it is impossible in so im-di- vidual an art to lay down directions whereby any writer may secure a good prose rhythm, we may by description and caution indicate its main features, from the phrasal segmen- tation onwards, as suggested by the analogy of poetry, and as differentiated therefrom. The Phrase Xlifi-jhythmicaL-phrase,.iji prase_ is the groundwork of the whole web, corresponding to the phrasal segmentation in poetry. The two are in fact the same in principle, and reduced to notation by quantity marks show no striking divergence. The prose phrase, being more sum- marily enunciated, has a somewhat longer stride and perhaps a greater variety in the feet. The main distinction, however. 214 DICTION. is that the prose phrase holds watchfully to its single rhyth- mical pattern, eschewing any beat regular enough for the ear to anticipate, whether a conventional metre or a musical over- tone. As soon as any such double scheme is suggested, the tune must be modulated to something else. Illustrations. — For some of the most exquisite specimens of rhyth- mical prose we have but to go to the Authorized Version of the English Bible. Professor Saintsbury instances ^ especially The Song of Solomon viii. 6, 7. and i Corinthians xiii. The following, from Revelation (xxi. 3, 4), is divided into feet and lines, in order to show its relation to poetic rhythm : — " And I heard | a great voice | out .of heaven | sayiing, || Behold, | the tabernacle | of God | is with men, || and he | will dwell | with them, |1 and they I shall be | his people, || and G5d | himself | shall be with them, || and be I their God. || And God | shall wipe | away | all tears | from thSr eyes,; || 3 and there shall be | no m5re death, || neither sorrow, | nor crying, || neither | shall there be | any more pain : || "1 for the | former things | are passed | away." || This is quite close to poetic rhythm, though never clearly suggesting a metrical scheme. For a more varied phrase take the following from Cardinal Newman, which is here left unmarked : — " The season is chill and dark, and the breath of the morning is damp, and worshippers are few ; but all this befits those who are by their profession penitents and mourners, watchers and pilgrims. More dear to them that loneliness, more cheerful that severity, and more bright that gloom, than all those aids and appliances of luxury by which men nowadays attempt to make prayer less disagreeable to them. True faith does not covet com- forts ; they who realize that awful day, when they shall see Him face to face whose eyes are as a flame of fire, will as little bargain to pray pleas- antly now as they will think of doing so then." ''■ In one or two places of this paragraph the ear is enticed very near to the tune of a poetical rhythm, though the measure is broken up just in time ; e.g. " More dear | to them | that lone|liness, | More cheer|ful that | severlity." | 1 In his essay on English Prose Style, Miscellaneous Essays, p. 32. 2 Quoted by Matthew Arnold, Discourses in America, p. 141. RHYTHM M POETRV AND IN PkOSE. 215 But the next clause " and more bright that gloom " restores the prose move- ment. The first three clauses are similar, though here there is a decided overtone of musical rhythm, which partly dispels the corrective and restor- ing effect of the third clause ; thus : — • 3 I 4 J The J I J J sea - son chill and the J. -^ J breath of the and I I d 4 mom - ing I dark. I damp, s s J and J J J I J ship - I pers are few. The clause of the passage from Revelation beginning " and there shall be no more death " has a musical reverberation, subdued and yet sublime, which may perhaps be thus represented : — li J- And I ^ 4 there ^ 4 • shall be ^ I ^. ther cry / / / ^ ^ nei ther shall there be an - y more | pain, I J for J J mer things are passed death. ^ ^ ing, for the J. way. This vigilance against metre aside, the writer's care, as Stevenson puts it, is to keep " his phrases large, rhythmical, and pleasing to the ear," giving each a finish in itself, and a cadence that makes it flow smoothly into the next. To this end, special care has to be given to the treatment of monosyllables, in order to avoid the unwieldy congested effect of tumbling accented or weighty words in heaps together. It is useful here to study the offsetting effect of the symbolics, which, being ordinarily unaccented, are a 216 DICTION. great help in the joints and transitions of structure, to give lightness and easy flow. Examples. — In the sentence, " Good Lord, give us bread now," all the words but " us " are emphatic, and the enunciation is heavy. So also the sentence, " Think not that strength lies in the big round word," which is a line of a poem designed to show the value of the monosyllable, is unrhyth- mical because there is so little distribution of accent. On the other hand, the monosyllabic line, " Bless the Lord of Hosts, for he is good to us," is lightened up to an easy flow by the symbolics, the, of, for, is, to, which alternate with the presentive words of the sentence. Polysyllables, with their alternation of accented and obscure sounds, are "phrases of Nature's own making," and for this reason are very useful in the varied web of rhythm. Herein lieS, in part, the value of the more dignified Latin element of the vocabulary, words from this source averag- ing longer, and thus helping volume of sense by volume of sound.-' They lead also to the use, more frequent in prose than in poetry, of the triplet, which grace of rhythm, adopted from musical movement, may also in skilful hands be extended to monosyllabic combinations. Examples. — For variety yet evenness of flow," and for the skilful employment of the triplet, let us take the following from Stevenson, the more readily as he has so illumined the theory of rhythm : — " A strange | picture | we make || on oilr way | "1 to our | chimaeras, || ceaselessly | marching, II grudging | ourselves | the time | for rest ; || inde- fatigable, J adventiirdus | pioneers. || It is true | that we shall never | reach the goal ; || it is even | more than probable | that there is | no siich place ; || and if | we lived | for centiiries || and were endowed | with the powers | of a god, II we should find | oiirselves | not much | nearer | «1 what we wanted || at the end. || O 1 | tSilTng hands | of mortals ! II O 1 | unwearied feet, | travelling | ye kn5w not | whither 1 1| Soon, 1 | soon, ~1 | it seems to you, || 1 See above, pp. 71, 94. " Racy Saxon monosyllables, close to us as touch and sight, he will intermix readily with those long, savoursome, Latin words, rich in ' second intention.' " — Pater on Style, Appreciatiotis, p. 13. RHYTHM IN POETRY AND IN PROSE. 217 3 you. miist come forth | on some | consplcudus | hilltop, || "1 and biit | a little way I further, || agSnst | the setting | sun, *1 || descry | the spires | of El | Dorado. || Little | do ye know | your own | blessedness ; || for to travel | hopefully | "I is a | better thing | than to arrive, 1| and the true | success | is to labour." || l The Clause This, which corresponds to the verse or line ' in poetry, must in prose, in order to avoid monotony, be con- tinually varied in length, being in this respect comparable .to the verse structure of the ode.'' In phrasing, too, there is aT special call for variety in successive lines, for it is in the craving to make clauses echo each other that the tendency to sing-song and to diluted phrase especially rises. The balancing of clauses against each other, rhythmical though not metrical, constitutes the Hebrew parallelism, the basal principle of Hebrew poetry. A quasi-imitation of this principle has been adopted by Walt Whitman, and could have been carried to greater success than appears in his work, if he had had a better ear for the rhythm of the constituent phrase. Example. — The following, from Walt Whitman's Song of the Open Road, will show both his principle of clausal verse and the curious jumble rhythm of phrase into which he is continually falling : — • " All parts away for the progress of souls, All religion, all solid things, arts, governments — all that was or is apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into niches and corners Ipefore the procession of souls along the grand roads of the universe. Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the grand roads of the uni- verse, all other progress is the needed emblem and sustenance. Forever alive, forever forward. Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble, dissatisfied. Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by men. They go ! they go ! I know that they go, but I know not where they go, But I know that they go toward the best — toward something great." 3 1 Stevenson, Bl Dorado, Virgittibus Puerisque, p. 109. 2 See above, p. r85. 8 Whitman, Leaves of Grass, p. 127. 218 DICTION. The Sentence Concerning the rhythmical structure of the sentence, which corresponds to the stanza in poetry, little of a practical nature can be said ; not because the subject is bar- ren, but because every writer must so truly work out the jpattern according to his own artistic insight. In one thing, however, theorists are agreed : that the sentence has three rhythmic divisions or stages, - — a gradual rise to a pause or culminating point, then a period of reposeful or level prog- ress, then a cadence or graduated solution.' Such graceful management of sentences, in prose of the more pedestrian type, may impart much of the sense of rhythm, even when the balanced rhythm of clause and phrase is less marked. Example. — The following sentence from Sir William Temple, with the comment thereon is quoted from Professor Saintsbury : — " ' When all is done, human life is at the greatest and the best but like a froward child, that must be played with and humored a little to keep it quiet till it falls asleep, and then the care is over.' " Here the division is that which has been noted as the usual one in eighteenth century prose, an arsis (to alter the use of the word a little) as far as * child,' a level space of progress till ' asleep,' and then a thesis, here unusually brief, but quite sufficient for the purpose. But here also the movement is quite diiferent from that of poetry. Part of the centre clause, ' but like a froward child that must be played with,' may indeed be twisted into something like a heroic, but there is nothing corresponding to it earlier or later, and the twisting itself is violent and unnatural." ^ Pause and Hiattis One of the important principles com- ing into prosody from the rhythm of music is, that the pause must be reckoned with. It has a distinctive value, expressed in silence ; in other words, while the voice is waiting, the music of the movement is going on. This applies equally to 1 In addition to the remark quoted from Professor Saintsbury in the text may be quoted the following from Stevenson's essay (p. 247) already so extensively used : " The true business of the literary artist is to plait or weave his meaning, involving it around itself ; so that each sentence, by successive phrases, shall first come into a kind of knot, and then, after a moment of suspended meaning, solve and clear itself." 2 Saintsbury, on English Prose Style^ Miscellaneous Essays, p. 34, RHYTHM IN POETRY AND IN PROSE. 219 verse and to prose, though in the measured- rhythm and musical lilt of the former its period is more calculable. To manage it in prose, with its delicacies and compensations, requires that same fineness of ear on which we must depend for all faultless prose rhythm. —^ When there is no compensation, when the pause is un- motived or inadvertent, it is called hiatus. Of this blemish every ordinary ear is aware, though it may not perceive the cause or even locate the fault ; there is a sense of jolting and lack, as if some pin or fastening had fallen out. The ill man- agement of the pause is the secret of much unmusical prose which, tested merely by phrase and clause, seems to satisfy all rhythmical requirements. Examples of Pause. — In the passage from Revelation treated musically on p. 215, two pauses of different lengths are very naturally measured by the musical rhythm ; the pause before neither (marked by an eighth rest 1 ), which amounts to the shortening of the succeeding syl- lable ; and the pause after pain, which is a whole beat and an eighth rest over. In the example from Stevenson, p. 216, the pause with the word " Soon, *1 soon, *1 " gives the word the value of a whole poetic foot. Cadence. — It is at the end of a sentence or paragraph that rhythm, orNthe lack of it, is especially noticeable. In such places the eaKrequires that the sense be brought to a gradual fall, not a sudden halt ; and the well-trained ear will graduate the length of this xall to the amount of preparation that has been made for it.^ It acts as jijrhythniifial jgji£oJding„oL.the - movement that thejjody of the sejiteace_has involved in a "more or less complex_progression,._and_.thua.is not merely an idle embellishment but a means of giving impressiveness to the whole current of the sentence. Examples. — In the sentence from Sir William Temple, the words " and then the care is over " form a beautiful brief cadence. 1 See this practically shown under Suspension, p. 286 below. 220 DICTION. The following sentences illustrate the disagreeable sound of an abrupt ending : " Famine, epidemics, raged " ; " The soldier, transfixed by the spear, writhed " ; " Achilles, being apprised of the death of his friend, goes to the battle-field without armor, and, standing by the wall, shouts." All these endings are felt to be bad, not because they are inaccurate, but because they are too short ; we naturally require more volume, and more graduation of accent and sound, in words that in themselves are so important. BOOK III. COMPOSITION. Leaving now the subject of diction, which, it will be remembered, centres mainly in words -/- their usages, their shadings and connotations, their euphonic and rhythmic potencies ^^ we enter here upon a study of the processes ! involved in putting words together, the constructive forms we have in view being phraseSjSentences, paragraphs. Our problems now are problems not of material but of combina- tion ; and the qualities we s eek are, mainly, clearness in its ( aspect of perspicuity, as promoted by the mutua/F relations of words, and force in its aspect of emphasis,^:s promoted by - their relative positions. , i The word composition, in the coming four chapters, is employed in a somewhat restricted sense, carrying the mean- ing, that is, only so far as we may regard the subject-matter as already m hand, ready to be moulded into style. Beyond that, in the consideration of theme, plan, and specific literary forms, we are dealing with that larger stage of organism, that work with the discovery and ordering of material, which we call invention. It is in composition that rhetoric shows its close relation- ship to grammar, and at the same time its fundamental advance beyond that science. Grammar deals with the laws of correct expression ; which laws rhetoric must observe, because correctness lies necessarily a't the foundation of all expre ssion, rhetorical or other. But even in employing gram- matical processes as working-tools, rhetoric imparts to them 222 COMPOSITION. a new quality distinctively rhetorical, the quality by which they become methods in an art, means to an end. They are viewed not for themselves, but for their adaptedness to the requirements and capacities of a reader or hearer, — for their power to act on men. In discussing them, therefore, we are to approach each principle, so to say, on its operative side : to take it up not at all because it is grammar, but because there is discerned in it a touch or strain of rhetoric. CHAPTER VIII. PHRASEOLOGY. Rhetorically, we may regard as a phrase any combina- tion of words moving together as a unit, as one element of expression. We are not concerned with the question whether it is prepositional, participial,* or infinitive. It may for our purpose be no more than a noun with its adjective ; it may be as much as a sentence-member with its relative or con- junction. In other words, the present chapter deals with ele- ments of construction considered in their internal relations, without reference to the completed product they make up as joined together ; or rather, with those internal relations them- selves, the organic laws according to which the unity of words grows into the larger unity of the group. t) ' ' ' , , ■ ' I. SYNTACTICAL ADJUSTMENTS. Not all, nor any considerable portion, of the field o^ syn- tax need be traversed here ; it will be sufficient to bring up merely some points wherein the grammatical principle receives a special significance or modification from the rhe- torical point of view. Concord of Subject and Verb. — That a verb should agree in number with its subject, and a pronoun with its antece- dent, is a strict grammatical law ; rhetorically, however, the question sometimes rises what is the number of the subject or antecedent, a question to be answered by the logical sense. I. The most prevalent error in concord, probably, is owing 223 224 COMPOSITION. to haste ; the verb is made to agree with the nearest noun, which, it may be, has stolen in between the subject and the verb and attracted the latter to its own number. Examples. — i . Of verb attracted to nearest noun. " The enormous ex- pense of governments have provoked men to think, by making them feel " ; " This large homestead, including a large barn and beautiful garden, are to be sold next month." z. Of subject obscured by intervening matter. " But these Personal Memoirs of U. S. Grant, written as simply and straightforwardly as his battles were fought, couched in the most unpretentious phrase, with never a touch of grandiosity or attitudinizing, familiar, homely, even common in style, is a great piece of literature, because great literature is nothing more nor less than the clear expression of minds that have something great in them, whether religion, or beauty, or deep experience." If this be defended on the ground that the title of a book, though plural in form, takes a singular verb, it may be answered that the author (Howells) has made the subject plural by the word these. 2. As the word and adds two or more singular subjects together, a plural verb is by rule required. Logically, how- ever, these subjects may sometimes be merely synonyms for the same thing ; sometimes they may be a closely connected couple making up together a single idea ; in which cases the singular verb is right. It should be noted that if a writer ventures on this assertion of the singular he must be sure of his case, for superficial appearances are against him. Examples. — i. Ofsynonyms. "AH the furniture, the stock of shops, the machinery which could be found in the realm, was of less value than the property which some single parishes now contain." Here the writer (Macaulay) evidently views his three subjects as practically synonyms describing the aspects of one single subject of remark. ■1. Of combined couples. " The composition and resolution of forces was largely applied by Newton " ; " The ebb and flow of the tides is now well understood." In the following, the author, Mrs. Phelps-Ward, having subjects in both numbers, repeats the verb, and so gains emphasis, though grammatically the repetition is not necessary : " The kindest of audiences, and my full quota of encouragement, have not, and has not, been able to supply me PHRASEOLOGY. 225 with the pluck required to add visibly to this number of public appear- ances. Before an audience I am an abject coward, and I have at last concluded to admit the humiliating fact." ^ 3. Another occasion for the writer to work by the logical rather than by the grammatical interpretation of number is the use of the collective noun. This may sometimes convey the idea of the group as a unit, and accordingly be singular ; and sometimes, bringing to mind its individual constituents, be plural. The point is to be settled not arbitrarily but by the most natural implication of the sense. Examples. — " The Jewish people were all free." Here plurality pre- dominates, the subject being the Jews regarded a.s individuals. — "An evil and adulterous generation seeketh after a sign.*' Here the action is so collective as to make a singular verb suitable. In the following, the subject is so individualized in thought that the singular verb sounds inappropriate : " The study of the moon's surface has been continued now from the time of Galileo, and of late years a whole class of competent observers has been devoted to it, so that astronomers engaged in other branches have oftener looked on this as a field for occa- sional hours of recreation with the telescope than made it a constant study." 4. A clash of concord occurs when disjoined subjects (con- nected, that is, by or or nor) are in different numbers, or so numerous as to suggest not disjunction but plurality. In such cases use, where possible, a form of the verb which is the same for either number (the auxiliary forms are especially useful here) ; failing this, it is better to change the construc- tion of 'the sentence than to fight for either the singular or the plural. Examples. — " Neither money nor brilliant endowments was. (or were ?) of use in this crisis ; he could only be still and endure." Instead of this verb say " could avail," and the clash is evaded. — " Only a few, perhaps only one, were (or was .?) benefited." Say rather, " received any benefit." In the following, where, " though the verb should formally be singular, 1 Quoted from McClure 's Magazine, Vol. vii, p. 78. 226 COMPOSITION. still the number of alternate subjects is strongly suggestive of plurality,'' the difficulty is evaded, as above, by a neutral verb: — " truths that wake, To petlsh never ; Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor. Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy. Can utterly aholish or destroy ! " 1 The Scheme of Tense. — The tenses of the verbs in any pas- sage form together a scheme of tense, past, present, or future, which controls the time in which, relatively, all the action is thought of as taking place. 5. Dependent clauses and infinitives, therefore, are not in an absolute but a relative tense ; they count the time of their action from that of the principal assertion. Examples. — " Last week I intended to have written." This is wrong, because at the time referred to " to write " was the purpose ; " to write " is therefore the proper infinitive relative to " intended." — " In the same way, I cannot excuse the remissness of those whose business it should have been to have interposed their good offices " ; " There were two circumstances which made it necessary for them to have lost no time," — ought to be " to interpose," " to lose." " And so, you see, the thing never would have been looked into at all if I had n't happened to have been (say rather " to be ") down there." In the use of the verb "should like" the mistake is very commonly made of interchanging the tense of the principal verb and the infinitive, — " I should like to have seen him," instead of " I should have liked to see him." This is owing, no doubt, to the difficulty of pronouncing " lik^rf to" when they are placed together; a difficulty, however, which should not be allowed to make the difference between accuracy and error. The fol- lowing sentence, from Howells, illustrates the correct use : " There were some questions that she would have liked to ask him ; but she had to content herself with trying to answer them when her husband put them to her." 6. An exception obtains in the case of general and univer- sal truths, which, as being essentially timeless, require the present tense, whatever the tense of the accompanying verbs. 1 Wordsworth, Ode on Intimations of Immortality, st. ix. PHRASEOLOGY. 227 Examples. — " In the past century some learned gentlemen discovered that there was (say rather is) no God"; "He always maintained with unshaken faith that honesty is the best policy." 7. When the historic present (see above, p. 98) is used, it should be kept in a scheme of its own, and not unadvisedly mixed with the past of ordinary narrative. Example. — In the following passage, if the tenses are used of pur- pose, there is at least a bewildering mixture of the present and past schemes : — " The Romans now turn aside in quest of provisions. The Helvetians mistook the movement for retreat. They pursue, and give Caesar his chance. They fight at disadvantage, and after a desperate struggle are defeated." The idle mixture of historic present and past is very common with inexperienced writers and writers without imagination. The Participial Phrase. — The participial phrase, equivalent to a clause, is a very convenient means of subordinating one assertion to another, thus avoiding the too frequent use of principal verbs. By its agency conditions, modifications, bits of portrayal may be introduced unobtrusively, without obscuring the current of principal assertion. But some cau- tions are needed in the use of it ; it is peculiarly liable to slipshodness. 8. The participle presupposes a subject to which it relates. This subject, which is generally the subject of the sentence, should be expressed, and the relation of the participle to it should be unambiguous and, if possible, uninterrupted. Ordi- narily, too, the subject should have a prominent place in its clause, being the point of reference for the phrase ; sometimes, however, when there is no reasonable danger of ambiguity, it may have a less prominent position, though not remain unexpressed. Examples. — i. Of the misrelated participle. "Being exceedingly fond of birds, an aviary is always to be found in the grounds." Here 228 COMPOSITION. there is no clue to the person or persons fond of birds ; grammatically the only word to which the participle may be attached is aviary. — " While visiting St. Louis with him while he was President, he made a character- istic remark showing how little his thoughts dwelt upon those events of his life which made such a deep impression upon others.'' Here the one who was visiting St. Louis does not appear; the sentence should be either " While T was visiting, ... he made," or, " While visiting, . . . I heard him make a remark." 2. As soon as the participle is made to refer to the object of the sen- tence or, still more, to a possessive, the ambiguity and slipshodness appear ; e.g. " At three o'clock the Queen received an address from the tenants on the Sandringham estate, having (i.e. they) been introduced to her Majesty's presence by General Sir Dighton Probyn " ; " Having so lately quitted the tumults of a party and the intrigues of a court, they (viz. tumults and intrigues) still kept his thoughts in agitation, as the sea fluc- tuates a while when the storm has ceased." ^ 3. In the following the placing of the subject in a less prominent posi- tion, being unsuggestive of ambiguity, is a grace : " Writing for a livelihood, a livelihood is all that I have gained ; for, having also something better in view, and never, therefore, having courted popularity, nor written for the mere sake of gain, it has not been possible for me to lay by anything." 9. Akin to the misrelated participle, though not ambigu- ous, is the unreldited participle, the subject being omitted as obvious, or not important to the expression ; a construction that is encroaching in the language, and has usefulness, though it needs caution as a concession to looser construction. Example. — " Any one of all these is a fit character to be assumed as the speaking subject of a psalm, understanding \yj such a composition the outpouring of the soul's fulness to God." ^ Here the one who does the " understanding " is wholly vague, probably whoever is concerned with the fact asserted. Obviously this construction, so loose and sprawling, needs watching ; as it is, it just escapes being connected with " any one " or "speaking subject," which in fact it is grammatically. De Quincey is said to have introduced this usage. 10. As the participial phrase is really a condensed clause, it must, with the substance of the clause, retain also its con- 1 Examples under 2 quoted from Earle, English Prose, p. 1S7. 2 Robertson, The Poetry and the Religion of the Psalms, p. 321. PHRASEOLOGY. 229 nections : the conjunction if the clause is conjunctional, the subject or its representative if the clause is pronominal. Sometimes these naturally suggest themselves and may be left to implication ; but at all events the participial construction should be tested for clearness. Examples. — i. The most natural implication of the participle when left to itself is cause or reason, as, " Being of a musical turn of mind, he has collected a large number of musical classics,'' where something like because is understood with " being." If, however, some other connection is intended, it must ordinarily be expressed ; the line, " France at our doors, he sees no danger nigh,'' where the connection is " though France is at our doors," is somewhat obscure, and admissible only by poetic license. — " Republics in the first instance, are never desired for their own sakes. I do not think they will finally be desired at all, unaccompanied by courtly graces and good breeding." Here there is enough uncertainty between because and if as connectives of " unaccompanied " to make expression of the real connection desirable; either "if unaccompanied," or "unaccompanied as they are, by," etc. i. The first example under 2, If 8, is an instance where the subject, not being the same as the subject of the sentence, needs to accompany its participle : " they having been introduced," equivalent to " who were intro- duced." This retention of the subject with a participle brings us to a new construction here to be considered. II. The pendent participle, or participle absolute, a con- struction derived from the Latin ablative absolute, is perhaps the loosest of the participial constructions, and needs especial caution on this ground. As it is essentially parenthetical, it ought, like all parentheses, to be made as brief and rapid as may be, and not to disturb the natural solution of the* sentence. Example. — The following participle absolute is faulty in both these particulars, — it is long and heavy, and it makes an unprepared-for turn at " the ministers " after having seemed to promise a sentence with " The Duke of Wellington " as subject : " The Duke of Wellington having failed to form a government of declared anti-reformers, ready to devise a measure of reform at once satisfactory to the people and to the House of Lords, the ministers were recalled.'' ^ 1 Quoted from Earle, English Prose, p. i88. 230 COMPOSITION. The Infinitive Two points about the rhetorical usage of the infinitive, both by way of caution, call here for notice. 12. The use of the so-called "split infinitive," that is, the insertion of an adverb between the sign of the infinitive (to) and its verb, the tendency to which is on the increase, is much objected to by purists, and is in fact a shibboleth of second-rate style. With this estimate of its present status, we leave the writer to take his own risks. Examples. — " It has been left for the ' Challenger ' expedition to fully establish the truth of this conjecture " ; " It will be interesting to see whether, when his own private squabbles are all fought out, he will have sufficient energy left to any longer play the part of censor for the public good " ; "I have far too high an appreciation of the work they have done to in any way interfere with their independence " ; " The Judge refused delay, and ordered a writ of attachment to immediately be issued." — In the third of these examples the splitting adverb is a whole phrase.^ A word, however, about its effects, good and bad. It has the ill effect of dividing a very close relation, almost like dividing a compound word ; further, it surrenders the effort to place the adverb according to its rightful stress, that is, before or after the verb, seeming in fact to dump the adverb down merely to get rid of it. This is probably the cause of its peculiarly crude effect. On the other hand, the split infinitive is in the line of the prevailing instinct for lucidity ; there is one situation, too, namely, when the adverb is sug- gestive of another modification if placed before the verb, and separates the verb from a complex object if placed after, where there is real color for the construction. At present, however, it should at best be reserved for the exceptional case where the use distinctly outweighs the disadvantage. Example. — From Professor Earle : " The next example is one of a class which affords evidence that this innovation has been induced by the 1 For a discussion of this encroaching usage, from which the above-given exam- ples are quoted, see Earle, EjigUsh Prose, pp. 182-186. PHRASEOLOGY. 231 lengthening of the evolute processes ; — for I presume no one would say, ' I want you to carefully examine this ' instead of ' to examine this carefully.' When, therefore, Mr. Ebblewhite writes, 'I have to advise Mr. Donnelly to carefully examine the documents to which I refer,' — we see that the verbal object with its evolute clause (viz. ' the documents to which I refer ') claiming proximity to its governing verb (viz. ' examine ') has been the cause of the novel placement of the Adverb." 13. Where several infinitives occur in sequence, the word on which each one depends is to be made, obvious. Care in this respect is demanded by the fact that an infinitive follow- ing another may with equal correctness be either subordinate to or coordinate with the other ; its office and rank should therefore be made evident. Note. — One or two aids to clearness may be mentioned. Two infini- tives coordinate with each other may be closely connected by omitting the preposition to with the second. The dependence of infinitives may often be made clear by distinguishing between the infinitive of sequence (to) and the infinitive of purpose (»'« order to). The following, with its comment, is taken from Abbot's How to Write Clearly : " 'He said that he wished to take his friend with him to visit the capital and to study medicine.' Here it is doubtful whether the meaning is — " ' He said that he wished to take his friend with him, " (i) and also to visit the capital and study medicine ' or " (2) ' that his friend might visit the capital and might also study medi- cine,' or " (3) ' on a visit to the capital, and that he also wished to study medi- cine.' " If in these examples we adopt the two aids above mentioned, the sen- tence becomes, " He said that he wished to take his friend with him in order to visit the capital and /\ study medicine," which gives clear sense in one aspect. Eor other senses it may be necessary to use that he might for to, or to insert conjunctions. A neglect of the true relation of infinitives is shown in the common expression to " try and do " something. Here the two verbs are treated as if they were coordinate ; whereas the second depends on the first, and the expression should be " try to do.'' 232 COMPOSITION. II. THREE IDIOMS. Of the great store of idioms that give life and flavor to the English language,^ three are here selected for special treat- ment ; and this for two reasons : first, because, accurately observed, they impart a delicacy of coloring and implication which the language can ill afford to spare; and secondly, because the wholesale disregard of all three, already widely prevalent in popular writing, has been advocated by facile writers too careless or too lazy to master their subtleties. Like all resources of the literary art, however, these idioms are to be reckoned with. If they are puzzling, so much the greater call for thorough study of them ; and not to know them, or to despise their superfineness of shading, discredits not them but the too willing neglecter. ' The Subjunctive. — As the name indicates, this is the mood of a verb subjoined to another, as a condition or some kind of limitation. In form, it is distinguished from the indicative merely by taking the form of the plural for both nupibers ; except in the verb to be, where in the present it adopts the form be. In the past tense, except in the verb to be (were'), the subjunctive has no distinctive form. 14. In the present tense, the chief use of the subjunctive, as distinguished from the indicative, is this : that while the indicative throws stress on ivhat the supposition is, the sub- junctive makes prominent the fact that it is a supposition. Examples. — " No man can do these miracles that thou doest, except God be with him " ; "If he be the rightful owner, the property shall be delivered to him " ; "I am at a loss to know whether this be so or not." — In all these examples, we are simply aware that the condition or suppo- sition is made, and is a supposition, implying, however, nothing decisive as to whether it is or is not accordant with fact. 1 For the Tissue of Idiom in English, see above, p. 53. PHRASEOLOGY. 233 15. In the past tense, the subjunctive adds to the sense of supposition the further implication that the supposition is contrary to fact. When this implication is not rightly made, the indicative is better in modern prose ; some survivals of old usage, where the past subjunctive is uSed for a neutral supposition, sound estranging. Examples. — i. "If he were here [but he is not], he would give no light on these perplexing facts " ; " If he was here [and supposedly he was], he must have left some traces of his presence "; " Were it written in a thousand volumes [though in fact it is not], I would not believe it " ; " Thou couldst have no power at all against me except it were [= if it were not, though in fact it is] given thee from above." In this fast exam- ple we reach this contrary implication by a kind of double negative. ^. The following illustrate the obsolete effect of using the past sub- junctive-as a. neutral supposition when the supposition is according to actual fact : "Though he xvere a king, yet learned he obedience " ; " Well, but what harm had come of it all ? Louie was a strong lass now, if she were a bit thin and overgrown. David was as fine a boy as anyone need wish to see." ^ — On the other hand, if the supposition is contrary to fact, the indicative sounds raw and crude ; e.g. " It is time some contempt was shown to ladies : they have shown it to servants long enough.'' It is in cases like this last that the indicative is most actively supplanting the subjunctive. ^ Shall and Will.- — The forms shall ■i.n^ will, with their pret- erites should and would, which are used as auxiliaries of the future tense, retain in addition to their future meaning a coloring derived from the original meaning of the words. This coloring is always present, though in some cases it so blends with the future sense as to be practically one with it. For fine rhetorical tact, however, recognition of the original implication, with its exact shading of effect, is important to the writer's outfit. " The radical signification of will (Anglo-Saxon, willan) is purpose, intention, determination ; that of shall (Anglo-Saxon 1 Mrs. Humphry Ward, David Grieve, p. t,%. 234 COMPOSITION. sceal, ought) is obligation."' To these root-meanings we trace the rationale of usage in the different persons. 1 6. The auxiliary of the simple future, — I shall, We shall, You will, He wUl, She will, It will. They will,— becomes such because when unemphatic the primary meaning blends with the sense of futurity and is disregarded : in the first person {shall), because obligation predicated of one's self may be taken as implying that what ought to be will be ; in the second and third persons (will), because it is a natural courtesy to assume that a person who purposes will carry out his plans. The primary meaning, however, is very near the surface ; as soon, in fact, as the auxiliary becomes emphatic, as it were asserting itself, or the future force is pressed into the background by a condition, or a dependent clause, or an interrogation, the original force of the auxiliary emerges and makes itself felt. Examples. — The simple future, as, "I shall be in New York next Wednesday," or, " It will be a fair day to-morrow,'' with the latent sense of obligation or purpose disregarded, needs no comment. When, however, we say, " He will go, in spite of all I can say," where the auxiliary has the stress ; or " If ye will receive it, this is Elias, which was for to come," where the auxiliary is in a conditional clause ; or " Shall I undertake this responsibility ? " " Will he assent to your proposal ? " where the auxiliary is in a question, we have the sense of more than future implied ; the original meaning has come to color it. 17. The auxiliary of the colored or connotative future, — I wUl, We will. You shall. He shall. She shall, It shall. They shall, — imparts its primary' sense to the verb: purely in the first person {ivill, purpose) ; with implication of the speaker's 1 Quoted from White, Words and their Uses, p. 266. PHRASEOLOGY. 235 authority imposed as obligation in the second and third persons (shall), having, according to circumstances, various degrees of effect, from absolute command to threat, decree, fate, or certain prophecy. Examples. — The commandments are put thus in the absolute form: " Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor." " The man shall suffer for this insult " implies a threat ; " all manner of sin and iniquity shall be forgiven " conveys assurance and certainty ; " the ele- ments shall melt with fervent heat " is a prophecy. In the sentence, " The style shall be simple and familiar : but style is the image of character ; and the habits of correct writing may produce, without labor or design, the appearance of art and study," which is written by Gibbon concerning the style of his projected autobiography, the shall implies that the speaker imposes something on himself as an obligation or imperative duty. All these grow directly out of the primary sense of ought-ness or obligation involved in shall. i8. In the literary use of these auxiliaries there are some interesting reversals ; of which two may be noted. When the authority to command is absolute and unques- tioned, as for instance in military orders, the absolute shall is by courtesy softened to will, with fine implication thus secured both as to the commander's non-assertion of author- ity and the other's readiness to obey. When, as in a citation or example, the future sense is sec- ondary, the will of the second or third person is changed to shall, with implication thus secured of certainty or univer- sality, — perhaps the most finely drawn and delicate application of the idiom. Examples. — i. When an order is given, " At nine o'clock Colonel M. will occupy the R. cross-roads," the assertion of command is waived, while it is assumed that obedience is sure and willing. z. " You shall see a man readily ascertain every herb of the field, yet hardly know wheat from barley, or at least one sort of wheat or barley from another." ^ — " But this is not unsuitable to the illustration of the ' White, Natural History of Selborne, p. 222. 236 COMPOSITION. fervent Bunyan, breathing hurry and momentary inspiration. He, with his hot purpose, hunting sinners with a lasso, shall himself forget the things that he has written yesterday. He shall first slay Heedless in the Valley of the Shadow, and then take leave of him talking in his sleep, as if noth- ing had happened, in an arbor on the Enchanted Ground." ^ ■-^ Connotation of the Relative. — The difficulty of this idiom is, that while the connotation involved is real and constant, there is so much exception to the standard manner of expressing it that the rule itself, unless it be observed as a felt principle, is apt to be obscure. 19. The relatives who, which, and that, besides representing their antecedent in a further assertion, connote also the fact that the new assertion either adds to the- information given by the antecedent clause, or by some sort of restriction completes it. This distinction is present to the sense, whether brought out in expression or not. Typically, the relatives who and which assume that the antecedent is fully defined in sense, their office being to introduce additional information about it. They may accord- ingly be called the additive relative, and are equivalent to a demonstrative with a conjunction: "and he," "and this," « and these." The relative that assumes that its antecedent is not yet fully defined, its office being to complete or restrict its mean- ing. It may accordingly be called the restrictive relative, and may generally be represented, by way of equivalent, by an adjectival or participial phrase. Examples. — i. Of the Additive Relative. "But flesh with the life thereof, which [= and this] is the blood thereof, shall ye not eat."'-* Here the relative clause makes a new assertion ; it might be left out and the rest of the sentence would be complete in sense. 2. Of the Restrictive Relative. " I was in the open air all day, and did no thought that I could avoid, and I think I have got my head between 1 Stevenson, Bagster 's Pilgrim 's Progress, Works, Vol. xxii, p. 223. 2 Genesis ix. 4. PHRASEOLOGY. til my shoulders again ; however, I am not going to do much." ^ Here the antecedent is not complete in sense without the definition that the relative clause gives ; not thought (or thinking) in general, but merely such thought as he could avoid, is the subject of remark. The adjectival phrase "avoid- able by me " would be nearly an equivalent for the relative clause. 3. Of the two in one sentence. " The peace that was now made, which is known as the Peace of Westphalia, made some important changes in Europe." Here the ^//aAclause completes the sense of the antecedent, while the ■which-A'i.MSS relates a new fact about it. — Notice the difference of implication between the relatives of the following ; " Fetch me the books that lie on the table, and the pamphlets, which you will find on the floor." Note. — A coordinative or additive clause is generally set off by a comma ; a restrictive clause is not. 20. There are certain cases where the word that, though the proper relative for restriction, is not available, and the relative who or which has to take its place and assume the restrictive sense. In these cases the reader is left to make for himself the adjustment in the function of the relative, while the form is waived to suit requirements of euphony or clearness that are more imperative. The Principal Case£ of this Kind. — The following are the chief exceptions to the use of that as restrictive relative, under the two heads of Euphony and Clearness. I. Euphony. I. As the word that is not only a relative but also a demonstrative, a pronominal adjective, and a conjunction, it is apt to get in the way, and the word which is used to avoid the accumulation of thats. For example, when the antecedent is that: "It is that which I detest" (that that will not do) ; when the antecedent is modified by that : " That remark which I made yesterday " ; when a conjunctive Ma/ occurs near: "And there can be found other passages which show that it was a common and popular custom" {that show Ma? is both uneuphonious and grammatically awkward). A. Which or who is often used when the words this, these, those, they come near as antecedents, because the th sounds so close to each other are I Stevenson, Letters, Vol. i, p. 68. 238 COMPOSITION. disagreeable : " Those who go must be well provided with wraps." This, however, is a somewhat modern refinement and not very pressing. Such expressions as " These iia-t have turned the world upside down are come hither also," " iiose t/tat look out of the windows be darkened," do not disturb a wholesome sense of euphony. 3. Tiaf sounds ill when separated from its verb or its antecedents and made a pause-word : " There are many persons iAat, though unscrupulous, are commonly good-tempered, and t&ai, if not strongly incited by self- interest, are ready for the most part to think of the interest of their neigh- bors." Here wAo would make a better pause-word. 4. As the word i/iat cannot be preceded by a preposition, w/iom or wAicA is sometimes used, though restrictive, in order to avoid sending the preposition to the end of the clause : " That was a dignity to which he could not aspire," instead of " that he could not aspire to." — A few words about this construction are needed here, because of the indiscriminate advice that is sometimes given, on the ground that, as some one has incon- sistently expressed it, " a preposition is a poor word to end a sentence vrith." The fact is, much depends on the effect. A long preposition, or a preposition that may also be an adverb, sounds cumbrous at the end ; e.g. " Such were the prejudices that he rose above" " this is the mark that I jumped beyond." On the other hand, the construction with which is more formal, less conversational ; e.g. " This is the rule to which I adhere," — in talk we say, " this is the rule I adhere to" " these are the principles to live by." The prepositions to, for, of, on, with, and hy are sent freely to the end of their clause, and with good conversational effect. The following is per- haps an extreme example : " It seemed to be one of those facts of existence that she could not get used to, nor find anywhere in her brisk, fiery little body a grain of cool resignation for." — Here is the way Browning uses it in poetry : — " That was the bench they sat on, — there 's the board They took the meal at, — yonder garden-ground They leaned across the gate of." 1 II. Clearness. 5. The word who is used restrictively instead of that in order to make clear the gender of the antecedent, with such words as many, others, sev- eral, those. For example : " There are many millions in India who would be utterly unable to pay a fine of fifty rupees." If in this case the ante- cedent were clear, the restrictive form would be more appropriate, as, 1 Browning, The Ring and the Book, Book v, 11. 1256-1258. PHRASEOLOGY. 239 "There are many millions of persons in India that," etc. So when with these pronominal adjectives things are meant, we say not "all which,'' " much which," but " all that," " much that." 21. While the relative connotes addition or restriction, it does not always give these implications with the proper em- phasis or tenuity of stress ; it is in this respect a somewhat unwieldy construction. For this reason it is important to have at command the various equivalents for the relative. Equivalents foe. the Relative. — The following are the common- est equivalents for the relative, classified according to the object sought in the employment of them. I. For Augmentation of Stress. 1. Sometimes, instead of the additive relative, its equivalent, a demon- strative with a conjunction, will better bring out the importance of the statement ; e.g. " Only a few presidents oppose fraternities to-day ; who [better and these'] are in most cases heads of universities, where the need of Greek letter societies is not so evident as in colleges generally.'' 2. The restrictive relative introducing a negative statement is weak; the statement may be much strengthened by using the word 6ut as a rela- tive, which changes the statement to affirmative : " It has no defects 6ut such as can be remedied in succeeding volumes," is stronger than " It has no defects that cannot be remedied in succeeding volumes." " There is no moral rule but bends [= that does not bend] to circumstances." II. For Attenuation of Stress. 3. The relative may be condensed by being combined, in the same word, with a preposition, or with its antecedent. Thus wherein, whereby, may be used for in which, by which : " Great virtues often save, and always illustrate the age and nation wherein they appear." " Yet all experience is an arch wherethro ' Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move." — fVhat, the so-called double relative, being really relative and antecedent in one, is a useful equivalent for that which, those which : " Let me repeat to you what 1 have often said, that what is worth doing at all is worth doing well." 240 COMPOSITION. 4. The relative is often omitted to advantage, when it is the object of a verb (less often of a preposition), and when the omission brings the ante- cedent and the relative clause in juxtaposition : " Dickens's acting was a part of himself. He threw himself thoroughly into the character /\ he was impersonating, and thus made it real." — When, however, the antecedent and the relative clause are not brought into juxtaposition thereby, the relative will not so well bear omission. Example : " As for actresses, it surely would be the height of ungenerosity to blame a woman for follow- ing the only profession commanding fame and fortune /^ the kind consid- eration of man has left open to her,'' Here the phrase "commanding fame and fortune," between the antecedent and the relative clause, dis- turbs the reference, and the relative should be retained.^ 5. In the case of the restrictive relative, the restriction may be made more attenuated and unobtrusive by reducing the relative clause to a phrase, or to a, clause of more subordinated type. The following are some aspects of this : — a. A participle may thus be employed instead of the relative with princi- pal verb; as: "We shall briefly run over the events attending (= that attended) the conquest made (= that was made) by that empire." b. In some cases the infinitive makes a convenient equivalent; as: " He was the first to enter" (= that entered). c. A conditional or «/-clause may put the substance of a relative clause into less prominent relation ; as : " If & man does not care for music, he is to be pitied" (= The man that does not care, etc.). It is in long sen- tences that this equivalent will be found most useful.^ III. COLLOCATION. The English syntax, being devoid of the aid that inflection would give in showing the mutual relations of words, is cor- respondingly more dependent on order and collocation. It depends on these first of all for clearness, for unless a modi- fying element is carefully placed some word is liable, coming between it and its principal, to steal its real connection. Secondly, the quality of Jorce has its claims ; for as the same element may be emphatic in one position and comparatively 1 For other cases of omission of relative, see above, p. 142, and below, p. 301. 2 For the relative and its equivalents, see Abbott, Hmi to Write Clearly, pp. 17-19; Bain, Composition Grammar, jtp. 6;^-St^. PHRASEOLOGY. 241 insignificant in another, much of the writer's study is natu- rally devoted to placing elements where they will have just the stress intended, whether weighty or slight. To preclude Ambiguity. — Ambiguity, as has been defined earlier,^ is the suggestion of two possible meanings, between which the reader's mind is left uncertain. It may come about through the choice of a word faulty in meaning ; of tener, however, it is incurred by faulty collocation of elements. The cases most requiring watchfulness against ambiguity are here given. 2 2. Of single words, the one that requires most care in placing, and that is oftenest misplaced, is only. The diffi- culty arises from the fact that only may be equally well attached to substantives, adjectives, verbs, or adverbs; to words, phrases, and clauses ; and so if it is separated from its principal, something that can usurp its relation is almost sure to intervene. It is true that the word is so often misplaced that readers adjust it mentally to the modification intended ; but this is no reason for placing it carelessly ; as a rule it should be placed, if possible, immediately before the word or construction to which it belongs. Examples. — "Daddy was only good when he was happy; and at other times he dipped recklessly into vices which would have been the ruin of them all had they been persistent." ^ Strictly, this means Daddy was no more than good; that is, the word "good " has usurped its attach- ment ; the order should be " only when he was happy,'' the only being immediately before the phrase it modifies. Sometimes the word only is used with an intended backward reference ; and this it can have when nothing comes after to steal it ; as " standing room only." Notice the ambiguity of the following : " New Huguenot churches are springing up on all sides, often in places where Protestant wor- ship has been abolished for over two hundred years. In two departments of central France only forty-five villages have since January besought the 1 See above, under Qualities of Style, pp. 3T, 32. 2 Mrs. Humphry Ward, David Grieve, p. 163. 242 COMPOSITION. Huguenot societies for regular Protestant services." ^ The word alone is used for such cases. 23. Peculiarly liable to ambiguity are what may be termed the swivel particles, such adverbs as at least, at all events, per- haps, indeed, in fact ; because, as their office is to set off sen- tence-members, they are apt to come between two emphatic elements, where their influence may be reckoned either back- ward or forward. Accordingly, they should always be tested for ambiguity before their place is finally decided upon. Examples. — "I think you will find my Latin exercise, at all events, as good as my cousin's." Does this mean, " My Latin exercise, at all events, I think,'' etc., or, " as good as my cousin's, at all events " ? Either of these orders would be unambiguous. — " Disturbance was not indeed infrequently caused by the summary arrest of fugitive slaves in various parts of the North." Better : " Not infrequently, indeed, disturbance was caused," etc. 24. A modifying phrase, like a modifying word, is either an adjective or an adverb ; and in placing it a test should be made that no substantive comes in to steal the adjectival rela- tion, no verb (or adverb, or participle, or adjective) to steal the adverbial. This is especially important where several phrases have to be grouped round one central attachment. No rule can be laid down for the relative order of phrases except to be watchful of the interior of phrases for wdrds that may form' a new nucleus of modification ; it is careless- ness in this regard that produces the most ludicrous effects in collocation. Examples. — I. Of an intervening noun. " And worst of all, the heavy pall hangs over all the land of Birmingham smoke, which, with a northerly wind, blots all the color out of the country, turns the blue sky to a dull brown, makes dusky shadows under the elm tops, and hides the distance in a thin veil of London fog." Here the part between the noun and its genitival phrase contains a word ("land") that produces confusion; it might be read "land of Birmingham smoke." — A question of stress comes up here which will be adverted to later ; see page 246, 29. 1 From a newspaper. PHRASEOLOGY. 243 2. Of intervening piirases containing verbs. " Base-ball managers must look at this pleasant weather and think of the opportunity they have let slip to fill their coffers to overflowing a/zM anything but pleasure'' Here the attachment of the last phrase is meant for " think," but it seems to belong to " fill," a verb that has slipped into an intervening phrase. The same faults are seen in the following : " Sir Morton Peto spoke of the notion that the national debt might be repudiated with absolute contempt." " People have been crying out that Germany never could be an aggressive power a great deal too soon." " It is curious to see how very little is said on the subject treated in the present essay, by the great writers on jurisprudence '' 25. In making up sentences of principal and dependent clauses, the writer should note how far the influence of such particles as if, unless, though, that, while, whereas, and the like extends ; they may by the conjunction and have the range of more than one clause, and need to be arrested if such range is not intended. The rule is to keep the principal assertions and the dependent clauses clearly separate from one another. Examples. — " The lesson intended to be taught by these manoeuvres will be lost, if the plan of operations is laid down too definitely before- hand, and the affair degenerates into a mere review." Is the coordinate here " the lesson . . . will be lost . . . and the affair degenerates," that is, two principal assertions paired together, or, " if the plan . . . and [if ] the affair,'' etc. ? Put the j^clause first, and one sense of the sentence is made clear, the principal assertions being by themselves ; put the word so or {hus in place of the bracketed if above, and the influence of the if is arrested. — "Our critics appear to be fascinated by the quaintness of our public, as the world is when our beast-garden has a new importation of magnitude, and the creature's appetite is reverently consulted." ' Here the influence of as is not properly arrested at the beginning of the next clause. — A Ma^clause within a rto^clause is apt to give trouble ; e.g. " Some faint elements of reason being discernible in the brute, it is not enough to prove that a process is not a process of reason, that something approaching to it is seen in the brute." Here a recast is needed, beginning, "The fact that something approaching reason ... is not enough," etc. To concentrate Stress For every element in the sentence there is an ordinary or typical position, where it performs its 1 Meredith, Essay on Comedy, p. 99. 244 COMPOSITION. function principal or subordinate without attracting special attention to itself. The problem how to concentrate stress on any such element is therefore merely some form of the problem how and where to remove it from its regular posi- tion ; to the solution of which problem it is necessary not only to know what is normal, what unusual in an element's position, but also to have a cultivated sense of the effect of every smallest change in placement. This cannot come by any formal theory ; it must be a tact. 26. The natural position of the simple adjective is before its noun. This order of collocation is so well established that " marked divergencies arrest the attention, and have, by reason of their exceptional character, a force that may be con- verted into a useful rhetorical effect." The occasional putting of the adjective after the noun, " one of the traces which early French culture has left on our literature," is a grace of style in cases where the noun has been sufficiently emphasized and can afford to throw the stress on the modification. When there is a group of adjectives, or when the adjective is modified by a phrase, the place after the noun is quite natural. Examples. — It will be seen in the following examples how the interest centres in the quality rather than in the thing qualified. " But at last, and even here, it seemed as if the years of this loyal and eager poet had felici- ties too many." — " Having been successively subject to all these influ- ences, our language has become as it were a sort of centre to which beauties the most opposite converge." In this latter example the adjunct of the adjective makes its position after the noun more nearly a matter of course. — In the next example the noun is already so taken for granted that all the interest centres rather in its adjectives, which accordingly take the stress place : " The crowd round a couple of dogs fighting is a crowd masculine mainly, with an occasional active, compassionate woman, flutter- ing wildly round the outside, and using her tongue and hands freely upon the men, as so many ' brutes ' ; it is a crowd annular, compact, and mobile ; a crowd centripetal, having its eyes and its heads all bent downwards and inwards, to one common focus." ^ 1 Dr. John Brown, Rab and his Friends. PHRASEOLOGY. 245 27. When, besides the adjective, the noun has belonging to it an article; demonstrative, or possessive, the position of this latter is next the adjective, with at most an adverb between. There is a tendency, due to recent German influence, to en- cumber the adjective with adjuncts of its own, — a construc- tion which packs away material into an unobtrusive position, but produces a lumbering effect unfriendly to free movement and ease. Examples. — "I have now travelled through nearly every Department in France, and I do not remember ever meeting with a dirty bed ; this, I fear, cannot be said of our happily in all other respects cleaner island." — " A young man, with some tints of academical training, and some of the livid lights of a then only incipient Rationalism on his mind." In these sentences the endeavor to introduce qualifying matter in a non-emphatic place is praiseworthy, but the place makes it seem like dead weight. 28. The single-word adverb is unemphatic before its verb and emphatic after it ; according to the stress needed, there- fore, the adverb can be placed at will. An adverbial phrase, coming as it does naturally after its verb, is stressed by being placed at the beginning of the sentence or clause. Examples. — i . In the following sentence the adverb, while important, is not emphatic : " Each man gains a. power of realizing and firmly con- ceiving those things he habitually deals with, and not other things." Here the stress-word is the verb. 2. Compare now the effect of placing the adverb after the verb : " He writes passionately, because he feels keenly ; forcibly, because he feels vividly ; he sees too clearly to be vague ; he is too serious to be otiose," etc. Here the adverb is the strong element ; strong enough in one instance (" forcibly ") to stand alone in its clause. 3. In the following the two positions are taken alternately, with the stress thereby shifted : " There is a plot to humiliate us in the most abomi- nable way. The whole family have sworn to make us blush publicly. Publicly blush ! They have written to Mama to come and speak out. Now will you attend to me, Caroline ? You do not credit such atrocity ? I know it to be true." 1 1 Meredith, Evan Harrington, Chap, xxx. 246 COMPOSITION. 4. The adverbial phrase emphasized by being placed at the beginning: •' In no modern country has ideality been more retarded than in our own ; and I think that certain restrictions have peculiarly limited production in the field of Poetry, — the chief of imaginative arts." Here the inverted sentence-order directs the stress. 29. A genitival or ^phrase, being the adjunct of a noun, naturally craves the place just after its noun, and in a series of phrases takes precedence of phrases adverbial in office. But in the stress-position, at the end, it is more liable than other phrases to seem misplaced, more liable also to incur ambiguity (cf. IT 24) ; it should be tested, therefore, for both of these faults. Examples. — In the following sentence we can see the justification of delaying the genitival phrase ; it is seeking the stress-position : " It is largely the magnificent gift to the present of dead and unremembered men." 1 — In the following, though there is the same reason, the position begins to seem awkward and suggestive of ambiguity : " I was frightened not less by the darkness than by the silence — which every now and then was made keener by the hooting in some elm or willow by the roadside of a screech-owl : a dismal bird." ^ — The following is too awkwardly collocated to justify itself, — it needs a. recast: "Again, the preservation in a race or nation by tradition of historical characters bears the same relation to literary embodiment that folk-lore or folk-ballads bear to literature." IV. RETROSPECTIVE REFERENCE. This term is here adopted \o designate the office of any ■word that requires for its interpretation some word or con- struction preceding. Under the term are included pronouns personal, demonstrative, and relative, adverbs demonstrative and relative, and phrases of reference, — in general, whatever for its meaning necessitates thinking back to an earlier word called an antecedent. 1 Gordon, The Christ of To-day, p. 266. 2 Gras, The Reds of the Midi, p, 66. PHRASEOLOGY. 247 In the whole range of composition there is no process oftener mismanaged than this process of retrospective refer- ence. The mismanagement results not from ignorance, but from haste and carelessness ; the writer, iri his ardor to con- tinue his thought, does not stay to look back, but trusts to chance for accuracy, or puts the burden of interpretation on his reader. It is of especial importance in this process to form the habit, in the case of any backward referring word, of looking back at once and making sure of its adjustments before proceeding. Such a grammatical habit once thoroughly established does not check or retard the current of the think- ing, and will save much trouble of recasting afterwards.^ Resources at Command. — -The range and character of retrospec- tive reference are indicated in the subjoined tabular view. TABLE OF RETROSPECTIVE REFERENCE. D EMON STRATIVES. Relatives. I. Person- and Thing-Reference. he she this these the former it they that those the latter who which that II. Place-Reference. here hence hither there thence thither where whence whither III. Time-Reference. now then when while 1 In speaking of " the liability of pronominal words to be the seat of obscurity," Professor Earle says : " The chief security against this danger lies in the cultivation 248 COMPOSITION. From this table it will be seen that reference may be made to a person or thing, to a place, or to a time ; and that any of these antecedents may be either definitely pointed out (by a demonstrative), or taken for granted (by a relative). Further, it will be noticed that when the antecedent is pointed out it may be recognized as either near or remote, and hence for each of the demonstratives (with the excep- tion of the personal pronoun) there are two forms, to indi- cate these two varieties of relation. When the antecedent is taken for granted, such discrimination is not so necessary. Owing to the lack of inflection in English, the means for discriminating between two or more possible antecedents are somewhat meagre. The unaided pronoun of the singular number, he, she, it, has the power of discriminating only between the sexes, and between persons and things ; while the plural, they, can discriminate only between one object and several. As a consequence of this poverty, in the general problem how to remove vagueness or ambiguity of reference, questions of order, prominence, proximity, repe- tition, and the like, assume cardinal importance. Note. — Before proceeding to the discussion of means, it may be desir- able to give some examples of vague reference, also some examples of well- managed reference. 1 . The following, from Smollett, will show how careless the matter of retrospective reference was a century ago : " The pedant assured his patron that although he could not divest the boy of the knowledge he had already imbibed, unless he would empower him to disable his fingers, he should of the grammatical habit of mind. Let every pronoun or pronominal word have its definite antecedent, and that not merely in some vague idea but in a definite gram- matical word. ... It is not enough that pronouns have their antecedents in the writer's mind, or in the sense of the previous clause ; they should always be referrible to grammatical words. There may be no doubt as to the meaning of a sentence, and yet it may be far from lucid. For by Lucidity we mean something more than the absence of darkness ; we mean a bright and outshining clearness which comes forward to meet the reader in a luminous and spontaneous manner. A grammatical habit of mind is tlie first rudiment of such a Lucidity as this." — English Prose, p. 196. PHRASEOLOGY. 249 endeavor, with God's help, to prevent his future improvement." Here the reader is le'ft to pick his way as best he can between three possible ante- cedents, all represented merely by the pronoun he. — " This is one of the most lifelike and telling portraits of Hawthorne that has ever appeared." Here the writer seems to mean "one — that has appeared," while his real meaning must be "portraits — that have appeared." The antecedent is not accurately discriminated.- — "An old friend of Mr. Watts, R. A. (him- self an artist), whose pictures are now on exhibition in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, has favored us with the following interesting sketch of that remarkable painter." Here the antecedent of whose has to be guessed at. — "A large capitalist or syndicate will sometimes buy all the wheat or cotton in the market, and hold it until its scarcity and the growing need for it enables him to charge what he will for it." Here the masculine pro- noun is made to do the double duty of a masculine and a neuter. z. Note how clear are the various means of reference in the following : " Monsieur was splendid to behold. All the precious stones and jewels of Cardinal Mazarin, which of course that minister could not do otherwise than leave; all the queen-mother's jewels, as well as a, few others belong- ing to his wife, — Monsieur wore them all, and he was as dazzling as the sun." 1 Here every word of reference clearly selects its proper antecedent. — "It was perhaps the fiftieth time since the day on which we opened this history, that this man, with a heart of bronze and muscles of steel, had left house and friends — everything, in short — to go in search of fortune and death. The one — that is to say. Death — had constantly retreated before him, as if afraid of him ; the othei that is to say. Fortune — only for a month past had really made an alliance with him."^ Here the writer's sense of clearness cannot be satisfied with merely pointing out his ante- cedent ; he takes pains also to repeat it, so that his reader shall not fail to follow him without effort. Preparing Antecedent for Reference. — As in a game the ball is not only played but left in position for the next play, so in the phrasing of the thought a word that is to be referred to should be so placed or treated that the reader may naturally think back to it from the referring word. The spontaneous effort to leave the antecedent in favorable position is one of the results of the grammatical habit mentioned above. 1 Dumas, Vicomte de Bragelonne, Vol. iii, p. 416. '' lb., Vol. ii, p. 156. 250 COMPOSITION. 29. The most natural aid is from the law of Proximity. Other things being equal, the pronoun will be referred to the nearest word that can function as an antecedent ; the endeavor should be made, therefore, so to arrange the sentence that the real antecedent shall occupy that place. This applies with especial force to the antecedent of the restrictive relative. Examples. — " Some prisons have a bad reputation with the criminal fraternity, and I fancy they rather shun the States where these exist." Here the word they is used as naturally referrible to the nearest antecedent " crimi- nal fraternity," and the reference is so spontaneous that the later word these is clear enough, without closer discrimination as belonging to the other. — In the following sentence proximity is wholly depended upon for reference : " In this war both Marius and Sulla served ; Sulla increased his reputa- tion, Marius tarnished his. Some plead for him age and illness." Here the word him can be referred to the nearest antecedent because the gram- matical prominence of the two words Marius and Sulla is equal, and only the law of Proximity is operative. 30. But other things are not always equal. The nearest word may be insignificant in office, and so may not easily attract the pronoun ; or it may not be practicable to put the real antecedent next its pronoun. Aid should be sought in such cases from the law of Prominence ; that is, the true ante- cedent should be put in a principal grammatical function, usually as subject ; it may, however, be the object of a verb or a preposition, but not in the possessive case, nor may it be left to implication. Examples. — " At this moment the colonel came up and took the place of the wounded general. He gave orders to halt." Here the remoter noun (the colonel) is so much more prominent, both in sense and construc- tion, that no real ambiguity exists. In the sentence quoted under the previous paragraph, if we put one of the clauses in subordinate construction the law of Prominence may be made to aid the law of Proximity with a distinct gain to clearness ; thus : " While Sulla increased his reputation, Marius tarnished his. Some plead for him age and illness." Here Marius as subject of a principal clause takes the pronoun by prominence as well as by proximity. PHRASEOLOGY. 251 The following sentences are blind because the antecedent is left implied. " The parsonage of Bishop's Borne in Kent, three miles from Canterbury, is in that archbishop's gift." Here the archbishop of Canterbury has to be understood from the mere mention of the place. — " No vice or wicked- ness which people fall into from indulgence of desires which are natural to all, ought to place them below the compassion of the virtuous part of the world : which indeed often makes me a little apt to suspect the sincerity of their virtue, who are too warmly provoked at other people's personal ' sins." Here the word which must be referred to a wholly indefinite ante- cedent. The word who represents a possessive ; admissible here, but con- sider the greater directness of reference in " of the virtue of those who." l Clearness and Fulness in the Referring Word. — Two objects may be had in view in the use of a word or phrase of ref- erence : first and most imperatively, to discriminate clearly between two or more possible antecedents, a matter requir- ing sometimes much ingenuity ; and secondly, by the manner of reference not only to represent but to describe, or other- wise enrich the meaning of, the antecedent. 31. The following are the principal means of securing ade- quate clearness in pronominal reference. First, as unaided referring word, the relative may be trusted to stand alone only when the antecedent has been sufficiently prepared- by proximity or prominence ; the personal pronoun only for ante- cedents of different genders and numbers. Secondly, when the antecedents are of the same gender or number, recourse is sometimes had, with profit to the vividness as well as the clearness of the style, to the use of direct discourse, which changes the pronouns from third person to first and second. Thirdly, the demonstratives this and that, the former and the latter, may often be useful, more so in written than in spoken style, in bringing to mind antecedents in their order, near and remote. Fourthly, with the demonstrative or relative the real antece- dent is sometimes chosen out from the mass and repeated. 1 These sentences are quoted from Izaak Walton and Richard Steele, respectively, by Earle, in English Prose, p. ig6. 252 COMPOSITION. Examples. — i. The spontaneity of the pronouns when they represent different numbers or genders is too common to need enlargement. An example : " Outsiders will spur him on. They will say, ' Why do you not write a great book ? paint a great picture ? ' If his guardian angel fail him, they may even persuade him to the attempt, and, ten to one, his hand is coarsened and his style falsified for life." 1 2. The following will illustrate the difficulty in pronouns of the same gender, and the remedy of direct discourse : " He told his friend that if he did not feel better in half an hour he thought he had better return." Here the ambiguity is quite insurmountable. Say, however, " He said to his friend, ' If I (or you) do not feel better I think I had better return, " and all is clear enough. — Take the sentence from Smollett quoted on p. 248 and put it into direct discourse : " The pedant said to his patron, ' Al- though I cannot divest the boy of the knowledge he has already imbibed, unless you will empower me to disable his fingers, I will endeavor, with God's help, to prevent his future improvement.' " Here the three per- sons, first, second, and third, are used to distribute the pronouns that before were all in the third person. 3. The follpwing sentences illustrate the serviceableness of demonstra- tives : " The soldier and the explorer have moments of a worthier excite- ment, but they [better, these] are purchased by cruel hardships and periods of tedium that beggar language." ^ Here the word these would enable the reader to think of the nearer of two possible antecedents. " And don't fancy that you will lower yourselves by sympathy with the lower creatures; you cannot sympathize rightly with the higher, unless you do with those: but you have to sympathize with the higher, too — with queens, and kings, and martyrs, and angels." ' • — "The mind and soul of Transcendentalism seemed to find their predestined service in the land of the Puritans. The poetry which sprang from it had a more subtle aroma than that whose didacticism infected the English Lake school. The latter made prosaic the verse of famous poets ; out of the former the quickest inspiration of our down-East thinkers seemed to grow." * This last example is none too clear. 4. The antecedent repeated with the relative or demonstrative : " It had also a bright-varnished mahogany tea-table, over which was a looking-glass in a gilt frame, with a row of little architectural balls on it ; which looking- 1 Stevenson, Foniainebieau, Works, Vol. xv, p. 173. 2 Stevenson, Letter to a Young Gentleman, Works, Vol. xv, p. 282. 8 RUSKIN, Two Paths, p. 172. 4 Stedman, Poets of America, p. 51. PHRASEOLOGY. 253 glass was always kept shrouded in white muslin at all seasons of the year, on account of a tradition that flies might be expected to attack it for one or two weeks in summer." l — " I am convinced that it is likeness, and not contrast, which produces this liking — likeness, mark you, in some essential particular, in some sub-stratum, as I said before, in the mind, which liking is not overcome by considerable dissimilarity upon the upper surface." ^ 32. The referring word, in addition to representing its antecedent, may be made the occasion for enriching or more closely determining its meaning. The following main aspects of this may be mentioned. First, instead of repeating the antecedent identically, it may repeat it by a defining or descriptive word. Secondly, in thus naming its antecedent it may discriminate between a thing and a fact, and thus its antecedent may be a whole assertion and yet be perfectly rep- resented in the reference. Thirdly, the referring word may on occasion make the reference more vague or general than by representing a concrete thing, by the use of words like such, thereby, in this manner, and the like. By such liberty and flexibility of reference the thought may be kept from baldness and made to grow at each step.' Examples. — i . Reference by a defining word is illustrated in the sen- tence quoted from Dumas on p. 249 : " All the precious stones and jewels of Cardinal Mazarin, which of course that minister could not 'do otherwise than leave." — Professor Bain's proposed correction of the sentence from Smollett (pp. 248, 252) employs descriptive terms thus: "The pedant assured his patron that although he could not divest the boy of the knowledge already imbibed, unless he were empowered to disable the little trickster's fingers, he should endeavor, with God's help, to prevent his pupil's future improvement." 2. Discrimination between a thing and a fact, between word and clause- reference : " When an American book is republished in England, it [better thefacti is heralded as a noteworthy event in literature." — The sentence from Steele quoted on p. 251 might be helped, though perhaps not wholly 1 Stowe, Oldtown Folks^ p. 63. 2 Helps, Brevia, p. 132. 254 COMPOSITION. corrected, if with which' vie. should read a defining word: which unkind- liness indeed, etc. — " God, foreseeing the disorders of human nature, has given us certain passions and affections which arise from, or whose objects are, these disorders. Of this sort are fear, resentment, compas- sion." Here the antecedent is wrongly treated not as a collection but it class ; better, " among these are," etc. 3. The referring word purposely left large in its reference. " When a recognized organization places itself in opposition to wha't the people regard as their rights, it endangers its own existence; and a continuation of this attitude [better such attitude] is almost sure to cause its over- throw.'' The word such draws attention not to the particular deed but to the kind of deed. — " It may be well to make brief mention of Lawrence Sheriff, the founder of this Rugby school, that some of its early history may through that [better, may thereby\ be portrayed " ; the reference being not to mention but to the fact of making mention. ~'v. PROSPECTIVE REFERENCE. This term designates the office of any word of reference, pronominal or other, when the word or idea for which it stands is yet to be expressed. 'Anticipative It and There. — The idioms it is and there is (or there are, there was, there were), beginning a sentence or clause, are the commonest forms of prospective reference, and are especially valuable as a means of inverting the grammatical order of subject and predicate. Introduced first, these words stand provisionally for the actual subject ; while the latter, thus free to choose its position, may be placed where it will have the greatest distinction. Examples. — i. "It is a necessity of every manufacturing and- com- mercial people that their customers should be very wealthy and intelligent." Here the clause " that their customers," etc., which is the real subject of remark, acquires a distinction proper to its importance by being placed after its predicate, " is a necessity " ; and this is effected by making it stand provisionally for the subject. 2. Observe what emphasis is given to the words " a single day " in the following, by the facility of delay afforded by the use of There at the PHRASEOLOGY. 25S beginning : " There has not for the whole of that time been a single day of my life when it would have been safe for me to go south of Mason and Dixon's line in my own country." 33. As the word it may refer backward as well as forward, care is needed not to employ it where the reference is uncer- tain, and not to mix its retrospective and anticipative func- tions unadvisedly in the same passage. Examples. — The following examples will show that even where no real ambiguity exists the double use of it in the same passage always sug- gests the possibility of being led astray : " It would be absurd to make another attempt; it would be a mere throwing away of money." Here the second it, retrospective, sounds at best awkward after its anticipative use. So too in the following sentence from Ruskin : " It is pretty and appropriate ; and, if it boasted of any other perfection, it would be at the expense of its propriety.'' The following, copied from a newspaper, is an extreme instance of care- lessness in the mixture of functions. It is a description of a temperance speech made by a rope-walker while hanging in the air : " It was a speech not easily forgotten, delivered as it was from a peculiar platform, and on a subject not often touched under the circumstances. It made me think of some other things, oh the line of the same thought. The mind, the soul, has a grip. It may hold on. Sometimes it is imperative. It is death not to do so. It is responsible in the matter. It is chargeable with its own destruction if it does not hold on." ^ Demonstratives and Numerals As in blazing a path through an unexplored tract for the benefit of those who are to come after, so means of prospective reference are often used, as pointers, to prepare the reader for something espe- cially noteworthy or helpful in the passage on which he is entering. 1 " The word it\i the greatest troubler that I know of In language. It is so small, and so convenient, that few are careful enough in using it. Writers seldom spare this word. Whenever they are at a loss for either a nominative or an objective to their sentence, they, without any kind of ceremony, clap in an it. . . . Never put an it upon paper without thinking well of what you are about. When I see many its in a page, I always tremble for the writer."— Cobbett, English Grammar, § § 194, jg6. 2S6 COMPOSITION. 34. The strong demonstratives, such as thisz.r\A. these, when used prospectively, serve to fasten attention on some descrip- tive or important element of what is to be told, before the thing itself is named. The personal pronouns, thus employed, sound more artificial, and when used should not keep their subject waiting long. Examples. — " This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners." Here the saying itself, which is delayed by the prospective this, is not only emphasized by position, but defined beforehand as to its importance, by the intermediate phrase. The somewhat strange sound of a prospective personal pronoun is illustrated by the following : " But such a use of language, although necessary to a good style, has no more direct relation to it than her daily dinner has to the blush of a blooming beauty." 35. Numerals and other particles of reference are especially useful in spoken discourse for mapping out the plan of what is coming, and thus enabling the hearer to grasp its bounds and stages. The copiousness of such words of reference is naturally greater as the thought taxes the jnind more. The common tendency, to give the hearer too little help of this kind, should be noted and corrected. Examples of Explicit Reference. — The following will illustrate Burke's carefulness in articulating the thought of his speeches before amplifying it : " The capital leading questions on which you must this day decide are these two : First, whether you ought to concede ; and, secondly, what your concession ought to be. On the first of these questions we have gained some ground." 1 ■ — The following paragraph from Ruskin is nearly all a prospective laying out of plan ; though he is somewhat less formal' and does not employ numerals : " We have contemplated the rural dwell- ing of the peasant ; let us next consider the ruralized domicile of the gen- tleman ; and here, as before, we shall first determine what is theoretically beautiful, and then observe how far our expectations are fulfilled in indi- vidual buildings. But a few preliminary observations are necessary."* Consider how these prospective words keep the plan before the reader. 1 Burke, Conciliation with America. 2 Ruskin, Poetry of Architecture. PHRASEOLOGY. 257 VI. CORRELATION. Many words or forms of expression occur in pairs, the one member of the pair suggesting and requiring the other. Some cautions and characteristics of this mutual relation need here to be noted. Cautions in Comparison In comparing by means of such words as than and as, there is a tendency to ambiguity or inexactness between the things or acts compared. 36. Verbs or prepositions should be repeated after than or as, when necessary to make the grammatical relation of the later member clear. Examples. — "Cardinal Richelieu hated Buckingham as sincerely as the Spaniard Olivares." This sentence leaves it uncertain whether the last name is a subject or an object ; we may read it either, " as did the Span- iard Olivares," or, " as he hated the Spaniard Olivares." Supply the verb according to the sense intended. " Pleasure and excitement had more attraction for him than his friend." Here, according to the intended meaning, a verb or a preposition should be supplied : "ihzxvfor his friend," or, "than had\As, friend." 37. In comparing complex objects, care is needed that the points are really comparable with each other. Sometimes, through heedlessness, the comparison is given as between ideas that really have no correlation. Examples. — "■ No author could more faithfully represent a character than this portrayal of Count Cenci by Shelley; and though the subject is unworthy, we cannot but admire the power with which it is treated." Here the comparison is apparently made between representing and por- trayal, an act and a thing. If we should say " than Shelley has portrayed the character of Count Cenci," the comparison would be between like objects, to which "faithfully" equally applies. The following question was actually propounded once in a college prize debate ; the decision reached, however, is not recorded : " Resolved, that a college graduate is better fitted for American citizenship than any other." 258 COMPOSITION. Particles of Correlation. — Such particles as either . . . or, neither . . . nor, on the one hand . . . on the other hand, not only . . . but also, serve to prepare for coming alternatives of thought, enabling the reader thus to anticipate the whole circuit and prepare for its relations at the outset. Note. — Consider how necessary it is, for example, in the following sentence, to prepare the reader from the first for an alternative : " You must take this extremely perilous course, in which success is uncertain, and failure disgraceful, as well as ruinous, or else the liberty of your country is endangered." The correlatives, " Either you must take . . . or else," etc., save much liability to misinterpretation and obviate the necessity of cor- recting an impression formed and held for half a sentence. — It may sometimes be desirable to neglect the correlation on purpose to give the sentence a sudden epigrammatic turn ; see below, under Epigram, p. 273. 38. The words not only and but, or but also, when correla- tive, should be followed by the same part of speech. Examples. — " He not only gave me advice but also help " is wrong. Write, " He gave me not only advice but also help." What part of speech follows these particles is immaterial ; simply make them the same, — nouns, verbs, or prepositional phrases, — and they will articulate their respective thoughts clearly. " He spoke not only forcibly but also taste- fully [adverbs], and this too, not only before a small audience but also in a large public meeting [prepositions], and his speeches were not only suc- cessful, but also worthy of success [adjectives]." Sometimes the also may be separated from the but by considerations of grace or strength, for example : " But by seeking the other things first, as we naturally do, we miss not only the Kingdom of God, but those other things also which are truly attained only by aiming beyond them." ^ 39. The particles indeed, in fact, in truth, to be sure, and the like, are much used, by way of concession, to prepare for a coming adversative, but, still, or yet. They may thus control the relation of a clause, a sentence, or even a whole para- graph, before the adversative correlate is reached. 1 Rule and examples taken mostly from Abbott's How to Write Clearly. PHRASEOLOGY. 259 Examples. — The following examples are all taken from Macaulay, who used this construction almost to the extent of mannerism.* "No writer, indeed, has delineated character more skilfully than Tacitus ; but this is not his peculiar glory." — "It is true that his veneration for antiquity produced on him some of the effects which it produced on those who arrived at it by a very different road. [Here intervenes a sentence of amplification.] Yet even here we perceive a,difference." — " The fashionable logic of the Greeks was, indeed, far from strict." [This sentence introduces a paragraph, and the indeed controls the thought of it all. The next paragraph then begins : ] " Still, where thousands of keen and ready intellects were con- stantly employed in speculating on the qualities of actions and on the principles of government, it was impossible that history should retain its old character." Often this correlation is effected in the first member, with- out the aid of a particle, by introducing a thought so obvi- ously concessive that the but is naturally suggested. Examples. — " He has written something better, perhaps, than the best history ; but he has not written a good history ; he is, from the first to the last chapter, an inventor." — " Of the concise and elegant accounts of the campaigns of Caesar little can be said. They are incomparable models for military dispatches ; but histories they are not, and do not pretend to be.'' Vn. CONJUNCTIONAL RELATION. More perhaps than on anV other one thing, the progress, the flexibility, and the delicacy of a writer's expression, are dependent on the fine and' accurate use of conjunctions. They mark every change of direction and relation. Their office i s_t o take ideas that otherwise jspuldie loosely strung togeth er, and make them interlinked j.nd continuous, " true composition and not mere loose accretion."^ The mastery 1 Examples all from Macaulay's essay on History. 2 Pater, Apfredations, p. 20. — "A close reasoner and a good writer in general may be known by his pertinent use of connectives. Read that page of Johnson ; you cannot alter one conjunction without spoiling the sense. It is in a linkM strain throughout. In your modern books, for the most part, the sentences in a page have the same connection with each other that marbles have in a bag; they touch without 260 COMPOSITION. of conjunctions, therefore, is more than mere proficiency in verbal distinctions; just as accurate reference called for an ingrained grammatical habit, so here is needed what may be called the logical habit, the habit of noting the relations of ideas, and of estimating closely the kind, the degree, the shadings of such relations. Out of the two great classes into which conjunctions fall, the coordinating and the subordinating, rise two leading types of sentence structure, the composita and the evoluta, of which more will be said in the chapter on The Sentence.^ I. - ' The Coordinating Class. — By the coordinating sense is meant that the conjunctions of this class introduce a thought hav- ing the same rank, the same grammatical importance, as the thought preceding ; the whole utterance, therefore, with its conjunctive link, being a composite utterance, one part added to or growing out of the other. Additive and Cumulative It is the function of these con- junctions to add a new assertion having the same bearing, and moving in the same direction, as what preceded. Type Conjunction and List. — The great representative of these conjunctions is AND. Others are : also, yea, likewise, in like manner, again, besides, too, further, moreover, furthermore, add to this. Most of these head their clauses ; the word too, however, is put after another word in close sequence, and the words also and likewise may be placed after the first pause. adhering." — Coleridge, Table Talk, May 15, 1833. — " This is a feature in which our Prose stands in contrast with French prose. French writers are much more explicit in Conjunctions than we are ; and perhaps this is one of the traits which produce the wonderful luminousness of French diction. Perhaps it would be as well for English writers to cultivate our Conjunctions with a little more attention, keep- ing an eye not only upon the French page, but also on that of Hooker and other Elizabethan authors." — Earle, English Prose, p. 196. 1 See below, pp. 317, 318. PHRASEOLOGY. 261 40. The shadings of relation in these conjunctions come from their adverbial sense ; for it is to be noted that con- junctions are mostly derived from adverbs, and may present all stages of use, from almost purely adverbial to almost purely connective. The degree of relation may be softened, that is, rendered less obtrusive, by using a conjunction that may be removed from the beginning and buried in its clause. Note. — In the sentence, " He taught me also, and said unto me, Let thine heart retain my words," the assertion is slipped in, as it were, before its relation to the previous is revealed ; this throws the stress upon the assertion rather than upon the connection, leaving the latter to perform its function unmarked. 41. A thought moving in the same direction needs often to be intensified in succeeding members, in order that better progress and climax may be secured. Connectives that also intensify are sometimes called cumulative, from the Latin cumulo, "to heap up." Note. — We see this cumulative force in such connectives as : more than this, especially, in greater degree, all the more, much more, after all. Nay is an old-fashioned cumulative, quite serviceable on occasion but suggestive of archaism; as, " To the end of his days he enjoyed his bottle after dinner, nay, could scarce get along without it ; and mixed a punch or a posset as well as any in our colony." ' The following sentence, from its lack of cumulation, is tame : " But anything is better than pedantry displaying itself in verse, and in connec- tion with the name of Honier." We expect "and especially," or some word which will make the second member worth saying. Adversative. — These introduce a new statement contrary in some respect to the preceding, — either as limiting, or as arresting a seeming inference from it. Type Conjunction and List. — The representative of adversative particles is but. Others are : still, yet, however, only, nevertheless, not- withstanding, at the same time, for all that, after all. I Churchill, Richard Carvel, p. 4, 262 COMPOSITION. Of these the word however does not stand at the head of its member, but after the first-pause; and only can be used conjunctively only as it stands at the head of its clause and is set off by a comma. The word though, which is generally a subordinating conjunction, may be used as an adversative when its clause succeeds another, and when a large pause is made between. 42. When the word but is used to arrest an implied infer- ence from the preceding and turn the thought in opposite direction, be sure that such inference is natural, and that the added idea is antithetic ; in other words, that the adversative relation is real. Examples. — In the sentence " He is poor, but proud," the antithesis of proud to poor is real, because it is natural to infer that a poor man would be humble. Compare, however, the following : " Luther's character was emotional and dogmatic, but exceedingly courageous.'' Here cour- ageous does not arrest any natural inference from the preceding ; on the contrary it seems to supply a thought in the same direction, and the but has no real adversative function. And would be more accurate. Or if we were to take as the inference that Luther, being emotional and dogmatic, was nothing else, we could say, " Luther's character was emotional and dogmatic, but also exceedingly courageous." 43. The adversative relation is susceptible of various degrees and shadings. The strongest adversative, but, when used exclusively, as it often is by unskilled writers, gives a certain hardness and glare to the style. It is better suited to spoken diction ; while the softer adversative however, though more bookish and studied, makes the relation less obtrusive, and sets the opposed ideas less definitely over against each other. Examples — The effect of the exclusive use of but adversative can be shown only by an extended passage ; here an example may be adduced showing how it may be desirable to soften the relation. " This society was founded in 1817, since which time it has done a truly noble work in aiding needy applicants for help. But at present the churches seem little disposed to support it." Here the word but is rather abrupt, and seems to PHRASEOLOGY. 263 recognize a sharper antithesis than we can evolve from its connected ideas ; better would be, " At present, however, the churches seem little disposed to support it." — Care should be taken that the adversative implied by the softened however be not too attenuated. Professor Earle quotes the follow- ing : " Cureton imagined that he could gain evidence for the Hebrew original of St. Matthew from the Syriac version which he published, an4 which he contended had not been made from Greek, but from the original Aramaic. However, on that point he has failed to convince scholars." Of this he remarks : " The connective however implies some antecedent discussion of the point which does not appear on the page, and this is a defect in writing." ^ 44. An adversative within an adversative may be used in two ways. Used as a further turning of the thought, it ordi- narily requires to be indicated by a different adversative par- ticle from the main one, else it makes the thought restless and gyrating. There is, however, a highly rhetorical use of the repeated adversative particle, the thought being not suc- cessively turned but continued in the same direction, thus securing the emphasis of iterated relation. Examples. — i. In the following example the effect of the repeated but is simply crude ; as if the thought were turned round and then wheeled back again. " He knew that Tyrfdal was an expert detective and sel- dom blundered. But he was not quite ready to admit the dangerous doc- trine that all men are to be suspected until proved innocent. But he was too wise a clerk to risk informing Captain Adam of what had occurred, lest his own arrest as a confederate should follow." ^ Here if we should say, " He was too wise a clerk, however, to risk," etc., the second adversa- tive is disguised. — The following, from De Quincey, manages the repetition of the adversative with easy grace : " But it is no more than a skirmish which is going on ; in the course of which, however, an occasion suddenly arises for a desperate service." ' 2. The following illustrates the rhetorical iteration of the adversative : " Not a. hut he builds but is the visible embodiment of a thought ; but bears visible record of invisible things ; but is, in the transcendental sense, 1 Earle, English Prose, p. 197. 2 E. P. Roe, The Gray and the Blue, p. 96. s De Quincey, Autobiographic Sketches, p. 151. 264 COMPOSITION. symbolical as well as real." i — Likewise this from De Quincey : "All is finite in the present ; and even that finite is infinite in its velocity of flight towards death. But in God there is nothing finite ; but in God there is nothing transitory; but in God there can be nothing that tends to death." 2 Illative and Causal. — Illative conjunctions (name derived from the Latin illaium, in-ferre) indicate inference, eflfect, or consequence. Causal conjunctions introduce a reason or explanation. Both are coordinating, in the sense of pushing the thought to some appended thought of the same gram- matical importance. Type Conjunctions and List. — The representative of illative con- junctional relation is therefore. Others are : wherefore, hence, whence, consequently, accordingly, thus, so, then, so then. Now is an old-fashioned connective used to introduce a consequence not closely connected with the preceding. The representative of causal conjunctional relation is FOR. Others are :- because, and phrasal connectives such as : arising from, owing to, due to, and the like. Most of these may be used either coordinately or subordinately. 45. The kind of inference, as indicated by the adverbial force of the conjunction, is a matter requiring accurate thought, and too often left loose. The word thus is fre- quently misused, from the variety and vagueness of relation it is made to bear. Example. — " Two emotions were paramount in his mind : hope that he might perform the task more efficiently than had any of his rivals, and fear lest in any part of it he should fall below his ideal. Thus, being so power- fully impelled, he soon distanced all competitors." Here thus, which properly means in this manner, does not express the exact nature of the sequence, and is all the more confusing for being very near the meaning. The word accordingly would be more accurate. 1 Carlvle, Sartor Resartus, Book iii, Chap. iii. 2 De Quincey, Suspiria dc Profundi!, p. 255. PHRASEOLOGY. 26S 46. The causal relation, being the one perhaps most readily suggested, can best be trusted to go unmarked by a particle. The constant employment of for, for instance, is a mark of crude writing. Example. — " You must have handed me that money when I was not thinking of it. For I found it when I made up my account at night.'' The wordybr is superfluous. (, '. The Subordinating Class The conjunctions of this class introduce a thought having an ancillary or secondary gram- matical relation to a principal assertion ; the whole utterance, therefore, consisting of a main assertion with such condition- ing and modifying parts as serve to give its true scope and limits. Conditional and Defining. — These serve to give conditions, limitations, accompaniments of time, place, and manner, and the like. Type Conjunction and List. — The representative of conditional con- junctions is IF. The condition may have either a positive implication, as : provided, as, whereas, inasmuch as ; or adversative, as : though, although, while, unless, save, except. The particles when, while, where, expressing time and place limitations, are in government just like a conditional particle. For brevity and simpHcity we speak of ^clauses and 70^^«-clauses as indi- cating the conditional relation. 47. The art of subordination — what to make subordinate and what principal — is something requiring much study of the relative importance of ideas. To put every idea in prin- cipal assertion is not composition but mere- accretion ; but in subordinating one idea to another, study to subordinate the right thing. Illustrations. — Imperfect subordination of ideas is shown in the following : " Henry V. was one of those few young men who give up their youth to carousal and folly, with the resolve that when they are older they 266 COMPOSITION. will settle down to a steadier life, and who succeed in carrying out their better purpose." Here the two statements cannot equally be made of few young men ; it is only the second that can rightly be predicated of them, the first being preparatory to this. The first clause ought therefore to be subordinated in structure to the second ; thus : " Henry V. was one of those few young men who, having given up their youth . . . with the resolve that . . . , actually succeed in carrying out their better purpose.'' The following sentence appears in the Authorized Version of the New Testament : " But God be thanked that ye were the servants of sin, but ye have obeyed from the heart that form of doctrine which was delivered you." Here it is evident that the thanks are due not for what is said in the first clause but only for the fact mentioned in the second. The makers of the Revised Version, recognizing this, subordinate thus : " But thanks be to God, that, whereas ye were servants of sin, ye became obedient from the heart to that form of teaching whereunto ye were delivered." 'K poorer verse on the whole, but better subordinated. 48. Subordination by means of a conjunction may be aug- mented, that is, the subordinate clause made less emphatic and obtrusive, by condensed and rapid structure where occa- sion permits, and by putting the subordinate clause in an inconspicuous position. The opposite means are relied on when the condition is the important part of the sentence. Examples. — Note the difference in emphasis between the conditional clauses in the following examples. " Even so faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone." Here the ^clause attracts comparatively little atten- tion, being buried in the sentence. Compare the following : — " But now farewell. I am going a long way With these thou seest — if indeed I go (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) — To the island-valley of Avilion." Here the j/^clause-has an emphatic place, being after the principal asser- tion ; and the condition is made distinctive by the word indeed, and the parenthesis following. 49. Subordination inside a clause already subordinate should be made by the use of a different conjunction ; else there is danger that the second clause may be read as coordinate with the other instead of subordinate to it. PHRASEOLOGY. 267 Examples. — "If the man will make full restitution of the stolen goods, if he is honest in his expressed purpose to lead a better life, he may be pardoned." Here the second subordination would be better effected by another conjunction : "provided indeed he is honest," etc. The particle provided would be, perhaps, too prosaic for poetry ; but notice the following : — " But thou — (/"thou wilt seek earnestly unto God, And to the Almighty make supplication, — So be that thou art pure and upright, — Verily then He will awake for thee. And will restore the habitation of thy righteousness." 1 Here the second subordination, which evidently must be made tributary to the first, is made consistently with the poetic nature of the passage. Sequential. — ■ By this term we may designate those subordi- nating conjunctions which, instead of indicating an antece- dent condition or accompaniment, carry on the assertion to a result or object. Type Conjunction and List. — The representative of this kind of conjunctional relation is that. Others are : in order that, so that, as well as, as much as, whereby. 50. Conjunctions of this class are valuable for prolonging an assertion beyond its natural close until something essen- tial to its full significance is added. A danger to be guarded against, however, is the involved construction which these conjunctions are liable to occasion. Note. — These conjunctions are derived from the relative and are much like the relative construction in the facility with which they add new elements. An example of their usefulness : " He is so anxious to carry his point that he cares not what point he carries." — An example to show the danger of involved construction : " Eusebius tells that Dionysius of Corinth relates that Dionysius the Areopagite, who was converted to the faith by Paul the Apostle, according to the account given in the Acts, was the first bishop of Athens." ^ Here it is evident that the style may easily become strung-out and loose. 1 Revised translation oijob viii. 6, by the author of this book. 2 Earle, English Prose, p. S4. CHAPTER IX. ORGANIC PROCESSES. Every composition, from the phrase onward, with all its component parts and stages, is an organism, wherein every part derives vitality from every other, and all are subservient to o ne unity of impression. The processes that are employed in evolving an organism of this kind have, therefore, applica- tions beyond the limits of the phrase; they may on occasion extend to the ordering of a whole section or even discourse ; they belong, in fact, to all organization of thought. Here, however, it is proposed to examine the most directly practical of them merely in their principle and first application, which, being understood, will naturally enough suggest their functions in a broader field. I. NEGATION. To create greater distinction for an idea, or to set one idea over against another, much recourse is had to the negative in some form or degree. Degrees of Negation. — The typical means of expressing the negative, with no special connotation of stress or lightness, is the adverb not. For some purposes it may be desirable to intensify this negation, for others to soften it. I. For intensifying the negative the most absolute means is the adjective no, taking the place of the adverb and negat- ing the whole subject instead of the act. The adverb itself, too, is often strengthened either by a supporting adverb or 268 ORGANIC PROCESSES. l(fy by an equivalent containing no, as in the expressions not at all, in no wise, by no means. Examples. — One can easily feel the difference in intensity between these two forms of negation : " Since the fall, mere men are not able in this life perfectly to keep the commandments of God " ; with which compare : " No mere man, since the fall, is able," etc. This second sentence throws the negation into a stronger part of the assertion. Carlyle, whose tendency to negation was something of a mannerism, shall furnish examples of intensified negative. " Shall we say, then, Dante's effect on the world was small in compari- son ? Not so : his arena is far more restricted ; but also it is far nobler, clearer ; — perhaps «<)/less but more important." — " This Mahomet, then, we will in no wise consider as an Inanity and Theatricality, a poor conscious ambitious schemer ; we canKo/ consider him so." — " He is by no means the truest of Prophets ; but I do esteem him a true one." — " No most gifted eye can exhaust the significance of any object." This example makes its negative still more rhetorical by assuming that there can be more than one superlative. — " No Dilettantism in this Mahomet ; it is a business of Reprobation and Salvation with him ; of Time and Eternity ; he is in deadly earnest about it I " Here the absolute no is so strong that it can dispense with the verb and make its assertion alone.i 2. For softening the negative, various means are available. In negating a quality the negative prefix un- or in- (sometimes non-) is milder than the adverb not. In negating an act, the word nor, uncorrelative, at the beginning of the clause, softens the negation ; it sounds literary, however, not conversational. The negative adverb may also be made unobtrusive by being buried in its clause. Examples. — i . Of the prefix negative. The increased use of forms in un-, already noticed (see above, p. 67, example 4), has greatly enlarged the vocabulary of the negative ; e.g. " As in flame and lightning, it stands written there ; awful, «Kspeakable, ever present to him." — The following sentences give all degrees, strong and mild : " The one must in nowise be done, the other in nowise left ««done. You shall not measure them ; they are /Kcommensurable ; the one is death eternal to a man, the other is life eternal." ^ 1 Examples taken from Carlyle's Hero Worship. 270 COMPOSITION. 2. Of the uncorrelative nor. " But those were simple, fortunate times for the young minstrel, who took his success modestly and gladly, nor for- got his work withal; and he now enjoyed n. season as poetic as ever afterward came to him." ^ " Yet in my secret mind one way I know, Nor do I judge if it shall win or fail ; But much must still be tried, which shall but fail." ^ 3. Of the unobtrusively placed negative. " In fiction, no more than elsewhere, may a writer pretend to be what he is not, or to know what he knows not." Note how much milder this is than to say, "No more in fiction than elsewhere," etc. Double Negative. — In English the use of two negatives to strengthen the negation, though native to the language, has through Latin influence been abandoned, and now survives only as a vulgarism.* For modified affirmation, however, the double negative, one of the negations being expressed by a prefix, is extensively employed. 3. The value of the double negative as an affirmative lies in the fact that it expresses a milder and more guarded degree of meaning than does direct affirmation ; it is employed, ac- cordingly, in the interests of precision. Examples. — " It is not mprobable that from this acknowledged power of public censure grew in time the practice of auricular confession." Here the writer, unwilling to commit himself to the unqualified assertion that the thing is probable, chooses rather to negative the opposite. — In the following, too, the hedging of the assertion by double negative states the fact with obviously greater precision : " After a while, the little lad grew accustomed to the loneliness of the place j and in after days remembered this part of his life as a period not ««happy." * This construction, as it reveals effort, may easily be overworked ; note for example the following : " Yet it is not a«remarkable that an experi- 1 Stedman, Poets of America^ p. 403, 2 Matthew Arnold, Balder Dead. s LouNSBURV, History of the English Language, p. 135. * Thackeray, Henry Esmond, Chap. iv. ORGANIC PROCESSES. 271 enced and erudite Frenchman, not aHalive to artistic effect, has just now selected this very species of character for the main figure in a large portion of an elaborate work." ' 4.' The figure litotes, already mentioned as a means of suggestion or innuendo,'' is virtually a double negative; that is, instead of asserting the affirmative that one would expect, it negates the opposite. Its effect, which it owes to innuendo, is rather strength than precision. Examples. — In the following the litotes, by its innuendo, is made to enhance the humor of the situation : — "The sight of the curricle acting satellite to the donkey-cart quite staggered the two footmen. " ' Are you lords ? ' sang out Old Tom. " A burst of laughter from the friends of Mr. John Kaikes, in the curri- cle, helped to make the powdered gentlemen aware of a. sarcasm, and one with no little dignity replied that they were not lords. " ' Are ye judges .' ' " ' We are not.' " ' Oh ! Then come and hold my donkey.' " ' In the following the litotes derives further point by its antithesis to the affirmative: "Where Peter got the time it is difficult to understand, con- sidering that his law practice was said to be large, and his political occupa- tions just at present not small." ^ In both double negative and litotes the two qualities are appreciably present ; with the guarded affirmation predominant, however, in the former, and the force due to innuendo predominant in the latter. II. ANTITHESIS. The principle of contrast, by which opposite terms or ideas are so placed or employed as to set off ■ each other, is one of the most spontaneous in literature. Shown on its narrowest scale as a pointed balance of word and structure, it may from 1 Bagehot, Literary Studies, Vol. i, p. 16. 2 See above, p. 108. 8 Meredith, Evan Harrington, Chap, xxviii. 4 Ford, Peter Stirling, p. 392, 272 COMPOSITION. this extend to whole masses of thought, to contrasted scenes, situations, characters, events ; entering therefore as deeply into invention as into style. These various applications of the principle will come up for further mention in their place. Phases of Verbal and Phrasal Antithesis It is impossible to construct a conventional mould for antithesis, because as a figure of speech it is more truly a thought-figure than a figure of word or construction. The various phases in which it appears rise largely from the varying proportions in which the more inner contrast of thought or emotion works to support or supplant the outward expression. 5. Antithesis shows itself most simply and typically in a balanced opposition of phrase, or in some contrasted pair of words standing as the core of the figure. As the antithesis of the thought itself is more fundamental, the manner of expression may be more disguised, and thus the figure may derive grace from being unobtrusive and hidden. Examples. — i . Balanced phrases, with a core-word antithetic. " If you would seek to make one rich, study not to increase his stores, but to diminish his desires." — " The Puritans hated bear-baiting, not because it gave pain to the bear, but because it gave pleasure to the spectators." ^ 2. In the following the author, recognizing the suggestiveness of the balanced terms, enhances the effect of the antithesis by breaking it off; " It is because Shakespere dares, and dares very frequently, simply desipere, simply to be foolish, that he is so pre-eminently wise. The others try to be always wise, and, alas ! it is not necessary to complete the antithesis." ^ 3. Hidden or unobtrusive antithesis. " They were engaged in the noble work of calling men out of their heathenism, with its manifold cor- ruptions and superstitions, into the gospel of purity and love." — "A strange and contradictory spectacle ! An army of criminals doing deeds which could only be expiated at the stake ; an entrenched rebellion, bearding government with pike, matchlock, javelin and barricade, and all for no more deadly pur- pose than to listen to the precepts of the pacific Jesus."' In these latter examples it is the idea, not the expression, that points the antithesis. 1 Macaulay, History of England, Chap. ii. 2 Saintsbury, Elizabethan Ltteratiire, p. 168. 8 Motley, Rise of the Dutch Republic, Vol. i, p. 535. ORGANIC PROCESSES. 273 6. Paradox is a form of antithesis wherein the contrast is not between terms or ideas, though these may be employed to support it, but between the statement made and one's sense of congruity, reason, or fact. It is a kind of shock to one's credulity, which it requires thought to allay.^ Examples. — In the following the author turns a generally accepted idea topsy-turvy : " It may sound like a nonsensical paradox, and yet we may seriously maintain that laziness is the motive power of all human progress." ^ This assertion he goes on to define and prove. — The follow- ing defines in bold, antithetic terms the paradox that was involved in Lancelot's guilty love for Queen Guinevere. From his sick-bed the Knight is regarding Elaine, as she ministers to him : — • " And peradventure had he seen her first , She might have made this and that other world Another world for the sick man ; but now The shackles of an old love straiten'd him, His honor rooted in dishonor stood, And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true." 8 7. In Epigram the antithesis is still more subtly concealed in the idea, sometimes indeed quite elusive, though still the determining principle of the figure. The term Epigram has been so indiscriminately used that it has come to be popularly taken as meaning any unusually pungent way of putting things. This idea takes account of the most striking quality of epigram, namely, its pithy brevity ; it is, however, too vague. To be truly epigrammatic, a saying must give some unexpected turn to the idea ; it is in some 1 Compare De Quincey, Autobiographic Sketches, p. 229. 2 Stanley, Essays on Literary Art, p. 127. — There is some color for the assertion, made half in whimsey, " Take any accepted proposition, invert It, and you get a New Truth." This is said in the interests of novelty. " Everything rusts by use. Our moral ideals grow mouldy if preached too much ; our stories stale if told too often. Conventionality is but a living death. The other side of everything must be shown, the reverse of the medal, the silver side of the shield as well as the golden." — Zangwill, Without Prejttdice, pp. 141, 143. Of course this paradox- ical, posturing style runs the risk of being too smart. s Tennyson, Lancelot and Elaine, II. 867-872. 274 COMPOSITION. form the antithesis between what the reader looks for and what he gets. Its essential feature, thus, is the element of surprise. Examples.- — The following illustrate some of the means by which epigrammatic point is secured. 1. The sentence may contain an apparent paradox or contradiction. This is perhaps the commonest form of epigram. " The statues of Brutus and Cassius were conspicuous by their absence.'" — " Verbosity is cured by a wide vocabulary." — " Language is the art of concealing thought." — " So good that he is good for nothing." — " The child of rich but honest parents." 2.. The sentence may be a truism the mere assertion of which serves to emphasize its truth. "Fact is fact." — "His coming was an event." — " What I have written, I have written." 3. The sentence may associate ideas that have so many intermediate and 'unexpressed links as to seem irrelevant. " Where snow falls, there is a freedom." — " Lapland is too cold a country for sonnets." 4. The sentence may suddenly turn the thought in a different spirit, thus giving it an unexpected implication. " He is full of information — like yesterday's Times." — " His memory (for trifles) is remarkable, and (where his own performances are not involved) his taste is excellent." — " What that man does not know is not worth knowing," was once said admiringly of a book-worm. " True," was the reply, " and what he does know is not worth knowing." 5. The sentence may by a mere play on words bring out some pointed and lively truth. " The time will come when America, too, will understand that her ease is her disease." — " My habit of writing only to people who, rather than have nothing from me, will tolerate nothings." — "Those laborious orators who xtii^tstke perspiration for inspiration." Errors of Antithesis. — According to the principle that the bolder a manner of expression the more it is apt to be abused, antithesis, with its pointed balancing of phrase and idea, has large potencies of error, which we may trace both from the side of the expression and from the side of the thought. 8. On the side of the expression, an antithesis may be faulty by being too unreal ; a promising opposition of terms, like a play on words, without enough contrast in the idea to support it. Its effect is artificial. ORGANIC PROCESSES. 27S Examples. — The following by its opposition of terms seems to promise an antitliesis, but the antithesis, at least in the sense suggested, does not exist. " The argument is, that because pleasure is a becoming — that is, a state not of being, but of going to be — it is unbecoming. He [Plato] starts with the Cyrenaic definition that the gods are unchangeable, there- fore not capable of pleasure. Pleasure which is a becoming is unbecoming to their nature ; and man seeking pleasure seeks that which is unseemly and ungodlike." ^ — In the sentence, " This is a duty that we are too often tempted to (nier\oo\i or wKi/ervalue," the antithesis is so light as to sound somewhat artificial, more a word-play than a contrast. — The same, though the antithesis is more real, comes near being the case with the following: — " But she Did more, and underwent, and overcame." 2 Here under and over, went and came, promise more antithesis than really exists in the idea, though some contrast there is. 9. On the side of the thought, the abuse of antithesis con- sists in overstraining fact on one side or the other, in order to fit the statement to some striking opposition of terms. When fact yields in the smallest degree to antithesis, the figure becomes a snare. Note. — -The antithesis quoted above from Macaulay (p. 272) doubtless makes a too absolute and sweeping statement about the Puritans, when it accuses them of hating to see pleasure in spectators ; but the opportunity for antithesis, so clear and tempting, seems to have caused the historian, perhaps unthinkingly, to stretch the truth. It is largely Macaulay's invet- erate tendency to striking antithetic statement that causes distrust in read- ing his historical writings ; diligent investigator thougli he was, readers often hesitate to take his interpretations of facts, for fear he may have sacrificed some measure of truth to form. The same over-violence of statement is seen in the following : " All pub- lic praise is private friendship ; all public detraction is private hate " ; as also in Pope's well-known line on Bacon : — '■ " The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind." ' 1 Dallas, TAe Gay Science, Vol, i, p. 99. 2 Tennyson, Godiva. s These last two examples are quoted from NiCHOL, English Comfosition, p. 88. Pascal ( Thoughts, p. 237) describes this error of antithesis finely : " Those who make antitheses by forcing the sense are like those who make false windows for the sake of symmetry. Their rule is not to speak accurately, but to make accurate'figures.": 276 COMPOSITION. lo. A danger to be guarded against in the employment of epigram is the danger of the half-truth. An epigram, it is to be remembered, is not a principle of life but a way of saying things ; and it derives its point, ordinarily, from the fact that it detaches one side or aspect of a truth from the others and gives it the transient zest of making its way alone. It re- mains, however, only a half-truth ; it is true only as we make adjustments and allowances ; and to shape one's whole thought to it, or make it control the argument beyond its limited sense, is to be one-sided, superficial, false.^ Note. — The epigram quoted above, " Language is the art of concealing thought," is true only for such a man as wrote it, a diplomatic, scheming man, skilfully disguising his real purpose while he seems to reveal it ; but the other half (or in this case ninety-nine hundredths) of the truth remains eternally true, that language is made for the revelation of thought. To make the epigram all true, the maker must be all false ; as truth, it appeals only to that small side of him which is sharp and secretive. III. INVERSION. In prose, as well as in verse,^ the writer has frequent occa- sion to invert the grammatical order of parts in a sentence, — to put verbs before their subjects, objects and predicate adjec- tives before their verbs, adverbial words and phrases at the beginning of the sentence. The purposes of such inversion are here defined. Inversion for Emphasis. — For each word or phrase of the sentence there is a natural grammatical position, recognized 1 The following may contain an element of personal prejudice, but it is worth weighing in this connection : " We do not believe in epigrams as a livelihood. They are not good for the author. They are not good for the reader. They are in general a choppy, sandy, dangerous kind of literature, bad in style, very uncertain as a vehicle for conveying truth, and blessed only to the one reader among ten thousand who happens to make his allowances right and to get the oracular response in the right focus." — From The Independent, Nov. lo, 1887. 2 For the rationale of Inversion in prose, as distinguished from that in verse, see above, pp. 113, 114 ; as related to rhythm, p. 212, 1. ORGANIC PROCESSES. 277 instinctively, where it fulfils its function without attracting special attention. As soon, however, as the word or phrase, whatever it is, becomes the focus or stress-point of the idea, the impulse is natural to move it out of its ordinary position ; and. the mere fact that it is found in an unwonted place gives it distinction. II. As inversion is the result of the effort for emphasis, it consists with and connotes a more trenchant and impassioned mood ; and just as the mood may have varying degrees of intensity, so the inversion may have various degrees, from the bold revolution of the whole sentence structure to the mere transference of an adverbial phrase. It is the part of a rhetorical sense to know, in the case of any inversion, how large is its area of influence, and how large it ought to be, in other, words, to estimate and secure the accurate expression of the emphasizing mood. Examples of Various Degrees of Inversion. — The emotional intensity of the following examples can be felt and its varieties connected with the manner of inversion. I . Impassioned inversion. " Great is the mystery of space, greater is the mystery of time." ^ — " Fallen, fallen, is Babylon the great, and is •become a habitation of devils, and a hold of every unclean spirit, and a hold of every unclean and hateful bird." ^ — " Little did I dream when she added titles of veneration to those of enthusiastic, distant, 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 lived to see such disasters fallen upon her in a nation of gallant men, in a nation of men of honour and of cavaliers." ' i. Inversion for the stress of some sentence-member. " From the days of infancy still lingers in my ears this opening of a. prose hymn by a lady then very celebrated." Here the adverbial phrase is emphasized by com- ing first, and the subject, " this opening " by coming after its verb. — " In the Channel, during fine summer weather, the wind, as the fishermen say, goes round with the sun." Here emphasis is given to the place and time 1 De Quincey. '^ Revelation xviii. 2, Revised Version. 3 Burke, Reflections on the Revolution in France. 278 COMPOSITION. elements by placing the adverbs first. — The anticipative it and there e&esX. a. kind of inversion by opening a greater freedom of movement for the principal elements; see above, p. 254. 3. An element, as an adverb for instance, placed first by inversion, exerts an attraction on the verb, and especially on the auxiliary part of it, to draw it before the subject; an attraction greater as the emotional intensity of the sentiment is greater. In the German language this mere attraction is sufiicient to cause the inversipn ; in English, however, it requires a certain heightening of emphasis to justify it, otherwise it sounds artificial. For example : " Little by little were their apartments stripped of articles of ornament, piece by piece was their stock of furniture diminished ; and the future offered them no hope." Here to say "were their apart- ments stripped," etc., instead of " their apartments were stripped " has no reason but the attraction of the adverb, and is crude. A similar unmotived example of inversion is cited above, p. 113, note. Observe, however, that in an impassioned sentence the attractions, being stronger, make the com- plete inversion more natural, as in the sentence from Burke above, " Little did I dream," instead of " Little I dreamed." Inversion for Adjustment. — By far the most common and practical use of inversion is that by which the ideas of one clause or sentence are adjusted to those of another. This is in obedience to a natural attraction : the predominant idea of one sentence being a kind of stress-centre toward which the like or correspondent idea of the next sentence is drawn, with such power that not infrequently the attraction inverts, in some way, the grammatical order. 12. Inversion for adjustment, while it effects emphasis of the words displaced, subordinates this to continuity, its effort being to group related ideas together, by making the suc- ceeding sentence take up the thought, if it can, just where the previous laid it down. The inversion, when resorted to, makes this effort palpable.' Examples. — " His friends took the necessary steps for placing him as an apprentice at some shopkeeper's in Penrith. This he looked upon as 1 This subject prepares the way for the consideration of Dynamic Stress, which in fact is a larger aspect of its principle ; see below, p. 340. ORGANIC PROCESSES. 279 an indignity, to wfiich he was determined in no case to submit." Here the second sentence inverts the order of object and verb, simply from the effort to get the word this at the beginning, nearest to its correspondent idea in the preceding. — " It was not that I feared for ourselves. Us, our bulk and impetus charmed against peril in any collision." Here the inver- sion, while its purpose is clear, reaches the verge of violence. De Quin- cey,^ from whom it is quoted, was very sensitive to these stress attractions and accordingly inverted very freely. — In the following passage from Car- lyle it will be seen how the inverted last sentence obeys the attraction of correspondent ideas before : " Whereupon Mirabeau protesting aloud, this same Noblesse, amid huge tumult within doors and without, flatly determines to expel him from their Assembly. No other method, not even that of successive duels, would answer with him, the obstreperous fierce- glaring man. Expelled he accordingly is." ^ — In the following notice how (in the part here bracketed) the inversion at once groups correspondent adverbial elements together in the middle and relates correspondent prin- cipal elements at the ends : " He has opened his far-sounding voice, the depths of his far-sounding soul ; he can quell (such virtue is in a spoken word) the pride-tumults of the rich, the hunger-tumults of the poor j [and wild multitudes move under him, as under the moon do billows of the sea : ] he has become a world-compeller, and ruler over men." ^ This last construction, technically called Chiasm, will come up again under Repeti- tion ; see below, p. 310. IV. SUSPENSION. The name given to this process implies the organic prin- ciple on which it is founded — the principle of expectation. Any means by which, whether on a small or a large scale, the reader is put into the attitude of waiting * for some out- come or solution, with his attention at the same time so sharpened and guided that he shall recognize the solution when it comes, is a suspensive element, carrying with it, as 1 De Quincey, The English Mail Coach, Section 2. 2 Carlyle, The French Revolution, Vol. i, Bk. Iv, Chap. ii. 4 " Make 'em laugh ; make 'em cry ; make 'em wait," — ■ these three precepts are said to have been the rules on which Charles Reade depended to maintain the interest of his novels. 280 COMPOSITION. it does, the sense of ihcompleteness until some key-word or thought closes the circuit. At the same time, while the reader is waiting he is not idle. It is the purpose of suspension not only to create distinction for the object expected, but meanwhile to supply with com- parative unobtrusiveness the details desirable to make the object significant when it arrives. Thus, when the reader reaches the outcome, he is in possession not only of it but of all the grounds for it.^ Illustration. — That suspension is really a fostering of expectation for the purpose of meeting it in some striking way is shown by the follow- ing stanza from Thomas Moore, which rhetorically is nothing but a play on the principle of suspension : — " Good reader, if you e'er have seen, When Phoebus hastens to his pillow, The mermaids, with their tresses green, Dancing upon the western billow ; If you have seen at twilight dim, When the lone spirit's vesper hymn Floats wild along the winding shore, If you have seen through mist of eve The fairy train their ringlets weave, Glancing along the spangled green ; — If you have seen all this, and more, God bless me 1 what a deal you 've seen ! " Here the last line, by its sudden turn, flashes back a light on all the non- sense with which the reader has solemnly allowed the poet to load his mind ; this by meeting expectation in an unexpected way. Workmanship of Suspension The principal means by which suspense is secured may here be noted, beginning with mere phrasal suspension and going on to its broader appli- cations. 13. Many of the simpler applications of suspension have already been defined. Any means of sending the solution of 1 The order of investigation (see below, p. 446) and the inductive argumentation (pp. 606 sqq^ are broader applications of suspension. ORGANIC PROCESSES. 281 a clause or sentence beyond its natural close, or of making provision for an added statement, is suspension ; such means may be seen in the devices for prospective reference, in cor- relative particles like either . . .or, not only ... but also, and in the sequential conjunctions so . . . that?- Examples. — In the following the closed statement and the statement suspended beyond its natural close are placed side by side. " The world is neither eternal nor the work of chance." " Though his actions were fre- " The world is not eternal, nor is it the work of chance." " His actions were frequently blamed ; but his character was above reproach." " And there are certain elements in the transaction that need careful handling; I shall therefore let my action be shaped by circumstances." quently blamed, his character was above reproach." "And there are certain elements in the transaction that need so care- ful handling that I shall let my action be shaped by circumstances." It will readily be seen from these examples that the suspended structure is useful for some effects, while for others it is better to leave the sentence unsuspended. 14. As in suspension it is the main statement, or solution, that is prepared for, so the structure calls for putting prelim- inaries, of whatever kind, first ; such are adverbial modifiers expressing time, place, or manner ; infinitives ; participial phrases ; and conditional clauses introduced by if, when, and the like. These various means may either be used singly, with_ only a moderate suspensive effect, or combined or repeated so as to make up quite a copious accumulation of preliminary details.^ Examples. — The following sentences all carry on suspensive details to considerable length and volume. I. Adverbial phrases. " From the pompous and theatrical scaffolds of Egmont and Horn, to the nineteen halters prepared by Master Karl to 1 See above, pp. 256, 258, 267. Two of the illustrative examples here given are borrowed from Hill's Principles of Rhetoric, p. 224. 2 One type of sentence structure, the Periodic, is foimded on the principle of Suspension ; see below, p. 350. 282 COMPOSITION. hang up the chief bakers and brewers of Brussels on their own thresholds — from the beheading of the twenty nobles on the Horse-market, in the opening of the Governor's career, to the roasting alive of Uitenhoove at its close — from the block on which fell the honored head of Antony Straalen, to the obscure chair in which the ancient gentlewoman of Am- sterdam suffered death for an act of vicarious mercy — from one year's end to another's — from the most signal to the most squalid scenes of sac- rifice, the eye and hand of the great master directed, without weariness, the task imposed by the sovereign." ^ z. Infinitives used suspensively. " To aim at making a commonplace villa, and to make it insufferably ugly in each particular ; to attempt the homeliest achievement and to attain the bottom of derided failure; not to have any theory but profit and yet, at an equal expense, to outstrip all competitors in the art of conceiving and rendering permanent deformity ; and to do all this in what is, by nature, one of the most agreeable neigh- borhoods in Britain : — what are we to say, but that this also is a distinc- tion, hard to earn although not greatly worshipful ? " ^ 3. Participial phrases. " Sitting last winter among my books, and walled round with all the comfort and protection which they and my fire- side could afford me, to wit, a table of high-piled books at my back, my writing-desk on one side of me, some shelves on the other, and the feeling of the warm fire at my feet, I began to consider how I loved the authors of these books." ^ 4. Conditional clauses. " If you could see as people are to see in heaven, if you had eyes such as you can fancy for a superior race, if you could take clear note of the objects of vision, not only a few yards, but a few miles from where you stand : — think how agreeably your sight would be entertained, how pleasantly your thoughts would be diversified, as you walked the Edinburgh streets ! " * 15. But suspense is not wholly dependent on phrasal and clausal arrangement, nor is it confined to the scale of the sentence. In larger relations, too, sometimes in a passage extending to a whole paragraph, some name or idea is kept skilfully 'back, while descriptive characteristics enhancing its significance are supplied. This is on the principle of putting 1 Motley, Rise of the Dutch RefuHic, Vol. ii, p. 502. 2 Stevenson, Picturesque Notes on Edinburgh, Chap, vil ' Leigh Hunt. 4 Stevenson, Picturesque Notes on Edinburgh, Chap, vl ORGANIC PROCESSES. 283 the predicate before the subject, — predicative matter, that is, before the person or thing of which it is descriptive. Examples. — i. Sentence with the subject put last. "On whatever side we contemplate Homer, what principally strikes us is his wonderful invention." Here the order is, first, the adverbial element, second, the predicate, finally the subject, " his wonderful invention." 2. Sentence suspended in idea rather than in structure. " Spenser's manner is no more Homeric than is the manner of the one modern imitator of Spenser's beautiful gift, — the poet, who evidently caught from Spenser his sweet and easy-slipping movement, and who has exquisitely employed it ; a Spenserian genius, nay, a genius by natural endowment richer probably than even Spenser ; that light which shines so unexpected and without fellow in our century ; an Elizabethan born too late, the early lost and admirably gifted Keats." ^ 3. A suspensive paragraph. " Was there then any man, by land or sea, who might serve as the poet's type of the ideal hero .' To an Eng- lishman, at least, this question carries its own reply. For by a singular destiny England, with a thousand years of noble history behind her, has chosen for her best beloved, for her national hero, not an Arminius from the age of legend, not a Henri Quatre from the age of chivalry, but a man whom men still living have seen and known. For, indeed, England and all the world as to this man were of one accord ; and when in victory, on his ship Victory, Nelson passed away, the thrill which shook mankind was of a nature such as perhaps was never felt at any other death — so unani- mous was the feeling of friends and foes that earth had lost her crowning example of impassioned self-devotedness and of heroic honor." 2 Cautions and Regulatives. — While the suspensive structure is useful for concentrating attention on focal points of signifi- cance, and for imparting finish and unity to the diction, it imposes upon the reader a greater burden of interpretation than do other structures. It is against this difficulty that regulatives are for the most part directed. 16. The principal caution is against accumulating an excessive number of suspensive details. As these have to be held in mind, a kind of dead weight, until the apodosis 1 Arnold, On Translating Ho-mer, p. 203. 2 Myers, Wordsworth, p. 79. 284 COMPOSITION. or key-Statement is reached, it is easy to make the load too great to be carried.^ When, as will sometimes occur, it seems best to introduce a long suspended structure, careful writers have much recourse to two ways of relieving the burden of details : first, they use the structure only with material that the previous discussion has made familiar, as, for instance, by way of recapitulation ; and secondly, they take care that the last detail of the series shall in a sense summarize the rest, so that if only that is retained yet the significance of the series shall not be lost. Examples. — i . Of recapitulation. In the following suspended sen- tence, from Cardinal Newman, the z/^clauses are virtually a recapitulation of the whole lecture which this sentence concludes : " If then the power of speech is a gift as great .as any that can be named, — if the origin of language is by many philosophers even considered to be nothing short of divine, — if by means of words the secrets of the heart are brought to 1 " Those who are not accustomed to watch the effects of composition upon the feelings, or have had little experience in voluminous reading pursued for weeks, would scarcely imagine how much of downright physical exhaustion is produced by what is technically called the periodic style of writing : it is not the length, the d7repai'roXo7fa, the paralytic flux of words : it is not even the cumbrous involution of parts within parts, separately considered, that bears so heavily upon the attention. It is the suspense, the holding-on, of the mind until what is called the diriSoffis or coming round of the sentence commences ; this it is which wears out the faculty of attention. ^A sentence, for example, begins with a series of ifs; perhaps a dozen lines are occupied with expanding the conditions under which something is aiSrmed or denied : here you cannot dismiss and have done with the ideas as you go along ; all is hypothetic ; all is suspended in air. The conditions are not fully to be under- stood until you are acquainted with the dependency ; you must give a separate attention to each clause of this complex hypothesis, and yet having done that by a painful effort, you have done nothing at all ; for you must exercise a reacting atten- tion through the corresponding latter section, in order to follow out its relations to all parts of the hypothesis which sustained it. In fact, under the rude yet also artifi- cial character of newspaper style, each separate monster period is a vast arch, which, not receiving its key-stone, not being locked into self-supporting cohesion, until you nearly reach its close, imposes of necessity upon the unhappy reader all the onus of its ponderous weight through the main process of its construction. The continued repetition of so Atlantean an effort soon overwhelms the patience of any reader, and establishes at length that habitual feeling which causes him to shrink from the speculations of journalists, or (which is more likely) to adopt a worse habit than absolute neglect, which we shall notice immediately." — De Quincev, Essay on Style, Works, Vol. iv, p. 204. ORGANIC PROCESSES. 285 light, pain of soul is relieved, hidden grief is carried off, sympathy con- veyed, counsel imparted, experience recorded, and wisdom perpetuated, — if by great authors the many are drawn up into unity, national character is fixed, a people speaks, the past and the future, the East and the West are brought into communication with each other, — if such men are, in a word, the spokesmen and prophets of the human family, — it will not answer to make light of Literature or to neglect its study ; rather we may be sure that, in proportion as we master it in whatever language, and imbibe its spirit, we shall ourselves become in our own measure the ministers of like benefits to others, be they many or few, be they in the obscurer qr the more distinguished walks of life, — who are united to us by social ties, and are within the sphere of our personal influence." ^ 2. Of a summarizing «/-clause. " If I have had my share in any measure giving quiet to private property, and private conscience ; if, by my vote, I have aided in securing to families the best possession, peace; if I have joined in reconciling kings to their subjects, and subjects to their prince ; if I have assisted to loosen the foreign holdings of the citizen, and taught him to look for his protection to the laws of his country, and for his comfort to the good-will of his countrymen ; if I have thus laken my part ivith the best of uien in the best of their actions, I can shut the book : I might wish to read a page or two more ; but this is enough for my measure. I have not lived in vain." ^ Here the kind of summary given by the italicized ?/K;lause is a summary of the significance needed to give impressiveness to what comes after. This second example, it will be noted, is recapitulatory ; and the first example contains like this a summarizing j/^clause, the summary pointed out by the phrase " in a word." 17. It is often an advantage, when the suspensive details will bear separation, to introduce the apodosis not all at once, but piecemeal, each portion serving as a pointer toward the solution. Examples. — The following sentence is a stock example in rhetorical treatises : " At last, with no small difiiculty, after much fatigue, through deep roads, and bad weather, We came to our journey's end." Here the large accumulation of adverbial elements at the beginning makes a some- what ponderous period. The following modification of its order has been 1 Newman, Idea of a University, p. 293. 2 Burke, Speech to the Electors of Bristol (Select British Eloquence, p. 310). 286 COMPOSITION. suggested : " At last, with no small difficulty, and after much fatigue, we came, through deep roads and bad weather, to our journey's end." This certainly makes a more easily moving sentence.' — In the following sen- tence Carlyle employs this device, not so much to improve the period as to be Carlylean: "They offer him stipends and emoluments to a hand- some extent ; all which stipends and emoluments he, covetous of far other blessedness than mere money, does, in his chivalrous way, without scruple, refuse." ^ i8. A balance should be observed between the protasis and the apodosis of a suspended structure ; that is, when the solution has been delayed it should have bulk and importance enough to pay for the wait. It is thus a kind of cadence, alike in thought and in movement.' Particular caution should be taken of clauses beginning with which or not ; when added to a period they are liable to introduce some thought not reconcilable with the unity of the sentence.* The "loose addition " such an appendage to the period is technically called. Examples. — In the following, the accumulation of details seems an increasing promise of a great ending, and then the brevity of the latter gives the effect of much labor for insignificant result : " Shocked by the suicide and treachery of a professed friend, embarrassed by the broken condition of the bank, maddened by the wild clamor of an excited commu- nity, stung by the harsh reports of the New York papers, dreading lest by reason of some technicality his honor would be impeached, having borne the terrible strain for four weary days, in a moment, without the slightest premeditation, frenzied and insane, he committed the deed." The examples from Cardinal Newman and Burke, under 1 i6, both give good instances of the loose addition ; the sentences are not left with the abrupt ending of the mere apodosis, but carried on to a balancing fulness and explanation. The evil of the negative or relative loose addition is exemplified in the following sentences : " This reform has already been highly beneficial to 1 See discussion of this sentence, and principle involved, Spencer, Philosophy of Style, pp. 26, 27. Also Bain, Rhetoric (old edition), p. 77. 2 Carlyle, French Revolution, Vol. i, Book vii, Chap. 1. 8 For the claim of cadence, as related to rhythm, see above, p. 219. ■t For the requirements of sentence-unity, see below, p. 320 sqi). ORGANIC PROCESSES. 287 all classes of our countrymen, and will, I am persuaded, encourage among us industry, self-dependence, and frugality, and not, as some say, wasteful- ness" 1 This addition ought to have been put, by way of suspense, after the words "among us." — " After a long and tedious journey, the last part oiE which was a little dangerous owing to the state of the roads, we arrived safely at York, which is a fine old town." Here the subject-matter of the which-t\ws.&f: really belongs to a new sentence. V. AMPLITUDE. On the principle that everything should have bulk and prominence according to its importance, it is a sound and natural impulse, sometimes, to put thought in such fulness and copiousness of statement as to make the reader delay upon it and pay detailed attention to its successive stages. The forms and applications of this impulse are here gathered under the name Amplitude. Note. — One of the specious pleas of superficial advisers in composi- tion is that every statement should be put in the briefest and most pointed shape. This plea is good for its fitting object and effect ; but the other side, too, has a claim. For some purposes not parsimony but studied abundance of words is more requisite ; this not from the effort to dilute the thought and fill space but to set forth fairly its deeply felt wealth of meaning. Such free range of utterance is one of the primal aims of literary expression ; see above, p. 14. The antithesis to it, Condensation, will be duly presented ; see below, p. 295. Self- Justifying Forms of Amplitude Not all forms of amplitude are reducible to grammatical laws ; beyond such laws, indeed beyond the reach of rules, the impulse to ampli- tude reveals a kind of labored deliberateness, reveals also a certain exuberance of personal enthusiasm, which makes the wealth of expression not a superfluity but an overflow, and without which all mere devices are barren.^ 1 Taken from Abbott, How to Write Clearly. 2 " And since the thoughts and reasonings of an author have, as I have said, a personal character, no wonder that his style is not only the image of his subject, but of his mind. That pomp of language, that full and tuneful diction, that felicitous- 288 COMPOSITION. 19. It is a frequent and spontaneous impulse, in the case of important statements, to make some kind of preface or approach to them, by words or clauses not indispensable to the sense. By this means a distinction or momentum is gained for cardinal parts of the thought. Examples. — i . The words it and there, as also the demonstratives, have been mentioned under prospective reference ; here it is to be noted again that they are in their nature merely prefacing expressions, useful for the approach they make to important words ; serving as they do to bring up the subject for contemplation before the statement is made about it. For example, instead of saying, " A lad here hath five barley loaves," etc., the account gains a prefacing distinction by saying, " There is a lad here, which hath five barley loaves, and two fishes ; but what are they among so many? " It is by this prefacing word that we can gain emphasis for the subject, e.g. "I would not believe [it was] he [that] listened to my voice.'' ■z. In a formal style, and notably in deliberative oratory, there is much employment of such ■ prefatory wording, in the shape of conditions or of personal explanation. For example, instead of saying, " We sympathize with the fortunes of an illustrious line," Gibbon says, " If we read of some illustrious line so ancient that it has no beginning, so worthy that it ought to have no end, we sympathize in its various fortunes ; nor can we blame the generous enthusiasm, or even the harmless vanity, of those who are allied to the honors of its name."i — The following rather elaborate preface introduces a weighty aphorism that is to play an important part in the ensuing speech : " Was it Mirabeau, Mr. President, or some other master of the human passions, who has told us that words are things ? ness in the choice and exquisiteness in the collocation of words, which to prosaic writers seem artificial, is nothing else but the mere habit and way of a lofty intellect. Aristotle, in his sketch of the magnanimous man, tells us that his voice is deep, his motions slow, and his stature commanding. In like manner the elocution of a great intellect is great. " His language expresses, not only his great thoughts, but his great self. Certainly he might use fewer words than he uses ; but he fertilizes his simplest ideas, and germinates into a multitude of details, and prolongs the march of his sentences, and sweeps round to the full diapason of his harmony, as if KiJSei' 7o£u>', rejoicing in his own vigor and richness of resource. I say, a narrow critic will call it verbiage, when really it is a sort of fulness of heart, parallel to that which makes the merry boy whistle as he walks, or the strong man, like the smith in the novel, flourish his club when there is no one to fight with." — Newman, Idea of a University, p. 279. 1 Gibbon, Autobiography, Author's introduction. ORGANIC PROCESSES. 289 They are indeed things, and things of mighty influence," etc.^ Here the remark on the authorship of the aphorism is merely of prefatory use, merely to gain greater distinction for its truth.' 3. The approach to important junctures of plot or incident, by some preparatory means, is a main principle of movement in narration ; see below, p. 525. 20. For amplitude in the body of a sentence or passage, various expedients, more than need be enumerated here, are available. The following, as most outstanding, will serve to illustrate their use : studied expression of all coloring, shad- ing, modifying elements ; fulness in conjunctions and other particles of relation ; careful supplial, often exaggeration, of punctuation marks, in order to make the pauses slow. Some- times also, using a more distinctively rhetorical device, a writer will gain amplitude by deliberately making an erroneous or incomplete statement an.d then correcting himself, as if taking his reader into the laboring process of his own thinking. Examples. — i. Of amplitude in modifying elements. In the sen- tence quoted from Cardinal Newman, p. 284, above, note how much of the following clause is of a modifying nature : " If the origin of language is [by many philosophers] [even] considered [to be nothing short of] divine." The use of this, copious as it seems, is for his purpose obvious. 2. Of amplitude in connectives. The expression of the conjunction after each word in the following compels due attention to every detail : " ' Beef,' said the sage magistrate, ' is the king of meat ; beef comprehends in it the quintessence of partridge, and quail, and venison, and pheasant, and plum-pudding, and custard.' "^ 3. Of amplitude in punctuation. This has already been illustrated on p. 131, above. The following additional example may show how the same expression may be retarded in one clause and made rapid in another : — " Ah I you, too, start I I am not then the fool I call myself to be so burdened down — You too it touches." 8 1 Webster, Speech on The Constitution not u Compact ( Webster 's Great Speeches, p. 276). 2 Swift, Tnle of a Tub, Section 4. 8 Stephen Phillips, Paolo and Francesco, p. 36. 290 COMPOSITION. 4. Of amplitude by self-correction. In the following the writer, by choosing u wrong word and then correcting it, makes both words play their respective parts in the thought : " This intense, or rather (for intense is not the right word) this extraordinarily diffused character, is often sup- posed to be a mere fancy of Shakespere-worshippers. It is not so." 1 — In the following, the parallelism of the antithesis is used to suggest a harsh assertion, which then is denied, but even in the denial expressed : " Then look at your people who love you and yet suffer ; whom you love, and who are yet in want of food ; who ask nothing better than to bless you, and who yet — No, I am wrong, your people will never curse you, Madame." " Forms needing Special Artistic Control. — Amplitude of expres- sion, in any form, is ideally as artistic, as much governed by taste and fitness, as any rhetorical process whatsoever ; but because some abuse of it is a fault into which careless, ill- balanced, or tired writers are liable to fall, the whole process, and especially certain forms of it, require watching and vig- orous handling, to keep the thought from dilution. 21. Redundancy, or additions beyond the logical require- ments of the sense, and pleonasm, additions beyond the requirements of grammatical construction, are for the most part uncalled for, being generally a crude repetition of what is already sufficiently implied ; they are justified only as they force into distinction something that otherwise would be buried in an ordinary mould of phrase. It is thus the passion or poetic vigor of the sentiment which keeps the additions from being superfluous.' Examples. ■ — i. Of needless redundancy or pleonasm. In the sen- tence " They returned back again to the same cAy from whence they came forth" the words here italicized are redundant. In the sentence, " The different departments of science and of art mutually reflect light on each other" either of the italicized expressions is sufficient without the other. 2. Of redundancy whose use is evident. In the quaint Scripture expres- 1 Saintsbury, History of Elizabethan Literature, p. 165. 2 Dumas, Twenty Years After, Vol. ii, p. 499. 8 " Redundancy is permissible for the surer conveyance of important meaning, for emphasis, and in the language of passion and poetic embellishment." — Bain, English Composition and Rhetoric, p. 71. Examples under i are quoted from him. ORGANIC PROCESSES. 291 slons, " We have seen with our eyes ; we have heard with our ears" " He that hath, ears to hear, let him hear," the words here italicized enhance the distinction. So also the common prefatory phrase, " As for me, I am only indirectly concerned in the matter." — A close approach to redundancy, logically, is seen in the essential epithets and sometimes in the decorative epithets of poetry; see above, pp. 147, 148. 22. Circumlocution (literally "talking around "), a dif- fuse way of speaking, not remediable by cutting out parts but only by recasting, is capable alike of greater abuse and of greater felicity than is redundancy. Fallen into negligently, it betokens a languid-moving or indirect-acting mind ; adopted overtly and of intent, it has good capacities of humorous effect, though taste and sound literary sense are requisite to keep it clear of fine writing.^ Examples. — 1. Of a sentence swollen with circumlocution. "He [Pope] professed to have learned his poetry from Dryden, whom, when- ever an opportunity was presented, he praised through the whole period of his existence with unvaried liberality ; and perhaps his character may receive some illustration, if a comparison be instituted between him and the man whose pupil he was." Professor Bain, who , in quoting this from Johnson ^ doctors the sentence to exaggerate the circumlocution, proposes this substitute : " Pope professed himself the pupil of Dryden, whom he lost no opportunity of praising; and his character may be illustrated by a comparison with his master." ^ 2. Of humorous circumlocution. The foUovring is spoken in the assumed character of a professor of science : " There is one delicate point I wish to speak of with reference to old age. I refer to the use of dioptric media which correct the diminished refracting powers of the humors of the eye, — in other words, spectacles." * — The following is not quite up to key in taste: "Tim Kelly was again able to attend to his business — which, strictly speaking, consisted in the porterage of other people's goods out of their houses, without previous arrangement with the owners, and in a man- ner as unobtrusive as possible."^ 1 For Fine Writing, see above, p. 71. • 2 Cf. Johnson, Lives of the Poets (Pope), Waugh's edition. Vol. v, p. 198. 3 Bain, English Composition and Rhetoric, p. 72. * Holmes, Autocrat of the Breakfast Table, p. 173. 6 S. R. Crockett, Cleg Kelly, Arab of the City. 292 COMPOSITION. 23. Euphemism (cS and <^i;/xt, "to speak well" or "smoothly") is a form of circumlocution whose justification is that it states an unpleasant or delicate matter in softened terms. The impulse is very natural to use it of what, stated boldly, would shock the sensibilities or taste ; as death and its accompaniments, crime, or vulgarity. Not infrequently, in such matters, people get over-refined, losing vigor of realiza- tion or, what is worse, obscuring their moral sense by a haze of palliating words. This, of course, is to be guarded against. Examples. — The last example quoted above is, it will be observed, an elaborate euphemism for stealing. — " To pass away," " to breathe his last," " to cease from his sufferings," are a few out of the many euphemisms for death. — The following euphemizes intemperance : " The only thing we ever heard breathed against his personal character is the suggestion that his love of joyous intercourse with friends sometimes led him into a slight excess of conviviality." ^ — The following euphemizes flogging : " Nicholas Udall, sometime headmaster of Eton, and renowned for the thorough man- ner in which he had laid to heart Solomon's maxim about sparing the rod and spoiling the child, was its author." ^ VI. CLIMAX. This (named from the Greek KXlfia^, "a ladder ") is the order- mg of thought and expression so that there shall be uniform and evident increase in significance, or importance, or in- tensity. It is more a principle than a process, being merely the rhetorical embodiment of the law that a thought must grow, must have progress ; which indeed it must, not only to reach a natural culmination by increase of interest, but also for the reader's sake, to make up for the mental energy that the advance of the discourse is all the while using up.' Like antithesis, then, climax, while it may work on the narrow 1 From a newspaper article. 2 NicoLL, Landmarks of English Literature, p. 70. 8 This is shown above, under Economy ; see p. 25, 3. ORGANIC PROCESSES. 293 scale of word and phrase, is really a universal requisite of literary utterance, whatever its scope or stage. 24. For the construction of a verbal or phrasal climax two directions may be given : first and most vitally, make words of less intense degree in meaning ■'^ (less trenchant, con- crete, or picturesque) precede those of more ; and secondly, if the degrees are not clearly marked, make words and phrases of less length and sonority precede those of more. That is the best climax where intensity and volume corre- spond, aiding each other. Examples. — i. Climax of intensity. The commonly cited example, from Cicero's oration against Verres, being also very clear and striking, cannot well be omitted here : " It is an outrage to bind a Roman citizen ; to scourge him is an atrocious crime ; to put him to death is almost parri- cide ; but to crucify him — what shall I call it ? " Here the speaker in- creases the culmination by intimating lack of adequate words, and leaving the matter to suggestion. — The foUowirtg is a simple climax gradation: " I know it, I replied, — I concede it, I confess it, I proclaim it." ^ 2. Climax wherein length and structure of phrase reinforce intensity : " This was unnatural. The rest is in order. They have found their pun- ishment in their success. Laws overturned ; tribunals subverted ; industry without vigor ; commerce expiring ; the revenue unpaid, yet the people impoverished ; a church pillaged, and a state not relieved; civil and military anarchy made the constitution of the kingdom ; everything human and divine sacrificed to the idol of public credit, and national bankruptcy the consequence ; and to crown all, the paper securities of new, precarious, tottering power, the discredited paper securities of impoverished fraud, and beggared rapine, held out as a currency for the support of an empire, in lieu of the two great recognized species that represent the lasting conven- tional credit of mankind, which disappeared and hid themselves in the earth from whence they came, when the principle of property, whose creatures and representatives they are, was systematically subverted." ' 25. Inverted climax, wherein the order is from strong to weak, may be either intentional or inadvertent. The inten- 1 For degree of meaning in words, see above, p. 50. 2 Holmes, Autocrat of the Breakfast Table^ p. 72. 3 Burke, Reflections on the Revolution in France. 294 COMPOSITION. tional, or anticlimax, is employed to connote a special quality, usually humor or satire. This is virtually a climax built on a new principle ; that is, while it decreases in intensity, it as uniformly increases in the spirit that animates it. The inadvertent, called bathos, is a sudden drop below the key '^ or expected progress of the passage, and has a flat or ludicrous effect. Examples. — i. Of intentional anticlimax. The following, by its prog- ress from more distinguished personages to less, accumulates toward the end a quite formidable suggestion of contempt : " Yet these stories are now altogether exploded. They have been abandoned by statesmen to aldermen, by aldermen to clergymen, by clergymen to old women, and by old women to Sir Harcourt Lees." ^ — The following is an elaborate and artificial anticlimax evolved from the topsy-turvy treatment of murder as an art : " Never tell me of any special work of art you are meditating — I set my face against it in toto. For, if once a man indulges himself in murder, very soon he comes to think little of robbing ; and from robbing he comes next to drinking and Sabbath-breaking ; and from that to inci- vility and procrastination. Once begin upon this downward path, you never know where you are to stop. Many a man has dated his ruin from some murder or other that perhaps he thought little of at the time." ^ 2. Of bathos. In the following, note the regular rise for three details, and then the sudden drop : " What pen can describe the tears, the lamen- tations, the agonies, the animated remonstrances of the unfortunate pris- oners ? " — In the following, the order of clauses is flat : " Such a derangement as, if immediately enforced, must have reduced society to its first elements, and led to a direct collision of conflicting interests." 26. The negation of a climax is made in inverse order, the strongest statement being denied first. Not only the negative adverb directly used, but equally some privative particle, such as without, against, unless, may act as a virtual negative, and reverse the order of statement. 1 See an aspect of this discussed above, p. 136, 2. 2 Macaulay, Essay on History. 8 De Quincey, Supplementary Paper on Murder Considered as One of the Fine Arts, Works, Vol. xi, p. 573. ORGANIC PROCESSES. 295 Examples. — i. Of negated climax. The action of Alabama in seceding from the Union was denounced by the Republicans as the conse- quence of " sudden, spasmodic, and violent passion." In answering this charge, the order would naturally be, " The action of Alabama was not due to violent passion, nor to spasmodic, nor even to sudden passion." 2. Of a virtual negation of climax. " The chances were millions to one against its success, against .its continued existence." — "And thus he enters public life before he has any convictions, or perceptions, or right impressions even, of true citizenship." VII. CONDENSATION. The tendency of poetic diction, on account of its elevated tone and sentiment to brevity or concentration, has already been noted ^ ; a tendency in which, as likewise already said, prose shares to an almost equal degree, though from more complex motives. It is a tendency not less of mind than of style. Condensation, in fact, is the result of the effort on the part of a vigorous and direct mind to get its utterance clean-cut, pithy, lightly and promptly moving. So far as amenable to word and phrase, condensation may be discussed under the heading of two main motives, which, however, may both be effective at once. Condensation for Vigor A strong impression is generally 4 quick impression ; but not always is the quick impression strong, nor is it the brevity that makes it strong. It must in the condensation make up in vigor for what it loses in volume ; and this it does, ordinarily, by making implication, suggestion, connotation, do a work beyond what is explicitly said. 27. For expressing vigorously and in little space depend more on the noun and verb than on qualifiers. These main elements of the assertion are what contain its core and sig- nificance ; qualifiers limit or restrict, and by so much are apt to weaken the impression.^ 1 See above, p. 141. 2 " The poet with a real eye in his head does not give us everything, but only the best of everything. He selects, he combines, or else gives what is characteristic 296 COMPOSITION. Illustrations. — It is somewhat difScult to make this palpable in a telling example ; it must be done in part by contrast. Take for instance this familiar passage from Shakespeare : — " His life was gentle ; and the elements So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, This was a man ! " i Consider how much more is really conveyed than if Shakespeare had named his qualities — " This was a patriotic, conscientious, single-hearted man." As it is here, we think all this and more. The fault of the congestion of modifiers has already been described above, p. 150. How easily and to what advantage they may sometimes be spared. Sir Walter Scott has pointed out, in a letter justifying his favorite octosyllabic measure in verse. He says : " If you will take the trouble to read a page of Pope's Iliad, you will probably find a good many lines out of which two syllables may be struck without injury to the sense. The first lines of this translation have been repeatedly noticed as capable of being cut down from ships of the line into frigates, by striking out the said two-syllabled words, as — * Achilles' wrath, to Greece the direful spring Of woes unnumbered, heavenly goddess sing. That wrath which sent to Pluto's gloomy reign The souls of mighty chiefs in battle slain. Whose bones unburied on the desert shore. Devouring dogs and hungry vultures tore.' " '^ The question of verse aside, as " scarcely one of the epithets [is] more than merely expletive," it is worth while to note the good effect of reading the passage without the modifying material and see how much more weight is laid on the main elements. 28. Another aid to vigor, producing the effect of conden- sation indirectly, not so much by reducing the number of words as by increasing their weight, is the employment of only ; while the false style of which I have been speaking seems to be as glad to get a pack of impertinences on its shoulders as Christian in the Pilgrim's Progress was to be rid of his. One strong verse that can hold itself upright (as the French critic Rivarol said of Dante) with the bare help of the substantive and verb, is worth acres of this dead cord-wood piled stick on stick, a boundless continuity of dryness." — Lowell, Essay on Spenser, Prose Works, Vol. iv, p. 272. 1 Shakespeare, /a/rMj Ctesar, Act v, Scene 5. 2 LocKHART, Life of Scott, Vol. iii, p. 263. ORGANIC PROCESSES. 297 terms that contain some power of connotation ; among which may be mentioned : concrete terms or cases representing the whole class ; descriptive or onomatopoetic words ; tropes ; allusive names or epithets. All these, if we consider how much wealth of implication they convey, may be regarded as highly condensed, concentrated means of expression. Examples. — i. Of the concrete case for the class. " She taught Latin herself, it is true, but as cautiously as she crossed a plank bridge, and she was never comfortable in the dominie's company, because even at a tea- table he would refer familiarly to the ablative absolute instead of letting sleeping dogs lie." ^ Here " the ablative absolute " means typically any and all difficulties of Latin; it connotes the class. 2. Of descriptive words. These have been mentioned and exemplified on p. i6i, above ; one example here will illustrate their concrete vigor: " I cannot pull well in long traces, when the draught is too far behind me. I love to have the press thumping, clattering, and banging in my rear ; it creates the necessity which almost always makes me work best." " This is said by Sir Walter Scott of his habit of authorship under pressure. 3. Of trope. This has been defined and exemplified above, p. 87. Tropes are much used to embody sententious truths and aphorisms. The following famous passage illustrates trope, concrete case (in third sen- tence), and as a whole the concentrated significance of the aphorism : " Man is but a reed, the weakest in nature, but he is a thinking re^d. It is not necessary that the entire universe arm itself to crush him. A breath of air, a drop of water, suffices to kill him. But were the universe to crush him, man would still be more noble than that which kills him, because he knows that he dies ; and the universe knows nothing of the advantage it has over him."' 4. Of allusive epithet. This has been described and exemplified on p. 91, above. An example or two further, to show its concentrative suggestiveness : " It is true that Christ says it is better to enter life maimed than, having two hands or two feet, to enter into hell fire ; that is, asceticism is better than death. But he who came eating and drinking did not set to his followers an example of asceticism." * — " The author^ of the ' Lay ' would rather have seen his heir carry the Banner of Bellenden gal- 1 Barrie, Sentimental Tommy, p. 233. 2 LocKHART, Life of Scott, Vol. viii, p. 258. s Pascal, Thoughts, p. 170. 4 Abbott, Christianity and Social Problems, p. 69. 298 COMPOSITION. lantly at a foot-ball match on Carterhaugh, than he would have heard that the boy had attained the highest honors of the first university in Europe." i 29. A third form of condensation for vigor illustrates the adage, "A good writer is known by what he omits." It is the ellipsis of such elements and relations as the reader may be trusted mentally to supply, and yet of things so important that some vigor of thought is connoted in supplying them. Such are : main sentence elements ; indirect conjunctional relations ; and colorings so essential to the truth that the omission leaves the assertion over-absolute or sweeping. Examples. — i. Ellipsis of a main sentence element. In the following the verb of the second clause is omitted, being easily supplied from the first : " With Raphael's character Byron's sins of vulgarity and false criti- cism would have been impossible, just as with Raphael's art Byron's sins of common and bad workmanship /^." 2 — The following illustrates the strength of the negative no (cf. above, p. 268) to stand alone and dispense with a substantive verb: "Voltaire entered too eagerly into the. interests of the world, was by temperament too exclusively sympathetic and receptive and social, to place himself even in imagination thus outside of the common circle. Without capacity for this, /^ no comedy of the first order. With- out serious consciousness of contrasts, /^ no humor that endures." ' -i. Omitted or condensed conjunctional relation. In the following and is used condensively for and yet: " They know that the world is transitory, and they act as if it were eternal ; they know eternal life is a truth, and they act as if it were a dream."* — In the following the omission of and makes a more compact construction : " Let him have never so righteous a cause, /\ it is but the turn of a hand for God to prove him perverse."^ The adversative, being a very pronounced relation, may sometimes be better omitted. The sentence " You say this ; I deny it" is stronger thus condensed than if it were said "but I," or "I, on the other hand." — In the following the structure is made more compact, and an awkward repe- tition of but avoided, by omitting the correlate to not only (cf. p. 258, above ) : " But this is an understatement of the case ; not only is the 1 LoCKHART, Life of Scott, Vol. x, p. 227. 2 Matthew Arnold, Essays in Criticism, Second Series, p. 179. s MoRLEY, Voltaire, p. 141. 4 MozLEY, Parochial Sermons, viii. Quoted Earle, English Prose, p. 80. 6 Genung, Epic of the Inner Life, p. 45. ORGANIC PROCESSES. 299 literary study of the Bible permissible, /\ it is a necessary adjunct to the proper spiritual interpretation."* 3. Omission of saving clauses and shadings. This is a characteristic of the aphoristic sentence ; cf. p. 276, 10, above, on the Epigram. The sentence " Respect is, incommode yourself," is so condensed as to require much interpretative thought ; its editor thus explains it by putting in con- ditions : " In order to testify our deference towards a person, it is necessary to incommode ourselves, to put ourselves to trouble for him."^ — The imperative is a useful means of condensing a condition or accompaniment ;• as, " Strip Virtue ( = if you strip) of the avfful authority she derives from the general reverence of mankind, and you rob her of half her majesty."' — The following illustrates several forms of rapidity : — " * A dozen miles to make, ' Another long breath, and we emerge.' I stood I' the court-yard, roused the sleepy grooms. ' Have out Carriage and horse, give haste, take gold ! ' said I." 4 Condensation for Rapidity. — By this name rapidity may be designated that quality of style by virtue of which the thought is passed over lightly, with a smooth easy movement, and without attempt at emphasizing salient points. Many of the subordinate portions in any literary work call for merely such light and rapid handling, and the leading means of effecting this is by some form of condensation. 30. Rapidity is gained and vigor of impression lost by using the comprehensive term as equivalent to a number of particulars, the general instead of the specific. This is the opposite of the treatment prescribed in \ 28, and employed for an opposite effect. Examples. — " He devours literature, no matter of what kind." If a rapid and casual statement is desired, this comprehensive word is enough ; if, however, the fact is important it may be particularized : " Novels or sermons, poems or histories, no matter what, he devours them all." It is the importance or insignificance of an element for the present pur- pose that determines whether it shall be particularized or lumped together 1 The Bible as Literature, p. g. 2 Pascal, Thoughts, p. 208. 3 Abbott, How to Write Clearly, p. 39. 4 Browning, The Ring and the Book, Bk. vi, 11. r402-5. 300 COMPOSITION. in a class term. To raise a minor element into factitious prominence by particularization savors of bombast or pedantry ; as if, for instance, instead of writing " in every British colony," one should write : " under Indian palm-groves, amid Australian gum trees, in the shadow of African mimosas, and beneath Canadian pines.'' Something noteworthy ought to depend on each detail to justify such amplitude. 31. For the sake of the lighter touch and more rapid movement, the impulse is to reduce expression to more atten- uated form: as from the clause to the phrase or single word; from assertion to implication ; from the additive clause to the restrictive or its equivalent, the participial phrase ; from positive statement to apposition or parenthesis. Examples. — i. Of the word-equivalent for a clause. There are many adjectives in the language which have been coined as express equivalents for clauses ; if they do not reproduce the whole thought of the clause they reproduce all that is necessary for a rapid touch. The following, in parallel columns, will illustrate this : " The extent and fertility of the Russian territory are such as to fur- nish facilities of increase and ele- ments of strength which no nation in the world enjoys.'" " The style of this book is of such a nature that it cannot be understood." " This is a feature of the enter- prise on which much depends.^' " The extent and fertility of the Russian territory are such as to fur- nish unparalleled facilities for the increase of her population and power." " The style of this book is unin- telligible:- " This is a cardinal feature of the enterprise." z. Of implication. In the sentence, " Gladiatorial shows were first dis- couraged, and finally put down, by the humanizing spirit of Christianity" the italicized part gives both the agent and by implication the means ; it is equivalent to " The spirit of Christianity was humanizing, and therefore," etc., or " Christianity, being of a humanizing spirit, discouraged," etc. The abUity to put much of the thought in implication, and the skill to know just what, are among the most valuable elements of a writer's outfit. See this further illustrated in the packed epithet, p. 149, above. 3. Of the relative clause. Of the two relative constructions 1 the restrictive is the more rapid ; and a slow-moving construction may often be considerably lightened by recasting so as to employ a restrictive instead of 1 For the connotation of the relative, see above, p. 236. ORGANIC PROCESSES. 301 an additive clause. This is especially desirable when a relative occurs within a relative. For example : " This curious design I bought of a nun in France, who passed years of toil upon the conceit, which is of more value than the material." Notice the greater lightness of, " who passed years of toil upon a conceit that is of more value than the material." — The participial construction,^ for either a relative" or conjunctional clause is very convenient for rapid touch ; for example : " Well, all this done, ( = when all this was done) away we went to tKe Hague : arriving there ( = at which place we arrived) just as the Museum closed for that day." ^ 4. ' Of apposition and parenthesis. " We called at the house Of a per- son to whom we had letters of introduction, a musician, and, what is more, a good friend \.o all young students of music." This appositive construc- tion condenses the material of two sentences into one, equivalent to, " He was a musician," etc. — If the material of the following parenthesis were appended in a separate sentence, it would be too prominent for its significance, too lengthy for its movement : " We are all (and who would not be?) offended at the treatment we have received." — Sometimes the parenthesis may be used for lightly slipping in a euphemism, e.g. " Frank (the enemy may say, and there may be some difficulty in gainsaying him) is mawkish ; Rose a. doll ; Don Guzman a famous ' portrait of a Spaniard ' craped and sworded duly ; Ayacanora any savage princess." ' 32. Ellipsis for rapidity differs from ellipsis for vigor (IT 29) in the fact that here the words omitted, instead of exciting notice by their absence, are words of such subor- dinate importance that they are not missed, while yet the greater lightness produced by their omission is realized ; such are relatives, common subjects, and common objects of verbs and prepositions, — this last, technically called "splitting of particles," being open to caution as a suspect. Examples. — i. Of ellipsis of the relative. This is most natural in parts of the sentence remote from the central structure, as for instance inside of prepositional phrases or subordinated clauses ; for example, "We know the instructors were masters of the art /i^ they taught." — Note at the end of the following sentence the good effect of omitting the relative : " For, whether in one or other form, . . . there is rest and peacefulness, . . . 1 For the participial phrase, see above, pp. 227-229. , 2 Fitzgerald, Letters and Literary Remains, Vol. i, p. 292. 8 Saintsbury, Essays in English Literature, Second Series, p. 380. For parenthesis, its uses and cautions, see above, p. 129, 2. 302 COMPOSITION. more beautiful yet when the rest is one of humility instead of pride, and the trust no more in the resolution /\ we have taken, but in the Hand /^ we hold." 1 2. Of common subjects of verbs. Where the subject would be re- peated it may be expressed once for all ; as, " And now, in his turn, Lind- say is gone also ; /^ inhabits only the memories of other men, till these shall follow him ; and /^ figures in my reminiscences as my grandfather figured in his." ^ 3. Of the splitting of particles. " He came to, and was induced to reside in, this city." — " Add to these a concert-master who can conduct such scores from memory, a director who knows them by, and reveres them at, heart, and the crown is complete." ' — This construction is to be used only with caution, and with no long delay after the particle ; it is in fact lacking in cleanness and elegance, and by some purists is altogether condemned, on the ground, as one writer expresses it, that " Elegance pro- hibits an arrangement that throws the emphasis on, and thus causes a sus- pension of the sense at, a particle or other unimportant word." VIII. REPETITION. A great deal of the matter in any literary work is, and has to be, repetitious. The same ideas, the same forms of ex- pression, must recur again and again, in order rightly to be impressed or made clear ; and the constant problem is how to effect this repetition with skill and grace.* Repetition of Grammatical Elements • As a matter of phrase- ology, it is important first to notice certain grammatical elements the repetition of which is essential to clearness. 33. A word essential to the construction of successive members of the sentence should be repeated whenever its omission would cause ambiguity or obscurity. This rule applies to subjects, prepositions, and conjunctions. Examples. — i. Of repeated subject. In the following example the w^/V/i-clause intervening makes it necessary to repeat the subject intended: 1 RusKiN, Modern Painters (revised edition). Vol. i, p. 172. 2 Stevenson, Memories and Portraits, Works, Vol. xiii, p. 194. s Henderson, The Orchestra and Orchestral Music, p. 143. * For synonyms as instruments of repetition, see above, pp. 48, 49. ORGANIC PROCESSES. 303 " He professes to be helping the nation, which in reality is suffering from his flattery, and [he ? or which ?] will not permit any one else to give it advice." 2. Repeat a preposition after a new conjunction, e.g. " He forgets the gratitude that he owes to those who in less prosperous days helped him, and [to] his uncle in particular." The repetition of prepositions in suc- cessive phrases is too often neglected.' 3. Of repeated conjunction. " When we look back upon the havoc that two hundred years have made in the ranks of our national authors — and, above all, [when] we refer their rapid disappearance to the quick suc- cession of new competitors '— we cannot help being dismayed at the pros- pect that lies before the writers of the present day." 1 The omission of ■when here would make the second clause parenthetical, whereas it should be paired with the first 7«Aif«-clause. 34. When the subject of a sentence is made tip of several members, or is burdened with ampUfying details, a repeating word like this or these, though strictly pleonastic, is, necessary as final preparation for the verb. Examples. — " Gold and cotton, banks and railways, crowded ports and populous cities — these are not the elements that constitute a great nation." — "To write history respectably — that is, to abbreviate des- patches, and make extracts from speeches, to intersperse in due propor- tion epithets of praise and abhorrence, to draw up antithetical characters of great men, setting forth how many contradictory virtues and vices they united, and abounding in ' withs ' and ' withouts ' — all this is very easy." 2 Iteration. — In some circumstances repetition gains its power by taking the bald form of iteration — that is, the set recurrence of the identical word or phrase that it is desired to make impressive. 35. The iteration of a word for emphasis — which from its adaptedness to public discourse may be called oratorical iteration — has a double effect. On the word repeated it has an eifect like the blows of a ha,mmer, driving it in to the 1 Examples from Abbott, How to Write Clearly, pp. 31, 32. 2 Macaulav, Essay on History, beginning. For the summarizing and virtual repetition of a series of conditional clauses, see above, p. 285. 304 COMPOSITION. hearer's attention. But secondly, as soon as this iteration becomes constant enough to be anticipated, the hearer con- sciously reserves an increased share of his attention for the successive elements that are new, marking with greater interest the points of variation. Examples. — " But what then ? Can you remove that distrust ? That it exists cannot be denied. That it is an evil cannot be denied. That it is an increasing evil cannot be denied." ^ — " But the very first impression made upon you in the slums is one of horrible leisure. What are the people doing ? Nothing. What do they want to do ? Nothing. What are they capable of doing .' Nothing. What do they want you to do for them ? Nothing. What can you do for them ? Nothing." ^ — The fol- lowing pushes this iteration to the verge of artifice : " Undoubtedly the influence of Mr. Arnold did not make for good entirely. He discouraged — without in the least meaning to do so, and indeed meaning quite the contrary — seriousness, thoroughness, scholarship in criticism. He dis- couraged -^- without in the least meaning to do so, and indeed meaning quite the contrary — simplicity and unaff ectedness in style." ^ 36. In work where precision of thought and definition is a main consideration, as for instance in exposition, leading ideas, ideas whose expression has been reached with study as the exactest possible, may sometimes best be repeated in iden- tical terms, whenever they recur. This is iteration in the interests of precision. Example. — Matthew Arnold, who carried it in style to the extent of mannerism, is the great practitioner of this mode of iteration. Professor Earle « calls his use of it a " refrain," as if it were a poetical device. The following passage illustrates it : — " The practical genius of our people could not but urge irresistibly to the production of a real prose style, because for the purposes of modern life the old English prose, the prose of Milton and Taylor, is cumbersome, unavailable, impossible. A style of regularity, uniformity, precision, bal- 1 Macaulay, First Speech on Parliamentary Reform. 2 From a magazine article by Alice Rollins. 8 Saintsbury, History of Nineteenth Century Literature, p. 388. ** Earle, English Prose, pp. 161, 162. ORGANIC PROCESSES. 305 ance, was wanted. These are the qualities of a serviceable prose style. Poetry has a different logic, as Coleridge said, from prose ; poetical style follows another law of evolution than the style of prose. But there is no doubt that a style of regularity, uniformity, precision, balance, will acquire a yet stronger hold upon the mind of a nation, if it is adopted in poetry as well as in prose, and so comes to govern both. This is what happened in France. To the practical, modem, and social genius of the French a true prose was -indispensable. They produced one of cdnspicuous excellence, supremely powerful and influential in the last century, the first to come and standing at first alone, a modern prose. French prose is marked in the highest degree by the qualities of regularity, uniformityj precision, balance. With little opposition from any deep-seated and imperious poetic instincts, the French made their poetry also conform to the law which was moulding their prose. French poetry became marked with the qualities of regularity, uniformity, precision, balance. . . . Our literature required a prose which conformed to the true law of prose ; and that it might acquire this the more surely, it compelled poetry, as in France, to conform itself to the law of prose likewise. . . . Poetry, or rather the use of verse, entered in a remarkable degree, during [the eighteenth] century, into the whole of the daily life of the civilized classes; and the poetry of the century was a perpetual school of the qualities requisite for a good prose, the qualities of regularity, uniformity, precision, balance." i Repetition in Disguise- — Of the two objects proper to repe- tition, iteration secures one, the reappearance of the thought, but it is lacking in the other and more important, the forward movement. As the thought goes on it should grow ; and if its meatis of progress be repetition, the repetition should if possible be made the occasion of successive enrichment of the idea, or of putting it in varied aspects and emphasis. This object, while it does not impair the essential repetition, operates in many ways to disguise it. 37. Where the repetition centres in some term, the class- name may in the repeat take the place of the particular, or a defining term may be put for the thing defined ; where it centres in incident or details, some equivalent phraseology, as for instance negative for positive, may be substituted. 1 Matthew Arnold, Preface to Johnson's Lives of the Poets, p. xxii. 306 COMPOSITION. Examples. — Of class-name for individual. " There came a viper out of the heat and fastened on his hand. And when the barbarians saw the venomous beast hang on his hand, they said among themselves, No doubt this man is a murderer, whom, though he hath escaped the sea, yet ven- geance suffereth not to live. And he shook off the beast into the fire, and felt no harm."i — " In civilized society law is the chimney through which all that smoke discharges itself that used to circulate through the whole house and put everybody's eyes out. No wonder, therefore, that the vent itself should sometimes get a little sooty." ^ z. Of defining and descriptive terms for original. " But the age of chivalry is gone. That of sophisters, ceconomists, and calculators, has suc- ceeded; 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,'t\ia.t subordination of the heart, which kept alive, even in servitude itself, the spirit of an exalted freedom. The unbought grace of life, the cheap defense of nations, ia& nurse of manly senti- ment 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.''^ Here the original term chivalry is represented, definitively and descrip- tively, in no fewer than nine different ways. 3. Of varied phrase. In the following the repeat is made by a double negative : " ' Chariot,' said Athos to him, ' I particularly desire yon to take care of Planchet, M. d'Artagnan's servant, as long as he stays. He hkes good vrine ; you have the cellar key. He also does not dislike a good bed. Look after that also, I beg of you.'"* — It is of course impracticable to name all the ways in which the phrase may be varied in repetition. The following will illustrate several : " A day passed away and his mother was not there ; another flew by, and she came not near him ; a third evening arrived, and yet he had not seen her ; and in four-and-twenty hours he was to be separated from her — perhaps for ever." ^ 38. In the recapitulation of a series of details, in which the going back over the terms has to be a kind of iteration, 1 Acts xxviii. 3-5. 2 Sir Walter Scott. Quoted by E. Paxton Hood, Scottish Characteristics, p. 125. 8 Burke, Reflections on the Rci^olution in Prance, p. 89. * Dumas, fwentyYears After, Vol. i, p. 173. ' Dickens. ORGANIC PROCESSES. 307 the ill effect of such iteration is often obviated by taking the inverse order. Examples. — " Make the Juart of this people fat, and make their ears lieavy, and shut their eyes ; lest they see with their eyes, and hear with their ears, and understand with their heart, and convert, and be healed." ^ — "His religion, his education, his life in this unsatisfying world, are not the life, the education, the religion, of the great majority of human kind."^- — • " As the soldier is tempted to dissipation, and the merchant to acquisitive- ness, and the lawyer to the sophistical, and the statesman to the expedient, and the country clergyman to ease and comfort, yet there are good clergy- men, statesmen, lawyers, merchants, arid soldiers,, notwithstanding; so there are religious experimentalists, though physics, taken by themselves, tend to infidelity; but to have recourse to physics to make men religious is like recommending a canonry as a cure for the gout, or giving a youngster a commission as a penance for irregularities." ' 39. When a thought is expected to grow by repetition and yet remains as lean as ever, merely adding synonymous ex- pressions and marking time, as it were, without advancing, the fault is called Tautology. It generally betokens either heedlessness or poverty of thought, and is to be obviated, if a tautology in terms, by making sure that each successive term that repeats adds enough meaning to pay for repeating ; if a tautology in phraseology, by putting the repeat in a different stress, thus taking occasion to emphasize new aspects of the thought.* Examples. — i. Of unredeemed tautology. The following, from an old writer, merely pairs off synonyms without making the second contribute at all to enrich the first: " Particularly as to the affairs of this world, integrity hath many advantages over all the fine and artificial ways of dis- simulation and deceit ; it is much the plainer and easier, much the safer and more secure way of dealing with the world ; it has less of trouble and difficulty, of entanglement and perplexity, of danger and hazard in it. The 1 Isaiah vi. 10. 2 Lang, Essays in Little, p. 116. 8 Newman, Discussions and Arguments, p. 299. * For this variation of stress as applied to sentences, see below, p. 342. 308 COMPOSITION. arts of deceit and cunning do continually grow weaker, and less effectual and serviceable to them that use them." l — Many pairs of terms have come into the language which, though tautological, are used without analysis as single terms, as " ways and means," " head and front," " end and design " ; but as soon as they are discriminated, as is done by the word neither in the following example, the essential tautology becomes evident : " It might be accounted a tribute to the enterprise of Old Sledge that moun- tain barriers proved neither let nor hindrance, and here in the fastnesses was held that vivacious sway, potent alike to fascinate and to scandalize." ^ 2. Of - tautology obviated by variation. In the following (already quoted on p. 50, above) the nearly synonymous words are justified by their evident climax : " I am astonished, I am shocked to hear such principles coti- fessed ; to hear them avowed in this house and in this country." — In the following the verb had failed has the stress at first, and then in the repeat is thrown into subordinate relation : " I had, indeed, begun the task, and had failed ; I had begun it a second time, 3.nA, failing again, had aban- doned my attempt with a sensation of utter distaste." ' — In the following stress is laid first on the adverb, and then on the verb : " In the literary movement of the beginning of the nineteenth century the signal attempt to apply freely the modern spirit was made in England by two members of the aristocratic class, Byron and Shelley. . . . But Byron and Shelley did not succeed in their attempt/r^^/y to apply the modern spirit in English litera- ture ; they could not succeed in it ; the resistance to bafile them, the want of intelligent sympathy to guide and uphold them, were too great." * Repetition of Construction The forward movement of the thought is effected, not by the successive enumeration of details merely, but by the perpetual pairing and balance of elements ; which latter, as they must be thought of together, have to be so expressed that their mutual relation is apparent. 40. Elements of the thought that are paired together, or that answer to each other, should evince that relation by being of like speech-part-ship and like form of phrase. This is called Parallel Construction. 1 TiLLOTSON. Cited by Bain, English Composition and Rhetoric, p. 68. 2 MuRFREE (Charles Egbert Craddock), In the Tennessee Mountains, p. 81. 8 Kinglake, Eothen, Preface. " Matthew Arnold, Essays in Criticism, First Series, p. 176. ORGANIC PROCESSES. 309 Examples. — In the following note how the proposed amendments, in brackets, aid in the mutual relations of the sentence-elements : " He had good reason to believe [or, for believing] that the delay was not an accident [accidental] but premeditated, and for supposing [to suppose, or else, for believing, above] that the fort, though strong both by art and naturally [nature], would be forced by the treachery of the governor and the indolent [indolence of the] general, to capitulate within a week." i Not infrequently words are iterated to give a better parallelism of con- struction ; as, " If I have had my share in any measure giving quiet to private property and private conscience." ^ — The following is a rather striking example : " He looked unlike other men, with his tall thin figure, his long thin face, his nervous thin hands." ^ In the foUovring the lack of the words here supplied in brackets leaves the phrases unbalanced : " The Aryan genius ranges far and wide, observes, compares, classifies, generalizes, both in the world of matter and [in the world] of spirit." * 41. A broader application of parallel construction is made in what is called Balanced Structure, wherein clauses or sen- tences are related to each other by likeness of construction, and by similarity or antithesis of thought. The sharp relief thus effected between statements is an aid to clear definition and to memory. Examples. — Balance of clauses. " It contains the history of a miracle, of Creation and Redemption ; it displays the power and the mercy of the Supreme Being ; the probable therefore is marvellous, and the marvellous is probable." 5 — " They habitually ascribed every event to the will of the Great Being, for whose power nothing was too vast, for whose inspection nothing was too minute." ^ Balance of sentences. " If they were unacquainted with the works of philosophers and poets, they were deeply read in the oracles of God. If their names were not found in the registers of heralds, they were recorded in the Book of Life. If their steps wete not accompanied by a splendid train of menials, legions of ministering angels had charge over them." ^ 1 Abbott, How to Write Clearly, p. 34. 2 Burke, as quoted above, p. 439. 8 Matthews, Aspects of Fiction, p.129. 4 McCuRDY, History, Prophecy, and the Monuments, Vol. i, p. 5. 5 Johnson, Lives of the Poets, Vol. i, p. 184. 6 Macaulay, Essay on Milton. 310 COMPOSITION. Sometimes in the balancing members an inversion of order may alter- nate the stress ; e.g. " To leave the world, or any part of the world, is to follow John the Baptist ; to follow Christ is to enter the world and every phase of the world." ^ Sometimes, where there is a large number of balancing members, they may with elegance be broken into varying groups. In the following fine passage from Cardinal Newman the groups of uniform clauses are set off by lines : " He writes passionately, because he feels keenly ; forcibly, because he conceives vividly ; | he sees too clearly to be vague ; he is too serious to be otiose; | he can analyze his subject, and therefore he is rich; he embraces it as a whole and in its parts, and therefore he is consistent ; he has a firm hold of it, and therefore he is luminous. | When his imagina- tion wells up, it overflows in ornament ; when his heart is touched, it thrills along his verse." ^ 1 Abbott, Christianity and Social Problems, p. 6g. This very practical though rather rhetorical inversion in the balancing members of a sentence is called Chiasmus, from the Greek letter Chi (X), which character was used by the ancient rhetoricians to mark the cross relation ; thus : — " To leave the world ^..^^^ is to follow John the Baptist ; to follow Christ ^'^^ is to enter the world " ... 2 Newman, Idea of a University, p. 292. CHAPTER X. THE SENTENCE. Thus far our study has dealt with materials and detached processes, waiving for the time the consideration of finished results. It is time now to take up this latter subject; and in the coming three forms of utterance, the Sentence, the Para- graph, and the Composition as a Whole, it will be treated through successive applications of what are essentially the same underlying principles, varying only in scale and scope. In the sentence, then, we reach the first complete organic product of thinking. As such, and as embodying on its scale the qualities necessary to effect the purpose of the whole work, the sentence may be regarded as the unit of style. ^ Definition of the_ Sentence. — A sentence is a combination of \Kord§,expressing a single, complete thought. However complex it may be — and it may attain a consid- erable degree of complexity — the thought of the sentence must be single, must with all its colorings and details leave on the ireader's mind one focal impression ; however restricted its range or inclusion, it must appear as a complete and finished utterance. 1 " For the sentence is the unit of style ; and by the cadence and music, as well as by the purport and bearing, of his sentences, the master of style must stand or fall." — Saintsbury, Miscellaneous Essays^ p. no. — '* From the arrangement of accord- ing letters, which is altogether arabesque and sensual, up to the architecture of the elegant and pregnant sentence, which is a vigorous act of the pure intellect, there is scarce a faculty in man but has been exercised. We need not wonder, then, if per- fect sentences are rare, and perfect pages rarer." — Stevenson, On Some Technical Elements of Style in Literature, Works, Vol. xxii, p. 265. 3" 312 COMPOSITION. Note. — The typical sign of completeness is the period, the mark of a full-rounded declarative sentence. Other marks of end-punctuation, the exclamation mark, the interrogation mark, the dash, are really marks of incompleteness : the exclamation signifying rather an emotional outburst than a composed thought; the interrogation implying and requiring an answer to complete it ; and the dash confessedly an abrupt dropping of the subject. Thus, while grammatically there may be exclamatory and interrogative as well as declarative sentences, from the point of view of rhetorical construction these are somewhat out of- the literal order, being in fact expressions of emotional connotation ; see above, pp. 95, 96. I. ORGANISM OF THE SENTENCE. Sentences have both a grammatical and a rhetorical organ- ism : the grammatical having to do with the parts of speech, their offices and relations ; the rhetorical dealing rather with the logical bearings and dependencies of the thought. With the grammatical organism our business at present is only indirect and casual ; the assured mastery of it must, at this stage of study, be presumed. With the rhetorical organism of the sentence a writer must get the same intimate familiarity as with the grammatical ; the sense of it, and of its require- ments, must become ingrained in his mind ; and, as accessory to this, he needs to form the habit of "parsing his sentence rhetorically, settling its unitary and distributive relations, its main and tributary lines, as he goes along. No other habit or procedure in rhetoric can outweigh this in importance. I. Elements of Structure. — The same essential structure under- lies all forms of composition, from the sentence, the first complete utterance of a thought, onward. It is a dual struc- ture, a structure framed on two elements. There is first the basic idea or term, what the assertion is abouirand seconHly the assertion or declaration,, itself, what is said about this. THE SENTENCE. 313 These two elements are always present to guide and centralize the thinking ; and whether we call them subject and predicate, as in the sentence, or topic and enlargement, as in the para- graph, or proposition and proof, as in a debate, or theme and treatment, as in an essay, is merely an incident of the scale and kind of production on which we are working. The Framework. ■ — Our analysis of sentence structure, then, taking the grammatical core of substantive {i.e. noun or pro- noun) and verb, views it in the more logical light of subject and predicate : the subject, in the large sense that about which something is said ; the predicate , also liberally construed as that which is said about the subject. These, while in most cases modeled on the grammatical nucleus, are not the slaves of grammar ; for instance, a subject,ithough typically a nomi- native, may for rhetorical distinctio i be put as the object of a verb, yet remain just as truly th ; thing about which an assertion is made ; the predicate, crowded into some sequential claui implication, retains its essential cha statement about the subject. By th^ir func tion if is, rather likewise, though it be e, or be in part left to acter of information or than by their form, that these elements are to be rhetorically interpr eted ; and, as preliminary to the skilful massiri ^ of his sentences, the writer should acquire thei'instinctive sense\of what in his work is really the subject of aiSCTisskrrr,- whatever its syntax, and what is essentially predication or predicative matter. Examples. — The following sentences, purposely chosen for their simplicity, will bring to light the essential subject-matter and predication, as distinct from the grammatical. The grammatical nucleus is put in small capitals. I . The rhetorical framework modeled on the grammatical core. " Our earthly life, then, gives promise of what it does not accomplish."! — " Homer, for the glory of whose birthplace none but the greatest cities 1 Newman, Parochial and Plain Sermons, Vol. iv, p. 216. 314 COMPOSITION. dare contend, IS alike the highest and the easiest in poetry. He- rodotus, who brought into Greece more knowledge of distant countries than any or indeed than all before him, IS THE plainest and gracefulest in prose."! !„ all these, if we ask what is talked about and what is as'serted of it, the substantive and verb give the main clue. z. The subject of remark grammatically disguised. " On seeking for some clue to the law underlying these current maxims, WE may see shadowed forth in many of them, the importance of economizing the reader's or hearer's attention." 2 Here the grammatical substantive, verb, and object give very little clue to what the sentence is about; its real sub- ject of remark, economizing attention, is sent to the end as the object of a preposition. — The same is noticeable in the following : " There IS not, and there never was on this earth, a work of human policy so well deserving of examination as the Roman Catholic Church."' Here the subject of remark is the Roman Catholic Church, sent to the end again and put in a clause for distinction. 3. The predicative matter grammatically disguised. " This is a thought which will come upon us not always, but under circumstances." * Here the grammatical framework is as indicated above ; the rhetorical is rather This thought will cpme. The predication is put into a ■which-A2.v&&. — " The second point to be observed is that brightness of color is altogether inadmissible without purity and harmony." ^ Here the main predicative matter of the sentence is put in a sequential clause, being prepared for by a prospective clause : brightness is inadmissible is the real assertion. In the sentence quoted from Landor above we might say the clauses that define Homer and Herodotus respectively (" for the glory of whose birthplace," etc., and "who brought into Greece," etc.) are part of the predicative matter tacked to the subject by relative clauses ; they really supply one side of the distinction asserted of these authors. What is true of the whole sentence is true in its turn of any constituent clause. By its subject or its connective its relation with the rest of the sentence is revealed, whether one of subordination or of coordination ; but as soon as we get beyond this, in all its internal framework the clause is a 1 Landor, Imaginary Conversations, Vol. i, p. 94 (Diogenes and Plato). 2 'sfE.iiC-EK, Philosophy of Style, p. 11. 8 MacaulaV, Essay on Von Sanie's History of the Popes. ^ Newman, Parochial and Plain Sermons, Vol. iv, p. 217. 6 RusKiN, Modern Painters, Vol. ii, p. 195. THE SENTENCE. 315 complete sentence by itself, with the same problems of mass, order, and stress that obtain in the larger structure. Examples. — In the sentences quoted above, we come upon the follow- ing clausal frameworks : " it does not accomplish,'' " nbne . . . dare con- tend"; "who brought . . . knowledge"; "which will come"; "brightness ... is inadmissible." The Tributary Portions. — In three main ways this sentence 1 \ framework may take on tributary matter. j(J I. There is first the matter requisite to define and give proper setting to the subject. This, as the subject itself is a substantive, is adjectival in nature, that is, it fixes such limits and qualities of the subject as are needed for use in the sentence, and this it does in the form of word, or phrase, or clause. -., 2. Secondly, and with the same range of forms open to it, there is the matter requisite to expand and round out the predicate. This, so far as it centres about the verb, is adver- bial in nature, giving accompaniments of time, place, conditions, manner, and the like. But as the verb may take an object, or be conjoined with a predicate noun, adjectival modifiers may be affixed to these as to the subject of the sentence. 3. Finally; the sentence itself, within the boundary of the same period, may take on another sentence, or more than one, so closely connected with it in idea that the pair or cluster add together to form a composite thought. In this case it is idle to speculate which is principal and which tributary ; they have a coordinate relation. It is to be remembered, moreover, that wherever there is a noun, whether in main sentence, clause, or phrase, and wherever there is a verb, whether in the form of principal verb, or infinitive, or participle, the question of modification is always open ; and so the tributary tracts of the sentence may in turn have their tributaries, until the grammatical rami- 316 COMPOSITION. fications become exceedingly complex, and the problem of steering a straight and clear course through is no small one. Example. — The following sentence will sliow in a comparatively simple example some of the workings of these three tributary lines. For clearer distinction it is put in tabular form : — ■ Main Sentence. Subject : " Their dim purpose, — very dim often, yet struggling always to become clearer, and utter itself in act and word, — Predicate : was, and ever is, no other than this : To conform themselves to the Eter- nal Laws, — Laws of Necessity, re- vealed Laws of God, or whatever good or worse, or better or best name they give it : Here the tributary portions are devoted mostly to defining the two ideas dim and Laws, the first modification being thus adverbial, the second adjectival or appositive. The coordinate sentence repeats the idea more sententiously, and with order of subject and predicate reversed. Coordinate Sentence. THIS EVER IS, AND MUST BE, THE PURPOSE of the sons of men."l II. Types of Structure — In this intricate meshwork of verbal, phrasal, and clausal forms, functions main and tributary, rela- tions coordinate and subordinate, it is important to recognize if we may, in the case of any sentence, some underlying type or norm from which we may estimate as from a chart the various lines of construction. For this purpose we may here adopt Professor Earle's classification.^ Starting from the familiar grammatical distinction of sen- tences as simple, compound, and complex, we may distinguish three main types, which, though not always rigidly or exclu- 1 Carlyle, Historical Sketches, p. 2. 2 Earle, English Prose, pp. 76-91. THE SENTENCE. 317 sively adhered to,^ are comprehensive enough to include singly or by intermixture the great body of procedure. 1. The Simplex Type Assiuning, as in all these defini- tions, that the verb is the key to the sentence's idea, and that the conjunction is the key to'its articulation, we may define the simplex as a sentence with only one principal verb, or, what comes to the same thing, without an interlinking conjunction. Sentences of this type, plain as it is, may assume a consid- erable appearance of intricacy by cumulated subjects, and by phrasal or participial adjuncts to subject or predicate or both. The conjunctions that appear between subject members or adjuncts are, it is to be observed, not elements of sentence articulation, but merely verbal connectives. Examples. ^ — i. Of the plain simplex. "Self-preservation is the first rule of every community." " In the window of his mother's apartment lay Spenser's ' Fairy Queen.' " ^ Here, although some phrasal modifiers are introduced, the framework of subject and single verb is clear. 2. Of the simplex disguised by other matter. " For somewhat more than four hundred years, the Roman Empire and the Christian Church, born into the world almost at the same moment, had been developing themselves side by side as two great rival powers, in deadly struggle for the possession of the human race." ' Here there is a double subject, its two members modified by a participial phrase ; there is an adverbial time phrase ; and the dbject of the verb has a long appositional addition ; but the single verb, had been developing, holds the sentence to its underlying simplex type. 2. The Composita Type. — The essential character of this type is coordination. It is the kind of sentence wherein the predication is made by two or more principal verbs, expressed 1 " The reader must not expect to find pure examples of the above types ready to hand in every page, nor will he be justified In concluding that therefore the types themselves are imaginary and unreal. It is essential to freedom and elasticity and beauty of discourse, that there should be no obtrusive persistence of rigid types ; but at the same time it is useful for us to observe or by analytic process to disengage such types, because they are the elementary factors of an endless variety." — lb., p. 87. 2 Johnson, Lives of the Poets, Cowley. 3 Kingsley, Hyfatiaf'Vteiace. 318 COMPOSITION. or understood, and wherein the conjunctions are of the coordi- nating class.^ These several verbs may either be predicates of the same subject, or may have their separate subjects ; in which latter case the whole sentence is a cluster of sentences bound into one by a logical connection. In two ways the composite character of this type of sen- tence, while still intact, may be somewhat disguised. In a series of more than two predications the connecting conjunc- tions may be expressed only with the last, or may be wholly omitted.^ And secondly, when the several verbs would natu- rally be the same if expressed, the verb may be expressed only once for the series. Examples. — i. Of plain composita. With a single subject: "The righteous shall inherit the land, and dwell therein forever." — With a subject for each verb : " Art makes knovf ledge a means, but science makes it an end " ; " Then this world will fade away, and the other world will shine forth " ; " The advice is the same, though the reason of it is differ- ent." Here the several coordinating conjunctions are but, and, and though. Clusters of more than two members : " In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God " ; " He provides, and she dispenses ; he gives commandments, and she rules by them ; he rules her by authority, and she rules him by love ; she ought by all means to please him, and he must by no means displease her." Here each of the semicoloned members is itself a composita of two members. ;:. Of composita disguised. The example last quoted shows asyndeton between the larger members. The classical example of asyndeton is, " I came, I saw, I conquered." — Ellipsis of repeated verb: "They never see any good in suffering virtue, nor /\ any crime in prosperous usurpation.'' Here the full sense would be " nor do they see any crime," etc. " It is not the business of the Arts to worry the reason, but rather /^ to stimulate the imagination, and /^ soothe the feelings of mankind." ' 3. The Evoluta Type. — The essential character of this type is subordination. It is the kind of sentence wherein one main 1 For coordinating conjunctions, see above, p. 260. 2 This latter ellipsis, which gives the condensing effect of abruptness (cf. p. 29S, above) is technically called Asyndeton. 3 These quotations are nearly all taken from Professor Earle, op. cit., pp. 78, 79. THE SENTENCE. 319 assertion has appended to it ancillary clauses giving some kind of explanatory or limiting matter. These helping clauses may be appended either to the noun parts of the sentence (subject,' object of a verb, object of a preposition), in which case its connective is a relative pronoun or relative adverb ; or to the verb parts (predicate, infinitive, participle), in which case its connective is a conjunction of the subordinating class.'' Often the Evoluta has an inverted arrangement, the appended clauses, of condition, time, explanation, and the like, being placed first, and thus accumulating for the main predicate the distinction of suspensive, structure.^ W (^ }, ,\ , /, Examples. — i. Of various ways of introducing subordinate clauses. The introducing words, conjunctions or relatives, are here italicized. " People usually consider that an opinion by which no fee is earned is worth just what it cost." — " Englishmen are prepared to believe that if their country is to continue to be the greatest nation of the world, it^must be as the centre of a naval confederacy which has its harbors in every sea." — ■ " The Catholic gentry, who had been painted as longing for the coming of the stranger, led their tenantry, when the stranger came, to the muster at Tilbury." — " Milton, who, in his letter to Hartlib, had declared, that to read Latin with an English mouth is as ill a hearing as Low French, required that Elwood should learn and practice the Italian pronunciation, which, he said, was necessary, if he would talk with foreigners.'' 2. Of inverted order of evolute clauses. " That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, It is most true." — " Why it is, and what it is to issue in, and how it is what it is, and how we came to be introduced into it, and what is our destiny, are all mysteries." Here the subordinate clauses are coordinated with each other by and, all being alike subject to the main assertion. — "If\ cannot go with the authority and protection of my gov- ernment, I prefer not to go at all." ^ It hardly needs to be remarked here that these types may be mixed in many ways ; the fact that any modifying element 1 For the list of relatives, pronominal and adverbial, see Table of Retrospective Reference, p. 247 ; for subordinating conjunctions, p. 265. 2 For suspension by conjunctional clauses, see pi 281. 3 Quotations taken, as before, mostly from Earle, op. cit., pp. 81, 83. 320 COMPOSITION. may assume the clausal form makes this mixture natural to any underlying structure. It is not difficult, however, in most cases, to detect the relations of one type to another, and so explain the combination. II. INTERRELATION OF ELEMENTS. The ample, though limited, range of logical relations that may exist between the constituent elements of a sentence all grows out of the necessary quality of unity. However broad and diversified the impression made by the sentence, it must be one impression ; all the lines of assertion, implication, shading, must focalize into one comprehensive thought. To this end account must be taken of these internal relations, and of the means of making them clear to the reader. Errors of Interrelation. — An organism which is a unity must just as truly, if it is an organism, be a diversity. Two errors of interrelation, arising respectively from the disregard of these necessary qualities, may here be noted. I. The disregard of unity shows itself in what is called the heterogeneous sentence. This is a sentence run on carelessly, admitting all collateral ideas that can be crowded in, until there are several distinct subjects of thought, and no one of paramount importance to which all may be counted as sub- servient. It is much like talking without a pause till one is out of breath. It is not the same as a long sentence ; it is rather a long sentence that fails to produce unity of effect. Examples. — The tendency to let a sentence become heterogeneous may work in two ways : trying to crowd the interior of the sentence too full of extraneous matters ; and tacking on an afterthought at the end. I. Heterogeneous by insignificant details. " The usual acceptation takes profit and pleasure for two diiferent things ; and not only calls the fpl- THE SENTENCE. 321 lowers or votaries of them by the several names of busy and idle men ; but distinguishes the faculties of mind that are conversant about them, calling the operations of the first wisdom, and of the other wit : which is a Saxon word, used to express what the Spaniards and Italians call ingenio, and the French esprit, both from the Latin; though I thinlc wit more particularly signifies that of poetry, as may occur in remarlcs on the Runic language." Here there is material for not less than three sentences, their subjects of remark being : Profit and pleasure, how named in men and in the mind. Derivation and synonymy of the word wit. Wit ought to be used exclusively as a poetic term. As soon as we separate these subjects, we see how impossible it is to make them all parts of the expression of a single thought. 2. Heterogeneous by a tacked-on addition. " He falls so grossly into the censure of the old poetry, and preference of the new, that I could not read his strains without indignation ; which no quality among men is so apt to raise in me as self-sufiiciency." Here the relative clause starts off on a new idea, suggested by the word indignation. The same thing may occur in narrative details ; eg. " Tillotsoji died in this year. He was exceedingly beloved both by King William and Queen Mary, who nomi- nated Dr. Tenison, Bishop of Lincoln, to succeed him."^ Here the nomination of Dr. Tenison is entirely apart from the idea of the pre- vious clause. 2. The disregard of the diversity that may legitimately characterize the sentence is shown in what may be called the insignificant sentence. The evil of the heterogeneous sentence is not cured by making each assertion into a sentence by itself. Apart from the disagreeable effect of a series of curt remarks, not all assertions will bear to be made so prominent. A statement merely explanatory or qualifying ought to be subordinated to others, and the only way to make this subor- dination appear is to weave the explanatory clause in with other things in the same sentence structure ; for as soon as it is set off by periods it sounds as if coordinate in value. A small explanatory clause set off by itself is not only insig- 1 The above-quoted sentences are taken (without his italics) from Bain, Compo- sition and Rhetoric, pp. 135, 136. All are from the older "writers, who had not reached the sense of unity and organism .that now prevails in sentences. 322 COMPOSITION. nificant, it breaks the continuity of the larger thoughts. Its matter may be worth saying, but not worth challenging inde- pendent attention ; this is a point that the writer's literary sense must settle. Examples. — i. Here i^ recalled the attempt once made by a clergy- man to give more point and snap to a Scripture verse by periods ; with the following result : "The pastures are clothed with flocks. The valleys also are covered over with corn. They shout for joy. They also sing." ^ This last assertion, They also sing, may acquire a snap, but it is really made insignificant by its separation. 2. How intermediate clauses of comparatively less importance may be necessary to subserve the continuity from the chief idea of one sentence to that of another may be seen in the following, in which the intermediate portion is put in brackets : " Of two old men, the one who is not your father speaks to you with the more sensible authority ; [for in the paternal relation the oldest have lively interests and remain still young. Thus I have known two young men great friends ; each swore by the other's father ; the father of each swore by the other lad ;] and yet each pair of parent and child were perpetually by the ears."^ Here the part within brackets is mostly employed in conducting the thought from general statement to concrete example. In the following this intermediate char- acter is neglected, and of the sentences in brackets some are insignificant, while all break the continuity : " An individual is an encloser. [Time and space, liberty and necessity, truth and thought, are left at large no longer. Now, the universe is a close or pound. All things exist in the man tinged with the manners of his soul. With what quality is in him he infuses all nature that he can reach ; nor does he tend to lose himself in vastness, but, at how long a curve soever, all his regards return into his own good at last. He animates all he can, and he sees only what he animates.] He encloses the world, as the patriot does his country, as a material basis for his character, and a theatre for action." ' Here, as we compare the first and last sentences, there seems to be a needless detour in thought between, because the middle sentences are not properly subordinated to the main current of the idea. 1 Psalm Ixv. 13. 2 Stevenson, Talk and Talkers, Works, Vol. xiii, p. 2S4. 8 Emerson, Character, Works, Vol. ill, p. 95. THE SENTENCE. 323 II. Logical Relations Consistent with Unity. — In sentences, more especially of the composita type, where clause stands side by side .with coordinate clause, the question how sentence unity will bear such manner of accretion assumes chief importance. The answer depends on the nature of the material. I. In material of argumentative or expository nature, wherein thought is linked to thought by likeness or contrast, or by cause and effect, some phase of such relation must be present to give the added clause a right within the same sen- tence. Accordingly, when an added clause gives the conse- quence or the obverse of the principal ; when it explains, or justifies, or exemplifies, or repeats the idea of the principal ; it may be set off by a semicolon, but does not necessarily mar the unity of the sentence.' Examples. — A number of sentences are given here, with the logical relation of the semicoloned clauses indicated in the margin : — " Hence, in speculating on this question I shall take this as a reasonable assumption first of all, that the catastrophe of a state is according to its antecedents, and its destiny according to its nature ; and there- Consequence, fore, that we cannot venture on any anticipation of the instruments or the conditions of its death, until we know something about the principle and the char- acter of its life.'' — "To learn from others you must entertain a respect for them ; no one listens to those Obverse, whom he contemns." — "He [Herodotus] has written something better, perhaps, than the best history ; but Obverse, he has not written a good history ; he is, from the Explanation. first to the last chapter, an inventor." ^ — "The very greatness of our powers makes this life look pitiful ; Consequence, the very pitif ulness of this life forces on our thoughts 1 " It is this tacit ratiocination which qualifies the Composita to fill so large a space as it does in argumentative discourse. It is the vehicle of implied, inexplicit, and condensed reasoning." — Earle, English Prose\ p. So. 2 Macaulay, Essay on History. 324 COMPOSITION. to another ; and the prospect of another gives a dig- Consequence, nity and value to this life which promises it; and thus Consequence, this life is at once great and little, and we rightly con- temn it while we exalt its importance." ^ — " His gen- tleness is made beautiful by a granite will behind; Repetition. ' out of the strong comes forth sweetness.' " — " Agri- culture is the foundation of manufactures ; the produc- Repetition or ex- tions of nature are the materials of art."^ — "Now planation. surely this ought not to be asserted, unless it can be proved ; we should speak with cautious reverence upon Reason or jus- such a subject." ^ tification. In all these sentences we can feel the close logical relation which makes the coordinated clauses a unity with the principal. 2. In material of descriptive or narrative nature, wherein details merely touch each other in space or time, the laws of sentence unity have to be more liberally construed. Much the same holds in clauses of common bearing grouped under one implied logical control. In all these cases the unity is determined not so much by adjusting one clause to another as by implicitly referring all alike to one comprehensive idea, — some limitation of time or space or thought. It is the writer's sense of this dominating idea which regulates the inclusion of his sentence. In material of this kind the main problem is to strike a just mean between the insignificant and the heterogeneous sen- tence. Single narrative details, unless emphatic, may well be too unimportant to stand alone ; they require the support of company. So it may come to pass that a sentence may be made up of several distinct facts, and be a kind of smaller paragraph. Yet beyond a certain point it easily becomes too loosely strung together ; free as it looks, a pervading unity of inclusion must keep it from becoming heterogeneous. Of this delicate balance between too much and not enough a disci- plined logical sense must be the judge. 1 Newman, Parochial and Plain Sermons, Vol. iv, p. 218. 2 Quoted from Bain's Rhetoric, p. 136. THE SENTENCE. 325 Examples. — In the following sentences the distinct nodes of detail are indicated by upright lines. 1. A descriptive sentence. "By night sweet odors, Var^ng with every hour of the watch, were wafted from the shore to the vessel lying near ; | and the forest trees, brought together by the serpent tracery of myriads of strange parasitical plants, might well seem to the fancy like some great design of building, | over which the lofty palms, a forest upon a forest, appeared to present a new order of architecture. In the background rose the mist, like incense." i Here the fourth detail, not closely enough con- nected with the others, or perhaps more important to the main current of thought, is put in a sentence by itself. 2. A narrative sentence. " And now up runs Baptiste, covered with slime, and prep?ires to cast his projectiles. The first one fell wide of the mark j | the schooner swung round into a long reach of water, | where the breeze was in her favor ; | another shout of laughter drowned the maledic- tions of the muddy man ; | the sails filled ; | Colossus of Rhodes, smiling and bowing as hero of the moment, ducked as the main boom swept round, | and the schooner, leaning slightly to the pleasant influence, rustled a moment oVer the bulrushes, and then sped far away down the rippling bayou." ^ 3. Clauses of common bearing. " Before, they took things as they came, and thought no more of one thing than another. But now every event has a meaning ; | they have their own estimate of whatever happens to them; | they are mindful of times and seasons, and compare the present with the past: | and the world, no longer dull, monotonous, unprofitable, and hopeless, is a various and complicated drama, with parts and an object and an awful moral." ' Here the relation of the last clause to the rest is obviously consequence ; the other clauses are closely related as similar steps in an idea, with one common bearing to give them unity, and all alike working together to make up the obverse to the short sentence preceding. III. Office of Punctuation.* — Of the logical sequences necessary to the unity and proper articulation of the sentence, the marks of 1 Helps, Spanish Conquest in America^ quoted in Bain's Rhetoric, p. 137. 2 Cable, Posson Jone', Old Creole Days\ p. 174. 3 Newman, Idea of a University^ p. 133. 4 For the classitication of printer's signs, and for the significance of other marks, see above, p. 128, footnote. 326 , COMPOSITION. punctuation, — semicolon, colon, comma, and dash, — are the mechanical signs. As such they have just as definite a mean- ing, and are just as truly a part of composition, as is the choice or arrangement of words. To leave them to others, printers or critics, to supply, is to leave to others part of one's thinking; to confess ignorance of them is to confess that at some important points the rhetorical art is unmastered. Of a subject to which in its minute ramifications whole vol- umes have been not unprofitably devoted, it is possible here to give only the nucleus principles from which all the applica- tions proceed. And to this end, braving the risk of small exceptions and accommodations, we will reduce the significance of each mark to a single comprehensive principle, from which its diversities of application may be naturally deduced. The Semicolon. — This may be called the mark of addition, more specifically, of the added clause ; the type of sentence, therefore, of which it is most characteristic is the composita. In general its range of significance coincides with the logical relations named in the foregoing section : being used to set off some phase of explanation, repetition, consequence, or contrast; and, in the more loosely related subject-matter, clauses of detail or common bearing. Let the writer keep in mind and in all sentence construction observe these logical dependencies, and the semicolon supplies itself. Examples. — The examples here" adduced, it will be observed, are examples of the same things exemplified on pages 323 and 325 ; only here we are looking at the mark, there at the relation. The meaning of the semicolon is here given in the same terms as the relation there. " No such voices as those which we heard in ouryouth at Oxford are sounding there now. Oxford has more criticism now, more knowledge, more light ; but such Obverse, voices as those of our youth it has no longer. The name of Cardinal Newman is a great name to the imagination still ; his genius and his style are still Repetition, things of power. But he is over eighty years old ; Detail. THE SENTENCE. 327 he is in the Oratory at Birmingham ; he has adopted, Detail, for the doubts and difficulties which beset men's minds to-day, a. solution which, to speak frankly, is impos- sible. Forty years ago he was in the very prime of life ; he was close at hand to us at Oxford ; he was Detail. Detail, preaching in St. Mary's pulpit every Sunday; he Detail, seemed about to transform and to renew what was for us the most national and natural institution in the world, the Church of England." ^ — "To know is one thing, to do is another ; the two things are altogether Repetition, distinct. A man knows that he should get up in the morning, — he lies abed; he knows that he should not Common bearing, lose his temper, yet he cannot keep it." Take semicolons as they run, in the work of standard writers, and these simple relations will be traceable in all. With these modes of relation the semicolon marks, as to dis- tance, a degree of separateness or remoteness just about such as exists typically between an added assertion and its prin- cipal. Two modifications of this notation, however, ought here to be mentioned. First, sometimes the added assertion, though in full clausal form, carries with it such a sense of closeness that only the comma, not so large a pause as the semicolon, is needed to set it off. Secondly, in order to give separateness to important details, and thus secure individual attention to them, the semicolon is sometimes used to set off portions merely phrasal in form. Examples. — i . Of composita clauses with comma. Several instances occur in the sentences lately cited, e.g. " Colossus of Rhodes . . . ducked as the main boom went round (, = ;) and the schooner . . . sped far away down the rippling bayou.'' So also : " A man knows that he should get up in the morning (, ■ — = ;) he lies abed ; he knows that he should not lose his temper (, = ;) yet he cannot keep it." In this latter case the commas are used partly because of the closeness of relation, partly as n. smaller pause within z. semicoloned clause. ::. Of semicolon used to set off phrases. " It is in vain for the Ameri- can to revile Congress ; Congress is a mirror which reflects the national 1 Matthew Arnold, Discourses in America^ p. 138. 328 COMPOSITION. features. On the one hand, its refusal to repudiate national indebtedness or to pay it in depreciated currency ; its legislation for the protection of the emancipated negro, and for the deliverance of the Indian from the bar- barism to which previous legislation had consigned him; its attempt to exercise, in the interest of the public, some control over the interstate rail- ways ; its legislation against the Louisiana Lottery ; its submission of the Alabama Claims and the Northwest Boundary question to arbitration ; its provision, albeit tardy and imperfect, for international copyright, — are all reflections of the better thought and life of the American people. On the other hand, its bargaining and log-rolling in tariff legislation ; its cheap and noisy war-talk ; its reluctant surrender of the spoils system ; its often absurd appropriations for public intprovements designed and pressed through for personal ends ; its passionate haste when deliberation is demanded, and its sometimes long delays when prompt action is indispensable to public wel- fare, — are all symptoms of dangerous elements in national life."^ The Comma. — Just as the semicolon is the mark of the added clause, with its clear though appreciably remote logical relation, the comma is the mark of the closer dependent clause (in sentences of the evoluta type), and of the phrase or the word that does duty as a phrase. It is still a mark of sepa- ration, but not enough, ordinarily, to break into the gram- matical continuity of the passage. To enumerate all its varieties of usage would result in more confusion than clearness. In the interests of simplicity it will be better here to define a few cardinal applications and depend on the well-mastered knowledge of these to impart a sense for the minutiae. Its main lines of usage may be reduced to three ; of each of which, by way of making its rationale more recognizable, a few specifications are here given. The comma is employed to mark : — I. Some form of disjunction, — as when words or phrases, singly or in pairs, are set over against each other ; when a long or involved subject is finished, ready for its verb ; when 1 Abbott, Christianity and Social Problems, p. 53. THE SENTENCE. 329 a relative clause adds a new. fact to its antecedent clause^; when a constituent clause is of subordinate, not coordinate, significance. Examples. — i. Of disjoined words and phrases. " Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and my heart to this vote." "^ — " People are perpetually squabbling about what will be best to do, or easiest to do, or adviseablest to do, or profitablest to do ; but they never, so far as I hear them talk, ever (sic) ask what it is just to do.".' 2. Of the comma as mark of finished subject. " Life in modern London even, in the heavy glow of summer, is stuff sufficient for the fresh imagina- tion of a youth to build its ' palace of art ' of ; and the very sense and enjoyment of an experience in which all is new, are but enhanced, like that glow of summer itself, by the thought of its brevity."* Here the comma after summer has a double office, one vrith reference to the succeeding verb, the other with reference to the prepositional phrase preceding ; the comma after new is merely the mark of the finished subject. 3. Of an additive relative clause. " Now this doctrine will become clearer by considering another use of words, which does relate to objective truth, or to things." ^ '4. Of a subordinate clause. At the beginning : " And, while the many use language as they find it, the man of genius uses it indeed, but subjects it withal to his own purposes, and moulds it according to his own peculiari- ties." 1 — In the middle: "Even so faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone." ^ — At the end : " Let us then put aside the scientific use of words, when we are to speak of language and literature." ° 2. Some form of intercalation, — as when a parenthetical phrase or clause is inserted within the grammatical structure of a clause or sentence ; when a word or phrase is used in apposition to something ; when a particle modifying the whole assertion, such as however, indeed, too, then, is slipped into the construction. 1 See above, p. 237, note. 2 Webster, Adams and Jefferson, Great Speeches, p. 168. s RusKiN, Crown of Wild-Olive, p. 52. 4 Pater, Marius the Epicurean, p. 197. 5 Newman, Idea of a University, pp. 274-276. ^ James ii. 17. 330 COMPOSITION. Examples. — i. Of an intercalary phrase. " We have, peculiar to the prose writer, the task of keeping his phrases large, rhythmical, and pleasing to the ear, without ever allowing them to fall into the strictly metrical." i 2. Of apposition. " Pope Gregory, that great religious poet, requested by certain eminent persons to send them some of those relics he sought for so devoutly in all the lurking-places of old Rome, took up, it is said, a portion of common earth, and delivered it fo the messengers." ^ This sen- tence exemplifies also the other distinctions here made. 3. Of an intercalary particle. " Here, then, is your chief duty, you workmen and tradesmen, — to be true to yourselves and to us who would help you." * 3. Some form of ellipsis, — as for instance : to supply the place of a conjunction that in a list of details has been omitted ; to supply the place of a verb that in repeated or parallel ideas is omitted. Examples. — i. Of ellipsis of conjunction. "The colleges, the clergy, /\ the lawyers, were against me." — " The spirit of the Almighty is within, around, /^ above us." 2. Of ellipsis of verb. " A wise man seeks to shine in himself ; a fool, ^ in others." — " Price of admission, ^ 50 cents." The Colon The colon has two distinct offices, one typical, the other occasional, and as it were a makeshift. 1. Typically, the colon may be called the mark of expect- ancy. It is the mark that is used to introduce, whether in clausal or phrasal form, some detail or item that the language preceding has made ready for. This applies to specifications or enumerations; to citations formally introduced; and, in slightly modified application, to some kind of afterthought. 2. As employed occasionally, the colon functions as a pause intermediate between the semicolon and the period. If we may judge from the derivation of the word, this seems to have been its original usage; colon meaning member or 1 Stevenson, On Style in Literature, Works, Vol. xxii, p. 264. 2 Pater, Appreciations, p. 162. 8 RusKiN, Crown of Wild Olive, p. 61. THE SENTENCE. 331 clause ; semicolon, half a clause. Its use thus is to separate sentence divisions already articulated by semicolons. Examples. — i. As the mark of expectancy. To specify: "It leaves to the people individual enterprise ; it contemplates and intends variations of wealth and condition ; but it maintains this fundamental principle : That every man is a trustee, and every man must account for the administration of his trust."^ — "The capital leading questions on which you must this day decide are these two : First, whether you ought to concede ; and sec- ondly, what your concession ought to be." ^ — To introduce a quotation or citation : " There is a characteristic saying of Dr. Johnson : ' Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel.' " — To mark an afterthought : " You sup- posed, probably, that your office was to defend the works of peace, but certainly not to found them : nay, the common course of war, you may have thought, was only to destroy them." ' z. As offset to the semicolon. ■ " But Gray holds his high rank as a, poet, not merely by the beauty and grace of passages in his poems ; not merely by a diction generally pure in an age of impure diction : he holds it, above all, by the power and skill with which the evolution of his poems is conducted." * The Dash. — This, a very useful mark in its place, is so much abused by unskilful writers that the general sense of its true function is a good deal obscured. All the more need, therefore, to get, if possible, at its central meaning. I. As related to sentence organism, the dash may be called the mark of abruptness ; that is, the matter it introduces is unexpected and unprepared for. It is in this abruptness, principally, that it differs from the colon. Otherwise it deals with much the same subject-matter, being used mainly to slip in something explanatory or parenthetical,* as it were, between the lines. Also, by its note of unexpectedness it may mark a sudden change or suspension of the construction, or an epigrammatic turn in the spirit of the assertion. 1 Abbott, Christianity and Social Problems^ p. 92. 2 Burke, Speech on Conciliation with Avierica. 3 RusKiN, Crown of Wild Olive^ P- ir?- * 4 Matthew Arnold, Discourses in America^ p. 156. 5 For the parenthetical use of the dash and the double dash, and their effect in diction, see above, p. 130. 332 COMPOSITION. 2. A secondary use of the dash may here be mentioned, namely, its employment with other marks of punctuation. As thus added to other marks — and it may be found with commas, semicolons, colons, and even periods — it augments their effect, while at the same time it retains more or less of its own suggestion of abruptness. Examples. — i. Of the dash as a mark of abruptness, a. Slipped-in explanation. " That the end of life is not action but contemplation — being as distinct from doing — a certain disposition of the mind: is, in some shape'or other, the principle of all the higher morality."^ — "But taking the Frenchman who is commonly in view — the usual type of speaking, doing, vocal, visible Frenchman — we may say, and he will probably be not at all displeased at our saying, that the German in him has nearly died out, and the Gallo-Latin has quite got the upper hand."^ b. Change or suspension of construction. " Was there ever a bolder captain of a more valiant band ? Was there ever — But I scorn to boast." Cassius. " Yet I fear him : For in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar — Brutus. Alas ! good Cassius, do not think of him." 3 " Richter says, in the Island of Sumatra there is a kind of ' Light-chafers,' large Fire-fiies, which people stick upon spits, and illuminate the ways with at night. Persons of condition can thus travel with a pleasant radiance, which they much admire. Great honor to the Fire-flies! But — I — "* c. Epigrammatic turn. " You have given the command to a person of illustrious birth, of ancient family, of innumerable statues, but — of no experience." 2. Of the dash with other marks, a. With comma. " We experience, as we go on learning and knowing, — the vast majority of us experience,— the need of relating what we have learnt and known to the sense which we have in us for conduct, to the sense which we have in us for beauty."' b. With semicolon. " This description implies the assemblage of strangers from all parts in one spot ; —from all parts ; else, how will you find profes- sors and students for every department of knowledge ? and in one spot; 1 Pater, Appreciations^ p. 6i. 2 Arnold, Discourses in America, p. 49. 8 Shakespeare, Jtdius Casar, Act ii, Scene i, 184. * Carlyle, Hero Worship, Lecture V, end. S Arnold, Discourses in America, p. 105. THE SENTENCE. 333 else, how can there be any school at all?"' <.. With colon. "This will be the end of your refusing the loving compulsion of Almighty God : — slavery to this world, and to the god of this world." ^ What makes this last addition unexpected, is that it resumes in brief form What has been fully given before, — the this at the beginning of the sentence being pri- marily retrospective. Present General Status of Punctuation By way of premise it should be borne in mind that, well-furnished as it is, the existing scale of punctuation is by no means a complete rep- resentation of the pauses actually made in speaking or read- ing aloud. In every sentence there are rhetorical pauses that go unmarked and need no marking ; they make themselves. And the more lucid and well organized the sentence, the more safely these pauses may be left to the reader. In a well- written passage the syntax dictates the place of the stops, and is not dependent on them. When a pause has to be lugged in to bolster up the construction, and above all when without the pause it would be left ambiguous or uncertain, the sentence itself is wrong, — it needs amendment. Do not let the interpretation of an assertion depend upon a punctua- tion mark. The modern tendency is to reduce punctuation : cutting down semicoloned relations, where possible, to the comma, and leaving many of the comma pauses to the unmarked rhetorical pause. This is a good sign ; because if to some extent it betokens carelessness of notation, to a broader extent it coexists with a better, more accurately articulated sentence structure. On the whole, it is because the modern sentence is so much improved that it is, and may be, left more safely to punctuate itself. Illustrative Note. — Professor Earle {English Prose, p. 107), in speaking of this modern reduction of the comma, illustrates the fuller 1 Newman, Historical Sketches, Vol. iii, p. 6. 2 lb., Parochial and Plain Sermons, Vol. iv, p. 65. 334 COMPOSITION. punctuation of the older prose by the following passage from Hume's His- ' tory of England in an edition of the year 1773 : — " The conspirators, hearing of Waltheof's departure, immediately con- cluded their tJesign to be betrayed ; and they flew to arms, before their schemes were ripe for execution, and before the arrival of the Danes, in whose aid they placed their chief confidence. The earl of Hereford was checked by Walter de Lacy, a great baron in those parts, who, supported by the bishop of Worcester and the abbot of Evesham, raised some forces, and prevented the earl from passing the Severne, or advancing into the heart of the kingdom. The earl of Norfolk was defeated at Fagadun, near Cambridge, by Odo, the regent, assisted by Richard de Bienfaite, and William de Warrenne, the two justiciaries." With this general reduction of punctuation the field is left clearer for- special effects. Accordingly we find that in modern writing punctuation is a much more flexible thing, and more open to individualities of style, than was formerly the case. It may for greater stress be augmented, — that is, pushed up from rhetorical pause to comma, from comma to semicolon ; it may also be attenuated for greater rapidity. It is this skilful employment of punctuation as a flexible, living, artistic thing which makes it so truly a cardinal factor in the organism of the sentence. Note. — This matter has already been presented in connection with Diction, p. 131, and in connection with Amplitude, p. 289. The exag- gerated punctuation of the following sentences, for example, is not the old lumbering articulation of a century ago; it evinces the sense of greater importance and stress. " There would be real wild and domestic creatures, all of rare species; and a real slaughter."! — "Chance: or Providence I Chance : or Wisdom, one with nature and man, reaching from end to end, through all time and all existence, orderly disposing all things, according to fixed periods, as he describes it, in terms very like certain well-known words of the book of Wisdom: — -^0?,^ are the 'fenced opposites' of the speculative dilemma." 2 1 Pater, Mariiis the Eficiircan, p. 178. 2 /^., p. 220. THE SENTENCE. 33S III. MASSING OF ELEMENTS FOR FORCE. To determine the proper interrelation of sentence-elements we have had to approach the sentence analytically. Here, on the contrary, we enter upon a synthetic process, — the process of making the assertion act together as a whole, pre- cipitating its force, as it were, upon the point desired and with the exact stress desired. Thought moves thus in organ- ized masses, both in attaining its own rounded fulness and in adjusting itself to other utterances. I. Distribution of Emphasis. — In speech the points of empha- sis are indicate^ by stress or intonation of the voice. The lack of this resource in writing is partially made up by the occasional use of Vtalics, which, however, goes only a little way.^ Underlying \all this, too, it is to be remembered that emphasis is a natural, not a manufactured thing ; these exter- nal helps from voice\ and type do not create but only recog- nize and record it. The same thing is done more efficiently because more organically through the masterful arrangement of sentence-elements, an artistic procedure that justifies itself by being most effective\ when least realized. This, then, is the ideal: seek so to place words that they will emphasize themselves ; and 3o"n6f"make the interpretation oF a sentence depend on the.manner in which itjs read. In order to get at the distribution of emphasis inside of the sentence or clause, we have to recognize by a disciplined tact the places where emphasis is most naturally concentrated, and a s well also the intermediate or outlying tracts that have no special distinction.^ 1 For the use of italics for stress, see above, pp. 128, 129. 2 For collocation in phraseology, and its relation to emphasis, see above, pp. 243, 244 ; for inversion and its objects, p. 277. — "As, in an army on the march, the fight- 336 COMPOSITION. Outset and Culmination. — The two great foci of emphasis, the beginning and the end, are here defined by the names outset and culmination, to indicate not only the fact but the kind of stress that belongs to these points respectively ; a dis- tinction determined by the sense of the fact that a sentence exists for the purpose of adding a new thought to the stock already presumably in the reader's possession. To the beginning belongs the stress due to the outset of attention, the natural initiation of the thought : namely, what is nearest in thought to the reader's inquiry, or to the core-idea of the previous sentence ; and what is the best pre- liminary to the forward step which it is the business of the present sentence to take. Typically, this is the subject, as being the basis of all that is said, and necessary to it. But also such may be the status of the assertion that some accom- paniment of time, place, circumstance, or condition may be its necessary preliminary ; in which case the initial stress is claimed by the adverbial element. The exceptional placing of the predicate first gives a somewhat violent emphasis, the emphasis of abruptness, to that element. To the end belongs the stress due to the culmination and goal of the assertion, what the sentence most truly exists to express. Being therefore the most important stress-point of all, it suffers correspondingly if its distinction is not a matter of foresight, or if it is given over to something insignificant. This culmination point is the natural place for the predicate, in the large sense, because ordinarily it is to predicate or assert something that the sentence exists. If, however, as is sometimes the case, the subject is put at this point, it is because the subject is the new element, the predicate being perhaps a repeat or already well in mind. In the same way, ing columns are placed front and rear, and the baggage in the centre, so the emphatic parts of a sentence should be found either in the beginning or in the end, subordinate and matter-of-course expressions in tlie middle." — Bain, English Composition and Rhetoric, p. 135. THE SENTENCE. 337 if a modifying element — of time, place, circumstance, or con- dition — is sent to the end, it is because this is the real goal of interest, and claims therefore the chief stress. The question how to give special distinction to some par- ticular word resolves itself, for the most part, into the question how to make it occupy one of these positions, the beginning or the end. And the question which of these it shall occupy is answered by determining whether it is more truly an initial idea, from which some consequence or predication flows, or a goal idea, toward which the course of the sentence is to be steered. Grammatical constructions shape themselves to these considerations, which the writer must decide for himself. Examples. — The various grammatical means of manipulating sentence order have been so fully set forth under Collocation (p. 240), Prospective Reference (p. 254), Inversion (p. 276), and Suspension (p. 279), that further examples of these processes are superfluous here. A few examples of faulty and improved arrangement placed side by side will serve to bring out the significance of these points of outset and culmination. I. The point of outset. " The State was made, under the pretense of serving it, in reality, the prize of their contention, to each of those opposite parties, who professed in specious terms, the one a prefer- ence for modern Aristocracy, the other a desire of admitting people at large to an equality of civil privileges." " Each of those opposite parties, professing in specious terms, the one a preference for modern Aristoc- racy, the other a desire of admitting people at large to an equality of civil privileges, made the State, under the pretense of serving it, in reality the prize of their contention." This amendment gives the point of outset to the parties, which term before was buried in the sentence ; it gives at the same time the point of culmination to " contention," which is the evident goal of the sentence. " No great painters trouble them- selves about perspective, and very few of them know its loss ; they try everything by the eye, and naturally enough disdain in the easy parts of their work rules which cannot help them in difficult cases." " About perspective no great paint- ers trouble themselves, and very few of them know its loss; they try everything by the eye, and naturally enough disdain in the easy parts of their work rules which cannot help them in difficult cases." 338 composition: As is brought out by the amendment, the subject of remark is not it is therefore put in the forefront, "great painters" but "perspective"; and all the rest flows from it. "The Arabian peninsula may be conceived as a triangle of spacious but irregular dimensions in the vacant space between Persia, Syria, Egypt, and Ethiopia." " In the vacant space between Persia, Syria, Egypt, and Ethiopia, the Arabian peninsula may be con- ceived as a triangle of spacious but irregular dimensions." Here the question is of the preliminary needed for the writer's assertion. In the first case " the Arabian peninsula," being first, is the preliminary to the rest ; in the second case the place-element, being first, gives the boundary before the main assertion is made. 2. The point of culmination. " I can hinder sorrow from be- " I can hinder sorrow from be- coming despair and madness ; and coming despair and madness ; and laughter is one of the very privileges one of the very privileges of reason, of reason, being confined to the hu- confined as it is to the human spe- man species." cies, is laughter." Here the amendment makes "laughter," as the word best explaining the assertion of the first clause, the goal of the sentence. If, however, the word were already familiar from the context preceding, its place at the outset of its clause would be justified. " Of all the amusements which can possibly be imagined for a hard- working man, after his daily toil, — supposing him to have the taste and the means of gratifying it, — there is nothing like reading an entertain- ing book." Here, in order to get the words " an entertaining book " at its proper place, the end, a recast of the coifditional clauses is needed so as not to anticipate the wording; at the same time, as indicated by the dashes, these clauses inside the sentence have to be treated as parenthetical matter. " Of all the amusements which can possibly be imagined for a hard-work- ing man, after his daily toil, there is nothing like reading ah entertaining book, supposing him to have a taste for it, and supposing him to have the book to read." " In all ages, and in all countries, man, through the disposition he in- herits from our first parents, is more desirous of ii quiet and approving, than of a vigilant and tender con- science." " In all ages, and in all countries, man, through the disposition he in- herits from our first parents, is less desirous of a vigilant and tender con- science than of a conscience quiet and approving." THE SENTENCE. 339 Here the writer has clumsily tried to stress what he regarded important by italics ; by reversing the phrases, giving the culmination point to the more important, and by the reversed order of noun and adjectives in the last, all needed stress is secured. " If a doctrine be not commu- nicated, of what consequence are all the qualities of it ? and if it be not understood it is not communicated." " Of what consequence are all the qualities of a doctrine if it be not communicated ? and communicated it is not, if it be not understood." This illustrates the utility of placing a conditional clause at the culmi- nation point when the condition, as is evidently the case here, is the real significance of the whole assertion. Interior and Outlying Tracts Just as the writer must take care of the parts toward which, so he must bear instinctively in mind the parts away from which, the emphasis flows. These are the ancillary elements ; clauses and phrases that round out the sense by explanation, detail, or apposition. In their nature they are more or less parenthetical ; and each one, starting from its connective, relative, or prepositional beginning, is to be viewed and treated as stretching out from its capital and becoming progressively an outlying tract. These parts, then, require relatively a lower key of empha- sis ; they should reach their own points directly and unmodi- fiedly; they should take a greater lightness and rapidity of style, with its resources of condensation and elision.^ The punctuation, as compared with that of the emphatic portions, is as much as may be attenuated ; semicolon relations reduced to commas, commas to the unmarked rhetorical pause.^ The controlling effort is to dispatch all such side elements with as little waiting or dragging as possible. Example. — A principle so comprehensive cannot well be exemplified in limited space. A single sentence, from Ruskin, who introduces much ancillary material, will show something of his treatment. " For, whether in one or other form, — whether the faithfulness of men whose path is 1 For Condensation for Rapidity, see above, pp. 299-302. 2 For attenuated punctuation, with example, see above, p. 131, 3. 340 COMPOSITION. chosen and portion fixed, in tiie following and receiving of that path and portion, as in the Thermopylae camp ; or the happier faithfulness of children in the good giving of their Father, and of subjects in the conduct of their King, as in the ' Stand still and see the salvation of God' of the Red Sea shore, — ■ there is rest and peacefulness, the ' standing still,' in both ; the quietness of action determined, of spirit unalarmed, of expectation unim- patient : beautiful, even when based only, as of old, on the self-command and self-possession, the persistent dignity or the uncalculating love, of the creature ; but more beautiful yet when the rest is one of humility instead of pride, and the trust no more in the resolution we have taken, but in the Hand we hold." i Here we may thus map out the main course of the sentence : (i) a long outset giving circumstances : " whether in one or other form " (specified) ; (2) the assertion : " there is rest and peacefulness ... in both ; the quiet- ness,'' etc. ; (3) a long culminating description : "beautiful, even when, etc. . . . but more beautiful yet when," etc. In the clauses beginning " whether " there are such evidences of condensation as " whose path is chosen and portion fixed," " in the Thermopylae camp," " in the good giving of th^ir Father," — all pointed and light moving. In the later clauses beginning with "when," the same pointedness; also in the outlying prepositional phrase, "on the self-command," etc., a, condensation by split particle; and in the final phrases, "in the resolution," etc., an omission of relatives. II. Dynamic Stress. — Every sentence and every clause has its dynamic point, its centre of action, from which its power and significance are to be reckoned ; and this must be kept in mind by the writer, in order to determine the proper relation of parts to each other, and of the whole sentence to other sentences in a paragraph. Some claims of this dynamic stress may here be noted. The Stress-Point as a Cue An idea from which a succeed- ing clause or sentence is to take its cue should be made prominent by position or wording, that is, should have the dynamic stress. Equally important it is, on the other side, to mass the succeeding sentence according to the cue recog- 1 This sentence has already been in part quoted, under Rapidity, p. 301, above. THE SENTENCE. 341 nized in its predecessor ; on the principle of closing with already suggested thought as an outset, and pushing on from this to a new assertion. Examples. — Here may be placed side by side faulty and amended sentences showing the value of recognizing the dynamic stress. I. Making the cue point prominent. " It was remarkable that although his sense of the past was so dim, he sought out Hugh's dog, and took him under his care; and that he never could be tempted into Lon- don.'' " It was remarkable that although he [Barnaby Rudge] had that dim sense of the past, he sought out Hugh's dog, and took him under his care; and that he never could be tempted into London." ^ Here the assertion of the main sentence depends not on the fact that Barnaby had the sense, but that the sense was so dim ; hence the word dim should have the stress, — and placing it at the end secures this. " I occupied a tug from which I could see the effect of the battle on both sides, within range of the enemy's guns ; but a small tug, with- out armament, was not calculated to attract the fire of batteries while they were being assailed themselves." ^ " A tug, which I occupied, and from which I could see the effect of the battle on both sides, was within range of the enemy's guns ; but a small tug, without armament, was not calculated to attract the fire of batteries while they were being assailed themselves." Here the cue-point of the first part is, not that he occupied a tug but that it was within range ; this, therefore, ought to have the main assertion. 2. Taking advantage of the cue. " At first sight one would fancy that there never was a book more popular, or that formed more exclusively the mental centre of modern scholars. Orientalists, theologians, or jurists. What is the real truth ? Paradoxical as it may seem, there never was a book at once more uni- versally neglected and more univer- sally talked of."^ Paradoxical as it may seem, there never was a book at once more uni- versally talked of and more univer- sally neglected." 1 Dickens, Barnaby Rudge^ Chapter the Last. ^ Personal Memoirs of U. S. Grant, Vol. i, p. 476. 8 Deutsch, TAe Talmud, Literary Remains of Emanuel Deutsch, p. 3. 342 COMPOSITION. Here, by the proposed change, the word " talked of " uses the cue fur- nished by the preceding sentence, the word " neglected," culminating the sentence, points the new assertion that the sentence exists to make. " Then, too, in spite of all that is said about the absorbing and brutal- izing influence of our passionate material progress, it seems to me indis- putable that this progress is likely, though not certain, to lead in the end to an apparition of intellectual life; and that man, after he has made him- self perfectly comfortable and has now to determine what to do with him- self next, may begin to remember that he has a mind, and that the mind may be made the source of great pleasure. I grant it is mainly the privilege of faith, at present, to discern this end to our railways, our business, and our fortune-making; I grant that, at present, to discern this end to our railways, our busi- ness, and our fortune-making, is mainly the privilege of faith; but we shall see if, here as elsewhere, faith is not in the end the true prophet." ' Here the proposed change of order both makes the word " faith " use the cue of the preceding, and distinguishes it as itself the cue, in turn, for the assertion that follows. Claims of Variety It is principally through the good management of the dynamic stress that the variety of phrase and movement so essential to the interest of the reader is maintained.^ 1. When, in clauses or sentences of like construction, an element has once had a certain stress, there is no need of giving it the same stress again, except in the special case where it is desirable to emphasize by iteration.' It is better to put the repeated idea in a subordinate relation, or change its relative order, so as to reserve the stress for a new aspect of the thought. Example. — This is especially notable in a succession of clauses begin- ning with that. The following will illustrate this : — 1 Matthew Arnold, Essays in Criticism, First Series, p. 17. 2 For the claim of variety in vocabulary, see above, p. 48. 8 For the use of iteration as a form of repetition, see above, p. 303. THE SENTENCE. 343 "That Dryden was a great poet is undeniable ; that he desecrated his powers and burned them, like the incense of Israel, in unhallowed shrines, is no less certain." ^ " That some facts were stated in- accurately, I do not doubt ; that many opinions were crude, I am quite sure; that I had failed to understand much which I attempted to explain, is possible." ^ "That Dryden was a great poet is undeniable ; but it is no less certain that he desecrated his powers and burned them, like the incense of Israel, in unhallowed shrines." "That some facts were stated in- accurately, I do not doubt; that many opinions were crude, I am quite sure; and it is quite possible that I had failed to understand much which I attempted to explain." Here the proposed amendments not only secure variety of stress and movement, but produce an effect of climax. 2. A natural result of the observance of the cue and the adjustment of succeeding stress to it, is that in a series of sentences the stress is continually varied, coming in the be- ginning of some sentences and at the end of others. This is of course a thing for watchfulness and artistic management ; regard being had always for the two considerations : variation of rhythm, and grouping of related ideas together. Examples. — To note how this variation of stress works in a passage of several sentences, compare the following extract with its respectfully suggested emendation : — " The great ideas that lie in the philosophic systems of the world have more vitality and utility for the preacher than for the thinker who is aiming at the production of a scheme that shall render obsolete the whole mass of preceding specula- tion. These systems of thought are mines which only the man in sympa- thetic ethical contact with mankind can operate to advantage. The learn- ing of the historian of philosophy he " The great ideas that lie in the philosophic systems of the world have less vitality and utility for the thinker, who is aiming at the produc- tion of a scheme that shall render obsolete the whole mass of preceding speculation, than for the preacher [, who is putting thought into the production of character]. It is only the man in sympathetic ethical con- tact with mankind who can operate these mines of systematic thought to 1 Fa REAR, With the Poets. 2 Trollope, Autobiography. 344 COMPOSITION. cannot possess, but the great thoughts of the past he may master and make his own as few can. The same may be said of literature. The niceties of the study and the erudition of the literary commentator he may not have, but the spiritual possession of the vision and the passion of the world's great artists he may assuredly have. No form of human service is better fitted than the Christian min- istry to reveal the vitality that is the source of all great literature." advantage. The learning of the his- torian of philosophy he cannot pos- sess, but he may master and make his own, as few can, the great thoughts of the past. The same may be said of literature. The niceties of the study and the erudition of the liter- ary commentator he may not have, but he may assuredly have the spirit- ual possession of the vision and the passion of the world's great artists. No form of human service is better fitted than the Christian ministry to reveal the vitality that is the source of all great literature." 3. The deadly snare of the jaded or perfunctory writer, — and, it may be added, of that much-vaunted being the spon- taneous writer — is, monotony of sentence structure, a wooden movement, with the same rise and fall, the same type of sen- tence, the same relative placement of stress, dominating the whole work. This rises simply from the relaxation of vigi- lance in calculating the relation of part to part ; in other words, from neglecting to follow and adjust to each other the mass and movement of sentences. Example. — In the following, which is a perfunctory editorial notice, it will be seen that the sentences, with the sole exception of the second, and this more apparent than real, are all constructed in precisely the same way, — each consisting merely of two assertions connected by and: — " The death of Senator Anthony has been long expected, and it releases him from a suffering which was beyond remedy. He was a public man of long and honorable service, who filled every station to which he was called with dignity and grace. As the editor of The Providence Journal, and Gov- ernor and Senator, he was the most important political figure in the State, and in his death Rhode Island loses the most successful politician in her history. "In other years Senator Anthony's crisp and pungent paragraphs in the Journal were very notable and influential, and his paper was one of the half- dozen leading journals in New England. It was by paragraphs rather than THE SENTENCE. 345 by elaborate editorial articles that he preferred to affect opinion, and in the Senate it was by his occasional brief speeches, which were often singularly felicitous, and not by participation in debate or by prolonged orations, that he took part in the proceedings. " He was a devoted party man, and his political experience and judgment made him a wise counsellor. At home he had the reputation of a shrewd manager, and his party will not easily find so well-trained a. leader. Yet for a long time there have been complaints that his rule was too absolute, and that good politics required more freedom and independence than his sway permitted. Senator Anthony's social sympathies and his literary tastes made him a very pleasant companion, and his conversation was full of interesting political reminiscence. He had become the Father of the Senate, and no Senator would be more sincerely mourned by his associates than this courteous gentleman and devoted and faithful legislator." IV.. THE SENTENCE IN DICTION. What we have here to consider will be apparent from the description of diction given on p. 107, above. Going back a little from the question of sentence organism, we are to note what effect sentences of various lengths or types have upon the general coloring and movement of the style ; what the texture of a whole passage derives from the prevailing char acter of the sentences that make it up. As to Length. — The question whether the sentences of a passage shall be long or short is by no means an idle one ; it implies something regarding their kind of subject-matter, something also regarding their adaptedness to the taste or capacity of the reader. Accordingly we have to note of each class, what it is good for, and what ill effects result from using it injudiciously or in too great predominance. The Short Sentence The short sentence, with its single assertion, nucleates in the meaning or weight of some single word. This suggests what it is especially good for : subject- 346 COMPOSITION. matter whose business it is to make some important point or discrimination, or to lay down some statement on which weighty consequences depend. The fundamental propositions of a course of thought, and passages that sum up or impress, are generally expressed in short, vigorous sentences. On the other hand, while good for occasional emphasis and point, the short sentence is lacking in rhythm and sustained power ; it has no roll, no momentum. It makes its way as by a sharp stroke, not by a graduated progress. Further, an extended succession of short sentences, even with an impor- tant issue to support it, becomes a kind of clatter, curt and abrupt ; while if the subject-matter is not weighty it misses its end of smartness and becomes merely flippant. It is in the use of short sentences especially that the evil of the insig- nificant sentence is to be guarded against.^ Example. — The following passage will at once illustrate the use and suggest the limitation of the short sentence : " Sir, this alarming discontent is not the growth of a day or of a year. If there be any symptoms by which it is possible to distinguish the chronic diseases of the body politic from its passing inflammations, all those symptoms exist in the present case. The taint has been gradually becoming more extensive and more malignant, through the whole life-time of two generations. We have tried anodynes. We have tried cruel operations. What are we to try now ? Who flatters himself that he can turn this feeling back ? . . We have had laws. We have had blood. New treasons have been created. The Press has been shackled. The Habeas Corpus Act has been suspended. Public meetings have been prohibited. The event has proved that these expedients were mere palliatives. You are at the end of your palliatives. The evil remains. It is more formidable than ever. What is to be done ? " ^ 1 For the insignificant sentence, see earlier in this chapter, p. 321. — Professor Earle, commenting on a quoted passage, thus remarks on short sentences; " For a certain space this may do well enough, but as It goes on in the same continued stac- cato^ the reader is overtaken with a feeling of sameness. The sense may be good, each sentence may be neat and smart, and yet the whole may be wearisome. To give pleasure there must be symmetry, and to this end there must be the relation of parts and members, and these must be ^t once diverse in size and harmonious in propor- tion. The short-sentence fallacy is the repetition in another guise of the short-word fallacy." — Earle, English Prose, p. 207. 2 Macaulay, On Parliamentary Reform, First Speech. THE SENTENCE, 347 The Long Sentence The advantage of the long sentence is the room it affords, wherein to amplify the sense, by con- siderations ancillary to the main idea. This suggests the kind of subject-matter to which the long sentence is espe- cially adapted: details, expansions, colorings, shadings of a thought already in the reader's mind, either as expressed briefly at the outset — making the sentence a kind of para- graph, — or as carrying out the suggestion of a previous short sentence. On account of its freer range, also, it is the kind of sentence in which can be incorporated qualities of rhythm, climax, cadence, massiveness, impressiveness. On the other hand, the long sentence imposes on the reader a burden of interpretation ; he must, to follow it properly, keep aware of its main and its subsidiary lines, and be at work adjusting the thought to simpler conceptions. Of this the writer who ventures on long sentences must take account, and make the structure plain and strongly marked to coun- teract the difficulty of its length. An extended succession of long sentences, especially of the evoluta type, is almost sure to be lumbering, heavy, forbidding. The composita, thus care- lessly extended, is apt to be rambling and heterogeneous.' Example. — -The following illustrates the typical use to which the long sentence may be put. The second sentence gives simply the details neces- sary to fill out and color the idea expressed in the first : " And, while the many use language as they find it, the man of genius uses it indeed, but subjects it withal to his own purposes, and moulds it according to his own peculiarities. The throng and succession of ideas, thoughts, feelings, imaginations, aspirations, which pass within him, the abstractions, the juxtapositions, the comparisons, the discriminations, the conceptions, which are so original in him, his views of external things, his judgments upon life, manners, and history, the exercises of his wit, of his humor, of his depth, of his sagacity, all these innumerable and incessant creations, the very pulsation and throbbing of his intellect, does he image forth, to all does he give utterance, in a corresponding language, which is as multiform as this inward mental action itself and analogous to it, the faithful expres- 1 For the heterogeneous sentence, see above, p. 320, 348 COMPOSITION. sion of his intense personality, attending on his own inward world of thought as its very shadow : so that we might as well say that one man's shadow is another's as that the style of a really gifted mind can belong to any but himseU."! Alternation of Kinds. — Not only do proper effects in diction demand that long and short sentences alternate with and relieve each other ; the wise observance of their typical kinds of subject-matter, too, of compendious statement offset by detail, leads naturally to the same end. It is a requisite both of style and of thought. 1. A combination rather than alternation of kinds calls first for mention, useful as it is to obviate certain evils both of the short and of the long sentence ; namely, a judicious employment of the composita, the several members concise, but so closely united logically as to work together into one compactly ordered thought. Thus is secured to an agreeable extent the crispness of the short and the sustained course of the long. Example. — The whole impression of the following is one of brevity, yet the one thought flows progressively through the several members : " Thought and speech are inseparable from each other. Matter and ex- pression are parts of one ; style is a thinking out into language. This is what I have been laying down, and this is literature ; not things, not the verbal symbols of things ; not on the other hand mere words ; but thoughts expressed in language." ^ 2. Between long sentences of detailed thought it is useful, not to say necessary, to insert short transitional sentences, suggesting in sententious form the thought that is to succeed, as a basis to which the illustrative details may be referred. This is like first erecting a framework and then surrounding it with the finished and colored form ; it serves also, under 1 Newman, Idea of a University^ p. 276. ■^Ib. THE SENTENCE. 349 however elaborate an utterance, to keep the reader aware of the core of the thought.' Example. ■ — In the following passage note how much the clearness and easy progress of the thought are promoted by the alternating short sen- tences, each a compend of its succeeding elaboration. "It was this opinion which mitigated kings into companions, and raised private men to be fellows with kings. Without force, or opposition, it sub- dued the fierceness of pride and power ; it obliged sovereigns to submit to the soft collar of social esteem, compelled stern authority to submit to ele- gance, and gave a domination vanquisher of laws, to be subdued by manners. But now all is to be changed. All the pleasing illusions, which made power gentle, and obedience liberal, which harmonized the different shades of life, and which, by a bland assimilation, incorporated into politics the sentiments which beautify and soften private society, are to be dissolved by this new conquering empire of light and reason. All the decent drapery of life is to be rudely torn off. All the superadded ideas, furnished from the wardrobe of a moral imagination, which the heart owns, and the under- standing ratifies, as necessary to cover the defects of our naked shivering nature, and to raise it to dignity in our own estimation, are to be exploded as a ridiculous, absurd, and antiquated fashion." ^ 3. Not only may the short sentence serve as a transition and compend ; it is equally useful as a summarizer, gathering into application and conclusion the gist of the preceding long sentence. Example. — The long and elaborate sentence of amplification quoted on p. 347, which was preceded by a short compend sentence, is succeeded by the following brief sentences of summary : " It follows him about as a shadow. His thought and feeling are personal, and so his language is personal." 1 " At times you reason inductively or deductively in linked and rather long-drawn sentences of the type of Evoluta. Among these you will now and then intersperse a Simplex, perhaps a very brief one, as round as a bullet, which puts the whole t'heme in a nutshell — the kernel of the contention. This is the apophthegmatic use of the Simplex, an admirable and effective device, effectual because eminently natural, and for the same reason thoroughly artistic." — Earle, English Prose^ p. 209. 2 Burke, Reflections on the Revolution in France^ p. 90, 350 COMPOSITION. II. As to Mass. — The manner in which the emphasis- of differ- ent sentences is distributed gives rise to various types of sen- tence massing, each of which lias its uses in the evolution of the thought and its effects in the texture and movement of the diction. The Periodic Sentence. — This is the name technically given to the sentence massed according to the principle of suspen- sion ; which latter has been defined and exemplified above, pp. 279-287. A period, then, is a sentence wherein the ele- ment of main significance is delayed till the close, and mean- while prepared for by preliminaries of circumstance, condition, or predication.' The great advantage of the periodic form lies in the fact that it keeps up and concentrates the reader's attention. This makes it easier to place qualifying elements rightly, and is thus favorable to unity of structure, as all is grouped with reference to the suspended idea. Its general effect, when employed in large proportion to other types, is to impart stateliness and dignity to weighty subjects, and to light sub- jects neatness and finish. In impassioned subjects it is often useful for regulating the reader's emotion by keeping the tension of mind uniform until the culminating idea is reached. Examples. — The stately, formal effect of the periodic sentence may be illustrated from De Quincey, who is regarded as the most periodic writer of the century. " Upon me, as upon others scattered thinly by tens and 1 " At the risk of being slightly inaccurate, it might be well to go a little deeper into the substance of the periodic structure. What exactly do we imply by saying that the meaning is suspended till the close ? We imply that the reader's interest is kept in suspense till the close. And how is this done ? Generally, it may be said, by bringing on predicates before what they are predicated of, and, which is virtually a similar process, qualifications before what they qualify ; letting us know descriptive adjuncts, results, conditions, alternatives, oratorical contrasts, of subjects, states, or actions, before we formally know the particular subjects, states, or actions, contem- plated by the writer." — Minto, Manual of English Prose Literature, p. 4. THE SENTENCE. 351 twenties over every thousand years, fell too powerfully and too early the vision of life."i — "And if, in the vellum palimpsest, lying amongst the other diplomata of human archives or libraries, there is anything fantastic or which moves to laughter, as oftentimes there is in the grotesque collisions of those successive themes, having no natural connection, which by pure accident have consecutively occupied the roll, yet, in our own heaven-created palimpsest, the deep memorial palimpsest of the brain, there are not and cannot be such incoherencies." i On the other hand, the number and intricacy of the suspen- sive details are a draft on the reader's interpreting power ; the writer needs to watch them with this limitation in mind.'' The periodic type is the one least favorable to ease in read- ing. Further, being in its nature a somewhat ponderous, formal structure, it ought in general to be confined to subject- matter that requires such dignity of expression, and applied to lighter subjects only as a touch of artificial finish will heighten their effect. This has to be determined by literary tact. Note. — To apply the periodic style to everyday and domestic subjects is apt to have an effect of over-pompousness and bombast, as if one's com- mon affairs were subjects of state. In the sentence beginning " Upon me," above, for instance, one feels that the " me " must be a rather important personage to merit so pompous a statement. The Loose Sentence In the loose sentence the principle of suspension is not observed. Qualifying, explanatory, and alternative elements are added as they occur to the mind, after the ideas to which they belong, with no apparent attempt at studied grouping. The test of a loose sentence is, that it may be stopped before the end, and yet leave the part thus far given grammatically complete. The term loose conveys no disparaging connotation ; it is merely a technical term for a structure just as legitimate and just as susceptible to artistic finish as the periodic. 1 De Quincey, Suspiria de Profundis, Works, Vol, i, pp. 257, 233. 2 See the Cautions and Regulations given above, pp. 283 sqq. 352 COMPOSITION. Examples. — Take the periodic sentence quoted on p. 285, above, and put the main assertion first, and the type becomes loose : " We came to our journey's end at last, with no small difficulty, after much fatigue, through deep roads and bad weather." — In the following the places are marked where the sentence might be stopped and yet remain grammatically complete : " He does not write from hearsay, | but from sight and expe- rience ; I it is the scenes that he has lived and labored amidst, that he describes : | those scenes, rude and humble as they are, have kindled beau- tiful emotions in his soul, | noble thoughts, and definite resolves ; | and he speaks forth what is in him, not from any outward call of vanity or interest, but because his heart is too full to be silent." 1 The advantage of the loose sentence is that it is more like conversation than the periodic, and hence more easy, less formal. It is especially adapted, therefore, to the more familiar and everyday kinds of discourse, such as narrative, letter writing, and popular addresses ; and to the ordinary topics of common life and fact. On the other hand, while a perfect loose sentence is as hard to make as a perfect period, the loose type is the one most naturally happened upon without effort, or when the sentence is left to make itself. The faults that beset this type are therefore the faults arising from slipshod thinking and careless workmanship ; namely, rambling incoherence and dilution of the thought. Note. — Just as the periodic makes more natural use of the evoluta type, with its internal subordination to a main assertion ; so in the loose sentence the composita, with its coordinate clauses, figures most largely. The Balanced Sentence The principle of the balanced sen- tence has been treated under Repetition of Construction, p. 308, above. When the repeated construction dominates the whole sentence, that is, when the sentence consists of two members similar in construction and setting off each other, it is said to be balanced. The answering construction is often 1 Carlyle on Burns, Critical and Miscellaneous Essays, Vol. i, p. 267. THE SENTENCE. 353 reenforced by antithesis ; and sometimes it varies the distri- bution of emphasis by the employment of chiasmus. Example. — "He defended him when living, amidst the clamors of his enemies; and praised him when dead, amidst the silence of his friends." The antithetic words living, dead ; clamors, silence; enemies, friends, — make this balance very elaborate. The balanced structure is easy to interpret, and easy to remember, because the similarly ordered clauses lend dis- tinction to each other, and make it easy to fix the points that are of most importance. This fact suggests what the balanced sentence is especially good for : to put into rememberable form, into a kind of aphorism, the occasional thought that comes out of surrounding material like a gist, or lesson, or summary. On the other hand, as it is the most artificial type of sen- tence, it is the most easily overdone ; its' rhetorical power, in fact, depends on the comparative rarity of its use. Being so artificial, too, it is apt to become enslaving and manneristic. From the craving for the familiar measure, there is a tempta- tion to fill out the balance by tautological or forced assertions.^ Example. — The evil of attempting to make balance, with its aids of antithesis and alliteration, the staple of writing, is illustrated in the style called euphuism, which, though utterly unreadable now, had a prodigious vogue among the courtiers of Queen Elizabeth. The following few sen- tences will give a little taste of euphuistic style : " Therfore my good Euphues, for these doubts and dumpes of mine, either remoue the cause, or reueale it. Thou hast hetherto founde me a cheerefuU companion in thy myrth, and nowe shalt thou finde me as carefull with thee in thy moane. If altogether thou maist not be cured, yet maist thou bee com- forted. If ther be any thing yat either by my friends may be procured, or by my life atteined, that may either heale thee in part, or helpe thee in all, I protest to thee by the name of a friend, that it shall rather be gotten with 1 The same danger has been noticed, page 275, abo"e, of antithesis, which, in fact, figures largely in balance. These two, to which may be added alliteration, are the rhetorical devices most liable to become a snare to the writer. 354 COMPOSITION. the losse of my body, than lost by getting a kingdome. Thou hast tried me, therefore trust me : thou hast trusted me in many things, therfore try me in this one thing. I never yet failed, and now I wil not fainte. Be bolde to speake and blush not : thy sore is not so angry but I can salue it, the wound not so deepe but I can search it, thy griefe not so great but I can ease it. If it be ripe it shalbe lawnced, if it be broken it shalbe tainted, be it never so desperat it shalbe cured." ^ III. Combinations and Proportions. — ^The short and the long sen- tences of a passage, as we have seen, are related to each other, roughly speaking, somewhat as statement and detail, proposition and enlargement. The relations of periodic and loose sentences rise more out of the dynamic stress ; the loose sentence, its stress-point attracted to the beginning, taking up the cue at the end of the period preceding. Thus the two types answer to and reenforce each other. As a matter of fact, however, the actual number of periodic sentences is much smaller than the number of loose sentences ; and when we recognize the so-called periodic style we get its _ peculiar effect not from a predominance but from a moderate percentage of periodic sentences. I. By the best writers periodic sentences are constantly relieved by loose ones ; it would indeed be hard to find two rigid periods in succession, except in cases where the periodic order is accumulated for the iteration of structure. The requirements of the dynamic stress necessitate variation. Note. — The following, with its three sentences all of varying types and lengths, derives a charm from this very diversity : " And then, in the deep stillness of the desert air — unbroken by falling stream, or note of bird, or tramp of beast, or cry of man — came the whisper, of a voice as of a gentle breath — of a voice so small that it was almost like silence. Then he knew that the moment was come. He drew, as was his wont, his rough mantle over his head ; he wrapped his face in its ample folds ; he came out from 1 Euphues, the Anatomy of Wit, Arber's reprint, p. 65. THE SENTENCE. 355 the sheltering rock, and stood beneath the cave to receive the Divine communications." ^ 2. Nor is it often that sentences are found conforming rigidly throughout to the pefiodifc structure. The same sen- tence, especially if long, may follow the suspensive structure up to a certain point, and then be finished loose ; this is a natural course, too, the loose addition building its detail on what the periodic has put into stress. Example. — The following sentence, strictly periodic as far as the word " opinion," goes on loose to enlarge on what the first part has yielded. " I think that in England, partly from the want of an Academy, partly from a national habit of intellect to which that want of an Academy is itself due, there exists too little of what I may call a, public force of correct literary opinion, possessing within certain limits a clear sense of what is right and wrong, sound and unsound, and sharply recalling men of ability and learn- ing from any flagrant misdirection of these their advantages." ^ 1 Stanley, History of the Jewish Churchy Vol. it, p. 341. 2 Matthew Arnold. CHAPTER XI. THE PARAGRAPH. As in the sentence we reach the first complete organic product of thinking,' so in the paragraph we first attain the range and finish of a whole composition ; in one case, indeed, that of the editorial paragraph, it ranks definitely as an inde- pendent literary form. As such, and as obeying the essential procedure of every full discourse, it is the unit of invention, as the sentence is the,, unit of style. Because, however^ the internal articulations and proportions, though clearly trace- able, are still on a small scale, still somewhat embryonic, the paragraph is better studied as a stage of style than as a beginning of invention. Definition. — A paragraph is a connected series of sentences constituting the development of a single topic. Note. — ■ Mechanically, a paragraph is distinguished, both in print and manuscript, by beginning on a new Una, and by indenting, that is, with- drawing the opening word an em's width toward the middle. In recording conversation between different persons, the form of a new paragraph is given to what each interlocutor says, irrespective of the amount or nature of the matter included. This, unless constructed to a topic, is hardly to be called a paragraph; it is a thing in paragraph's clothing. In this definition are implied the qualities that should gov- ern a paragraph : unity, because it is concerned with a single topic ; continuity, because it is a connected series of sen- tences ; and proportion, because it is an orderly, systematic 1 See above, p. 311. 356 THE PARAGRAPH. 357 development. All the stages and details of construction must keep the integrity of these qualities in view. How Long a Paragraph should be. — A subordinate question this, but by no means idle or unimportant. For it is not mechanical alone ; it is a question how to use rightly both the instinctive impressions and the iilterpreting powers of the reader. And as is true in so many other cases, it is answered by a judicious compromise between the too-long and the too-short. On the one hand, in keeping the paragraph from running on too long, due regard should be had for the appearance of the page. Every reader can recall how often he has been repelled from a book by the mere fact that whole solid pages occur without paragraph breaks ; and how often he has yielded to the attraction of an open, easy looking page. To write with this instinctive feeling of the reader in mind is not to humor a whim ; rather it is a practical though indi- rect way of trying to get the cumbrous and lumbering tend- ency out of one's thought and bring it vigorously to its point. It is therefore a dictate both of good looks and good workmanship to avoid paragraphs of more than a page in length ; and frequent relief of long paragraphs by shorter ones is a great help to readableness. On the other hand, it must be recognized that too short a paragraph lacks weight and articulation. Ordinarily as many as three or more sentences are requisite to give mass enough to develop a topic satisfactorily.^ Less than that number is apt, while it gives a Frenchy, snippy effect to the style, to leave the topic too superficially treated. Note. — Professor Earle's idea of the smallest scale on which a built paragraph is practicable, with his example, may here be quoted. " The 1 This refers, of course, to the paragraph that not only proposes but develops a topic. The short transitional or preliminary paragraph, to be noticed later (p. 381), is an exception more apparent than real. 358 COMPOSITION. term paragraph can hardly be apphed to anything short of three sentences. We sometimes see a satisfying result from three sentences, something which is felt to be a kind of whole; — whole at least as a distinct . member of larger discourse. The following is a fair example. "'The first impulse of man is to seek for enjoyment. He lives with more or less impetuosity, more or less irregularity, to conquer for himself a home and blessedness of a mere earthly kind. Not till later (in how many cases never) does he ascertain that on earth there is no such home : that his true home lies beyond the world of sense, is a celestial home.' " l This quoted paragraph not only illustrates the point made, but will serve as a good brief model to get into the student's mind the typical movement of a paragraph structure. < I ish- ,-/>''\-. I. THE PARAGRAPH IN SUM. ' ,,,'' ;^ ( Dealing as it does with a topic, the paragraph sums up to a unity ; the total effect and impression left upon the reader's mind is of a distinct, bounded, and, within its limits, complete subject. In this respect it has the roundedness, the begin- ning, body, and end, of an independent discourse. But as it is merely a stage in the unfolding of a larger subject, and as it represents that stage not in outline but in finished treatment, we do not reduce its topic to the sharp precision of a formal proposition. The topic sentence may, like the other sen- tences, be elaborated in structure and style, or be expressed in figurative language, or be a merely hinted statement. Too many are deceived by this fact into thinking that a paragraph may be trusted to make'ltself, with no special thought of a controlling topic. This is a fatal mistake. However disguised or diffused, the topic, the unitary result, is there, and must therefore be first proposed in the writer's mind ; so that as a total effect the paragraph may be reducible to a single sentence.^ 1 Earle, English Prose, p. 212. The quotation from Carlyle. 2 " A paragraph has unity when you can state its substance in a single sentence ; otherwise it is very apt to lack it." — Wendell, English Composition, p. 124. — A student of biology thus puts it : " It is necessary to determine the axillary idea of the paragraph, about which the ancillary ideas may be grouped." THE PARAGRAPH. 359 Note. — It is in the flexible yet scientifically ordered paragraph, the thinking of a mass of thought at once to nucleus and lucid organism, that the writing of modern prose achieves perhaps its greatest triumph as an art.i This easy informal texture of the paragraph makes it neces- sary here to dwell with some discrimination on the topic. The Topic : its Prominence. — In all cases the topic should so control every part of the structure as to be a clearly appre- hended resultant or sum of the whole. Different kinds of subject-matter, however, may cause this to be apprehended in different' ways : it may be definitely pointed out, in so many words ; or it may be left for the reader to gather and mentally realize as the total effect. I. In matter of the argumentative or expository kind, wherein much depends on a defined centre and dependency of thought, the topic of a paragraph is expressed, either as a proposed subject of treatment, or as an informal proposition, so that the reader can cooperate with the writer in discover- ing the steps of explication or reasoning. Example. — In the following the opening sentence, culminating in the two beacon words at the end, will be at once accepted by any reader as the controlling topic : — " Great and various as the powers of Bacon were, he owes his wide and durable fame chiefly to this, that all those powers received their direction from common sense. His love of the vulgar useful, his strong sympathy with the popular notions of good and evil, and the openness with which he avowed that sympathy, are the secret of his influence. There was in his system no cant, no illusion. He had no anointing for broken bones, no fine theories de finibus, no arguments to persuade men out of their senses. 1 " The triumph of modern Art in Writing is manifested in the structure of the Paragraph. The glory of Latin composition must he looked for in the great sen- tence which occasionally recurs ; the glory of French or English composition lies in the subtle combination of sentences which makes the Paragraph. The secret of Macaulay's charm lies, not, as has been imagined, in his pointed antithesis, or in his balanced periods (tor these, if they have their attraction, have also undoubtedly their elements of repulsion), but in his masterly command of the Paragraph." — Earle, English Prose, p. 91. 360 COMPOSITION. He knew that men, and philosophers as well as other men, do actually love life, health, comfort, honor, security, the society of friends, and do actually dislike death, sickness, pain, poverty, disgrace, danger, separation from those to whom they are attached. He knew that religion, though it often regulates and moderates these feelings, seldom eradicates them ; nor did he think it desirable for mankind that they should be eradicated. The plan of eradicating them by conceits like those of Seneca, or syllogisms like those of Chrysippus, was too preposterous to be for a moment enter- tained by a mind like his. He did not understand what wisdom there could be in changing names where it was impossible to change things ; in denying that blindness, hunger, the gout, the rack, were evils, and calling them diroTpor^iiera ; in refusing to acknowledge that health, safety, plenty, were good things, and dubbing them by the name of dSid^opa. In his opinions on all these subjects, he was not a Stoic, nor an Epicurean, nor an Academic, but what would have been called by Stoics, Epicureans, and Academics a mere IStiirris, a mere common man. And it was precisely because he was so that his pame makes so great an era in the history of the world. It was because he dug deep that he was able to pile high. It was because, in order to lay his foundations, he went down into those parts of human nature which lie low, but which are not liable to change, that the fabric which he reared has risen to so stately an elevation, and stands with such immovable strength."^ 2. In matter of the descriptive or narrative kind, or in any accumulation of concrete details grouped merely in space or time, the topic may be left unexpressed in words, diffused as it were through the whole, and to be felt by the reader as he thinks himself into the limits of the scene.^ Example. — In the following the topic, which after we have read the paragraph we perceive to be " Hester Prynne on her way to the pillory," is nowhere expressed ; we simply sum it up from the circumstances of time, place, and event : — "A lane was forthwith opened through the crowd of spectators. Pre- ceded by the beadle, and attended by an irregular procession of stern- browed men and unkindly Visaged women, Hester Prynne set forth towards 1 Macaulay, Essay on Lord Bacon, Essays, Vol. iii, p. 463. 2 This discrimination of subject-matter as bearing on the topic is, it will be noted, merely an extension to the scale of the paragraph of the same discrimination already applied to clauses within the sentences, and their claim to unity ; see above, pp. 323, 324- THE PARAGRAPH. 361 the place appointed for her punishment. A crowd of eager and curious school-boys, understanding little of the matter in hand, except that it gave them a half-holiday, ran before her progress, turning their heads contin- ually to stare into her face, and at the winking baby in her arms, and at the ignominious letter on her breast. It was no great distance, in those days, from the prison-door to the market-place. Measured by the prison- er's experience, however, it might be reckoned a journey of some length ; for, haughty as her demeanor was, she perchance underwent an agony from every footstep of those that thronged to see her, as if her heart had been flung into the street for them all to spurn and trample upon. In our nature, however, there is => provision, alike marvellous and merciful, that the sufferer should never know the intensity of what he endures by its present torture, but chiefly by the pang that rankles after it. With almost a serene deportment, therefore, Hester Prynne passed through this portion of her ordeal, and came to a sort of scaffold, at the western extremity of the market-place. It stood nearly beneath the eaves of Boston's earliest church, and appeared to be a fixture there." i The Topic : its Place. — Typically, and therefore in the great predominance of cases, the topic, when expressed or indicated, stands at the beginning of the paragraph. Occa- sional modifications or accessories of this arrangement, how- ever, need here to be mentioned, on account of the special advantages that they secure. I. It is only exceptionally that a paragraph stands alone ; and being part and stage of a larger work, it has to be mind- ful of what precedes and what follows. It is a link in the chain of continuous thought which makes up the whole com- position. Hence at the immediate outset there is generally more or less of connective or preliminary material, varying in amount from a single word of relation or a few words of summary to several sentences. Examples. — How paragraphs link on to paragraphs may be seen by the following, which are the opening sentences of paragraphs, quoted far enough to introduce the topic : — " Gray's quality of mind, then, we see ; his quality of soul will no less bear inspection. His reserve, his delicacy," etc. 1 Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter, p. 75. 362 COMPOSITION. " Testimonies such as these are not called forth by a fastidious effemi- nate weakling; they are not called forth, even, by mere qualities of mind; they are called forth by qualities of soul. And of Gray's high qualities of soul, . . . his excellent seriousness," etc. " And with all this strenuous seriousness, a pathetic sentiment," etc. " What wonder, then, that with this troublous cloud . . . Gray . . . pro- duced so little," 1 etc. 2. The suspended paragraph, that is, the paragraph wherein the revelation of the topic is delayed till the end, is somewhat rare. Like the suspended sentence and in cor- respondingly greater degree, its effect is studied and rhetor- ical ; it may have practical uses, too, in enabling the writer to get in considerations to support a startling or unwelcome assertion before the assertion itself is made. Examples. — The suspended paragraph quoted from Myers on p. 283, above, is a good example of a word kept back for effect. — -In the following paragraph, the topic, " the air of Attica," does not appear till the last sen- tence, and when it appears its significance is well anticipated : — " Many a more fruitful coast or isle is washed by the blue .^gean, many a spot is there more beautiful or sublime to see, many a territory more ample ; but there was one charm in Attica, which in the same perfection was nowhere else. The deep pastures of Arcadia, the plain of Argos, the Thessalian vale, these had not the gift ; Bceotia, which lay to its immediate north, was notorious for its very want of it. The heavy atmosphere of that Bceotia might be good for vegetation, but it was associated in popular belief with the dulness of the Boeotian intellect: on the contrary, the spe- cial purity, elasticity, clearness, and salubrity of the air of Attica, fit con- comitant and emblem of its genius, did that for it which earth did not ; — it brought out every bright hue and tender shade of the landscape over which it was spread, and would have illuminated the face even of a more bare and rugged country." ^ 3. When the writer feels that the topic is especially impor- tant, or that much depends upon it, a natural impulse is to repeat it at the end of the paragraph, either in elaborated i Matthew Arnold, Thomas Gray, Essays in Criticism, Second Series. 2 Newman, Historical Sketches, Vol. iii, p. 20. THE PARAGRAPH. 363 Statement or, as oftener occurs, in apothegm. In such case not repetition alone is sought, but summary and enforcement. Example. — In the following paragraph the topic is propounded in a plain statement at the beginning, and then, after the amplification, is repeated in a somewhat more elaborate form at the end : — " A man of a Polite Imagination is let into a great many Pleasures, that the Vulgar are not capable of receiving. He can converse with a Picture, and find an agreeable Companion in a Statue. He meets with a secret Refreshment in a Description, and often feels a greater Satisfaction in the Prospect of Fields and Meadows, than another does in the Possession. It gives him, indeed, a Kind of Property in every thing he sees, and makes the most rude uncultivated Parts of Nature administer to his Pleasures : So that he looks upon the World, as it were, in another Light, and discovers in it a Multitude of Charms, that conceal themselves from the generality of Mankind." l The Double Topic. — A mould of paragraph analogous to the composita type of sentence calls here for mention : the para- graph that sums up in a double topic. It is not very com- mon ; but being highly artistic, is correspondingly notable when successfully achieved. While a composita sentence may accumulate a considerable number of coordinate members, the more complicated scale of the paragraph can hardly venture with safety on more than two ; hence the term, double topic. These members gener- ally answer each other as a contrasting pair ; and may either occupy each its half of the structure, or be set against each other in a series of distinctions. Examples. — i. In the following the first topic, strength, passes by a natural gradation into the second topic, sweetness ; the two making up thus an answering and contrasting pair: — " Critics of Michelangelo have sometimes spoken as if the only charac- teristic of his genius were a wonderful strength, verging, as in the things of the imagination great strength always does,, on what is singular or 1 Addison, in The Spectator, No. 411. 364 COMPOSITION. strange. A certain strangeness, something of the blossoming of the aloe, is indeed an element in all true works of art ; that they shall excite or sur- prise us is indispensable. But that they shall give pleasure and exert a charm over us is indispensable too ; and this strangeness must be sweet also — a lovely strangeness. And to the true admirers of Michelangelo this is the true type of the Michelangelesque — sweetness and strength, pleasure with surprise, an energy of conception which seems at every moment about to break through all the conditions of comely form, recov- ering, touch by touch, a loveliness found usually only in the simplest natu- ral things — ex forti dulcedo." ^ 2. In the following a series of contrasts bring out the double topic of the Platonic and the Baconian philosophy : — " To sum up the whole, we should say that the aim of the Platonic phil- osophy was to exalt man into a god. The aim of the Baconian philosophy was to provide man with what he requires while he continues to be man. The aim of the Platonic philosophy was to raise us far above vulgar wants. The aim of the Baconian philosophy was to supply our vulgar wants. The former aim was noble; but the latter was attainable. Plato drew a good bow; but, like Acestes in Virgil, he aimed at the stars; and therefore, though there was no want of strength or skill, the shot was thrown away. His arrow was indeed followed by a track of dazzling radiance, but it struck nothing. Bacon fixed his eye on a mark which was placed on the earth, and within bow-shot, and hit it in the white. The philosophy of Plato began in words and ended in words, noble words indeed, words such as were to be expected from the finest of human intellects exercising bound- less dominion over the finest of human languages. The philosophy of. Bacon began in observations and ended in arts." ^ II. THE PARAGRAPH IN STRUCTURE. That a paragraph should have a structure, palpable, planned, articulated, is a necessity arising from the second and third qualities already mentioned, — continuity and proportion. A continuous current of thought, unbroken, undislocated, ■ — this is its ideal. The end that' the working out of a structure is to attain is, keeping this current unbroken, and keeping it at 1 Pater, The Renaissance, p. 75. 2 Macaulay, Essay on Lord Bacon, Essays, Vol. iii, p. 458. THE PARAGRAPH. 365 every point in place and symmetry. This requires system- atic arrangement, plan.^ By a plan, however, is not meant a formal and obtrusive skeleton-structure, as if the paragraph were merely an essay within an essay. Such advertising of the plan belongs rather to the next stage of procedure, the composition as a whole. It is to be remembered that the individual sentences of the paragraph, being the final expression of their thought, are at once outlipe and amplification ; the outline is covered and disguised, as such, by the detail and coloring of which it is the nucleus. None the less truly, however, it is there, and has to be determinately put there ; under the finished surface it works, unperceived, a constant effect of orderly progress. It has its introductory outset ; it keeps the reader aware throughout of the mutual bearings of the thoughts ; it swings round to a cadence and conclusion. I. Relation of Parts to Sum. — In the evolution of such a plan the whole current of the paragraph has to be made up with traceable reference to the sum. It matters not whether this latter is expressed as a topic or implied as a total resultant ; iri any case the relation, the scale, the distance, the movement of each sentence must be realized and shaped with this con- nection in mind. Typical Scheme of Paragraph Structure This requisite may best be made clear, perhaps, by presenting here a scheme of structure, to which the body of the paragraph may be referred as a type. This scheme, it may be premised, is not an arbi- trary framework ; it represents, in fact, on the scale of the para- graph, the logical progress that obtains in all ordered thinking. 1 " Words and sentences are subjects of revision ; paragraphs and whole composi- tions are subjects of prevision." — Wendell, English Composition^ p. 117. 366 COMPOSITION. If, as stated above,^ the total effect of a paragraph should be reducible to a single sentence, conversely the expansion of a single sentence, with due observance of the legitimate depend- encies of clause and clause, may be taken as the pattern of paragraph structure.^ The.same relations exist, between sen- tences in the paragraph as between clauses in the sentence'; only i n the_ paragraph, as befits its ampler scale, the relations are more strongly marked, and grouped with greater sense of sequence and climax. In this respect the plan of the para- graph is intermediate between that of the sentence and that of the whole composition. Generally speaking, then, any sen- tence, to be worthy of a place in the plan, should contribute directly to explain, or particularize, or prove, or apply the thought of the topic. Nor should these functions be mixed at hap-hazard. The sense of sequence and climax just mentioned dictates that they rise out of each other in a logical growth, and be gradu- ated from a natural outset to a natural finish. The following table, in which the interior organism of the paragraph is set forth in three main stages, may be taken as a comprehensive scheme of structure. The topic, expressed or hinted. I. Whatever is needed to define the topic. Taking the form of Repetition, Obverse, or Explication. 1 See above, p. 35S. 2 " The principles which so plainly bring paragraphs and order out of chaos are the very same which, applied habitually and under different conditions, make the difference between good sentences and bad." — Wendell, English Composition, p. 118. 8 What range these may cover has been specified above, pp. 323, 324. THE PARAGRAPH. 367 II. Whatever is needed to establish the topic. Taking the form of Example, Illustration, Detail (particularization), or Proof. III. Whatever is needed to apply the topic. Taking the form of < • Summary, Consequence, or Enforcement. Of course no single paragraph could follow all these sub- divisions without being unwieldy ; they are presented in this relative order merely to show the place they occupy with reference to a rounded scheme. When expressed, this is their typical order and relation. A like thing may be said of the main stages themselves. These may be proportioned in a great variety of ways ; some one of them generally tak- ing the predominance, in bulk and specialization, the others condensed or even wholly elided. It is on this freedom of variation and proportion that the flexibility, the individual character, of a paragraph depends. All the while, however, the type exists, a kind of steadying-point in the writer's mind, to keep the lines of treatment from becoming lawless and unbalanced. The claims of length, too, have an important application here. Rightly to define, or establish, or apply, or even state a topic may require so much space that only the section of the scheme that deals with this can be given within reasonable paragraph limits ; the other sections being left in turn to their place, and disposed of according to their importance. It is this fact, largely, which gives rise to the various kinds 368 COMPOSITION. Topic proposed. I. Defined by con- crete repetition. II. ESTABLISHEDby examples, drawn from his policy of paragraphs, to be noticed later ' ; it has also a bearing on the plan of composition as a whole.^ Examples. — Two examples, given here, may illustrate respectively how a paragraph may fairly round out the type, or may confine itself to some section of it. Of so varied a subject not more than these illustrations can well be undertaken. i I. A paragraph in which the three stages are all more or less fully represented. It is about Oliver Cromwell: — " No sovereign ever carried to the throne so large a portion of the best qualities of the middling orders, so strong a sympathy with the feelings and interests of his people. He was sometimes driven to arbitrary measures ; but he had a high, stout, honest, English heart. Hence it was that he loved to surround his throne with such men as Hale and Blake. Hence it was that he allowed so large a share of political lib- erty to his subjects, and that, even when an opposi- tion dangerous to his power and to his person almost compelled him to govern by the sword, he was still anxious to leave a germ from which, at a more favor- able season, free institutions might spring. We firmly believe that, if his first Parliament had not commenced its debates by disputing his title, his government would have been as mild at home as it was energetic and able abroad. He was a soldier ; he had risen by war. Had his ambition been of an impure or selfish kind, it would have been easy for him to plunge his country into continental hostilities on a large scale, and to dazzle the restless factions which he ruled, by the splendor of his victories. Some of his enemies have sneeringly remarked, that in the successes obtained under his administration he had no personal share ; as if a man who had raised himself from obscurity to empire solely by his military talents could have any unworthy reason for shrinking from military enterprise. This reproach is his highest glory. In the success of the English navy he could have no 1 See below, p. 379. 2 See below, p. 441. at home and abroad ; and from his magnanimity in military THE PARAGRAPH. 369 selfish interest. Its triumphs added nothing to his fame ; its increase added nothing to his means of overawing his enemies j its great leader was not his friend. Yet he took a peculiar pleasure in encourag- and in naval ing that noble service which, of all the instruments triumphs. employed by an English government, is the most impotent for mischief, and the most powerful for good. His administration was glorious, but with no III. Applied by vulgar glory. It was not one of those periods of consequences in overstrained and convulsive exertion which neces- the prosperity of sarily produce debility and languor. Its energy was natural, healthful, temperate. He placed England at the people the head of the Protestant interest, and in the first , rank of Christian powers. He taught every nation to value her friendship and to dread her enmity. But and of the govern- he did not squander her resources in a vain attempt ment. to invest her with that supremacy which no power, in the modern system of Europe, can safely affect, or can long retain."^ a. A paragraph devoted entirely to the middle or establishing stage, by giving examples. The topic, which the previous paragraph has defined at considerable length, is the power which great writers have to shape the language and literature of succeeding ages : — " If there is any one who illustrates this remark, it is Gibbon ; I seem to trace his vigorous condensation and peculiar rhythm at every turn in the literature of the present day. Pope, again, is said to have tuned our ver- sification. Since his time, any one, who has an ear and turn for poetry, caii with little pains throw off a copy of verses equal or superior to the poet's own, and with far less of study and patient correction than would have been demanded of the poet himself for their production. Compare the choruses of the Samson Agonistes with any stanza taken at random in Thalaba : how much had the language gained in the interval between them ! Without denying the high merits of Southey's beautiful romance, we surely shall not be wrong in saying, that in its unembarrassed eloquent flow, it is the language of the nineteenth century that speaks, as much as the author himself." ^ In detailing this important topic, indeed, the author goes on to give further instances and citations for two paragraphs more, before, in a short concluding paragraph, he sums up. t Macaulay, Essay on Hallam^s Constitutional History^ Essays, Vol. 1, p. 509. 2 Newman, Idea of a Unimrsiiy, p. 323. 370 COMPOSITION. II. Relation of Parts to Each Other. — In order to preserve con- tinuity in a paragraph, something more than plan is needed. There is still to be considered that linking of sentence with sentence by which the plan itself, real and systematic as it is, affects the reader not as plan but as uninterrupted flow and cur- rent of thought. To this end there must be a traceable rela- tion, a felt reference, of each sentence to its preceding, while in turn it leaves its assertion in position for the next sentence to take it up. This reference, equally palpable in either case, may be explicit or implicit. Explicit Reference This kind of reference between sen- tences is called explicit because there is some word or phrase whose definite function it is to make it, something which on account of this office we call a connective. Two kinds of con- nectives call here for notice. I. Conjunctional, words or phrases. These, as has been demonstrated under the head of Conjunctional Relation,^ have to do with the direction of the thought, whether as turning it some new way, — adversative, illative, causal, — or as confirm- ing it in the direction in which it is already going. Examples. — The following, in its copiousness of connective words, illustrates how much more scrupulous the older writers were than the moderns to mark the relations of sentences : — " He kept a strait hand on his nobility, and chose rather to advance clergymen and lawyers, which were more obsequious to him, but had less interest in the people j which made for his absoluteness, but not for his safety. Insomuch as I am persuaded it was one of the causes of his troublesome reign. For that his nobles, though they were loyal and obe- dient, yet did not co-operate with him, but let every man go his own way. He was not afraid of an able man as Lewis the Eleventh was. But contrari- wise he was served by the ablest men that then were to be found ; without which his affairs could not have prospered as they did. . . Neither did ^ See above, pp. 259-267. THE PARAGRAPH. 371 he care how cunning they were that he did employ : for he thought himself to have the master-reach. And as he chose well, so he held them up well. For it is a strange thing, that though he were a dark prince, and infinitely suspicious, and his times full of secret conspiracies and troubles ; yet in twenty-four years reign he never put down or discomposed coun- sellor or near servant, save only Stanley the Lord Chamberlain." i The modern tendency is to make connection unobtrusive by using conjunctions that may be put inside the sentence, leaving the outset for more important words, and by omitting such con- nection as the reader may be trusted to think for himself. The effect of this is to make the diction not only more equable but more closely knit ; it is one of the important results of more masterful art in prose. Note. — Of connectives that may be removed from the beginning may he mentioned however, therefore, then, likewise, too ; and such phrases as on the contrary, as it were, that is, nevertheless. Of connectives that modern prose very generally suppresses the most notable, perhaps, is for ; the word und, too, is almost entirely banished from the beginning of the sentence. 2. Demonstrative, words and phrases; and, where these fail in clearness or strength, repetition of the word or phrase needed to make the connection. These, not affecting the direction, are used rather to express some resumption or immediate sequence, — to make a close joinery of some new thought with. the preceding.^ Note ' and Example. — Of demonstrative words the personal and demonstrative pronouns are most relied on. The relative was formerly so used ; for example : " But he who was of the bond woman was born after the flesh ; but he of the free woman was by promise. Which things are an allegory : for these are the two covenants ; the one from the mount Sinai, which gendereth to bondage, which is Agar." ^ Nowadays, however, this use is exceptional and somewhat archaic. 1 Bacon, History of Henry VII (quoted from Craik's English Prose, Vol. ii, p. 29). 2 Under Retrospective Reference, pp. 246-254 above, are given some of the prin- ciples and cautions connected with demonstrative reference. 8 Galaiians iv. 23, 24. 372 COMPOSITION. Demonstrative phrases are for the most part the combination of n. demonstrative pronoun with other words, so as to denote some adverbial relation ; as, in this case, in this manner, under these circumstances, this done, and the like. The following paragraph will illustrate various means of demonstrative connection, including also repetition ; — " Friedrich does not neglect these points of good manners ; along with which something of substantial may be privately conjoined. For example, if he had in secret his eye on Jiilich and Berg, could anything be fitter than to ascertain what the French will think of such an enterprise ? What the French ; and next to them what the English, that is to say, Hanoverians, who meddle much in affairs of the Reich. For these reasons and others he likewise, probably with more study than in the Bielfeld case, despatches Colonel Camas to make his compliment at the French Court, and in an expert way take soundings there. Camas, a fat sedate military gentle- man, of advanced years, full of observation, experience and sound sense, — ' with one arm, which he makes do the work of two, and nobody can notice that the other arm resting in his coat-breast is of cork, so expert is he,' — will do in this matter what is feasible ; probably not much for the present. He is to call on Voltaire, as he passes, who is in Holland again, at the Hague for some months back; and deliver him 'a little cask of Hungary Wine,' which probably his Majesty had thought exquisite. Of which, and the other insignificant passages between them, we hear more than enough in the writings and correspondences of Voltaire about this time."i Implicit Reference Quite in line with the tendency, just spoken of, to put connectives where they will be unobtrusive, is the art of making the whole reference implicit, that is, a connection not advertised by words at all, but involved in the structufe of the sentence and in the natural closeness of the thought. I. In the structure of the sentence, this reference is effected by means of inversion for adjustment,'' the change of order which a succeeding sentence undergoes in obedience to the attraction exerted by some like or contrasted idea in the 1 Carlyle, History of Frederick the Great, Book xi, Chap, i (Vol. iii, p. 2S2). 2 For which, see above, p. 27S. THE PARAGRAPH. 373 preceding. With this inversion is often conjoined some form of demonstrative reference. Skilfully managed, this manner of reference is very graceful and powerful. A note of caution, however, should be given. This makes the sentence rise not out of a topic, but out of the sentence immediately before. Unless' the topic, too, and the general sum of the paragraph is kept in mind, there is danger of deflecting the thought a little with each new reference, until the excursion from the direct path is too great for unity. The larger as well as the immediate relation, therefore, should be observed. Examples. — i. Of inversion for adjustment. In the following inter- esting example the second sentence has an inverted order in adjustment to the first; and the third has an inversion in preparation for the fourth; and in each case what causes the inversion is an antithetic idea. " All is finite in the present; and even that finite is infinite in its velocity of flight towards death. But in God there is nothing finite ; but in God there is nothing transitory ; but in God there can be nothing that tends to death. Therefore, it follows, that for God there can be no present. The future is the present of God, and to the future it is that he sacrifices the human present." ^ 2. Of sentence growing out of sentence. The following, though itself skilfully managed, will suggest how easy it would be by this method of reference to lead the thought astray unless it were made up with the end in view. " The first effort of the artist is to represent something that he has seen or imagined. Out of this effort and the work which it produces, grow certain methods and habits of representing landscape and architec- ture and the human figure. Out of these habits grow rules and formulas, not only for the hand but also for the eye. On these formulas schools are founded. In these schools the example of masters comes to have an authority which overshadows and limits the vision of facts as well as the representation of them."^ 2. The most effectual connection made, however, paradox- ical as it may seem, is where no connection is needed at all ; 1 De Quincey, Savannah-la-Mar, Works, Vol. i, p. 255. 2 Van Dyke, The Gospel for an Age of Doubt, p. 128. 374 COMPOSITION. where the idea of one sentence is so closely welded to that of its neighbor that the two make their way as an unbroken and undeflected current. The omission of explicit connectives is a prevailing tendency of modern writing, and on the whole is an indication of closer thinking to correspond ' ; still, it is not a thing that can be left to a vogue to regulate. The fact is, not all thought will bear this treatment : it is adapted specifically to ideas having a common bearing, and to series of details or particulars amplifying a common understood topic. Occasion- ally, too, when a conjunctional relation is so obvious as to be unescapable, it may gain in point and strength by omitting the connective.^ If, then, modern writing omits connectives, it does it not on account of a newly discovered trick, but because modern think- ing is more in concretes and details, and employs directer trains of reasoning ; in other words, the thought has evolved the style. Example. — In the following paragraph the sentences all repeat or in some degree df concreteness particularize the fundamental assertion of the beginning, and hence need no connectives : — " You cannot hide any secret. If the artist succor his flagging spirits by opium or wine, his work will characterize itself as the effect of opium or wine. If you make a picture or a statue, it sets the beholder in that state of mind you had when you made it. If you spend for show, on build- ing, or gardening, or on pictures, or on equipages, it will so appear. We are all physiognomists and penetrators of character, and things themselves are detective. If you follow the suburban fashion in building a sumptuous- looking house for a little money, it will appear to all eyes as a cheap dear house. There is no privacy that cannot be penetrated. No secret can be 1 " And it is this tacit ratiocination which qualifies the Composita to fill so large a space as it does in argumentative discourse. It is the vehicle of implied, inexplicit, and condensed reasoning. . . . The prevailing habit is the ellipse of connectives. A paragraph strongly knit together by argumfentative thought is often seen to have but one or two very mild conjunctions in it. This is no loss to the force or clear- ness of the argument, but it certainly may be a loss to its transparency." Earle, English Prose, pp. So, 197. 2 See above, p. 298. THE PARAGRAPH. 375 kept in the civilized world. Society is a masked ball, where every one hides his real character, and reveals it by hiding. If a man wish to con- ceal anything he carries, those whom he meets know that he conceals somewhat, and usually know what he conceals. Is it otherwise if there be some belief or some purpose he would bury in his breast ? 'T is as hard to hide as fire. He is a strong man who can hold down his opinion. A man cannot utter two or three sentences without disclosing to intelligent ears precisely where he stands in life and thought, namely, whether in the kingdom of the senses and the understanding, or in that of ideas and imagination, in the realm of intuitions and duty. People seem not to see that their opinion of the world is also a confession of character. We can only see what we are, and if we misbehave we suspect others. The fame of Shakespeare or of Voltaire, of Thomas a Kempis or of Bonaparte, char- acterizes those who give it. As gas-light is found to be the best nocturnal police, so the universe protects itself by pitiless publicity."^ III. Claims of Proportion As the paragraph is the orderly development of a topic, it must be mindful of the relative importance • of things, and its parts should have bulk and stress to accord therewith ; that is, the paragraph, in its inte- rior structure, needs to be proportioned. The proportion between different stages of the plan, as, for instance, between the defining and establishing parts, is, as we have seen,^ something to be determined, not by rule, but by the writer's sense of what his paragraph exists for, and what treatment his subject-matter requires. It must be left with him, but it cannot safely be left undetermined. The same may be said of that perpetual variety in length and type of sentence which is so essential to the life of the paragraph. It rises from a delicate sense of relation and proportion, which, however, is too individual to be prescribed from without. Digressions. — When a subordinate or merely illustrative idea is expanded, whether in volume or emphasis, beyond its 1 Emerson, Essay on Worship, Works, Vol. vi, p. 213. 2 See above, p. 367. 376 COMPOSITION. natural proportion, it becomes a digression, and distracts from the effect of the main topic. A digression is to a paragraph what a parenthesis^ ]s to a sentence, and what an episode, to be mentioned later,^ is to a narrative. For all three the justification is only exceptional, and more so, it would seem, as the scale of treatment enlarges. As an occasional means of relieving the tension of strong emo- tion or severe argumentation, the digression may have its use ; it needs, however, the masterful direction of a sound literary sense. And when employed it should be subjected to treat- ment analogous to that of the parenthesis : softened tone, lightness and rapidity of diction, a subdued scale of stress. Its boundaries, too, should be clearly marked ; and especially the return to the main current should be made with particular care to make the words of connection and resumption pointed. Note. — A very short digression, sufficient, however, to show the skill involved in making a digression well, is shown in the example under the next heading. It is from De Quincey, the most digressive of modern writers, whose tendency to expatiate far from his subject is worth study, because, with his scrupulous care for explicit reference, he always kept his reader aware both of his ramblings and of his return.^ Parallel Construction. — The repetition of construction, already applied to elements within the sentence,' has a somewhat less marked though not less real application to the structure of the paragraph. Its most striking and rhetorical use is where sev- eral sentences dealing with the same stage of amplification are made on the same model. This, however, needs constant test- ing lest it become artificial. A more practical rule it is, when successive sentences deal with the same subject of thought, to keep that subject in the forefront of attention and stress ; and 1 See below, p. 537. 2 De Quincey's whimsical defense of his rambling tendency may be found in Page, Thomas De Quincey, his Life and Writings, Vol. ii, p. 64. « See above, p. 308. THE PARAGRAPH. 377 conversely, when subordinate or digressive ideas are intro- duced, to put them in a different distribution of emphasis, that they may not be confounded with main ideas. As a grammat- ical matter of some importance, it is not well to change the voice of the verb, as from active to passive, unadvisedly ; small matter as it seems, it changes the subject of the sen- tence, and hence the current of the assertion. Examples. — i. The somewhat rhetorical balancing of sentences, with its artificial tendency, may be seen in the paragraph from Macaulay's Essay on Milton already quoted from on p. 309. Here are some of the begin- nings of grouped sentences : " If they were unacquainted .... If their names .... If their steps " ; " For his sake empires . . . For his sake the Almighty " ; "He had been wrested .... He had been ransomed." The whole paragraph is highly rhetorical. 2. In the following paragraph the italics show how the principal sub- ject is kept in like prominence throughout, except in the digressive portion, here put in brackets, where the subordinate subject, though represented by the same personal pronoun, is so differently placed that it is never in dan- ger of being mistaken for the main one. " Her eyes are sweet and subtile, wild and sleepy, by turns ; oftentimes rising to the clouds, oftentimes chal- lenging the heavens. She wears a diadem round her head. And I knew by childish memories that she could go abroad upon the winds, when she heard that sobbing of litanies, or the thundering of organs, and when she beheld the mustering of summer clouds. Tliis sister, the elder, it is that carries keys more than papal at her girdle, which open every cottage and every palace. She, to my knowledge, sate all last summer by the bedside of the blind beggar, him that so often and so gladly I talked with, whose pious daughter, eight years old, with the sunny countenance, resisted the temptations of play and village mirth to travel all day long on dusty roads with her afflicted father. [For this did God send her a great reward. In the spring-time of the year, and whilst yet her own spring was budding, he recalled her to himself. But her blind father mourns forever over her; still he dreams at midnight that the little guiding hand is locked within his own ; and still he wakens to a darkness that is now within a second and a deeper darkness.] This Mater Lachrymaruin also has been sitting all this ■winter of 1844-5 within the bedchamber of the Czar, bringing before his eyes a daughter (not less pious) that vanished to God not less suddenly, and left behind her a darkness not less profound. By the power of her keys it is that Our Lady of Tears glides a ghostly intruder into the cham- 378 COMPOSITION. bers of sleepless men, sleepless women, sleepless children, from Ganges to the Nile, from Nile to Mississippi. And her, because she is the firstborn of her house, and has the widest empire, let us honor with the title of ' Madonna.'"^ Beginnings and Endings. — How these are to proportion in the paragraph cannot, of course, be laid down by rule ; but some suggestions, founded on their function, may here be given. The opening sentence of a paragraph, being either the topic- sentence or a connecting link with the preceding, is ordinarily a rather short and condensed sentence. When the topic is defined by some phase of repetition several short pithy sen- tences, succeeding each other at the beginning, form a very effective means of getting the paragraph under w^y. The style of such opening sentences calls more naturally for con- ciseness and simplicity than for ornament. The closing sentence of the paragraph, following the prin- ciple of climax, is quite apt to derive a certain roll and momen- tum from previous sentences ; in which case it is somewhat long, often periodic, and forms, indeed, the cadence of the paragraph. This is especially noticeable in impassioned and oratoric language. An exception to this elaborated structure, sometimes adopted to excellent effect, is the apothegmatic ending : a terse and pithy short sentence gathering into one statement the gist of the idea which has been expanded in the sentences preceding. Examples. — i. Both the short opening and the longer closing sen- tence are so common as hardly to need a quotation here ; see, for example, the paragraph from Macaulay on p. 359, above. :;. The apothegmatic close may be illustrated from Burke, with whom it was a favorite : — " But power, of some kind or other, will survive the shock in which manners and opinions perish ; and it will find other and worse means for 1 De Quincey, Levana and our Ladies of Sorrow, Works, Vol. 1, p. 241. THE PARAGRAPH. 379 its support. The usurpation which, in order to subvert ancient institutions, has destroyed ancient principles, will hold power by arts similar to those by which it has acquired it. When the old feudal and chivalrous spirit of Fealty, which, by freeing kings from fear, freed both kings and subjects from the precautions of tyranny, shall be extinct in the minds of men, plots and assassinations will be anticipated by preventive murder and preventive confiscation, and that long roll of grim and bloody maxims, which form the political code of all power, not standing on its own honor, and the honor of those who are to obey it. Kings will be tyrants from policy when sub- jects are rebels from principle." ' III. KINDS OF PARAGRAPHS. The different kinds of paragraphs that evolve themselves in the course of a composition may be explained, for the most part, as modifications of the typical scheme already given ,^ — these modifications rising naturally from the claims of brevity, or from the amount of detail to be disposed of. In other words, instead of crowding the whole treatment of a given topic into one paragraph, we may choose to make it more manageable by giving only a section at a time, or by condens- ing part or all to an outline. This sectional treatment, in the paragraph, is analogous to the punctuation of a coraposita sen- tence by periods instead of semicolons,^ and has the similar justification of lightness and point to commend it. The following kinds of paragraph may here be noted. The Propositional Paragraph. — This kind comes nearest to filling out the type, being controlled in all its course by a topic, or quasi proposition, at the beginning, and giving enough of explication to make a fairly rounded sum. Considered as a section of the type, it may be regarded as the topic followed out at least through the first stage, and left ready for further amplification. 1 Burke, Reflections on the Revolution in France, p. 91. 2 Compare above, pp. 366, 367. 8 Compare preceding chapter, pp. 318 and 326. 380 COMPOSITION. Example. —The following propositional paragraph has the somewhat exceptional interest of propounding its topic in stages, as may be seen by comparing the first and the third sentences. This is not the same as the double topic, defined on p. 363, above. " History, at least in its state of ideal perfection, is a compound of poetry and philosophy. It impresses general truths on the mind by a vivid representation of particular characters and incidents. But, in fact, the two hostile elements of which it consists have never been known to form a per- fect amalgamation ; and at length, in our oivn time, they have been com- pletely and professedly separated. Good histories, in the proper sense of the word, we have not. But we have good historical romances, and good historical essays. The imagination and the reason, if we may use a legal metaphor, have made partition of a province of literature of which they were formerly seised per my et per tout ; and now they hold their respective portions in severalty, instead of holding the whole in common." ^ It will be noted that all the amplification given here is of the nature of definition, and belongs thus to the first stage of the type. The Amplifying ^ Paragraph. — This kind of paragraph rep- resents the middle section of the type, its office being to par- ticularize or amplify some statement made previously, or to enumerate the details of a description or narrative. It is the peculiarity of this kind of paragraph that the subject is not definitely expressed, at least within its limits, but is gathered from the general bearing of the whole ; and the structure has merely to devise such plan as will make the most lucid and logical arrangement of coordinate facts. Example. — The following paragraph immediately succeeds the one last quoted, and will be recognized as merely an amplification of the same topic. The two antithetic sides of the topic determine its plan : — " To make the past present, to bring the distant near, to place us in the society of a great man, or on the eminence which overlooks the field of a mighty battle, to invest with the reality of human flesh and blood beings whom we are too much inclined to consider as personified qualities in an allegory, to call up our ancestors before us with all their peculiarities of language, manners, and garb, to show us over their houses, to seat us at 1 Macaulay, Essay on Hallam^s Constitutional History^ beginning. 2 The word ampUficatory, if it were not so unwieldy, would be perhaps the terih to use here. THE PARAGRAPH. 381 their tables, to rummage their old-fashioned wardrobes, to explain the uses of their ponderous furniture, these parts of the duty which properly belongs to the historian have been appropriated by the historical novelist. On the other hand, to extract the philosophy of history, to direct our judgment of events and men, to trace the connection of causes and effects, and to draw from the occurrences of former times general lessons of moral and political wisdom, has become the business of a distinct class of writers." The paragraph succeeding this in the essay carries on the amplification still another step by proposing and detailing the simile of map and picture which has been quoted on p. 78, above. The Preliminary Paragraph, and the Transitional Paragraph. — Strictly speaking these are hardly to be regarded as paragraphs, consisting as they generally do of one or two sentences merely ; but their office in the whole composition is too important to be omitted from the list of kinds at the writer's disposal. Pointing out the landmarks, the connecting links, they are naturally of greater use as the subject-matter taxes the mind more ; they serve, in fact, like the short sentence in the paragraph, as points of definition and departure. By a preliminary paragraph is meant a paragraph that in a condensed way lays out what is to be treated in the one or several paragraphs succeeding ; this it does either by stating merely the theme, or by giving some main heads of plan. Considered in relation to the type, it may be regarded as singling out for statement merely the bare topic or merely the outline, and leaving all the amplification to be made later. By a transitional paragraph is meant a paragraph introduced between principal divisions of a discourse to mark the close of one and leave the reader ready to take up another. It relates to what has gone before, as the preliminary paragraph relates to what is to come. Not infrequently the two kinds are united in one ; sometimes also a transitional paragraph is immediately followed by a preliminary. Examples. — i. Of preliminary paragraph. The following sentence, printed as a paragraph, lays out a considerable section of discourse : — 382 COMPOSITION. " In explaining to you the proceedings of Parliament which have been complained of, I will state to you, first, the thing that was done ; next, the persons who did it ; and, lastly, the grounds and reasons upon which the Legislature proceeded in this deliberate act of public justice and public prudence." ^ z. Of transitional paragraph. The following sentence closes one divi- sion, while the next paragraph, of which the beginning is here quoted, goes on to the next ; — " So far as to the first cementing principle. " The second material of cement for their new republic is the superiority of the city of Paris ; and this I admit is strongly connected with the other cementing principle of paper circulation and confiscation. It is in this part of the project we must look,"^ etc. 3.' The two in one. The following, standing in the middle of a long essay, both marks the end of a preceding treatment and announces the ' manner of a new one : — " We begin, like the priest in Don Quixote's library, to be tired with taking down books one after another for separate judgment, and feel inclined to pass sentence on them in masses. We shall therefore, instead of pointing out the defects and merits of the different modem historians, state generally in what particulars they have surpassed their predecessors, and in what we conceive them to have failed." ^ 4. Transitional followed by preliminary : — " These illustrations of Aristotle's doctrine may suffice. " Now let us proceed to a fresh position ; which, as before, shall first be broadly stated, then modified and explained. How does originality differ from the poetical talent ? Without affecting the accuracy of a definition, we may call the latter the originality of right moral feeling. " Originality may perhaps be defined,"* etc. Alternation of Kinds By the best writers the same care is taken to secure variety in paragraphs as in sentences ; and this variety is obtained by analogous means. Most natural and frequent is the alternation of length ; short or medium-sized paragraphs setting off and relieving the longer ones. ' Closely connected with this is the alternation of thought, by which a 1 Burke, Sfeechio the Electors of Bristol, Select British Eloquence, p. 300. 2 Burke, Reflections on the Revolution in France, p. 232. 8 Macaulay, Essay on History, Essays, Vol. i, p. 409. * Newman, Essays Critical and Historical, Vol. i, p. 20. THE PARAGRAPH. 383 lighter or more concrete paragraph is made to relieve one of more severe or closely reasoned nature. Making occasional division between propositional paragraphs and paragraphs of detail or amplification is a great help to this ; it serves to keep the thought from being too uniformly strenuous. Finally, — in proportion to the difficulty of the thought, frequent interme- diate paragraphs of summary or transition should be intro- duced ; they furnish the necessary connecting-link between the single paragraphs as a developed topic and the plan of the whole composition. II. INVENTION. " The otiose, the facile, surplusage : why are these abhorrent to the true literary artist, except because, in literary as in all other art, structure is all-important, felt, or painfully missed, everj-where ? — that architectural conception of work, which foresees the end in the beginning and never loses sight of it, and in every part is conscious of all the rest, till the last sentence does but, with undiminished vigor, unfold and justify the first — a condition of literary art, which ... I shall call the necessity of mind in stjle." — Walter Pater. BOOK IV. INVENTION IN ITS ELEMENTS. As soon as the foregoing study of style had reached beyond the consideration of mere processes to the stage of completed products, a new aspect of the work came into view ; rudi- mentarily in the sentence, in much more palpable guise, though still subordinate, in the paragraph. To the problem of manner, the inquiry how to word, or color, or emphasize the thought already in hand, we began to add the inquiry what new thought we must supply in order rightly to set off, or round out, or push on to its conclusion, the thought we had ; we were thinking of such things as added clauses, and explana- tory details, and contrasts. This was the problem of matter asserting itself ; the question of gathering thoughts as related thoughts, and not merely as the verbal clothing of thoughts. Thus with the first finished expression of thought there began in its essential principle the endeavor to find and system atize thoug ht, that-TS, invention. This inventive effort, subordinate thus far and as it were under the surface, is henceforth to take the lead. We are to work from the starting-point of matter rather than of man- ner. This it is, mainly, that distinguishes the coming from the preceding study ; we are approaching not so much a dif- ferent thing as the same thing from a different point of view. Our inquiry will lead on to a broader scale of working ; but its germinal principles are already in hand, waiting merely for further application. Questions of style, therefore, are not 38,7 388 INVENTION IN ITS ELEMENTS. yet and never can be out of the account ; they come up con- tinually, though in ancillary rank, because a work of invention can never make itself complete without the support of style. Definition of Invention. — In its rhetorical or literary appli- cation, invention is theorganizatijm of thought, accordin gto its n ature a nd-jobiect, into a coherent and inter-related form of discourse. Note. — The initial act of invention, the original discovery of the thought, is too individual to be within the scope of a text-book or a course of instruction ; besides, we can hardly regard real invention as beginning until to the original conception there is applied a process of organization, that is, of verifying, sifting, and selecting for ulterior disposal. It is in the various stages of organization, of working up thought to a completed form and effect, that invention centres. This definition may be practically elucidated from the ana- logue that most readily comes to mind, mechanical invention ; speaking in whose terms we may say, invention, in rhetoric, is the devising of a literary apparatus to do certain determi- - nate work ; employing thereto whatever enginery of form — descriptive, narrative, expository, argumentative — will most , fitly effect its purpose, and making it ready for whatever motive power of style will give it vigor and result. It calls for all the founding and framing, all the accurate adjustment and interworking of parts, all the skilled calculation of instrumen- talities and effects, which characterize a well-designed work- ing tool or machine. This is its ideal, as workmanship. On this, as a kind of vertebrate structure, is moulded all the higher artistry of literature. Whether it appear as plot or as plan, as order inductive or deductive, in the baldness of logic or in the splendor of poetic portrayal, the invention of a work determines its solid substance, its permanent value, its basis of consistency and power.' 1 " Whether in poem or novel, invention, broadly speaking, makes the plot. It makes the outline of tlie story : it thinks out the course of the events : it sets the scenes. It re- solves, in short, on what shall happen." — Macmillati's Magazine, Vol. Ivi. p. 275. CHAPTER XII. APPROACHES TO INVENTION. Invention has just been described as if it were a kind of handicraft, an affair of practical design and workmanship. This it eminently is, to one who is actually engaged in it. It has become so. The writer has subdued his vague and fugitive meditations to the dictates of order and proportion. While still the literary artist, and all the more such for this, he has as it were put on workday clothes and become an artisan. In so doing he has but done what all artists, how- ever inspired their genius, must do. It is necessary that the art of letters be pursued in this workmanlike way ; its integ- rity as an art, and the fulness and steadiness of the artist's powers, depend upon it. What is true of other arts is true of invention in this respect also : it has its apprenticeship, a perpetual appren- ticeship we may indeed call it, in which the workman is learn- ing the secrets and mastering the processes of his craft. Nor is this all. Further back it looks, to that initial point when the artist, prompted by native bent, chose this calling rather than some other, and found that the primal aptitude, the most vital element of all, was already in his blood and brain. Of these things we must take account in rhetorical study, because important deductions flow from them ; especially for those, as for instance journalists and clergymen, who are called on statedly for some form of literary activity. / These approaches to invention, as seen in natural abilities, and as provided for in the helps and habits that go to call forth and promote it, the present chapter will discuss. 389 390 INVENTION IN ITS ELEMENTS. I. THE SENSE OF LITERARY FORM. There is a certain way of looking at one's work in the large, of realizing it, even before it is ciphered out, as a rounded and articulate whole, which the writer ought to note and take advantage of. The perfected result, in fact, follows lines already in the writer's mind, the inventive process being mainly to disentangle these from irrelevancies and give them free individual course. A trait this, hard to describe, but its presence or absence is the deepest thing we feel in contem- plating a piece of literary art ; as an endowment of the author we call it, somewhat vaguely, a sense of literary form, and illustrate it from the analogy of the sculptor who sees the statue in the stone. The Starting-Point in Natural Bent. — The native sense of literary form is as common, and as quickly recognized, per- haps, as is mechanical inventiveness ; though not so generally do men realize what it means. In^^very community may be found men who can relate an adventure with such choice of telling points, or make a public speech with such force and clearness of plea, that hearers are tempted to think a mere stenographic report would suffice to make it literature. Such ability is the initial point of authorship ; whatever achieve- ment it attains is built on this. Individual it is, and therefore of various kinds and degrees. The only way to legislate for it is to tell a man to be himself, — a duty, indeed, which in its demands on self-discipline, gives a man enough to do in a lifetime of training. But below what is individual there are traits of natural inventiveness that we need to recognize as common to all who in any way are endowed with it. Two such traits may here be mentioned. I. First of all, it is a natural ability to grasp facts and ideas not as isolated or vagabond but in combination, as APPROACHES TO INVENTION. 391 helpers or as goals to other facts or ideas. To such a mind no thought is inert or unrelated ; small or great it is a vitalizing element in a system, is on its way to a sum of effect. So the story is told or the speech made, crudely it may be and lacking in the artificial touches of craftsmanship, but with the master- lines already plotted out, and with a movement under com- mand. This is not the same as deep thinking or industrious research, though it may use these ; rather it is the active genius which shapes their results from a dead aggregation into a living organic work. 2. But a spontaneous constructive faculty is only one half of natural invention. The other half is equally significant, — its implicit recognition of the mind of others, and conformity to their mental ways. The ingeniously arranged body of thought may after all suit itself to no one but the maker ; for others it may be eccentric or abstruse. The man whose utter- ance rouses attention and interest has a tact to find and evoke their thinking ; , he looks from their point of view, uses their capacity, becomes as it were their mouthpiece in saying what they feel but lack a bilitv to put in words. The inv en- tive mind recognizes(^stinctively3hatJt_tjikes two to effect an interchange~of thoughT^nd feeling ; and his care, while clear lii his own tKmkTng, is to' make sure of the other.^ 1 In the following passage this trait of natural invention is described. " I spoke to him [Peter Stirling] once of a rather curious line of argument, as it seemed to me, which he was taking in a case, and he said : ' Ogden, I take that course because it is the "way Judge Potter's mind acts. If you want to convince yourself, take the arguments which do that best, but when you have to deal with judges or juries, take the lines which fit their capacities. People talk about my unusual success in winning cases. It 's simply because I am not certain that my way and my argument are the only way and the only argument. I 've studied the judges closely, so that I know what lines to take, and I always notice what seems to interest the jury most, in each case. But, more important than this study, is the fact that I can comprehend about how the average man will look at a certain thing. You see I am the son of plain people. Then I am meeting all grades of mankind, and hearing what they say, and getting their points of view. I have never sat in a closet out of touch with the world and decided what is right for others, and then spent time trying to prove it to them.' " — Ford, Peter Stirling^ p. 406, 392 INVENTION IN ITS ELEMENTS. The Superinduced Discipline. — As thus described, this natural inventive bent, with its outcome in luminous form and tactful adaptation, would seem to be a very fair outfit for authorship. By many it is so taken. It is a very prevalent idea that a person so endowed has only to let himself be borne on, as cleverness and fluency dictate ; and discipline is very com- monly disparaged, as if its tendency were to congeal native genius into the conventional and academic. What is the truth of the matter? The inventive impulse is indeed the cardinal element, and it must be a law to itself. But at this initial point it is only an instinct, not yet in the steady lead- ing of judgment, critical insight, wisdom. It is uneven and unbalanced ; with no governing power to guarantee against crudeness or extravagance or dulness. Its strong flights are an accident ; so also are its failures. It is not yet established by habit in the equable movements of the mind, but has to wait upon moods and moments of inspiration. And if it goes on untrained, it runs into froth or antics of treatment, and soon its vein runs out altogether. This is no more of an indictment than may be brought against every native aptitude or talent. It holds in painting, in music, in popular games, in handicraft. From a run-wild affluence of nature the talent has to be developed by attention to itself into a mastered self-respecting art,^ the more of an art as it more unerringly realizes the obscure aim of the original inventive impulse. Here, then, is suggested the office of discipline. It is not to supersede, or artificialize, or sophisticate the native powers. Its effect is to obviate such tendencies rather; and, while the powers remain a law to themselves, to make them acquit them- 1 " Art, indeed, in the sense in which we are now using it, that is, to denote the pains bestowed by the artist on his work, is merely nature giving attention to itself. It is nature in a mood of self-consciousness. Thus, to speak like a mathematician, it is limited to yield a higher power of nature." — Wilkinson, A Free Lance in the Field of Life and Letters^ p. 200. APPROACHES TO INVENTION. 393 selves as a real law, not as whim or anomaly or accident. Dis- cipline, if the paradox may be allowed, works the natural talent into nature; it supplies the staying and steadying power, the equable consent of will, judgment, and habit by which alone nature can do and maintain its best. More than this, it brings to light many powers previously latent, or only dimly conscious of themselves ; so that many who had not thought of author- ship have by its evoking influence found some rewarding field of literary work open to them. The Response to Occasion. — Under the general term occasion may be included all the circumstances that attend the devis- ing of a literary work, — circumstances inhering in the sub- ject, the public, and the question of timeliness. 1. Different minds are set astir, inventively, by different causes ; this is an individual matter for which* we cannot legislate. To some a subject, with its resources of thought and illustration, is a sufficient inspirer; others, not so given to analytic study, are called out into fluent utterance by an audience or the touch of the public; still others are moved to have their say by the ideas that are in the air. In most cases one of these influences will predominate, and the product will take substance and, flavor accordingly. It is one of the results of discipline, however, to make the writer mindful of all three ; and that literary work will be most vital and solid which derives inspiration from all, which will wait, if need be, till all these influences have contributed. It J.s_ an important thing thus, before a work is begun, to have zxv Jns^ir^iian poinniom which its lif^ starts, and^_from_which_ the . mind worEs with energy. 2. On this inspired impulse, acting with the individual bent and aptitude, is based the specific sense of literary form, — the sense, in the first place, whether the idea conceived is adapted to vital utterance — has the real movement of litera- ture — or is only dead truism and commonplace. This is an 394 INVENTION IN ITS ELEMENTS. important point to discover, as important as is the finding of a telling subject for pictorial art.' Then further, this quick- ened sense must be instinctively aware what form suits its conception, — whether poem, sketch, essay, story, or oration ; and conversely, what treatment of the conception will fit the form. Ideas shape themselves subtly to these forms, and are more or less misshapen out of their type of discourse. To take the natural instinct for these things and make it self- justifying and self-rectifying is the deepest work of systematic discipline. r Lines of Inventive Talent Apart from the specific forms of discourse, to be discussed later, two main lines in which inventive skill works may here be defined, as a kind of chart to those, especially untried writers, who are looking over into the realm of letters and questioning whether their endowments will entitle them to enter. fiT' The invention which, answering most nearly to the type, centres in the creation of some new product of thought or imagination, opening as it were a new region in life, may be 1 " There should be a word in the language of literary art to express what the word * picturesque ' expresses for the fine arts. Picturesque means fit to be put into a picture ; we want a word literatesque, ' fit to be put into a book.' An artist goes through a hundred different country scenes, rich with beauties, charms and merits, but he does not paint any of them. He leaves them alone ; he idles on till he finds the hundred-and-first — a scene which many observers would not think much of, but which he knows by virtue of his art will look well on canvas, and this he paints and preserves. Susceptible observers, though not artists, feel this quality too ; they say of a scene, * How picturesque ! ' meaning by this a quality distinct from that of beauty, or sub- limity, or grandeur — meaning to speak not only of the scene as it is in itself, but also of its fitness for imitation by art ; meaning not only that it is good, but that its good- ness is such as ought to be transferred to paper ; meaning not simply that it fasci- nates, but also that its fascination is such as Ought to be copied by man. . . . Literature — the painting of words — has the same quality, but wants the analogous word. The word * literatesque ' would mean, if we possessed it, that perfect combination in the sutject-matter of literature, which suits the art of literature. ... As a painter must not only have a hand to execute, but an eye to distinguish — as he must go here and there through the real world to catch the picturesque man, the picturesque scene, which is to live on his canvas — so the poet must find in that reality, the literatesque man, the literatesque scene which nature intends for him, and which will live in his page." — Bagehot, Literary Studies, Vol. ii, pp. 341, 343, 345. APPROACHES TO INVENTION. 395 called the o riginativ e invention. It is what the Greeks had in mind in namfing a supreme author Trot^rijs, a maker, from which name cornes our word poet, but which in their sense of it covered all wprks of the distinctively creative imagination, — poetry, romance, the drama. It is in these forms of dis- course that we pftenest see this kind of invention embodied ; and though it may reveal all degrees, or almost no degree, of originality therein, still, independent discovery and setting- forth, the making of a new work in kind as in order,, is its motive and aim. In our day the prevailing output of this line of invention is fiction. Note. — The great works of literature which have survived their age and become classic have been works of the creative invention ; and their writers, whether the works are much read at first hand or not, rank as leaders of thought, — as "the born seers, men who see for themselves and who originate." That the roll of such names should be headed by Homer, jEschylus, Dante, Shakespeare, Milton, ranking by the side of great creative thinkers, Plato, Aristotle, Bacon, Newton, Darwin, does not shut out the lowlier names, of those who can by some creative stroke open a new tract of thought or imagination; Anthony TroUope, who added a, new shire to England, is in his way a worker in this line. Q2jThe invention which, taking the great thoughts that in tKeir original form may have been too massive or too concen- trated for the general mind, works these out interpretatively into plainness and lucid order, may be called the organizing invention. The products of this kind of work may or may not seem to the inventor original ; but as it centres in making things clear and plain, it is mainly in the organism, the elucidation, that the originality consists. And if this is not the greatest or most permanent work, it is the most widely useful ; it serves its own generation, if not the next, in responding to great movements of thought and giving them wider currency and diffusion. In its grades of usefulness, too, it may show all degrees, from a masterly body of proportioned and illus- 396 INVENTION IN ITS ELEMENTS. trated thought to a masterly handling of tabulated views and statistics. Note. — The thinking that at beginning found few who were able to compass it, as for instance the great theories of Newton and Darwin, becomes common schoolboy property in the age succeeding ; the great movements of research and philosophy get eventual access to the common mind; and this by the work of lecturers, orators, writers of text-books, treatises, and monographs, — men whose faculty is clearness of sight and lucid balance of thinking. These are abilities to which in some degree every one may aspire. And the exercise of some such faculty of common- sense invention is what is called for in the great bulk of casual papers that ordinary men have occasion to write. II. THE SUPPORT FROM SELF-CULTURE. J Apprenticeship to any art goes deeper than learning the use of tools and methods of work. The worker's whole mental attitude must become habituated to the spirit of his pursuit. The carpenter evolves a carpenter mind ; the musical composer moves in an atmosphere of musical thought ; the painter sees schemes of color and pictorial combination everywhere. In the great field of literature, too, this is so. There must be evolved the literary mind, conscious of its high calling, and with all its faculties united and concentrated on the large art of expression. This is more than being expert in knacks and methods ; it is a dominating current of life ; it has to be fed and supported by systematic self-culture. At this point a disadvantage of our work has to be noted and allowed for. In the period while the text-book is studied, this self-culture can only be pointed out, or at most begun. What is to be said about it, therefore, must look mostly to the future. The college course is too brief and crowded, and too early placed in life, for the student to establish that controlling inventive and literary current which is essential. Experience of life, the grip of problems and events at first hand, is want- APPROACHES TO INVENTION. 397 ing. Besides, the whole temper and attitude of undergraduate study is in the direction of taking in truth, rather than of giving it out in individual mintage and conviction. Yet this latter is the very essence of invention. The writer, in his chosen line, must lead, must teach, must guide, must take the initiative ; and to this the prevailing bent of his being must be trained.' To accomplish this in school days is uphill work, not to say impossible. The most that can be done here is to point out the way, and suggest a line of self-culture which may some day be vital. The following aspects of self-culture are here treated not for their importance in themselves, though this is reail and great, but for their relation to literary invention. The Spirit of Observation This, as aipplied to the world in general, outer and inner, is practically identical with what is called the scientific spirit. It is the spirit that appreciates and appropriates facts, just as they are ; first of all by the keen and accurate use of the senses, the fundamental means of gathering truth. But the same spirit is also quick to see the relations of facts, the vitalizing of facts into truths ; it is as keen to gather material from life as from nature, from books as from life. So what we here define is the scientific spirit in the large sense, with all the enthusiasm, the sense of values, the accuracy, the verifying caution, that characterize the born observer. Everything thus gathered has its uses in the fabric of literary presentation ; but, what is of more import- ance, the habit of keeping mind and senses open to facts keeps the mind open to activity, to self-reliant energy, to origination. 1 " The first duty of any man who is to write is intellectual. Designedly or not, he has so far set himself up for a leader of the minds of men ; and he must see that his own mind is kept supple, charitable, and bright." — Stevenson, The Morality of the ProfessioK. of Letters, Works, Vol. xxii, p. 283. 398 INVENTION IN ITS ELEMENTS. The following aspects of this spirit of observation lie near- est to, and are the greatest supports of, invention. Alertness of Mind. — The beginning of the observing spirit is nothing difficult or profound ; it is simply being awake, being interested ; and that means letting the mind, the active, curious, discriminative thought, be at work behind the eye in what is seen. By its attitude of interrogation and ready welcome of facts the mind sets up a vitalizing energy which is the first impulse to luminous and ordered use of knowledge.^ Every one has his own sphere in which his mind is alert' Whatever pertains to his own pursuit or calling, for instance, has immediate appeal to him, so that he becomes an expert observer therein ; the mechanic in evidences of manual skill, the farmer in soils and crops, the general in topography and strategic points. Every new interest, too, creates its province of specialized observation and keenness ; witness, for instance, how soon a bicyclist acquires an expert knowledge of roads, and an amateur photographer of effective points of view. What these limited examples suggest applies, in a degree bounded only by the writer's breadth of mind, to the un- limited field of literature. It is the motive of his calling to make use of a universal special sense, by which the world is laid under contribution for enriching materials, and through 1 " A faculty of wise interrogating is lialf a Icnowledge. For as Plato saith, 'Whosoever seekoth, knoweth that which he seeketh for in a general notion; else how shall he know it when he hath found it ? ' And therefore the larger your Antici- pation is, the more direct and compendious is your search." — Bacon, Advance- ment of Learnings Book ii, p. 271. — " When I speak of a waiting mind, I do not mean a non-affirmative, non-energized, Mr. Micawber sort of mind, waiting for some- thing to turn up, but a mind intent, a mind that goes to its windows and looks out and longs, and thrusts forth its telescope to find something. A mind thus intense, investigatory, and practically beseeching, amounts to a tremendous loadstone in the midst of the full-stocked creation — full-stocked with the materials of thought — and when this or that comes into the windows of such a mind it is stamped by that mind, and specialized to its uses, with a threefold vigor, and all the incomes thus explicitly stamped are the more explicitly germane to each other, and visibly of one species." — Burton, Yak Lectures, p. 50. APPROACHES TO INVENTION. 399 which the rudimentary work of invention, the finding of the germs of new ideas, gets itself done without effort. Diversity of Interest Not only to be mentally alert, but to be alert to a great variety of things, to have the percep- tions trained in many lines of observation, to be not narrow and partial but having a wide horizon of outlook and taste, — this is where the literary observation is called upon to go beyond the scientific. It thus becomes a perception at once specialized, in its keen penetrativeness, and universal, in its readiness to weigh new elements of the problem and make fair allowance for new points of view.^ Following are some of the good results of this diversity of interest, in forming the literary temperament. 1. To have an eye for many and various kinds of fact is equivalent to having a mastery of so many points and angles of view ; and this mastery greatly deepens and enriches any single aspect of things. For no fact is isolated, no truth is known as it is until its relation with its whole realm of truth is understood. The interests of specialization itself, of getting a true comprehension of any one fact, demand that the power to observe and sympathize be varied and liberal.^ 2. To cultivate diversity of view is to cultivate the ability to see through many men's eyes ; and this, whatever it may 1 Of an eminent master in eloquence and letters this is said : " He habitually fed himself with any kind of knowledge which was at hand. If books were at his elbow, he read them ; if pictures, engravings, gems were within reach, he studied them ; if nature was within walking distance, he watched nature ; if men were about him, he learned the secrets of their temperaments, tastes, and skills ; if he were on shipboard, he knew the dialect of the vessel in the briefest possible time; if he travelled by stage, he sat with the driver and learned all about the route, the country, the people, and the art of his companion ; if he had a spare hour in a village in which there was a manufactory, he went through it with keen eyes and learned the mechanical processes used in it." ■ — Mabie, Essays on Books and Culture^ p. 27. 2 " Everything but prejudice should find a voice through him ; he should see the good in all things ; where he has even a fear that he does not wholly understand, there he should be wholly silent ; and he should recognize from the first that he has only one tool in his workshop, and that tool is sympathy." — Stevenson, The Morality of the Profession of Letters^ Works, Vol. xxii, p. 283. 400 INVENTION IN ITS ELEMENTS. do for science, is essential to literature, which by its funda- mental genius exists for no one class but for all. It is only on one side that invention looks toward its subject ; the other side, looking toward readers, must take such measures of cul- ture as will meet and satisfy their varieties of taste and tem- perament. This is a matter not only of education but of literary conscience. 3. To have a varied and flexible view is to have such con- trol over one's judgments of things that the ground of esti- mate is not likes and dislikes, not any form of prejudice, but a recognition of what is intrinsic in each. It is thus that the literary observer learns trustworthy discrimination ; he likes what is likable, in men and things, and makes just allow- ance whether he likes or not. A tolerant spirit this ; some- times mistaken for a spirit too weakly swayed by some new idea or fashion ; but in truth it does not imperil, rather it greatly promotes while it deeply grounds, a tempered posi- tiveness of judgment.^ The Verifying Spirit. — In literature as truly as in science, the observation of fact, by which we mean in the large sense getting at the real truth of things, has to be made not more in the glow of discovery than in the spirit of caution. At every step results need to be tested and questioned, held back for verification or change, until the forward step can be taken in full certitude. This applies equally to the fact observed and to the way of relating or expressing it. It is merely giv- ■ 1 " Cultivate universality of taste. There is no surer mark of a half-educated mind than the incapacity of admiring various forms of excellence. Men who cannot praise Dryden without dispraising Coleridge ; nor feel the stern, earthly truthfulness of Crabbe without disparaging the wild, ethereal, impalpable music of Shelley ; nor exalt Spenser except by sneering at Tennyson, are precisely the persons to whom it should in consistency seem strange that in God's world there is a place for the eagle and the wren, a separate grace to the swan and the humming-bird, their own fragrance to the cedar and the violet. Enlarge your tastes, that you may enlarge your hearts as well as your pleasures ; feel all that is beautiful — love all that is good." — Robertson, Lectures and Addresses^ p, 797. APPROACHES TO INVENTION. 401 ing the control to the sturdy principle, Be sure you are right. This engenders a habit of self-rectification, of keeping one's head in the rush and onset of utterance, of falling back on sound sense and the plain appearance of things, which in the , long run is the one guarantee of solid and surviving literary work. In somewhat greater detail we may note here the following good effects of this verifying spirit. 1. It tempers and regulates the constructive faculty. In the glow of discussion or creativeness a writer is often tempted to say a thing not because it is true but because it is striking. The observation has been made, and the result looks plausible, but it has not been subjected to the necessary verification. The writer thus, whether his thought is correct or not, is primarily seeking not to make a truth prevail but to gain attention to a performance, or perhaps to fill out an ingenious plan ; and this motive of work, sooner or later, is sure to work harm. With the verifying impulse in control, however, the solid basis of appeal is the established fact ; and what- ever freedom of plan or utterance there is — and the impulse, rightly employed, is no check to this — obeys the fact as a structural and emotional law. 2. It keeps the work clQse to the first-hand and common- sense view of things, the natural color. Learning has a way, unless regulated by the touch of earth, of piling itself up in pedantic, bookish, top-heavy systems remote from human in- terests. It is a tendency to be guarded against in all special- ized study. The corrective to this the verifying spirit has a large hand in supplying ; for its appeal is not more to the highly sublimated than to the every-day and universal observ- ing powers.' 1 " We heard Webster once, in a sentence and a look, crush an hour's argument of the curious workman ; it was most intellectually wire-drawn and hair-splitting, with Grecian sophistry, and a subtlety the Leontine Gorgias might have envied. It 402 INVENTION IN ITS ELEMENTS. 3. It creates the valuable ability to hold judgments in abeyance, to tolerate uncertainty on subjects wherein verifi- cation is not possible. The merit of youthful thinkers is vigor and directness ; their fault, to be overcome by ripening and deepening judgment, is rash and one-sided conclusion, made on insufficient ground. To such minds it is a pain, and seems a sin, to be in want of decision or of definite opinions ; it seems to indicate weakness and vacillation. But there are occasions where just this incertitude is strength ; because there are questions that cannot be settled by the first look of things, or perhaps cannot be settled at all. The verifying, patient, testing spirit is tolerant of such questions and waits for the grounded answer, or failing this, is not afraid to say, I do not know.' II. Habits of Meditation The ability to think out the design of an individual work of literature is based upon a previous training, deep and long continued, wherein the writer's mind has become disposed and steadied to that kind of work. The name we give to this deeper and habitual mental activity is meditation; meaning thereby not only concentrated thought was about two car-wheels, which to common eyes looked as like as two eggs ; but Mr. Choate, by a fine line of argument between tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee, and a discourse on the ' fixation of points ' so deep and fine as to lose itself in obscurity, showed the jury there was a heaven-wide difference between them. ' But,' said Mr. Webster, and his great eyes opened wide and black, as he stared at the big twin wheels before him, 'Gentlemen of the jury, there they are, — look at 'em'; and as he pronounced this answer, in tones of vast volume, the distorted wheels seemed to shrink back again into their original similarity, and the long argument on the 'fixation of points' died a natural death." — Parker, Golden Age of American Oratory^ p. 221. 1 " During this training in accurate observation, the youth should learn how hard it is to determine with certainty even an apparently simple fact. He should learn to distrust the evidence of his own senses, to repeat, corroborate, and verify his observa- tions, and to mark the profound distinction between the fact and any inference, how- ever obvious, from the fact."— Eliot, American Contributions to Civilization, p. 215. APPROACHES TO INVENTION. 403 but along with it a deliberate continuance of application until the subject has assumed a seasoned form and order in the mind. It may be called, in a word, the trained power of letting a thought grow. Meditation is just the opposite of revery, with which superficial thinking sometimes confounds it. In revery the mind, being passive, does not direct its course of thinking but is borne on vaguely by it. In medi- tation, while the course of thinking seems to be, and is, fol- lowing its own evolution, the mind, intensely active, is all the while working it out in ordered process. The power to do this has to be developed by self-culture, until the mind which to begin with was wayward and unsure, or more or less the prey of revery, has acquired by degrees a firm grasp,, a penetrative and concentrative insight, a general sense of mastery over its workings. Meditation, when itself a habit, has at its basis certain elemental habits which become a kind of exaction or necessity of the thinking mind. The following are the most practically operative of these. The Habit of seeking Clearness. — It is often remarked that the first presentation of a subject to the writer's thought is apt to be cloudy ; a vague idea which must gradually be worked from haziness to clearness. This plight of the sub- ject, at whatever stage of meditation, is by no means a neces- sity. The gist of the whole matter may flash upon the mind at once ; and if the mind has formed a habit of seeking clear- ness it will. By this is meant a habit, applied to every acquisition of thought as it comes, of patiently thinking away its indistinctness and intricacy until its central significance stands out plain. The neglect to do this in any case does just so much to fasten a vague tendency on the mind. The stern holding one's self to it in every case does so much to make the effort superfluous ; it establishes the exaction of clear thinking as a second nature. And when this is so it is 404 INVENTION IN ITS ELEMENTS. increasingly the fact that subjects of thought come to mind not cloudily but in clear-cut nucleus and outline. One good effect of this habit is to keep the writer from being content with hasty or ill-considered work. The de- mand for clearness becomes to him a kind of conscience, for- bidding him either to let his own mind be imposed upon by a show of profundity in the subject, or to let any half-ripened work leave his hands. It forbids lazy or sloppy or hurried thinking. A second good effect of this habit is to keep the writer from attacking subjects that are beyond him. This is a fre- quently noted tendency of young writers. Easily carried away by the surface-ideas of a great subject, they soon find themselves committed beyond their depth, and all they can do is merely to retail truisms. The grounded resolve to be clear, to subject every thought rigorously to the test of plain- ness, does much to keep thinkers in their own sphere.^ The Habit of seeking Order. — ■ This is correlative to the habit just mentioned ; being a distributive act while the other is concentrative. That is, it seeks to view subjects analytic- ally ; determining their parts and dependencies, noting what is principal and what subordinate, seeing them in a kind of perspective, wherein effect stretches out from cause and con- crete details from central principles. This ability, like the other, has to be developed from individual effort to habit, by being applied to all subjects of thought, and not merely to the themes on which one is to write. And when by habit the mind is thoroughly set to tolerate no disorder, every subject that comes falls into spontaneous order, and all collateral thought, and memorized experience, and reading even the most casual, ranges in relation with it. 1 A suggestive indication of a clear-seeking mind is tlie note appended to Mil- ton's unfinished poem on The Passion ; " This subject the Author finding to be above the years he had when he wrote it, and nothing satisfied with what was begun, left it unfinished." APPROACHES TO INVENTION. 40S Of good effects of this habit, one is, that the planning of material becomes less and less a drudgery or a seeming arbi- trary process, and more and more a natural growth, wherein both the subject and the organizing mind are following the lines of their own self-movement. Not that planning becomes less work ; it is likelier to be more ; but the work is deeper and more central, less like shallow ingenuity, more like a necessary evolution.' A second good result of this habit, is that the writer is thus guarded against the superficial tendencies of rapid writing. Rapid composition is not necessarily shallow, any more than careful and labored authorship is ipso facto thorough. Both qualities are really qualities not of the composition but of the mind. It is the trained intellect, intolerant of distorted or dislocated thought, that contributes most to permanent and satisfying work. With this antecedent culture once established the ability to write rapidly, which is easily enough acquired, has a sound basis to build upon, while its bad tendencies are forestalled and avoided. The Habit of seeking Independent Conclusions. — This habit it is which is the foundation of originality in writing. It may not lead to better views of truth than are already extant ; it may not lead to new conclusions, in the absolute sense ; its virtue is that by it the writer does his own thinking and reaches his own conclusion. Whatever he gives to the world has become, for him, a discovery ; it is vitalized by his mind, and takes form according to his vision and personality. This, and not the absolute new, is what is meant by origi- 1 Of the essay whose plan is studied below, p. 438, the author writes : " My lit- erary and critical essays are by-products of my desk, written for the most part to ease the strain of my regular and, so to say, professional writing. They are, there- fore, not thought out by plan before being composed, but form themselves under my hand as I turn and return to them from time to time; I am the more pleased that this one should turn out to possess something so nearly like a systematic plan." Private letter frow. Professor IVoodrow Wilson. 406 INVENTION IN ITS ELEMENTS. nality ; this, as an energizing attitude of mind, is the writer's justification for approaching the subject at all. An accompaniment of this habit, and a result, may here be noted. Along with this habit the writer needs to develop confi- dence in his own well-considered conclusions. This is very hard for young writers. They are too timid to strike out for themselves, and are influenced out of or into any view by the last article they have read. A modesty not unbecoming in those who are just beginning to think ; it is, however, so far to be overcome that the writer shall have a well-grounded view of his own which he cannot lay aside for any man's assertion. To have such confidence is not necessarily to be opinionated or to fail of deference to others ; it is simply to trust, as the thing he knows best, in the integrity of his own mind's working. The result of this habit and of its attendant confidence is that one's work carries the note of conviction and authority, and this not a seeming but real. It may contain a view identical with another author's, yet not be an echo or a copy ; it. may use the results of reading, yet be so digested and vitalized .that all is transformed into a new product. The new personality, the new individual range and color, give it value ; and this is the birthright of every one who thinks and writes.'^ Avails of Sub-Conscious Mental Action Given a mind trained as above described, with 'habits steadied to trusty and per- 1 " I insist upon original effort ; tliat, rather than reading to begin with, for another reason. In every mental act there are two factors involved : the thinking mind, and the external materials which it manipulates ; and men may l>e classified as original and productive thinkers, or as copyists, plagiarists, and forms of echo, according as they dominate this their material or are dominated by it. But tlie most ignominious person in all the world, if so that he have one remaining spark, or last flicker, of manliness in him, desires to be a man of supreme generative force and not an echo ever j and this he can secure only as in the handling of subjects he thinks with all his might before he reads." —Burton, Yale Lectures, p. 50. APPROACHES TO INVENTION. 407 manent pace, and much may be left, much had better be left, to that strange power which the mind has of working sub- consciously. In many cases when the train of thought is started, instead of punishing the brain to worry out the whole problem, the best way is to leave it to itself, and when next the subject is recalled a remarkable advance and clearing-up will be found to have taken place. This is a phenomenon so normal and constant that writers of experience become aware at what point to lay aside effort and leave their cerebration to itself. To do so is not the same as idling over thought ; it. cannot consist, in fact, with laziness; it is rather a wise division of labor between the conscious and the sub-conscious processes. This is mentioned here not as a curiosity of literary inven- tion, but for its practical value. Writing that has been hur- ried and dashed together, with only the intense and active brain concerned in it, is raw, unripe, unquiet ; writing wherein the avails of the sub-conscious working have been utilized both shows and has a peculiar quality of finish, deep-founded- ness, repose, — this because the whole mind has been engaged on it, and produced a growth rather than a manufacture. It does not pay, then, to hurry the preliminary work of litera- ture; the only result is to leave the deepest half of it undone.^ 1 " Nothing should be done in a hurry- that can be done slowly. It is no use to write a book and put it by for nine or even ninety years ; for in the writing you will have partly convinced yourself ; the delay must precede any beginning ; and if you meditate a work of art, you should first long roll the subject under the tongue to make sure you like the flavor, before you brew a volume that shall taste of it from end to end." — Stevenson, The Morality of the Profession of Letters, Works, Vol. xxii, p. 285. — " Moreover, I had thought I might mention this curious little fact : — that a topic selected on Monday, say, snugged away in the mind, and let alone there, absolutely, for three or four days and nights ; not being brooded and worked over at all, I mean ; on examination at the end of that time, will be found to have sprouted into a very considerable affair — your mind has seen to that unconsciously — you have had nothing to do with it — and (what is stranger still) experience proves (my experience does) that if you had been sound asleep all those four days, some sprouting would have come to pass. Scores of times after I have gone to bed Friday night I have made a little stir in me, and got my next Sunday's sermon 408 INVENTION IN ITS ELEMENTS. Yet on the other hand, this is the very opposite of deserting the subject; rather, the mind, moving all the while in the region and atmosphere of it, has learned the art of what is called mulling, — the deliberate yet deeply active waiting for its own processes to mature. Avails of Casual Topics in Meditation. — Of immense value in all literary invention, but of special advantage to those who have to write statedly and frequently, is the habit of keeping several topics of meditation rounding and ripening at once. The mind, having thus definite centres and rendezvous of thought, disposes of any casual topics that come in its way, and is continually attracting more. Such a habit, which with a little care may be easily formed, endows the writer's whole sphere of observation with greatly increased significance. Whatever he reads, even casually, is almost sure to contain something that either clusters round some nucleus of thought already in his mind, or, no less frequently, establishes a new thought-centre therein. And when the time comes to write, even though it be a pressing emergency, he will not be at loss for subject and seasoned material ; the occasion has been forestalled by his every-day habit of stowing away topics in mind and applying to them his odd moments of thought, observation, and reading. It is merely a question, so to say, of picking the subject that is ripest. III. Ways of Reading The ways of reading here recounted have in view one definite end, invention ; and this not so much any specific method of invention — "reading up," as the phrase is, for some theme — as the general power of invention. decided on, and then on waking Saturday morning have noticed a marked advance in me of that topic — it has swollen — it has put out feelers and drawn in correlative thoughts — very Ukely it is all ready for me to begin writing on." — Burton, Yalt Lectures^ p. 60. APPROACHES TO INVENTION. 409 Reading as a feeder of the originative mind, we may call our subject. As such the reading presupposes and logically follows the mental activities already exerted in the spirit of observation and in habits of meditation ; that is, reading, to be a feeder of invention, must have these as its basis and vitalizer. This is the prime requisite. Creative Reading. — By this phrase, borrowed from Emerson, we may name the way of reading that the writer should cultivate as securing and including all. By it is meant simply that alertness of mind already described,'' applied to books, and set in the direction of invention.^ It is an attitude in reading wherein the mind is at once receiving the matter of the book and active toward giving it out again recoined, reselected, applied to a new product and purpose. It submits to the inventive lines of the author, yet is vigorously engaged on the same subject-matter, following inventive lines of its own, or if adopting his, making them in turn its own property and way of thinking.' This inventive attitude in reading is what distinguishes the scholar from the book-worm, the thinker from the idle absorber of. print. It is the increasing multitude of this latter class of readers that makes the present enormous out- put of literature a doubtful blessing. Reading may easily become a mental dissipation. It is such to the book-worm mind, charged to the brim with printed matter, crammed with undigested loads of book-lore, an insatiable absorber, with 1 See above, p. 398. 2 Here is recalled a remark once made to the present writer by one of his Leipzig teachers, Professor Friedrich Delitzsch. " A German professor," said he in a tone of playful •exaggeration, " never reads a book except with the design of writing another." 8 " One must be an inventor to read well. As the proverb says ' He that would bring home the wealth of the Indies must carry out the wealth of the Indies.' There is then creative reading as well as creative writing. When the mind is braced by labor and invention, the page of whatever book we read becomes luminous with manifold allusion. Every sentence is doubly significant, and the sense of our author is as broad as the world." — Emerson, The American Scholar ^ Works, Vol. i, p. 94. 410 INVENTION IN ITS ELEMENTS. neither impulse nor ability to make its stores useful, a mind inert, benumbed, deadened by unassimilated knowledge. It is such just as deplorably to him whose mental food is books not worth remembering, — vapid fiction and froth of the day, which he reads not to retain but to make a means of killing time. The evil of such books, when one is enslaved to them, is that they kill more than time : they kill the memory, they kill interest in solid matters, they kill all grasp and sharpness of thought. It is this kind of reading to which we are here concerned to enforce a contrast. This inventive attitude — the mind active superseding the mind passive, — while it is indispensable to the writer, is of untold value to all who read. If it does not produce new books, it gives the reading itself infinitely more worth, by weaving it in with living thought. And it is the scholar's special privilege to make this attitude so thoroughly a second nature that the creative bent may invigorate all his reading, however rapidly or even cursorily it is carried on, or for whatever purpose. That is what his scholarly mind is given to him for ; that is the true object of culture.^ Three ways of creative reading may here be specified. They are suggested by the following familiar passage from Bacon : " Some Bookes are to be Tasted, Others to^ be Swal- lowed, and Some Few to be Chewed and Digested: That is, some Bookes are to be read onely in Parts ; Others to be read but not Curiously ; And some Few to be read wholly, and 1 " Books are the best of things, well used ; abused, among the worst. What is the right use ? What is the one end which all means go to effect .' They are for nothing but to inspire. I had better never see a book than to be wafped by its attraction clean out of my own orbit, and made a satellite instead of a system. The one thing in the world, of value, is the active soul. This every man is entitled to ; this every man contains within him, although in almost all men obstructed, and as yet unborn. The soul active sees absolute truth and utters truth, or creates. In this action it is genius ; not the privilege of here and there a favorite, but the sound estate of every man." — Emerson, The American Scholar, Works, Vol. i, p. 91. • APPROACHES TO INVENTION. 411 with Diligence and Attention." ' Let us take up these sug- gestions in inverse order. I. Reading for Discipline. — This is mentioned first, because it is the practical means, so far as external culture can do it, of inducing that creative current in the mind which is neces- sary to make any way of reading effective. As the object implies, it is reading carried on as a habit and self-culture ; reading pursued with the express purpose of feeding and stimulating inventive power. If the question rises, Why read for discipline ? the answer is suggested, not dimly, by a consideration of the two objects that in our day govern wellnigh the whole field of general reading. Men read either for information, as represented by the newspaper, or for pastime, as represented by current fic- tion ; and in both cases not only is the manner of reading rapid and cursory but the matter ordinarily provided is such as bids for such perusal, — light in ' weight, catchy, and of transient interest. A third way of reading is needed, then, for this if for no other reason : in order to put on the brakes, to stay with a book long enough to get some flavor of culture, to get below those surface points which merely catch a casual attention, to the undercurrents of thought and ideal and inven- tion that have swept in the deep personality, of the author. The question what to read for discipline thus very nearly answers itself. Not the superficial but the searching books, the works of creative invention and of great men ; more especially the books that are recognized as the great master- pieces and vital springs of literature. Not many such books, but few, and one at a time ; not necessarily or preferably bulky books, but those wherein much is said, and especially much large personality revealed, in little space.^ The specific 1 Bacon, Essay Of Studies. 2 It was literature of this fibre tliat Milton had in mind, literature such as he himself would create, when in his Areopagitica he wrote : " For Books are not abso- lutely dead things, but doe contain a potencie of life in them to be as active as that 412 INVENTION IN ITS ELEMENTS. books of this sort must be left for the reader's peculiar bent to find ; in the broad field of our seasoned and classical litera- ture the choice is large. That it is real — that large disci- plinary and quickening value exists in works of this sort — is shown by the way the English Bible, and Shakespeare, and Dante, and Milton, to say nothing of more modern writers, have reverberated through our literature, moulding and steady- ing generations of thought and style. The answer to the question how to read for discipline falls into line with the rest. When you have chosen a work that rises out of the centre of a deep life, read until you are in possession of its inner secret. That is what disciplinary reading amounts to ; the method is but devising detailed means to this. Read both rapidly, to get the grand sweep of it, and with slow studiousness, to resolve phrase and allusion, and to fathom the involvements of thought and imagination. Read analytically, until all is resolved into its elements ; read synthetically, until all the elements are vitally joined again ; read so many times that the spirit and substance of the work become a part of your own mind's tissue. And the result will be that the writer's power of invention will to some de- gree be infused into you ; having submitted thoroughly to his mind's working, you will find your own mind braced and stimu- lated to work inventively. This is the true meaning of read- ing for culture, so much talked of. Few pursue it far enough, or patiently enough, to know what is in it ; but for those who do, it is worth all the time and meditation devoted to it. The question when to read for discipline must not be dis- missed as unimportant. For the thinker and writer such read- ing should be the custom and habit of every day. It has thus something of the nutritive power of daily food. By authors soule was whose progeny they are ; nay they do preserve as in a violl the purest efficacie and extraction of that living intellect that bred them. ... A good Booke is the pretious life-blood of a master spirit, imbalm'd and treasur'd up on purpose to a life beyond life." APPROACHES TO INVENTION. 413 ancient and modern it has been pursued especially as a means of giving the mind tone and glow preparatory to composition. A short season of meditation over the pages of some con- genial author serves to transport the reader, as it were, into the literary atmosphere, wherein his mind begins, by the discipline it has imbibed, to strike out inventive lines for itself.i 2. Compendious Reading This way of reading, for which in our studious age there is great occasion, has in view the rapid gaining of large and general masses of information, the mastery of whole books and whole tracts of theory or story, as a kind of background or setting for the writer's own more restricted department of work. It supplies the kind of all- round culture that Bacon had in mind when he said, " Read- ing maketh a full man." The books that are thus read rapidly and in the large are the practical treatises : history, science, philosophy, criticism, as also travels and descriptive works, and for a less strenuous object, works of fiction. Such books leave in the reader's mind a large survey of their subject-matter ; they represent the basis of liberal information to which his specialty of study is more or less intimately related and by which it is oriented. Rapid reading can be done well only by an alert and quickened mind ; and this is most practically secured by a previous thorough habituation to disciplinary reading. Let 1 " Let it be added . . . that the method in question is supported by the practice of many eminent authors. Voltaire used to read Massillon as a stimulus to pro- duction. Bossuet read Homer for the same ■ purpose. Gray read Spenser's Fairie Queene as the preliminary to the use of his pen. The favorites of Milton were Homer and Euripides. Fenelon resorted to the ancient classics promiscuously. Pope read Dryden as his habitual aid to composing. Corneille read Tacitus and Livy. Clarendon did the same. Sir William Jones, on his passage to India, planned five different volumes, and assigned to each the author he resolved to read as a guide and an awakener to his own mind for its work. Buff on made the same use of the works of Sir Isaac Newton. With great variety of tastes, successful authors have generally agreed in availing themselves of this natural and facile method of educating their minds to the work of original creation." — Phelps, Men and Books, P- 303- 414 INVENTION IN ITS ELEMENTS. the mind become fully accustomed to noting the finer and deeper elements, and compendious reading, instead of being the surface skimming that such reading too generally is, will yield much of its depth at a glance. This is an accomplish- ment well worth working for. As thus trained for, compendious reading, more specifically defined, is the application of the acquired ability to steer the mind, in reading, straight from or through details and color- ing to the central current of thought. It requires, as it also progressively develops, first, grasp of the vital thread of dis- course ; secondly, an instinctive discrimination between what is principal and what subordinate, so that in the idea retained each may assume its fitting rank and emphasis; and thirdly, ability to think in the large, to range by a kind of interpre- tative imagination over the whole field at once and realize its relations and perspectives. All this, needless to say, does not come of itself ; it is the result of a self-discipline as specific as language or mathematics.' The grand practical object for the writer, in thus reading compendiously, is the large effect it has upon his own inven- tive work. Whatever his immediate task, he should read 1 The previous discipline, the studious basis, is here insisted on because without it rapid and compendious reading is a source of harm rather than good. It may he- come only another form of that mental dissipation already described on page 409. De Quincey thus analyzes its effect : " An evil of modern growth is met by a modern remedy. Every man gradually learns an art of catching at the leading words, and the cardinal or hinge-joints of transition, which proclaim the general course of a writer's speculation. Now it is very true, and is sure to be objected — that, where so much is certain to prove mere iteration and teasing tautology, little can be lost by this or any other process of abridgment. Certainly, as regards the particular sub- ject concerned, there may be no room to apprehend a serious injury. Not there, not in any direct interest, but in a far larger interest — indirect for the moment, but the most direct and absolute of all interests for an intellectual being, the reader suffers a permanent debilitation. He acquires a factitious propensity, he forms an incorrigible habit of desultory reading. Now, to say of a man's knowledge that it will be shal- low or (which is worse than shallow) will be erroneous and insecure in its founda- tions, is to say little of such a habit : it is by reaction upon a man's faculties, it is by the effects reflected upon his judging and reasoning powers, that loose habits of reading tell eventually. And these are durable effects. Even as respects the minor APPROACHES TO INVENTION. 41S more broadly and deeply than the subject in hand calls for. Too many when thus it is their duty to read up for a subject, read-, so to say, merely from hand to mouth, — that is, only so far as is to be utilized for immediate reproduction. Such reading is sure to betray itself ; it is undigested and crude. Besides, the custom is narrowing, fatal to originality, and pre- cludes improvement. By reading always broadly and deeply, the writer masters not only his immediate subject, but such an ample sphere of thought and fact as contains the material and suggestion of many allied subjects. The value of such broad reading, as compared with the more restricted way, is twofold. First, the immediate subject is better understood and more satisfactorily presented, when in the work of research its whole department of thought, with its limits and relations, has been studied. Although only one small aspect may be given, what is presented takes a depth and color due to the writer's knowledge of its connections with more comprehensive thought ; there is a pervading sense of reserve power and fulness. Secondly, by reading beyond and below each subject the writer stores and stimulates his mind for future work. He is taking measures to maintain a reserve of resources. There is thus no danger of his writing himself out, because the fountain, though drawn from continu- ally, is kept full by the very preparation for drawing ; while the depth and quality of his knowledge improve steadily with use. His literary work is thus made a liberal education. 3. Reading by Topics. — This is reading with your own theme in mind to control ; the theme serving as a loadstone purpose of information, better it is, by a thousandfold, to have read threescore of books (chosen judiciously) with severe attention, than to have raced through the library of the Vatican at a newspaper pace. But, as respects the final habits acquired, habits of thinking coherently, and of judging soundly — better that a man should not have read one line throughout his life, than have travelled through the journals of Europe by this random process of ' reading short.' " ^ De Quincey, Essay on Style, Works, Vol. iv, p. 209. 416 INVENTION IN ITS ELEMENTS. to attract congenial material, and as a sieve to select or leave. The material thus gathered seasons and strengthens your own thinking, and fills up the gaps. Of its utility in the general outfit of a writer, there can be of course no question. The books that require such consultation by topics are the works of exhaustive research, yet whose subject-matter is more in the form of materials for literature than the finished literature itself ; such are specialized treatises, reports, docu- ments, and in general the original sources of minute and thorough information. To read such works through would be a positive disadvantage, to say nothing of the labor. Their subject-matter is in too diffuse and chaotic form for that. They are therefore merely to be interrogated on those par- ticular points which in other reading, or in the process of thought, have revealed themselves as in need of greater ful- ness or corroboration. The art of reading by topics is the art of finding what one wants, and disentangling it, and letting the rest go. A simple seeming process this, yet requiring a mind very sharply trained and intensely directed. It calls for the possession, first, of a defined idea of what is wanted ; secondly, a swift instinct to select out what will serve your purpose ; and thirdly, quickness to expand suggestions, turns of phrase, hints, implications. It is but one more application of the sharpness of mind engendered by disciplinary reading and meditation, the habit of ready and accurate analysis.^ 1 " I have been surprised many times, after I have diligently gestated a subject myself and then have started out into my library for the say-so of other men on that subject, to notice not merely in what a lightsome and expert way I handled them, but also in what a swift facility I utilized their many volumes; — sometimes one glance will answer — and if I encounter a book wherein the entfre subject is opened out profoundly and in a complete treatment, considerable portions of tlie book I catch up with a touch and go, and the denser parts cannot very long delay me. This sounds boastful, but it is not. Almost any man may make the experiment for himself. And I advise you all to make it — and to keep making it so long as you live." — Burton, Yale Lectures, p. 51. APPROACHES TO INVENTION. 417 The man who reads by topics has an eye for the make-up of books. From an index, or table of contents, or preface, he can guide himself unerringly to the main or minor point that gives the consultation present significance. He comes natur- ally, by this ability, to have touch with bibliographical matters, to know what is reputable in book-making, to have acquaint- ance with publishers and their specialties, to discriminate between the authoritative and the second-hand in authorship. In addition to the knowledge he already possesses he comes insensibly to be aware where knowledge is to be looked for and found.'^ He is at home in a library, and can accumulate rapid information from a large number of books as easily as from one. Books, in short, become his companions and familiar friends. IV. Disposal of Results. — As one's meditation and reading become more quickened by the inventive spirit, some method of preserving results is naturally sought. This leads to the taking of notes, the devising of indexes for reference, the pre- serving of cuttings, the keeping of commonplace books, and the like. The tendency to such things, and the ability to carry on a system once adopted or to profit by what is thus 1 " No sooner had we made our bow to Mr. Cambridge, in his library, than John- son ran eagerly to one side of the room, intent on poring over the backs of the books. Sir Joshua observed, (aside), ' He runs to the books, as I do to the pictures : but I have the advantage. I can see much more of the pictures than he can of the books.' Mr. Cambridge, upon this, politely said, ' Dr. Johnson, I am going, with your pardon, to accuse myself, for I have the same custom which I perceive you have. But it seems odd that one should have such a desire to look at the backs of books.' John- son, ever ready for contest, instantly started from his reverie, wheeled about, and answered, ' Sir, the reason is very plain. Knowledge is of two kinds. We know a subject ourselves, or we know where we can iind information upon it. When we enquire into any subject, the first thing we have to do is to know what books have treated of it. This leads us to look at catalogues, and the backs of books in libra- ries.' " — BosWELL, Life of Johnson (G. B. Hill's edition), Vol. ii, p. 417. 418 INVENTION IN ITS ELEMENTS. preserved, is so largely a matter of temperament that nothing whatever can be prescribed for all. Some read and meditate for immediate use, and carry their stores of information in more or less digested form in memory. Others trust much to accumulated materials and to systematic storing. As in style and planning, so here, every one must evolve his own best way, from his powers and habits of mind. Some practical remarks may, however, here be given, espe- cially to indicate the relation of these customs to invention. Taking Notes. — Two objects, in the main, are had in view in the taking of notes : the recording of suggestions that come to one's own mind at times when finished composition is not practicable ; and the securing, in abstract or in par- ticular data, of material read or heard. This latter material may best be cared for in the same system as are references and citations, to be mentioned presently ; it belongs like them to the unworked data of the writer's mind. The former, the record of one's own thoughts, is of special value as a stimulus and practical support to one's processes of thought ; a tangible means of developing the habit of seeking clearness and order. A note-book may thus be a workshop, where lines of thought have their germination and first shaping, and where currents of obscure meditation run themselves clear. Of course one is continually outgrowing such a record ; but this is one great element of its value, — the inventive mind is thus kept in a state of growth, and has something to outgrow. An important feature of utility in the taking of notes is this : notes should not be heedlessly taken, or consist merely of catchwords. They should have all the finish that the time permits. Then if they are referred to afterward, they will be formed enough to yield their original flavor without painful and doubtful supplementing from memory; and further, the very putting of them down will have marked a step forward in composition. It is doubtful if an original note which does APPROACHES TO INVENTION. 419 not represent the author's best is worth preserving ; doubtful, too, if the inventive ardor will gontinue to attend it if the note-taking evinces less than the high water mark of his "think- ing at the time. References and Citations. — • The keeping of some kind of index rerum, for fugitive notes, references, and citations, is sure to commend itself at some time in a writer's career; and not unlikely many starts and failures may be made before the writer finds his most practicable method. This perhaps can- not well be avoided, nor is it necessarily a reproach. It will probably be found, however, that the method that works best at last is the simplest. To plan for as little machinery as possible has the best promise of success ; even though the plan adopted may be very imperfect, as compared with others advocated. Whatever the system, the success of it depends mainly on the writer's closeness of touch with it. For this reason the kind of material preserved is most fitly such as belongs to the writer's most specialized sphere of study, the kind of fact and truth with which his mind is most constantly occupied. Commonplace books, on account of the labor of transcrib- ing passages, are much more liable than any other undertaking to be discontinued. The same value attaches to them as to indices rerum ; there is the necessity also of keeping in touch with them, — in fact, more good comes, probably from the making of them than from their contents when they are made. For this reason no one can make a commonplace book for another ; it must have something of the personal quality of a journal intime. Like a note-book, a commonplace book is speedily outgrown ; but likewise it may when wisely used be made a practical instrument. Its value consists in keeping one's readings vital ; and this is undeniably great. CHAPTER XIII. /' THE COMPOSITION AS A ^WHOLE. Before entering upon the discussion of the specific forms that invention may adopt in literary discourse, we need to. note the typical framework, or inventive system, that, with whatever modifications, exists under all forms. The principle of this has already been anticipated on the smaller scale of the single paragraph '^; it remains here to consider the prob- lems and procedures that come into view when the field of operations is broader. In two opposite directions invention, as a devising act, works to bring its design to pass. It is first concentrative ; it thinks its material inward to one controlling, comprehensive proposition, which we call the theme. Then, secondly, it is distributive : from this theme as a centre it thinks outward along the various lines and radiations of the thought, — in other words, it makes the outline or plan. So much for the inventive process in its severe narrow sense. But, having proceeded thus far, this same devising activity, still at the work of rounding its design, takes to its aid imagination, emotional glow, and the sense of style, in the finishing process called amplification. Here at last the artistic enterprise is complete ; invention and style, no longer separate, have united in one vital yet ordered product. These three stages of work determine the articulation of" the present chapter. 1 See The Paragraph in Structure, pp. 364 sqq., above. 420 THE COMPOSITION AS A WHOLE. 421 1. THE THEME. Definition.^ The theme, or thesis, which in some form under- lies the structure of every literary work, may be briefly defined asTKe' worlcin^ -iHea of the discourse. As a working-idea, that is, as something to serve for point of departure and nucleus of organism, the theme is not a thing caught up arbitrarily ; it gets its status as the result of a vigor- ous mental process of concentration and packing, reducing what at first was vague and diffused from nebulous to orbic form. When, therefore, it is thus determined, it has derived suggestion from a large tract of thought ; it is, in fact, the whole discourse reduced to one comprehensive proposition. When the body of thought has been called in from its diffused state to this organic centre, and not before, it is in condition for working.^ As related to the Subject. — What is thus concentrated must begin somewhere, must have something to condense. This something from which the theme is derived presents itself to the mind first in that large and unshaped mass of material which we call the subject. The subject, then, may be defined as the materiaLaLjiiS:^ course b efore meditation : the theme as the phrase or propo- sition that represents the material after the first stage of meditation, when the range and bounds of treatment are determined. Subject and theme stand to each other much in the relation of class and individual. The theme is not 1 " To give the phrase, the sentence, the structural member, the entire composition, song, or essay, a similar unity with its subject and with itself: — style is in the right way when it tends toward that. All depends upon the original unity, the vital wholeness and identity, of the initiatory apprehension or view." — Pater, Appreciations, p. 19. 22 INVENTION IN ITS ELEMENTS. . part of the subject, because as an individual it retains all he traits of its class ; rather it is the whole subject turned n a certain determinate direction. Note. — In Cardinal Newman's lecture on Elementary Studies {Idea of University, pp. 355-361 ), there is a very lucid distinction made between what re here called subject and theme. It occurs in a discussion of a student, ssay on Fortes Fortuna Adjuvat (Fortune favors the brave). " Now look lere, the subject [theme] is 'Fortes fortuna adjuvat'; now this is z,propo- itiojz ; it states a certain general principle. . . . ' Fortuna ' was not his sub- ect [theme] ; the thesis was intended to guide him, for his own good. . . . t would have been very cruel to have told a boy to write on ' fortune ' ; it vould have been like asking him his opinion of ' things in general.' For- une is ' good,' ' bad,' ' capricious,' ' unexpected,' ten thousand things all at mce, . . . and one of them as much as the other. Ten thousand things may )e said of it ; give me one of them, and I will write upon it ; I cannot write )n more than one." What this direction, this working thrust of the subject shall 36, may depend on a variety of considerations : its timeliness, tor instance ; its adaptedness to the public for which it is designed and to the occasion and limitations of treatment ; the literary form in which the writer chooses to work, — essay, oration, story, or treatise. Most of all, however, it depends on the special discovery which the writer has made concern- ing the subject. He has come to view it in a certain light, or from a certain point of view ; and the theme is just the accurate formulation, for his own guidance in treatment, of the way the subject looks thus viewed. He recognizes, in other words, that not everything, not every important thing, can be said about any subject. What is said must be rigor- ously selected, both for the occasion and in view of the par- ticulars that belong together. The theme is the principle of selection, put into such form that the writer can use it as a point of departure and mental reference. Thus the theme becomes a point of outlook toward all the divisions of the discourse, and has the life of it all in crystalliza- • THE COMPOSITION AS A WHOLE. 423 tion, while also it determines the scale and the selection that shall control every part. This implies, and ideally requires, so fine a relation, that in a well-invented paper an analysis can condense its various stages back into a theme again, and thus test the unity and mutual consistency of the whole in a single utterance. Examples. — This relation of theme to subject maybe illustrated by taking some standard essays which are well enough planned to bear it, and reducing them to their nucleus thought. 1. Of Macaulay's Essay on History'^ the large subject is obvious: history. So far forth, however, we have no limitation of it, not even enough to fit its form ; it might be a voluminous treatise on universal history ; it might define history in a few paragraphs. A little examination sufiices to show that Macaulay has in mind a treatment suited to the project that he was then beginning to cherish of writing a history ; it is his thought on The Art of Writing History. This restricts the original subject materially, though as thus stated it is rather more properly a subsidiary subject than a developed theme ; it still lacks specific direction. On further study of the essay we find that its whole course conforms to and is controlled by some such proposition as this : The art of writing history, which, BEGINNING ANCIENTLY IN PURE NARRATION, HAS WITH ADVANCING POWER OF GENERALIZATION COME IN MODERN TIMES TO THE OPPOSITE EXTREME OF PURE PHILOSOPHIZING, HAS NEVER YET PRODUCED A PER- FECT MASTERPIECE, NOR CAN IT DO SO, EXCEPT BY BLENDING AND BALANCING THESE TWO ELEMENTS. 2. Professor Woodrow Wilson, writing nearly a lifetime after Macaulay, has written an essay on the same subject. The Art of Writing History, though his title is different,^ — an essay which virtually calls a halt to the extreme reaction against Macaulay's method that prevails in historical presentation. Its controlling proposition is this : History is not a RECORD OF ALL THE FACTS : THAT WERE IMPOSSIBLE. It IS A RECORD 1 Macaulay, Essays, Vol. i, p. 376. ''^ Wilson, The Truth of the Matter^ in Mere Literature and Other Essays^ p. 161. By kind permission of the author I am enabled to illustrate various stages and processes in essay-writing by this essay. The references made to it are : how the plan grew, p. 405, footnote; its theme, p. 423 ; its title, p. 431 ; its plan, p. 439 ; its stages of progress, p. 441 ; its use of an associational law, p. 445 ; its inductive structure, p. 447; its introduction, p. 453; its conclusion, p. 455 ; its transition, p. 457. 424 INVENTION IN ITS ELEMENTS. OF SOME OF THE FACTS, SELECTED FOR THEIR SIGNIFICANCE, AND SET FORTH IN SUCH ORDER AND COMBINATION, WITH SUCH A TOUCH OF REALIZING IMAGINATION, WITH SUCH COLOR AND LIFE, AS SHALL CAUSE THEM, IF POSSIBLE, TO MAKE THE SAME IMPRESSION UPON US THAT THEY MUST HAVE MADE ON THOSE WHO WERE ACTORS IN THE MIDST OF THEM.l 3. John Morley's Essay on Macaulay ^ is a good example of a theme that seizes an occasion ; it was written in 1876, just before the appearance of Trevelyan's biography of Macaulay, for which everybody was looking with keen interest. It was not intended, however, to be at all biographical, but critical; its object was to deal with that very interest which was so in the air. The article states its own object in theme form, thus: "To ask OURSELVES shortly WHAT KIND OF SIGNIFICANCE OR VALUE BELONGS TO Lord Macaulay's achievements, and to what place he has a CLAIM AMONG THE FORCES OF ENGLISH LITERATURE." This restricts the subject to a line of treatment suited to the limits of a review article, and gives it a specific direction. Significance of Theme as deduced. — As thus deduced from the subject, the theme is the result of two opposite mental powers : a large grasp, wherein the writer carries a sense of the whole range of the subject-matter ; and a vigorous concen- trative effort, wherein every line and limitation of thought is represented by some word or shading of expression. The whole formulation, then, presents perhaps the purest occa- sion in the whole discourse for that aspect of clearness called precision ^ ; — an occasion all the purer because the theme is not made up at all with reference to readers but for the guid- ance and steadying of the writer himself. The more minutely accurate this formulation on the part of the writer, the greater the chance of unity, consistency, and non-distraction of effect as the reader receives it. The study to bring all the material under one miniature view has banished whatever is extraneous 1 This statement of the proposition was kindly made, at my request, by the author of the essay. 2 MORLEY, Critical Miscellanies, Vol. i, p. 253. 3 See above, pp. 29 sqq. THE COMPOSITION AS A WHOLE. 425 to present treatment, and laid out the straight road for the thought to travel.' This matter is insisted on here, because so much depends upon it. Thinking to a theme at the outset, and then stick- ing with absolute surrender to it when it is once determined, is the only way to make one's writing accomplish a definite end. Neglect or carelessness in this one matter is the most fruitful cause of slipshod and sloppy writing. The flood of writing that is born and dies, leaving no definite impression on men, is more than all else the result of that haste or indo- lence which will not take the trouble to grasp and follow a theme. Example of the Process of Deduction. — In the following, which is the opening paragraph of a sermon, we see the relation of the text to the theme, and also the whole process of deduction from the narrative of which the text is a part. The whole is provided also with a title. Title : Duty not measured by our own ability.^ Text: Luke ix. 13 — " But he said unto them, Give ye them to eat." " When Christ lays it thus upon his disciples, in that solitary and desert' place, to feed five thousand men, he cannot be ignorant of the utter impossi- bility that they should do it. And when they reply that they have only five loaves and two fishes, though the answer is plainly sufificient, he is nowise diverted from his course by it, but presses directly on in the new order, that they make the people sit down by fifties in a company, and be ready for the proposed repast. Debating in themselves, probably, what can be the use of such a proceeding, when really there is no supply of food to be distributed, they still execute his order. And then when all is made ready, he calls for the five loaves and two fishes, and, having blessed them, begins to break, and says to them — ■ Distribute. Marvellous loaves ! broken, they are not diminished ! distributed, they still remain ! And so returning, again and again, to replenish their baskets, they continue the distribution, till the hungry multitude are all satisfied as in a full supply. In this manner the « 1 As a means of self-discipline in this respect the writer will get no harm from incurring in some degrefe the tendency which Joubert confesses of himself : " If there be a man tormented by the cursed ambition to put a whole book into a page, a whole page into a phrase, and that phrase into a word, I am that man." — Joubert, Thoughts, p. 275. 2 BuSHNELL, Sermons for the New Life, p. 364. 426 INVENTION IN ITS ELEMENTS. original command — Give ye them to eat — is executed to the letter. They have made the people sit down, they have brought the loaves, they have distributed, and he at every step has justified his order, by making their scanty stock as good as a full supply. " This narrative suggests and illustrates the following important prin- ciple — " That men are often, and properly, put under obligation to do that for vifhich they have, in themselves, no present ABILITY." Here the text expresses merely the kernel or lesson of the passage in which it occurs, and its teaching is made clear by a summary of the whole narrative, which summary is concentrated upon the lesson. The example is a more formal deduction of theme than is usual in sermons nowadays ; but the definiteness with which it directs the discourse to one idea is no greater than ought to obtain in every discourse, however the statement of the theme may be concealed. II. As related to Form of Discourse. — No form of disc ourse can dispense with the theme ; it exists and must be carefully determined in all ; Isut in some forms it exists as it were in solution, pervading and coloring the whole, while the purpose of other forms makes necessary a more formal expression of it.^ In general the theme stands out more in proportion as the discourse is more of the brain, the thinking power ; it is more hidden and pervasive as the discourse is more addressed to the imagination or the emotions. This fact leads to three distinctions in themes, as related to form of discourse. I. The diffused or pervading theme belongs predominantly to description and narration. ' Least marked in description, it is perceived through a general congruity of details and style which gradually builds up in the reader's mind one unitary and homogeneous character ; this character, so centrally con- ceived, is the theme. Narration, evolving its idea by means 1 Analogous in this respect to the paragraph, with its different ways of embodying the topic ; see above, p. 359. THE COMPOSITION AS A WHOLE. 427 of concrete events, is working all the while to a large concep- tion of things, — a truth, a moral virtue, a sentiment, which is to survive as a total effect of the whole ; this large con- ception, this total effect, is its theme. In both forms there must be this focus of consistent effect ; else the story or description, cheerfully and briskly as it may move, does not advance but merely marks time. Examples. — i. Of descriptive theme. In giving account of these descriptive themes we may best adopt, perhaps, Stevenson's favorite figure of a key in music. Ruskin's description of St. Mark's, Venice, bewildering as it is in its richness, is thus keyed consistently to the associated thought of variegated, discordant human life.' Stevenson's description of the Oise in flood is keyed to life and turbulence, and all the details harmonize.^ Shakespeare's description of Dover Cliff is keyed to one characteristic, its dizzy height.' Carlyle's description of Silesia is more matter-of-fact, being keyed to such topographicsd characteristics as are needed to explain a military Campaign carried on there.^ 2. Of narrative themes. Balzac's Pire Goriot follows the very palpable theme of paternal love as an overmastering and invincible passion. His Cesar Birotteau follows the idea of simple business integrity which will take no subterfuges of law. Howells, in his Rise of Silas Laffyajn, deals in his way with a very similar theme. Coppee's short story. The Substi- tute, deals with the theme of self-sacrifice.* '2. The expressed theme belongs to exposition and argu- ment, forms of discourse in which the reader is conducted along logical lines, from thought to thought, and so on to a conclusion of all. In exposition, whose business it is to explain things, this theme may be expressed in the form of a phrase or elaborated title, sometimes more fully as the subject- matter is more abstruse. In argumentation the theme is a proposition, something like a resolution for debate, and having 1 RusKiN, Stones of Venice, Vol. ii, p. 70. 2 Stevenson, An Inland Voyage, Works, Vol. xii, p. 59. 3 Shakespeare, King Lear, Act iv, Scene 6. * Carlyle, Frederick the Great, Vol. Iv, p. i. 5 Ten Tales by Francois Coppee, p. 91. 428 INVENTION IN ITS ELEMENTS. a similar object, — to fix an assertion of truth to a definite conclusion. In both cases a careful formulation of the work- ing-idea is necessary, both for writer and for reader. Examples. — i. Of expository themes. In Herbert Spencer's Essay on The Social Organism, the theme is thus given : " That under all its aspects and through all its ramifications, society is a growth and not a manu- facture." 1 Button's Essay on The Spiritual Fatigue of the World begins by a quoted remark on the modern malady of imagination and then says, " Such a malady of imagination there no doubt is, and it shows itself in morbid activity ; but this morbid activity is more often, I believe, the inability to rest which is due to over-fatigue, than the inability to rest which is due to abundance of life, — the restlessness of fever, not the restlessness of overflowing vitality." ^ 2. Of argumentative themes. It is only necessary to call attention to the avowal of principles made in every argument ; as, for instance, in Burke's Speech on Conciliation with America, which sets out, " The propo- sition is Peace. Not Peace through the medium of War ; not Peace, etc. It is Peace sought in the Spirit of Peace ; and laid in principles purely pacific." 2 Or Schurz's speech on General Amnesty, which makes this avowal : " I beg leave to say that I am in favor of general, or, as this word is considered more expressive, universal amnesty, believing, as I do, that the reasons which make it desirable that there should be amnesty granted at all, make it also desirable that the amnesty should be universal."* /3. . A peculiar modification of the theme belongs to oratory, as befitting perhaps the relation of this form of discourse equally to the intellect and to the emotion. As a working- idea for an argument or plea, the theme may either be expressed or more or less diffused ; but in fact this discus- sion of a subject is not the chief unifying principle. What makes it an oration instead of an essay is the fact that rather than a subject it chooses an object, a point to which the conduct and will maybe adjusted; and this object — which 1 Spencer, Essays, p. 147. 2 HuTTOiN, Aspects of Religious and Scientific Thought, p. 17. 8 Burke, Select Works, Vol. i, p. 165. ^ RiNGWALT, American Oratory, p. 94. THE COMPOSITION AS A WHOLE. 429 is generally left unavowed — so absolutely controls the treat- ment that its whole effect may be summed up in an imperative precept or dictate. Example. — Thus, the early preachers said not merely, " The kingdom of heaven is at hand," but " Repent " ; and this imperative was the real upshot of their message> The modern statesman, while he labors to con- vince his audience that this or that view of a public measure is the right one, throws the whole power of his address into the imperative, " Give your allegiance, your influence, your vote to this truth." III. As distinguished from the Title. — The theme is distin- guished from the title as inner from outer. The theme is intended to concentrate the writer's invention ; the title to attract the reader. The theme creates a unity and organism ; the title creates an anticipation. Choosing the title, then, is choosing a name which, whatever else it does, shall make the most truthful and favorable impression possible. Characteristics of the Title. — Three considerations may govern the cEoice of Tiflfe ; all present in each case, but working in various p;;