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 PR 33.P36 
 
 The study of literature, 
 
 3 1924 013 352 046 
 
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 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013352046 
 
THE STUDY OF LITERATURE 
 
THE 
 
 STUDY OF LITERATURE 
 
 By 
 P. H. PEARSON 
 
 Professor of Literature, Bethany College, Lindatorg, Kans, 
 
 Author oj Study Plans in English Literature, 
 
 Literature Questions, Etc, 
 
 CHICAGO 
 A. C. McCLURG & CO. 
 
 1913 
 S 
 
Copyright 
 
 A. C. McClurg & Co. 
 
 1913 
 
 Published October, 1913 
 
 H. F. HALL PRINTING COMPANY, CHICAGO 
 
Dedicated to 
 CHARLES AXEL SMITH 
 
PREFACE 
 
 There are many excellent works that deal with this 
 study, presenting its principles with admirable com- 
 pleteness. The present contribution keeps such princi- 
 ples steadily in view, and attempts to follow them into 
 their specific bearings, to a closer grapple with literary 
 problems as they confront the earnest reader, or as 
 they actually shape themselves in the classroom or the 
 literary club. 
 
 Whatever value these pages may have is largely due 
 to the hours — hours of pleasant memories — passed 
 with classes at Bethany College and at the University 
 of Kansas. The writer is indebted also to the encour- 
 agement received from particular friends, and especially 
 to President Ernst Pihlblad of Bethany College. 
 
 P. H. P. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I Eaiily Literature Studies i 
 
 II Interpretation 13 
 
 III Appreciation 39 
 
 IV Structural Elements 47 
 
 V Literary Elements 61 
 
 VI Methods of Literary Evaluation ... 84 
 
 VII The Study of Prose Forms 107 
 
 VIII " The Deserted Village " 154 
 
 (Hints for Study-Plan) 
 
 IX The Lyric. Milton's "L'Allegro" . . 171 
 
 X How the Action Starts in "King Lear" 195 
 (An Exercise in Appreciation) 
 
 XI Literature in Its Reaction on Life . . 211 
 
 Index 245 
 
The Study of Literature 
 I 
 
 EARLY LITERATURE STUDIES 
 
 In the early decades of the last century, when 
 literature began to make its way into the high-school 
 curriculum, educators soon perceived that, for class- 
 room purposes, it presented unusual problems in re- 
 gard to aims and methods. These problems were first 
 disposed of by applying to this new subject the 
 procedures in vogue in the study of those already es- 
 tablished. From the work in Latin the teacher of 
 literature borrowed many hints for the treatment of 
 English classics. In Chaucer and the early master- 
 pieces a considerable amount of grammar and dic- 
 tionary work was clearly essential. Here, as in Latin, 
 the grammatical relations of words and phrases had 
 to be ascertained. In the hands of certain teachers 
 this phase of the study tended to expand into an in- 
 dependent discipline, with some danger of becoming 
 diverted from purely literary aims; yet so obvious 
 was its practical utility that it seemed warranted 
 even when it went beyond the needs of literary 
 interpretation. 
 
 In the same way the necessity of defining words 
 that were unfamiliar to the pupil led the way to a 
 
 1 
 
2 The Study of Literature 
 
 study of word relationship. This too was seen to have 
 an unmistakable value, for the only way to reach the 
 poetic sentiment in its fullness and richness was by 
 appreciating the poetic treasures stored up in the single 
 words; but a more apparent value was the addition 
 thereby made to the pupil's stock of words and phrases. 
 The intents of literature as a school subject were at 
 first vaguely conceived; hence its etymology and dic- 
 tionary treatment, with its scholarliness, its recitable 
 processes, and its classic prestige, became for a time 
 the main feature of the work. 
 
 Again, the subject of history tended to press the 
 classroom work in literature in still another direction. 
 A masterpiece carries with it much of the spirit of the 
 times under which it was produced. Social, political, 
 and religious movements are reflected in it to such 
 an extent that it becomes an embodiment of material 
 of great value to the historian. With their eyes on 
 these facts, educators saw that the ballads and dramas 
 of the past could supplement the chronicled facts of 
 history. They seemed to hold for a while that one 
 object of literary study was to subserve ends similar 
 to those of history; hence they instituted courses in 
 which the two subjects ran parallel, with considerable 
 identity of purpose. Here, again, the uncertainty of 
 the issues involved was obviously responsible for press- 
 ing literature study in this direction. For, clearly, not 
 only literature, but also other productions of human 
 endeavor coming to us from the past, can be made to 
 
The Study of Literature 3 
 
 yield historic material — painting, sculpture, architec- 
 ture, medicine, weapons, vestments. 
 
 The subject of rhetoric, as was to be expected, gave 
 direction to much of the work done during the tenta- 
 tive stage. The units of composition explained and 
 named in rhetoric were applicable in dealing with selec- 
 tions from the masters. The kinds of composition, 
 sentences, paragraphs, meters, and figures of speech, 
 could be analyzed and registered according to the 
 distinctions pointed out in rhetoric. Much work of this 
 kind, as well as of the other processes noted, is still 
 in vogue, though, as we shall see, more rigidly sub- 
 ordinated to clearly conceived ends. 
 
 The continual discussions by earnest educators have 
 brought to light some features of literature as a class- 
 room subject of which the successful teacher now takes 
 cognizance in shaping his work. Of the two depart- 
 ments of English, Literature and Composition, the 
 latter affords the advantage of well-defined aims — to 
 train the pupils to express their thoughts in speech 
 and writing with accuracy and clearness. In contra- 
 distinction herewith literature sets up purposes varying 
 in kind: (i) to make the pupils familiar with some 
 of the choicest productions in our language, together 
 with some knowledge of their genesis; (2) to develop 
 taste, evidenced by a discriminating appreciation of 
 these, and finally, (3) to foster a love for them from 
 which will spring impulses to a further study of what 
 is best and noblest. These aims emphasize at once the 
 
4 The Study of Literature 
 
 province included in the work and the difficulty of 
 covering it through any clear-cut or rigid process. 
 
 Much of the subject matter in narration, in dramas, 
 and lyrics, quite unlike geography and mathematics, 
 stirs the emotions; seems to warrant, occasionally at 
 least, an appeal to the feelings. In most subjects the 
 facts, singly or in casual relation, are everything. Not 
 so in poetry; it is what they convey in the nature of 
 human appeal. The specific facts, it is felt, can often 
 be allowed to drop out of memory without loss, pro- 
 vided the tnessage has been apprehended. When the 
 content is of this kind, it is no small part of the teach- 
 er's task to guide the recitation so as tactfully to elicit 
 the proper response without descending to ill-timed 
 sentiment. 
 
 The propriety and the gain of moving so close to 
 common-life motives have given rise to much 
 perplexity in the discussion of methods. Conflicting 
 views have come about, largely because one writer 
 has had in mind the years of a class of high- 
 school pupils, while another has thought chiefly 
 of pupils more mature. Now, as all teachers who deal 
 with them are aware, the former are interested chiefly 
 in the story, if it is a story. They have their minds 
 set on the struggle, the pathos or humor of it, and the 
 outcome of it all. If the teacher sets them a problem 
 on the art or technic of the work, they will often drift 
 away from this and present, what is easier and closer, 
 a part of the story. They insist on getting what the 
 
The Study of Literature 5 
 
 author obviously intended to give them; and teachers 
 who find this human response in place are as obviously 
 in the right. But what would be the case if they 
 were to come back to a further study, say of Evange- 
 line, during the advanced years of college? They 
 would not then follow the wanderings of the heroine 
 with the same personal sympathy. They would study 
 the correctness of the historic portraiture, or inquire 
 into the reasons why the hexameter is difficult to 
 manage in English, how Longfellow notwithstanding 
 its difficulty has made it a success; these and similar 
 inquiries would then be as fit and proper. Is not the 
 case this, then, that literature as an advanced study 
 not only becomes, like other subjects, increasingly 
 comprehensive and difficult, but also that, unlike most 
 subjects, it may become quite different in kind ? 
 
 Further, this subject requires constant adaptation 
 on the part of the teacher and his procedures to the 
 nature of each new species taken up. What may be 
 very essential to do with one may be quite preposter- 
 ous to do with the next one. Unless the Conciliation 
 Speech is studied both as history and literature, 
 the teacher and the class will fail to reach the 
 content of it in its full significance. Having fol- 
 lowed the historical events to the crisis of which this 
 classic is an exponent, the learners are in a position 
 to discuss the value of each unit, to note how well the 
 whole serves the purpose for which it was prepared. 
 Only with a grasp of the history out of which it grew 
 
6 The Study of Literature 
 
 can the pupils see the reason why Burke presented 
 certain arguments first, and others later on; in fact, 
 this knowledge is required if they are to appreciate the 
 build and bearing of the speech as a whole. 
 
 But this study-plan, no matter how carefully devised, 
 cannot be followed in the next species, for there is 
 not another classic on the program that can be dealt 
 with in just this way. Other prose selections — Emer- 
 son's, also Ruskin's — are entirely different in content 
 and appeal, requiring therefore a complete readjust- 
 ment of approach and plan. When lyrics and dramas 
 are taken up, each again calls for classwork according 
 to its individual nature. Hence the teacher who lacks 
 adaptability will soon find his work narrow down and 
 become impoverished by running into grooves. In no 
 other subjects are living versatility and range of sym- 
 pathy more vital. 
 
 The sciences — geology, botany, physiology — all are 
 cast into a form especially adapted to the purposes of 
 the classroom. In brief, these subjects are presented 
 in textbooks. They have been prepared with regard 
 to the principles of pedagogy, and, in consequence, 
 have considerations to the pupil's years, leading from 
 simple definitions and maxims to the more difficult 
 problems. The most natural point of approach has 
 been discovered, obviating the perplexity of experiment- 
 ing with it at inaccessible points. Moreover, every 
 effort has been made to reduce the subject-matter to 
 manageable form ; it is divided into chapters or lessons 
 
The Study of Literature 7 
 
 of suitable length, in which the development of the 
 theory is followed by exercises for practice or con- 
 structive work. Here the portions of the theoretical 
 work to be developed in each lesson as well as the 
 material necessary to enforce it in practice, have been 
 selected and correlated by some one competent to do 
 these things with due regard to the principles of teach- 
 ing. In many cases portions to be memorized as funda- 
 mentals are singled out by devices of type, thereby 
 making the teacher's and the learner's road unmistak- 
 able. When a subject can be reduced to a form like 
 this, it carries with it a method, good, bad, or indiffer- 
 ent, it may be, but still a method. 
 
 Essays, lyrics> dramas are organisms written without 
 a thought of classroom requirements. They do not, 
 like textbooks, indicate what teachers and pupils are 
 to do with them, nor does their subject matter as read- 
 ily admit of any test to prove that the learner has 
 mastered it. It may be claimed that the classics when 
 edited are presented in this form, and certainly the 
 introductions, notes, and explanations provided are 
 of great value. The right kind, and the right amount, 
 of annotating are invaluable, and for these aids every 
 teacher will be duly grateful. But notes may be ap- 
 pended to any work difficult or weighty enough to 
 require close study — they are there to disclose the 
 meaning of strange terms, or to furnish information 
 which removes obstacles impeding the reader's progress. 
 This is their purpose in the classics; they explain diffi- 
 
8 The Study o£ Literature 
 
 culties, shed light on obscurities, and, in general, pave 
 the way to the full sense of the passage. But after all, 
 the ode and the idyl are what they were before, with 
 the same number of diverging lines of study possible, 
 and, in the hands of an unskillful teacher, with a new 
 distraction added by the notes. 
 
 The history of literature is a textbook, adjusted in 
 length, arrangement, and treatment of topics to the 
 course and to the learners' needs; Milton's minor 
 poems are creations that take no cognizance of such 
 needs. The former indicates the way through the 
 subject; the latter leave teachers freedom and responsi- 
 bility to discover the way as best they can. 
 
 The work is, moreover, conditioned in still another 
 way. The pupils enter the classroom at the literary 
 hour with the impulse of comparatively exact or tangi- 
 ble processes active in their minds. Contrasted with 
 that of the preceding hour, the literary work appears 
 to them elusive and remote. Neither can they find 
 themselves in the turning of a hand in that state of 
 mental attunement which we understand ought to 
 characterize the literature hour. If this ideal condi- 
 tion could be presupposed, there would be an unsought 
 and spontaneous communication of thought between 
 author, pupil, and teacher. There would be a coopera- 
 tion in which the teacher's part would be to encourage 
 expression from each in turn and to guide the discus- 
 sions, without the feeling of formality in such a way 
 that the portion assigned would be fairly covered. In 
 
The Study of Literature 9 
 
 the absence of these conditions of receptivity and re- 
 sponsiveness, the teacher is again driven back on his 
 own resources for vitaHzing the subject — a fact prov- 
 ing that whatever methods and conditions can do, 
 success is, in the last instance, the result mainly of the 
 teacher's personality. 
 
 Past stages of experimentation and discussion have 
 determined the methods that now prevail. The writer 
 of this believes that, assuming general lines of de- 
 marcation, there are mainly two methods in vogue, 
 under which most procedures and processes may be 
 grouped. 
 
 One is the historic or extensive method. Here the 
 student takes up the subject by periods with the aim of 
 following it on until it may be surveyed in its historic 
 completeness. He studies the features of each age, 
 giving an account of barren periods, and explains the 
 causes that culminate in great creative epochs. His 
 purpose is to read as many representative species as 
 possible, and in these he finds the spirit of the times 
 embodied. The work consists largely of accounting 
 for each production — its source and genesis, its rela- 
 tion to the artistic, social, and religious movements of 
 the time of which it is regarded as an organic part. 
 The author's individuality, his race and surroundings 
 are seen mirrored in his writings. What he owes to 
 his predecessors is noted, together with other influences 
 that have made his work the thing it is, showing how 
 its roots are fixed deep in the past, and all along em- 
 
10 The Study of Literature 
 
 phasizing the fact that an author is not an isolated 
 phenomenon, but is amalgamated with his past and 
 present. 
 
 Studying the Elizabethan period this way we see 
 how it was preceded by barren years, and how under 
 Elizabeth and James I favoring causes brought the 
 stored up intellectual energy into activity. Gradually 
 new literary types emerged and took shape, successive 
 authors contributing to them in varying proportions. 
 Freakish and abortive attempts were lost in the clash 
 of creative forces, until finally, like a living organism, 
 the entire period reached its maturity, and then, again, 
 like a living thing, hastened on to its decline. Through 
 the period, particularly its decay, the student can clearly 
 see how political events and factional struggles came 
 in as contributory causes. 
 
 Now this kind of work, excellent as it is with its 
 comprehensiveness and large purposes, is not quite the 
 kind that is adapted for the first years of literature 
 study. The pupils have then neither the maturity nor 
 the historic training to pursue it, nor does it appeal 
 strongly to the mood likely to prevail at their years. 
 And their inclinations cannot entirely be ignored if 
 the teacher is to guide them in the study of literature 
 and make them love it. 
 
 Literature study, then, except with pupils somewhat 
 advanced, is usually conducted as a specific or intensive 
 study. This method, if such it may be called, is hard 
 
The Study of Literature 11 
 
 to describe, for it has nearly as many modifications as 
 there are teachers. 
 
 As it is to be dealt with in the following pages, the 
 briefest definitions of it at this point will have to 
 suffice. 
 
 The work is concentrated in turn on each of the 
 classics that are on the program for close study. The 
 aim is to work through it analytically and minutely, 
 so that the significance of every detail is understood; 
 to survey it finally as a synthesized whole, aiming at 
 the result that the pupil shall grasp the author's mes- 
 sage in its completeness. If it is a story, every life 
 picture is studied as a part of life, every human trait 
 and touch is seen and judged, when proper and profit- 
 able, in its application to life. On the side of art its 
 technic is reduced, so far as it can be done, to terms 
 familiar to the pupils; again, the explanations and 
 appreciations are made, whenever possible, in touch 
 with the broad basis that human experiences have in 
 common. All the species taken up are studied for both 
 content and form. The pupils are led to deduce their 
 own opinions of parts or of the whole from their 
 own studies and from a comparison with the results 
 reached by others. Finally, the classic is disposed of 
 in its position in the history of literature, where its 
 relation to the times and to other masterpieces is 
 noted. 
 
 As teachers prefer to do this work in accordance with 
 some orderly scheme, many such have been tried, but 
 
12 The Study of Literature 
 
 most of them fit only the hmited number of species 
 that are similar in form and content. The dissimilarity 
 of the species, and the consequent necessity for read- 
 justment of procedure, make any. single plan impossible 
 of general application. 
 
 However, in the study of nearly all masterpieces two 
 processes, somewhat distinct in character, are involved. 
 In this treatise they are designated ( i ) interpretation; 
 (2) appreciation. As already noted they are by no 
 means mutually exclusive. In applying them there is 
 no good reason for attempting to keep them studiously 
 separate, though this may be advantageous in explain- 
 ing them. 
 
II 
 
 INTERPRETATION 
 
 In all branches, and particularly in this one, the 
 teacher's individuality is of the first importance. Each 
 one's own method here is better than a better one thrust 
 upon him or her by someone else. Yet each teacher 
 can avail himself of his own in the fullness of its re- 
 sources only by taking some note of what other teach- 
 ers have tried. 
 
 These details of interpretation, then, are submitted in 
 the hope that they may contain occasional hints useful 
 to others. Very little interpretative work may suffice 
 for some classics ; more is needed with others and with 
 other pupils. 
 
 One of the excellences, however, of a true classic 
 is clearness. An author of the first rank can be trusted 
 to have a firm grasp of his thought, to know what he 
 wishes to convey in the piece, and to have sufficient 
 command over the resources of expression to give his 
 conception an intelligible embodiment. His work was 
 done without the thought of an interpreter's or teach- 
 er's aid to help him deliver his message. In the teach- 
 ing we are called upon to do, it is well to have this in 
 mind, that we may avoid thrusting ourselves need- 
 lessly in between the author and the pupil. 
 
 13 
 
14 The Study of Literature 
 
 Interpretation is any process whatever whereby the 
 pupils are caused to reach out after the full intentions 
 of the writer, either by continued reflection or by the 
 use of aid outside of the text. 
 
 This work is essential, for the reason that, although 
 masterpieces were written without the thought of in- 
 terpretative aids, they were also written without any 
 thought about the years or the needs of pupils. In fact, 
 all were intended for persons considerably older and 
 more mature than those of our classes. Even if this 
 were not the case the close application involved induces 
 correct habits and counteracts bad ones, purposes 
 that educators also set up in these connections. Then, 
 too, the subject matter in many cases grew out of con- 
 ditions remote from the pupils' experience, or the key 
 to the meaning may be some occasion that cannot be 
 known without explanation. Again, in writers of 
 some centuries ago, the idiom was not that now cur- 
 rent, in which cases there is danger of being too readily 
 satisfied with a merely inferential understanding of the 
 sense. 
 
 The use of history as a means of interpretation. 
 — History is a valuable interpretative means, and as 
 such has a place in this study. Here it cannot be a 
 question as to whether the facts of a country's chron- 
 icled events are of greater or less value to the pupil 
 than are the commodities, so to say, that the author 
 offers. It is only a question of recognizing the prac- 
 tical fact that the teacher of either of these two sub- 
 
Interpretation 15 
 
 jects would be seriously handicapped unless he could 
 call into assistance and avail himself of the material 
 of the other. 
 
 The author's audience and environs. — For whom 
 did he write ? Chaucer's audience was not the yeoman 
 or the humble laborer of his day; it was composed of 
 people closely connected with the court. The author 
 himself was dependent on the patronage of the court; 
 he had no reading public, in the modern sense of the 
 word. Whether this position influenced him in the 
 choice of subject matter, in fashioning his story, or in 
 the use of diction, may at times be worth considering. 
 With this before us in a final estimate, when the results 
 of the interpretation are summed up, we shall be 
 inclined to give him still greater credit than we do for 
 the democracy of the Canterbury Tales. 
 
 In his day the vernacular was in a state of fluxion. 
 The two elements of the language had not yet become 
 amalgamated. The meanings of words were not regis- 
 tered in dictionaries. Instead of using an idiom with 
 rigidly fixed meaning, the writers of this day were 
 the ones that imparted whatever fixity the language 
 has. In order, then, to interpret an author distant 
 in time like Chaucer, a broad and vivid sense of the 
 language status of his day is essential. The words 
 and phrases will require a careful study in their con- 
 notation and in the light of these conditions. Even 
 then there is some chance of failing to apprehend fully 
 the phrase with the living warmth of the author's day. 
 
16 The Study o£ Literature 
 
 Again, the work is nearly always colored by local 
 and time contingencies, often rising directly out of 
 these. The pupil's inquiry will eventually reach a 
 point where he asks how faithfully the story-teller 
 has reported the conditions, and how freely he has 
 drawn on his imagination. To refer once more to 
 Chaucer; he does not force the situation when he 
 causes the Canterbury pilgrims to meet at the London 
 inn. It was no unusual custom for people of that day 
 to make pilgrimages like those described in the fulfill- 
 ment of vows made while sick, or in danger on 
 journeys, or in campaigns. 
 
 The inwoven historic facts and incidents. — The 
 "twofold balls and treble scepters" (Macbeth, IV, i, 
 12) becomes intelligible in the light of the fact that 
 King James I was styled the Prince of Great Britain, 
 France, and Ireland. In the same connection the 
 device of the glass that mirrored an indefinite line of 
 kings gains purpose from the circumstance that the 
 king before whom it was acted was thought to belong 
 to this dynasty. So, also, the episode of touching for 
 the king's evil, through a similar circumstance, becomes 
 a graceful tribute to the monarch. In Othello (II, 2) 
 we are informed that a violent storm at sea has over- 
 whelmed the Turkish fleet, but miraculously spared the 
 Venetian fleet. Here the pupil sees that Shakespeare 
 has it happen that way in order to end the war and 
 thus be free to go on with the story of Othello and 
 Desdemona. But he might also conclude that the 
 
Interpretation 17 
 
 occurrence is improbable — badly motived. The two 
 fleets, exposed to the same storm, would both be likely 
 to suffer. Yet this was not improbable to the people 
 for whom the author wrote, for they remembered very 
 distinctly that a score of years before a similar occur- 
 rence happened off the coast of their own country. 
 
 Historic subject matter. — Some of the classics 
 placed in the hands of the pupils are to a large extent 
 history — history with the artistic form and finish of 
 belles lettres. Such are the Farewell Address, the 
 Bunker Hill Oration, and the Conciliation Speech. It 
 would be the merest waste of time to study them with- 
 out giving close attention to the events that called 
 them forth. 
 
 A few historic facts, usually supplied by the editor, 
 will, in some cases, suffice to place the pupil en rapport 
 with the production. More often it is futile to seize on 
 just those few fragments of history needed for the 
 occasion. Time and leisure are necessary to master 
 the historic material in connected and causal relations; 
 sufficient time, in fact, for definite assignments in 
 history. 
 
 The Conciliation Speech has its roots so far back 
 in American history that a few hurried notes can 
 furnish only a perfunctory approach to it. It is neces- 
 sary to trace the growth of the differences between 
 America and Great Britain from the earliest times on. 
 When we learn that England's purpose with her col- 
 onies was trade, we can more easily see how the 
 
18 The Study of Literature 
 
 struggle took its rise so largely out of trade regulations. 
 Navigation acts weighed upon the colonies one hun- 
 dred years before there were any thoughts of separa- 
 tion. Laws at first moderate in their stringency were 
 gradually reenacted in more vexatious forms of tax, 
 stamp, and navigation acts. At last they assumed the 
 character of penal measures without any economic pur- 
 poses. The ministry of England and the composition of 
 Parliament at this time, when studied and under- 
 stood, also help to furnish a key to the speech. The 
 diplomacy and ingenuity of Lord North will then be 
 seen in sharp contrast against the sane and fair 
 measures advocated by Burke. 
 
 In Julius Ccssar we cannot assign to the act of 
 Brutus and Cassius its true import, nor see how it is 
 raised above the act of common assassins, unless we 
 understand the difference between ancient and modern 
 ideas of freedom, and a citizen's relation to the state. 
 Brutus is brought before us as one whom we should 
 like. He is faithful to tender domestic relations, gen- 
 erous and considerate toward his enemies; he is a 
 scholar, a connoisseur in art, a political man of pres- 
 tige; he tries to apply high ideals of personal honor in 
 a dread factional conspiracy. But how are we to recon- 
 cile these traits with his part in midnight plots in which 
 daggers are to remove their opponents? If these 
 notions are to be reconciled at all, it is only through 
 catching the views he held of his duties as a citizen, 
 
Interpretation 19 
 
 views on which a Roman citizen was nurtured from 
 infancy. 
 
 When the classic aims to be a faithful historic por- 
 traiture dealing seriously with the problems of a past 
 era, a few scattered explanations of historical refer- 
 ences do not suffice. It is not easy for the pupil to 
 transfer himself in imagination to conditions so vastly 
 different from our own as are those of Richard I and 
 Ivanhoe. How to realize this different world so as to 
 see what the author does with it is one of the problems 
 that confront the teacher on beginning Ivanhoe. 
 
 Here some preparatory studies will not be a waste 
 of time. It is not difficult to lead up to a position 
 where the pupil sees the two races — Saxon and Nor- 
 man — thrown together on British soil and occupying 
 it in hostile opposition to each other. From that point 
 the further step is easy, namely, that the story of 
 Ivanhoe is a series of historical life pictures exhibit- 
 ing the forms which the struggles between Saxons and 
 Normans assumed. The pupil should come to the 
 study of the story with at least this much as a prepara- 
 tion, and not an abstract summary, either, but gathered 
 from an examination of facts in some form. If there 
 is time, much more might profitably be done, some 
 knowledge, for instance, of the position of individual 
 ual members of society. 
 
 Each person held a position such that a definite 
 cluster of associations attached to him as a result of 
 his place in society. The jester's freedom of utterance 
 
20 The Study of Literature 
 
 depended on the indulgence of his master, and his 
 drollery would often disguise shrewd bits of sarcasm 
 or wisdom. The serf wore his owner's chattel marks 
 on his person. A rigid distinction of rank was ob- 
 served in the hall of Cedric, where each menial had 
 a place at the table according to his place in the 
 household. 
 
 Again, the Saxon occupied his inherited freehold 
 under the constant danger of encroachment on the 
 part of the Norman lords, who imposed on him arbi- 
 trary regulations. The suppressed opposition of the 
 latter was ready at any time to break out into fierce 
 resistance. Other members of the commonwealth were 
 the monks, priests, friars, palmers, mercenary soldiers, 
 feudal barons looking down with haughty contempt on 
 those whom they had subjugated. 
 
 In its daily routine and duties their world was 
 equally far removed from our own. Now the handi- 
 craft of the individual artisan is substituted by ma- 
 chines, which with automatic regularity turn out the 
 work. Danger and personal exposure from the weather 
 or the inhospitality of an uncivilized country are mini- 
 mized. Established conditions of our day have reduced 
 the acts of people, even their surroundings, to a con- 
 ventional uniformity. The houses of our cities, even 
 the streets themselves, are marked by the abstractions 
 of numbers. Days and hours for the various duties 
 of life are assigned with regard to orderliness and 
 precision. Our clothing now is not, like theirs, a single 
 
Interpretation 21 
 
 garment of skins or fibers direct from nature. Imple- 
 ments of many kinds have changed the manner of till- 
 ing the soil. Ingenious devices have supplanted the 
 work of the living hand and partitioned it into special- 
 ties by the division of labor. We no longer turn to 
 the horizon to divine changes in the weather, applying 
 the half-poetical, half-superstitious rhymes of treasured 
 weather wisdom. We turn to the barometer and the 
 official bulletin. Railways, trolley cars, speed machines, 
 have linked together and unified people. Science has 
 driven phantoms and goblins from the marshes and 
 the neutral strips of village boundaries. 
 
 The walls of the houses were at the time of Ivanhoe 
 erected of uprights and cross sticks, clay and straw 
 filling the interstices. There was no glass in the win- 
 dows, no lamps but smoky rushlights laboriously kept 
 flickering to light the long winter nights. The roof 
 was of thatch resting on smoky rafters roughhewn 
 from the forest. The floor consisted of the firm earth, 
 at times strewn with leaves and sprinkled with white 
 sand. 
 
 The struggles of individuals in this story — and they 
 are numerous and thrilling — are closely merged with 
 this background of environs. Everything rises directly 
 out of it — personal encounter in feud and duel, the 
 tournament under royal auspices, the open field of 
 battle, also contests in which wit and personal beauty 
 enter. 
 
 The plot is historic rather than personal. The chain 
 
22 The Study of Literature 
 
 of incidents, with its resulting historical portraiture, 
 constitutes the plot. The pictures of the time and the 
 fate of individuals supply the interest in almost equal 
 proportion. In this respect another story read in 
 schools furnishes a contrast. In Evangeline the histor- 
 ical background is there, but remote and in no sense 
 the principal element. The human story of Evangeline 
 and Gabriel is the plot and the main issue. 
 
 The historic work on Ivanhoe will help the pupil to 
 gather up the results of his analytic studies into a 
 synthetic conception. "The author's thought was to 
 give a vivid realization of conditions existing in Eng- 
 land at the time of Richard I, when two mutually hos- 
 tile races — Normans and Saxons — lived together on 
 English soil." 
 
 Biography. — Pupils as well as casual readers feel 
 themselves drawn toward the writer as an individual. 
 In obedience to this impulse toward an exhaustive and 
 direct account of him, they are led to the study of his 
 career as a person, to come into closer touch with him 
 for larger measure of the charm and stimulus of his 
 personality. This interest is fully awakened only after 
 some interest in the writer has been aroused by his 
 work, at which stage the personal element becomes an 
 incentive to a fuller inquiiy. 
 
 With a knowledge of the fascination that an account 
 of an author's life has, it is well to inquire in just 
 what way such knowledge can aid the purposes of inter- 
 pretation. The facts we glean from biography are 
 
Interpretation 23 
 
 almost equally serviceable both for the interpretation 
 and the appreciation of a work, nor is it wise to keep 
 these purposes absolutely separate in the interest of a 
 system of study. One naturally and quite consistently 
 occupies a good bit of the province of the other. 
 
 Personal incidents woven into the work. — Gold- 
 smith's dislike of pedagogues, as seen in The Deserted 
 Village, was due to the fact, as we are told, that he 
 was himself an irregular and wayward pupil who often 
 needed correcting. In the same poem he speaks of 
 "trade's unfeeling train," not because in his day they 
 were more unfeeling than at other times, but because 
 his own shiftlessness and improvidence constantly 
 placed him at their mercy. So in Shakespeare, the allu- 
 sions to the Warwickshire magnate, Sir Thomas Lucy, 
 (Henry IV, part 2 and Merry Wives of Windsor) 
 gain point from the personal records telling of a frolic 
 that brought down the wrath of Sir Thomas on the 
 poet. If we knew positively who the lady was that 
 figures in the Sonnets, we should have the most valu- 
 able single means for their interpretation. 
 
 The direction to the players in Hamlet might well 
 be prompted by the playwright's personal solicitude 
 about the acting of his plays. His professional rank 
 as well as his income depended on the proper acting 
 of the dramas, and the lecture on acting might with 
 much reason be regarded as bona fide advice. 
 
 The author's personality a part of his message. — 
 While a knowledge of chance occurrences may throw 
 
24 The Study of Literature 
 
 light on single passages, yet the interpretation thereby 
 made possible is incidental and detached. In the 
 writer's life as a whole, as a finished career, with his 
 personal bent and idiosyncrasies thrown into relief, we 
 have an interpretative means of much greater import. 
 
 Dr. Samuel Johnson's strong likes and dislikes, which 
 cannot even be kept out of such an unimpassioned 
 work as a dictionary, are after all a part of the writer. 
 They clear up some things that would otherwise remain 
 obscure. His criticism of Milton is made intelligible 
 when we know of Johnson's pronounced Tory predilec- 
 tions. Whether this fact, when realized by the reader, 
 strictly modifies what the critic has to say or not, it is 
 at least a balance, and some way seems to have a legiti- 
 mate place in that connection. On the other side, 
 Macaulay's account of Milton was written from a 
 different, but equally partisan, view point. Here again 
 the critic's work, to be really valuable to the pupil, 
 must be understood with the modification resulting 
 from it. 
 
 It may, indeed, be urged that what the author 
 delivers with all its impassioned vehemence, no matter 
 what prompts it, is, after all, his message. Why, then, 
 should we equip ourselves so as to be in a position to 
 add to or subtract from it? This is not the intention. 
 The message, whether just or not, is certainly to be 
 grasped as he intended, but the knowledge insisted on 
 above will help the pupil to be more justly edified by it. 
 
 Interpretation has a place for all the facts that make 
 
Interpretation 25 
 
 a work intelligible, all the circumstances that gave 
 character to the message. Such is a knowledge of the 
 author's personal struggles, of his social, political, philo- 
 sophical, and religious views — the motives that stir in 
 his soul, their promptings and purposes. 
 
 The Raven is a beautiful poem, fraught with passion 
 and vehemence. In The Philosophy of Composition 
 Edgar Allan Poe tells how he constructed it. There 
 is no doubt that a knowledge of the cold, calculating 
 manner in which it was built modifies the final impres- 
 sion that we carry away after having read it. Is the 
 modified impression the more correct? We surely 
 have a fuller knowledge, a saner view, when we read 
 it in the light of all the interpretative means at hand. 
 
 Carlyle's freakish diction is vexatious to some, and 
 may influence the totality of what he says. When we 
 know how persistently he went his own way, refusing 
 and disdaining the help he might have gotten from 
 other writers, we are in possession of something that 
 augments his message and leaves it with us more com- 
 plete. In the account of his stay at Edinburgh is 
 preserved an apostrophe addressed by him to Fortune : 
 "O Fortune, that givest unto each his portion on this 
 dirty planet, bestow, if it shall please thee, coronets 
 and crowns and principalities and purses and puddings 
 and power upon the great and noble and fat ones of the 
 earth! Grant me that with a heart of independence, 
 unyielding to thy favors and unbending to thy powers, 
 I may attain to literary fame; and though starvation 
 
26 The Study of Literature 
 
 be my lot, I shall smile that I have not been born a 
 king." 
 
 The life of Bunyan is so closely bound up with his 
 own Pilgrim's Progress that it becomes a part of it. 
 The homely, unpretentious diction becomes still more 
 significant when we know from his own experience 
 that his only concern was to say his say, to get his 
 thoughts expressed. No ideal of elegance or literary 
 ambition enters into it. But there are revealed the 
 deep broodings, the sad and persistent reflections, of a 
 troubled soul; the sincerity, tested by allowing himself 
 to languish in jail rather than desist from what he felt 
 was his God-given mission. All these circumstances 
 combine indissolubly with the truths he sees and tells. 
 
 A correct and just conception of a work of power 
 is hardly possible apart from the life of the writer. 
 His biography completes, enlarges, sometimes, indeed, 
 modifies, his intention, but to any satisfying study it is 
 essential. As an end in itself, however, to satisfy a 
 gossipy curiosity about an author can never in this 
 connection be a purpose. 
 
 The occasion. — All these preliminaries about his- 
 tory, biography, and occasion are, strictly speaking, 
 not a part of the work with which the pupil in his 
 capacity of student of literature is engaged, hence we 
 do not hesitate to say that they should ruthlessly be 
 omitted wherever it can be done without sacrificing 
 something essential. They lie outside of the work in 
 hand ; they are taken up and pursued only when neces- 
 
Interpretation 27 
 
 sary to reach the heart of the classic. So many things 
 clamor for attention, obtrude themselves and set up 
 such excellent reasons why time should be given them, 
 that, unless teacher and pupil are both on their guard, 
 they readily become diverted into paths foreign to their 
 purpose. 
 
 Most literary productions take their rise from cir- 
 cumstances more or less sharply focused into what may 
 be called the occasion. Often, too, a knowledge of 
 this is essential in order to get the right start; very 
 little could be made out of some classics unless one 
 knew how each in its very inception was conditioned. 
 
 Carlyle's Essay on Burns and Macaulay's Essay on 
 Addison start with reference to preceding works on the 
 same subject. They differ in essential points from the 
 previous laborer in the same field. They cannot con- 
 sistently do what their predecessor has already done, 
 but they add to the work in that department by com- 
 pleting and supplementing what he has achieved. 
 
 We can account for the difference in tone and tenor 
 between Macaulay's Essay on Johnson and his earlier 
 Essay on Boswell's Johnson through the circumstances 
 under which he felt prompted to the writing of each. 
 In the one case the essayist is an extremist with preju- 
 diced and impassioned opinions; in the other he is an 
 earnest expounder, sane and impartial. In the one 
 there figures a strong personaHty bent on correcting 
 glaring misconceptions and animated by no little hos- 
 tility ; in the other the. same person has reached a stage 
 
28 The Study of Literature 
 
 where sobriety rules and where it is only a question of 
 delivering a just appreciation. 
 
 All the elegies of our language take their rise more 
 directly out of some one occurrence than do the other 
 classics. The expression of lamentation, loss, and grief 
 is immediately due to the loss of someone dear to the 
 writer, or to happenings that in themselves bend the 
 poet's mind in one certain direction. 
 
 In the case of the classics that blend with history, 
 as the Farewell Address, the Gettysburg Address, the 
 Bunker Hill Oration, the Conciliation Speech, definite 
 dates and events may be pointed out which virtually 
 account for their origin as well as for their tenor and 
 content. 
 
 Diction. — ^After the approach as indicated by 
 environs and occasion — if these preliminaries have 
 seemed necessary — and after a fair first acquaintance, 
 a portion is assigned for direct study. The number of 
 lines, paragraphs, or chapters for a lesson will, of 
 course, depend upon the time apportioned to the classic, 
 its difficulty, and the advancement of the pupils. 
 Whether the conditions admit of a long or a short 
 assignment, one essential should be observed: Each 
 assignment should constitute a definite integral unit, a 
 unit with its own topic, its own definite purpose. The 
 purpose may be ascertained and the topic written out. 
 As succeeding units are analyzed in the same way, 
 their topics grouped in order become an outline of the 
 production. 
 
Interpretation 29 
 
 After ascertaining the topic and the purpose of the 
 part assigned, the rest of the work will be to explain 
 difficulties in language and form, to clear up allusions, 
 and sometimes to restate the thought in the pupil's own 
 language, and finally, to observe the relation of the 
 present unit to those that precede and follow. 
 
 Diction will then receive attention, and here again 
 the less work necessary the better. But rarely does the 
 pupil of his own accord appreciate the fact that lan- 
 guage is not a rigid scheme of symbols and characters, 
 that it is in a state of fluxion, and, hence, that in time 
 words move a considerable distance from their early 
 moorings. The people of every epoch infuse mean- 
 ings into the words they use; every change in their 
 manner of living and thinking may give a modified 
 value to their word symbols. Word values, after all, 
 depend on the ideas the reader, through his surround- 
 ings and experiences, is led to associate with them. Now 
 the reader's experience may lie in a different age and 
 a different country from that of the author and the 
 people for whom the author wrote. Consequently, the 
 rapport may be lacking, so that the word does not now 
 convey to a reader the same significance it did to him of 
 a remote epoch. 
 
 To a complete understanding, then, it is necessary 
 to reestablish the connection by placing the pupil of 
 this late date in possession of the facts and feelings 
 that once lived in the word. Much is gained if the 
 learner is led to see that an unsuspected sense may 
 
30 The Study of Literature 
 
 lurk in a word, a sense that present conditions have 
 allowed to drop out of sight. 
 
 As an aid to assignments some topics under which 
 word studies may be taken up are here given : 
 
 Words now obsolete, as for instance: 
 
 Rathe — Till rathe she rose, half-cheated in the 
 
 thought Elaine, 340 
 
 Ramp — Sir Launcelot's azure lions ramp in the field Elaine, 663 
 Dole — So that day there was dole in Astolat . . Elaine, 1135 
 
 Sore — Sore labor's bath Macbeth, II, 2, 38 
 
 Wisp — Danced like a wisp The Princess 
 
 Eld — Druids of eld Evangeline, 3 
 
 Gleeds — Then as the wind seized the gleeds . Evangeline, 621 
 
 Clepe — They clepe us drunkards Hamlet, I, 4, 19 
 
 Crack — I cannot get the Parliament to listen to me, who 
 look upon me forsooth as a crack and a projector 
 Roger de Coverley 
 
 Technical words : 
 
 Lists — So spake Lavaine, and when they reached the 
 lists Elaine, 428 
 
 Helms — And him that helms it Elaine, 486 
 
 Cap and bells — For a cap and bells our lives we pay 
 Vision of Sir Launfal 
 
 Unscarred mail — Sir Launfal flashed forth in unscarred 
 mail Vision of Sir Launfal 
 
 The Prologue, Tennyson's Princess, contains numer- 
 ous expressions specialized in meaning like technical 
 words : 
 
 Ammonites, celts, calumets, claymore, Malayan 
 crease, stumped the wicket, stony helm, tilt and tour- 
 
Interpretation 31 
 
 ney, lost their weeks, the hard-grained muses of the 
 cube and square. 
 
 Words that have suffered a change in meaning. 
 — The farther back we go in the history of our lan- 
 guage the more numerous such words become. To 
 associate a new meaning with these old and familiar 
 words is as difficult at least as to attach a definite 
 meaning to a new word. In searching for the original 
 sense of words in Shakespeare, we are brought closer 
 to their etymological origin. 
 
 The extravagant and erring spirit hies to his 
 
 confine Hamlet, I, I, IS4 
 
 Season your admiration for a while .... Hamlet, I, 2, 193 
 Not of that dye which their investments show, Hamlet, I, 3, 128 
 And be not jealous on me — .... Julius Caesar, I, 2, 71 
 
 Your outward favor — Julius Caesar, I, 2, 91 
 
 He should not humor me — .... Julius Caesar, I, 2, 319 
 
 Had I so sworn as you have done to this — . Macbeth, I, 7, 58 
 
 It is too full o' the milk of human kindness 
 
 To catch the nearest way; thou wouldst be great; 
 
 Art not without ambition, but without the illness should 
 
 attend it — Macbeth, I, s, 18 
 
 Words of local or incidental meaning. — A few 
 such from Evangeline are coureurs-de-bois, voyageurs, 
 Spanish sombrero. Fata Morgana. 
 
 Charles Lamb has numerous terms fraught with a 
 rich local sense. The word "chimney-sweep" is in 
 itself simple enough if it is a question of its logical 
 meaning only, but much is lost to the pupil unless he 
 
32 The Study of Literature 
 
 is able to catch the exact condition of lowliness and 
 struggle assigned to the chimney-sweep as a member 
 of society, and hence associated with the term. 
 
 In The Courtship of Miles Standish some words of 
 much suggestiveness are Puritan, Mayflower, Priscilla, 
 and various Indian names. Whittier's Snow-Bound 
 contains locutions that derive their effect from local 
 setting. Without some attempt to recall this the words 
 in the following do not yield the pictures that they 
 
 should : 
 
 The mug of cider simmered low; 
 The apples sputtered in a row, 
 And close at hand the basket stood, 
 With nuts from brown October's wood. 
 
 Other expressions in this poem are " moose," " samp," 
 "trapper's hut," "Indian camp," "Norman cap," 
 "bodiced zone," "hake-brail on driftwood coal." 
 
 The king's largess in the porter scene of Macbeth 
 is made clear by recalling the custom back of it. Even 
 an ordinary guest would remember the servants; much 
 more, then, a king. Usage made it proper that the 
 generous "tips" which they then got should be spent 
 in making merry. It was, in fact, drink-money, " trink- 
 geld." This again explains how the servants came to 
 be carousing "till the second cock," till they were all 
 overcome, so that even the porter's ear, though accus- 
 tomed to listen for summons at the gate, could hardly 
 be reached by Macduff's clamor. 
 
 Allusions and references. — Our masterpieces 
 
Interpretation 33 
 
 abound in names and allusions — historical, biograph- 
 ical, legendary, mythological — which are introduced 
 as illustrations and embellishments. If the history of 
 words can elucidate and enrich the content, the history 
 of myths and allusions, around which many poetic asso- 
 ciations have crystallized, can do so to a still greater 
 degree. The myths of southern as well as northern 
 Europe have been an inspiration to our great writers 
 from the time of the Greeks and Romans until recent 
 days. Hence, for the complete enjoyment even of the 
 greatest among modern writers, some acquaintance 
 with myth-lore is essential. Great writers have some- 
 times worked with their minds fixed on the classic 
 myth architecture; and, as critics have occasionally 
 noticed, they seemed to depend for effect on the glamor 
 recognized as playing about the particular material they 
 used. 
 
 In the same way an acquaintance with history, a 
 knowledge of the persons who figure prominently in 
 the world's events, a knowledge of the events them- 
 selves — all are available and helpful as interpretative 
 aids in the student's literary study and appreciation. 
 
 Among the classics taken up at schools a formidable 
 number of names, references, and allusions are found 
 in such as Lycidas, Conms, The Lady of the Lake, 
 Hiawatha. Some selections from The Sketch Book 
 contain a number; Macaulay's Essays abound in names 
 and specific instances. The Essay on Johnson, though 
 not so heavily freighted with the spoils of learning as, 
 
34 The Study of Literature 
 
 for instance, the Essay on Milton, yet contains 345 
 names and allusions. 
 
 To what extent is it incumbent on the pupil to know 
 these as he goes on through the essay? If all are to be 
 looked up, it will take considerable time. The editor, if 
 he has thought it advisable to give explanations of them 
 all, can give only the barest facts in each case, leaving 
 each item as a detached fragment. The scattered 
 information gleaned in this way is not retained, and, 
 even if it were, it would be a mass of comparatively 
 useless shreds and patches. 
 
 For its own sake, then, it does not pay. The only 
 purpose it can have is to help convey the author's mean- 
 ing in its fullness. But is it necessary to study so much 
 matter lying outside of the classic in order to unlock 
 the meaning? Perhaps an inspection will show that 
 some allusions are much more vitally connected with 
 the theme than are others. To follow the reasoning of 
 Macaulay in his Essay on Milton, paragraphs 25-29, it 
 is necessary to have a fairly clear .conception of the 
 poems Comus and Samson Agonistes, because these are 
 the subject of the comparison here carried out. In this 
 connection a sentence is brought in to illustrate the 
 effect of repeating characters in poems and stories. 
 
 "They [the tragedies of Byron] resemble those 
 pasteboard pictures invented by the friend of children, 
 Mr. Newberry," etc. 
 
 It is obvious that here is no call to look up anything 
 about this inventor. The name is mentioned in a 
 
Interpretation 35 
 
 chance illustration, which is quite complete without 
 further interpretation. A passage from the same dis- 
 cussion reads : 
 
 The Comus is framed on the Italian Masque, as the Samson 
 is framed on the model of the Greek Tragedy. It is certainly the 
 nohlest performance of the kind which exists in any language. 
 It is as far superior to The Faithful Shepherdess as The Faithful 
 Shepherdess is to the Aminta, or the Aminta to the Pastor Fido. 
 
 Here the comparison is conducted to three removes 
 from Comus. If anything is to be gained by looking 
 up these three poems, they should be studied sufficiently 
 for evaluation, for this is assumed in the comparison. 
 But is it not wiser here to accept as it stands Macaulay's 
 testimony to the excellence of Milton's Masque than 
 to interrupt the work for a direct study of these new 
 masterpieces? The search would reveal nothing more 
 in the successive distinctions than a guarded modifi- 
 cation of the phrase, and perhaps the feeling that 
 Macaulay might well have left these titles out of the 
 essay. 
 
 The following selection from Irving's A Royal Poet 
 may be cited in illustration of the same principle : 
 
 In wandering through the magnificent saloons and long, echo- 
 ing galleries of the castle, I passed with indifference by whole 
 rows of portraits of warriors and statesmen, but lingered in 
 the chamber where hang the likenesses of the beauties that 
 graced the gay court of Charles the Second ; and as I gazed upon 
 them ... I blessed the pencil of Sir Peter Lely, which had 
 enabled me to look back in the reflected rays of beauty. In 
 traversing also the "large green courts," with sunshine beaming 
 
36 The Study of Literature 
 
 on the gray walls, and glancing along the velvet turf, my mind 
 was engrossed with the image of the tender, the gallant, but 
 helpless Surrey, and his accounts of his loitering about them in 
 his stripling days, when enamored of the Lady Geraldine. 
 
 Is it imperative to stop here to trace the history of 
 Sir Peter Leiy ? He is evidently mentioned in passing, 
 and it never could have been the author's purpose to 
 introduce him here to divert the reader into biography. 
 We are, moreover, furnished with sufficient informa- 
 tion about him to go on unobstructed, without missing 
 a single idea of vital interest. He belongs to the 
 environs, and he is mentioned here together with 
 numerous names of persons and places in order that 
 the reader may more fully catch the impress of the 
 time of the main narrative and the tone of the place 
 where the scene is laid. Irving, like a painstaking art- 
 ist, has, in fact, paved the way by telling us enough 
 about him for the purposes of the sketch. Other names 
 may be safely passed by in the same connection, the 
 reader concentrating attention on the principal charac- 
 ters and events. Hence there is no reason why the 
 pupil should stop here to look up the biography of the 
 gifted but ill-starred Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey; 
 and just as little is it incumbent to clear up the uncer- 
 tainties connected with the identity of the Lady 
 Geraldine. 
 
 There are many cases, then, where an allusion is 
 made simply in passing, fulfilling all its purposes with- 
 out further elucidation. In Irving's History of New 
 
Interpretation 37 
 
 York the list of Dutch combatants before Fort Kristina 
 gives the local color and population type merely as 
 names. In the constantly recurring Scotch names and 
 terms in The Lady of the Lake the Highland envi- 
 ronment finds and conveys its characteristics. In 
 Hiawatha something quite definite is imparted by the 
 recurrence of the Indian names. So, also, in Lycidas, 
 the list of flowers gives the effect intended, whether the 
 pupil possesses a botanical knowledge of them or not. 
 Fortunately, most of the numerous allusions and ref- 
 erences in Macaula^s essays are of such a kind as to 
 make it unnecessary for the pupil to pause and study 
 them. They are the enforcements and embellishments 
 of his thought rather than the vital thought itself. In 
 comparing the poetry of Milton with that of Dante, he 
 says: "The poetry of Milton differs from that of 
 Dante as the hieroglyphics of Egypt differ from the 
 picture-writing of Mexico." Here the mention of 
 hieroglyphics and picture-writing is not made with the 
 expectation that the reader is to know these subjects 
 before he can grasp what is said. Sufficient clearing-up 
 to remove obscurity is done in the succeeding sentences. 
 In the first paragraph of the Conciliation Speech Burke 
 says : " I found, to my infinite surprise, that the grand 
 penal bill, by which we had passed sentence on the 
 trade and sustenance of America, is to be returned to 
 us from the other House." Here the grand penal bill 
 is part of the subject matter, one of the kind of acts 
 constituting the crisis. It is by no means a term 
 
38 The Study of Literature 
 
 mentioned incidentally, like a figurative embellishment ; 
 hence, if it has not come up in the historical prepa- 
 ration, it might well be studied here as part of the 
 interpretative work. 
 
 The distinction here pointed out can be applied to all 
 the school classics. In some, nearly every reference 
 and name is a part of the content, hence some knowl- 
 edge of it is essential; in others there is much of the 
 same kind, but brought in so that it does not call for 
 special study. 
 
Ill 
 
 APPRECIATION 
 
 An appreciation, as the term is used in criticism and 
 in literary study, presents a twofold aspect : it calls for 
 a statement that gives a reliable account of the content, 
 scope, plan, and execution of a classic as a work of art. 
 Again, it must afford some proof that the piece has 
 appealed to the learner in its energizing and vitalizing 
 intentions. 
 
 In accordance with the nature of literature work in 
 schools, appreciation may be explained as a synthetic 
 procedure in which the pupil is led to manipulate the 
 units of a classic in relation to each other and to esti- 
 mate them as a whole. It is a process in which the 
 pupil is caused to hold before his mind for studious 
 reflection the thought, the characters, the sentiment, 
 and the art, and to deal with these as an organic unit. 
 
 Every learner — in fact, any person whatever who 
 takes up a book for either rapid perusal or intensive 
 study — puts himself in a condition of receptivity. He 
 may not go the length of setting down on paper the 
 questions he expects to find answered, but, consciously 
 or unconsciously, he does ask questions such as these : 
 "What valuable truths or experiences can I get from 
 this book? What facts, ideals, or inspirations does it 
 furnish ? Is there anything in it that can apply to me, 
 
 39 
 
40 The Study of Literature 
 
 the reader, so a^ to enrich or enlarge my life?" A 
 young and vigorous mind seeks ideals, exultation, stir- 
 ring events, ennobling sentiment — heroes and heroines 
 for whom it may grow enthusiastic — in fact, the 
 quickening glow, touch, and sentiment of life. 
 
 By making all due allowance for perverted taste and 
 false preferences, may we not say that on quests like 
 these the learners are fairly in the right? They seek 
 intuitively, often naively, the light and the culture ele- 
 ments that educators after much deliberation conclude 
 are the best that literature study can give them. 
 
 These factors of culture are found in a preeminent 
 degree in the classics selected for study, culled, as they 
 are, from the choicest treasures of English and Amer- 
 ican literature. Almost all of these embody that per- 
 manent human essence that is the test of all great 
 literature. 
 
 But how is the classroom work to be planned and 
 conducted so as to attain the ends here set forth? To 
 map out a plan of work calculated to cause the quick- 
 ening essence of a poem to be assimilated in this man- 
 ner would seem to lie outside of the teacher's domain, 
 beyond his power. Teachers know how to deal with 
 recitable facts — facts that make the pupil informed, 
 knowing — but here is a call for something much more 
 subtle and elusive, something which appears to be quite 
 beyond the teacher's professional skill. 
 
 We speak of the intensive study of a classic, but if 
 we thereby mean stress and effort, a performance under 
 
Appreciation 41 
 
 which all the powers of insight and reach are keyed 
 up to an extraordinary tension, we have in mind a mode 
 very poorly adapted to our purpose. Culture means 
 growth, and presupposes time. It is a leisurely process 
 — often slow, never violent, not attained through spas- 
 modic eflforts, not reached through a hurried, feverish 
 perusal of either a classic or any other kind of book. 
 
 The tasks in literature that require steady and con- 
 tinued reflection, a manipulation of issues that are 
 worth while, certainly further purposes of culture. 
 Any sane and reasonable process that causes the sig- 
 nificant facts of a masterpiece to be dealt with and 
 held before the mind for some time is the right kind. 
 There is no crying need for ingenious methods or 
 clever expedients. The teacher's task will be mainly 
 to indicate the chief direction of the search, to show 
 where the points of attack are, and to encourage the 
 pupils to make discoveries of their own. In this way 
 their powers of reflection are properly exercised; they 
 are led not only to a complete possession, but to a 
 natural assimilation of the thought in the book before 
 them. 
 
 The success of a recitation is dependent on the mood 
 of teacher and class. There are times when it seems 
 impossible for the hour's work to escape formality — 
 a somewhat hard and rigid checking up of what the 
 pupils have done as preparation. In the midst of this, 
 much personal expression of enthusiasm cannot find 
 a place without doing violence to the occasion. But 
 
42 The Study of Literature 
 
 during other hours a different attunement of mood 
 prevails. There is then a natural, a spontaneous inter- 
 change of thought among author, pupils, and teacher. 
 There is perfect cooperation; the boys and girls find 
 themselves on an eager quest for the key to the prob- 
 lem. They show a keenness of insight that surprises 
 the teacher. New and interesting vistas come in sight. 
 There is a happy characterization of the personages 
 that figure in the story, a rational statement of the 
 motives that impel them, discriminating opinion of the 
 passage or the piece. If they should be dealing with 
 a unit that makes a personal appeal — as a climax 
 charged with pathos, beauty, or strenuous endeavor — 
 is an expression of their personal feeling about it in 
 place? To encourage sentimentalizing is felt to be 
 insipid. A passing thrill is cheap and leaves no impres- 
 sion. And yet, if a psychological moment of this kind 
 is reached, is it not equally out of harmony to suppress 
 all enthusiasm? To indicate what is in best accord 
 cannot be done in words coldly written down. But if 
 the pupils have entered into the spirit of the piece so 
 that they feel what it was intended to make them feel, 
 and realize that they like it, surely it is well to pause 
 and let them state in the best way they can how and 
 why they like it. If they should be unable — as is most 
 probable — to analyze the case and give adequate rea- 
 sons for the excellence they find, this failure does not 
 invalidate the fervency they feel. At any rate, some 
 recognition of the approval that they and the teacher 
 
Appreciation 43 
 
 share should be made. Let the teacher explain where 
 explanation is possible and helpful; but let her also 
 encourage the pupils to take hold of the essence with 
 hearty good will, rather than put them off by directing 
 them only to the mere facts that enshrine the pathos 
 or the beauty. 
 
 Subjects that can be shaped into lessons definitely 
 and sharply focused are most conveniently managed 
 in a recitation. Uncertainty about what he is expected 
 to know and to do when he enters the classroom fur- 
 nishes an indifferent pupil his excuse for avoiding 
 effort at the same time that it distresses a conscientious 
 one. Pupils will turn away from, and postpone work 
 on, an indefinite assignment, but they will aggressively 
 attack the one presenting something tangible to lay 
 hold of and promising results. The sciences have the 
 advantage in these matters, but even in literature it is 
 possible to devise a plan precise in the kind and amount 
 of work to be done, a plan prompting to exertions of 
 an exact and positive nature. Such a plan will neces- 
 sarily take the form of exercises, problems, topics 
 for investigations, questions, subjects for papers and 
 reports. It will call for analyses, summaries, studies 
 of character, situations, form, unity, comparisons, 
 plots. 
 
 The exercises that rise from the page of the classic 
 differ vastly in value. A point of merely incidental 
 or curious import is touched upon lightly, or entirely 
 avoided, to gain time for those lines of investigation 
 
44 The Study of Literature 
 
 that issue in a contribution of something vital to the 
 poem as a unit. Exercises also differ vastly in their 
 bearing. Perhaps the injunction "to lead the pupils 
 from books to life " can find some application in fash- 
 ioning the assignment. The phrase presupposes that 
 we can betake ourselves to the domain of books remote 
 and severed from reality; that we can, so to speak, 
 lead a dual life — one as citizens of the world of books, 
 where laws prevail that are not apposite to our functions 
 as citizens of the world of reality. 
 
 The teacher heeds the injunction when she finds the 
 links of continuity between literature and life; as, for 
 instance, the translation of a remote principle into the 
 terms of experience. Perhaps she can thus lead to the 
 conception that masterpieces — some, at least — em- 
 body the most intense form of life — the process of 
 living purged of incidental crudities that obscure the 
 permanent human principles holding sway about us. 
 
 In the realm of letters there are movements that run 
 parallel with ordinary experience. The trades and call- 
 ings are represented in poems and stories — the farmer, 
 the peasant, the king, the soldier, the blacksmith, the 
 tent-maker, the shepherd. The topics and problems of 
 literature easily find points of contact with other sub- 
 jects of the curriculum. In Webster we have history 
 and politics; in Macaulay, dialectics; in Emerson, 
 ethics; in Tennyson, aesthetics; in Shakespeare, "life 
 and death and all between." It constantly touches on 
 the environs among which we live. The forest and 
 
Appreciation 45 
 
 prairie are made significant in a way that we could 
 never have discovered without the author's aid. The 
 world of letters is not another and unreal world unless 
 the passive and indolent reader makes it such; it is an 
 idealization with which the best that we are and that 
 we feel may claim kinship. Nor is much of the best 
 as remote as is sometimes insisted on ; The Cotter's Sat- 
 urday Night and Snow-Bound, for instance, are real- 
 ities ennobled and illumined, but realities by no means 
 foreign to the experience of learners. 
 
 Regarding the question whether the study of form 
 and structure should precede or follow the study of 
 content, it may be said that it is not well to lay too 
 great stress on this division. The two are united like 
 soul and body; it is, therefore, better to study them as 
 constituting a living thing. Even though it should be 
 convenient to proceed according to the basis of content 
 and form, which is to some extent done in the follow- 
 ing pages, it is not necessary to emphasize the separa- 
 tion. Form and structure take character from the 
 content; every phase of approval or criticism will refer 
 to this as the determining factor. 
 
 Again, form and structure lend themselves much 
 more readily to manipulation, because of the definitions 
 and rules which govern every variety of verse — meter, 
 rhythm, and rhyme, figure, sentence, paragraph. Here 
 are the lines of least resistance, but with the unskilled 
 teacher their very facility carries the danger of undue 
 stress on form. 
 
46 The Study of Literature 
 
 In giving the following suggestions for planning def- 
 inite lines of study, no claim is made either that they 
 are exhaustive or that they are so related as to form 
 a system. But it is believed that these topics may give 
 hints for such further investigations as classes have 
 time to make. Obviously, only a few of the topics will 
 apply in the study of any one classic. Again, it would 
 be an easy matter to group them under the head of 
 literary types, but it is thought to discuss them in a 
 general tabulation will be more in accord with the 
 purpose of leaving teachers free to use whatever mate- 
 rial may seem available in shaping their own study 
 plans. 
 
IV 
 STRUCTURAL ELEMENTS 
 
 The author's purpose. — A knowledge of what 
 the writer intendad to do is the only rational basis for 
 judging what he has done — how successfully he has 
 carried out his intention. The purpose is, of course, 
 conceived not as set up by incentives or motives lying 
 outside of the book, as the attainment of fame or 
 money. It is the potential effect of the classic itself, 
 the effect wrought on the reader by his apprehending 
 and assimilating the content. 
 
 In Rip Van Winkle it is to entertain by depicting an 
 odd but not unsympathetic person and reciting the 
 unusual experiences he passed through. In Sesame 
 and Lilies the purpose is to edify by exhorting to 
 higher ends in education, and to show how boys and 
 girls may attain the personal worth and influence within 
 their possibilities. In L' Allegro it is to create a mood 
 of joy by calling up a series of pictures associated in 
 the reader's mind with experiences of joy. 
 
 The intentions embodied can usually be stated in 
 connection with the means employed, whether the aim 
 is to instruct, entertain, exhort, amuse, to stimulate 
 and cheer, to persuade, or to convince. For example, 
 Burke's intention in the Conciliation Speech: to per- 
 suade Parliament that his plan for restoring the peace- 
 
 47 
 
48 The Study of Literature 
 
 ful relations with the Americans was more just and 
 more expedient than the other means proposed. 
 
 The centred idea is the most concise form to 
 which a statement of the nature and movement of the 
 subject matter may be reduced. It is the germinal 
 idea, probably the first conception which finally matured 
 in the completed production. It cannot be formulated 
 unless the pupil has such a grasp of the whole as makes 
 possible a view of it in all its parts and bearings. A 
 statement of it has the value of a test as to how well 
 the content is mastered. 
 
 To set both Purpose and Central Idea as problems in 
 an assignment is generally unnecessary. Sometimes 
 the ends of the recitation are subserved better by one 
 than the other. The purpose may be a matter of some 
 uncertainty; not so the Central Idea. In the Concilia- 
 tion Speech the latter is the proofs and arguments 
 showing that concession to the demands of the Amer- 
 icans was reasonable and expedient. 
 
 The point of view. — On occasion it may be useful 
 to ascertain the point of view. In description, where 
 it is most obvious, it stands for the position which the 
 writer occupies in relation to what he describes — the 
 distance and direction from the object described. 
 Authors are not equally careful to maintain a logical 
 relation to their work in manner and method. When 
 they change position they should notify the reader so 
 as to take him with them. Where the point of view 
 vacillates or shifts unaccountably it creates confusion, 
 
Structural Elements 49 
 
 resulting in a less compact organism. In Othello and 
 some other plays a double time relation is maintained, 
 however, without the feeling of confusion — "long 
 time" to give probability, and "short time" to give 
 presence and reality. 
 
 In exposition and oratory the point of view cannot 
 always be indicated with the precision it can in descrip- 
 tion. But it is equally important in these kinds of 
 composition. Here, too, the author holds a relation to 
 his subject matter that imposes upon him conditions 
 of treatment. In Burke's speech the point of view is 
 that of a patriotic English statesman desirous of restor- 
 ing friendly relations with another country. 
 
 Problems arising in connection with these three top- 
 ics — Purpose, Central Idea, and Point of View — pre- 
 suppose a maturity of judgment, a reach and grasp 
 that can survey, the whole and see its parts in their 
 relation; an ability that cannot always be counted on 
 in pupils. In some cases the very life of classics 
 selected for work in schools is an emotional element 
 difficult to formulate, and occasionally of such a kind 
 that the tealcher's tact and judgment will not make it 
 the source of problems to set before pupils young in 
 years. Exercises based on these topics have their place 
 in a synthetic review, and then a few will be sufficient. 
 
 In which of these two poems is the Purpose most 
 clearly conceived from the start : Snow-Bound or The 
 Deserted Village? In the former the parts blend well 
 into one single impression. Does the latter have this 
 
50 The Study of Literature 
 
 excellence in an equally high degree? Give also the 
 Central Idea of each of these. 
 
 When and how does the writer change his point of 
 view ? How does he notify the reader ? Why is there 
 less danger of a confused point of view in essays, 
 arguments, and orations ? 
 
 Diction. — Quite definite stylistic qualities in 
 words and phrases may be registered. 
 
 Aptness has regard to the exactness, the fitness with 
 which the word is selected to convey the idea. It has 
 reference to the nicety of the selection, and looks to the 
 pleasurable effect of an expression felicitous and ade- 
 quate. Besides this, aptness also insists on such choice 
 of terms and phrases as is felt to be in harmony with 
 the language. 
 
 Specific words call up single precise ideas instead of 
 general notions. Such are individual names of persons 
 and things. " Every girl who has read Mrs. Marcet's 
 little dialogues, can teach Montague or Walpole many 
 lessons in finance." 
 
 Among verbs those are most specific that point to 
 the particular kind of action. To walk is quite general 
 compared with trudge, step, plod, foot it, waddle, 
 toddle, shamble, shuffle, stalk, glide, stroll, stride, 
 tramp. "The men were slumping to and fro in the 
 mud." 
 
 A free use of specific words implies close handling — 
 a firmer grip on the subject matter. 
 
 Suggestive words are such as convey the idea with 
 
Structural Elements 51 
 
 unusual reality and richness, not only the object named, 
 but a cluster of associations. Even common words in 
 new and striking combinations give a feeling of this: 
 "a wintry sentiment" ; "vulgar respectability" ; "he 
 was housed temporarily in a stuffy little room " ; " intel- 
 lectual eastwinds"; "he was so very much more a 
 commissary than a man"; "a chilly sensation crept 
 over us " ; " the drums, the heady drums ! " " the broad- 
 flung banners of the corn"; "that's not it?" said I, 
 "that ship-looking thing?" "he scuttled away in the 
 dark"; "he returned to his pocket the handkerchief 
 with which he had been whipping away the red dust 
 of Poker Flat from his neat boots." 
 
 These owe their force to some extent to newness, or 
 newness of combination. They are the opposite to 
 overworked expressions like "zephyrs"; "the setting 
 sun"; "the pages of history"; "along these lines"; 
 " advancement of civilization " ; also the bookish words, 
 " making merry " ; " goodwife " ; " good cheer " ; " bab- 
 bling brooks " ; " hill and dale." For idyllic description 
 with setting of oak, rose, cottage, dell, wavelets, the 
 writer alive to the effects of suggest! veness and newness 
 will either choose terms less common or freshen up 
 these in new connotations. 
 
 All the classes of words here noted owe their force 
 and fitness in a large measure to the nicety of the 
 adjustment between word and thought' — truth in fact. 
 They state it so that the reader feels a pleasure in the 
 correctness of the statement. They are not beside the 
 
52 The Study of Literature 
 
 mark, but squarely reach the thing at which they are 
 aimed. 
 
 Poetic words: words in themselves have unequal 
 poetic values. Some are enhanced by the charm of 
 associations clustering richly about them. 
 
 (a) New expressions. Mostly in figures where they 
 gleam in a flash of fancy. Such collocation may lend a 
 newly coined word or an old prose term an unusual 
 brilliancy. 
 
 (b) Old words more poetic than new ones. They 
 have "peerage," as Ruskin terms it. Generations of 
 poets, and readers as well, have charged these with 
 poetic content: "shepherd," "milkmaid," "myrtle," 
 "laurel," "rose," "lily," "cottage," "plowman," 
 "nymph," "fairy," "heath," "bonnie," "love," 
 "mother," "home," "hearth," "brooklet," "June," 
 "meadow," "lassie," "lady," "lord," "knight." Their 
 past use in verse and story has endowed them with a 
 poetic investment. Many words equally weighty in 
 themselves and generally more serviceable lack this en- 
 hancement — "street car," "steamboat," "locomotive," 
 "telephone," "auto," "ticket," "time-table," "bell 
 boy," "aviator," "salesman," "agent," "manager," 
 " stockholder," " director." 
 
 Besides the accumulated glory of years clinging to 
 them, the older words are relieved of pettiness and 
 triviality. They have retained, and they convey, what 
 is large and permanent in human concerns; they are 
 close to life's center. In later words the sifting process 
 
Structural Elements S3 
 
 of the transitory from the permanent, of pettiness from 
 largeness, is not so complete. 
 
 Age and newness account for only a fraction of 
 the difference in value noted: (i) native words, for 
 instance, are more poetic than foreign — the oak than 
 the fig tree; the sheep than the camel; the sword than 
 the assagai. (2) Again, all kinds of glorious notions 
 have become attached to classes of words like these: 
 "pearl," "gold," "crystal," "ruby," "diamond," 
 "purple," "azure" — the simple ornaments of the 
 oldest, especially the ballad, poetry. In this case the 
 explanation closest at hand is the one given under topic 
 (b). (3) Homely words are preferred to learned or 
 scientific ones — "air" to "atmosphere." (4) Poets 
 avoid the terms of commerce — "price list," "consign- 
 ment," " schedule." ( 5 ) The poet says : " my brother," 
 rather than " my cousin " ; he does not take cognizance 
 of distant relationship. (6) He uses positive terms 
 rather than modified ones — "white," not "whitish"; 
 "much" or "all," not "a considerable number." 
 
 (7) His vocabulary does not contain the comparative 
 form of adjectives, only the positive or the superlative. 
 
 (8) He employs mathematical figures only in round 
 numbers; he never descends to fractions or petty 
 distinctions. 
 
 Why are "steed" and "charger" more poetic than 
 "courser" and "roadster"; "lily" than "tulip"; 
 "scythe" than "reaper"; "harp" and "lyre" than 
 "piano" and "clarion"? Why are "barque" and 
 
54 The Study of Literature 
 
 "brig" better for the purposes of the poet than 
 "coaster" and "tender"? 
 
 Figures. — No matter what name it has in 
 rhetoric, a good figure owes its excellence to the new 
 and unsuspected relation of ideas it embodies. It is 
 the means of causing a new thought to burst into exist- 
 ence. Nothing in style is more pleasurable than apt 
 figures, but nothing fades quicker. They lose their 
 effect through use, and become hackneyed. 
 
 To classify them according to the categories of 
 rhetoric is a common literature exercise; more is 
 gained, however, by calling for their purpose, and for 
 judgment on how aptly they illustrate, clarify, or en- 
 rich the thought. Some writers show a preference 
 for certain classes of figures. Which predominate in 
 the selection studied? Select several, and discuss the 
 effectiveness of each in its connection. 
 
 Sentences. — In their study it is most convenient 
 to apply the usual classification of periodic, loose, com- 
 promise, balanced. Note the distribution of phrases 
 and clauses, and to what extent the writer has had 
 regard to clearness and simplicity of construction. 
 Examples obviously constructed with a view to the 
 effect of rhythm? Connectives used freely or spar- 
 ingly? Principal kinds of connectives used? How 
 well has unity been observed? Are there any sen- 
 tences containing matter which obviously does not 
 belong to them? 
 
 Paragraphs. — Point out the analogy between 
 
Structural Elements 55 
 
 the general structure of the sentence — subject, predi- 
 cate, complement — and the paragraph, where there 
 is also a subject, stated or understood, assertions about 
 it in the way of elaboration or proof, conclusions 
 about it as summary or application. Note also that 
 the same general principle runs through the finished 
 composition, as introduction, discussion, conclusion. 
 
 (a) Coherence: select a typical paragraph, not too 
 brief, and study it with reference to the manner in 
 which the sentences are joined. What connectives are 
 used? What alteration, if any, could be made so as 
 to secure greater compactness or smoothness ? (b) con- 
 tinuity: is the adjustment of sentence to sentence made 
 so that the thought moves on in the easiest and most 
 natural manner? (c) unity: is everything irrelevant 
 rigidly excluded? On the other hand, does it include 
 everything that obviously belongs, consistent with the 
 scale of treatment? If it leaves the impression of 
 fragments, what particular changes in it would remedy 
 this defect? Test the paragraph for unity by summing 
 up its content into one statement. If it is difficult to 
 sum up, strict unity has not been observed. The sense 
 of it either points two or more ways, or the subject has 
 been obscured by illustrative examples or by matter 
 thrust in at the wrong place. An instance of the latter 
 is the case where a writer announces his subject and 
 then proceeds to clear away a number of objections 
 before he goes on with the proof he has in mind, in 
 the meantime leaving his subject, so to say, hanging in 
 
56 The Study of Literature 
 
 the air. (d) emphasis: to what extent does the argu- 
 ment of the paragraph reach a climax? What rear- 
 rangement, if any, would form a better climax? 
 (e) variety: note the length of the sentences as well 
 as their grammatical structure. Which kinds does the 
 author prefer? Can you discover any useful principle 
 that should guide the young w.riter in his distribution 
 of long and short sentences? 
 
 General analysis of the paragraph. — What sen- 
 tence states the topic? How would you formulate 
 the topic if it is not expressly stated? What sentence 
 contains the idea for which the entire paragraph is 
 constructed? What sentences illustrate this idea? 
 What sentences connect the thought of the preceding 
 paragraph with the thought in this one? What sen- 
 tences state it in a form to be connected with the next ? 
 Discuss the connectives — ^connectives omitted; con- 
 nection formed by adjustment; transitions abrupt, 
 jerky, smooth. 
 
 Rhythm is a pleasing succession of syllables, 
 words, phrases, and sentences. It is the result of let- 
 ting words and phrases follow in a sequence that gives 
 proportion or cadence to the language. Rhythm is 
 not exclusively the property of verse, but as illustrated 
 by the extract here given, it may also be found in 
 prose : 
 
 The shepherd girl that had delivered France — she from her 
 dungeon, she from her baiting at the stake, she from her duel 
 with fire, as she entered her last dream — saw Domremy, saw 
 
Structural Elements 57 
 
 the fountain of Domremy, saw the pomp of forests in which 
 her childhood had wandered. The Easter festival which man 
 had denied to her languishing heart — that resurrection of spring- 
 time, which the darkness of dungeons had intercepted from her, 
 hungering after the glorious liberty of forests — were by God 
 given back into her hands as jewels that had been stolen from 
 her by robbers. With these, perhaps (for the minutes of 
 dreams can stretch into ages), was given back to her by God the 
 bliss of childhood. 
 
 De Quincey. 
 
 Meter. — The distinguishing property of meter is 
 also proportion and cadence, rhythm in fact, but here 
 so regular as to be governed by definite laws. While 
 many lines of inquiry connected with poetry are of 
 such a nature as to make specific exactness impossible, 
 yet problems connected with meter — that is, the usual 
 ones — may be given considerable definiteness. In 
 how far this topic should be taken up in the class 
 depends on the advancement of the pupils and the time 
 they have to give to it. 
 
 First of all the usual classification of feet may be 
 taken as a basis, and the line described accordingly. 
 As the most common kinds are the iambus, the trochee, 
 the spondee, the dactyl, and the anapaest, the line is 
 named according to the kind that prevails. Mark the 
 scansion of typical lines selected. Discuss lines suscep- 
 tible of two or more methods of scansion. What kind 
 of foot prevails in the stanza? Throughout the poem? 
 What kind of line prevails throughout the poem — 
 tetrameter, pentameter, or other? Make a scheme of 
 
58 The Study of Literature 
 
 the stanza showing where similarly constructed lines 
 recur. 
 
 Comparison is to be made between the relative num- 
 ber of run-on lines and end-stopped lines. The manner 
 in which these two kinds affect the movement is to be 
 observed. 
 
 What besides the kind of foot and number of feet 
 in a line determine its movement? Here the pause 
 required by the sense (usually called caesura) may be 
 noted. Indicate its position in typical lines. This may 
 be done by numbers showing how many feet or frac- 
 tions of a foot precede the caesura : 
 
 This is the forest primeval. The murmuring 
 
 pines and hemlocks, 
 Bearded with moss and in garments green 
 
 indistinct in the twilight. 
 
 Counting the feet that precede it, the first line will 
 be marked 2j^, which is the number preceding the 
 pause after "primeval." The second will be marked 
 i^ and y/s. 
 
 Rhyme. — Similarity of sound in final syllables of 
 verses or verse phrases. Rhyme presupposes rhythm 
 and meter, and forms, as it were, the crowning finish 
 to the cadence of metrical language. Does the author 
 admit incorrect synonyms for the purpose of securing 
 a rhyme with a preceding word? Examples of the 
 common stock rhymes; of unusual ones, imperfect ones. 
 Does the poet ever allow the thought to be wrenched 
 
Structural Elements 59 
 
 in order to reach a certain rhyme? The author's in- 
 genuity in the construction of rhymes. Reasons for 
 the rhymes of the closing lines in certain scenes of 
 Shakespeare. The pupil should be cautioned against 
 the superficial method of basing his estimate of a poet 
 according to mere rhymes or rhythm. Burns is often 
 so completely carried away by the thought that the 
 rhymes are left to adjust themselves any way they can. 
 In his exquisite poem "Highland Mary" there is not 
 a single perfect rhyme. 
 
 Melody in word and phrase.— More difficult to 
 determine with precision are the musical qualities of 
 the words themselves, the combinations of smooth 
 vowels and liquids so as to produce agreeable tone 
 effects, or the grouping together of harsh consonants 
 which the ear feels as discords, as for instance : 
 
 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy. 
 Here the line fairly hisses with harsh sounds, but the 
 context makes plain why such are used here. Note 
 again combinations of vowels and consonants giving 
 full, round, deep tones : 
 
 The orbed maiden with fire laden, 
 Whom mortals call the moon. 
 
 Shelley. 
 Hark, my merry comrades, call me, sounding on 
 the bugle horn. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 In the following passage Pope, in his Essay on 
 Criticism, gives us in the first line the retarding effects 
 
60 The Study of Literature 
 
 of clustered consonants, and in the last he shows us 
 how a different collocation of vowels and liquid con- 
 sonants produces an easy, gliding movement : 
 
 When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, 
 
 The line, too, labors and the words move slow; 
 
 Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain. 
 
 Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims along the main. 
 
 Point out lines rapid in movement and explain how 
 
 this effect is produced. Select lines in which the writer 
 
 has obviously chosen words for their musical qualities. 
 
 Give instances where the lines are either rapid or slow, 
 
 and explain why the author has given them just this 
 
 movement. 
 
LITERARY ELEMENTS 
 
 Unity. — The great variety of forms in which 
 literature appears makes it difficuh to lay down laws 
 of structure that have general application. One prin- 
 ciple is obvious : In letters, as in art, we look for the 
 completion of a design, the realization of an idea in a 
 finished form. We disapprove of fragments, of liter- 
 ary phenomena immature in conception or defective 
 in execution. The piece must be wrought in such 
 fashion that it has become a vital organic unit with a 
 clear design harmoniously and consistently brought to 
 a finish. 
 
 So far as the general cast of a piece is concerned, the 
 author must, in order to bring it to artistic complete- 
 ness, observe three important particulars, (a) He 
 must include everything belonging to the purpose or 
 plan which he either expressly states or otherwise indi- 
 cates in his work. A literary production has aptly been 
 compared to a natural organism; and like this it has, 
 if it is complete, certain natural features. If it lacks 
 these it is a fragment or a series of fragments, defect- 
 ive or maimed. What means are used to bring the 
 design or the plan before the reader? To what does 
 the action or the issue make the reader look forward? 
 In fact, what seems to be promised in the early part 
 
 61 
 
62 The Study of Literature 
 
 of the piece? How carefully has the promise been 
 kept? At the close, what questions, if any, does the 
 reader feel prompted to ask? 
 
 (b) He must make the work consistent with itself 
 in tone. This does not require that the writer should 
 keep on the same level throughout — either reflective, 
 speculative, enthusiastic, sad, or gay. Indeed, if the 
 work is of some length he may find occasion to call up 
 all of these moods. Consistency of tone requires that 
 the writer in his selection of material and in his dealing 
 with it must be true to one clearly defined conception. 
 In his criticism of the schools of his day, Dickens uses 
 direct explanations, pictures, wit, humor, sarcasm, 
 pathos, tragedy, but all contributing to the main pur- 
 pose. He never introduces matter that points in a 
 different direction, or that allows us to doubt his sin- 
 cerity, or that makes us waver or become confused as 
 to his aim. 
 
 If a work is inconsistent or inharmonious in tone it 
 can lay no claim to greatness. A mind with a highly 
 developed artistic sense will involuntarily reject every- 
 thing that threatens to confuse the ideal to which it is 
 committed. Do the parts of which the work is com- 
 posed take their rise out of each other in such a way 
 as to be grown together? Are there any units that 
 appear to be thrust in for purposes lying outside of 
 the author's plan? 
 
 (c) Another kind of consistency, the most obvious 
 one, looks toward an orderly arrangement of the mate- 
 
Literary Elements 63 
 
 rial. Whether it be an essay, an oration, or a narra- 
 tive, each step in the unfolding of the thought must 
 come in its proper sequence. A careful observance of 
 this principle is felt to make the work shapely and life- 
 like. Irrelevant matter must be rigidly excluded here, 
 too, not because it is out of harmony, but because it is 
 out of its place, obstructing the course of the thought 
 and otherwise breaking up the plan. What change in 
 arrangement would improve the plan? What parts 
 could advantageously be left out ? What improvement 
 could be made in the approach to the subject? What 
 would be a more satisfactory conclusion? 
 
 Movement. — Both a story and a treatise should 
 lead to something, should get somewhere. The inci- 
 dents presented in the first part of a narrative raise an 
 issue promising an outcome of concern to some of the 
 characters. Thereby the reader finds himself project- 
 ing his thoughts forwards in anticipation of results 
 and consequences, and when these are reached he has 
 the satisfying sense of having shared in an onward 
 movement. If he analyzes the story into its dynamic 
 units, he will find moments such as exciting cause, 
 complication, suspense, crisis, climax, resolution. In 
 The Merchant of Venice Bassanio's love for Portia is 
 the exciting cause; the borrowing of the three thou- 
 sand ducats leads to a complication, which later be- 
 comes fraught with suspense through Antonio's re- 
 ported losses and the Jew's determination to have 
 revenge. The success of Bassanio's quest is a climax, 
 
64 The Study of Literature 
 
 which, however, leaves another strand of the story to 
 be resolved later. 
 
 Now, a well written essay gives rise to a feeling of 
 progression quite analogous. The introduction is often 
 historical, hence, strictly narrative in character. Sub- 
 ordinate matter is then eliminated or disposed of, so 
 that the discussion is focused on clear-cut lines. The 
 central thought is built up by definitions and explana- 
 tions. Then factors are introduced, which are felt to 
 be causes; and as such, they too promise effects and 
 results. Here again the reader has before him prob- 
 lems in the process of solution, which he follows in 
 anticipation of the outcome. 
 
 In the essay and the oration it is worth while to 
 note the items that give it movement. Is there a his- 
 torical introduction? If so, is it felt to bring the 
 subject matter well before the reader? Into what 
 principal parts is the discussion divided? How is 
 the subject defined and explained? What facts in- 
 troduced seem to place the subject in a new light? 
 Which are the principal arguments? Which of these 
 seem to you most convincing? Try to state in a brief 
 summing-up the new outlook made clear in the 
 discussion. 
 
 Touch of life. — In Milton's earlier poems there 
 is a rush of life as we live it and know it; in his later 
 poems, the great epics, there is an absence of this, a 
 remoteness in both environs and experiences that does 
 not connect with the occurrences of life. Hence, in 
 
Literary Elements 65 
 
 his choice and handling of the subject matter the author 
 gives it presence by moving close to the facts of life. 
 This distinction is always felt, and is well worth reg- 
 istering in the final estimate. Sublimity and grandeur 
 may, indeed, rise out of what is distant, but we love 
 the homely details of what is near. Again, it seems to 
 enhance the value of a work to feel, as we read, that 
 we are following deductions from the first-hand ex- 
 perience of some real personality. This distinction 
 between remoteness and proximity is so obvious that 
 it is often overlooked; and yet, in a final evaluation 
 the pupil may well record it as one of the most sub- 
 stantial reasons for his preference. 
 
 The story-teller gives us life pictures to which our 
 own experiences promptly contribute. What analogies 
 in everyday reality can the pupils find? Perhaps they 
 can recall an event, or a series of events, that, after 
 some adjustment, assumes a similar movement or 
 reaches a similar end to that of the piece. 
 
 If the author has depicted life faithfully as an actual 
 observer, we can inquire about the phases of it that 
 have attracted him. When he gives pictures of lower 
 conditions, what is his purpose? What do such pic- 
 tures contribute to his apparent design? Again, the 
 ideas conveyed may be petty and diluted. Examples, 
 if any. Examples of largeness and range. 
 
 In essays speculative or philosophical, an excellent 
 line of work is to translate a number of abstract propo- 
 sitions into terms of experience and actuality. Embody 
 
66 The Study of Literature 
 
 in a concrete example Emerson's " Hitch your wagon 
 to a star"; Lowell's "We Sinais climb and know it 
 not"; Ruskin's "Vital feelings of delight"; Arnold's 
 "Literature a criticism of life." In case the classic is 
 remote from ordinary occurrences, how does the fic- 
 tionist make us accept what at first thought seems 
 preposterous? In the case of a piece of fiction, like 
 The Ancient Mariner, which is in a strange realm of 
 the imagination, the writer has usually done something 
 to bridge over the chasm from the world of reality. 
 What evidence of this in the poem mentioned? How 
 is Rip Van Winkle's impossible sleep brought in so 
 as to avoid disturbing us by a feeling that it is pre- 
 posterous? If Shakespeare has taken any pains to 
 make the pound-of-flesh story probable, show how he 
 has done this. How are the world and the events in 
 The Tempest reduced to sufficient probability for the 
 purpose of the dramatist? (See Richard Moulton, 
 Shakespeare as a Dramatic Artist.) 
 
 Works likely to be fraught with the touch of life are 
 such as embody the matured reflections of a writer, 
 like Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, Bacon's Essays, 
 Ruskin's Sesame and Lilies. Such also, are works dis- 
 cussing practical problems, current issues in political and 
 social affairs; those discussing social advancement or 
 questions of immediate concern to any large number 
 of people. 
 
 In another class of works the touch of life results 
 in local color, such as the stories of J. M. Barrie; in 
 
Literary Elements 67 
 
 sectional studies like those of Mary E. Wilkins, or 
 Bret Harte. In others there are felt strong national 
 characteristics like Whittier's Snow-Bound and Songs 
 of Labor. In some of Longfellow's the national trait 
 is prominent, as in The Courtship of Miles Standish, 
 Evangeline, and Hiawatha. 
 
 What difference between the diction of a work re- 
 markable for local color and a work where this char- 
 acteristic is notably absent? What is there in the 
 subject matter that imparts local color to the work? 
 Illustrate these two points by reference to Scott's Lady 
 of the Lake. What is there in Snow-Bound that im- 
 bues it with the touch of life? Contrast this poem 
 with The Vision of Sir Launfal, with the view of 
 ascertaining which moves closest to actuality. Make 
 a similar comparison between L' Allegro and the first 
 book of Paradise Lost. What facts presented seem 
 to have grown out of actual experience? State why 
 you believe they must have been experienced instead of 
 imagined. 
 
 Originality. — Neither the student nor the casual 
 reader looks for absolute originality. And yet there 
 are distinctions that mark the works of authors as 
 more or less original. Without a considerable degree 
 of independence and new light they can never be ac- 
 corded the highest rank. We do not ask that a writer 
 create his subject matter out of "airy nothings," but 
 we do expect that it should be a real contribution at 
 least in treatment and application, and that it should 
 
68 The Study of Literature 
 
 add something distinct to the sum total of what we 
 have already known and experienced. 
 
 For purposes of study this topic is most conveniently 
 approached under the heads of (a) originality in the 
 subject matter; (b) originality in treatment. The 
 latter topic leads to the points already discussed under 
 structure — diction, sentence, paragraph, etc. Again, 
 originality in subject matter leads to an inquiry about 
 other features like purpose, point of view, conception, 
 and the like. 
 
 In authors to whom this point especially applies, the 
 work may be given a satisfying definiteness by record- 
 ing (a) ideas that we recognize as a distinct contribu- 
 tion to the sum of what we know and feel; (b) ideas 
 that clarify thoughts and feelings already ours; (c) 
 thoughts that merely furnish an approach to others. 
 Other pertinent inquiries are. Wherein can the author 
 lay claim to originality? If it seems that this claim 
 must be denied, we reach the question, When, and by 
 whom, has the same work been done before? If we 
 do not recognize the author as a new and distinct force, 
 to what extent does he deserve credit for doing cleverly 
 what others have done before him? This inquiry 
 applies, as we see, to a single idea as well as to the 
 sum of ideas fused into a literary unit. It might seem 
 to be proceeding too much by fragments to pronounce 
 on single sentences or single lines of poetry. Yet, if 
 attention is directed to a series of lines from one of 
 the great poets, it will be seen that they may quite 
 
Literary Elements 69 
 
 readily be registered as containing new, contributory, 
 or subordinate, ideas. 
 
 Are the theme and the artistic work in Evangeline 
 more, or less original than in Hiawatha? Instances 
 of classics of high rank where neither theme nor treat- 
 ment can lay claim to originality. How would you 
 account for their acknowledged excellence in such 
 cases ? 
 
 Recurring ideas. — Most great authors are moved 
 by certain predominating opinions and views which 
 constantly tend to receive expression in their works. 
 No just estimate can be reached until the great prin- 
 ciples that move an author are ascertained. Incidental 
 opinions are carefully to be distinguished from the 
 matured thought, the utterance which embodies the 
 best and truest that he has lived and thought. This, 
 again, is not necessarily a distinct enunciation of, say, 
 a social, political, or philosophical doctrine, but rather 
 a bent resulting in presentation and expression of what 
 may be termed the life ideas of the writer. 
 
 In whatever Carlyle writes he emphasizes truth, hon- 
 esty, labor, loyalty, religion, silence. Even if he sets 
 out to explain a problem or to tell a story, he weaves 
 it all about with his own reflections so as to bring the 
 above virtues into relief. Wordsworth is constantly 
 led to nature, to speculate about large or petty things, 
 yet breathing into all his personal love for the homely 
 details of peasant life and nature. Byron expresses a 
 gloomy defiance against all restraint, and chafes against 
 
70 The Study of Literature 
 
 the limitations that life imposes. These ideas are 
 embodied in his characters — Childe Harold, Manfred, 
 Lara, the Giaour, Cain, the Corsair. There is, in 
 fact, a constant recurrence of the same personality 
 under these different names. Ruskin sometimes 
 shadows forth, and sometimes clearly states, a delight 
 in the beauty of art and nature, and the teaching that 
 art and nature should be brought closer home to us 
 to enrich and to better the very act of living. Emerson 
 constantly reminds us that there is a world of thought 
 and feelings within us and beyond us, a glorious world 
 that is by no means hemmed in by the practical matters 
 of farming, mining, road making, fishery, or ship- 
 building. 
 
 In some instances one single work may fairly ex- 
 press the author, but more often a wider acquaintance 
 with the works both of his youth and manhood is 
 necessary to reach the ideas that constitute his best self. 
 
 Among the poems of Longfellow, which ones are 
 most truly representative of the author's personal 
 thought-life? Formulate into a proposition one or two 
 of the leading ideas in Emerson's The Superlative, 
 Shakespeare, Friendship, History, The Oversoul, The 
 Uses of Great Men. What single principles — one or 
 two — does Carlyle most clearly urge in the essay on 
 Burns? Point out the main thoughts that recur in 
 Sesame and Lilies. In your acquaintance with Shake- 
 speare which, if any, thoughts do you find urged as 
 most truly expressing the writer's personal beliefs? 
 
Literary Elements 71 
 
 Teachings. — As noted under the preceding topic, 
 there are certain vital ideas that tend to recur in the 
 works of great authors. They may, it appears, be 
 quite involuntary, inseparable from the writer as a 
 personal presence. In other works, again, are laid 
 down distinct teachings, which the author obviously 
 wishes to convey to the reader. 
 
 In Nicholas Nickleby, Dickens showed his country- 
 men the absurdities and cruelties prevailing in the Eng- 
 lish private schools ; in Pickwick Papers he showed the 
 need of reform in legal proceedings; in Martin Chuz- 
 slewit he exposed industrial swindles. A great many 
 other writers have set out with the same deliberate pur- 
 pose of teaching, or insisting on, something which 
 impressed them as of paramount importance. Among 
 them were Bellamy, in his day presenting visions of 
 social betterment. Of a narrower and more temporary 
 character was Coin's Financial School, and Sinclair's 
 The Jungle. In The Bravo and The Heidenmauer 
 Cooper taught democracy to Europeans, and in Home 
 as Found he taught the phases of an older social cul- 
 ture to Americans. In Elsie Venner and The Guardian 
 Angel Holmes studies anatomical influences. Like- 
 wise the great writers, Thackeray, Swift, Hugo, Cer- 
 vantes, taught, not only involuntarily, as do all great 
 writers in the act of expression, but purposely and 
 deliberately. 
 
 The fact that certain works of genius do advocate 
 definite opinions, coupled with the feeling that their 
 
72 The Study o£ Literature 
 
 works should make the reader wiser and better, may 
 lead the undiscerning learner far astray in his search 
 for edifying teachings. In The Merchant of Venice 
 students have discovered a variety of useful precepts: 
 Some hold that it teaches man's relation to wealth. 
 Rotecher and Ulrici see in it summum jus, summa 
 injuria. Others claim that the teaching is conveyed in 
 Portia's discourse on mercy; still others that the letter 
 of the law enslaves, but love liberates ; and, again, that 
 the soul of beneficent justice is not an unflinching 
 regard for form, but rather a regard for the particular 
 exigencies of the case. Kreyszig adds that it would 
 not be difficult to fill several other moral medicine 
 bottles from the poet's well-supplied apothecary shop. 
 
 Some objections against incorporating anything ob- 
 trusive like this in a masterpiece are that the precept 
 is temporary, holding no permanent identity in the flux 
 and flow of existences; that it limits the work, de- 
 priving it of synthetic largeness and focusing atten- 
 tion on what in the passing of time will be relegated 
 to a subordinate order. 
 
 And yet in great works something is imparted that 
 makes us wiser and better. The writer ushers us into 
 a world where we feel that moral order reigns. Prin- 
 ciples of justice predominate, though he may not regard 
 it as his task to mete out formal awards of merit. 
 Such a strong sense of supreme justice and mercy per- 
 vades the works of Shakespeare, Tennyson, Browning, 
 Lowell, Bret Harte, Howells, Emerson, Hawthorne. 
 
Literary Elements 73 
 
 To inquire just how they impart these ideas would lead 
 into an abstruse discussion. They seem to take the 
 crudities of which existence is made up and show us 
 the great principles that permeate and pervade its 
 wholeness. They disentangle a little of the web and 
 lay bare the chief strands in the complex fabric. They 
 allow us to step aside and stand aloof from the vexa- 
 tious trivialities that beset us, and enjoy a bit of life 
 freed from disturbing ingredients. A story may show 
 us innocence succumbing to the machinations of vice, 
 yet a great story makes us feel that the laws which 
 govern human nature and human life operate in the 
 complete majesty of their powers, and that they re- 
 quire the triumph and restitution and vindication of 
 virtue and the ultimate condemnation of its assailants. 
 The result of it all is a new outlook, ideals of character, 
 of conduct, and, in the last analysis, they lead us to 
 tap new sources of possibilities dormant within us. 
 
 Distinguish between the fundamental thought of the 
 masterpiece and the teaching it embodies. Contrast the 
 teaching with the Central Idea. In The Merchant of 
 Venice the latter is: through love for his friend a 
 Venetian merchant falls into the clutches of his enemy 
 and is rescued from the cruelty of the latter by his 
 friend's betrothed. What, if any, is the obvious teach- 
 ing of the selection now before the class? Is this 
 truth-enforcement deliberately imparted; i. e., does the 
 piece seem to be written expressly to convey it ? What 
 is most instructive in the work — the author's direct 
 
74 The Study of Literature 
 
 statements, the personages as such, or the things that 
 happen ? 
 
 What does Shakespeare, intentionally or unintention- 
 ally, teach in Macbeth f What great principle seems to 
 you to come to light in the poem Evangeline? How 
 does it compare in grandeur with that embodied in 
 The Vision of Sir Launfal? 
 
 A distinction difficult to bring out very clearly is 
 that masterpieces are conceived, so to say, on different 
 ethical planes. The authors themselves, in fact, move 
 in ethical worlds of greater or less clearness. In 
 studying some works, the pupil feels himself in an 
 atmosphere of uniform purity, where no touch of 
 disturbing elements is admitted. Writers, however, 
 sometimes deal with details in themselves decidedly 
 unattractive, but for pure moral ends. The author's 
 purpose in its scope must be considered before a just 
 estimate can be reached. Then it will be found that 
 purposes are not alike in the respect insisted on. Where 
 we discover pictures of human frailty, we are often 
 willing to bestow our heartiest sympathy. Burns has 
 much of this, and yet he has our love; we are charitably 
 inclined towards him and to the shortcomings of the 
 persons he depicts. He has probably as strong a hold 
 on our affections as has Tennyson, and yet it is at once 
 admitted that the latter moves on quite a different 
 ethical plane. Burns is close; Tennyson is at times 
 remote, less approachable, but moves steadily in a more 
 scrupulously clear atmosphere. What factors mainly 
 
Literary Elements 75 
 
 seem to give tone to the writer's ethical world ? Which 
 moves on the higher plane, The Cotter's Saturday 
 Night or Tarn O'Shanterf Irving's The Legend of 
 Sleepy Hollow or Bret Harte's The Outcasts of Poker 
 Flat? Give instances of classics where the diction ap- 
 pears to determine the tone; where it is rather due to 
 the characters. Do you know of masterpieces where 
 diction, characters, and subject matter are not in them- 
 selves exalted, and yet where the classic as such holds 
 its place on a high plane ? 
 
 Literary substance, its weight and value. — The 
 study of a masterpiece moves on to a point where the 
 learner feels impelled to express its value in some 
 standard of measurement. Though absolute standards 
 in terms of definite significance do not exist, something 
 may yet be done to satisfy the need of evaluation. 
 
 The most common measurement (to be discussed 
 more fully below) is that of comparison. It is appli- 
 cable to the smallest unit as well as to entire poems ; to 
 an author's collected works, to the authors themselves, 
 to entire literatures. In making a comparison, we use 
 one masterpiece as a measure of another; we do not 
 reach absolute values, but what is equally serviceable 
 for our purpose — differences. 
 
 In classroom work it is preferable simply to encour- 
 age the pupils to give the best reasons they can to sup- 
 port their opinions. If they have carefully inquired 
 about what the author sets out to do and have patiently 
 and studiously followed him through his performance, 
 
76 The Study of Literature 
 
 they are not likely to go far astray in the justness of 
 their verdict. At any rate, their own opinions reached 
 in this way are truer for them even if a critic should 
 call them erroneous, than opinions merely gotten from 
 others. A hint from the teacher will help them to real- 
 ize that all masterpieces can by no means be judged 
 by the same rules or principles; that the constants 
 among them are so few and the variables so many, 
 that each new classic requires from the pupil, as judge, 
 a new adjustment to its scope and purpose. 
 
 Even without the formal appliances of criticism the 
 pupil can analyze the Conciliation Speech and quite in- 
 dependently apprehend its masterly plan, its excellence 
 as an architectural structure. Further inspection will 
 show him new values, as in the observance of rhetorical 
 laws in various parts of the oration — deference 
 towards opponents, means for gaining the good will 
 of the hearers, the introduction of arguments and sta- 
 tistics at points where they come with most telling 
 effect; the skillful use of specific arguments, as for 
 instance, the method of residues, and the judgment 
 with which it is employed. Still other values based on 
 rhetorical laws may be discovered in the style and dic- 
 tion. Lastly, its content and high ethical tone would 
 receive approval from still other canons of taste and 
 ethics. With facts of this kind worked out at first 
 hand, the pupil will not be at a loss to support his 
 opinion with a reasonable amount of proof. 
 
 But in turning to another classic it is of importance 
 
Literary Elements 77 
 
 to recognize the fact that the excellence may now be of 
 quite a different kind. In order to be sure of his 
 ground now, he must again patiently inquire about the 
 sphere in which the new author moves, and what he 
 set out to do in this particular instance. 
 
 Emerson's essay on History would not be called 
 great for the same sort of reasons as Burke's speech. 
 The pupil will here find no small difficulty in making 
 an analysis; and even if he succeeds, there will be new 
 difficulty in attempting to see any aptness in its archi- 
 tectural design as a whole. The laws of rhetoric would 
 hardly account for the figures employed in particular 
 parts of the essay. Though the content would seem to 
 be exalted and just, it would still be hard to cite the 
 ethical doctrine with which it conforms. What, then, 
 can here be pointed out as the value that justifies us 
 in calling it great ? 
 
 Emerson announces truth like a seer; he does not 
 stop to give us a demonstration based on logic. He 
 sees things that we do not see ; we feel that he believes 
 them and knows them, and we are so forcibly im- 
 pressed with the truth of his utterance that we do not 
 ask for a demonstration. Unless the pupil can find 
 himself somewhat at home under these conditions and 
 respond to ideas thus uttered, he is likely to fail in 
 reaching an adequate sense of its value. All along, 
 then, there is a demand for enlargement of the pupil's 
 range of response and appeal. 
 
 The nature of this work, again, will vary in its 
 
78 The Study of Literature 
 
 processes when applied to smaller units or to other 
 kinds of composition. 
 
 A study of Tennyson's exquisite lyric, Tears, Idle 
 Tears, reveals its essence of values as by no means 
 uniformly distributed throughout the lines and phrases. 
 We can compare one line with another and readily find 
 differences in substance and weight. 
 
 Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, 
 Tears from the depth of some divine despair 
 Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes. 
 In looking on the happy autumn fields. 
 And thinking of the days that are no more. 
 
 Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail. 
 That brings our friends up from the underworld; 
 Sad as the last which reddens over one 
 That sinks with all we love below the verge — 
 So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. 
 
 The phrase "idle tears" of the first stanza, what- 
 ever there is in it of weight, seems to lie in a personal 
 superiority as of one who rises above the feeling usu- 
 ally denoted and imparted by tears, and simply rele- 
 gates them to a rank among the common phenomena 
 of the world. Perhaps, too, there is a suggestion of 
 inadequacy, helplessness, notions not strikingly poetic. 
 " I know not what they mean " is, in comparison with 
 other expressions, a commonplace. But in the second 
 line the substance assumes sterling^value in the phrase 
 " divine despair." Some way or other the phrase car- 
 ries; it is not common, it is exalted; it connects with 
 
Literary Elements 79 
 
 our own unexpressed feelings, and means something to 
 us without a commentary. The third line " Rise in 
 the heart," etc., completes the expression in poetic 
 form, and at the same time satisfies our sense of logic. 
 The last two lines, strangely enough, which present 
 the cause of "tears" and the "divine despair," are 
 conventional and ordinary. 
 
 In the second stanza, the first line — "Fresh as the 
 first beam glittering on a sail" — is a vivid visualiza- 
 tion. Its own claim to poetic rank consists in color- 
 effect, mere physical beauty. It furnishes an approach 
 to the second, and is entirely subordinate to it in value. 
 "That brings our friends up from the underworld" 
 causes the reader to pause and think, and to realize 
 the conditions here presented. The idea in its fullness 
 is national, and characteristic of the poet's country. 
 There almost every family has some member in a dis- 
 tant part of the world. The line suggests the tedious 
 months of waiting for his home-coming, when loved 
 ones are finally rewarded by catching sight of his ship 
 rising, as it were, out of the ocean, first mast and sail, 
 then the rigging and hull. In this line is concentrated 
 the essence of the stanza. It is expressed in phrases 
 not worn and trite. It is suggestive of actuality, full 
 also of associations. Another line "That sinks," etc., 
 would be equally great, but it is the reverse of the 
 former one, and comes to resemble it as an echo. The 
 last line, again, has moved a considerable distance from 
 the great central idea pointed out. 
 
80 The Study of Literature 
 
 In the third stanza some reflection and cooperation 
 on the part of the pupil is required in order to feel 
 what the poet has here attempted. He has tried to 
 catch the moment when life is ebbing away, when the 
 senses are benumbed, and to realize how the sounds 
 and sights of life are metamorphosed by the dulled 
 ears and eyes they reach. This is crystallized into the 
 " casement's glimmering square," which someway con- 
 veys an unusually solemn notion endowed with value 
 that we understand without logical explanation. Fur- 
 ther, in the final stanza he plays close to the heart- 
 strings of a sympathetic reader, when he says, " Sweet 
 as those by hopeless fancy feigned on lips that are for 
 others." This gathers it all up; here are the gist and 
 kernel that make all else tributary. The single phrase, 
 "wild with all regret," appeals to us as a spontaneous 
 utterance, unstudied, wrung from a quivering heart. 
 As such it rises in poetic value far above most single 
 phrases in the poem. 
 
 In a synthetic study of larger units we naturally 
 inquire what rank in the scale of values a particular 
 lyric holds when compared or contrasted with others, 
 for instance, the other lyrics in this same poem. The 
 Princess. 
 
 The first one, " As through the land at eve we went," 
 has some touches much richer than others ; and the one 
 that appeals to us most is the sentiment in the closing 
 line. " Sweet and low " contains the magic of rhythm 
 in an eminent degree; it is delightfully singable. " The 
 
Literary Elements 81 
 
 splendor falls on castle walls" is descriptive, and 
 charged with the spirit of military exaltation. 
 
 The pupil will find little difficulty in reaching prefer- 
 ences of his own as he reviews the series. 
 
 Looking aside from single lines and thought units, 
 we reach the inquiry, What is there of inherent poetic 
 potency in the theme itself ? Must the subject, as such, 
 be great in order to make a great poem possible ? It 
 appears that such is not necessarily the case. Burns has 
 given us great poems on themes which, in common 
 parlance, would be called insignificant, even trifling. 
 Wordsworth constantly has built masterpieces on 
 themes of homeliness and littleness. An apparently 
 trivial subject may have poetic possibilities, not because 
 it is trivial, but because a genius has chosen to invest 
 it with his own poetic self. In support of this view 
 it would be easy to point out great numbers of trifling 
 subjects in themselves certainly not poetic. 
 
 The attraction we feel toward homely topics may 
 not at all be due to the weight of these. Many other 
 conditions arrest our attention, even delight us — the 
 ingenuity displayed, departure from the conventional, 
 the surprise of finding that exalted which we have 
 always looked upon as ordinary — considerations, in 
 fact, often accepted in lieu of weight and substance. 
 
 From this it appears that unless the pupil reaches 
 notions of values in actual content, his estimate is de- 
 termined by inadequate standards. To make this plain 
 it will suffice to point out that Intimations of Immor- 
 
82 The Study of Literature 
 
 tality takes higher rank in absolute values than does 
 Tint em Abbey, though the latter is a legitimate theme 
 of fair poetic scope; and yet Tintern Abbey is higher 
 in the scale than scores of Wordsworth's pieces on 
 more commonplace themes. 
 
 A few hints on values are here summed up and 
 appended. These points have often been discussed in 
 books and magazines. They are here repeated for the 
 pupil's and teacher's convenience. 
 
 (a) A merely descriptive poem of considerable 
 length is not likely to have the essentials of 
 greatness. 
 
 (b) Rhythm and movement appear to be the chief 
 ingredients of a short lyric — stress on musical 
 and singable qualities. 
 
 (c) If sentiment is added to the rhythm and move- 
 ment, the value is greatly enhanced. 
 
 (d) If it also partakes of reflection it has a still 
 greater value. 
 
 (e) A purely didactic poem does not appeal to us 
 as of the highest rank. Lack of adaptation be- 
 tween form and content. 
 
 (f) Several lines of potency, when fused organic- 
 ally into a poem, are, of course, weightier than 
 a single one ; as for instance, rhythm, sentiment, 
 reflection, description, character, action. 
 
 (g) The above considerations point toward the 
 drama as the great species, where emotion. 
 
Literary Elements 83 
 
 movement, action, passion, etc., cooperate. As 
 the drama is really such, when acted it is de- 
 signed to be supplemented by other arts which 
 add to its absolute value, namely, painting, 
 music, elocution, studied skill of the actors, 
 (h) The world's masterpieces have been written on 
 great themes such as religion, humanity, love, 
 patriotism, ambition, hate, revenge, ambition in 
 conflict with duty; patriotism clashing with 
 filial obligations — Hamlet, King Lear, Paradise 
 Lost, The Idylls of the King. Byron does not 
 treat trifling subjects; Wordsworth does so 
 often ; Tennyson seldom ; Shakespeare never. 
 
VI 
 METHODS OF LITERARY EVALUATION 
 
 Vocal rendering. — In the first place the work 
 suggested by this topic places exacting demands on the 
 teacher. In conducting a recitation in literature it is 
 of the utmost importance that the teacher have not only 
 a scholarly knowledge of the sounds of letters in vari- 
 ous combinations, of accents and stresses, but above 
 this she should have an ear delicately responsive to all 
 tone effects. Mere correctness in reading or explana- 
 tion is not enough, for the best things of either our 
 own or of others cannot be conveyed in words merely 
 coldly correct. Moods cannot be described except in 
 the right modulation of the voice. If she wishes her 
 pupils to catch the mood or spirit of a poem, she must, 
 at least for the time being, let herself be so completely 
 filled with it that she can interpret it with her per- 
 sonality, for she cannot do it with words only as such. 
 For these reasons some gifted teachers are unfit either 
 by nature or by lack of training to present the subject 
 of literature successfully. They cannot impart the 
 mood or sentiment intended, for even if their words 
 tell it right, the modulation of the voice and the ex- 
 pression of the face give a faulty commentary. 
 
 Reading or reciting the classics, whole or in part, 
 is likely to continue as one of the principal procedures 
 
 84 
 
Methods of Literary Evaluation 85 
 
 in dealing with them. The hours allotted to the work 
 are usually too few to do this with sufficient leisure, if 
 time is to be found for other things. Nevertheless, an 
 appreciative oral reproduction of a selection, especially 
 of the drama, is no less a part of its study than is an 
 explanation of it. No other exercise brings out in 
 such rare perfection both its aesthetic and purely intel- 
 lectual values. The voice will be schooled to guide 
 itself by the pupil's mental discernment, and required 
 to adjust itself to the thought which he has logically 
 apprehended. Though all pupils do not possess the 
 gift necessary to let every shade of the poet's intention 
 appear in their oral performance, there are very few 
 who will not rapidly improve under proper direction 
 and encouragement, and none who do not enjoy taking 
 part or listening with profit to other pupils or to the 
 instructor. 
 
 A correct reading must have regard first of all to 
 accepted pronunciation as required by the words them- 
 selves. Perhaps it may be permitted to say here that, 
 with younger pupils at least, before the teacher re- 
 quires them to strive after more ambitious effects, a 
 good deal of time may be profitably spent in drilling 
 on straightaway pronunciation. Though it does not 
 strictly come within the intentions of this discussion 
 to point out the exercises best adapted to reach results 
 in this work, it may still be said that a good way is to 
 copy the words in a notebook with diacritical marks, 
 meaning, and use, and constantly to review them, utter- 
 
86 The Study of Literature 
 
 ing them carefully out loud. The words should be 
 impressed upon the sense of sight by their letters and 
 marks; but this is not enough: they should be made 
 familiar to eye, ear, and vocal organs. 
 
 Vocal correctness must have regard, in the next 
 place, to the intonation required by the sense. The 
 pupil notes upon a moment's reflection that all the 
 words in a sentence are by no means to be touched by 
 the voice in the same way. Prepositions, conjunctions, 
 and minor adverbial elements are treated as subsidiary 
 merely, leaving the stresses to fall on words where 
 the main idea appears embodied. To do this the pupil 
 is necessitated to unravel the sense fully, to weigh and 
 compare values, and to give just utterance in tone 
 and stress to what he finds. Much of this is the work 
 of mentally apprehending, with nice discernment of 
 values, just what the printed words contain. When 
 the sense of it, or rather the feel and force of it, is 
 justly apprehended, the pupil will instinctively single 
 out the words and phrases that require stress or change 
 of pitch or voice color; then he can follow the wind- 
 ings of the sentence, letting the intonation of the voice 
 assign to each element its due prominence or proper 
 subordination. 
 
 Right here the teacher has the most reliable test (at 
 least where characters, passion, or emotion come freely 
 into play) of how well the substance has been appre- 
 ciated. The best in literature does not adapt itself 
 readily to the ordinary form of examination, but 
 
Methods of Literary Evaluation 87 
 
 through the means pointed out the teacher gains suffi- 
 cient certainty of what has been done. 
 
 Besides the general purpose of appreciatively work- 
 ing through a classic the process yields other results 
 that make for culture and efficiency. Even though the 
 vocal performance should in some respect be admittedly 
 faulty, which in most instances will be the case, the 
 pupil has worked it out himself. It is not an echo of 
 the teacher's voice, for the rendering is a result of the 
 pupil's own conclusions and deductions, which again 
 by no means precludes assistance or correction from 
 the voice of the teacher. Moreover, the very attempt 
 to seize, to share, and to utter a noble poetic idea has 
 a moral and culture value that no one will underesti- 
 mate. It may also be added that on the purely practical 
 side it effectively calls attention to one phase of the 
 pupil's training which in the rush of intellectual oper- 
 ations is too often forgotten in our institutions of 
 learning. Correct reading with due attention to clear- 
 ness and beauty must have a wholesome influence on 
 the every-day speech of the pupil, and in this way be 
 of importance to him no matter what his future calling 
 may be. 
 
 To commit entire poems to memory furnishes the 
 learner a stock of culture material that will invariably 
 make for edification and refinement. But it also makes 
 available for his use, as Matthew Arnold shows, a set 
 of standards — "touchstones," as he calls them — by 
 which to judge other poems. Whether or not these 
 
88 The Study of Literature 
 
 standards can be applied with such precision as we are 
 told, they invariably leave at least a passive standard 
 giving tone to the taste and judgment. 
 
 For the purpose here set up — ultimate appreciation 
 — it is better at first to drill on shorter units than to 
 include the entire poem in the work. 
 
 An assignment of just a few lines from Scene 3, 
 Act I, of The Merchant of Venice requires a good bit 
 of interpretative work before a just — by no means a 
 stagy or theatrical — rendering can be attempted. The 
 opening lines are : 
 
 Shy. Three thousand ducats; well. 
 
 Bass. Ay, sir, for three months. 
 
 Shy. For three months; well. 
 
 Bass. For the which, as I told* you, Antonio shall be 
 bound. 
 
 Shy. Antonio shall become bound; well. 
 
 Bass. May you stead me ? Will you pleasure me ? Shall 
 I know your answer? 
 
 Shy. Three thousand ducats for three months, and An- 
 tonio bound. 
 
 Bass. Your answer to that 
 
 Shy. Antonio is a good man. 
 
 Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary? 
 
 Shy. Oh, no, no, no, no! 
 
 A few of the points that the pupil must have clear, 
 before he can give these words adequate vocal utter- 
 ance, are that the conversation has continued for some 
 time, and that it therefore includes a good bit spoken 
 before the opening of the scene, such at least as the 
 explanations necessary to a full statement of Bassanio's 
 
Methods of Literary Evaluation 89 
 
 request. There were no doubt also inquiries made by 
 Shylock, which protracted the negotiations so far that 
 Bassanio is at the moment we first hear him becoming 
 impatient for an answer. Again, the impatience is 
 aggravated by the young man's eagerness to secure 
 the means for his romantic quest. With the Jew's 
 agreement the object of his affection is near; should 
 the Jew refuse, his ardent imagination sees her vanish. 
 It is with him a moment of suspense. His mood readily 
 passes over to one of irritation at what the Jew says, 
 and such is actually the case in one of the last lines 
 quoted. Hence, the first line should evidently be ut- 
 tered with subdued impatience, which, as the conver- 
 sation progresses, tends to become less restrained. 
 
 In order to pronounce Shylock's lines the pupil must 
 ascertain, in the best way he can, the general character 
 and position of the Jew at the time of Shakespeare, 
 for it must be this type of Jew that he sketched. By 
 reading on in advance into the play the learner must 
 determine the exact nature and disposition of this par- 
 ticular Jew. How old is he ? Vigorous or feeble phys- 
 ically? Does he appear to be merged in the type of 
 the conventional Jew, or does he assume distinct indi- 
 viduality? If the latter, what are its marks and strong 
 points? From the story the pupil gathers the relation 
 of the Jew to Antonio and his friends. As this is one 
 of a patient but deliberate watching for the chance of 
 revenge, how does he, when the chance unexpectedly 
 comes, speak and otherwise conduct himself? Without 
 
90 The Study of Literature 
 
 studying the lines with the view of impersonating 
 Shylock, should they not be uttered in the tone of one 
 thinking how best to improve the opportunity? The 
 mere business transaction, as such, is to the Jew simply 
 one of a life of similar deals, and requires little of his 
 thought. Consequently, his repetition of the sum, the 
 time, and the terms, is not to get these details more 
 clearly before his mind, but to give himself time to 
 think of how best to trip up Antonio in the transac- 
 tion. A study of these circumstances points toward a 
 slow, guarded, cautious utterance. He repeats Bas- 
 sanio's statements slowly, mechanically, as one thinking 
 of something else — and guarding against betraying 
 himself. Again, an attempt should also be made to 
 recognize, in the vocal rendering, the art design of the 
 author. This point is not so distant as it may appear, 
 for here one effect lies close at hand. Shakespeare 
 meant in bringing these two men on the stage to make 
 us aware of a series of contrasts in mood arising from 
 differences in purposes; contrast in disposition due to 
 differences in occupation, social rank, and religion ; un- 
 guarded straightforwardness confronting craftiness 
 and cunning; comparative guilelessness against designs 
 of hatred. One feels the point in the suspense; the 
 other controls the situation. These differences receive 
 embodiment in their gestures, the tone color of their 
 voices, their poise, dress, and bearing on the stage. 
 
 In her study of Lady Macbeth's words, "We fail," 
 (Macbeth, Act I, Sc. 7) the actress, Mrs. Siddons, 
 
Methods of Literary Evaluation 91 
 
 showed something of the interpretation as well as 
 appreciation involved in giving an expression the cor- 
 rect vocal utterance. The words are spoken at a mo- 
 ment when Lady Macbeth has almost persuaded her 
 husband to commit the crime that is to make them 
 king and queen. Macbeth still has scruples and mis- 
 giving, causing him to interpose in the midst of her 
 valiant argument the words : " if we should fail ? " To 
 this she answers in two words, "we fail." Now, 
 should these two words be spoken with the stress on 
 "we" as if to express a supreme confidence in their 
 own power to grapple with the situation, implying also 
 that the supposition of failure might be apposite in the 
 case of others but certainly not in their own ? Looking 
 back to recall the traits of Lady Macbeth as revealed 
 when she read her husband's letter, also in the con- 
 versation after his arrival, as well as in the present 
 argument, it seems not unlikely that she might try to 
 make the idea preposterous by a strong intonation, of 
 "we." Another view of it would require the emphasis 
 on " fail," with some rise in pitch as in a question. 
 She would thereby make the idea appear so remote as 
 to be hard to apprehend, contemptuously improbable, 
 a notion not badly calculated to sweep away the doubt 
 arising in his mind. A third interpretation, the one 
 finally adopted by Mrs. Siddons, would utter " fail " 
 slowly, deliberately, with a lowering of the voice. This 
 means something very much different from the other 
 interpretations. It admits the possibility of failure, 
 
92 The Study of Literature 
 
 faces squarely the situation with its dismal possibilities. 
 Her keen analysis of her husband's individual psychol- 
 ogy (I, Sc. 5) shows that she knew the workings of 
 his mind, his weakness, and his strength. He was a 
 daring leader, above all, a soldier, whose very occupa- 
 tion made it an ordinary matter for him to accept 
 chances, to face dire issues of uncertain outcome. He 
 was a Scotchman with a touch of fatalism in the fibres 
 of his soul. To him Lady Macbeth's words, pro- 
 nounced with the above touch of fatalism, would con- 
 vey: "If we fail, we fail, and there an end. Is not 
 the issue worth the risk ? " The frankness and honesty 
 of it, she knew, would appeal to him more eloquently 
 than anything else she could say. 
 
 The teacher may be in doubt whether to set the 
 pupils to work committing and preparing entire selec- 
 tions for oral delivery, or to do more intensive work 
 on selected passages. The work should certainly pro- 
 vide for both procedures. Attention can be more read- 
 ily concentrated on shorter passages; moreover, to be 
 able to give a few significant lines the correct pro- 
 nouncement is of more value than to repeat lengthy 
 selections with indifference and uncertainty. Again, 
 the study indicated above is not so fragmentary as it 
 would appear. It is really synthetic in so far that it 
 reviews all that determines the meaning of the lines, 
 and gives them vocal utterance in accordance therewith. 
 
 Three steps are involved in the preparation and 
 correct oral rendering of a passage : (a) interpretative 
 
Methods of Literary Evaluation 93 
 
 work to ascertain the meaning; (b) conscious effort to 
 render this meaning; (c) an assimilation of the thought 
 so completely as to be able to render it without delib- 
 erative effort. 
 
 What factors in the story of The Merchant of Ven- 
 ice determine how Portia's plea for mercy (IV, i) 
 should be pronounced ? Select what you regard as the 
 most significant lines in this speech and state or show 
 how they should be uttered. 
 
 Comparisons. — This process more strictly serves 
 the purposes of appreciation than does any other pro- 
 cedure. It is an attempt to find and to express esti- 
 mates in the best terms available. In its application it 
 is sufficiently comprehensive to be of use, whether the 
 plan of study is adapted in accordance with the exten- 
 sive or intensive method. Each single production, as 
 well as every item in its form and thought, may be 
 brought into analogy with something like itself, and the 
 differences between the two thrown into relief. Hence 
 it extends to diction, idiom, structure, versification, 
 sentiment, content, character, plan, and purpose. In- 
 deed, comparisons may equally well be instituted be- 
 tween the collected works of authors as a measure of 
 their actual contribution to literature, also to single 
 periods. 
 
 In the pupil's work with the classics he has not at 
 hand any absolute tests of excellence or standards of 
 measurement. He cannot reduce the fruit of his re- 
 searches into expressions of size or weight, but with 
 
94 The Study of Literature 
 
 something else of a similar kind before him, he can 
 state that certain qualities are present in one in a higher 
 degree than in the other, and thereby he has a measure 
 of fairly practical definiteness. 
 
 In this kind of evaluation it is always to be remem- 
 bered that few productions are great in the same way, 
 and hence the danger of an erratic estimate. Then, too, 
 if the pupil feels that he must cast his opinion of the 
 piece into a statement of its greatness, let him be sure 
 that he has ascertained the author's purpose and point 
 of view, so that he may not judge him for what he was 
 under no obligation to do. 
 
 The actions of two dramas may hold the same gen- 
 eral tenor, but the motives of the actions may be quite 
 different, hence the danger also of letting the judg- 
 ment rest on superficial, instead of basic, differences. 
 
 This procedure is remarkably suggestive of topics 
 and lines of investigation. In the usual classics some 
 of those most worth while are the study of character. 
 Skill in grouping for ensemble or contrast effects; 
 development in single instances; classes of society rep- 
 resented; action and interaction among them. What 
 gives rise to the action in the two stories compared? 
 Does it in either case result from the conflict of two 
 or more characters, or is it caused by persons in con- 
 flict with their times? Analogies and differences in 
 friendships, loyalty, morality, patriotism, initiative, 
 temperament, religion? How do the two authors 
 compare in the number of their fully developed and 
 
Methods of Literary Evaluation 95 
 
 original characters ? Their repetition under new names ? 
 The author's personality fused into them? How do 
 their personages compare as true representatives of 
 their calling, class, or race ? 
 
 Again, a number of topics arise under form and 
 structure, unity, plan, meter, management of dialogue, 
 choice of details for descriptive or picturesque effects. 
 To what class of people does each author feel attracted ? 
 What kind of material does each prefer to handle? 
 Which comes the closer to actuality ? 
 
 Draw a comparison between Scott's Jew in Ivanhoe 
 and Shakespeare's in The Merchant of Venice. If the 
 range of the pupil's reading should allow, this compar- 
 ison could profitably include Marlowe's Jew in The 
 Jew of Malta and Lessing's in Nathan der Weise. 
 
 In a comparison between Macbeth and Lady Macbeth 
 there is a striking similarity between the two in at 
 least one important particular, the one most prominent 
 before the student of the play. They are usually 
 regarded as alike in the degree of their criminality. 
 Readers will, of course, take sides and place the crime 
 to a greater degree on one than on the other, find 
 extenuating circumstances in one case which are absent 
 in the other. So, for instance, many have found an 
 unselfishness in Lady Macbeth totally wanting in her 
 husband. She does what she does for his sake, burdens 
 her soul with crime mainly that he may wear a crown. 
 A more obvious difference is seen in their individuality 
 as criminals. We are permitted to see how he becomes 
 
96 The Study of Literature 
 
 a criminal; the struggle involved in his metamorphosis 
 is placed before us with all its heartrending cruelty. But 
 Lady Macbeth — how did she become a criminal? 
 When and where occurred the process that made her 
 ready to steep herself and her spouse in crime? It is 
 difficult to connect with the story any event that could 
 have wrought her over thus. Here is evidently one 
 notable difference. Unlike her husband, she is more 
 innately, constitutionally perverted; like lago, inclined 
 that way by nature, having no need of outer occurrences 
 to fit her for an equal share in her husband's black 
 deeds. 
 
 Nothing could be farther from the natures here 
 exhibited than that of George Eliot's timid, shrinking, 
 harmless Silas Marner. Yet in the designs of the two 
 authors enters the same idea: that of letting events so 
 work upon a human soul as to make him over into 
 something that he was not on the start. In both 
 cases we speak of character development; perhaps other 
 terms, character change, alteration, or deterioration, 
 would better describe the process and its results. Mar- 
 ner, we see, is made to travel a downward road, but 
 not a criminal one. The deterioration in his case is 
 manifest in its effects on himself, not on others; it is 
 subjective to the full extent of his limited nature. 
 Hence, it resembles a development into a criminal only 
 in being a change, but is by no means parallel with this. 
 It appears, hence, that the progress of the change may 
 be, not only downward or upward, but in other direc- 
 
Methods of Literary Evaluation 97 
 
 tions as well. But the main difference between that of 
 Marner and others is that he first deteriorates and then, 
 so to say, ameliorates. George Eliot takes him first 
 the downward road, if we choose, but then she brings 
 him upward again to a plane as high as, or higher than, 
 that from which he started. Does the pupil know of 
 other instances in literature where the development is 
 rounded and complete like this ? 
 
 In a comparative study the results are, after all, 
 meager if limited to a straightaway appraisement. It 
 is better, for instance, to compare Hiawatha and Evan- 
 geline for type differences than for absolute values. 
 A line of study with the view of determining which is 
 the truer American epic would focus attention on basic 
 type characteristics, and would better be worth while 
 than an ordinary notation of similarities and differ- 
 ences. To be sure, it might lead the pupil somewhat 
 afield in order to approach it right. 
 
 What, then, are the distinguishing marks of the 
 epic? An epic is lengthy and comprehensive in its 
 scope; finds room for ample details, admits episodes 
 that in other poems would be felt as distracting. Epic 
 subjects are such as bring an entire people into move- 
 ment ; they are momentous, history-making compaigns, 
 expeditions, events that rouse and stir a whole nation. 
 An epic hero, unlike a dramatic one, is not in collision 
 with his times. He is his nation in miniature, the expo- 
 nent of its struggles, the concrete form of its ambition. 
 An epic action is leisurely, deliberate, impersonal. The 
 
98 The Study of Literature 
 
 march of events involves reaches of time usually 
 avoided in the drama. In fact, the epic action brings a 
 people before us, and illustrates with fullness of detail 
 its characteristics and its spirit. 
 
 In Evangeline there is a historic background of epic 
 largeness, but the action here is subordinated to that 
 of the tw^o characters. It is the action working out 
 their personal destiny that takes hold of us. 
 
 The larger events of history that carry them onward 
 come to have an interest only in so far as they concern 
 the two characters. In the course of the story we come 
 to feel that they are not sufficiently identified with their 
 people to be quite typical or epic. 
 
 The case is otherwise in Hiawatha. Every detail 
 and illustrative touch, every name, and every echo of 
 the verse, pictures a race. These units of description 
 could apply to no other people. Hiawatha is the embod- 
 iment of a race type such as we should expect from 
 conditions here depicted. He is identified with his 
 people as of their blood and spirit. When he eventually 
 rises among them to the rank of a culture hero he is 
 still typically epic, taking up within himself the distin- 
 guishing features of his race. 
 
 Compare the characters Evangeline and Priscilla, 
 Gabriel and John Alden. Compare, for strength and 
 personality, the heroes of these two poems with the 
 heroines. Compare Rebecca and Rowena, Ivanhoe and 
 Athelstane. Compare the story of Ivanhoe with that 
 of Silas Marner for compactness of plot. Compare 
 
Methods of Literary Evaluation 99 
 
 the two stories, for the interest of single incidents, 
 which appear to you to teach the more weighty truths, 
 The Vision of Sir Launfal and Intimations of Immor- 
 tality. Find the main parallels and contrasts in the plan 
 of L' Allegro and in that of // Penseroso. Which of the 
 two poems appeals to you the more strongly ? Compare 
 Lycidas and Adonais as elegies. Contrast the tone and 
 spirit of Milton's minor poems with some parts of his 
 great epics. Compare, for general interest, the dramas, 
 The Merchant of Venice and As You Like It. Com- 
 pare Bassanio and Orlando, Rosalind and Portia. 
 
 The synthetic work of review will assume the form 
 of summaries and synopses. First each paragraph is 
 cast into this form, then all the paragraphs of a chap- 
 ter. If the work is written with strict regard to unity 
 in plan and content, its subject matter may be gathered 
 into a final summary. Should the pupil find difficulty 
 in giving it this compact form, he has probably failed 
 to grasp its fundamental divisions, and he should at- 
 tempt to simplify his outline by an analysis on different 
 lines. A good summary suggests the unfolding of the 
 thought, so that the pupil should, on occasion, find 
 little difficulty in reproducing it from his notes with 
 some degree of fullness. Its main value lies, however, 
 in the making of it. Considerable mental effort is 
 required to hold the content, so to say, in solution, in 
 which the separate parts are judged with reference to 
 the whole, and finally fused into an all-comprising 
 statement. 
 
100 The Study of Literature 
 
 The result of the work suggested should, where its 
 character allows, be neatly and fully written out. The 
 learner cannot be sure what shape an analysis or a bit 
 of research work will finally assume until he has put 
 it into definite words. Things that appeared clear may, 
 when brought to the test of written expression, be hazy 
 and require still further recasting. Unexpected obsta- 
 cles or gaps may appear, calling for new study and 
 adjustment. It is, of course, unnecessary to add that 
 such written work has value in proportion as it is done 
 independently of printed discussions. The pupil's first- 
 hand discovery, reliable or faulty, is the factor of value 
 in the work. After his task is completed, a compar- 
 ison with the views of some authority acts as a whole- 
 some corrective, in that it helps the learner to readjust 
 his estimate, usually with more fairness; it also acts 
 as a check on the habit of drawing premature or badly 
 founded conclusions. Then, again, it adds not a little 
 to the satisfaction of a student to find his own 
 views substantiated by the teacher or other persons of 
 authority. 
 
 Lastly, the pupil should be allowed to move on to a 
 position of independence of both editor's and the teach- 
 er's set problems. He should be so guided as to become 
 independent of his guides. Freedom in taste and pref- 
 erences should be one of the aims, the ability to stand 
 squarely on his own feet, to form plans of his own, and 
 personally be able to know what is fruitless or what is 
 worth while. Having realized this, he will be tolerant 
 
Methods of Literary Evaluation 101 
 
 of views that differ from his own, and be able to 
 respond sympathetically to much more of the best that 
 is found in books and life. 
 
 The author's place in the history of literature. — 
 The final work on a classic brings us back to the author. 
 Our acquaintance with him through his work creates a 
 desire for a closer personal touch, for an inspiration 
 and quickening over and above the objective one left 
 by his genius. To satisfy this desire we linger over 
 his letters and mementoes, or allusions and incidents 
 — often unreliable and gossipy — feeling that these 
 fragments throw light on the author as a man and 
 bring him closer to us. 
 
 One of the reasons why we constantly return to the 
 pages of Goldsmith with unabated interest is the purely 
 personal appeal we find there. Instead of erecting a 
 barrier between himself and the reader by choosing dis- 
 tant themes and eliminating himself, he invites us into 
 his presence by drawing his material directly from his 
 own career. In the sidelights which thereby fall on 
 him he is often seen at a disadvantage, it is true; but 
 we feel we have discovered the man, which not only the 
 French critic, Sainte-Beuve, but also others, regard as 
 the main purpose of the study. It is not always that 
 the reader is permitted thus to step behind the curtain 
 and take a closer view of the man. In the case of 
 Goldsmith, reminiscences have gathered about certain 
 passages that show his personal relation to his work; 
 and where such is the case, it is not an idle pastime to 
 
102 The Study of Literature 
 
 note them. As an instance we cite the opening lines 
 of The Traveller — 
 
 Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, 
 Or by the lazy Scheld or wandering Po; 
 Or onward where the rude Carinthian boor 
 Against the houseless stranger shuts the door; 
 Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies. 
 A weary waste expanding to the skies: 
 Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see. 
 My heart untravelled fondly turns to thee. 
 
 Boswell relates. that Chamier, a member of the Lit- 
 erary Club, once chanced to ask Goldsmith what he 
 meant by "slow" in the first line of his Traveller, if 
 he perchance meant tardiness of locomotion. The poet, 
 taken somewhat unaware, answered "Yes." But 
 Johnson, who sat near, said, "No, sir; you do not 
 mean tardiness of locomotion ; you mean that sluggish- 
 ness of mind which comes upon a man in soHtude;" 
 which correction Goldsmith submissively approved. 
 In the next line, also, the Scheld and the Po are not 
 mentioned at random; they indicate the extent of 
 Goldsmith's Continental tour from the lowlands of 
 Belgium to Italy. Neither is "Carinthian boor" men- 
 tioned without a personal reason. On his trip through 
 Carinthia, in Austria, he was one night rudely sent 
 away from a house where he had sought lodgings and 
 compelled to spend the night out of doors after a weary 
 day's march. 
 
 From his books, then, as well as from such casual 
 
Methods of Literary Evaluation 103 
 
 'glimpses of his life, there tends to mature an opinion 
 of the writer. And so we think of Goldsmith as way- 
 ward and improvident, touchingly human, perhaps too 
 ready to allow himself to be subordinated by those who 
 were more self-assertive, but withal, a writer that 
 appeals to us more strongly than do any of his con- 
 temporaries. The incident mentioned throws light on 
 his friend Johnson as well, and appears characteristic 
 when we recall him as elsewhere depicted by Boswell : 
 blustering, confident, arrogant, spending his nights and 
 days maintaining his opinion. What Carlyle says of 
 him must be quite true: "A melancholy man who 
 stalked over this earth greedily seeking what intellectual 
 thing he might devour." 
 
 Weighty and comprehensive topics are connected 
 with the author's relation to his time and indebtedness 
 to other writers. An atternpt should be made to realize 
 something definite about his environs and the kind of 
 pressure his day and age exerted upon him. Again, he 
 will be found in a succession of writers whose influence 
 sways and fashions him ; he in turn contributes similar 
 influence as a heritage to his successors. Some authors, 
 it will be seen, rise more decidedly above their environs 
 than do others; their individuality is a force sufficient 
 to place them above the pressure or, it may be, in 
 advance, of their times. 
 
 Shakespeare's was an age of almost unexampled 
 intellectual activity, when individuals sought and cre- 
 ated new opportunities, and strove to do great things. 
 
104 The Study of Literature 
 
 Yet, while the individual was coming into his rights, 
 he still preserved a deep reverence for inherited rank — 
 for majesty and kingship. Shakespeare has been 
 swayed by this national feeling, for he shows in many 
 dramas national disasters as flowing from violating the 
 sanctity of the anointed king — Richard II, Richard 
 III, Henry IV, Henry V, Hamlet, King Lear, Macbeth. 
 But he was, nevertheless, more democratic than his 
 times. That he can feel with, and plead for, the rights 
 of subjects is touchingly shown in all the dramas just 
 mentioned. In King Lear he lets the king, when driven 
 almost to madness by the cruelty inflicted on him, the 
 sovereign of eighty years — lets him forget the tor- 
 turing words of his daughters, the biting cold, and the 
 rain that "invades him to the skin," to pause and 
 attempt to learn lessons of patience and of sympathy 
 with the poorest of his subjects. 
 
 The poet was in advance of his age in the position 
 he assigned to woman. At this time both in Italy and 
 in France woman received an intellectual recognition 
 that was not so readily accorded her in England. In 
 the countries mentioned she is found gracing and giv- 
 ing tone to learned coteries, frequently assuming a posi- 
 tion of consequence among the foremost of men. The 
 writers of those countries endow her not only with 
 beauty and brilliancy, but with vigorous self-assertion. 
 In the England of that day, with the exception of Lady 
 Pembroke and that of the Queen, who stands also alto- 
 gether alone in intellectual majesty, we scarcely find 
 
Methods of Literary Evaluation 105 
 
 woman playing an ambitious part in the activity of the 
 age. The ideal woman of England as celebrated by 
 Shakespeare's predecessors and contemporaries was the 
 young and bashful girl, the wife who forgives, the 
 woman who sacrifices herself for man. The poet has 
 women of both categories. In the early dramas he has 
 given us Portia, Jessica, and Rosalind, drawn from 
 advanced ideals ; in sketching Ophelia, Desdemona, and 
 to some extent Miranda, he has come back again to 
 the more contemporary type. 
 
 In Marlowe we are seldom permitted to see that the 
 devastating elemental force of the hero is, in most 
 cases, criminal. In Shakespeare, when the power of 
 the. hero is tainted with crime, it is pictured as crime. 
 Wickedness is exhibited as sin, fused with remarkable 
 personal force, it may be, but not in such a way as to 
 make it acceptable. Regan, Goneril, lago, Richard III, 
 Macbeth, Edmund, Claudius — all are truthfully exhib- 
 ited in moral worth. 
 
 The author's position in the history of literature 
 makes it necessary for the learner to remember some 
 dates to serve as mileposts. It is useless to try to fix 
 in memory, by sheer strength, the dates of minor 
 authors, but it is essential to hold fast the dates of 
 those that are epoch-making. If these can be associated 
 in some way with great events, or with the dates fixed 
 in mind in connection with other subjects, much more 
 is accomplished than if they are impressed on the mind 
 as isolated items. With rare pedagogical insight Schell- 
 
106 The Study of Literature 
 
 ing has bound together the principal years of the Eliza- 
 bethan period. The period extends from 1558, the 
 date of Queen Elizabeth's accession, to 1642, the date 
 of closing the theaters. These years are fairly inclusive 
 of all that was greatest in the period. The first date 
 is that of an event significantly connected with the 
 sovereign whose name the epoch bears. The second 
 date is connected with the period's termination and 
 marks one of the causes of it. The dates can. readily 
 be recalled, inasmuch as they extend forty-two years 
 on either side of the century mark. The central literary 
 figure of the period, Shakespeare, extends in his liter- 
 ary activity eleven years on either side of this same 
 date, 1600. Others have shown that the names and 
 years of Christopher Marlowe and Ben Jonson may 
 also be symmetrically fitted into the series. In this 
 manner, where the connection is obvious, not far- 
 fetched, the learner, though the exact date may escape 
 him, will not be far astray in recalling what is essential. 
 
VII 
 THE STUDY OF PROSE FORMS 
 
 The essay. — One characteristic of the essay is 
 that its form lends itself to the treatment of a vast 
 range of subjects. It is serviceable and businesslike, 
 adapted to the discussion of the commonplaces of every- 
 day life. Again, it may reach out and deal with facts 
 remote from ordinary experience, or, it may be, deco- 
 rate these with the splendors of fancy. In regard to 
 structure, it is not marked by the severity of plan which 
 is demanded in the oration and the argument. The 
 highly finished introduction and the carefulpartition of 
 subject matter which characterize the argument are 
 much less conspicuous in the essay. Here the writer, 
 addressing himself to all classes of readers, does not 
 go to the trouble of finding that particular plane, com- 
 mon to himself and his audience, which the orator 
 cannot afford to neglect. The essayist finds the ap- 
 proach that seems to him most convenient, and launches 
 into his subject without any formality. 
 
 In purpose and range it is the most comprehensive 
 literary species. It calls attention to some abuse which 
 requires reform, presents philosophical truths, sets up 
 as its aim the creation of an ethical mood, sketches a 
 story with comment and analysis; it embraces topics 
 
 107 
 
108 The Study of Literature 
 
 of humor, entertainment, biography, history, politics, 
 science, and many others. 
 
 When the pupil has ascertained its scope and pur- 
 pose the way is open for a closer examination of the 
 material and its arrangement. Early in the discussion 
 are often given hints as to the essay's timeliness and 
 value. Then the writer makes clear to what class of 
 readers he addresses himself, also the purposed scale or 
 exhaustiveness of the treatment. If a historical devel- 
 opment lies back of the theme, this is summed up, show- 
 ing the status of the present moment, which again 
 furnishes the writer his point of departure. Something 
 like a subject-partition is made at this point, marking 
 the lines to be followed and the limitations imposed. 
 Then successive steps develop the theme, usually limit- 
 ing each paragraph to a single topic, each rising out of 
 the other, and all bound in an enchainment reaching 
 to the object in view. Finally, in the conclusion is 
 given a concise and lucid summary indicating the 
 convergence of the leading points and arguments. 
 
 As the essay is usually clear and brief, the pupil will 
 find little difficulty in working it over into the form of 
 an outline. There are two ways of doing this work: 
 (a) to write down the substance of each paragraph in 
 the form of a topic, or, still better, a proposition; to 
 note what paragraphs constitute the main divisions, and 
 to group their topics under suitable main headings. 
 
 (b) A better way, at least for disciplinary purposes, 
 is to write it out from memory, and to start with the 
 
The Study of Prose Forms 109 
 
 central conception. Formulate the leading thought; 
 write down its main divisions ; proceed to the subdivi- 
 sions of which these consist, then fill in in their proper 
 places details, facts, proofs, and illustrations. 
 
 Its content and value as a masterpiece are by no 
 means always exhibited in the outline. An outline may 
 show something of what there is in the essay on Milton 
 or the essay on Addison; it helps in the estimate of 
 Sesame and Lilies, but would be inadequate in the 
 essay on Burns. To outline one of Emerson's essays 
 so that its substance is thereby exhibited is quite difficult 
 for the average pupil. 
 
 In poems and stories the subject matter may often 
 be allowed to drop out of sight without the feeling of 
 loss. Not so with the essay, for it is written, often, 
 with the purpose of being a direct contribution to the 
 reader's stock of facts, and should be remembered as 
 presented. In the serious essay the writer depends on 
 the facts themselves, not on embellishments, for attain- 
 ing the ends that he sets up. In his manner of convey- 
 ing these he is, again, unlike the fictionist, limited to 
 one method, that of stepping forward in person and 
 telling what he has to say, while the story-writer may 
 make use of many devices, suggestions, and hints, even 
 introducing other persons to speak for him. 
 
 In matter and manner this type is more like what 
 the pupil himself writes or is expected to write. For 
 that reason it is of greater service in teaching him to 
 master the art of writing than is any of the other 
 
110 The Study of Literature 
 
 forms. Unless the subject should be abstruse or scien- 
 tific, the words used are of the common, serviceable 
 kind. Hence it will be practicable to pause here and 
 give more attention to diction and phrasing than in 
 other classics. The essay is, in fact, the form that 
 connects most closely with the composition work that 
 runs parallel with the pupil's literary studies. It lacks 
 the finery of style which, in other forms, it seems either 
 impossible or preposterous for the pupil to study with 
 a view to use in his own compositions. 
 
 On account of the great variety of topics with which 
 the essay may deal, only a few of the points taken up 
 in the study-plan here appended are likely to apply to 
 any single classic of this type. 
 
 Exercises 
 
 I. Classification. — Even a casual reading will 
 make the classification of any particular essay obvious. 
 Is it speculative, philosophical, critical, biographical, 
 educational, scientific, humorous, calculated to entertain 
 or to instruct ? 
 
 II. Content. — Give the substance of it in a 
 brief written statement. Of what principal divisions 
 does it consist? If the essay is scientific, it probably 
 connects with former researches of the same kind. 
 Indicate such point of departure, if there is any. 
 
 III. Purpose. — What has the essayist aimed to 
 accomplish? Does it call attention to some abuse 
 requiring reform? Does it consist of pure exposition, 
 
The Study of Prose Forms 111 
 
 with the purpose of teaching or explaining some new 
 truth ? The first essay in Sesame and Lilies tells " How 
 and why to read." In trying to realize his purpose, 
 which were the main difficulties he had to overcome? 
 Were they mainly inherent in the subject matter? Does 
 Ruskin write like one who is striving to overcome oppo- 
 sition in his readers? To what extent does he appear 
 to have accompHshed his purpose? If he has failed, 
 in what particular respect has he failed ? Note interest- 
 ing thoughts. Is the interest due mainly to the newness 
 of the idea? To ideas that we ourselves have felt in 
 a vague way, but which the author makes clear to us ? 
 Would you attribute any considerable part of the inter- 
 est to the author's imagination, figures, comparisons, 
 fancy, personal and human touches ? From what source 
 does he draw his illustrations? Are the analogies on 
 which he insists true and convincing? Note thoughts 
 especially available or practical. In what respect are 
 they a completion of what you already know ? How do 
 they aid or supplement your other studies? What 
 special use may you be able to make of them in work 
 that you look forward to ? How can you associate the 
 facts here worth remembering, with other facts, so as 
 to call them up readily on occasion ? 
 
 IV. Plan. — Indicate the portion included in the 
 introduction. Here also is an opportunity to show the 
 difference in introduction required by the oration and 
 the essay, respectively. The latter does not make a 
 deliberate appeal to the reader with the intention of 
 
112 The Study of Literature 
 
 rendering him interested, kindly disposed, or teachable. 
 The inquiry will then be limited to showing how the 
 essayist sets the theme before the reader, and what 
 skill he has displayed in making it simple and clear. 
 Does he state in the introduction what he intends to 
 do? Is the proportion between the introduction and 
 the rest well preserved? This part of the essay is often 
 historical. Is such the case in the present instance? 
 If not, why? 
 
 Do the single units of the material come in the order 
 you expect them? What alteration in the order of 
 presenting them would you suggest? If time permits, 
 it is well to take a single integral unit of the material 
 and deal with it in an analysis. Why, exactly, has it 
 been brought in at this place? What purpose does it 
 serve in the general structure? Discuss the essay for 
 unity and point of view, as explained above. Show by 
 what steps the argument moves on to the point finally 
 reached. Indicate how the writer makes the transition 
 between units of thought, and show whether the transi- 
 tions are abrupt or natural and easy. Has undue space 
 or attention been given to any one part? — i. e., are 
 the parts well massed ? Some significant topics may be 
 taken up with the view of determining what each con- 
 tributes to the purpose of the whole. In the Conciliation 
 Speech, for instance, why does Burke pause to give 
 statistics of British exports and imports at different 
 periods ? Further on in the same speech, what is gained 
 by stopping to analyze the nature of the "American love 
 
The Study of Prose Forms 113 
 
 of freedom?" What considerations appear to have 
 mainly determined the grouping of the material — occa- 
 sion, source, or relation to other similar productions? 
 Or, again, has the writer been influenced mainly by such 
 rhetorical principles as clearness, simplicity, climax? 
 Do the concluding paragraphs sum up and set before 
 the reader the result reached? 
 
 V. Words and phrases. — A pupil with some 
 years of study and training behind him can learn a 
 rule in grammar or a principle in rhetoric in a compara- 
 tively short time as occasion may demand. On the 
 other hand, to become the possessor and master of a 
 large vocabulary requires time. This work, then, 
 should begin in the earliest years at school and continue 
 as an important part of each year's work. If the pupil 
 tries to give himself an account of how he knows words, 
 he will discover that he knows some in such a way 
 that they are ready for use at any time; he knows 
 others too, but not in this active way. They rise into 
 consciousness only as they are heard, or seen on the 
 printed page ; they are not available for immediate use. 
 To increase the vocabulary means : first, to quicken the 
 knowledge of these dormant words, so that they become 
 ready for service; and, secondly, it means a persistent 
 study and consequent adding of new words. 
 
 Above all, the pupil should be encouraged to increase 
 his vocabulary systematically, not spasmodically. Let 
 him be requested to find out the approximate number 
 of words used by noted speakers and writers. So, for 
 
114 The Study o£ Literature 
 
 instance, Macaulay uses six thousand, Milton nine thou- 
 sand, Carlyle eleven thousand, Shakespeare fifteen 
 thousand. The number of words used by average men 
 and women is only about eight or nine hundred. Let 
 the pupil form an estimate showing what his own vo- 
 cabulary would be if he could add, say, six words to it 
 every day during his years at school. 
 
 The exercises here appended are of service to teach- 
 ers, mainly as specimens and examples. With regard 
 to the number of words specified in any particular exer- 
 cise, each teacher will, of course, make such modifica- 
 tion as may be required by the work before the class. 
 
 Copy into your notebook six useful words selected 
 from the portion of the essay assigned. Look them up 
 in the dictionary and transcribe them carefully, giving 
 the syllabication, diacritical marks, and accents. Copy 
 the definition, also a sentence illustrating the meaning. 
 Append an original sentence of ordinary length in 
 which the word, or some form of it, is correctly used. 
 
 Find ten instances of words used with particular 
 aptness. Copy them, with the sentences in which they 
 occur, and add a statement of your reasons for regard- 
 ing them as apt. 
 
 Find ten instances of words whose force and fitness 
 seem to depend on their specific character. Compare 
 them with related general words, and give reasons why 
 you regard one class more effective than the other. 
 
 Point out ten instances where the writer has used 
 common words with aptness and force. Contrast the 
 
The Study of Prose Forms 115 
 
 effect here with that of words less common. In the 
 latter cases find simpler synonyms which might be 
 substituted. 
 
 Examine the text for purity of diction. Find, if 
 you can, instances of newly coined words, foreign 
 words, especially those for which good English equiva- 
 lents could be substituted. Are there any terms which 
 may be regarded as sectional or local? Do technical 
 expressions occur often ? 
 
 What is meant by bookish words? Illustrate. Are 
 there any such in the part studied? 
 
 Latin and Anglo-Saxon diction. Note characteristic 
 passages like the following from Macaulay's Essay on 
 Goldsmith: 
 
 But there are rivers of which the water, when first drawn, 
 is turbid and noisome, but becomes pellucid and crystal and de- 
 licious to the taste if suffered to stand till it has deposited a 
 sediment ; and such a river is the type of the mind of Goldsmith. 
 
 Here the diction is highly Latinized — "turbid," 
 " pellucid," " crystal," " deposited," " sediment," " type." 
 Yet these expressions are fitly chosen, and an attempt to 
 substitute simpler ones for them would certainly rob 
 the sentence of much clearness and beauty. Macaulay 
 uses words best suited to his needs with impartiality as 
 to source. Note, for example, the pronounced Anglo- 
 Saxon element imparted to the following sentence by 
 the words "darker shade," "wince," "fretful." 
 
 One vice of a darker shade was imputed to him — envy. But 
 there is not the least reason to believe that this bad passion. 
 
116 The Study of Literature 
 
 though it sometimes made him wince and utter fretful ex- 
 clamations, ever impelled him to injure by wicked arts the repu- 
 tation of any of his fellows. 
 
 Count the words of several paragraphs, and note the 
 proportion of Latin and of Anglo-Saxon. Remember 
 the two ways of making such enumeration: (a) To 
 count every Latin word and every Anglo-Saxon word 
 as often as it occurs will give one result, (b) To count 
 no word, or form of the same word, twice, will give 
 another result. Explain why. 
 
 In the same manner count an equal number of words 
 in a composition of your own. Study the result. What 
 is the total number of words used in the two extracts, 
 respectively, if you count no word, or form of the 
 same word, twice? If yours has a higher percentage 
 of Anglo-Saxon words, note whether you have not 
 used particles more freely: "and," "but," "or," "of," 
 "if," "then," "that," "why"; or, again, probably 
 you have employed forms of the auxiliary verbs more 
 often. 
 
 Descriptive adjectives. Compare this essay with that 
 of another writer, and observe which of the two has 
 the greater number of descriptive adjectives. The 
 result will show that, while this class of words has a 
 proper place, aptly chosen nouns and verbs are more 
 effective means of imparting substance to a piece of 
 writing. 
 
 Classify in the following manner the words of a 
 paragraph of some length : (a) Those which you are 
 
The Study of Prose Forms 117 
 
 in the habit of using daily; (b) those of which you 
 understand the meaning, but which are not your com- 
 plete posssession through use; (c) those of which you 
 do not know the meaning. 
 
 Discuss and illustrate by original examples the dif- 
 ference between specific words and general ones. Give 
 ten examples of each from the present or recent lessons. 
 Write a paragraph in which you explain why a writer 
 who uses specific words is likely to have more force 
 and interest than one who uses general terms. 
 
 English idioms. Write out as good a definition as 
 you can of an English idiom. Criticize the common 
 definition : " An English idiom is a form of expression 
 that cannot be literally translated into another lan- 
 guage." 
 
 Find some twenty examples of idioms like these: 
 "Put in fear," "not in request," "placed on sale," "in 
 these respects," "got home in time," "on this point," 
 "run on," "how do you do?" "what time is it?" 
 " echoed the praises," " stood his ground," " made shift 
 to be present." 
 
 Compare the De Coverley Papers with the essay on 
 Johnson, in respect to the idiomatic character of the 
 language. How would you account for the fact that 
 Bunyan is more highly idiomatic than any other writer 
 in English? 
 
 From the entire essay select and make a record of 
 phrases as follows: (a) Ten phrases in which ele- 
 gance seems to predominate, (b) Ten phrases with 
 
118 The Study of Literature 
 
 power and largeness, (c) Ten phrases where euphony 
 is conspicuous. 
 
 The writer's individuahty in the use of words and 
 phrases. If this is noticeable, wherein does it consist? 
 Does he allow himself freedom in coining new phrases? 
 Does he put old expressions to new uses? Novel 
 expressions for familiar ideas? Examples. Contrast 
 the essay on Burns with the essay on Milton for indi- 
 viduality in diction. 
 
 Subjects for composition. How can a pupil best 
 increase his vocabulary? The notebook as an aid to 
 word studies. How to use the dictionary. The relative 
 value of the dictionary and literature, respectively, for 
 the purpose of increasing one's vocabulary. Finding 
 occasion to use new words. The nature of grammar 
 studies and word -studies, respectively, as an aid to 
 the art of writing. 
 
 VI. Sentences. — Select for discussion six sen- 
 tences that may be taken as typical of the writer's 
 sentence structure. Make clear wherein their typical 
 characteristics consist. 
 
 Average length. Ascertain the average number of 
 words in the sentences of several paragraphs. Select 
 paragraphs (sufficient in number to be fairly repre- 
 sentative) from Carlyle, Ruskin, Emerson, Macaulay, 
 and Lamb, and by counting the words compare them 
 for length of sentences. 
 
 How does the subject matter tend to determine the 
 length of the sentences? How do the sentences of 
 
The Study of Prose Forms 119 
 
 the esssay compare in length with those of narrative 
 or dialogue parts? 
 
 Grammatical structure. Is any preference apparent 
 for either the simple, the complex, or the compound? 
 
 The loose sentence. Ten examples. Append a dis- 
 cussion of its nature — character as contrasted with 
 other types. Cautions regarding its use. 
 
 The periodic sentence. Discuss its nature and use as 
 in the preceding exercise. Show that its employment 
 counteracts tendencies toward diffuseness and verbosity 
 in style. 
 
 The balanced sentence. Ten examples. Point out 
 the parallelisms — parallel phrases and clauses. Com- 
 pare it with other types for clearness, rhythm, harmony, 
 antithetical effects. In what connection can it be used 
 to the best advantage ? Comparisons where the purpose 
 is to draw a sharp contrast between two objects or prin- 
 ciples. What authors have been partial to this sentence 
 form? 
 
 Copy five sentences in which the phrases and clauses 
 are distributed with the effect of smoothness and 
 euphony. 
 
 Instances of participial constructions. Do these forms 
 seem to make the movement of a sentence light or 
 heavy? In the cases under consideration, could any 
 other form be substituted to advantage for the parti- 
 ciple ? 
 
 Interrupted or broken constructions. Are they as 
 common in the essay as they are in the dialogue of a 
 
120 The Study of Literature 
 
 narrative ? Discuss some cases of this kind in the light 
 of syntax, stating the rule that applies. What condi- 
 tions justify the use of such constructions ? 
 
 Connectives. Register six cases where the connec- 
 tion is formed by the use of conjunctions or connective 
 adverbs : " hence," " for," " therefore," " but," " again," 
 " thus," etc. 
 
 Six sentences in which the connection is formed by 
 the use of pronominals: "these," "this," "those," 
 "such," etc. 
 
 Six sentences where the connection is formed by the 
 repetition of some important word from the preceding 
 sentence. 
 
 Six sentences in which no formal connectives are 
 used. Examine carefully the context in which connect- 
 ives may be omitted. As they form the hinges on which 
 sentences turn, none are needed where the thought 
 moves straight forward ; there the relation of sentences 
 is obvious, and connectives are simply in the way, if 
 inserted. 
 
 Find examples in which the structure of a sentence 
 is modified so as to be adjusted in form to that of the 
 preceding. In such cases the sentences are joined by 
 interlocking, as it were, into one another. 
 
 Position of connectives. Refer to examples chosen 
 from the text, and show what should be the position of 
 connectives to be least obtrusive. 
 
 Select sentences with somewhat complicated distribu- 
 tion of phrases and clauses, and discuss the arrangement 
 
The Study of Prose Forms 121 
 
 with the purpose of ascertaining the principle that 
 should determine the distribution. Note how many 
 important points come to light by attempting a 
 rearrangement. 
 
 Find sentences in which the principle of emphasis has 
 determined the structure. Point out the emphatic ex- 
 pressions, and observe what positions in the sentence 
 bring them most clearly into prominence. 
 
 VII. Paragraphs. — Point out the analogy be- 
 tween the general structure of the sentence, the para- 
 graph, and the entire composition. Analyzing the sen- 
 tence, we find subject, predicate, complement. In the 
 paragraph, authorities like Genung point out a topic 
 stated or implied, the topic explained or established, 
 the topic summed up or applied. The paragraph has, 
 accordingly, a structure parallel with that of the entire 
 composition — introduction, discussion, conclusion. 
 
 In studying the paragraph, the learner will be greatly 
 aided by such books as Baldwin's The Expository Para- 
 graph and the Sentence, Scott and Denney's Composi- 
 tion Rhetoric, Genung's Practical Elements of Rhetoric. 
 
 Sentence order. In a typical paragraph show 
 whether each sentence is placed in the best position 
 for clearness and emphasis. Test the order by trying 
 the effect of a rearrangement. 
 
 Unify. Is everything irrelevant rigidly excluded? 
 Does it, on the other hand, fairly include everything 
 that obviously belongs to it ? 
 
 Emphasis. Do the structure and the general arrange- 
 
122 The Study of Literature 
 
 ment show that the author has had a view to climacteric 
 efifect? A close inspection of a paragraph sometimes 
 shows that a slight rearrangement will lend it greater 
 emphasis. 
 
 Select for examination five paragraphs obviously con- 
 structed so as to secure emphasis. Point out, so far as 
 possible, the factors of the arrangement that cause this 
 effect to be secured. Where is the topic sentence? 
 Where the details of circumstances, conditions, and 
 objections ? 
 
 Compare several paragraphs, and observe whether the 
 transitions from subject to subject are made with due 
 regard to smoothness. Instances of jerky transitions. 
 
 Variety in the length of the sentences that make up 
 the paragraph. Can you discover any useful principle 
 to guide the writer in his distribution of long and 
 short sentences in paragraphs? 
 
 Analysis. In Genung's Working Principles of Rhet- 
 oric is given an outline from which the following exer- 
 cise is adapted : (a) Find the topic sentence. If the 
 topic sentence is not distinctly given, it may always be 
 deduced from a carefully constructed paragraph, and 
 cast into the form of a phrase or sentence, (b) Point 
 out the sentences that define the topic. These contain 
 a restatement of it, a statement with which it is con- 
 trasted, or an explanation of it. (c) Point out what is 
 needed to establish the topic — sentences containing 
 examples, illustrations, particulars, or proofs, (d) Find 
 what is needed to apply the topic — summaries, conse- 
 
The Study of Prose Forms 123 
 
 quences, or enforcements. Most paragraphs do not have 
 all the divisions here mentioned ; the last one, especially, 
 IS often omitted. 
 
 Examine paragraphs that do not conform to a typical 
 arrangement like this. The topic sentence is probably 
 placed, not in the beginning, but in some other position. 
 State as definitely as possible the reason for such 
 inversion. 
 
 Transition sentences. In addition to the above 
 scheme, there may be found one or more sentences that 
 form simply the approach to the new paragraph. Let 
 such be found in various paragraphs. 
 
 When the topics of a series of paragraphs are ascer- 
 tained they may be compared so as to show the purpose 
 served by each in the structure of the essay. While 
 they all contribute to the final result, some are found 
 to lead directly toward it; others, again, form transi- 
 tions and approaches, or, it may be, digressions. Class- 
 ify several paragraphs according to purpose. 
 
 Let the sentences of a carefully arranged paragraph 
 from a standard author be separated and thrown to- 
 gether promiscuously. Require the pupils to rearrange 
 them with the view of restoring it to its original form. 
 Let the demands of logic, unity, coherence, and em- 
 phasis be kept carefully in mind. Compare with the 
 original, and give reasons for the diflferences found. 
 
 When a selection has been studied so that the train 
 of thought is fully developed, topic sentences may be 
 selected, and the pupil called upon to write out a para- 
 
124 The Study of Literature 
 
 graph from each. The scale of treatment should be 
 indicated by the teacher in an approximate number of 
 words. 
 
 Figures of speech. Used freely or sparingly ? The 
 author's preference for any certain figure? Examples 
 adduced and examined for the purpose of showing 
 whether they serve to embellish the subject matter or to 
 elucidate it. What kinds of figures are likely to be 
 used in the essay? What kinds are not available in 
 this species? Refer to several of the best figures in the 
 essay studied. 
 
 Illustrations. Ascertain in each case whether it is 
 felt to be convincing. If not, show where the parallel- 
 ism between the illustration and the thing illustrated is 
 at fault. Determine the sources upon which the author 
 has drawn most freely for illustrative material. To 
 what extent is it culled from the author's own line of 
 work or study ? 
 
 Individual appreciation of form and diction, (a) 
 Take up for discussion some feature not included in 
 the preceding outline, some striking characteristic that 
 for one reason or another appeals to you. (b) Com- 
 pare this writer with another who has employed the 
 same form. Enumerate the points of excellence in each. 
 If the enumeration is to carry weight, it should be sup- 
 ported by sufficient examples and data, (c) What 
 single facts of practical value do you feel a young 
 writer should be able to learn from the study of this 
 essay? (d) Indicate, as clearly as possible, what fur- 
 
The Study of Prose Forms 125 
 
 ther work you regard of value as supplementary to 
 this. 
 
 Prose narration. — In the case of stories selected 
 for reading and study in schools, it is easy, and probably 
 wise, to heed the oft-repeated injunction to let the pupil 
 read them through for the story, for the content, with- 
 out pausing at difficulties. At any rate, the interpreta- 
 tive work required for a fair possession and appreciation 
 of the content is likely to be small. Complete posses- 
 sion of the authors' life-truths embodied in them, 
 especially if couched in symbolic garb, may indeed 
 require much work and reflection; but even then it is 
 better to let these central truths rise to the surface at 
 the close of the study, aided at most by a few hints 
 from the teacher, rather than have them obtruded at 
 every turn of the story. 
 
 To read a story through several times, each time with 
 a special purpose, will result in an anticlimax of interest. 
 Let the pupil get as much as he can the first time, at the 
 first exploration of the country, while the events are on 
 the march and the interest fresh and strong. In getting 
 at it in this way the pupil is in harmony with himself 
 and his own desire for new experiences and new acqui- 
 sitions. He is, moreover, in accord with the author, 
 who wrote it with the intention of having it read this 
 way, not to have it parceled out in different kinds of 
 readings. 
 
 But this is not study. No, it is only the preparation 
 for study. This rapid perusal has made the pupil 
 
126 The Study of Literature 
 
 familiar with the contours of the landscape. With a 
 little reflection he will be able to fix attention on the 
 features of greatest significance. There are in the story 
 some determining moments about which everything else 
 clusters as incidental and subordinate. These are now 
 before him, and in such relation to him as to be 
 accessible. 
 
 The importance of this is often overlooked. In a 
 story, what first looms up may in comparison with the 
 rest be incidental or trifling. To determine what is 
 worth while, teacher and pupil must first of all gain the 
 point of vantage of a first reading. 
 
 What is worth while? To answer the question it 
 is well to recall what elements enter into a story, to see 
 which are the values felt to be of weight or interest. 
 Again, it is necessary to inquire whether these lines of 
 interest can be disentangled to the extent that the pupil 
 can, for purposes of study, fix attention on them sep- 
 arately. For it is only by such analytic procedure that 
 he can come close to the effect they are capable of, 
 singly or fused. 
 
 A story is a series of events rising from a natural' 
 beginning to a culmination felt to be an important and 
 rational conclusion of the series. In ordinary life, 
 occurrences are so closely and inextricably interwoven 
 as to afford no point in the succession that looks to us 
 like a beginning ; neither is there any absolute termina- 
 tion, for its event in its march carries within it the 
 germ and origin of something else. To this medley the 
 
The Study of Prose Forms 127 
 
 fictionist fashions an approach that conveniently admits 
 us into the flux of occurrences. He simplifies the begin- 
 ning so as to impart in the readiest manner what is 
 necessary for us to know in order to take up the thread 
 of the story. He throws in factors that have in them- 
 selves the power of arresting our attention, and invests 
 these same factors with the further power of raising 
 issues and promising consequences that we at first did 
 not suspect. In the early chapters the names of the 
 personages are to us no more than the x, y, z of alge- 
 bra, but we watch them plunged into action and note 
 how they acquit themselves, thus becoming acquainted 
 with them before we are aware. When we are ac- 
 quainted, we take sides. Our interest, which at first 
 was only that of action, of physically watching the 
 movement, has now been transferred to the higher 
 plane of a personal nature. Unawares, almost, an issue 
 is brought before us, an issue fraught with possibilities 
 involving the fortune and happiness of our acquaint- 
 ances, the characters. Then comes the complication 
 rising inevitably, if it is a work of art, from the prem- 
 ises already given. After a while we think we see how 
 it must end,' but then new occurrences throw the current 
 of the story in an unexpected direction. New obstacles, 
 with resulting suspense and retarding factors, intensify 
 our interest and curiosity. Toward the close, when 
 the outcome seems to loom plainly before us, the writer 
 again puts our guess at fault by an unexpected close, 
 which he had had in mind all the time. 
 
128 The Study of Literature 
 
 In attempting to give attention, so far as possible, to 
 one element at a time, there is no good reason for 
 departing from the conventional lines of study, which 
 are setting, description, action, character, thought, con- 
 tent, wit, passion. In strictness these are not separable 
 in the way such a classification would imply. So, for 
 instance, character, action, passion, seem to run to- 
 gether, one a part of the other, as it were. Yet even 
 this arbitrary classification will be of some assistance. 
 
 I. Setting. — This term is often used to include 
 most of the description, but for our purpose it is better 
 to let setting denote the background of the action with 
 the local color and the local conditions that determine 
 the nature of the action. It is a much more compre- 
 hensive term than description in so far as it implies 
 the totality which many items of description make up. 
 It makes the reader acquainted with, not only the place, 
 but movements, sentiments, and opinions that are char- 
 acteristic of it. To sum it up, the setting gives (a) the 
 time, with its characteristics as affecting the story; (b) 
 the place, with its characteristics as shaping the story. 
 The setting (c) puts the reader in possession of the 
 circumstances essential to know in order to take up 
 the story and go on with it. (d) It helps to make the 
 events probable. The things that happen in the story 
 of Tennyson's Princess would be preposterous under 
 a different setting, say, a short time before it was 
 written, in a country familiar to the reader. The action 
 of King Lear is ratic«ialized by remoteness in time, a 
 
The Study of Prose Forms 129 
 
 time of other conventions and usages, as we infer, (e) 
 It may constitute an independent line of interest, as it 
 does in Hiawatha, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, and 
 Snow-Bound. 
 
 Why does Washington Irving make drowsiness a 
 feature of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow? If it helps 
 to make anything probable, point out what it is, and 
 how it is done. 
 
 Show how the story of Evangeline grows out of the 
 political conditions prevailing at the time, and, hence, 
 how it is made probable by the setting. What features 
 of the setting are brought before us in the first two 
 chapters of Ivanhoe? How did the conditions under 
 which Silas Marner lived make him a product of his 
 environs? Find examples of the two ways of making 
 the reader realize the setting: (a) to build it up by 
 giving a fullness of details in the beginning; (b) to 
 build it up gradually by incidental details as the action 
 goes on. 
 
 II. Description. — From one point of view it 
 seems possible to include under setting everything com- 
 prised in description; the former is certainly made up 
 of single units of the latter. In setting, however, we 
 have before us the totality, the single details organized 
 into a larger element forming a fundamental constitu- 
 ent of the story. In description we fix attention on 
 single visualizing strokes and touches, which usually 
 also yield a totality of impression. But this totality 
 is not necessarily the background ; it is much more inci- 
 
130 The Study of Literature 
 
 dental, occurring where the writer sees that it strength- 
 ens a point or superadds one to the rest. 
 Some moot points under description are — 
 
 (a) Picture-making details. Some of the strokes 
 are more effective than others. They call up images 
 more readily. The pupil will have no difficulty in 
 selecting from a description of some length the touches 
 that have this power. 
 
 (b) Range of appeal. Every descriptive item is 
 likely to appeal through outline, color, sound, odor, 
 motion. If the writer skillfully makes several of these 
 reinforce one another the range of appeal is greater and 
 the description richer. Some of these means are more 
 common than others, as, for instance, those that reach 
 the sense of sight. The term "visualization," which 
 strictly denotes only effects reaching us through the 
 appeal to sight, is however, used to include appeals to 
 any of the senses. Effects of sound are used frequently; 
 taste and odor not so often. 
 
 (c) Combined effects. Naturalness and harmony. 
 Illustrative selections from writers. Whittier's Snozv- 
 Bound — making roads through the snow. Hamlin 
 Garland's Among the Corn Rows — outline, odor, 
 color, sounds. 
 
 (d) Order of the description. Remote features and 
 larger ones precede those that are near and minute. 
 After the general description of the village, Irving, in 
 Rip Van Winkle, proceeds to the position of the houses, 
 and, lastly, to the color of the bricks. 
 
 (e) Choice of central idea. In the same selection 
 
The Study of Prose Forms 131 
 
 the writer centers the description of the Catskill Moun- 
 tains on the special feature of color. 
 
 (f) Choice of details. The power and suggestive- 
 ness of each. An exercise under this topic will be 
 likely to deal with an examination of them with the 
 view of pointing out those that are best. The object 
 described has a number of characteristics in common 
 with other objects of its class, but it has some, perhaps 
 very few, that mark it off from other objects; and it is 
 these individual minutiae that count most. 
 
 (g) Description converging on tone. In Hiawatha 
 nearly all mention of names and objects imparts tone, 
 an atmosphere distinct in kind. So in The Lady of 
 the Lake. In The Legend of Sleepy Hollow it is still 
 more distinct — a. vague, agreeable drowsiness with a 
 touch of weirdness. 
 
 (h) Description converging on single effect. Some 
 one distinguishing mark may constantly be held up to 
 view. Dickens has many personages hit off in this way : 
 Uriah Heep's "'umble," and "humility" ; Micawber's 
 passion for writing effusive letters; Alfred Jingle's 
 abbreviated sentences; Dick Swiveller's fragments of 
 poetry. What kinds of pictures do we get from char- 
 acters thus portrayed? What does the author gain by 
 this mode ? What does he lose by it ? 
 
 (i) Pictorial outline of a locality. To assemble and 
 give unity to a mass of minutiae, so that they convey 
 correctly the contours of a place, is difficult. Authors 
 sometimes bring this before the reader by comparing 
 
132 The Study of Literature 
 
 it to a well-known object. The term " horseshoe," the 
 appellation of one of the falls at Niagara, describes the 
 shape much better than a more lengthy verbal descrip- 
 tion could do. 
 
 (j) Kinds of description, i. Enumerative. The 
 details that make up the whole are listed and grouped 
 in order. Here the writer gives particulars with such 
 fullness as he regards adequate. Formerly this mode 
 was used much more generally than at present. The 
 story-teller described the hero or heroine once for all 
 with the expectation that the reader would, from the 
 facts furnished, build up correct pictures and remember 
 them. What other way of bringing correct pictures 
 of persons before us ? How do writers of former times 
 and the present differ with regard to this part of their 
 work? 
 
 2. Animated description. The great writers add sub- 
 stance to mere description by putting movement into it. 
 If it is a bit of scenery, they place into it living beings 
 that are in some sort of interesting relation to the 
 "still life" of the description. In describing the dizzy 
 heights of the cliffs at Dover, Shakespeare animates 
 it by this stroke: "Half way down hangs one that 
 gathers samphire, dreadful trade ! " He probably does 
 more than merely animating it, for he rouses our con- 
 cern in behalf of the person engaged in the dreadful 
 trade. 
 
 3. Intellectualized description. There is a vast differ- 
 ence between the enumeration of objects and attributes 
 
The Study of Prose Forms 133 
 
 in a statistical fashion, and the same objects and attri- 
 butes enriched by the writer's fancy. Stevenson, Lamb, 
 and Barry draw inferences from, and make combina- 
 tions of, what they see in such a way as to invest the 
 mere objects with the riches of their own imagination : 
 " Woods of birch all jeweled with the autumn yellow." 
 
 Is the description closely woven together with the 
 action ? In " The hired hands were slumping through 
 the mud," the two modes are fused. Point out parts of 
 sustained description that have an independent interest. 
 What part of the story employs this kind of composi- 
 tion most freely ? Examine some parts that you regard 
 as excellent, and determine wherein the excellence con- 
 sists: Truth expressions that appeal through their 
 justness; apt specific or concrete terms; suggestions of 
 agreeable sounds and colors; best visualizations; new 
 combinations — novelty in point of view or notion. 
 Find bits of description that may be registered as 
 enumerative; as animated; as intellectualized. 
 
 The essence of the action is movement in contrast 
 with the fixity of description. The former kind is 
 easier for the reader, for we perceive things in motion 
 more readily than things at rest; time succession more 
 readily than spatial succession. 
 
 III. Action. — The action, as the term is used in 
 stories, is a chain of events portraying the experiences 
 of the chief figure or figures in such a way as to present 
 an issue with a definite beginning, complication, and 
 solution. The interest in action assumes at first the 
 
134 The Study of Literature 
 
 nature of curiosity; we are piqued to know the outcome 
 of what goes on before us. But this chance interest 
 gradually deepens into sympathy, or concern for the 
 characters, in whom the action is vested. 
 
 (a) The beginning. A story may be examined for 
 the purpose of seeing what devices the writer has used 
 to get the origin of the movement before the reader. 
 He must arrest the reader's attention. How does he 
 do it ? A few ways are here given. 
 
 1. By brilliancy and cleverness in the introductory 
 
 ideas and the phrases in which they are couched. 
 
 2. Brisk situation, though not the main action — 
 
 Quentin Durward. 
 
 3. Bringing a character before the reader — Old 
 
 Mortality. 
 
 4. Largeness and grasp of thought — Hawthorne, 
 
 Hugo, Scott, Sienkiewicz. 
 
 5. Title and its idea particularly significant — The 
 
 Man Without a Country. 
 
 6. By flashing the main issue, action, or problem 
 
 before the reader — A Tale of Two Cities. 
 
 (b) Complication. Though it would appear that 
 the writer often invests the very beginning with im- 
 mediate interest as indicated, it is also closely con- 
 nected with what follows. Out of it rise potencies 
 that result in a complication. The chief character is 
 brought into opposition or collision with something — 
 other strong characters, or some strong movement or 
 power of the time and the place. The result is that 
 
The Study of Prose Forms 135 
 
 the chief persons of the story are caused to move on 
 to consequences unknown, but felt to be momentous 
 enough to involve their fate or fortune. Among the 
 occurrences it is worth while to single out the imme- 
 diate cause of the action. What starts it? In how far 
 is it an inevitable consequence of the conditions placed 
 before us? 
 
 (c) The issue. After getting some way into the 
 story the happenings begin to converge on something 
 definite. The threatening danger or the wished- for 
 consummation assumes form. The difficulties, too, 
 appear in palpable shape. A status is created which 
 in the mind of the reader rouses a desire to know " how 
 it will come out." This is not exactly a new source of 
 interest over and above what appealed to us at first; 
 but it has a tendency to subordinate the others, such 
 as brilliancy of diction and phrasing. State the issue, 
 or issues if there are more than one. Which is the 
 more momentous ? In The Merchant of Venice there 
 is an alternation of appeal. At first the issue is, What 
 will be the outcome of Bassanio's quest? After some 
 time this is subordinated in interest to the other one, 
 Shall Antonio escape the revenge of Shylock? 
 
 (d) Situation. A situation is a combination of cir- 
 cumstances constituting a unit in the story. The fac- 
 tors that make it up are local tone or condition, char- 
 acter, and occurrence. " Scene " is a term appropriated 
 by the drama. As used there it is more formal, and 
 lays stress on action. In dramas many scenes are made 
 
136 The Study of Literature 
 
 up of several situations. Point out what there is of 
 interest in a situation. How has the author prepared 
 for it? In stories very few points of strength are 
 simply thrust in. The reader may not be conscious 
 that any preparation has been made, but a little study 
 will reveal it. Rip Van Winkle has been pictured so 
 that his demeanor in the glen among the Dutchmen is 
 probable and effective. The temptation to sample their 
 beverage was in his disposition as already portrayed. 
 Pickwick is endowed with consequential dignity in view 
 of the intended effect of merriment in the situations 
 where his dignity is rufHed, making possible the comic 
 scenes that follow. 
 
 (e) Purpose. As it affects time relation and move- 
 ment, a situation — most clearly seen in a dramatic 
 story — may, a) Accelerate the action by bringing about 
 a crisis of factors long kept in preparation. The action 
 in Hamlet had long been held in check by Hamlet's 
 casting about for proof, which culminates in the device 
 of the play within the play, with a crisis exposing the 
 King. A rapid aggressive action is therefore expected, 
 though, as we shall see, prevented by another kind of 
 occurrence, namely, b) a retarding situation in Ham- 
 let's departure for England, c) It may move back- 
 wards to pick up another strand of the story — 
 Hamlet's account of his escape from the pirates, d) It 
 may reach forward as a preparation for something 
 else — the announcement that Laertes has come back, 
 e) It may reach outwards and give breadth to the story 
 
The Study of Prose Forms 137 
 
 by bringing new persons or occurrences within its 
 scope — the situation with the grave diggers. 
 
 (f) Surprises. Authors delight in creating an 
 agreeable surprise for the reader. In the old ballads 
 one simple and favorite form of it was to let a prince 
 disguised as a swineherd appear and woo a sweet and 
 haughty maiden, all this in view of the crucial moment 
 when he would throw aside his beggar's garb and stand 
 before her in princely attire. In general, writers em- 
 ploy the same notion, revealing unexpected strength. 
 Wamba is the most resourceful at a crisis. The Mar- 
 chioness is capable and faithful to an extent that would 
 not be expected in the miserable child. In The Out- 
 casts of Poker Flat, the finding of human, even heroic, 
 traits in reprobates and wretches is the central idea. 
 Point out instances in Ivanhoe where we are surprised 
 by some unexpected exhibition of resourcefulness or 
 heroism. 
 
 (g) Suspense. The action moves on, irresistibly as 
 it would seem, to an outcome fatal to the character. 
 Then, unexpectedly, the author checks the current of 
 events by throwing in an obstacle that gives it all a 
 new direction. Suspense is effective if the occurrence 
 that it checks seemed inevitable, or if the force interpos- 
 ing comes from an unexpected source. 
 
 (h) Climax. There may be several in ordinary 
 prose narration. A climax is a situation in which the 
 personages or powers in opposition meet in a decisive 
 collision. Situations are reversed ; the tables are turned. 
 
138 The Study of Literature 
 
 The effect of the aggressor's work has caused forces 
 to be marshaled against him. From this point to the 
 conclusion, the consequences of the climax are por- 
 trayed in a disentanglement of the events. 
 
 (i) Disentanglement. The conclusion looks back 
 toward the issue, presenting the question in which it 
 was couched as fully answered. If the writer has done 
 his work carefully, it is the complete finish of all that 
 there was involved in the story. The reader should 
 feel that there is no more to tell. Even after the out- 
 come is known, there may indeed be a few adjustments 
 to make, though usually of a minor character. 
 
 To what extent is the story felt to be completely 
 told ? What else is there that the reader would like to 
 ask about? Does the author reach a conclusion with- 
 out bringing in new devices or new characters? To 
 what extent is the conclusion just and satisfying? 
 
 How does the setting prepare for the events that 
 come later? Note in Evangeline how the deporta- 
 tion of the Arcadians originates the tragic story of 
 EvangeliHe and Gabriel. 
 
 How is the origin of the action made to appear 
 probable? Accidents happen in real life, but authors 
 cannot make use of them either to start or to ration- 
 alize the action. Does the start require lengthy ex- 
 planation before it is intelligible? Does the action 
 move on from the same originating impulse clear 
 through, or must the author stop, as it were, to bring 
 in new motive forces? What subplots are woven into 
 
The Study of Prose Forms 139 
 
 the action ? How do they strengthen the story as such ? 
 Does the action grow more and more momentous and 
 strenuous as it proceeds? Point out the chief climax. 
 What is the immediate preparation for it ? Is the story 
 loosely knit or compact? In some cases the interest 
 seems to attach in an equal measure to characters who 
 go separate ways — the story breaks in two. The use 
 of irrelevant incidents imparts the same loose structure 
 to it. Does the finish present the outcome as conclu- 
 sive and final? Has it fully worked out what was 
 promised in the issue? 
 
 In looking back over it, do we feel that a due bal- 
 ance of interest has been kept up, so that a tempting 
 topic, for instance, has not received more than its due 
 share of attention? Exaggeration or apparent truth- 
 fulness; difficulties and improbabilities inseparable 
 from the plot. The plot as shaped by historical ac- 
 counts or based on some previous work. Individuality 
 of the writer in shaping the plot; departure from 
 conventional forms. 
 
 IV. Characters. — Every individual possesses in 
 common with all others certain traits of mind and 
 body which he has received directly from nature. In 
 this sense he is one of a class, controlled by ordinary 
 habits, desires, and passions, particularly such as arise 
 from within himself as a physical organism. Char- 
 acter, on the contrary, is something superadded through 
 conscious exertion of will and action; a human being 
 embodying traits and powers grown and fashioned 
 
140 The Study of Literature 
 
 through the exercise of fixed principles guided by con- 
 scious effort. Strength, independence, and self-control 
 are some of its prominent marks; the person subordi- 
 nates convention to himself, shows new lines of activity, 
 new ways for the exercise of energy. 
 
 In literature one may readily distinguish two classes 
 of individuals — the type, the typical soldier, the typ- 
 ical maiden aunt, the rustic whose limited range of 
 ideas and phrases is like those of all others of his 
 class. The type has been pictured and labeled so often 
 that the classification itself tells us all about him. He 
 is swallowed up and lost in the mass of humanity, 
 merged with them so completely that he cannot be dis- 
 tinguished from them by any traits that belong to him- 
 self alone. But the character has traits that single 
 him out and bring him into prominence; that do not 
 allow him to drop out of sight as one of a class. Such 
 are, for instance, the great names in Shakespeare's 
 plays — Hamlet, Macbeth, Cordelia, Imogen. These 
 belong in categories of their own. Even when they 
 are wicked they are still themselves. Shylock is a 
 most palpable person of flesh and blood, distinct in 
 traits and outline, a person like no one but himself. 
 Sir John Falstafif, whether we like him or not, is him- 
 self in all his peculations. Sir John Falstaff before all 
 the world. 
 
 To create a character whose presence at once is proof 
 that he is such, and make him live, real and consistent, 
 through the entanglement of a story is the greatest 
 
The Study of Prose Forms 141 
 
 achievement in literature. Hence our literary study 
 tends to converge with emphasis on character. All the 
 rest — action, incident, dialogue — is there only that 
 we may be able to judge the size of the characters. 
 
 There are some six distinct modes the author may 
 employ in bringing personages before the reader. 
 These means of portraiture suggest each a series of 
 questions or problems. 
 
 I. Means of character portrayal. 
 
 a. By the author's direct account of what they are. 
 As this is felt to be a feeble way, the writer usually 
 gives the traits, and lets the reader make his own 
 interpretation. 
 
 b. By their physical appearance — bearing, dress, 
 posture, lineaments — tell what they are. 
 
 c. By their speech. The preponderance of dialogue 
 and conversation parts indicates how writers regard 
 this mode. 
 
 d. By their acts — the most obvious and effective of 
 all modes. 
 
 e. By the attitude of others toward them. When 
 we are told that the children of the village would shout 
 with joy at the approach of Rip van Winkle, we infer 
 something very positive about him. 
 
 f. By the surroundings on which they have had a 
 chance to set their impress. When we are told in 
 the same story that Rip's fences had fallen down and 
 that his fields were overgrown with weeds, we also 
 learn something definite about him. 
 
142 The Study of Literature 
 
 The exercises here will most profitably deal with 
 a discrimination among the modes with the view of 
 (a) Ascertaining which are the most effective in the 
 given instance; (b) Registering the' force and illumi- 
 nating power of single touches; and (c) Interpreting 
 or describing the trait that each portrays. 
 
 2. Classification according to technical purpose in 
 the story. The only reliable basis on which to make a 
 classification is the author's intention with the character 
 in question, so as not to demand what never formed a 
 part of the plan or purpose — a view that, of course, 
 does not preclude a criticism of the plan or purpose. 
 
 Many readers intuitively make a classification on an 
 ethical basis of good or bad, possibly admitting a third 
 class hard to place, indeterminate, as it were. Re- 
 membering, however, something of the principles that 
 must govern the author's design, several other view- 
 points appear. We shall then see that a story allows 
 only a very few to be prominent, and that its technique 
 requires some to be quite subordinate, forming simply 
 a part of the mechanism. 
 
 This point of view gives us a classification as fol- 
 lows: 
 
 a. Incidental characters. A turn in the story re- 
 quires some one to appear with a message, or an officer 
 to make an arrest. These figure according to conven- 
 tions, and are dropped as soon as their functions are 
 performed. 
 
 b. Subordinate characters. These hold a more con- 
 
The Study of Prose Forms 143 
 
 spicuous place in so far that they often accompany 
 the chief personages through much of the story. But 
 their purpose is after all that of helping to exhibit the 
 hero or heroine. Horatio figures in Hamlet in order 
 that Hamlet may have a confidant to whom he may 
 reveal himself as he is. So Jessica and Lorenzo, 
 though not without interest in themselves, are there to 
 bring the Jew on to a point where he will not relent. 
 
 c. Chief characters. These are the hero and hero- 
 ine, the ones for whom the action, the description, and 
 all the other characters exist. Each story has room 
 for only one or two. If there are more, they obscure 
 one another by getting into each other's way. 
 
 3. Classification according to literary rank. If we 
 study them with the purpose of determining how they 
 rank as literary creations, an outline like the following 
 may be convenient — 
 
 a. Undeveloped figures. Most of them have to be 
 content with this subordination in the scale of values 
 for the reason that the plan requires more such. The 
 very limits of a story, moreover, permit of a full de- 
 velopment of only one or two. 
 
 b. Typical figures. These are, as explained else- 
 where, fashioned by literary conventions, which may 
 or may not be the author's purpose ; and these conven- 
 tional traits keep them from rising to the highest rank. 
 Authors sometimes give them a pseudo-individuality 
 by marching them through the story, bearing single 
 identifying marks thought to be peculiar to their work 
 
144 The Study of Literature 
 
 or manner of life — hobby, pose, phrase, voice, gesture, 
 action. Such devices accomplish very little in com- 
 parison with the fullness revealed in varied and strenu- 
 ous action. 
 
 c. Individuals. Such are not numerous in fiction, 
 but they invest the stories in which they occur with a 
 literary value that nothing else can impart. These, 
 too, partake of the conventions, certainly of familiar 
 reality, but in them is found something over and above 
 the rest. They are their own excuse for being; they 
 are an elemental force embodying itself in a new 
 creation. 
 
 4. Character development. The most fascinating 
 study connected with the characters is to follow them 
 through the story and to see what impress their ex- 
 periences leave on them. Character development pre- 
 supposes a change, in some cases a metamorphosis of 
 their very nature, so that they issue from their experi- 
 ences almost constitutionally different from what they 
 were. 
 
 The writers of ancient times did not realize, to the 
 extent that modern writers do, the value of exhibiting 
 a person under stress that refashions him in body and 
 spirit. Writers know that to do this work truthfully 
 they must make their stories cover some lapse of time, 
 for a character, no matter what happens to him, is not 
 made constitutionally bad or good in the turning of 
 a hand. The old dramatists, who attempted to limit 
 their story to a duration of about a day, found no 
 
The Study of Prose Forms 145 
 
 room for character change, and were hence compelled 
 to omit one of the most powerful motives from their 
 work. 
 
 An indication of how writers must proceed to accom- 
 plish this may help the student. First, they must give 
 us a vivid and convincing picture of what the char- 
 acter is at the start. The second scene of Act I in 
 Macbeth does this. "Brave Macbeth" is celebrated as 
 the efficient and loyal chieftain of his king. Secondly, 
 they must show the force that is to work a change in 
 him and bring it into operation. In the drama men- 
 tioned, unexpected opportunity, the appeal of Lady 
 Macbeth, and the witch agency are some of the means. 
 Third, they must give us a finished and final picture of 
 him after the change has been wrought. Macbeth's 
 wanton deeds of cruelty in Act IV, as well as his 
 irascible conduct in Act V, give us a picture, which, 
 if compared with the first one, measures the change. 
 
 The direction the development may assume has usu- 
 ally been thought of as from good to bad, or the re- 
 verse. But obviously it may take any turn within 
 the scope of a human constitution. In Silas Marner, 
 it is not a change from good to bad in the sense of 
 aggressive badness. It is a passive change for the 
 worse, whose effects touch Marner alone. 
 
 In his case the remarkable completeness of the change 
 should not be overlooked. The writer brings him 
 downward to a low plane of deterioration; then she 
 introduces means that tend to bring him back, or rather 
 
146 The Study of Literature 
 
 up to a different plane, at least equally as high as the 
 one from which he started. 
 
 5. Sources of interest in characters. To appeal to 
 us they must be endowed first of all with true humanity. 
 We cannot sympathize with a creature in common with 
 whom we have not the property of ordinary flesh and 
 blood humanity. If he moves through the story ap- 
 parently impelled and controlled by feelings and im- 
 pulses different from those with which we are familiar, 
 we cannot understand what pleases him or pains him; 
 he is not within the pale of our cognitions, and affords 
 no basis for our inferences about him. Remote alle- 
 gorical figures are of this kind. Figures populating 
 an unreal world may indeed appeal to us strongly, but 
 for other reasons ; for humanity, though chief, is only 
 one of many sources of interest. 
 
 a. The presence of palpable humanity is the first 
 condition for their truthfulness and consistency. The 
 illusion is then most perfect. It is, in fact, no longer 
 an illusion, but a reality. 
 
 b. Personality. By this is meant traits making pos- 
 sible closer relations than are potential in those arising 
 out of humanity in general. Endowed with person- 
 ality, the character has an interest like that of an ac- 
 quaintance. Polonius, the garrulous courtier, is not 
 a great figure, not likable, but his foibles and conceits 
 are real enough to bring him, somehow, closer to our 
 sympathies. We feel impelled, not only to criticize, 
 but to overlook and to forgive, scarcely knowing why. 
 
The Study of Prose Forms 147 
 
 c. Verisimilitude. Sometimes in our studies of per- 
 sons, it is possible to point out the strokes that count 
 more than others toward truth of reality. Some de- 
 tails of Dickens's characters are almost distressingly 
 real : Old Weller's concern about the initial letter of his 
 name; the miser Gride's dry cough. These are touches 
 of a kind that appear like a fact recorded, not an 
 invention. Of this kind is Caesar's remark — "Come 
 on my right hand, for this ear is deaf." 
 
 Hudson observes on the line: "This is one of the 
 little touches of the imagination that so often impart 
 a factlike vividness to the poet's scenes." 
 
 Again, reality is imparted by bringing them close 
 in actual spatial relations, and so they localize them 
 in familiar environs. Now and then the action or 
 the very design of a story imposes reality on a char- 
 acter. Robinson Crusoe is a very ordinary individual 
 in himself, but the plot holds him before us so persist- 
 ently and with such an accumulation of petty details 
 touching his daily life, that we come to think of him 
 as real. 
 
 d. Largeness. Individuals are no more all ambition 
 or bravery than they are all head or arm. Portia in 
 The Merchant of Venice is an ideal woman, not only 
 in one respect, but in many respects that go to make 
 up such an ideal. The visualizations endow her with 
 good sense and tact. She is tenderhearted, resolute, 
 practical, and hopeful. In scope and largeness a char- 
 acter like Brutus also calls for our admiration. He 
 
148 The Study of Literature 
 
 is a soldier, philosopher, statesman, musician, orator. 
 By letting him appear in a variety of situations, each 
 calculated to bring him before us in a new light, the 
 poet has endowed him with richness and largeness as 
 the signal marks of a personality cast by nature along 
 large and noble lines. 
 
 e. Strength. Not only physical, as in Achilles, Ursus, 
 Coeur de Lion, Ivanhoe, but also moral, like Imogen, 
 Cordelia, Evangeline, Jean Valjean. Strength of in- 
 tellect, as in Hamlet. Repose like that of Horatio's is 
 another kind of strength; so also passion like that of 
 Shylock. 
 
 A personage in literature is in a large measure in- 
 teresting in proportion to the strength and richness of 
 his psychic life — what we perceive him to will, to feel, 
 and to suffer. A character capable in this respect 
 attracts us. We like to see human feelings, emotions, 
 even dislikes and hates, have full play. Not only the 
 fancy, but the appetite, is capable of an appeal of this 
 kind. In great struggles and crises the real strength 
 of a person's mind and soul is revealed; what there is 
 in him is then laid bare, and we instinctively reach out 
 to catch a little of its superabundance. 
 
 f. Beauty. Beauty of person; beauty of conduct. 
 An action is most beautiful when it exhibits perfect 
 harmony between motive and conduct. Hence, an 
 action that we know should be the product of deliberate 
 reflection is more beautiful if we see it spring from 
 this source than from impulse. An action, on the other 
 
The Study of Prose Forms 149 
 
 hand, that we feel should be spontaneous is not beau- 
 tiful if it comes tardy and is overlaid with reflection. 
 
 g. Other topics. Comparison and contrast of char- 
 acters. Different types produced by the same condi- 
 tion of society. The Puritans and Cavaliers, for 
 example, in Woodstock. Historical characters. What 
 liberty has the author taken in depicting them? Char- 
 acter grouping. In Richard II the actors are grouped 
 in two factions, each person of the two groups designed 
 to work out his particular part in the issue. 
 
 Estimates of character. Personages of the same 
 rank and their effect on the principal action. In gen- 
 eral, the points that come up will touch on their reality 
 — why we regard them as real or as mere shadows. 
 Are they the embodiment of some ethical idea? Are 
 they original or modifications of others by the same 
 writer? Why does Shakespeare occasionally give us 
 glimpses of a better nature, even a human touch, in 
 his villains? Why does he admit flaws, the weakness 
 of mortality, even in his best and purest? 
 
 V. Literary content. — The thought is so thor- 
 oughly suffused through th^ other elements that it 
 is difficult to single it out as a separate entity for 
 independent inspection. Yet the pupil will feel that 
 there must be a substance, a residuum conveyed by the 
 setting, description, action, and the characters. After 
 a story has been read, even after its details have 
 dropped out of memory, there should still remain some- 
 thing of permanent value to the reader. When it 
 
150 The Study of Literature 
 
 comes up for discussion, say, in the final work on the 
 story, it may be investigated under the following 
 heads — 
 
 1. Department of material dealt with. Historic, 
 myths, legends, superstitions, chivalry, romantic occur- 
 rences, present-day reality, pioneer life, pictures pre- 
 senting local portraiture. 
 
 2. Intellectual content. Under this head an im- 
 portant distinction should be made between subjects 
 of incidental significance merely, and those of perma- 
 nent value. Broadly, the distinction is that of current 
 topics and great life truths. The former may have a 
 lively interest, due, however, to temporary conditions. 
 A book weaving into the story an obvious theory on 
 some question of policy is of this kind — the reform 
 of a current abuse, the advocation of a policy which 
 the author thinks required by some temporary exigency. 
 In the hands of the great masters of fiction such a 
 didactic purpose sometimes has been reconciled to true 
 literary art. 
 
 3. Ethical content. At least a threefold division 
 is possible in regard to ethical ends in books. 
 
 a. In some books such ends do not come up for 
 consideration as either desirable or negligible — stories, 
 for example, calculated to entertain — where the mate- 
 rial is subdued accordingly, facts possibly wrenched, 
 and wholesome truths left out of account. If they 
 aim merely at harmless entertainment without doing 
 violence to our feelings or carrying objectionable in- 
 
The Study of Prose Forms 151 
 
 stillments, books of even this class might be credited 
 with a bit of service in the interest of ethics. 
 
 b. Many stories do indirect service, and, indeed, of 
 a very marked kind, by picturing crime and sin in their 
 repellent nature and dread, inevitable consequences. 
 
 c. In other cases, again, we are never allowed to 
 lose sight of the goal set up of making virtue attract- 
 ive, celebrating goodness and nobility, heroism and 
 loyalty. Toward such ends have been written stories 
 embodying permanent life truths and humanity itself 
 at its best, as those of Browning, Dickens, Ibsen, 
 Tennyson, Hawthorne, Goethe, Shakespeare. 
 
 4. Ethical balance. If a character appears to meet 
 undeserved punishment, it is not always satisfactory to 
 attempt an explanation of it by hunting up the suf- 
 ferer's guilt. To insist on an equivalence between the 
 merit and the reward, the punishment and the crime, 
 will often result in forcing a trifling desert or a venial 
 fault into exaggerated significance. On such a basis 
 of ethical balance, the sufferings of King Lear and 
 Cordelia stand in no proportion to the offense of each. 
 
 There are characters who for various reasons acquire 
 such hold on our sympathy that we are unwilling to 
 recognize their faults even when exposed in full view. 
 But sin is what it is ; and to excuse it or to gloss it over 
 is damaging. When many personages figure in a 
 story, the writer has to leave some of the ordinary 
 ones in such a way that strict justice seems suspended 
 or diverted in their special cases. Such an instance is 
 
152 The Study of Literature 
 
 found in the Jessica and Lorenzo episode in The Mer- 
 chant of Venice. Though the poet's design did not 
 admit of following the consequences of her acts, Jes- 
 sica is none the less a reprehensible girl. The youth 
 of her own age who reads the story will be prone to 
 add the sins of the sprightly Jewess to the long list 
 of those of her father; for how could she be a differ- 
 ent girl brought up by a father of that kind? But 
 such extenuation, if followed in its logical bearings, 
 will result in adding Shylock's crimes in turn to those 
 of his parents; for how could he be a different man 
 brought up as he must have been ? 
 
 5. Emotional content. This is often of such a 
 nature as to make impossible either definition or clas- 
 sification. It is felt and appreciated as the work is 
 studied; and the best commentary, where such may 
 be required, is an apposite observation applicable to the 
 special instance and expressing the recognition there 
 in place. To set out with the deliberate purpose of 
 analyzing the sentiment, pathos, or tragedy with the 
 intention of showing its psychic basis, is likely to lead 
 nowhere, except with students considerably advanced; 
 and the discussion may have to be simply abandoned 
 in ragged or confused shape. 
 
 6. Simplification of experience. The tangle of 
 daily occurrences may seem meaningless to the casual 
 person struggling in their midst. But the fictionist 
 eliminates obscuring details and supplies the links 
 where the continuity is broken, thereby showing us that 
 
The Study of Prose Forms 153 
 
 the play and grind of forces is not meaningless, that 
 the trend of events leads somewhere, that the mighty 
 struggle does work out something. There is a moral 
 world-order, the writer says, guided by Providence, in 
 whose hands are the destinies of the children of men. 
 7. The author's personality. Back of all the char- 
 acters and their conduct is the mind and spirit of the 
 author himself. In his characters and in their acts he 
 receives expression; his spirit is thus made approach- 
 able, so that we, the readers, may come en rapport with 
 it. To rethink his thoughts and to summon up his 
 conceptions is communication with, and an appropria- 
 tion of, spirit essence. Our intuitive efforts to come 
 into the presence of superior minds serves, it cannot 
 be doubted, some high purpose in the economy of our 
 soul life, though in the incompleteness of our observa- 
 tions the purpose may appear elusive and difficult to 
 define. 
 
VIII 
 
 "THE DESERTED VILLAGE" 
 
 Hints for study plan. — Among its lines of in- 
 terest, the most obvious is that of description worked 
 out in vivid and pleasing visualizations. But the fac- 
 tors of the interest that has placed it high in the ranks 
 of our classics are to be sought in the general content 
 rather than in form or type perfection. In the content 
 there are several weighty ideas that claim prominence: 
 
 I. The poet deplores the fate of the village as de- 
 populated and deserted, and attempts to show the 
 causes that have reduced it to this condition. But this 
 idea is sociological rather than poetic. 2. Again, he 
 inveighs against luxury as one of the principal causes 
 of the desolation. This view gives rise to a question 
 for debate, but as a theme for a poem its possibilities 
 are less marked. 3. Commercialism is another topic 
 prominent throughout. But when the misery of the 
 village is ascribed to " trade's unfeeling train," we are 
 in the field of political economy with a proposition 
 before us hard to maintain. 4. The scene of departure 
 is touching and truly poetic, though an incident. 
 5. The description of the villagers in foreign lands 
 has the effect of a distinct unit. But it lacks the pres- 
 ence of reality we feel in reading about sweet Auburn. 
 
 154 
 
"The Deserted Village" 155 
 
 No single one of these five ideas constitutes the 
 essence of this classic. Notwithstanding what is in- 
 complete or erroneous in each one singly, they all con- 
 tribute to the chief central conception — "The warmth 
 with which the poet conjures up the village of his 
 youth, with its scene of mirth and endearment, to which 
 his affections cling." The Deserted Village celebrates 
 the simple life of the past, not that of the present ; for 
 the simple life of the present is artificially simple. The 
 poet's sincere affection for his early home and for per- 
 sons whom all rightly constituted people love, carries 
 weight with the reader, who finds this to be the 
 message. 
 
 The plan is worked out on the basis of contrast. In 
 L' Allegro and // Penseroso the contrasted units are 
 treated in separate poems. In The Deserted Village 
 they are brought together in one. In a general way, 
 three lines of thought are developed : 
 
 I. The happy, populous village of the past con- 
 trasted with its present deserted and unhappy condi- 
 tion, lines 1-236. 2. The unfortunate change deplored, 
 237-302. 3. The fate of the villagers, 303-430. 
 
 This plan again makes it necessary to proceed by 
 bringing in alternately pictures of the happy, populous 
 village and the unhappy, deserted one. Each of these 
 pictures, or a group of them if more rapid work must 
 be done, becomes a convenient unit for classroom work. 
 
 In 1-34 the poet calls to mind his native village, and 
 depicts its natural charms and the happiness of its 
 
156 The Study of Literature 
 
 inhabitants at the time of his youth. The village of 
 the poet's childhood was Lissoy, in Ireland. Why does 
 he call the village of his poem " Auburn " ? " Swain " 
 — what is the corresponding prose word? Compare 
 also cockswain, boatswain. "Seats of my youth" — 
 how old was Goldsmith when this poem was written? 
 Where was his home at the time? What exactly is 
 meant by "the coming day"? "The spreading tree," 
 a landmark, a customary place where the village assem- 
 bled for frolic. Note plan of this bit of description: 
 in the first line, "sweet" and "loveliest" indicate the 
 tone to prevail. The general features of the village 
 are given in the next seven lines. The phrase "every 
 charm" prepares for the particulars from which the 
 picture is to be wrought. These are a number of nouns 
 each preceded by a fitting adjective — "sheltered cot, 
 cultivated farm, never- failing brook, busy mill, decent 
 church." After this background is complete, the games 
 and sports of the young men and maidens are brought 
 on. The animated group affords brief glimpses, giving 
 the whole an agreeable reality — the secret laughter, 
 the sidelong looks of love, the matron's reproving 
 glance. This bit of description, then, is built upon the 
 plan of (i) keynote of mood; (2) general features; 
 (3) particular objects and instances; (4) animation 
 caught from the games of the young; (5) personal 
 touches completing the picture with presence and reality. 
 In the succeeding one hundred lines (34-136) the 
 poet is busy mainly with the description of the village 
 
"The Deserted Village" 157 
 
 in its depopulated condition. All is changed. One 
 single master owns the land, and the whole village is 
 desolate (35-50). To have its peasantry driven away 
 by a few rich landowners is a misfortune (51-56). 
 England's pride was fcH-merly a happy rural population 
 whose wants were few; but now riches and luxury 
 have, in consequence of trade, usurped the land, and 
 compelled its peasantry to emigrate (57-74). A sad 
 example of this is sweet Auburn (75-82), where the 
 poet had hoped to spend the last days of his life (83- 
 96) in peaceful and happy retirement (97-112). Now 
 all is desolation. The only remaining inhabitant is a 
 poor lone widow, who makes a precarious living by 
 gathering cresses for food, and faggots of thorn for 
 fuel ( I 13-136). 
 
 What word or words keep before the reader the 
 poet's feeling toward the village? In 36-51, which 
 visualizations prove most strongly the desolate condi- 
 tion? In what way does the hollow-sounding bittern 
 (44) help to make the picture convincing? In another 
 connection (Animated Nature, Vol. VI), Goldsmith 
 records his impression of this bird's cry in the fol- 
 lowing manner : 
 
 Those who have walked of an evening by the sedgy side of 
 the unfrequented rivers, must remember a variety of notes 
 from different water-fowl : the loud scream of the water-goose, 
 the croaking of the mallard, the whining of the lapwing, the 
 tremulous neighing of the jacksnipe; but of all these sounds 
 there is none so dismally hollow as the booming of the bittern. 
 It is impossible for words to give those who have not heard 
 
158 The Study of Literature 
 
 this evening call an adequate idea of its solemnity. It u like 
 an interrupted bellowing of a bull, but hoUower and louder, and 
 is heard a mile's distance, as if issuing from some formidable 
 being that resided at the bottom of the waters. 
 
 A time there was, ere England's grief began. 
 When every rood of ground maintained its man. 
 
 During the poet's day England had a population of 
 about 8,000,000. What can be said to justify the 
 assertion in the lines quoted? Make dear the steps 
 in the reasoning through which the conclusion is 
 reached that "Trade's unfeeling train usurp the land, 
 and dispossess the swain." There was an increase of 
 wealth the result of commerce, not of agriculture. 
 Thereby some one landlord was able to control or pur- 
 chase all the smaller farms of the village, thus dispos- 
 sessing the original holders. Does he have his native 
 village, Lissoy, Ireland, in mind in the paragraph be- 
 ginning — "Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful 
 hour" ? Even during the time of Walter Scott the 
 hawthorn near Lissoy had been carried away by "the 
 poet's admirers who desired classical toothpick cases 
 and tobacco-stoppers." What biographical reminis- 
 cence in the line, " In all my wanderings " (83) ? Were 
 the hopes expressed in 85 realized? What are the 
 relations of causes and results in the figure — 
 
 To husband out life's taper at the close, 
 
 And keep the flame from wasting by repose 1 
 
 Is his modest wish (89-92) to shine among early 
 
"The Deserted Village" 159 
 
 rural associates consistent with what we know of his 
 life? The figure concluding the paragraph has been 
 much praised. In what particular respects is it excel- 
 lent? Lines 97-112 contain reflections rising naturally 
 from what has been pictured. The thought is, we feel, 
 weighty, though it is hard to point out the essence that 
 gives it weight. Let the pupils give personal comments 
 on the lines. Washington Irving said this: 
 
 How touchingly expressive are the [succeeding] lines wrung 
 from a heart which all the trials and temptations and buffetings 
 of the world could not render worldly; which, amid a thousand 
 follies and errors of the head, still retained its childlike inno- 
 cence; and which, doomed to struggle to the last amid the din 
 and turmoil of the metropolis, had ever been cheating itself with 
 a dream of rural quiet and seclusion (Quoted by Wolff). 
 
 What hours of the day or evening are pictured in 
 1 13-124? Explain "vacant," 122. What climax is 
 reached in the contrast by 129-136? In what sense 
 was the person here described the historian of the 
 plain ? 
 
 In three lines (137-139) the locality of the village 
 preacher's mansion is sketched. In these lines what 
 visualizes it as a place lapsed from a condition of 
 refinement? The poet's father and brother were both 
 so situated that either might be the village preacher 
 here described. As curate, about 1728, his father had 
 an income of forty pounds a year. With the same 
 salary his brother, the Rev. Henry Goldsmith, later 
 had charge of the parish at Lissoy, where his father 
 
160 The Study of Literature 
 
 had once been the incumbent. The poet had strong 
 attachment for his brother. To him he dedicated The 
 Traveller — "The only dedication I ever made was to 
 my brother, because I loved him better than most 
 men." * 
 
 Explain " passing rich " ( 142) . Explain " he ran his 
 godly race" .(143). See i Corinthians IX, 24; 
 Hebrews XII, i. 
 
 Explain "long-remembered" (151). Make clear 
 the distinction implied between an act of pity and one 
 of charity in line 162. Point out what must have been 
 the failings that leaned to virtue's side (164). Home 
 and hospitality were inseparably associated in the poet's 
 mind. The entertainment of a stranger is always 
 brought in to complete the description as in The Trav- 
 eller (197). "Truth from his lips prevailed with 
 double sway" (179). Does "double" here imply by 
 precept and example, or is it an augmentative like " A 
 voice potential, as double as the Duke's." {Othello 1, 2.) 
 "Bright eyes were double bright." (Keats's Lamia.) 
 
 The description gains much from its obvious sin- 
 cerity, and the sublime figure that enforces it is emi- 
 nently fitting. As in the case of many sublime things 
 in literature, people have been busy hunting for its 
 original. Something like it had been written by 
 the French poet. Abbe de Chaulieu (1630- 1720). 
 Goldsmith had formerly touched on the idea in The 
 Traveller, lines 31-33. 
 ♦From Dedication of The Deserted Village. 
 
" The Deserted Village " 161 
 
 Wherein lies the difference in mood and manner 
 between the description of the village preacher and 
 that of the village schoolmaster? What personal rec- 
 ollections in the latter ? Give the reason for the order 
 in which these personages are here introduced. The 
 schoolmaster here was Thomas Byrne, an old soldier 
 who had served in the Spanish wars, and who pos- 
 sessed a weird stock of tales of adventures, also legends 
 of banshees and Rapparee chiefs. 
 
 "The pictures placed for ornament and use" (231). 
 Explain in what way they served this double purpose. 
 "The twelve good rules" (232) attributed to Charles I 
 were: (i) Urge no healths; (2) Profane no divine 
 ordinances; (3) Touch no state matters; (4) Reveal 
 no secrets; (5) Pick no quarrels; (6) Make no com- 
 parisons; (7) Maintain no ill opinions; (8) Keep no 
 bad company; (9) Encourage no vice; (10) Make 
 no long meals; (11) Repeat no grievances; (12) Lay 
 no wagers. 
 
 In the second main division, where the change in 
 the village is deplored, the bard shows the simple rural 
 joys to be infinitely more satisfying to the heart than 
 are the intoxicating pleasures of the world (251-264). 
 Increasing luxury is a sure indication of a country's 
 ruin (265-302). 
 
 An inspection of the single pictures here will reveal 
 much suggestiveness. So, for instance, the lines — 
 
 No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear. 
 Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear 
 
162 The Study of Literature 
 
 visualize well, and convey something over and above 
 what is literally in the picture. What is added by 
 the word "lean"? What by "hear"? In extolling 
 the simple blessings is the poet conscious that these 
 blessings may also be seen in a far different light? 
 Is the passage beginning with " Proud swells the tide " 
 (269) an explanation of the distinction between "a 
 splendid and a happy land" (268) ? If not, what dis- 
 tinction would the poet make? Examine the analogy 
 in the simile of the fair female and the land of simple 
 charms (287). The career of a fair female and the 
 stages of a country's development do not present ex- 
 actly parallel cases. Some of the statements laid down 
 as facts are, moreover, problematical. It is not indis- 
 putable that a young woman slights all charms of 
 dress. " Solicitous to bless " has no corresponding 
 part in the country. Further, a splendid and, conse- 
 quently, developed, land is not so much subject to 
 famine as is a land in an undeveloped state. 
 
 In the third division, "The fate of the villagers" 
 (303-430), the argument is; "Where shall the poor 
 man go to escape the pride of the rich ? " The common, 
 where he was wont to drive his flocks, is in their pos- 
 session. He cannot go to the city, where pride and 
 misery dwell side by side (303-336). Are the vil- 
 lagers of Auburn gone to the city to form a part of 
 the wretched populace? No, they are gone to seek 
 new homes in the unhospi table parts of the New World 
 (337-362). Heartrending scenes were witnessed at 
 
" The Deserted Village " 163 
 
 their departure. Thus growing luxury, far from in- 
 dicating a healthy development of a land, is a sure sign 
 of its decay (363-394), The poet observes with grief 
 that all rural virtues — contentment, hospitality, faith, 
 and aifection — are also deserting the land. Even the 
 Muse, the source of all his bliss and all his woe, is 
 bidding farewell. In his parting words he implores 
 her, no matter where she is, to find a home, to teach 
 man that riches alone do not make a people happy, and 
 that the rule of money and of trade hasten the ruin of 
 a country (395-430). 
 
 In the paragraph "if to the city sped" (309), 
 wretchedness and gayety are brought together in 
 sharply contrasted pictures. What pictures give point 
 to his argument ? What kind of employment is meant 
 in "There the pale artist plies the sickly trade"? 
 What is the literal idea in "the dome where Pleasure 
 holds her midnight reign" (319)? What particular 
 kind of event is described in "The rattling chariots 
 clash, the torches glare"? In telling of the fate of 
 the Auburn villagers, does he think of their condition 
 as more or less deplorable than that of the unfortunates 
 in the city ? In telling of their experiences in the New 
 World (341-362) are the particulars due to poetic 
 exaggeration or to current misconception? Goldsmith 
 was the first English poet to introduce American names 
 of places in his verse — Oswego, Altamaha, Niagara. 
 
 In the account of the new homes of the villagers and 
 their departure for these regions, the poem partakes 
 
164 The Study of Literature 
 
 of the story form. What unusual order in the events 
 as given ? Who or what, according to the poet's view, 
 exchanged luxury "for things like these" (389)? 
 What unexpected point of view in "Even now the 
 devastation is begun " ( 395 ) ? 
 
 With 407 begin some reflections of an autobiograph- 
 ical character. Here a knowledge of the poet's career 
 will be of assistance in the interpretation. What ex- 
 actly is meant by "sweet Poetry" in 407? Poetry in 
 metrical form or in the general sense of the poetic 
 charms of a rural community? If metrical, is not The 
 Deserted Village itself a refutation of the line "Still 
 first to fly where sensual joys invade" (308)? Ex- 
 plain "My shame in crowds, my solitary pride" (412). 
 
 Viewed in the light of his biography, is the arraign- 
 ment in these lines just? 
 
 Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, 
 
 Thou foundst me poor at first, and keepst me so (413). 
 
 Is he speaking in his own behalf in " Thou nurse of 
 every virtue, fare thee well " ? Do the last four lines, 
 said to have been added by Samuel Johnson, give the 
 poem a more satisfactory conclusion? 
 
 Origin. — Like his other poems, this one is 
 worked out with much care. The central idea had 
 been clearly before his mind some ten years prior to 
 1770, the year of its publication. In The Philosophic 
 Vagabond are traces of it, where he says that he roamed 
 about among the harmless peasants of Flanders, and 
 
" The Deserted Village " 165 
 
 among those of France, who were poor enough to be 
 really happy. In The Vicar of Wakefield, written 
 before 1762, he says in chapter 19 — 
 
 Now the possessor of accumulated wealth when furnished with 
 the necessaries and pleasures of life, has no other method to 
 employ the superfluity of his fortune but in purchasing power; 
 that is, diiierently speaking, in making dependents by purchasing 
 the liberty of the needy or the venal, of men who are willing to 
 bear the mortification of contiguous tyranny for bread. 
 
 After having spent eight or ten years in studying the 
 material, he spent two years more in giving it literary 
 form. The work of writing was constantly interrupted 
 by the necessity of performing literary hack work of 
 various kinds in order to earn the means of living. 
 When busy with the poem he regarded the completion 
 of ten lines a fair morning's work. In 1770 it was 
 brought out by Griffin in Garrick's Head, the Strand, 
 the poet receiving for it the sum of one hundred 
 guineas, which was eighty guineas more than he re- 
 ceived for The Traveller, brought out six years earlier. 
 Such was the immediate popularity of The Deserted 
 Village that within six months five editions were de- 
 manded. At the time of its publication Goldsmith 
 belonged to "The Literary Club," which counted 
 among its members Burke, Reynolds, Boswell, Chamier, 
 and Johnson. The poem was submitted to Johnson for 
 criticism, and he rather unnecessarily added the last 
 four lines. Goldsmith dedicated it to the painter 
 Reynolds, whom he held in high regard. The latter 
 
166 The Study of Literature 
 
 reciprocated the courtesy by painting "Resignation" 
 from the motive suggested by line no. 
 
 To what extent was the success of The Traveller 
 and The Deserted Village due to the personal influence 
 of his friends, Burke, Reynolds, and Johnson? Was 
 Goldsmith stimulated by the example of any contem- 
 porary poet who had achieved success in this line? 
 
 Choice of subject matter. — How did the theme 
 of the ruinous influence of wealth come to take such 
 firm possession of him so early? His biographers 
 sketch him as improvident, erratic, sometimes frivolous, 
 and fussy; in matters of dress, vain and a little given 
 to show. His strong sympathy for others made it 
 impossible for him to turn a deaf ear to appeals for 
 charity. But his generosity was thoughtless, and not 
 well adapted to relieve. Hence, when he had money, 
 he either gave it away impulsively or squandered it 
 foolishly, so that in his own experience no blessings 
 flowed from it. Again, there was nothing reliable in 
 his conduct nor prepossessing in his address that ap- 
 pealed to the regard of the classes above him in wealth 
 and rank. The sensitive nature of the poet felt every 
 mark of indifference as a slight, and he came to look 
 upon the wealthy as hard without exception. 
 
 The germinal idea had its origin in the sympathetic, 
 unselfish nature of the poet, in his love for home, in 
 the warmth of feeling toward the only class of people 
 whom he felt he could personally approach. Thereby 
 he was led to associate unhappiness with the influence 
 
" The Deserted Village " 167 
 
 of wealth, and his generalization led him to limit hap- 
 piness to the sphere of the poor of country districts. 
 In his dedication he is aware of the fallacy of his 
 views or at least of far-reaching exceptions to them. 
 In this instance, as usual, the views having their origins 
 in the feelings triumphed over those that presented 
 themselves merely to the intellect. 
 
 Whatever contemporary influences may have pressed 
 upon him also bent his genius in the direction of de- 
 scriptive and reflective poetry. The best poetry imme- 
 diately preceding contained as its essence reflection 
 based upon, and built up around, description. Such 
 was much of Pope's, Thompson's Seasons, Johnson's 
 Satires of Juvenal, Young's Night Thoughts — all 
 brought out within a few decades immediately pre- 
 ceding. In 1 75 1 had appeared Gray's Elegy, which 
 in its descriptions and reflections appealed strongly to 
 the popular imagination, though in treatment it stood 
 on remote classic ground. If Goldsmith caught any in- 
 spiration from it, as he no doubt did, he did not follow 
 it in any sense as a model. For into his own works 
 he put more of himself, more abandon, and none of 
 the ancient classic restraints. Still closer than Gray to 
 the affairs of the people was Churchill, whose poetry 
 on politics and current matters falls within a half dozen 
 years before 1764. 
 
 Goldsmith's immediate predecessors, then, were di- 
 rected largely by the force of two tendencies: classic 
 form and polemical subject matter. The poet of The 
 
168 The Study of Literature 
 
 Deserted Village refused to be caught up in either 
 movement. He inveighs against Gray's odes in so far 
 that he found them breathing too much of the spirit 
 of Pindar. Again, he took sides with no political fac- 
 tion, but endeavored to show that the happiness of a 
 country does not depend on any one form of govern- 
 ment, but may be found in full measure under the 
 form which each state has consistently evolved. 
 
 In manner and method does Goldsmith resemble 
 those near him, Thompson and Gray, or those more 
 distant, Pope and Addison? What advance does he 
 make beyond these four predecessors? Although 
 Goldsmith's obvious purpose was to avoid argument, 
 how is he nevertheless led into it in The Deserted 
 Village? 
 
 Formulate the proposition he endeavors to maintain. 
 This proposition is not quite identical with the main 
 idea. What is the main idea, stated in full ? To what 
 extent does the poet's erroneous political economy 
 affect the weight and value of the poem? 
 
 On parts like "No more thy glassy brook reflects 
 the day," etc., Macaulay has the following criticism: 
 
 What would be thought of a painter who should mix August 
 and January in one landscape, who should introduce a frozen river 
 into a harvest scene? To such a picture The Deserted Village 
 bears a great resemblance. It is made up of incongruous parts. 
 The village in its happy days is a true English village. The vil- 
 lage in its decay is an Irish village. The felicity and the misery 
 which Goldsmith has brought close together belong to diflferent 
 
" The Deserted Village " 169 
 
 countries and to two different stages in the progress of society. 
 He has assuredly never seen in his native island such a rural 
 paradise, such a scene of plenty, content and tranquillity as his 
 Auburn. 
 
 Examine Macaulay's criticism. Does not the critic's 
 objection touch mainly the plan here followed? This 
 provides for sharply contrasted pictures, in which 
 plenty and content are set over against misery and 
 desolation. To carry out this it was necessary to de- 
 scribe the village in successive periods of time and 
 under conditions essentially dissimilar; and the result- 
 ing proximity in the poem of content and wretchedness 
 arises strictly out of the nature of this design. 
 Macaulay is correct in saying that the felicity and 
 misery here brought close together belong to two dif- 
 ferent stages in the progress of society; but do not 
 poets make free use of contrasts resulting in this way ? 
 Is Macaulay correct in saying that Goldsmith has 
 thereby described villages of two different countries, 
 England and Ireland ? Are there any racial distinctions 
 on which this inference is founded? The last objec- 
 tion quoted — that Goldsmith's Auburn is more of a 
 rural paradise than the facts warrant — would imply 
 that there is something preposterous or incredible in 
 the description. This assertion is a matter for the 
 reader's independent opinion to determine. The poets 
 Campbell and Goethe praised its propriety and natural- 
 ness. It is, moreover, one of a poet's prerogatives to 
 draw on his imagination for richness of description. 
 
170 The Study of Literature 
 
 to use colors, on occasion, more splendid than the facts 
 will warrant. 
 
 In another school text, the essay on Milton, the pupil 
 has an opportunity to note how Macaulay himself 
 employs the method of contrasts in parallel pictures, 
 how he conducts an argument in series of sharply 
 contrasted instances. 
 
IX 
 THE LYRIC. MILTON'S " L' ALLEGRO" 
 
 This lyric is placed on the study programs of our 
 schools with the expectation that to it will be given 
 several hours' time in the classroom. To read it 
 through leisurely in class requires about ten minutes. 
 To tell the facts connected with its origin — that it 
 belongs to the first of the three periods of Milton's 
 literary activity; that it was produced during the years 
 of joy and leisure following upon the poet's graduation, 
 years spent on his father's country place at Horton — 
 and to state its rank as the loveliest English lyric of 
 the age — to present these facts amplified by necessary 
 details will take about ten minutes more. Further 
 lecturing of this generalizing kind most teachers will 
 feel is time wasted. Evidently, then, something more 
 should be done, possibly something different. 
 
 In educational circles there are sometimes heard ob- 
 jections against what is termed the intensive study of 
 literature. On account of the subtle vital essence that 
 constitutes the life of the lyric, these objections have 
 special pertinency when directed against the intensive 
 manipulation of this species. 
 
 Such analytic work, they say, with its minute in- 
 spection of parts, reduces the lovely lyric to an unlovely 
 thing of shreds and patches. What can be the educa- 
 
 171 
 
172 The Study of Literature 
 
 tional value, it is asked, of directing the pupils to 
 probe into a fair and comely literary organism so as 
 to be able to hold up between the thumb and finger 
 the separated fragments of that organism? Under 
 such treatment it is not to be wondered at if the soul 
 of the poem takes flight, and the pupils fail to appro- 
 priate any quickening stimuli or inspiration from the 
 process. 
 
 Now these objections apply also to some of the 
 prose masterpieces placed on the study schedules of 
 our schools. But in these procedures if harm is done, 
 it is not done to the masterpieces, for these are quite 
 beyond the power of either mistaken teachers or mis- 
 guided pupils to damage. On the supposition that the 
 process is harmful, it must be harmful to the pupils; 
 and it might be well to inquire in what particular way. 
 
 Whenever they are guided away from the vital ele- 
 ment and culture substance of a poem, and caused to 
 be busy only with incidental matters clinging to it, 
 their final impression, if they reach one, must take its 
 character, not from the substance, but from these inci- 
 dental matters. Such errors arise, for instance, when 
 there is a failure to limit the word study to its position 
 as a means, allowing it to usurp the place of the sub- 
 stance. Other cases arise in work on masterpieces 
 written with the purpose of making a strong appeal, 
 say of human sentiment, patriotism, devotion. In 
 Washington's Farewell Address petty word mongering 
 has no place. To be busy only with figures and allu- 
 
The Lyric. Milton's "L' Allegro" 173 
 
 sions in a poem of a devotional character is an error 
 of which we can hardly suppose any teacher guilty. 
 
 In lyrics, particularly, there is not much to know 
 with a self-complacent knowledge, but there is occasion 
 and opportunity to be busy with those vital units of 
 thought that constitute the life of the poem, to deal 
 with these so that they finally rise before the pupil 
 with all their fullness of meaning and organic signifi- 
 cance. In cases like this a teacher will not hesitate to 
 require a sufficient amount of verbal study to have the 
 message imparted in all that it literally means or sym- 
 bolically conveys. Close intensive study of this kind 
 is not a new notion among teachers. It was practiced 
 by Ascham, and recommended by Bacon. Locke saw 
 that it was indispensable to real scholarship. Ruskin 
 emphatically states that looking closely and studiously 
 at the meanings of words is the first requisite of the 
 scholar ; but he also shows that this is not for the sake 
 of the words but of the facts enshrined in them. 
 
 But the vital essence that this inspection finally re- 
 veals in, say, a lyric, is after all the real material for 
 manipulation. The sentiment of a lyric cannot be very 
 far distant from what the pupil has perhaps vaguely 
 felt stirring in his own soul life. What he reads in the 
 verse may, in fact, have analogies in experience per- 
 sonal to him. If then he weighs and judges, compares 
 and supplements what he finds before him, he is act- 
 ively cooperating with the poet, reliving and reexpe- 
 riencing rich sentiments of his own arising within him 
 
174 The Study of Literature 
 
 from the suggestion of the poet's word. To translate 
 the poet's sentiments into the actualities of life, or to 
 translate the actualities of life into poetic sentiment, 
 is by no means simply an act of gushing sentimental- 
 izing so justly disapproved. To take hold of the cor- 
 responding reality, to see relations there and make 
 adjustments and comparisons between this and the 
 ideal is far different from empty ejaculations about the 
 splendor of the poetic richness. 
 
 To make clear the purport of these contentions it 
 may be permitted to anticipate for a moment a glimpse 
 of the essence of L' Allegro. In this, we are told, 
 every single picture is a topic for a separate poem. 
 Many of these pictures impel the pupil to fill in from 
 his most treasured experiences, and give body to them, 
 if not in words or feelings, at least in his own silent 
 reflections. Most people can recall some day when 
 they lived through what L' Allegro tells. No doubt it 
 was a day from childhood or early youth when the 
 grass and the trees, the brook and the hillside, had 
 the power of imparting their riches in unalloyed joy. 
 No disturbing presences marred the perfection of the 
 day; if there were any such, they fled in banishment of 
 their own accord. Now, this day, the pupil's day of 
 joy, is capable of receiving "a local habitation and a 
 name," as well as the one of L' Allegro. What for- 
 tunate circumstances converged to make it what I felt 
 it was ? Who were the companions that shared it with 
 me ? What single experiences of it do I treasure most 
 
The Lyric. Milton's "L' Allegro" 175 
 
 dearly? Could I conceive this picture in a minor key 
 and summon forth a contrasted // Penseroso? 
 
 With the warmth of these reminiscences the hints of 
 L' Allegro's pictures will take form. The pupil will 
 inquire about the conditions of Milton's day that gave 
 them characteristic features. The actual facts about 
 the hounds and horn, the plowman and the milkmaid, 
 the story-telling of the evening, are not isolated items, 
 but deeply rooted in the times; and the pupil will feel 
 prompted to look for, and dwell on, the circumstances 
 from which they arose. 
 
 This sort of endeavor can only be attempted as the 
 right occasion arises. The best work, in fact, can be 
 done only under a favoring mood, when the attune- 
 ment of the class is right, and when they, so to say, 
 take the initiative themselves. When this mood pre- 
 vails, every touch in the poem will take on a new and 
 richer meaning. The pupils, perhaps also the teacher, 
 feel that something has come into the poem which 
 assuredly was not there before. A good deal that at 
 first appeared of little moment will then challenge re- 
 search and inspection. 
 
 And this, too, is intensive study; an analytic and 
 synthetic manipulation found of doubtful value by some 
 teachers. Here they can also say that it reduces the 
 poem to fragments so that its spirit takes flight under 
 the process. To this we think we can fairly reply that 
 if it takes flight under this process, it does so to enter 
 the hearts of the pupils with quickening life. 
 
176 The Study of Literature 
 
 From the pupil's point of view, the most difficult 
 part of L' Allegro comprises the first ten lines. Even to 
 those not at all slow of perception the lines convey, in 
 a casual reading, nothing very clear, certainly nothing 
 pleasing. Unless read with considerable attention, a 
 first glance fails to show that the introductory sen- 
 tence is an imperative with the key word to be supplied 
 by the reader: 
 
 Hence, loathed Melancholy 
 
 Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, 
 
 In Stygian cave forlorn, 
 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy! 
 Find out some uncouth cell, 
 
 Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings. 
 
 And the night-raven sings; 
 
 There under ebon shades, and low-browed rocks, 
 
 As ragged as thy locks, 
 In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. 
 
 Under the circumstances supposed, a first reading is 
 not likely to reveal its central idea as that of riddance, 
 expulsion, banishment, but rather a vague notion that 
 something — perhaps Melancholy — is here the object 
 of bitter denunciation. But just why, the pupil has at" 
 this stage no means of knowing. Possibly it symbol- 
 izes some crime or sin ; at any rate an unpleasing notion 
 is attached to the word. Then, too, the language is 
 formal and figurative, cumbrous with harsh word-col- 
 locations, and accents in unusual places. To let these 
 lines go, then, with the chance result of a hasty impres- 
 sion would evidently lead the pupil directly away from 
 
The Lyric. Milton's "L' Allegro" 177 
 
 the central conception. Here an inquiry about mean- 
 ings is pertinent, and this inquiry will at first be directed 
 toward the words. 
 
 Melancholy. Milton places the stress on the third 
 syllable, which was in accord with the pronunciation 
 of his day. In the line before us, the word means 
 depression of spirits, sadness. In earlier times it was 
 used in the sense of sullenness and anger. It is traced 
 to Greek origins — melan-melas, meaning black, and 
 chole, bile. According to the ancients there were four 
 chief fluids of the body — blood, phlegm, choler, and 
 melancholy. The proportion in which each was pres- 
 ent determined the temperament, a notion surviving 
 in our terms descriptive of the temperaments. In 
 Love's Labor's Lost, I, 1,235, Shakespeare has "sable- 
 colored melancholy." 
 
 Milton avails himself of the wavering sense of the 
 word at his day to extend the basic idea of bile and 
 blackness to that of forbidding ugliness. But in // 
 Penseroso he allows it to be relieved of repulsive sug- 
 gestiveness, and lets it stand for a thoughtful and not 
 at all unpleasing sadness. The early writers used it 
 with a vivid sense of its origin, some of them literally 
 defining it as black humor. But this foundational idea 
 was very convenient for the extension of its meaning 
 to pensiveness, sadness, brooding, sullenness, irascibility, 
 ugliness, anger. 
 
 Cerberus. The watchdog which guarded the entrance 
 to the infernal regions. He allowed all to enter, but 
 
178 The Study of Literature 
 
 stopped all who attempted to escape. He is pictured 
 as a three-headed monster with a frightful bark. Her- 
 acles overcame him, and brought him to the upper 
 regions, 
 
 Stygian. Milton's use of this word is in strict con- 
 formity with the conception of it as found in Homer 
 and Hesiod. The Styx was thought of as an arm of 
 the ocean over which Charon brought the shades of 
 the departed. Later arose the idea that it flowed nine 
 times through the underworld farthest to the west, 
 in regions of dismal cliffs. Pausanias, in the account 
 of his travels in Greece (second century B. C), speaks 
 of it as a waterfall of that country, where it was locally 
 known as the Black Water. 
 
 Forlorn. Cheerless and desolate. Old English, for- 
 leosan; Old High German, forleosan; Middle High 
 German, verliesen; Modern German, verlieren; all with 
 the sense of loss or to sustain a loss. With the original 
 idea of loss was associated that of loss of health, life, 
 character. Together with this, it also took on an active 
 meaning of causing to perish ; then abandon, forsake ; 
 hence the participial form, abandoned, like something 
 to be avoided. Elsewhere, in Paradise Lost, Bk. I, i8o, 
 Milton has the line — "Yon dreary plain, forlorn and 
 wild." Spenser uses it in an active sense — "Her frail 
 wit that now her quite forlore." In the phrase " forlorn 
 hope" it means lost or doomed to destruction. But 
 "hope" was originally the Dutch hoop, a crowd; in 
 this phrase a detachment of soldiers picked for a des- 
 
The Lyric. Milton's "L' Allegro" 179 
 
 perate military enterprise; hence, doomed to destruc- 
 tion ; a reckless troop. 
 
 Uncouth. From the Anglo-Saxon cunnan, to know. 
 From the participle of this verb and the prefix "un" 
 we have the adjective form, "uncouth." From its 
 primitive idea of "not known" have sprung three 
 distinct conceptions : First, strange, foreign, uncanny, 
 leaning strongly toward the thought of something hos- 
 tile or mysteriously dangerous, and this is the sense it 
 has in the line under consideration. Second, it has 
 branched off in a direction almost diametrically oppo- 
 site. The implication of strangeness has in its Scotch 
 forms become associated with a feeling of admiration 
 — unusual, remarkable, as in "unco glad," "unco 
 guid." Third, its present significance of odd and awk- 
 ward in thought and looks, imputed to lack of culture 
 and to ignorance. 
 
 Jealous. The word is traced through Middle Eng- 
 lish, jelous and various other forms, to Old French, 
 jalous; to Latin, selus; ta Greek, selos. Calculated to 
 fill one with mistrust and suspicion. The most common 
 meaning was that of being troubled by suspicion or 
 fear of an impending loss. Here it lays stress on the 
 power to instil such fear. 
 
 Night-raven. Sometimes identified with the night 
 owl, again with the night heron. In 1567 Mapley 
 speaks of the night-raven or crow as "of the same 
 manner of life that the owle is." {New Eng. Diet.) 
 In what sense is the night-raven thought of as singing? 
 
180 The Study of Literature 
 
 Ragged. With irregular and jagged projections. 
 Some recollection of its early uses is also present here 
 as applied -to locks, namely, that of shaggy, straggling 
 tufts of hair. In this passage it helps perceptibly to 
 build up the description of an uncomely creature. 
 
 Cimmerian. The ancients supposed the Cimmerii to 
 be a people who lived far to the north in perpetual 
 darkness. Hence used to denote dense impenetrable 
 darkness. 
 
 Grammatically, the passage has three verbs, all in the 
 imperative mood — "depart" (supplied in reading), 
 "find," and "dwell," all placed in emphatic positions, 
 and all imposing banishment. As this central thought 
 of banishment comes to expression there is built up 
 along with it a vivid description of the creature ban- 
 ished. In this description, again, the chief visualization 
 is that of blackness. In these ten lines some thirteen 
 words express or suggest this color. In " Melancholy " 
 it is etymologically present; then "blackest" and " Mid- 
 night " ; in " Stygian cave," and " cell " by association ; 
 then " darkness," " night," " raven," " ebon," " shades," 
 "dark," and "Cimmerian." 
 
 The description centers on the single idea of black- 
 ness, clearly for the reason that this color is readily 
 allied with characteristics vaguely and mysteriously 
 repellent, as in the current expressions " shady," " deeds 
 of darkness," " can't stand the light of day." 
 
 Now, the presence of such a creature must always 
 be undesirable; but is there any special occasion that 
 
The Lyric. Milton's "L' Allegro" 181 
 
 brings it under such a formal ban here? When the 
 pupil reads on through the next unit, some thirty lines, 
 the answer to this question is plain, and with it looms 
 up the main idea of the entire poem. L' Allegro pre- 
 pares for a day of innocent enjoyments, such as appeal 
 with the greatest warmth and liveliness to a responsive 
 mind. Melancholy, with its disturbing associations, 
 would make such a day impossible, hence its expul- 
 sion is a preliminary step; and then the way is clear 
 for the invitation of mirth with its troop of merry 
 adherents. 
 
 Meter and movement aid in bringing this purpose 
 strongly into relief. The first ten lines are slow and 
 sluggish. The sense emphasis falls in unusual positions, 
 e. g., "hence" and "dwell." The clustered sibilants in 
 lines two, four, eight, make the verse discordant and 
 retarded, symbolically echoing the nature of the thing 
 described. On changing the thought in line eleven, 
 where Mirth is addressed and summoned, the poet not 
 only imparts a cheery lightness to the verse, but, to 
 make the harmony more complete, he selects words 
 with a special view to their musical sounds. 
 
 Many other passages require that the pupil pause for 
 some little time and patiently examine the words and 
 figures, as, for instance, the following selected from 
 another part of the lyric ; 
 
 Towered cities please us then, 
 
 And the busy hum of men. 
 
 Where throngs of knights and barons bold, 
 
182 The Study of Literature 
 
 In weeds of peace high triumphs hold, 
 With store of ladies whose bright eyes 
 Rain influence, and judge the prize 
 Of wit or arms, while both contend 
 To win her grace, whom all commend. 
 
 Up to this point the events registered have run regu- 
 larly from early morning through the hours of the day 
 until late in the evening, when the tales are done and 
 all are lulled asleep. This plan has brought the factor 
 of time strongly before us as the means that binds the 
 items of the poem into a unit. But this unifying ele- 
 ment breaks with the line "Towered cities please us 
 then" ; and the plan is adjusted to a new locality and 
 a new time scheme. The change is marked by the little 
 word " then," which here has the value of a generalizing 
 connective with the sense of "again," "on the other 
 hand." It notifies the reader that the new series of 
 enjoyments is to be thought of as taking place else- 
 where and under other circumstances. The poet here, 
 after having dismissed the company, presents some addi- 
 tional pictures to the reader. These pictures and the 
 reflections connected with them are of a more direct 
 and intimate character, for Milton here expresses his 
 personal preference and personal opinion. 
 
 Three words hold prominence in the passage: 
 knights, barons, and ladies are the persons on whom 
 the high triumphs converge. Whether or not their 
 etymological sense was present to the poet's mind 
 when he penned these words, the pupil realizing this 
 
The Lyric. Milton's "L' Allegro" 183 
 
 sense will see more in the passage; for it states the 
 Anglo-Saxon notion of the conditions from which high 
 triumphs flow. 
 
 Knight is a word of Germanic origin. It is common 
 in various poems in Old English, cniht and cneoht; in 
 Dutch, knecht; in Old High German and Middle High 
 German, kneht; in Modern German, knecht. From the 
 very earliest times on, the principal idea of it was that 
 of servant — service as a boy under the direction of a 
 master; service to one's country as a soldier; personal 
 service to one's king as a page. But to this idea of 
 performing duties, menial or otherwise, is firmly at- 
 tached that of earning reward and dignity through 
 such performance. So that the word eventually denoted 
 a person on whom the sovereign had conferred the rank 
 of nobility in recognition of personal merit, usually for 
 service rendered as a page, a squire, or a soldier. 
 
 Baron, though its etymology is more uncertain, points 
 to an Old High German word, bero, and Old Teutonic, 
 beron, a bearer, a carrier. In Old English it reached a 
 more definite idea in beam, a warrior, a hero. And at 
 the present time it has come to denote one of the nobil- 
 ity. In Milton's day it meant a titled military attendant 
 upon the king or upon a feudal lord. 
 
 Lady. From Old English hlaefdige; hldf, bread, 
 loaf, and the root, dig, to knead. Originally, then, the 
 one who kneads the dough, bread-maker. The corre- 
 sponding term " lord " has a similar etymology, hldf + 
 wear d J hldf or d, lord, the keeper of the bread. These two 
 
184 The Study of Literature 
 
 words are found in the English language only. The 
 related term hlafdi in Icelandic has been borrowed from 
 Old English. 
 
 It is almost superfluous to point out that here, as in 
 the two instances already noted, the idea of useful toil 
 is the foundation of the acquired dignity. For the 
 sake of contrast an interesting comparison would be 
 furnished by showing the thought imbedded in the 
 etymology of the French synonym, madame. 
 
 Influence. Originally, and as here used, it meant an 
 emanation from the stars or heavens of an ethereal 
 fluid acting upon the character of men and determining 
 their destiny. At this time the strict astrological sense 
 here present was deeply rooted among the learned. It 
 took form, for instance, in casting the horoscope of 
 people, that is, to determine by calculation the relative 
 position of certain stars at the hour of a child's birth, 
 and thereby to ascertain the nature of the planetary 
 influence upon its life and fortunes. In our day the 
 literal meaning has faded, and we generally use 
 the word influence without associating it with the 
 stars. In some expression the original thought has 
 become crystallized, as in "lucky star," "ill-starred," 
 " disastrous." 
 
 To recall the literal sense as it was present to Milton, 
 will show the figure to be eminently true and con- 
 vincing. The ladies, with their attendants, are seated 
 in the gallery viewing with keen interest the champions 
 in the lists. The latter chance to look up to these, 
 
The Lyric. Milton's "L' Allegro" 185 
 
 whose destiny may well be thought of as linked with 
 their own, and as they meet the glances they are nerved 
 for the combat by the emanation that flows from the 
 bright eyes. 
 
 The mood of L' Allegro is tranquil and joyous. It is 
 that of a scholar who surrenders himself for the 
 moment to the joys of rustic surroundings. Some of 
 the features that combine to produce this feeling of 
 joyousness and at the same time blend into a finished 
 work of art may be viewed under these heads : 
 
 1. Keynote of the mood of joy in the dismissal of 
 discordant and disturbing elements. 
 
 a. Summoning of joyous associates. Literalizing 
 the figures that mask these notions, we see that they 
 symbolize the speaker's personal sensations, and that 
 the purpose is to bring about a tranquil soul-attunement 
 in accord with the scenes to be viewed. 
 
 b. Melodiousness, as in 
 
 But come, thou goddess fair and free 
 In heaven yclep'd Euphrosyne. 
 
 Abundant examples may be culled illustrating its rich 
 variety in metrical movement, each variation taking its 
 tone and character from the thought it conveys. 
 
 2. There is no such severity in form and logic as 
 would be required if a theory or moral were to be 
 urged. The scenes brought before the reader are suffi- 
 cient in themselves as things to be enjoyed. Most 
 lyrics have a more formal appeal or application. 
 
186 The Study of Literature 
 
 3. Nature is regarded from the viewpoint of every- 
 day experience. The reflections are those of the com- 
 mon people rather than of the learned. The specula- 
 tions do not make pretense to transcendental signifi- 
 cance, nor do they labor to build up a theory. If such 
 were the case, the poem would have values of a different 
 kind, but values which would tend to impart to it a 
 feeling of remoteness. 
 
 4. The sense of nearness and presence, as of a per- 
 sonal communication, prevails. This is brought about 
 
 a. By the use of the first person, as in — 
 
 Then to come, in spite of sorrow, 
 And at my window bid good morrow. 
 
 b. By the use of familiar details, as — 
 
 The lark, the dappled dawn, sweetbrier, vine, eglan- 
 tine, cock, barnyard, hounds and horn, hedgerow elms ; 
 and then the typically familiar and traditionally poetic 
 personages, the plowman, the milkmaid, the mower, 
 and the shepherd. 
 
 5. Richness of coloring is imparted by the introduc- 
 tion of classic imagery. The use of classic myths and 
 of the figures of ancient pastoral poetry is made on the 
 supposition that the reader is familiar with them, and 
 that they suggest to him the feeling of pleasure he first 
 experienced in reading them. In this manner the poet 
 draws on a new source of joy for the delectation of 
 the reader. Two separate lines of inquiry lie close at 
 hand here, namely, to what extent Milton is indebted 
 
The Lyric. Milton's "L' Allegro" 187 
 
 to the pastorals of ancient times ; and, again, how well 
 he succeeds in making the classic myths and personages 
 a real part of the English landscape. 
 
 6. A pleasing sense of mystery and enchantment is 
 imparted by allusions to the legends and superstitions 
 of the times, as in — 
 
 While the cock with lively din 
 Scatters the rear of darkness thin. 
 
 These lines are based on the superstition of dispelling 
 effects attributed to the crowing of the cock, a sound 
 at which vagrant spirits would hasten to their abodes. 
 By implication the same sound has the power of scatter- 
 ing the darkness itself. The English myths are not 
 fused with the others, they are distinct in themselves, 
 and may readily be pointed out by the pupil. 
 
 7. Every detail is selected with reference to its capac- 
 ity for carrying a sense of joy. The range of possible 
 enjoyments is limited mainly to those of a rural com- 
 munity of simple customs ; within this scope, however, 
 those chosen are typical, and quite inclusive in so far 
 that they are representative of many phases of country 
 life, as well as of every hour of the day and evening. 
 
 8. Grouping of details. The succession of the scenes 
 is arranged with the apparent design of attaining a cli- 
 max. The landscape is at first pictured as alive with 
 the lark, the cock, the hounds and horn; but for a 
 crowning effect intelligent beings are introduced, such 
 as the plowman, the milkmaid, the mower, and the 
 
188 The Study of Literature 
 
 shepherd, with the joyousness of nature reflected in 
 their employments. Again, each particular serves one 
 main purpose, the realization of joy which the poem was 
 designed to embody. This note is made quite percepti- 
 ble to the intellect simply by ushering in Euphrosyne or 
 Mirth ; but these are ineffectual abstractions, compared 
 with the reality of the lark's singing and the rest of the 
 stirring scenes. 
 
 The parallelisms between the two companion poems 
 L' Allegro and // Penseroso are so insistent in their 
 contrasts and analogies that it seems almost unneces- 
 sary to point them out. Among them all, the two senses 
 attached to Melancholy are most striking. In II Pen- 
 seroso it is made attractive, the chief figure in the lyric. 
 It is there presented as a creature of dignified sobriety, 
 of pensive tenderness. In fact, a close reading of the 
 two seems to show that the view presented here is 
 more personally Milton's than that given in L' Allegro. 
 Among the interpretations of the poet's meaning has 
 been offered the supposition that fitting environs would 
 make attractive a thing that otherwise would be repel- 
 lent ; and, again, there is not much in the actual circum- 
 stances as such; it is all in the way of looking at these; 
 it is subjectively in the spectator's mind to such an 
 extent that his own mental attunement is responsible 
 for the coloration. 
 
 Another view of Milton's meaning assumes a more 
 personal identity of the poet with his work as a basis 
 for the interpretation. In his biography we learn that 
 
The Lyric. Milton's "L' Allegro" 189 
 
 his grandfather, Richard Milton, of Stanton St. Johns, 
 was a zealous Catholic. His father, John Milton, was 
 a Protestant equally firm in his religious convictions. 
 In his early years the poet had a private tutor, Thomas 
 Young, of the Established Church of England. He also 
 attended St. Paul's School, London, and, later, Christ's 
 College of Cambridge. During these years he could 
 not have escaped noticing the deep religious movement 
 of his age. Milton, the thoughtful scholar that we 
 know he was, must have reflected a good deal over this 
 mighty religious current moving on toward a political 
 upheaval. In his youth this force embodied itself in 
 the party of the Puritans, who soon found themselves 
 politically and religiously in hostile opposition to the 
 Royalists. Milton, as a youth of scholarly and literary 
 ambition, would have to ally himself with one of these 
 parties, for without such alliance all doors of success 
 would be closed. With the alternative of this choice 
 before him, he must have reflected seriously over the 
 nature and spirit of each party. What each was and 
 what it stood for, he had every opportunity to note at 
 first hand. In London he witnessed many occasions 
 when the gaiety and gallantry of the Royalists were in 
 evidence. The serious thoughtfulness of the Puritans, 
 stirring like a deep elemental force, must also have 
 appealed to him. Early educational influences inclined 
 him toward the former; inherited independence of spirit 
 and thoughtful cast of mind pressed him toward the 
 latter. The time for leisurely deliberation on these 
 
190 The Study of Literature 
 
 things came with the year 1632, when he, with his 
 father, removed to the quiet country place at Horton. 
 
 Here L' Allegro and // Penseroso were written, 
 neither partisan, as if a choice had been made and 
 affiliations determined; rather a weighing of the claims 
 and tnerits of each. Yet withal the personal note is 
 strong in each. Not only do we feel that U Allegro 
 and // Penseroso are in turn Milton only slightly dis- 
 guised, but the pronoun I, me, mine, used throughout, 
 speaks for this view. So do, also, the concluding lines 
 of each: 
 
 These delights if thou canst give, 
 Mirth, with thee I mean to live. 
 
 And the concluding words of 7/ Penseroso: 
 
 These pleasures, Melancholy, give, 
 And I with thee will choose to live. 
 
 In 1637 the same outlook is again recalled; the two 
 views are once more set over against each other, and, 
 so to say, balanced. Lamenting over the loss of his 
 friend and companion, the poet says in Lycidas: 
 
 Alas! what boots it with uncessant care 
 
 To tend the homely slighted shepherd's trade. 
 
 And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? 
 
 Were it not better done, as others do, 
 
 To sport with Amaryllis in the shade 
 
 Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair? 
 
The Lyric. Milton's "L' Allegro" 191 
 
 The poet's biography throughout assists in interpret- 
 ing his meaning. A year or two after writing Lycidas 
 the poet's choice was made. He cast his fate irrevo- 
 cably with the Puritans. // Penseroso of an earlier day 
 expressed more exactly and intimately the view of life 
 best in accord with the poet himself. 
 
 As a species of poetry, the lyric, in its choice of 
 subject matter, excludes everything unusual among the 
 experiences of men. It restricts itself to those entities 
 of human concern that are universal, such as religion, 
 joy. grief, love, loss, devotion, homage, patriotism, and 
 nature. So far as it makes use of persons and objects, 
 it is extremely specific. The passions and emotions 
 which the lyric depicts in one individual are readily 
 understood and appreciated by others, because they are 
 felt to be an experience to which all are susceptible. 
 Simplicity, directness, and universality are the chief 
 marks of this species. In addition to the conventional 
 forms of meter and rhyme, another factor, music, 
 melodiousness, is inseparable from this kind of verse. 
 Just as a speaker's thoughts are supplemented by the 
 modulation of his voice, so the lyric requires the accom- 
 paniment of melody in order to receive full expression. 
 
 To seek for laws of structure in something so highly 
 etherealized as the outburst of human passion in song 
 is likely to be, in the main, a fruitless task. In regard 
 to outward form its most obvious mark is that of brev- 
 ity. Scores of meters are suited to it. Sometimes the 
 
192 The Study of Literature 
 
 melody itself predominates so as to determine its struc- 
 ture. With such inclusiveness with respect to subject 
 matter and form, it is not surprising if the effusion 
 itself should be found irregular. 
 
 In those lyrics where an incident is recounted, such 
 as ballads, war songs, elegies, the laws of narration 
 determine in a measure the structure. Another kind, 
 which assumes an epigrammatic or humorous turn, 
 shows a departure in form mainly in the conclusion, 
 which here requires a line or phrase to solve or to give 
 point to what has gone before. 
 
 In those instances, however — and they are typical — 
 where the content is some phase of a simple human 
 passion, certain tendencies of structure are foreshad- 
 owed. The first verses attempt to give reality to the 
 passion and to embody it, within its limitation, in a 
 tangible form. This need of concreteness results in the 
 creation of a background of objects and persons in 
 which the sentiment is to be invested. The next step 
 is the exhibition of the passion itself, by attributing it 
 to the objects and environs and speaking of these as 
 sharing it ; but mainly by the persons themselves, their 
 actions and expressions. The recurrence of the leading 
 thought, or its condensation into a refrain, is another 
 means of particularizing the main sentiment. Some- 
 times, besides aiding in bringing the feeling to the sur- 
 face in this way, the refrain comes to convey the gist 
 and essence of the lyric ; hence, it is felt that the poem 
 
The Lyric. Milton's "L' Allegro" 193 
 
 can consistently end with such a refrain without any 
 formal conclusion. 
 
 In other cases a suitable finale to the lyric of passion, 
 if the subject has been action or agitation, is a state 
 of rest and the restoration of universal serenity. If 
 the subject has been mainly reflection on love, loss, 
 grief, or joy, a satisfying conclusion seems to call for 
 a generalizing treatment of the emotion, so that it is 
 disposed of as common to the mass of human beings 
 and their experiences. As deduced from these charac- 
 teristics the lyric movement presents the following 
 scheme : 
 
 1. The mood or passion given a concrete and tangible 
 embodiment in locality, background, objects, persons. 
 
 2. Its exhibition in this form. 
 
 a. The background and locality brought into har- 
 mony with it. 
 
 b. Objects invested with the mood. 
 
 c. Persons expressing it in words and actions. 
 
 3. The leading notion singled out and emphasized in 
 the refrain. 
 
 4. The mood or passion generalized or disposed of so 
 as to point out either 
 
 a. The experience common to mankind. 
 
 b. The application or lesson of the reflection. 
 
 c. A submissive acceptance of the experience, with 
 the effect of restored tranquillity. 
 
 d. A climax of appeal to the feelings in a sentiment 
 of resignation, promise, or hope. 
 
194 The Study of Literature 
 
 5. General treatment of the passion. 
 
 a. Presented as simple. One mood prevails. 
 
 b. Complex. Several notes of passion are attuned 
 into harmony. There is then a gain in richness and 
 variety. 
 
 c. Strength. If the theme is sorrow, strength is man- 
 ifested in its dismissal to make room for joy. Again, 
 this subjective strength may also appear in accepting 
 the fact of sorrow and making it contribute its quota 
 of richness to the substance of the poem. In Lycidas 
 Milton does this. 
 
X 
 HOW THE ACTION STARTS IN " KING LEAR" 
 
 An exercise in appreciation. — In this study an 
 attempt will be made to analyze the inciting force in 
 the action, in the general terms of experience, and to 
 do this as far as possible without calling in aid from 
 the equipment of dramatic theory and technique. The 
 best in this and other plays in the course, it is believed, 
 is within reach of the patient pupil, even though the 
 latter may not be schooled in the appliances of formal 
 criticism. 
 
 The fairy-land statesmanship of the first scene is 
 more remote than anything else in the play from what 
 the pupil can have known of an analogous character in 
 the modern world. The distance in time, however, 
 helps us over the improbability of it. And when this 
 first move is once accepted, everything that happens 
 later is human enongh to be of the present day. The 
 interplay of facts and forces comes under plausible 
 relations, and is easily rationalized in the light of what 
 the pupil already knows of psychology and of life 
 experiences. 
 
 In the other great tragedies there is present in the 
 beginning of the play an impelling power that inevitably 
 must realize itself in action. Such a force is the con- 
 spiracy in Julius Ccesar, which long has been brewing; 
 
 195 
 
196 The Study of Literature 
 
 In Othello it is embodied in I ago, a person constitution- 
 ally bent on evil deeds, which he has well under way 
 the moment the play begins. In Hamlet a dark crime 
 looms up, and a voice from the underworld demands 
 vengeance. This dread call starts the action. Macbeth, 
 again, has this motive potency in the form of tainted 
 ambition, which external circumstances and agencies 
 focus on crime. 
 
 But in King Lear there is no crime in the background 
 antedating the action; no call for retribution. When 
 the action starts there is no one (the apparent exception 
 of the subplot will be noted below) that has any plans 
 for the undoing of someone else. Regan and Goneril 
 are evil possibilities, but harmless until something else 
 starts the action, and gives them their opportunity. In 
 scene one they certainly had no definite designs against 
 their father, for Cordelia's estrangement, which gave 
 them their chance, was an occurrence which could not 
 then enter into their calculations. Even if they had 
 been fairly dutiful daughters, their father's life would 
 still have ended as a tragedy after the rejection of 
 Cordelia, for the tragic issue sprang into germination 
 in that act. It would have been slightly different in 
 character, not so violent, perhaps not so bitter, but 
 nevertheless a tragedy. 
 
 Before going on to the moving cause here, it is best 
 to pause for a moment to see how the subplot starts. 
 Chafing under a cruel convention of the times, Edmund 
 is impelled to raise his hand against his father and 
 
How Action Starts in "King Lear" 197 
 
 brother. Gloucester blushed to acknowledge him as his 
 son, but had at length got " braced to it." The son, too, 
 had got braced to the indignities, which he endures with 
 stoic indifference, but not without a dark design to turn 
 the tables on the conventions, and even up the scores 
 some day. His plan as such is exceedingly preposter- 
 ous, depending for its success mainly on his father's 
 superstition. Without favoring circumstances it must, 
 we feel, have become the early means of his own 
 destruction. But the favoring circumstances are ready 
 when Regan and Goneril become sovereigns. In their 
 employ Edmund is supplied with the means for driving 
 his brother into permanent concealment. The same 
 circumstances again bring his father to utter ruin; and 
 the field is clear for Edmund's exploitation of whatever 
 plans he has in mind. 
 
 The impelling occurrence in the main plot, which 
 brings all these consequences in its train, was the dis- 
 affection between the King and his youngest daughter. 
 In analyzing this occurrence two quite remarkable facts 
 come into relief : first, how such disaffection could take 
 place at all; for at the very instant it occurred there 
 were no two persons in the room of state, perhaps not 
 in the entire kingdom, that loved each other more 
 devotedly than did the king and his daughter. Sec- 
 ondly, how the poet makes this incredible event so con- 
 vincing as he does. We are not here asked to accept 
 a single statement on trust. We are shown what hap- 
 pened, and we are compelled to believe in its truth. 
 
198 The Study of Literature 
 
 How King Lear reached the decision to divide in 
 three his kingdom, what counselors advised him, who 
 opposed and who sanctioned the project, we are not 
 permitted to know; for these matters precede the first 
 scene. As we learn of these facts we have a vague 
 sense of their arbitrariness, and possibly of their unwis- 
 dom, but pass them by as characteristic of those legend- 
 ary times. 
 
 The second situation depicts their official announce- 
 ment. The apportionment had taken place some time 
 previous; a map shows the divisions charted, unmis- 
 takable lines tracing the boundaries of each daughter's 
 part. The king had made an attempt to be impartial, 
 for though he liked the Duke of Albany better than 
 he did the Duke of Cornwall, neither Gloucester nor 
 Kent could see evidence of his likes and dislikes in the 
 allotment assigned to either son-in-law. They do not 
 speak of Cordelia's portion, the remaining one-third of 
 his kingdom, but it is not possible that the daughter 
 whom he loved better than the others, the one on whose 
 kind nursery he had thought to set his rest, was slighted 
 in her share. The division was made without the 
 thought of any exigency arising that would require a 
 reapportionment. There is no indication that the map 
 was drawn subject to alteration, or that the boundary 
 lines were to be retraced and made final as the king 
 should signify his satisfaction with each daughter's 
 professions of love. 
 
 Though the king speaks of his scheme as his darker 
 
How Action Starts in "King Lear" 199 
 
 purpose, it must have been somewhat generally known 
 at court. Kent and Gloucester had examined the map, 
 for they knew its character even in minute particulars. 
 The Duke of Burgundy knew, for he insists that Cor- 
 delia's dowry should be just what the king had offered. 
 The other suitor, the King of France, still higher in 
 Lear's esteem, must also have been informed of the 
 portion of the kingdom that went with Cordelia's hand. 
 It appears, in fact, that the fatal division was not made 
 without some deliberation, more or less public, and that 
 those immediately concerned in it had been advised, 
 and among them were, besides those already mentioned, 
 Regan, Goneril, and their husbands. 
 
 Hence it was a pact into which many persons entered 
 as parties, a pact not to be altered without disturbing 
 the interests of many. The fixedness it gained by the 
 expectation and approval of these would make a sudden 
 alteration embarrassing. Neither can we suppose that 
 in presenting the details of the compact, the king had 
 made provision for changing it in accordance with the 
 manner in which his daughters should express their love 
 for him. 
 
 And yet, how does he come to do it in just this 
 way? Their years from infancy to womanhood had 
 given him ample evidence as to the quality of their 
 aflfection, and this evidence could not be much invali- 
 dated by the form they should now choose in its expres- 
 sion. 
 
 Whatever the king may have felt in regard to the 
 
200 The Study of Literature 
 
 seriousness and finality of the act he was about to per- 
 form does not come to the surface. He proceeds as one 
 who has only agreeable duties to perform. The con- 
 sciousness that he is to invest his heirs with dignities 
 and kingdoms, and the anticipation of their delight, 
 react on him so that he is at the instant in a mood of 
 pleasure, himself. Moreover, he has the situation well 
 in hand. The political adjustments, if there were any 
 such, are disposed of, and all that remains is the official 
 act of conferring the grants. Nothing, of course, can 
 happen to thwart him in this act; for when kingdoms 
 are to be given away, the recipients are not disposed to 
 quarrel with the donors. 
 
 But this very freedom from troublesome considera- 
 tions of state leaves room for something else. At this 
 moment when he is to divest himself of kingdom and 
 kingly powers, a touch of sentiment wells up in his 
 heart. And thereby an episode comes to take place 
 which was not originally on the program. The impel- 
 ling notion of the king here was impulse, and yet an 
 impulse which struggles to adjust itself to the attending 
 circumstances. One feels, if its presence is realized, 
 that, if each daughter were simply to receive her allot- 
 ment and say nothing, the situation would be awkward. 
 With the emotion already stirring in his breast is 
 merged the feeling that something ought to be said ; and 
 it is quite clear to him in what words the act of investi- 
 ture would receive a fitting acceptance. Some expres- 
 sion of gratitude and filial affection would certainly be 
 
How Action Starts in "King Lear" 201 
 
 in place. Such expressions of sentiment would seem 
 most natural, a part of the official act, if incorporated 
 in it or if connected with it as a condition. By assum- 
 ing protestations of love as the condition, the case 
 breaks with the finality and the logic of what had 
 already been done. But the heart and its emotions are 
 not subject to the laws of logic, and we have no diffi- 
 culty in following the king when he pushes the latter 
 a trifle aside. To construe the case, as has often been 
 done, so that it is purely selfishness which now sets a 
 premium on flattery, is to be out of sympathy with this 
 dramatic moment. Even though his words should be 
 construed literally, the yearning for love to which they 
 give utterance points to a trait far different from that 
 of vanity. 
 
 King Lear bids them speak, and the notion of primo- 
 geniture still permits him to give his request the appear- 
 ance of official formality. And so Goner il, as the eldest, 
 is given the first opportunity. The grossness of her 
 flattery and the insincerity of her words are so obvious 
 that they need no comment. But there is another phase 
 of her speech that calls for remark : Does she not speak 
 as one whose share depended on the adulation she put 
 into her words; and, hence, do not her words argue 
 against her knowledge of a prearranged division ? That 
 she had studied her speech beforehand and looked for- 
 ward to using it with effect cannot be doubted. But 
 she expected to use it, not to increase her share, but 
 to avert having her share taken away through the same 
 
202 The Study of Literature 
 
 sort of impulse that gave it, a calamity that befell Cor- 
 delia. Goneril's speech was a thoughtful safeguarding 
 of what the king had done, until his act should be 
 beyond alteration. 
 
 Now the aged monarch was not only choleric and 
 emotional, but he had withal in his nature something 
 almost opposite, an appreciation of humor. He could 
 get along without the rest of his followers, but could 
 not spare the source and supply of humor, the fool. 
 When he finds Kent in the stocks in the gateway to 
 Gloucester's castle, the funny side of it strikes him 
 first: "Makest thou this shame thy pastime?" His 
 sense of it survived all shocking experiences. When 
 he is near restored and with Cordelia again, though a 
 prisoner, he proposes to "tell old tales, and laugh at 
 gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues talk of court 
 news ; . . . and wear out in a walled prison packs and 
 sects of great ones that ebb and flow by the moon." 
 The play throughout furnishes examples of how readily 
 these opposite moods passed into one another. 
 
 When Regan is addressed she has to stretch the 
 flattery almost to the breaking point in order to avoid 
 being outdone by her sister. She acquits herself to 
 the king's satisfaction, and formally receives her part. 
 Then he turns to his youngest daughter with marked 
 afifection. The latter years of his aged life had not 
 retained impressions vividly. Cordelia is before him 
 as a girl of a tender age, for as such she had come 
 into closest touch with his life. He refuses to take 
 
How Action Starts in "King Lear" 203 
 
 cognizance of her as she stands before him, the girl 
 of spirit, the maiden verging on womanhood. And so 
 he speaks to her in the same manner that he used to 
 speak to her formerly, as he stroked her locks — his joy, 
 " although the last, not least." 
 
 Kindly humor is closest of kin to a mood like this. 
 The farce of adulation had led to a point where the 
 next comer would find it exceedingly difficult to say 
 anything adequate in line with what the others had said. 
 The king felt this, and was not unwilling to enjoy for 
 a moment the embarrassment of Cordelia as she should 
 struggle to equal or outdo her sisters. As he addresses 
 her there must have been a good-natured ring of banter 
 in his words — "What can you say to draw a third 
 more opulent than your sisters?" Surely the king 
 neither expected nor wanted a formal rounded state- 
 ment of the extent of her love for him. Any sincere 
 attempt to speak in accord with his whim, to say some- 
 thing in the right voice, and with the right expression 
 in the speaker's face, would have more than satisfied 
 him. She would still have been his dearest joy, dearer, 
 perhaps, for the hesitation and struggle in her utterance. 
 
 His patronizing request, coupled with a little pleas- 
 antry at her expense, would have been timely a few 
 years earlier, on some occasion when he chose to lay 
 down conditions for granting her a trifle. But this 
 was a state occasion of solemn formality, and Cordelia 
 was a woman grown, a woman not pleased to be dealt 
 with as a child at a moment when kings were suing for 
 
204 The Study of Literature 
 
 her hand. And so King Lear's touch of pleasantry is 
 suddenly turned into wormwood by a cruel rebuff. A 
 trifling occurrence it was, yet none the less cruel. For, 
 admitting that his request was unreasonable, tactless, 
 foolish, yet it flowed from the warmest of parental ten- 
 derness, and was never meant to be weighed and 
 analyzed. 
 
 To take a bit of pleasantry in hard earnestness has 
 an upsetting effect. Under the laws of severe reason 
 a little jest is easily shattered and held up as sheer 
 nonsense. In this instance circumstances were unluck- 
 ily so cast that the king, who had exposed himself in 
 this manner, could not help feeling himself ridiculed 
 and belittled. During his eighty years his psychic life 
 had received such fixity that it now flowed in courses 
 difficult to adjust to unexpected occurrences. As king 
 he had met no such undisguised repulses; even his 
 whims had been respected. He had no doubt thought 
 a good deal about what his status would be when he 
 had once laid aside kingly power, and he was particu- 
 larly sensitive to signs of disaffection. Again, it was a 
 state occasion, a moment, not for whims, but for the 
 exercise of deliberate judgment. Cordelia's words 
 throw a glaring side light on the unwisdom of his 
 statesmanship. But to him it was most poignant of 
 all to find his little girl, his joy, suddenly turned against 
 him with pointed words and unanswerable arguments. 
 For whatever turn he had thought the state affairs 
 might take, he could never suppose that as he bestowed 
 
How Action Starts in "King Lear" 205 
 
 b 
 
 a kingdom on his daughter, the form of the bestowal 
 should be subjected to any searching scrutiny, and, as 
 he felt it, laid bare as ridiculous. 
 
 How came Cordelia to be in this uncompromising 
 mood? The question raises points touching on every- 
 day psychic experiences. If the discussion results in 
 some little criticism of Cordelia's conduct here, the criti- 
 cism is harmless, for, whatever shortcoming she can be 
 charged with, she redeemed it and atoned for it a 
 thousand times over. For her "most small fault" she 
 has a human presence closer to our own, and she suffers 
 little in our judgment as the dearest bit of humanity in 
 all literature. 
 
 At this moment she was more self-conscious than 
 she was wont to be as merely her father's darling. The 
 Duke of Normandy and the King of France had long 
 "made their amorous sojourn" at her father's court. 
 As they were to be answered today, this was the most 
 eventful day Cordelia had yet lived. Looking forward 
 to this one day, she had suddenly left childhood behind. 
 Her sisters knew the nature of the issue as well as she 
 did. In the division they hoped that the richest share 
 would not be conferred on her and on the foreigner 
 who would be her husband. And so Cordelia, to whose 
 years all forms of contention must have borne a taint 
 of disgust, was forced into a position of rivalry by her 
 sisters. The jealous glances and the evil forces playing 
 about her had keyed up this creature, made of pure 
 love, to an opposition that did violence to her nature. 
 
206 The Study of Literature 
 
 As she listens to Goneril's servile speech, she con- 
 cludes upon her own course even before the speech is 
 finished. She will not play the sorry part of competing 
 with them in phrases of flattery. Regan's speech serves 
 only to heighten her indignation and to strengthen 
 her resolve to say nothing. But Cordelia's "nothing" 
 could have been " something " without either playing a 
 servile part or offending against the justice which now 
 becomes her plea. Some expressions of a more positive 
 character, couched in words or otherwise, should have 
 been at her command. She could have mended her 
 speech a little — for a little would have been sufficient 
 — and been equally true to herself. 
 
 Cordelia is so entirely in the right in her indignation 
 at Goneril and Regan that we are disposed to overlook 
 how this indignation finds vent. Her anger touches 
 them not; but her father stands conveniently exposed, 
 and he becomes, contrary to her intentions, its imme- 
 diate object. She criticises the proffers of love made by 
 her sisters ; and this becomes a criticism of her father's 
 acceptance of the same proffers. The very cause of the 
 rupture that now takes place is a curious interchange 
 of roles. King Lear professed to divide his kingdom 
 in accordance with the equity of sentiment, but such an 
 act calls for deliberation and statesmanship, and senti- 
 ment is there out of place. Cordelia professes to divide 
 her love in accordance with the equity of logic ; but here, 
 again, logic plays at best a sorry part. To love her 
 father according to her bond, to apportion so much of 
 
How Action Starts in "King Lear" 207 
 
 it to him and to reserve so much of it for her husband — 
 this reduces it all to a system of balances where love 
 cannot exist. Cordelia did not realize that her love for 
 her husband would be no less, no matter how large a 
 share should be bestowed on her father. Unlike mate- 
 rial things, love is not diminished by such division. 
 Again, a measurable part is not enough ; in fact, para- 
 doxical as it may seem, in matters of the affections, 
 less than the most is too little. 
 
 And so her contribution to the cause of the estrange- 
 ment was a momentary mood, an unresponsive, negative 
 mood, which circumstances invested with overwhelming 
 potency. As things usually come and go in this world, 
 her little flurry of temper would have passed in a 
 moment, quite harmless and forgotten. Not so now, 
 for the psychic instant was fatal. Why she does not 
 suffer in our judgment is that we know that, after all, 
 her heart was right. We refuse to take cognizance of 
 the evidence appealing to the intellect. Cordelia, the 
 dialectician, is not her true self. Her true self is cor- 
 rectly described by her father — his last, but not least, 
 his joy — on whose "kind nursery" he had thought to 
 set his rest. 
 
 To hold a brief for the king is less easy. Nor is any- 
 thing accomplished by explaining his conduct with the 
 statement that in spite of, or rather on account of, his 
 eighty years and upwards he was more a child than she. 
 Coldly judged, his recent acts had not been wise. Disas- 
 ter, we see, was inevitably connected with the partition 
 
208 The Study of Literature 
 
 of his kingdom in the manner determined upon. His 
 reason for doing it, so "that future strife may be pre- 
 vented now," holds up the error of his judgment in a 
 most glaring light. Moreover, his plan comprised a 
 measure hopelessly fatal to the peace and integrity of 
 his realm. On a foreign suitor, a duke or a king, was 
 to be bestowed the hand of Cordelia and therewith the 
 fairest one-third of his kingdom. Fortunately, the rush 
 of events does not permit us to pause and ask, " What 
 relation did the king expect this part to hold to the 
 rest of the kingdom, after the day it became subject 
 to a foreign potentate?" There is just enough fact 
 about this plan to give point to the criticism to which 
 Goneril and Regan later subject the judgment of their 
 father. If entirely gratuitous there could not have been 
 such venom in their words: "You see how full of 
 changes his age is" ; "'Tis the infirmity of his age" ; 
 "The best and soundest of his time hath been but 
 rash." 
 
 But it is no perverse judgment that severs the bond 
 of love between him and Cordelia. The causes of this 
 lie summed up in his past life, during which every whim 
 had been law. Right or wrong, his conduct had become 
 rigid in conformity with obedience and deference on 
 the part of others. Constitutionally, he was at this 
 moment incapable of a new adjustment. His choleric 
 temperament had not improved with age. It was now 
 less than formerly under the control of his intellect. 
 His acts had a tendency to be directed by his past life 
 
How Action Starts in "King Lear" 209 
 
 o£ crystallized impulses rather than by reflection. This, 
 together with the shock of a repulse from his heart's 
 joy, from the one to whom he playfully appeals for 
 affection, upsets his plans and clouds his reason. And 
 so the storm lowers from quarters where a moment 
 before the sky was serene. The health-giving sun- 
 beams, slumbering peacefully in the air we breathe, 
 harbor agencies that of a sudden combine into devastat- 
 ing electric storms. 
 
 And now it remains to connect the action of the 
 whole play with this dynamic moment. The imme- 
 diate effect of the king's rashness was a sudden fac- 
 tional grouping of all persons within the circle of the 
 court. Goneril, Regan, their husbands, and Oswald 
 are prominent in one group; Cordelia, the King of 
 France, and Kent in another; Lear and the court jester 
 make up the third. This division is not permanent, for 
 others are drawn in and some belong to two groups, or 
 pass from one group to another.- Though the occasion 
 that starts everything is more trifling than in any other 
 tragedy, the action of no other tragedy gains such vio- 
 lent momentum in so short a time. Cordelia is banished 
 and denounced, and her champion, Kent, meets an equal 
 fate. The two evil creatures, Goneril and Regan, begin 
 to wield the leverage of power now in their hands. 
 Scarcely have they received their grants before they 
 begin to hit together in ominous designs looking toward 
 the complete reduction of their father to servile de- 
 pendence. Even before the close of the first scene. 
 
210 The Study of Literature 
 
 plans toward this end are well under way. The intrigue 
 in the subplot also is caught up and given impetus by 
 the rush of action started. Gloucester, predisposed 
 toward superstition and flustered by the incredible sun- 
 dering of ties he had witnessed, is now in a frame of 
 mind to suspect almost anybody, and to credit almost 
 anything. Hence the crude practices of Edmund find 
 him an easy victim.* 
 
 * The subplot rises from preposterous suppositions, while the 
 main plot flows from details of circumstances all of which are 
 natural and convincing. Later, we see the intrigue would most 
 likely have reverted to the disaster of Edmund himself; but here 
 again the main action plays into his hands, furnishing him a 
 modicum of power from the new king and queen, and forcing old 
 Gloucester into helplessness through the factional struggles that 
 take place. 
 
XI 
 
 LITERATURE IN ITS REACTION ON LIFE 
 
 In their literature studies some earnest workers have 
 found it a particularly fruitful inquiry to seek for the 
 connections between the works of a writer and his own 
 life experiences. They have attempted to account for 
 the mood of a poem through their biographical knowl- 
 edge of the writer's mood at the time he wrote it. They 
 aim to establish the nexus between the outer pressure 
 felt by the author and the production in which it 
 culminated. 
 
 The writer's collected works, taken together with a 
 reliable and fairly exhaustive biography, offer an invit- 
 ing field for scholarship and researches of this kind. 
 As a line of study it deals mainly with causal relations, 
 origins, and influences, assuming thereby an intellectual 
 character with strong claims for recognition. More- 
 over, the procedure involves a constant reference to the 
 recorded events of the writer's life which by this firm 
 anchorage in facts would seem to safeguard against 
 erratic conclusions. The Germans, in particular, have 
 pursued this course with much advantage on account 
 of the fullness of biographical material at hand in the 
 case of their great poets, Lessing, Schiller, and Goethe. 
 
 This procedure, it will be noticed, is a specialization 
 in a larger field, namely, that of reading the influence 
 
 211 
 
212 The Study of Literature 
 
 of race, epoch, and surroundings in the work extant, 
 the province of Sainte-Beuve, Taine, Symonds, Brandes, 
 a field inviting by its broad movements and large 
 reaches. When applied to individual authors, the pre- 
 requisite, as noted above, is a full biography, reliable 
 accounts of the events that make up the writer's per- 
 sonal career. When such accounts are lacking the door 
 to the inquiry remains closed. In English we have the 
 necessary material in the case of the Victorian as well 
 as the more recent writers. We could also study Gold- 
 smith and Johnson, even Pope and Dryden, in this way 
 with firm ground under our feet, and with only our 
 own ingenuity to guard against. Milton is so fully in 
 the foreground in his country's history, with such 
 momentous occurrences in his own life, that a student 
 can hardly fail to connect the latter with his writings. 
 But with the exception of single instances, the absence 
 of personalia leaves the road obscure the farther back 
 we go. With only a few shreds of material in the case 
 of Shakespeare, and these singularly unlikely as poetic 
 starting points, an inquiry of the kind here supposed 
 seems unpromising. If we knew the name of the lady 
 who inspired his sonnets ; if we were sure that in them 
 he speaks in his own behalf; if we possessed some 
 details of the acquaintance implied in them, we could 
 discover satisfying causes and results. After all, the 
 works transmitted to us should, in their own actuality, 
 invite to profitable study, whether or not some Boswell 
 has followed the footsteps of their author and delivered 
 
Literature in Its Reaction on Life 213 
 
 recorded observations allowing us to see how the life he 
 lived issued in poems and stories. 
 
 In the present sketch the position is taken that it is 
 , also worth while to see how the poems and stories issue 
 in the life of the reader. In setting up this aim, one is 
 likely to be confronted by the question, " But do they ? " 
 Unless they do we are unaccountably caught up in the 
 sway of a strong but aimless drift, reaching back to 
 the very roots of existence. The ancient story-tellers 
 who sat at the gate of Cairo could furnish proof of 
 the same kind as the records of modern librarians, 
 which show that stories are still in marvelous demand. 
 This innate craving, it seems reasonable to assume, con- 
 tributes something to existence, serves some purpose 
 in the economy of life. 
 
 To follow these contributions a little on their way, 
 if it were possible, at least to the immediate recipient, 
 or further, would be of some value to teachers. On 
 the boundaries of every branch of study is a borderland 
 not clearly apportioned for pedagogical purposes, a 
 province that may be claimed by several subjects. In 
 this uncharted domain it is possible and tempting to 
 try things that have not been attempted before. Litera- 
 ture, with its uncertain limits, is particularly alluring 
 in its opportunities for doing new things, often leading 
 an enterprising teacher to move too far from the center 
 of values, with the consequent danger of investing his 
 time and that of his pupils in exploitations barren 
 of results. Of this there is less danger in many 
 
214 The Study of Literature 
 
 other studies. Though physiology touches on physics 
 and chemistry, the human body, in its functions and its 
 health, is never left out of sight. Chemistry itself in its 
 emergence from alchemy, wherein it mirrors vividly 
 the liberation of the mind from superstition, affords his- 
 toric material throwing a stronger light on race epochs 
 and surroundings than does literature, yet in schools 
 it never leaves its own special province for history. In 
 some classics, preliminary approaches are necessary, but 
 they must never be so remote, nor so long continued, as 
 to become a substitute for a direct, vigorous, frontal 
 attack. Saintsbury, in his work on English prosody, 
 refuses to follow the discussion of meter into what he 
 regards as barren subtleties, explaining that for his pur- 
 pose he is no more under obligation to study the nature 
 of poetic feet in their origins than is a painter to study 
 the chemical composition of his colors. Likewise liter- 
 ature, as something to be enjoyed, is not enhanced by 
 remote preliminaries ; a generous vintage is not enriched 
 by an analysis of the soil on which the grape grew. 
 
 A recognition of literature in its reaction on life 
 should furnish the teacher with some practical points 
 of view which, if they do not mark the limits of his 
 subject, yet indicate a few roads that are likely to lead 
 somewhere. 
 
 If this attitude appears to submit injudiciously to the 
 pressure of the times in looking for returns, it must 
 be granted that it also allows a broad and generous 
 scope for the kind of returns which it would accept. 
 
Literature in Its Reaction on Life 215 
 
 The hour invested should yield something, not neces- 
 sarily marketable, something with the seeds of growing 
 in it, ennobling if possible, or at least entertaining, a 
 bright spot in the registry of moments lived. Similarly, 
 the book should get us somewhere or teach us some- 
 thing capable of connection with the present; it should 
 leave facts or forces coming close to us in today's 
 environment, and some way or other applicable to the 
 tangle of the "now," as guide, corrective, impulse, or 
 inspiration. The same feeling arises in the pursuit of 
 most other subjects. When a student has ended a 
 laborious course in philosophy or history, marshaled 
 facts and causes in a scholarly survey, it is not alto- 
 gether satisfying for him to rest in a complacent con- 
 sciousness that this much learning is now his. What 
 he longs for, whether he is aware of it or not, is the 
 power that it yields to judge or to better himself or 
 the present, a leverage within his grasp to apply to 
 obstructions or inertia about him. 
 
 But, again, when we discuss these things and say, 
 for instance, that schools are a preparation for life, 
 equipping us for the coming years, we overlook some- 
 thing often as important as the hoped-for equipment. 
 Schools are life, a very significant part of it, at least. 
 The years when health is best and hope strongest are 
 more than a mere preparation. So, also, when we 
 spend hours with books in the hope of gleaning some- 
 thing that may be applied to life, we do not take into 
 account the fact that these hours are in themselves a 
 
216 The Study of Literature 
 
 rich bit of life. To the onlooker, indeed, a person 
 absorbed in a book appears singularly unoccupied. The 
 moments as they come and go seem vacant. What 
 there is to it, if anything, must be of a negative and 
 perhaps negligible character. If brought to question, 
 this negative phase of it is apparent. The reader is 
 only slightly concerned with his surroundings. For the 
 moment he is far away, where prosy vexations are 
 pushed into the background. He does not now remem- 
 ber that the weather has changed and spoiled the picnic 
 planned for today, nor does he recall the debt that is 
 due, nor that he acquitted himself indifferently in 
 responding to the toast at the banquet last night. 
 
 The positive character of the occupation is less evi- 
 dent, though more weighty. To move on and sympa- 
 thetically follow the struggles of goodness in a brave 
 battle to maintain and to assert itself exhilarates the 
 , reader into a thrill of attunement, as it were, with good- 
 ness itself. A psychic impulse toward action waits 
 closely on the hearty approval that the reader here 
 gives. The grandeur of spirit that nerves and exalts 
 Rowena all along through a series of trying ordeals, or 
 the resourcefulness and self-sacrifice of Rebecca in cruel 
 situations, cannot well be contemplated by a reader 
 without adding something that enlarges or enriches 
 his own personality. 
 
 But it may be objected that the hand-to-hand grapple 
 with the actual is the only condition for growth. We 
 can see how a person comes out of a life crisis with its 
 
Literature in Its Reaction on Life 217 
 
 marks for good or bad upon him ; but how is he differ- 
 ent when he reaches the last act of a drama? Long 
 and persistent labor under adverse conditions pushed to 
 a triumphant completion in the face of difficulties — 
 this expands, and builds up tissues of strength. Herein 
 we are ready to see the analogy with physical life, where 
 vigorous exercise transmutes the nutriment into blood, 
 muscle, bones, and nerves. It is a condition for which 
 nothing else can be substituted. Yet such is the hardi- 
 hood of long-existing views that most readers still 
 believe the life we drink in books is also a contribution, 
 not the mere satisfaction of an aimless craving. What 
 we get in this way may be, and certainly is, far different 
 from the contribution of daily experience, yet none the 
 less important in its own way. 
 
 In everyday occurrences we can always see desirable 
 modifications, especially if they are to be viewed as 
 culture material. Things in the raw, as we encounter 
 them at every turn, are not well adapted to educational 
 ends. At this point and that point we feel we could 
 pause and see profitable lessons; but, again, here is a 
 point that appears meaningless, and here a whole series 
 that contradicts and confuses the whole. An item 
 attracts us as wholesome, but along with it comes 
 another that is repellent, or at least barren aind a 
 hindrance. This compels us to make such selection 
 and rejection as we can, in accordance with the ideals 
 we possess. 
 
 Over and above the task thus set before us, actuality 
 
218 The Study of Literature 
 
 usually bids us undertake it when we are so handicapped 
 that our best aesthetic and ethic ideals do not come to 
 their rights. To cull out the essence of things and 
 assimilate it as an added bit of vitality requires an 
 undisturbexi judgment, as well as some freedom from 
 restraint. In the midst of everyday struggles our 
 judgment acts energetically, but not freely. Our likes 
 and dislikes take color from the immediate personal 
 concerns involved in a given instance. Again, a chance 
 interest bribes our sympathies. An arbitrary circum- 
 stance spoils the pleasure to which we have looked for- 
 ward. Judged by the right standards, the heroes of 
 daily life may be as well worthy of recognition as are 
 those before the footlights, yet they fall short in unfor- 
 tunate respects. People do not enjoy being much in 
 their company. It is also doubtful whether they con- 
 tribute much to the heroic stature of those with whom 
 they come in contact ; they subordinate them and make 
 them feel oppressed. As for villains, quite essential in 
 books and there proper enough in their way, we usually 
 hope they may not cross our path in daily life. 
 
 A written and printed description of a journey is 
 tasteless in comparison with the journey itself, a weak 
 attempt to convey what cannot be conveyed in print. 
 But the poverty of the printed description does not 
 prove that the actual journey is coincident with an 
 ideal. Evidently it would come closer to it if certain 
 incidentals were absent, and a better collection of the 
 traveler's powers could be assumed. In itself it is 
 
Literature in Its Reaction on Life 219 
 
 attractive mainly to the one who has set out on an 
 agreeable errand. But even if taken with the single 
 purpose of sight-seeing, of giving the soul a feast on 
 historic ground, it is never quite free from the petty 
 annoyances of unusual hours, conveyances, connections, 
 of people taking unfair advantage of the traveler's 
 position — little pin pricks, that disturb the contem- 
 plated delights. 
 
 A few years ago some tourists were toiling up toward 
 the summit of Pike's Peak to see the sunrise. When 
 within a mile of the top they felt chilly, and exhausted 
 from having trudged on during the greater part of 
 the night. Then another party came along riding 
 leisurely in a coach on the inclined railway. These 
 had slept during the early part of the night ; they had 
 breakfasted an hour ago, and were now viewing the 
 advancing dawn and the receding darkness buoyant 
 in mind and body. If it was a question of seeing 
 the sights, of taking in, as we say, what there was, 
 the latter certainly had an immense advantage over the 
 pedestrians by availing themselves of a more convenient, 
 though a more artificial, mode. 
 
 We reach a better estimate of worth and values when 
 we are lifted out of the turmoil to a plane where per- 
 sonal considerations drop away. We stand outside of 
 the flux and judge the deeds of men and women 
 depicted in literature, feeling sure that our judgments 
 are correct. Not so if we ourselves were the actors. 
 Jessica and Lorenzo are quite capable of justifying the 
 
220 The Study of Literature 
 
 wrongs they commit against old Shylock. They would 
 see nothing more reprehensible in their course than a 
 slightly unconventional balancing of accounts. If 
 driven to a position where they would be forced to 
 admit that filial ingratitude is a sin, and robbery a 
 crime, they would adroitly shift their ground and load 
 these, their misdeeds, onto Shylock. To be sure, the 
 human appeal is so strong in this story that now and 
 then there are persons who extend their sympathies to 
 these wayward lovers, and become their advocates ; but 
 even in such cases the attempt is to reach a poetic equity 
 that satisfies the feelings — regretting, not justifying, 
 the wrongs. Ordinarily the right and wrong of it lie 
 in open sunlight before the reader, permitting of unmis- 
 takable judgment. 
 
 There is nothing that makes more strongly for cul- 
 ture than the contact with great personalities. Those 
 who have the privilege of being in the company of such 
 catch impulses and inspirations that nothing else can 
 supply, and get something else often overlooked — 
 something that tends to rise to the surface and assert 
 itself later in critical moments. The president of a 
 great university, speaking of his official duties, said 
 that occasionally when he found himself in a trying 
 situation — say, where a decision had to be promptly 
 rendered in a perplexing case — he would place himself 
 in the position of his former teacher. Professor X, and 
 ask himself, " How would he do it ? " Often new light 
 would come in a surprising manner from thus assuming 
 
Literature in Its Reaction on Life 221 
 
 his teacher's fine intuitions. The calmness and repose 
 of such men remain in a measure as a directing potency 
 with those who have once shared it. 
 
 Such are the influences left by normally constituted, 
 strong personalities, but if we look for what in the ran- 
 dom parlance of the day are called heroes — heroes in 
 the headlong and violent sense of the word — the cul- 
 ture stimuli are different. Such persons can only be 
 seen in their full size under stress ; a crisis is necessary 
 for their exhibition. Now, anyone who tries to recall 
 an instance that has come under his own observation, in 
 which a hero figured, will admit that, as it occurred, 
 neither the crisis nor the hero was quite satisfactory. 
 To analyze a personal occurrence of this kind in the 
 presence of the actor would be, to say the least, embar- 
 rassing. No one would be more fully conscious than 
 himself of painful shortcomings. Though granting 
 him an unusual amount of energetic resourcefulness to 
 good purpose, he would perhaps feel that the energies 
 displayed were not of the calm order. He did not have 
 himself sufficiently well in hand, for all the praise he 
 got. What he did was a little overdone here and fell a 
 little short there. The nerve was, after all, not ideally 
 steady, perhaps a little more impulsive than the occasion 
 required; the act, as such, a trifle self-conscious and 
 stagy. Again, the kind of strength displayed, though 
 admirably adapted to the nature of the crisis, would 
 not rank high in the scale of ethics. But, worst of all, 
 the motives were badly tainted with a desire to pose and 
 
222 The Study of Literature 
 
 be praised. As an unidealized happening, a crisis is 
 not desirable, nor is it always edifying to either the 
 actors in it or the onlookers. In its stir and stress it 
 may, indeed, happen that one discovers unexpected 
 strata of power within oneself, or in the clash of forces 
 one may strike and rouse an original trait of excellence 
 that has long slumbered in the background; and this 
 endowment the poet picks out for his purpose. But 
 the prosy and chilly facts are, that the shock of a 
 critical situation either impels to random action or 
 touches the intellect and the feelings with such severity 
 that a dazed or benumbed condition comes to exist. 
 Its immediate effect on the soul life is to move the 
 psychic functions back in the direction of primitiveness. 
 Sudden emotion — say anger or fear — instead of be- 
 ginning to operate with cultured means, tends to push 
 these aside to give room for a more primitive imme- 
 diacy. 
 
 Right here the fictionist steps in and begins to manip- 
 ulate the material as it was lived, and under his hands 
 it comes to bear another aspect — better fitness in the 
 adaptation of the hero's powers to the call upon them ; 
 emotions chastened and freed from the soil of the earth 
 earthy. Besides moderating or energizing his hero 
 and fashioning the original clumsy occasion to express 
 him best, he may subtract a good bit from the occasion 
 itself, leaving the hero the more credit. 
 
 When under grievous affliction and with heavy bur- 
 dens on his mind, the heart of Brutus is still large 
 
Literature in Its Reaction on Life 223 
 
 enough to include consideration for the comfort of his 
 servant, even to apologize to the boy for a trifling 
 show of impatience, his conduct touches us so closely 
 that we involuntarily applaud. 
 
 In the reader a similar impulse springs into being, 
 ready to be exercised in the same way should occasion 
 arise. Now moving on in such a train of ideas we 
 speak of assimilating something. It is of course an 
 error to suppose that anything can be made the reader's 
 possession by a literal appropriation from the page, by 
 matter-of-fact transference from the book to himself. 
 But through the example the willing reader comes to 
 his own power, a better one for himself than another's 
 could be, a new-created potency called into being from 
 his own stock of soul forces. Of this he is fully aware, 
 should he pause to reflect upon it, though he might be 
 bothered by a sense of its incompleteness in so far that 
 it is not realized in act. But should he choose to think 
 into the matter furthei", he will see that the concrete 
 carrying over of the new impulse into a physical act, 
 similar to the one furnished by the instance in the book, 
 is of less weight than the assimilation of the impulse 
 itself. Its transmutation into an act, its materializa- 
 tion, as it is often termed, involves a touch of crudity 
 inseparable from physical phenomena, leaving the im- 
 pulse less pure than if merely absorbed in his psychic 
 life. The new vigor is not necessarily incomplete 
 though held in abeyance until summoned by a call. 
 
 The reader's act of perceiving and approving the 
 
224 The Study of Literature 
 
 hero's strength is an exercise of germinating forces 
 attempting to realize themselves in kind. So keenly 
 alive are some people to these stimuli that they invol- 
 untarily assume the look or bodily attitude that must 
 have accompanied the hero's mood. But it may be 
 objected that there is not much in this imitativeness 
 that plays in their lineaments or fingertips. An ex- 
 ample of a negative kind will show that such may, 
 however, be the case. The most direct way to call 
 into activity primitive instincts long suppressed by cul- 
 ture is to produce the physical acts with which they 
 were once accompanied. To clench the fist, grit the 
 teeth, and pucker up the brow seem to retrace the seats 
 of their motives, and rediscover the sources from which 
 they used to spring. With some persistence in these 
 voluntary acts, there is little doubt that the original 
 potency would be freshened up into considerable activ- 
 ity. Now a similar exercise of the higher and better 
 powers, though at first it gets no further than an imi- 
 tative and bodily act, quickens them and transmits 
 vitality to their source. 
 
 In much reading, little motives catch and cling, 
 making in their total a powerful conduct and character- 
 shaping influence. The young girl "takes a fancy" to 
 the way the heroine sets her ringlets, and hastens to 
 set her own ringlets a little the same way. She gropes 
 first after what is palpable, but in that act lives a 
 little closer to the personality who carries the traits she 
 approves, or, rather closer to the fictionist's ideal. We 
 
Literature in Its Reaction on Life 225 
 
 draw close to those we admire. We become like those 
 we love. Though the process of psychic change and 
 adjustment is beyond our analysis, there is no doubt 
 that it makes us constitutionally different from what we 
 were. 
 
 Literature reacts on life and fashions it, as much as 
 life fashions literature. Of all the arts, there are three 
 — literature, painting, and sculpture — that offer life 
 the most actual and palpable forms, bidding and per- 
 suading it to assume these. The ancients knew the 
 formative stimuli springing from the arts. They ap- 
 preciated and utilized the educational value of the tales 
 told by .their poets. They kept the statues of Hermes 
 and Apollo in the nursery, that children in the years 
 of growing should grow along lines of strength and 
 beauty. Plato extended such formative influence to 
 architecture, and said that a house may in its outline 
 have a good or a bad character, that the one who passes 
 it daily takes impressions from it involuntarily and 
 unconsciously. In our day some have thought that 
 the light upward hastening lines of a Gothic dome 
 catch the eye and the mind, so as to carry them along 
 a part of the way; also that a Roman edifice imparts 
 a little of its calm repose to both persons and sur- 
 roundings. 
 
 In pieces calculated to entertain, it is usually thought 
 there is nothing to edify in a pedagogical sense. To 
 be sure, these have their place, we say indulgently. 
 When carefully chosen and enjoyed in moderation. 
 
226 The Study of Literature 
 
 such productions add a desirable variety and spice to 
 mental food of more substance. 
 
 Whatever may be the real definition of humor, it 
 contributes directly to psychic growth by its strong 
 tendency to create a sympathetic fellow feeling and 
 enlarged human kindness. The attempt to understand 
 the foibles and vagaries about us, and yet to suppress 
 the impulse to criticise and correct, adds a new range 
 of exercise to the life forces by a getting away from 
 conventional limitations. Sympathy, in the true sense 
 of the word, is bound up in such exercise; for there 
 is a " feeling with " instead of a " feeling against " or 
 a " feeling aloof." Moreover, the capacity here sup- 
 posed makes new stores of facts available for pleas- 
 urable sensations. Again, true humor is for good 
 reasons regarded as one of the evidences of culture. 
 People in a primitive stage have no sense for humor; 
 with them the corresponding capacity is rude and 
 usually cruel. 
 
 When touched with a sense of humor so that the 
 mood is present, there is an increased flow of blood 
 to the brain, which up to certain limits is salutary. It 
 is the one ingredient that may be gotten from books 
 as a straightaway physical tonic. It reacts on the 
 mind faculties in such a way as to brace them or stimu- 
 late them to their best. There is certainly an added 
 versatility, for it is possible then to assume a role 
 quite opposite to the one belonging to the mood; we 
 can by voice, gesture, pose, readily imitate sadness. But 
 
Literature in Its Reaction on Life 227 
 
 on the contrary, when actually sad we feel the limita- 
 tions; for we cannot then successfully, or for any length 
 of time, play the part of one that is happy. 
 
 Another contribution not often credited to humor 
 is that of freedom, an exhilarating intellectual freedom 
 of the faculties. Logic, in one respect at least its oppo- 
 site, is severe, straitlaced, enslaving. It is so strict in 
 its limitations that its processes run in fixed grooves. 
 It is felt as oppressive in itself, almost hostile, a thing 
 not genial, but malicious. It knows the realm of right 
 and wrong, but not the larger one of better and worse, 
 and nothing at all of the vast realm of. adjustments 
 and compromises in which the greater part of real 
 living is enacted. Now, humor repudiates such en- 
 slavement, breaking its chains at pleasure, escaping 
 exultantly with a feeling of triumph that tends to ex- 
 press itself in human laughter. Humor makes of logic 
 a servant, not a master, and claims as its own the vast 
 province where logically erratic human processes are 
 exercised in the feelings and emotions. Here tact and 
 ready adjustment accomplish what is impossible to cold 
 reason, dissolving strained situations or charitably 
 overlooking deviations from rigid courses. 
 
 Nothing that a writer transfers from actuality to 
 print undergoes a stranger metamorphosis than does 
 sorrow or pathos. Thought, humor, pictures, whether 
 read or experienced in life, are still identical in their 
 nature; but when pathos is set before the reader, it is 
 
228 The Study of Literature 
 
 something different from the original phenomenon in 
 kind. 
 
 Aside from those rather abnormal instances where 
 we have sometimes seen people look as if they enjoyed 
 the "grief" or the "cry" to which they gave them- 
 selves up, there is nothing pleasurable in these emo- 
 tions as they occur. Grief is closely identified with 
 pain ; and how this can become something for the reader 
 to delight in is one of the oldest of recorded aesthetic 
 problems. 
 
 Humor and pathos have this in common, that both 
 impel toward an enlargement of fellowship with others; 
 for the pleasure of humor is increased, but the pain 
 of sorrow is diminished when shared. As life experi- 
 ences they are vastly different in their effects on the 
 vital functions, for, as noted above, sorrow subtracts 
 from these, while joy adds to them. Again, under the 
 fictionist's manipulation they issue differently. Humor 
 is still itself when served up for the reader's enjoy- 
 ment; but sorrow and tragedy, when they appear in 
 the story, have undergone a purifying process in which 
 their original paralyzing effects have been eliminated. 
 If an analysis of the vital functions were possible, there 
 would appear no abatement of these in the reader after 
 having read Evangeline or Lear. More likely, the 
 analysis would show an addition of a new order of 
 elements, a kind that does not flow from other sources. 
 
 A number of modes in which tragedy appeals to the 
 reader are registered by various authorities. In some 
 
Literature in Its Reaction on Life 229 
 
 cases it edifies by showing us the inner and unavoid- 
 able connection between desert and compensation, guilt 
 and retribution. But the reader may urge this sort of 
 equity too far, and proceed to a forced search for guilt 
 in order to satisfy the balance. There is a natural 
 demand, sometimes a grim one, for such equipoise, 
 which seems rather to endure that a worthy person goes 
 unrewarded than that a guilty one escapes punishment. 
 
 In other instances a bracing elemental force is car- 
 ried to the reader as he follows the clash of tragic 
 forces; as for example, a character bearing up nobly 
 and bravely, still unconquered in spirit, though over- 
 whelmed and almost annihilated by the odds of hostile 
 opposition. 
 
 A taste of stoic composure is afforded by other cases. 
 That person, we then feel, who can so completely rec- 
 oncile himself to an adverse fate as to suffer no dis- 
 turbance of spirit under it, has risen to enviable heights. 
 The tragic instance, too, may be the opportunity for a 
 character to rise to a level of glory in which, as we 
 count values, he finds compensation. The outcome con- 
 firms the existing world order. The hero sinks, but 
 he triumphs over destiny through the idea he repre- 
 sents. The unhappy fate that overtook him prevented 
 him from experiencing an impending disaster of a 
 more cruel kind. 
 
 We close a pathetic or tragic tale, feeling that a 
 strong person should not be satisfied with the one- 
 sided experience of mere joy; nay, that real joy under 
 
230 The Study of Literature 
 
 such conditions would vanish. It is better, the story 
 shows, to taste life in its fullness, to try one's strength 
 in opposition. Rightly considered, pangs cannot have 
 their origin in some faculty that must be looked upon 
 as a regrettable part of our psychic constitution. Are 
 they not rather to be accepted as a bit of ourselves, a 
 potency capable of its own exaltation, supplying what 
 we need for a more highly endowed personality. 
 
 Pathos and tragedy point toward the future, to a 
 beyond, more positively than anything else in literature. 
 When human powers no longer can fix the balance be- 
 tween merit and reward, but are compelled to let the 
 case drop as too difficult for human adjustment, there 
 is a quickening of the conviction that some way, some 
 how, justice will be done. Our institutions prompt us 
 to project ourselves with our ideals into the future. 
 Dormant notions are aroused — we hardly know how 
 or why — of the same kind as those of people who are 
 ready to die for a principle without having construed 
 the value of their sacrifice in accordance with any 
 philosophy or any theory whatever. They feel that 
 they are a part of the future, entrusted with a bit of 
 life reaching out in some form into the ages. 
 
 Life as we live it is analytic. The completing 
 synthesis is found in reflection, equally a mode of 
 life, but one in which another kind of functioning re- 
 ceives stress. This is, however, seldom felt to be a 
 necessary process for purposes of realizing what is 
 
Literature in Its Reaction on Life 231 
 
 latent in life's totality. There is no urgent call to 
 withdraw oneself from the stream of occurrences, to 
 pause and attempt to see it all in its oneness. Yet when 
 we do this, or when someone else does it for us, we 
 reach a new sort of satisfaction, one that does not flow 
 from mere analytic experience. Something over and 
 above the rest reaches us in this supplementary act, 
 whether or not it be for the reason that life in its 
 wholeness, like an organic unit, is worth more than 
 the sum of its parts. 
 
 In the tangled details, formless, meaningless, the 
 writer discovers the spiritual connecting idea, the nexus 
 holding and controlling it all as an organism. He 
 works through, thinks through the mass, till he has 
 caught its essence and feels able to subdue it to his 
 purposes and to convey it in word or picture. Into his 
 work a good deal of ordinary, deliberate calculation 
 must enter, and still more of direct intuition. The 
 feeling for the design, caught at first by the warmth of 
 the writer's fancy, assumes delineations and matures 
 into a plan, showing the lines of approach and depart- 
 ure in all the sifting and fashioning. The chaotic 
 material grows tractable and submits to order. At this 
 stage he begins to feel sure that his intuitions are reli- 
 able, that the design is correct — sure because he has 
 taken up the subject matter into himself, where it 
 receives organic wholeness from his own being. 
 
 In the work of synthesis several definite steps are 
 distinguishable. In the act of selecting and rejecting — 
 
232 The Study of Literature 
 
 two views of the same process — the design guides the 
 judgment in determining what is available. Life's 
 trivialities — and by these is meant not minor, but 
 meaningless, items — are rejected. The selection is 
 made on the basis of value and vitality. In the random 
 talk of men, now and then a sentence comes straight 
 from the speaker's heart fraught with his lifeblood. 
 This sentence counts; it expresses the man, lays bare 
 his strength or weakness; is hence available. In a long 
 discussion a few words falling from someone's lips, 
 state the gist of all the talk — the point in it reaches 
 the mark fairly. Here again is a touch worth while. 
 But the author also makes direct contributions, addi- 
 tions, not first copied from actuality. He can take 
 some data directly from himself, for he feels how dif- 
 ferent persons would act, respectively, in a given situ- 
 ation ; he has a feeling for the reality that he has never 
 stumbled on in real life. This firsthand material sup- 
 plies the gaps that actuality leaves in the vital stream 
 of daily occurrences. The weight of these additions 
 also causes events to gravitate closer to life's true 
 center. 
 
 Again there is involved in the process the actual 
 manipulation, if this term may be used. Adjustment 
 states the nature of the manipulation; for the literary 
 artist, like other artists, is employed in this mode. 
 Every part must be fitted and fused into every adjoin- 
 ing part in such a way as to help to realize the idea of 
 the whole. 
 
Literature in Its Reaction on Life 233 
 
 In working on toward this end, reality and wholeness, 
 — organic life as it were — he employs actual, con- 
 crete, matter-of-fact names and terms as the vital es- 
 sence of the production. But he reaches synthesis and 
 wholeness by another way. Here all-inclusive general 
 terms accomplish what the preceding specific ones could 
 not do. The specific terms convey the actual and nat- 
 ural ; the general terms give it order, rank, and relation. 
 Figures, too, play a part here for which they are usually 
 not given credit in works on rhetoric. Such embodi- 
 ment of the whole in an inclusive survey may be 
 illustrated by a few examples : 
 
 A purely scientific idea, the gist of the nebular 
 hypothesis, is given in Tennyson's The Princess: 
 
 Then toward the center set the starry tides. 
 
 All the mistaken ambition of Princess Ida, all she 
 had done and thought and surrendered, is summed up 
 in the lyric, "Ask me no more." It is impossible to 
 view the scope and wholeness of it except in figures. 
 The last stanza states it all : 
 
 Ask me no more : thy fate and mine are sealed : 
 I strove against the stream and all in vain: 
 Let the great river take me to the main: 
 No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield; 
 Ask me no more. 
 
 When near the end of his desperate career, Macbeth 
 sees it all mirrored in these figures (Act V, Sc. 5) : 
 
234 The Study o£ Literature 
 
 . . . Out, out, brief candle I 
 Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player 
 That struts and frets his hour upon the stage 
 And then is heard no more: it is a tale 
 Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
 Signifying nothing. 
 
 The reader who is led to the point of vantage where 
 the shreds and patches of sordid occurrences can be 
 viewed as an organic phenomenon, gets from it first of 
 all the intellectual satisfaction of order and purpose. 
 
 We are so constituted that we take pleasure in seeing 
 things in their relations and proportions; in truth, we 
 do not really see them otherwise. We like also to see 
 the idealized result correspond with familiar facts ; there 
 is a pleasurable surprise in it. Something, too, is 
 gained when we are led to see beauty in the common- 
 place things before us and around us. To find them 
 harboring an unexpected beauty opens the eyes to a 
 new view of things, and prompts us to look at them 
 from the side of beauty and love. In Main Traveled 
 Roads Hamlin Garland has given us bits of description 
 from familiar labor that under his hands take on a 
 charm that surprises us in its appeal. In his descrip- 
 tion of threshing he moves close to actuality. The 
 dust, and drudgery, and hint of long hours are in it, 
 so that the truth and its portrayal coincide. But the 
 whole is surcharged with something that sublimates it. 
 His manner of putting it ; his fusing of the parts into 
 a whole, which in turn is fitted into a large and bar- 
 
Literature in Its Reaction on Life 235 
 
 monious environment, is something far different from 
 the shreds of the actual occurrence as they touch the 
 participants in it. 
 
 In the oldest English tales and dramas there is a 
 strange insistence on a definite lesson which the story- 
 teller appears anxious to convey. With this purpose 
 in view, he usually formulates it so carefully that the 
 reader cannot miss it. This feature characterizes the 
 early dramatic forms, becoming particularly marked in 
 the morality plays. In the perfected English drama 
 the writers do not obtrude any lesson or any moral. 
 Neither do the writers of our day. But what they do 
 is this : they take the tangled occurrence and straighten 
 out the lines of human motives and life movements in 
 these so that their source and convergence may be 
 clearly seen by the observing reader. They state no 
 maxims and laws but the conditions governing human 
 life and living. They exhibit an act in its causes and 
 consequences, letting it appeal to the intellect with 
 whatever value it may have. They exhibit a passion 
 in its motivation, for without this it does not reach us 
 in its best effects, or else it remains simply oppressive. 
 They set a character in his right adjustment, for with- 
 out this he would be simply a riddle, an unmeaning 
 phenomenon. 
 
 And so the greatest of them lead the reader to a point 
 of vantage where he sees in the troubled milieu a clari- 
 fied world order under the domination of moral sway. 
 Then if he has the need or the power to contemplate it 
 
236 The Study of Literature 
 
 for himself — and without such need or power nothing 
 can be done — he sees in the flow of it a constant 
 movement from darkness to light, from struggle to 
 tranquillity, from battle to victory, from grief to joy. 
 In its wholeness the flux is fraught with meaning; it 
 moves on somewhere. In their courses some brooklets 
 of the western plains flow on with such perplexing 
 doubling on themselves that the observer walking on 
 their banks may prove that they flow in any dii-ection 
 he may choose to point out. But if he ascends the high 
 divide or some other place where a larger view is af- 
 forded, their general trend toward the sea becomes 
 evident. 
 
 The teachings in all this may safely be left to formu- 
 late themselves in accordance with each reader's needs. 
 There is a strange richness in life lessons that our 
 greatest classics suggest. But still more strange, none 
 of them touch the reader vitally unless he comes en- 
 dowed with the right receptivity, a personal reaching- 
 out for what is there. And then he finds only that 
 which holds affinity with himself; indeed, he does not 
 find it at all, but the means that kindle into living glow 
 what was already within him. 
 
 Before the reader keenly alive to practical wisdom 
 and businesslike expediency there rises from the drama 
 of Hamlet the truth that overcaution paralyzes the 
 power of action. Hamlet's energy expends itself in ill- 
 adapted, and, as it would seem, superfluous devices to 
 prove his uncle's guilt; and so he plans, only to find 
 
Literature in Its Reaction on Life 237 
 
 that when he has the proof and the opportunity that 
 he sought, he is no closer to the point of action than 
 he was before. In this grim soul struggle, then, some 
 find only hints of what is expedient in matter-of-fact 
 concerns. In all enterprises, they conclude, it is im- 
 possible to procure quite exhaustive data. When we 
 have calculated as far as we can, we reach a domain 
 of uncertainties, where resolution and intuition are 
 wiser than further delay on account of incomplete data. 
 
 Others who are interested in the mysterious work- 
 ing of the human soul, will find in Hamlet deep motives 
 hidden from the casual observer. Hamlet is so con- 
 stituted that his course of activity lay in reflection, 
 which constantly birought him further from perform- 
 ance, even when the very reflections converged on a 
 demand for performance. Here, then, they see a vast 
 but delicately constituted soul out of harmony with his 
 environs, quite incapable of action until surprised into 
 it, and instinctively shrinking from the grim task which 
 the times imposed on him. His dilatory tactics are a 
 series of attempts to escape from what is repellent 
 to him. In the whole there is a strange self-delusion, 
 where the spirit of Hamlet cheats itself into the belief 
 that every new device is, not a delay, but a necessary 
 step toward action. 
 
 Again, there are others who see in the troubled 
 story the hands of a Superior Power guiding all 
 where man's powers fail. Claudius, the guilty king, 
 is uneasy under the weight of his crime. But he makes 
 
238 The Study of Literature 
 
 a wrong, or at least partially wrong, diagnosis of his 
 case. He believes that his uneasy dread is exclusively 
 due to Hamlet, whom he has wronged, and of whom 
 he lives in fear. Consequently he sees comfort and 
 peace only in the permanent removal of Hamlet. Ac- 
 cordingly he devises measures whereby the Prince will 
 be forever put out of the way of doing him any harm. 
 Hamlet is sent to England, where he is to be slain. 
 This plan seems to work so well that the King ought 
 now to be fully relieved of the apprehension he had 
 dreaded. But, instead of finding the King restored to 
 tranquillity of mind, we find him (Act III, Sc. 3) in 
 a still more desperate struggle with himself, vainly 
 endeavoring to appease his guilty mind in prayer. All 
 this time, then, the danger connected with Hamlet's 
 presence had been mainly a counter irritant that had 
 kept him from perceiving the real cause of his unrestful 
 mind, namely, his troubled conscience. Further, the 
 final act of retribution is one which is not due to 
 Hamlet's planning, but results rather from his weak- 
 ness acting in conjunction with fatality of situation. 
 Viewed in this light, there rises from the story quite 
 of itself the Bible truth, "Vengeance is mine, . . . 
 saith the Lord." These are only a few of the truths 
 which the reader formulates for himself in a story like 
 this, where the lines of human endeavor and human 
 weakness are plainly traced. 
 
 Now if it is a question of real matter-of-fact gain, 
 two or three points may be noted in conclusion. When 
 
Literature in Its Reaction on Life 239 
 
 literature lays before us rationalized experiences from 
 many countries and many rich personalities, we, by the 
 appropriation of these, enlarge our own lives not 
 only in space and time but in richness of spiritual 
 functioning. 
 
 We thereby move some distance from primitiveness ; 
 for early existence embraced the present moment only. 
 To retain distinct recollections and sensations, to cull 
 from the present, to anticipate the future and with 
 the warmth of vitality amalgamate it with the present 
 — this is life-functioning belonging to advanced stages 
 of culture. 
 
 Secondly, we say glibly, it tends to keep us young. 
 Is this merely a pleasing but empty turn of expression ? 
 It requires no psychologist to point out the usual 
 changes in the run of people's lives. Youth is the time 
 of appropriation of physical and mental sustenance. 
 There is then an aggressive reaching-out after new 
 things. Every new situation, every change short of an 
 upheaval, is welcomed, for the resulting opportunities 
 fall to the lot of youthtime. Adaptations to the unusual 
 are then made with comfort. In the struggle of ad- 
 justment there is nearly always an addition to the sum 
 of life. But imperceptibly, in the same manner as the 
 arteries of the body harden, the powers of the soul begin 
 to grow callous, so that they are no longer so agree- 
 ably impressionable. The power of ready assimilation 
 is lost; and when this is lost, extreme conservatism 
 and hostility to new impressions take its place. New 
 
240 The Study of Literature 
 
 things hurt, and the individual assumes an attitude of 
 defense against them. Psychologists will say that to 
 postpone the time when such abatement of the vital 
 functions sets in lies in a measure within the individ- 
 ual's power. Indeed, examples of persons whose lives 
 prove that such is the case are not unusual. They do it 
 by refusing to fall out of touch with the richest and 
 best in life and books. They do not allow themselves 
 to be cut off from the vital stream of ideas accessible 
 to them in any of its forms. 
 
 Again, what is meant by the larger view and higher 
 plane, or the ideal world which some think we may 
 find, and which when found is so much better than the 
 real one ? They have yet to show us an instance where 
 anyone has dismissed the present world of facts, and 
 translated himself to a world of ideas, and lived there 
 as a joy to himself and as a blessing to others. But 
 as the world in which we find ourselves is made up of 
 things better and worse, of higher and lower, an indi- 
 vidual may be much helped by having set before him 
 clear examples of values. There are persons who in- 
 vest years of fine strength in projects that even an 
 indifferent outsider can see are trifling or hopeless. In- 
 stead of being fated to disappointment, their good 
 energy should be worth something better; and better 
 it could be if they saw their efforts mirrored in the 
 right relation of values. Among people leading obscure 
 lives — and among some who are not obscure — it is 
 not uncommon to find them fretting over some real or 
 
Literature in Its Reaction on Life 241 
 
 fancied wrong they have suffered and allowing this to 
 corrode their finer powers, to the frustration of large 
 and noble deeds. At the right distance how petty the 
 provocation, and what wrong to themselves by such an 
 abject course! Even the soul of Laertes, though not 
 overly large, is capable of words that have a bracing 
 tone for such : " Exchange forgiveness with me, noble 
 Hamlet." What healing is there not disseminated in 
 the examples and teachings of the New Testament, 
 inculcating forbearance, sympathy, love — every virtue 
 moving away from vexatious trivialities toward a 
 nobler plane. What is needed most is not greater in- 
 tellectual acumen, not even more work or drudgery, 
 but demands for something larger and better; not a 
 feverish clutching at something trifling within our 
 grasp, without a thought as to whether it is worth 
 while or not. There is a distinct gain in the examples 
 that bid us become attuned into harmony with higher 
 purposes. 
 
 Though it lies close at hand to claim too large a pur- 
 pose as the one that literature studies and reading serve • 
 in the economy of life, it is just to conclude that these 
 function in harmony with sociology, history, and sci- 
 ence by contributing in their own way to the preser- 
 vation of life and to the enlargement of life. 
 
 The preservation of life. Entire categories of 
 poetry are written on the theme of home and hearth 
 and all that they imply of parental affections and joys 
 of childhood. Early ballads and later patriotic songs 
 
242 The Study of Literature 
 
 celebrate the love of country, and extol the virtue of 
 patriotism. Hymns and devotional poetry hold up 
 before us what is most enduring in the vicissitudes of 
 life, and bid us be loyal to this. Whittier, Goldsmith, 
 Wordsworth, also Milton in his minor poems, make 
 us love the old, the established, the glamor of tradition; 
 and they hold out for our approval and use lovely 
 forms in which they bid us pour the poetry of our own 
 lives. This they are able to do, for they show us 
 what is bound up with our own best and richest days 
 of the past. This esteem of the past rises from the 
 pages of Scott and Irving, from poems like Snow- 
 Bound, The Vision, The Idylls of the King, Evange- 
 line, The Courtship of Miles Standish, The Deserted 
 Village. 
 
 The enlargement of life — increase in scope, rich- 
 ness, goodness, betterment. The impulse toward its 
 preservation is present in all forms, but the impulse 
 toward its enlargement is characteristic of human 
 beings only. They only can conceive ideals toward 
 which they move with conscious effort. 
 
 By holding before us the best of what has existed or 
 taken place — this end is also subserved in the classics 
 mentioned. But there are others pointing more posi- 
 tively toward the future and to modes of living not 
 yet reached. Shakespeare gives glimpses of such pos- 
 sibilities. Tennyson and Browning picture them 
 directly. Most powerful of all in giving us ideals for 
 which to strive is the Bible. Ethics and the arts at 
 
Literature in Its Reaction on Life 243 
 
 their best contribute toward the same purpose. These 
 ideals are equally powerful as "informing" potency, 
 whether or not they assume such shape that they group 
 themselves in the usual categories of psychologists, as 
 intellectual, ethical, aesthetic. 
 
INDEX 
 
 Action, In prose forms, 133-139 ; 
 how it starts in King Lear, 195- 
 210 
 
 Addison, Essay on, 27, 109 
 
 Adunais, 99 
 
 Ancient Mariner, The, 66 
 
 Animated Nature, 157 
 
 Appreciation, 39-46 ; two-fold 
 aspect, 39 ; its process, 39 
 
 As You Like It, 99 
 
 Autlior, liis clearness, 13 ; audience 
 and environs, 15, 16 ; person- 
 ality and times, 23-25, 101-106, 
 212 ; purpose, central idea, and 
 point of view, 47-50 ; rules for 
 unity, 61-63 ; originality, 67 ; 
 receiving ideas, 69 ; teaching 
 purpose, 71 
 
 Barrie, J. M., 66 
 
 Bible, The, provides ideals, 242 
 
 Boswell's Johnson, Essay on, 27 
 
 Bravo, The, 11 
 
 Browning, Robert, 242 
 
 Bunker Hill Oration, 17, 28 
 
 Burns, Robert, 74, 81 
 
 Burns, Essay en, 27, 70, 109, 118 
 
 Byron, Lord, 69, 83 
 
 Canterbury Tales, 15 
 
 Carlyle, Thomas, 25, 27, 69, 70, 
 
 103 
 Characters, in prose narration, 
 
 139-149 ; Dickens, 147 
 Chaucer, 15, 16 
 Comparison, 93-101 
 Contposiiion Rhetoric, 121 
 Composition, advantage of, 3 
 Comus, 33-35 
 Conciliation Speech, 5, 17, 28, 37, 
 
 47, 48, 76, 112 
 Cooper, J. F., 71 
 Cotter's Saturday Night, 45, 75 
 Courtship of Miles Standish, The, 
 
 32, 67, 242 
 Criticism, Essay on, 59 
 
 Dante, 37 
 
 De Coverly Papers, 117 
 
 De Quincey, 57 
 
 Description in a story, 129-133 
 
 Deserted Village, The, 23, 49; 
 
 study of, 154-170, 242 
 Dickens, Charles, 62, 71, 131, 147 
 
 Elegy, Gray's, 167 
 
 Bliot, George, 96, 97 
 
 Elsie Tenner, 71 
 
 Emerson, K. W., 66, 70 ; essays, 
 
 70, 77 
 Essay, the, 107-125 ; exercises In 
 
 its study, 110-125 
 Essays, Bacon's, 66 
 Evangeline, 31, G7. 69, 74, 97, 98, 
 
 129, 138, 228, 242 
 Expository Paragraph and the 
 
 Sentence, 121 
 
 Farewell Address, 17, 28, 172 
 
 Figures, 54 
 
 Financial School, Coin's, 71 
 
 Oettysburg Address, 28 
 Goldsmith, Oliver, 102, 103; The 
 
 Deserted Village, study of, 154- 
 
 170 
 Goldsmith, Essay on, 115 
 Guardian Angel, The, 71 
 
 Hamlet, 23, 83, 136, 143, 196, 236- 
 238, 241 
 
 Harte, Bret, 67 
 
 Heidenmauer, The, 71 
 
 Hiawatha, 37, 67, 97, 98, 129, 131 
 
 History as a means of interpreta- 
 tion, 14 
 
 History of New York, 36 
 
 Holmes, O. W., 71 
 
 Home as Found, 71 
 
 Idylls of the King, The, 83, 242 
 II Penseroso, 99, 177, 188, 191 
 Interpretation, 13-38 ; defined, 14 ; 
 of an author distant in time, 
 15 ; In light of historic facts, 
 16-22 ; and biography, 22 ; and 
 the occasion, 26 ; and diction, 
 28 ; and allusions, 32 
 Intimations of Immortality, 81, 99 
 Irving, Washington, 36, 159 
 Ivanhoe, 19-22, 95, 129, 137, 216 
 
 Johnson, Dr. Samuel, 24, 102, 103, 
 
 165 
 Johnson, Essay on, 27, 33, 117 
 Julius Caesar, 18, 195, 222 
 Jungle, The, 71 
 
 King Lear, 83, 104, 128, 151, 228 ; 
 study of, 195-210 
 
 245 
 
246 
 
 Index 
 
 Lady of the Lake, The, 83, 37, 131 
 
 L' Allegro, 47, 67, 99 ; study of, 
 171-194 
 
 Lamb, Charles, 31 
 
 Legend of Sleepy Hollow, The, 129, 
 131, 141 
 
 Life, affected by literature, 211- 
 243 ; Its preservation, 241 ; en- 
 largement^ 242 
 
 Literary elements, 61-83 ; unity, 
 61 ; movement, 63 ; touch of 
 life, 64 ; originality, 67 ; recur- 
 ring ideas, 69 ; teachings, 71-75 ; 
 literary substance, 75 j values, 
 81-83 
 
 Literary evaluation, methods of, 
 84-93 ; vocal rendering, 84-93 ; 
 comparisons, 93-lQl ; place of 
 the author, 101-106 • 
 
 Literature, early problems of Its 
 study, 1 ; word relationships, 2 ; 
 history, 2 ; rhetoric, 3 ; pur- 
 poses of study, 3 ; necessity of 
 adaptation, 5 ; how usually con- 
 ducted, 10-12 ; classroom meth- 
 ods, 42-44 ; purpose and precept 
 In books, 71-75, 235 ; relative 
 value of poems, 81-83 ; author's 
 personality and times, 101-106 ; 
 the essay, 107-125 ; prose nar- 
 ration, 125-153 ; characters in, 
 139-149; the lyric, 171; the 
 tragedy, 195 ; reaction of litera- 
 ture on life, 211-243 
 
 Longfellow, H. W., 70 
 
 Lyoidaa, 33, 37, 99, 190 
 
 Lyric, the study of, 80, 171, 172, 
 191, 192-194 
 
 Macaulay, T. B., 24, 27, 37, 168, 
 
 169 
 Macbeth, 16, 32, 74, 90, 95, 145, 
 
 196 233 
 Main 'Traveled Roads, 234 
 Man Without a Country, The, 134 
 Martin Chazzlewit, 71 
 Melody, 59 
 Merchant of Venice, The, 63, 72, 
 
 73, 88, 93, 95, 99, 135, 147, 152, 
 
 219 220 
 Merry Wives of Windsor, The, 23 
 Mptfir 57 
 Milton. John, 37. 64 ; study of 
 
 L'Allegro, 171-194 ; biographical 
 
 sketch, 188, 189-190, 212 
 Milton, Essay on, 34, 109, 118, 
 
 170 
 Moulton, Richard, 66 
 
 New Testament, The, 241 
 Nicholas Nickleby, 71 
 Night Thoughts, 167 
 
 Old Mortality, 134 
 
 Originality, 67 
 
 Othello, 16, 49, 196 
 
 Outcasts of Poker Plat, The, 137 
 
 Paradise Lost, 67, 83, 178 
 Paragraphs, 54-56 ; study of in 
 
 essays, 121-125 
 Philosophy of Composition, The, 25 
 Philosophic Vagabond, The, 164 
 Pickwick Papers, 71 
 Pilgrim's Progress, 26, 66 
 Poe, Eidgar Allan, 25 
 Poems, relative values, 81-83 
 Pope, Alexander, 59 
 Practical Elements of Rhetoric, 
 
 121 
 Princess, The, 30, 80, 128, 233 
 Prose forms, the study of, 107- 
 153 ; the essay, 107-125 : study 
 of words and phrases, 113-117; 
 sentences, 118-121 ; paragraphs, 
 121-125 ; prose narration, 125- 
 153 ; setting, 128, 129 ; descrip- 
 tion, 129-133; action, 133-139; 
 characters, 139-149 
 Prose narration, 125-153 ; setting, 
 
 128, 129 ; description, 129 
 Purpose in writing, 71-75 
 
 Quentin Durward, 134 
 
 Raven, The, 25 
 
 Reaction of literature on life, 211- 
 
 243 
 Beading, its effect on the reader, 
 
 211-243 
 Recurring ideas, 69 
 Rhyme, 58 
 Rhythm, 56 
 Richard I, 19 
 Rip Van Winkle, 47, 66 
 Royal Poet, A, 35 
 Euskln, John, 111, 173 
 
 Samson Agoniates, 34 
 
 Seasons, The. 167 
 
 Sentences, 54 ; study of in essays, 
 
 118-121 
 Sesame and Lilies, 47, 66, 70, 109, 
 
 111 
 Setting of a story, the, 128, 129 
 Shakespeare, 16, 23, 31, 66, 70, 
 
 83, 90, 132, 140, 149, 177, 212, 
 
 242 ; his day, 103-106 
 Siddons, Mrs., Interpretation of 
 
 Lady Macbeth, 90, 91 
 Silas Mamer, 96, 97, 98, 129 
 Sketch Book, The. 33 
 Songs of Labor, m 
 Snow Bound, 31, 45, 49, 67, 129, 
 
 242 
 
Index 
 
 247 
 
 structural elements, 47 - 60 ; 
 author's purpose, 47 ; central 
 Idea, 48 ; point of view, 48 ; dic- 
 tion, 50 ; figures, 54 ; sentences, 
 54 ; paragraphs, 54 ; rhythm, 
 56 ; meter, 57 ; rhyme, 58 ; 
 melody, 59 
 
 Tale of Two Cities, A, 134 
 Teacher, Individuality of, 13 
 Teaching literature, 3-12, 40-44, 
 75, 76 ; teacher's personality, 9, 
 13 ; historic method, 9, 10 ; 
 specific, 10-12 ; interpretation 
 process, 12, 13-38 : appreciation 
 process, 12, 39-46; adaptation 
 necessary, 6 ; vocal rendering, 
 85-93 ; by comparisons, 93-101 ; 
 pupil's independence, 100 
 Tears, Idle Tears, analyzed, 78-80 
 Tempest, The, 66 
 
 Tennyson, Alfred, 74, 78 
 
 Tinlem ATibey, 82 
 
 Traveller, The, 102, 160, 165, 166 
 
 Unity in literary work, 61-63 
 
 Vicar of Wakefield, The. 165 
 Vision of Sir Launfat, The, 67, 
 
 74, 99, 242 
 Vocal rendering, 84-93 
 
 Whittler, J. G., 32 
 
 Wilklns, Mary E., 67 
 
 Words, obsolete, 30 ; technical, 30 ; 
 changed in meaning, 31 ; local, 
 31 ; apt, specific, suggestive, 
 poetic, 50-54 ; how to increase 
 one's vocabulary, 113, 114 ; 
 verbal study, 173 
 
 Wordsworth, 81, 83 
 
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