CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY ENGUSH COLIJECTION TIIK (JU-'T OF JAMES MORGAN HART PHOFESSOH OK KNGIJSH ConMll Unlvwtlty Library arV14652 Constructive rhetoric / illllliii 3 1924 031 431 186 olin.anx H. ^ Cornell University WB Ubrary The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924031431186 CONSTRUCTIVE RHETORIC BY EDWARD EVERETT HALE, Jr., Ph.D. Professor of Rhetoric and Lo^c in Union College NEW YORK HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 1896 Copyright. 1896, DY HENRY HOLT A LU. ROBERT DRUlUfON'D, KLECTROTVPER AND PRINTER, NfclW YORK. TO MY FATHER EDAVAKD EVERETT HALE HE LEARSED MUCH, HK HAS OFTEN SAID, FROM HIS RHETORICAL WORK IN COLLEGE, AND HE OWED MUCH TO EDWARD CHAN- NIXG, WHO tSED TO READ HIS COLLEGE ESSAYS, TO NO OXE MORE UEAUTILY STMl'ATIIBTIC COULD I DEDICATE THIS EFFORT TO HELP EVEN BY A LITTLE THE RHETORICAL WORK AND THE ESSAY- WRITINr correcting and improving what he has written, so that it becomes in a measure liis own. After Parts One and Two there are fewer exercises, and what there are do not offer practice in writing. It would bo as well, therefi>re, while the student goes over the latter part of the book and does the exercises tliere jirovided, for him also to continue the exercises of Parts One and Two, esjiecially tliosc in 'J, IG, ■.':, 40, 41, 4-.', at the rate of, per- haps, one a fortniglit. It is only in some such way tliat the ideas of the bo(]k can be converted into the unc(jnsciou8 skill and dexteritv which marks the frccsses of Description '4-1 19. The Purpose of Description 48 B. The Method of Description. 20. The Point of View 58 21. Selection 59 22. S(i|uence 61 III. EXPOSITION. A. The Nature uf Exposition. 23. Exposition and Discription 68 24. Exposition and Argumentation 71 25. The Subject-matti-r of Exposition 73 B. The Method of Exfosition. 2(5. Definition and Division 78 27. KxHinplcs of Exposition by I'etinitini] and Division Sli ('. ExFosiTiiiN .\s WE Find it i.n Litekatuue. 28. Different Kinds of Exposition 89 2'J. Devices of Popular Ei]io>ition 93 PART TWO. THE PAK.VCKAPII. I. THE NATURE o F THE P A R A i i R A P H . A. In Genekai.. yii What are Paragraphs ? 9!) B. The 1'araorapii from the Siandfoint dk the Reader. 31. The Paragraph as on Aid to thi' Reader 103 I '. The I'ahachafh fuom the Si a.ndi'cjint of the Writeh, :!3. The Paragraph as an Aid to tlie M'riter 108 II. THE METHOD OF THE PAHAliKAPH. A. The Paragraph as a Whole. I. The Unity of the Pnniyrnph. 38. Ordinary Paragraphs 110 34. Paragraphs of Outline, Smiiiiiary, and Connection 119 TABLE OF CONTENTS. Xl II. Connection. PAOR 35. Paragraph Connection 123 36. Connection at the Beginning 1-5 37. Connection at tlie End 129 B. The STUucrrnE of the Paragiiaph. I. The Beginning of the Paragraph. 38. Beginning 133 II. TIk }Lnn Part of the Paragraph. a. AMPLIFICATION. 39. Amplification 139 40. Repetition 140 41. Obverse Iteration 144 42. Explanation 146 6. PAKAGRAPH STRUCTURE AS CONDITIONED BY KINDS OF COMPOSITION. 43. Certain Limitations 148 44. Some Particular Derices 151 III. The End of tlie Paragraph. 45. Matter - . 157 46. Manner 161 FIRST POSTSCRIPT TO PARTS ONE AND TWO. Simplicity and Clearness. 47. Simplicitr and Clearness 165 48. Simplicity and Clearness in Relation to Kinds of Composition 168 SECOND POSTSCRIPT TO PARTS ONE AND TWO. Statement and SuiiGESTiON. 49. Different Forms of Expression 170 50. Some Modes of SuKfresti on 175 51. The Value of a Su^jgestive Style 180 PART THREE. THE VOCABULARY. I. CONSTRUCTIVE WORK. A. In General. 52. The Constructive Standpoint 185 .53. The Value of a (iood Vocaljiilarv 188 54. Methods suggesti-il for the Inrrcasc of the Vocabulary I',t2 xli TABLE OF riiXTEXT.'^. B. ExEIil ISES FCiIl THE Im l.EAf^E OF THE VOOABULART. I. Thi Vocabidary of II (liecii Iiha. PAGE 55. Snuic of tbe Ncce>sities for such Exercises 195 II. TIIK WOliDS OF THE ENGLISH VlK ABILART. 5i;. According to tliflir Origin 198 57. Ai'corevices 27b II. FIGURES IX RELATION TO SPECIAL PURPOSES. b4. Figures with a View to Special Purposes 280 III. THE SOURCES OF SIMILITUDES. ><'>. EvervdaT Affairs 287 S(3. Xature 2b8 s7. Certain Requirements of Figure 2^9 NS. Science 290 S'J Etymology 292 90. Literature and Art 293 91. The Bible 295 92. Application of the Foregoing 297 PART FIVE. TUE SENTENCE. 93. The Value of Constructive Work on the Sentence 200 94. Unity of the Sentence yi;ession of an AKGU.MENT. 108. Other Kinds of Composition in .Vrgumentation 338 109. t,iualiti.s of Style 339 1111. The Canons of Rhetoric 340 CONSTRUCTIVE RHETORIC. INTEODUCTIUN. 1. Rhetoric as a Science and Rhetoric as an Art. Before -we begin our actual work, it will be useful to have a clear idea of what wo expect to aecouiplish. We are to deal with Rhetoric. The word Ehetoric, however, has a somewhat vague meaning in many minds, and even those who have more exact ideas on the subject sometimes differ from each other. I read, for example, of a certain book, that on such and such a foundation ' ' the author piles a structure of magnifi- cent logic, and makes it glow with all the fires of rhetoric." Here the critic obviously felt that Rhetoric was a matter having no connection with the plain, ordinary disposition of one's ideas in the most effective manner, that it was rather a something be subsequently applied, a something glowing, blazing, fiei y, — a sort of gilding, perhaps. And with an idea not so very different, Cardinal Newman said,' " These are not the words of rhetoric, gentlemen, but of history." And just as the other writer felt that Rhetoric was merely something to be added to one's writing as an outride ornament, so Newman, here, feels that Ehetoric is something opposed to actual fact, something fantastic, unreal, false. I need hanlly say that it is not with any such idea in mind that I propose to you the study of Rhet- ' Idiit, of a Univcrnly, p. 13. Although Nuwman understood the real art of Rhetoric better than most men. 2 CoySTBUCTIYE EIIETGRIC. uric. Wc shall not pursue tlie jtudy with a view ol' -aiii- m<^ tlie power to ornament our writing with brilliant, glit- tering sujieriieialit}-, — we will leave that kind of Ehetoric to any one who still eares for such exhibitions. Our desire at present is io learn to exjiress ourselves in writing, a-nd to expnss ourselves well, comprehending in that last word a great deal; and we take tlie term Rhetoric as a convenient name for the diseiiiline whieh we undertake to that end. But even in the more scholarly use of the word there has been simie variation. Not to lueution the views of the ancient rhetoricians, Dr. Campbell, for instauee, defines li'hetorie as " the art or talent by whieh the discourse is adapted to itsi'iid." On the other hand. Rhetoric haslieen ti-eated ' as " the science of the laws of elfective discourse." Not a few writers on the suliject have delint^d it as an art and treated it as a science. 'I'iiis is one great cause for tlie vagueness which some of you may feel in the matter. Vou are not (|uite clear in your miiuls whether Uhetorie l)e a Science or an Art. Now the difference between tiiese two things is not hard to grasp. We use tiu' two words glibly enough, and in gen- eral with a fair notion of their meaning. When we talk of Science, we tiiink perhaps of the work of Darwin or Huxley, who were bidlngists; and when we talk of Art we may have in mind Velas(juez or Kcmbrandt, wlii> were jiainters. And Biology and i'ainting ai-e very typical ex- amjiles, one of a M'ieiii'e and the other of an art. Foi- Biolugy in itself implies merely knowledge; biologi(."d facts and theoi'ies may lie ajiplied to many useful ends, but in itself Biology is a system of knowledge. Now a s\>tein of knowledge is the vv'iy thing that a jiaiuter usiuillv hii-ks; he lan paint a jiicture, but he can rarely tell you just how he did it. He lias system.- of I'er-peetive, Auatinny, (Jorn- jiosition, perhaps; but with all the-e there is always miic'h ' By D. J. Hill. luiEnnuc AS A scj/:mk a^d as ,i,v aut. 3 that is iiiiexplaiiiable in his work. Art, tlieu, is not a matter of knowledtro alone, nor even mainly elf ehiefly aliout doing, caring fur knowledge, not for itself, but only in so far as is iieressarv t(.i liave the thing done well. Bearing this distinction in mind, then, we can see that Rhetoric may, if we clniose, be regarded as a Science. Wo may study good writing just as we ^tlldy plants or animals or sicines or anything else. But as far as the science is con- cerned, we go no farther. The botanist knows a good deal about plants, but he could never make one. Xnr could the zoologist or geologist make an animal or a stone. In like manner he wiio regards lihctorii- as a science oidy, is not nece-sarily able to write well, (i 1 writing interests him and he studies it ; he does not ]iretend to l)e a writer himself. It is a frequent slur on critics that they are men who could not tlieniselves attain eminence in the art for which they pr<]fess to lay down the law. But there is a weak point here: a man may reasonably enough know a great deal about a thing and never be able to make the thiiiL'' he knows about. In other words. Science doi^s not necessarily imply skillful doing; as Science, it cuncerns itself with knowledge alone." I tliink, how I'vcr. tliat we sliould agree tliat such a science is hardly our first aim in studying Rhetoric. We want to write. K\eryl)ody, nowadays, wants to be uiAv to write easilv and well. Klfective disconrsi' (that's a tei'hnical ' It iloHs not follow that the scientist tun iimy not liinc his own art. Wholly B.siili- from tlic knowliilfri' accjuinil, one iiiny attain a very great skill in handlinfr tlic- inatcjiaN. lOvm in iiiallicinatiis, iiiire srinnrc as it is, tlii-ic is tlic art of solvinf; problems ilistimt from llin knowlccl^,'!' of tlie proljlems solvcil. .\inl i-M-ry SiiiTilist who is not content to rest u|)on what ha.s been d-'nc for )iim liy others niiisl lit some i\c<^ri-i- be skilled in the .\\! of Disc-over!ii(,' 'rrulli. ■i coysTRvrriVE hiietoric. nunn- for '^coi] writing) is prized everywhere, ami l\v ovcrv- 1)0(1 V. That is what wo want, in other words, not so much the Science us the Art of Khetoric. If, then, wo ari' to pursue the Art of Rlictorii', we sliall prohuljlv ilo well to pmcoeil ai'cnnlitit: to thp method of tlie othei- arts. And what is that method ? Why, in a few words, it is a certain amount of principle and a ^reat deal of jirac'tiri.'. Wo shall find, if we think over the i|uestioii, t-hat some arts reijuire more so-called priiicij)lf than others. No one succooils at the Art of Civil En£;ineorinij without a \cry thorouirh knowlotlfro of sovenjl sciences. Xo one undertakes the .Vrt of Sculjilurc wi'lhoiit carefid stndv and knowledire of the human fifrurc. So is it with most of the llii;hci- .Vrts. If wo recognize such arts as the ton- sorial art or the art of sclf-ilcrcnce, wo recognize also that one need not lay wvy much stress mi the principles in (|iios- tion. In other woi'ds, we nia\' sav (with some exceptions) that the higher tlie art the more knowledge of the princi()le re(|uired. Aiid what is this /iri/ni/i/r, as we have loosoh' called it, hut a name for some branch iff science':' The connection hetween .\rt and Scioni-o is well stated Tiy Mill: '■ Now the imperative mood is the charai'toristic of ai'l, as distinguishi'd from ■science. \\'hatcver sjieaks in r\de> aiul precepts, not in a<>ei tiui?;, rospocting mattei's of fad, is art." (/>"///'■, bk. vi., ch. xii., S 1.) "The I'casons . . of any ride of art can W no othei- than the tJieorcins of the correspond ini: si'icMco." (Idii/., S 'i.) In all the higher and finer arts we must have knowled;,'o, ami a goo practice is necessary if we would excel. The amount of (iractici' jjiven by any college course is small. If tln^ exercises in this book are followed out co'iscientiously, the student will write ))erlia]is 1211,000 words. Any one who would uciiuire a good style, must write as much as that in a mouth, and so on every month I'nr a good while, lu other words, no culU-ge course will give much more, even in the way of practice, than an idea of how to prucecil. .\ student of painting will work sis or fight hours a day for four years, at the least. But of course writing conies more by nature, a^ Dogberry says, 2. The Critical and the Constructive Methods of Study- ing Rhetoric. JIuving taken cuir part, then, lot us hold to it. Wu want to learu to write well. We ;-ee that this is not the chief aim of the .^tudy of Tihotr.rie as a Science. Siirh a Ehetoric will teach tis to kiidw good writing, hut we want to write. We ree(i<:nize tliat sucli a Ehetoric niav l)e a valuahle university discipline, that it may \>v au exct'llent means of culture, that it may very greatly increase i>ur en- joyment of what is already written. But those things are not what we are now aimiiiL' at. Further, we recognize, too. tliat such a Klietoric may lie necessary to an ac()uire- ment of the ait of writing well. In so far as it is necessary, then, we sliall follow it; not for itself, however, but in so far only a- it leails us to the attainment of our present pur- pose. And we have now to consider how far it is neccssarv ; in other wonls, we must ask ourselves what nietliod should we pursue to master our art. If we consider t)ie metliods whicli arc at present in favor, in most quarters, we shall sec that they are largely critical in character. liitlVi'ent tcacjiers of Engli>h coinjiosition pui'sue different methods, but the follfiwiiig types will rep- resent most of tlio>e now in u.se. Vrw teachers follow one of these metliods alone; they usually ajipear in differing combinations. I. The study of Rhetoric a.s a Scienr-e: that is, the study of classified generalizations of the usage of good autliors, and of whatever priiir-iples sceiii to obtain in the iiiatlei'. 6 ciiysrnrcTivE uiiethric. II. The stnily of the works of good uutliors and the imi- tation of them. III. The con-ection of erroneous -n-riting done by othei-s. IV. The writing of exercises to lie eorreeted by an in- strui'tor and rewritten by tlie author. Of all tliese you will oliserve that the basis is critical. If carefully fnllowed such sttuly and teacliing'' shrmld enable you to consider what you haye written and to correct it. K}- constant correction and avoiilance of error, your style should be gradually purged, it should becouie relined. The bad should disapjiear and you would replace it by the good. And if you ask how y(.iu are tn get ne\y and good ukmIcs of expression to replace the faulty metliods whii'h you reject, it may at once be said that such work is also to a certain degree constructive. We are very iniitatiyu in language. If we have more to do with good writing than with bad, our own writing will tend to better itself. But of all tliese methods the basis is critical. Tlic constructive part is, on the whole, unconscious, or, at least, unsystematic. Teacliers of other arts arc apt to lay more emphasis upon this constructive side. A singing-master is not content with criticising your whei'zy head-notes, noi' even with sending you to the concert or opera; he will tell yon as nearly as he can how to [iroduce g 1, strong chest-tones. A drawing-nuister will not content himself with cori'i'cting that crazy-looking face, nor does he merely tell you to go to the pii'ture-gallei-y ; he will make you jiractice drawing ears and eyes and ucjscs from the east bcfoiv he lets vou try to draw from nature at all. There is a certain analogy even with a teaclier (jf gymnastics. lie doesn't put yoii on the jiurallel bars and then tell _\oii when von have fallen oil. He gets up himself and shows you how to do sometliing easy. He makes you do a great many stupid and unin- teresting tilings before he encourages you to try the grape- vine. If, then, we can increase the constructive element in our MATTEli AyU MAXXER. 7 method, we shall probably find it an improvement. 'V\ww is certainly great advantage in having a good critic look over your work and say, " That's wrong." But it would be a saving if we didn't do things wrong more than was absolutely necessary. And indeed, to a good many students who sit down to the dreadful infliction of an essay, the question is not always, " IIow shall I do it right V " It is more apt to be, " IIow shall I do it at all ? " Sii the methdd that we want is one that must be as con- structive as possible. 'We want a teacher who will teach us how to do it, rather than one who tells us always how not to do it. Well, wc may want such a teacher, but of course the question is whether we can get one. It must be t-onfessed that we cannot get along entirely without critical work. The music-teacher, the painting- master, the gymnast, all have to do a great deal of correct- ing. Probably we shall not escape it. But there is some thing in understanding clearly what we want. We want such a method of learning to write good English as will build up rather than pull down. We want a teacher who will sav, " I>o it in just this way and you will have it pretty nearlv right."' If we can get as near as that we can put some heart into our work.' 3. Matter and Manner. Ourobject is to increase, even, perhaps, to cri.'utc, a power of ctfcctive expression. Of correct expre.'^sion, of course, that goes without saying. So we must be critical. But our chief aim, our first thought, is to build up, to enlarge, to strengthen. When we sav " a power of effective expression," what we have in mind is the aljility to write in such a way as to etfect our puriiose. The IIow to write is first in our minds. But, of course, wc find out at once that the What is as important as tlic How. It is ol' littk^ use being able to write well if we have nothing to say. • W'bocver Ijas followi-d tlji' most rcTcnl )>iil)li.sliinjr in Khctcirir does not norcl to Iji- told that tlie liest lixi books of tlie liisi lew years are strongly conbtiuctive in tendency. 8 roysTni'CTIVE RHETORIC. Tlu-.-e two things, the What aud the How, are oomiiioniy enough ealleil flatter and Manner, flatter is the subject, what you wTite about, what you have to say, your material. Manner is the treatment, how you write, how you say what vou liave in mind. If ymi do well, we may say, your style. The precise relation of these two things to each other offers the most diflicult problem in the si-ieiiee (if Khetorie. It is a question which has never yet been ad(.M|nately solved. Manv very excellent things have been said or written about it, but never yet has any theory been propounded which will explain all the difHculties that come up. Still, we all feel, probably, that there is some connection between the two. We all feel that it would be folly tn try to write without Cdusideriug carefully the nature, the requirement, of ottr thoughts. .\iid doubth'ss we all know l)y experience how painful it is to have good ideas and to be unable to find just the right form to exjiress them in. Broadly, we can see certain projirieties. It would be foiilish to write a busi- ness letter in a manner like that of Maeaulay. It would be foolish ti^ write an examination paper in a manner like that of Carlyle. AVe can see that there is some sort of con- nection between thought aud expression. But to state deliiiitcly the precise nature of tliat connection would be — eertaiidy at iireseut — a bit beyond us. To see clearly the difficulties in one's wav is the first step toward overcoming them, Su far in the world's history men have written excellently without knowing much about the connection between mutter and manner. 1'liev have not known exactly what the connection might be, but they have generally recognized that there was some connection. Let us follow their example, since we can do no better. In settling npon a method, then, we want to find one that will always recognize that what we say is in some \\'n\ connected with the way we shall say it. We want a metliod that will forget neither matter nor manner. Wa want a method which shall encourage and develop and enlarge our power of thought along with our power of style. PLAy OF ATTACK. 9 4. Plan of Attack. Xowsnppose ymi iisk ymirsclf, Wliat is tlie first thinir I iiood help about ? What will be ycmr answer? Is the thing ymi need most Words? Probably not: you have enongh for practieal jjiirposes. "^'on mav find out in time that your voeabulary is limited, but 1 do not believe that that idea icmies to one very eurlv in the business. Is the thing you want an idea of how to con- struct a Sentence? Not if you have been well trained in English grammar. You may not write the best kind of sentences, but some sort of sentence you can write so as to give a good notion of your meaning. Do you want to know how to Paragrajih correctly? The importance of jiara- graph structure is very great, but one is not apt to realize it at first. Do you want Figures of Sjieei-h ? If 1 am not mistaken you would be glad to consign all figures of speech to any distressing limbo that may come to mind — synec- doche, jiaralipsis, metaplior, prosoj)oi)eia, metonomy — the whole tribe of them. I may be wronu', but it seems to me, — in the light of my own experience of twenty years ago and of this very afternoon, — it seems to me that the first thing, the greatest difficnlty on beginning, is, IIow to get the ideas in order. How shall I get just the right things to say ? Read and study, observe and think. Get all ready to write, and that's the tlrst i)roblem, it seems to me. Not words at first, not senteijie-, nor paragraphs, nor even figures of speech. We don't think first of clearness or simplicitv or ease, or any of tliose things that are treated of in the book. We want to pick out just what to say and t(j get our ideas in right order to put on ]japer. If, here, we have not some little skill or srime little liil|), out rome the ideas, bad and good together, all in confusion and the result is depressing. Whether this be your first need or n,n, ri-p,-,tivel_v. PL.\y OF ATTACK. 11 at them as they group thoniselvt's tuircther ami refuse ti> be drawn apart, wi> shall see tliat they are ii\ fact little less than Paragraphs. And praetieally you niinlit as well ar- range your jiaiagraph-struetiire liel'ure you write the wurds down, for if your ideas lie rightly arranged the paragraphs are there, and you will make it easier for the reader if you indieate it in the conventional way. It will he easier for you, too, as you will find; but this is a later matter. Sd right after the study of Kinds of C'lmqicisitiim comes the study of the Paragraph. When ve onee begin with a good, clean piece of paper, our suhjert being carefully thought out and arranged and all ready to be si't right down, there may be sume doubt as t(i what I'ounsel is must necessary. The thing is to clothe flesh and blond upon the bare skeleton, to give fullness and substance to the mere topics nr headings of the outline. Of i-dui'se much suggests itself at once to every one, but it will be useful to have some Udtiim as to the different modes of presentation that have been common, and some of the dilfereut things that one must have in mind in fol- lowing them out, all of which matters may conveniently be included under the head of the paragraph. Probably no one does murh of any writing without be- coming aware that he has rather a limited vocabulary. \\v think of Sliake-peare and his traditional fifteei> thousand words. How excellent it would be to have so many. As a rule, most people are well content to look over what they have written, and, when they see a word that seems not quite right, they cross it out and put another one in its jilace. 15ut it would be better to have the right word from the first. Then, as a rule, one has some difiiculty, where a word seems eviileiitly wi'oiig, to think up precisely the right one. It \v(juld be a great gain if one had always at hand some half a dozen words to i-hofise fi-oiii. Now our method is constructive; it aims to enlarge and increase the power of expression: if there is any wa} to enlaige and 12 cuy.^TRurnvE niiKioiui: iiicreuse the Vdciiljiiliirv, that will be an importaut part of our work. We shall liiul, too. tliat tliis ]«rt of our study is not s(i disc-iiiiiiorteil with the nature of our thoujrlits as it seemed at first. Not with the main hloekint;' out of tlie sulijei-t, perhaps, or with the arranseiuent of jiarts. Hut the exaetncss of meanin;,' that ouirlit to follow our etfiirt, the nice diseriniinatiims, the tliinking preeisely in- stead of beiiit: satisfied with a blurred and eonfnsed ini- jiressidii — these thing's have a j^oikI deal of iMiuneetion witli our ways of thinking:, as with particular ideas. Sd we eann p.m., with last year's jiresidcnt in the chair. We al once ])i-nceeded to ballot, etc. "While the ballots wei-c being counted we whiled away the time by singing, etc." That is not a Description, but a Narration, for we are considering the meeting strictly as a succession of events.' (>]■ it may seem that we can consider a proposition either by Mxjjosition oi- bv Argu- ment. We may either explain its meaning or prove its truth. 15ut if wc Io(]k closely into the matter we shall see that if we treat a proposition by E.\])osition, we are reallv treating it as if it were a general term. Tims, suppose we take the statement. The nations of Europe have bene- fited to an incalculable degree hs Cliristianitv. The point might be aigued pro or con. But we mi^'Fit also assume the truth of the statement, as everybody would, and then ' Tlii,^ point is handled a little more at large in 16. d. THE Forn KIM)S OF CDMI'OSITIDN. 15 enliivue and :iiiiplit'y it, so that the full meaning; piil up in those few -words shall become ukut aiipaivut. Tliis might be done with' this proposition or with alnnxst any otliev; but where we do it we cease to regard the proposition as such: we regard it as, in tliis ease, a general term, i.e., In<'al- cnlable lx>netits of Christianity to the nations of Europe. That is a general term, rather more complicated than the general term Benefit, but a general term all the same, and as such to be handled by Kxposition.' Sd it may seem that some successions of events would be treated by Kxpci- sition. but that is only when such suct'cssions ccmstitulc a general idea, as for instance Typhoid I'V'ver, of whicli the exposition states the course of the disease. Or we may find something that is obviously emmgh an exposition and yet seems to have a particular thing for its subject, as when a zooh.igist describes some bird or beast which he has discovered, \\hich makes a new species perhaps, ('i'i.) There are cases where it nuiy seem that our definitions are incorrect, and yet if one examines each case carefully, it will imibably appear that there is sufficient I'eason in them to give real help in writing on the subject in f(uestion. Oui- present object is to kuuw how to handle the tii]ii<'s that may c<>iiie before us. Therefore, aceoi-ding to the nature of the topic do we call tlie mode of ti-eatmeut X.ir- ratioii or whatever else. I)oul>tless the iianies have not, as a rule, any so precise meaning; but it Avill be convenient for our purposes to write Narration instead of " the best way to write alxiut some particular thing viewed as a suc- cession of events " ; i)escii|]tion, iiisteail of " the besi way to write about some jiarticular thing not so viewed "; and so oil with the other kinds of i/omposition. One can always acce])t definitions, even wbeii not the liest, so far as any jnirticular treatment is concerned.* ' This jxiiiit i"- IjaniUwl u litllc jnon- at hirfrc in 24. ' Opinion is not (Icliiiitclv M-ttlecl as to jcisl what are the cliaraetcr- istics of the various Kinds of ( 'oinijosition. It; coy.'^rEuc'iivK rhetoric. Sciine wi-iters mention Persuasion as a kiiul nt composi- tion. But if ive base our division on the nature of tlie subject-matter Persuasion need not be mentioned, for it does not deal with any particuhir subject-matter, nor docs it follow any particular method. It is characterized defi- nitely by its aim; it is an effort to persuade. It does not api)ear that Persuasion is merely tlic persuailing a reader or hearer of the truth of a proposition. It would rather seem ti) be the recommendinfr to his interest of anything, whether an event, a person, an idea, or a truth. The division which includes Persuasion with the first four kinds of com- [losition is not made according to any fi.xed priiu'ipie, and the sjJecies are therefore not mutually exclusive, as the phrase is. In the division of I'liaracters in Sir Charles Grandison into Men, AVomen, and Italians, Ricjiardson gives a good example of a division not mutually exclusive, the last division belonging partly to the first division, partly to the second. The same thing nuiy be said of Per- suasion ; it is included in the other divisions. A persuasive discourse must be either narration, description, ex])osition, or argument. Its persuasive character is determined by characteristics wliolly dill'erent from those which would mark it as narrative, for instance, or deseri])tive. We may look in the same way at some other Kinds of Composition sometimes mentioned, as Criticism, Letter-writing, and so on. They are divisions made on a basis diU'erent from that of our lucseiit division, and so need not be considered just now. We will, therefore, hold to the division into four kinds of comjiosition, and emleavor to detei'mine the nature of each kind and its appropriate method. The present part will treat of the first three kinds only; the study of Argument may conveniently be delayed for a while. EXERCISES. Of each of the topics below, consider whether it is a particular term, a general term, or a iimpcsition. Then think whether it will be lifst to treat it as it stands, or whether it will be more sensible to yARRA rrox. 17 throw it into a differeut form, each be treated ? By what uiiid of composition should 1. Autumn Weather. 2. The Presidential Election of 1870. 3. The Ocean (ireyhound. 4. Ichabod Crane's Ride. 5. The Typical American. 6. Protection [or Free Trade] must be a Benedt to any N.ition. 7. The Necessity of an Educa- tion. 8. Faneuil Hall. 9. .\ dams and Jefferson. 10. Braddock's Defeat. 11. Ethan Allen at Ticonde- roga. 1'- A Midsummer Ramble. 13. More and more attention is coming to bp paid to the Study of Modern Lan- gua>:es. U. JoLd BuU. 15. Should the Racing of Oci-nn Steamers be prohibited liy Law? 16. The Oratory of Burke. 17. A University should permit perfect freedom of teach- ing to its Professors. 18. The Eloquence of Revolution- ary Periods. 19. The Earlier Life of t^old- smith. 20. Joseph White was murdered by John Francis Knapp. 21. Our Debt to Shakespeare. 22. The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. 23. The invention of the Steam- engine has revolutionized Commerce and Manufac- ture. 24. The Prejudices of Dr. John- son. 25. The Decay of Political Hon- esty in Republics. I. ]SrARR.\TIOX. 6. General Definition. Vou will ImrJly require any more formal or exait definition of Narration. I have already spoken of it as the account of some particular thing which not only can be, but is, regarded as a succession of events. You liavc, then, alreacij' a notion of what is meant hy tnc term ■vviiiclj you may render more definite and ])recise hy the following consideration.s on the nature of Narration and its method. A. Till': XATrHE OF NARRATION. 7. Narration and Description the Simpler Kinds of Com- Is coysriiUcriVE riietoiuc. position. Perhaps one of the first remarks about Xarration would be that it is a verv easy and natural fnrm of dis- course; in fact, the most simple and easy. It has, indeed, been pointed out that Xairation and Description are the two kinds of composition which occur first to the human mind," whether we think of the growth of the individual or of the race. The comparison between children and sava!::es has (iften been made, and it would seem that we have here a case in point. The telling abi)ut Sdmething that has been done or about soini' particular tiling that one lias seen, — these are certainly far more likely tn be attem])ted by children nr savages than the exposition of a general term or the proof of a proposition. The very conception of general ideas is not among the lirst stages of human consciousness, and E.xposition deals entirely with general ideas, while .\r- gumentation has much to do with them. I'xilh indeed may concern particulars (23, Si), but they deal with particulars only on the basis of their relation to general ideas. The point is, in itself, not a very ini]iortant one, but it is well enough to have it in mind. It is for this reason, I su])pose, that Narration and Description are held to be the easier modes of eoinj)o>ition, and usually ci)nsidci'e(l lirst. We may note further, indeetl, that an order somewhat more logical tlum the one we are tollnwing would probably plax'c Description before Xarration. One must first know some- thing of the nature of a jiartii'ular thing bcfoi-e one knows what it does, .lust so does Exposition jireccde Argument. ' Xarration, I suppose, even before Hescription. .Note, in tin' fol- Iciwiiin; letter by a young friend, the SLi]icric)rity of the narration to the description and the greater quantity of it ; My dear .1i.>sie ; We yot to New York yesterday. We spent one day in C'hica^^o, tlic next at Niagara Falls. We saw the burning spriiitr. etr. Wc are going to the flower-show to-day and to the hor-~e show next uei-U. The Waldorf is a beautiful [sic]. I have a souvenir spoon for vou. * * * t'f. also the books written by children, of which a characteristic exam|)le may be found in Huskin's Prattrita, ch. iii. yAUUATIoX ilOUE SUITED To LAyaVACE. 19 For our purpose, -however, Xarration oonies lirst, l)eeausu it is practically the easiest to make a beginning; with, and be- cause we shall understand Description the better by its aid. We are not sticking too closely to the scientific analysis, you will remember; we want to follow the method which will enable us to attain our art best. But, of course, we want to understand the scientific method as well, even if we do not follow it. EXEHCISES. See exercises on p. 21. 8. Narration More Readily Expressed in Language than Description. Somewhat more important than our last consideration is the fact that Xarration is a kind of com- position more suited to the character of Language than Description. Or, to put it the other way, language is better adapted to the requirements of Xarration than to those of Description. This has been understood well enough by most writers on the matter, but probably the classic treatment of the subject, the one best known, by name at least, is that in the Laokoon of Lessin^'. In this famous book Lessing considereil the difference in character between Painting and Pfietry. But as he said very little of Poetry which does not refer quite as well to Prose, we may consider his remarks to have been on expression by Language as opposed to expression by Painting or Sculpture. The point is this: Xarration has to deal with a sequence of events. ]-]ven a short incident coiisists of minor e\ents which follow each other. One character of any subjei't for Xari-ation is the Time-elenient. Now the 'i'inie-el<'nieiit is also characteristic of laii;.nia;,'c; just as one event follows another, so does one word follow anotlier, and (Jiie seiilenci', and so on. AVe can get near the succession of events liv the succession of our words, our sentences, and our ])ai'a- graphs. It is true that we cannot always strike an exaci 20 COXSTRUCTIVE RHETORIC. conciirdaiue hctween events and words. " All these thintcs happened in t':ir sliorter time than it has taken to tell of them"; we very often read something like that. Wc could not make an exact agreement if we wanted to, and of course we dn not always want to, as when a story-teller passes over unimportant things with a word or two. But the important point is that in anything that may be nar- rated, as well as in language, the elements or parts follow in succession, to use an inaccurate form of expression, so that to some extent one may be substituted for the other. The subject-matter of Description, on the other hantl, is not conceived in terms of Time. It is frequently con- ceived in terms of Space; but in any event it deals, not with events which follow each other as words follow each other in language, but with characteristics which exist all at the same time. One ascends a mountain, for in- stance, by a series of efforts; by one step after another one obstacle is passed and another is encountered, one danger is escaped and another makes its appearance. One can tell of such things. " Wc started at sunrise; we walked rapidly through the pine forests; we passed over the gla- cier ; we hewed our way up a steep incline of ice ; we clam- bered up terrible crags. Atlast we reached the top." The ascent may have taken six hours, and here we have the account in six seconds: the relation of part to part is nearly right, although on so much smaller a scale. But once at tlie top, look at tlic view and try to describe it. Half a hundred things strike you at once; look but in one direc- tion and a multitude of details will come to your mind in a flash. If you try to write them down, you will see in a mi]iuto that you can do nothing to convey the true char- acter of tliat moment's impression. You can note down a number of facts that will be useful if you wish to make a map or a picture, but as to giving anybody more than the main impression of the view, that is well-nigh impo.ssible. For language is so fleeting. Long before you have told XAIiliATIOy MORE s CITED TO LAXnUACE. '21 me half the things you have seen, my mind has lost the beginning, and shortly becomes so coni'usoil that it takes no impression at all. You yourself actually saw a number of details at one moment. But if you want to reprosunt the details, there is a better medium than language. The development of this idea is of more importance in the treat- ment of Description than it is just here, so we will follow it no further at present. 9. EXERCISES. These two characteristics of Xarration, that it is the more natural kind of composition and more adapted to ex- pression in language, would perhaps tend to make one feel that it was a fairly easy business. Perhaps it is easier than the other kinds of composition; at least, its most obvious problems are easier of solution. But it must be confessed that the difficulties in the way of good Narration are quite considerable. This may be because they are difficulties of practice rather than of theory. Xarration is easy enough, but good narration is comparatively uncommon. Just think how the average man ruins and mangles a good story in the telling. The difficulties in the way come out gen- erally even in trying to tell some very simple thing. It is well at first to do as many short exercises in Xar- ration as time wdU allow. They should be about two or three hundred words long, and may be written either in the class-room or not. As to the correction of them, see p. viii: the pui-pose is to bring out the ideas of 7-12. ^ly own practice is to give out first the subject, An Iiicidoit, asking the class to select each some everyday experienee or something they have lately heard of, and to give an account of it. I ask them to prefix some title of their own, as for instance : The Colt in the Well. The War of the Roses : An Ar- A Good Samaritan. kansas Episode. An Undramatic Ending. Thirty-nine Christmas Days. A Latter day Brutus. A Cowboy Surprise-party. COXsTii I'CTIVE RlIETOmC. Tlie following are examples of titles which should, for one reason or another, be avoidecl : How I ; An Accident. (Conveys no idea.) Four were Hurt. (Brutal.) Learning to Ride a Birvcl (Commonplace.) jot it on till' Head. (Too coUoqui.il ) Oil (iiiy .Midway. (The rhyiiH' sounds ill.) A Startling Situation. (Tritely sensational.) ' The thinking up some partieular example of a rrcncral ioY^cYika All Iiiciilriit is u;oo(l practice. But in unler to show the ireneral eliaracter of sueli (.■xereises tile followiiisj; siip:2;estions may be useful: one or auotlier may probably be ii(la}ite(l to any one's experience or imagination. Some ol' them, toward the end, are more suggestions for titles tlian anythiiij; else. 1. A Sliating Adventure. 2. A Broken Bicycle. 3. An Experience witb a Tramp. 4. An Evening with tlie Barn- stormers. 5. Gi'tliii^' tUrouffh the Locks. 6. Bargaining for a Sup]>er. 7. The Only Time 1 ever Pawned my Wati'li. 8. An Kxritcment on a Cable I'ar. il Tlic Class Rush. 10. .\ ( 'uuntiTrcit Quarter. 1 L My First Interview with the President. Vi. Waiting for tin- Train. 13. Till' First Snowstorm this Vrar. 14. The Beginning of the Snow Blockade. 15. A Twenty. mile Ride for the 1 Victor. 10. Waiting for tlir >[orning. 17. The Last Iceboat ing of the Winter. 18. An Early .Morning's FLshing. 19. My Last Call at tlic Dentist's. 20. The Critical Innings. 21. (letting through the Rapids. 'i'i. A Lame Man who wasn't Lame. 2o. The Early Worm Caught tlie Fish. L'4. An All-niglit (Jrinil for Exa- mination. 2.J. L..oking for Covir in the Hail-~iiirin. RUEToniCM. PULWIPLES. 23 B. THE METHOD OF XARRATIOX. I. GEXERAL PRINCIPLKS AS APPLIED TO XAliKATION. 10. Rhetorical Principles. You are all of you, prob- ably, aware nf certain rhetorical priiu-iplos or rules or canons — they go by various names in various books — such as those of I'nity, Selection, Se(|uence, and the like. Xow these principles, though they may seem at first thdught to be somewhat teehnic-al or pedantic, are really mithing nf tlie sort. They are practically certain principles of common sense applied to the art of writing. They are of very broad application; it is not a paragraph only that may be considered with a view to Unity, Selection, and the rest ; not a paragraph only, nor a sentence only. They arc in fact not really rules of rhetoric more than of anything else. They are applicable to many other things in this world, as you will see as soon as you begin to consider them. The Canon of Unity is to the etfect that of the many things which might be said, only those should be said which jiertain especially to the matter in hand. This, in common language, is, " Attend to business." The ( 'anon of Selection is that out of those things that have some connection with the subject only those should lie said which bring out most strongly your idea. In other words, " I)on't try to put a sipiarc peg into a round hole." The Canon of Sequence states the necessity of oliserving the riurht order of details or statements. That is to say, " Put the horse before the cart." The < anon of Proportion is that important things should be brought out strongly by the mode of luniposition, while unimportant thinifs should remain, as it weri', in the back- ground. Or, " Don't make mou]itai]is out of molehills," or vice vcraa. The Canon of \'aricty is to tln^ elTcct that any jiarticular habit of style liecoujes tircome if rc|ieate(l too constantly, short sentences, for iustauee, any oin' kind of ligure, any 1'4 COXSTnCCTIVE RUETURIC. form of paraijraph-structnre. That is, " There may be too much even of a goi iil thing. ' ' To tell the truth, these Canons of Ehetoric have not much more to do with Rhetoric than with anything else. The reason why they are put into treatises on the subject is that jiL'iiplt' are apt to have a curious iilra about Ulietdrie (as about some other matters), namely, that it is well enough to leavu behind the cautions of common sense when you embark upon it. It almost si'cnis as if it were Hie theory that Rlietoric, which for us at least is no more tliuu the art of writing well, is relieved of the usual ]>ressure of common sense in favor of strange ideals of its own, which no one but a Rlietorician (a species of harmlessly insane person) can apprec-iate. That is one reason wliy we put these rules into our books on Rhetoric, but another is that their bearing is not in all cases obvious. So for a word as to their application here. Let us begin with an object lesson. I have here the account of a college football game. I saw the game myself, and in the course of the evening saw the cdllegt' paper which told about it. With great euter[)rise, the editors had got out their paper within an hour or so of the ending of the game, which explains the nature of their account of it. It was of course written hastily, and indeed the account of the second half was nothing more than what could be jotted down from moment to moment us the gaiiie pro- gressed. You have only two extracts, but they are per- fectly fair samples, although I liave changed the names. " Ridgelield got the ball on do\vns, but lost it imme- diately. " Jervis gained 25 yards on a good run. A line smash gained .5 yards. A centre play won .57 — then 5 yards more. We rapidly traveled toward the west goal, but lost on downs. " The ran tackled Ridgefield poorly and dragged a man 3 yards the wrong way. RHETORICAL PRISCIPLES. 25 '' Ridgefield played right end witli a '2-yard gain and then left and lost the ball, but got it again after a line smash. " Left-end play, gained nothing, but around the other end brought in ■■20 yards for Kidgefield. They tumbled and Hardy took the pigskin across the field for a touchdown. Garnsey missed goal. [Score 4 to 0.] " The ball was put into play with a gain of 30 yards for Kidgefield. " Lakewood kicked from line with a gain of 20 yards, etc." " 10 yards of goal. Ridgefield gets ball and kicks to 40- yard line. Lakewood's ball. Right end five yards. Jlar- tin, line smash "2 vards. Martin, left end, 5 yards. East, line, one yard. Coi^ley, 4 yards. Witliin 1"2 yards of goal line. Line tried again, no gain. Ridgefield punts to 30-yard line. Copley got ball. Left end, no gain. Centre, no gain. Line "2 yards. Ridgefield's ball. Line for 5 yards. Centre, no gain. Line 1 yard loss. Punt, with 30 yards. Lakewood's ball. Right end 2 yards. Left end b yards. Right end, no gain. ' ' Left end no gain. Ganisey left end but lost ball, and Martin got it for touchdown. Goal. Score 14 to 12." Xow of course we all recognize this as rather poor work. What possible end does it attain except the filling so much space? It does not ;.'ive any idea of the game to those who did not see it, except as to the score and the way it was made up. Xor does it give any idea of the game to tlirtso who did see it. It happened that the game was a very ex- citing one; the two teams were evenly matched, and the wetness of the ground made many accidents. The touch- downs were made alteniati'ly, s(j that to the vin-y last minute it was anybody's game. The two extracts f|uotu(I are de- scriptions of the two most exciting moments. The first was one of tho.se excejitional long runs with a clear field, like that of Lamar in the Princeton- ^'ale game uf iss!). The ball being well down the field and in tlic enemy's 20 coy.^TnccrivE rhetoric. hiinds:, one of the ends sprang upon a fumble and started for the other aoal ungtiarded, with the three backs after him. Any one who has seen such a run knows the kind of feeling it gives. And yet our reporter makes no special remark on the subject; he merely calls the ball " the pig- skin." The second extract is of much the same character. The score was \i — 8 in favor of Eidgefield, the time nearly up and Lakewood had pushed the ball within the twenty-five- yard line. The ground was very muddy. Finally Ridije- field got the ball on the twenty-five-yard line. There were three minutes more to play. Lakewood's full-back got through the line, picked up a fumble, and was off un- guarded with all Ridgefield close upon him. He was tackled just before the goal line and brought down. Hut he was lucky enough to pass the ball to one of his own side, who ran around under the goal posts. A jjoal was kicked and Lakewood won the game with a minute to spare. Of all of which we get no notion from our reporter. Such criticism could be made by any one who had seen the game. Put into the language of a text-book on Iiliet- oric, it would be to the etfeet that the writer had disre- garded the canons of Proportion aiul Selection and also, it nuiy be added, as concerns the second extract, that of \'ane- ty. Unity and Sei|uence our author has observed; it was hardly possible to yiolate them. This brings us to the especial bearing of our example. The most important canons from the standj)oint of Narra- tion are thdse of Selection and I'roportion. The othei-s have their application, but they are of less importance. One must bear in mind the matter of Se(|nence, but in Xarratiun the succession of details is gejierally in a great degree determined by the actual or imagined order of the events descrihcil. (.)ne mu»t also bear in mind the canon of Unity, but the temptation to insert irrelevant njatter is not so irreat in Narration as in some other kinds of writing. Selection and I'rojKjrtion are of the mo.-t in][iortance. SELHCTIOX—TIIK C.iyo.X oF PUdI'oUIIOX. 27 11. Selection, indeed, is alwMvs impdrtiint. It is also a ureiit I'Muse of despnir to tlie teacher of KnuH.'^li eninpdsition. It is so luird to know just wluit ideas are in a student's liead, so as to help him to piik out the right ones. 1 am uot going to saj- am'thing more here about Selection, for it depends more upon natural cleverness than on anythini; else. At au)' rate. Selection in Narration hardly lends itself readily to constructive treatment. Later on (pp. 4)1, 70) will be found certain exercises which may tend to de- velop and cultivate powers of right selection in special directions. The best I can do at jiresent is to call your attention to the importance of the matter. You want to practice and practice on just this point, the jiickiuij (Jut the right things to say, from the many things which might be said with no especial efEect. EXERCISES. Tlie Exercises in simple narration (!)i should be continued, and as mucli attention as |iossibl<' paid to the .'..election of good points. The ccjrrection will proljuljly bring up matters which will come to discus- sion later. 12. The Canon of Proportion is rather more easily handled. It will lead us to make the important things stand out, to set them apart from the commonjilace, to iDiirentrate the reader's attention upon them. You can manage the matter in different ways. You would naturally give more space to impcirtant matters. You miglit put striking bits into separate paragraphs. \i>\\ might put ]ia-sagc- that you want especially vivid into the present ten.se. You could perhajis mark the efl'ective tilings by uncommon forms of eoiiiiiositiou, by epigram, for instance, or by a balanced sentence. (Jrie I'atber cui'ious way, used by Kuskin, among other people, is to insert a very short jiaragraph Ijcfore the important oiii', calling attention to it. For instance: " One word more," — Lrrhirfs on .t//, S ''■"'• " And now, but oni' word, before we entei' on our task. 28 CoysTRUCTIVE RIIETORIO. as to the way you must understand what I may endeavor to tell you. "— 7Ji(/. , § 3(;. There are other ways, too; one finds them out for one's self. It is well to avoid italics and exclamation-points, for they are conseerated by tradition to the use of schoolgirls.' Of course these devices may be abused; they may be used in such a way as to defeat their purpose. In French it is the short paragraph which loses force through too fre- quent occurrence. (See also p. lOG.) In English it is often the historical present, whieh has been so run into the ground that it has almost come to be a sure mark of an unskillful writer. These devices are effective only in so far as they are unusual. If all paragraphs are short, we hsivc, not vivacity, but monotony, just as we have in a book written wholly in the present tense. A speaker v\hen using a moderate tone may make a statement emphatic by speaking louder, but if he bellow all the time lie is only a bore. So with writing; if you keep up a continual excite- ment, your reader is no longer stimulated. Wlien we are used to the sound of a waterfall, it sends us to sleep. So you must remember that the canon of Proportion should lead you to make only the important things stand out, not to try to make everything stand out. EXERCISES. Something more may be done in practising the attainment of good Proportion than was the case with the Canon of Seltction. Taking such a subject as is given in 9 or 13, arrange it carefully, so that the unimportant parts will be lightly passed over, while the striking bits are handled at more length. Let a very short paragraph iirecede that which tells of the crisis. Let the interi-sting event be narrated in short, crisp sentences, the events of less character in sentences longer and less brilliant. Mm h must be left to the teacher in the way of suggestion, and yet the once putting in practice some device to secure good proportion may have a very good iffect upon the better students. ' Italics and capitals are often very properly used in text-books and the like to attract attention to points that mast be especially noted. Tllh: BE(IL\\f.\(;. i>0 11. MOKE PAKTICULAU ADVICE. 13. The Beginning, lluviiig in mind these cautions, and having made up our minds in a general way as to what ■we want to say, we might sit down with a good sliect of white paper and a new pen, and the only thing is to begin. The only question is how to begin ; once started we shall run along finely. Xow the most obvious counsel might seem to be. Begin at the Beginning. Curiously enough, tliis is not always the best advice. In tlie first place, it is not always the easiest matter to find the beginning. Old Dr. Prince, who had matchless opportunities for writing a history of ^Massachusetts, never got beyond the first six years, because he thought he had better begin witli the proceedings of our first parents in the tiarden of Eden. So he wrote a history of the world, concerning which he was not especially well informed, and left unwritten the history of Massachusetts, of which he knew more than any other man of his day. ^Vnd we all know the stock story of the Cierman professor who spent years and years upon a Life of Christ and left it finally unfinished, having brought the narrative down to the year 5 B.C. Don't follow those sad examples. You may not be so successful as Dietrich Knickerbocker. /// incdias res (K/isfimi/s ibis, if one be allowed to jest with the Classics. Eemember how Homer begun the Iliad at the tenth year of the siege, how Virgil began the .i^ineid with the tempest, how Shake- -peare began Hamlet only a short time before the Prince of Denmark's death. There are innumerable examples, but I think tliat Buizae ofl'ers some of the most interesting. It seems to have been liis practice to fix upon some event that would seize the i-i'uder's attention. Then he would sometimes spend a third of his novel in bringing matters up to the starting-point. Sir Walter Seott, on the other hand, so often felt it n(>cessary to give so mueli pre- liminary information that it is usually some time befnre one gets into the story. Tlie most striking exaniiile, 30 CVys/IiCcJTVK RIIETOlilC. thoii^h hardly a fair one, is Wairrlcii. Browning begins right at the heart ui the matK-r (e.g., Fra Lippo Lij'jii) and often leaves yon to find out the things that went liofore as well as you can; but then he was much more interested in the people in the given situation, than he was in the action for its own sake. (II ten enimuh the thintrs which happened before the actual l)CL,annin.tj; form the main subject of iutei'est, although we may nut find them out till the very end. IInw would one iif the Slierlock Ilnhiies stories seem if we knew just what had happened before the beginning of the story ? The interest would be of a wholly different character. "We sliould a]ii)rei:iate some things more, but we should lose the particular flavor which such narration can give, and nothing else. EXEKCISES. Suppose yoa are writing a sbort sketch on simic one of tlie sut>jects below. Familiarize yourM.-lf with the subji-ct-matti-r and then plan your account of it, say of ten or twt-lvc paires. Note down the topics to be taken up, and then write your Ijejfinning. Do a couple of hundred words and then try another. It is well to do a,s many as you can : one can practice beginning a ^tnry without finishing it, or one can practice writing titles witbcmt doing a word iiinrc, just as a runner practices starts without running his whole distance. 1. Lincoln's First Election to the Presidency. 3. N'a|ic)leoii's Escape fnimEllm. 3. ( ':esar's First ('iiui|ialgn in Britain. 4. Sir Kiehard Grenville's Fight in the " lievenfre." 5. Braddock's Defeat. G. The l.iiiidiiig on Plymouth Kock. Paul Kevere's Itide. Tlie Death of Nelson. The Chicago Hailroad Strike of 1SHI4 The Panic of ISl):), The Xnftbampton Bank Rob- bery (or any other such event). The Battle with the Armada. 13. Priam's Vi.sit to Achilles. Iliad. Bk. XX I V. 10. 11. 12 TUE srccKssluX i)F KVKM'S. 19. The DiMipprarunii' of \\'ak('- lii'ld. Tirb-i-lnld Tahs, vol. i. •JO. Till' Funeral of Eliiiiio. LlijUn of the King. 21. The Flight of tbe Duchess. Ihaiiiiitic ll'imnnas. •:-2. The Court Soeiie in 77/.; Mer- climit of Venice, iv. 1. 23. Satan's Flight to the Earth. Paradise Lvat. Bks. i, ii. i4. Caesar's Uliost appears to Brutus. Julius Cas.n; iv. 3. l.j. Harry Warrington jumps for the Honor of Virginia. 77(( ]'irinnians. ch. 'J6. 16. The Rescue of Kebecca. loanlioe, ch. 43. 17. The Drowning of Ham Peg- gotty. Darid Copperjield, vol. iii. ch. 18. IS. Jeauie Deans' Visit to Queen Caroline. T/ie Heart of Mid- Lothian, vol. ii. ch. 37. XoTE. — These subjects are all talcen from history or literature, foi it would be hardly jiossible to refer to ether sequences of events which would answer the purpose in such a way as to be easily under- stood. But fictitious narratives may be made almost as good practice, or narratives of everyday life, as in the Exercises in 9. 14. The Succession of Events. Having once begun, it is perhaps easy enough to carry tilings ahead, ^^'e have iiuly to follow the order of events, one would say. This niay be the case in a sinijile narrative, bttt of course all narrative^ are not simple. A .simple narration has but one line of action, but we often euousV/(^v Murncr. ('haji- 33 COXSTRUCriVE JillETOKIG. ters I and II, concern Silas before the robbery ; Chapters III and IV concern Godfrey and Dunstan Cass; Chapter A' is the point at whicli the two lines of action cross. It wiU be observed that by the end of Chapter II the narra- tive interest in Silas has for the time faded out; things with him are going along monotonously, he has become a figure, not an actor. We are content to leave him for a time to turn to some other interest. Of course the story need not liave been told in this way; Chapter V might have come in the place of Chapter III. Then the situation would have been that Silas had been robbed by Someone, and the question would have been, By whom ? But this was not the interest in the robbery to Ccdrge Eliot. Her interest in it was as setting in motion a new train of cir- cumstances which aSected the future fortunes of Silas and Godfrey. Another example, in this case of the management of a minor line of action, is in whatever we learn before Chapter XII of .Molly Cass. It is very lightly suggested; .Mcilly herself only appears in Chapter XII, and then only for a little. 2. Especially in history may one study the manipulation of complicated narratives. Take for a short example the account of the Armada in Green: Hifitory of tlic EiujJish Pcnj,!,', II, WO-iiS. The first paragraph (p. 440) is on Philip of Spain : tlie affairs in France and Drake's expedition against Cadiz are mentioned as far as they atl'ected him. The next paragraph (p. 441) begins with the sailing of the Armada, but its cliief subject is the English prepara- tion: the army of Parma is brought to mind by eonqiaring his anticipations with the real facts. The next paragraph (p. 443), passing from Parma to the ^Vrmada, enables the author to speak of the Dutch, and brings the narrative to the meeting of the Spaniards and English. THE EXD. 33 Our attention is then concentrated upon the fight with the Armada and the flight northward. Tlie subsequent jiaragraphs are descriptive ratlier than narrative. • The interesting thing from our point of view is the con- stant effort to be at the point of greatest interest, and tlie arrangement of minor events according to the subject of most moment at the time. However you manage your different stories tliat are all to work together, indeed even if y(in have a perfectly simple subject, you will want to be careful about what is called ^lovement. Be sure that the story gets ahead somehow; do not dawdle while you give your opinions or speculations ; do not be led astray into episodes, do not be too explana- tory; pass over uninteresting matters as shortly as you can, so long as you do nut omit anything of importance; have 5-oar sentence-structure sufficiently varied, in length if in no other way, to do away with any effect of monotony. It is not easy to explain just what movement is or how it is to be attained, but we can all feel it in what we read, and still more can we feel the lack of it. 15. The End. One thing that we may say of the end of a narration is that one should have it in mind all through. Of course story-tellers do not always do that. Thackeray used to start out on a novel, which was to run in parts for two years, with very small notion as to how the story would turn out. But it will hardly be safe to assume that we can follow his example. The very lack of construction which is generally marked in Thackeray's novels was, we may believe, one of his devices for gaining realism. For us it will be better practice to try to gain constructive skill. If we once gain constructive skill, we shall be able to dis- pense with it whenever wo want to, and that with a sense of reserved power which has rather a good effect. So you had better keep your end in mind as you write; it will help you in the matter of Selection. You might even do well ;U CnysTIiVrTIVK nilETOIiW. to write the end lii-.-t,> except that it's not very e:iM- to join on neatly. An interesting point to you personally (unless you are very different from most students) will he that if you leave the end until you have written the rest, you will probably be somewhat tired by the time you have jrot to it, and will end up your work anyhow, so only you get it done. This is rather foolish, for the end is a very important part. If you are going to slur over anythiiij,', you had l)etter slur over something in the middle. The He<:iniiing serves to attract the reader's attention, to arouse his interest. The End makes the final impression. And this is the case in any piece of writing, whether narrative or not. EXERCISES. If there is time, the student can practice on the subjects in 13, writing the end instead of the beginning. He slumld try first merely to malie an ending which should not seem to be chopped off at ran- dom. Writing ends, however, is not such good practice as writing beginnings, for it is more artificial. At this point a narrative essay of some length (about ci^iht hundred words) should be written on subjects like those in 1.'! or 16, d. The student who desin-s examples of fjood narration will do wfli to consult Spcciiiuns of yurrnlion, chosen and edited by \V. T. Brewster. ' As Longfellow wrote the last canto of Eriiiigilinr before the three cantos that come before U. See his Journal for Jan. 14, 1H.17. IiKSCUlPTloX AMI XAlUiATliLX. 35 II. DHSCRIPTIOX. A. THE XATTRE OF DESCRIPTION. 16. Description and Narration. It ought now to l)e plain to us, if we have thought over carefully the points of the hist section, that Narration and Description are things very different in character. That one point, that Narra- tion liandles subjects whose jiarts present themselves to the mind one after another while Description handles those of which the parts present themselves to ns all at once, just this one point is enough to show us that the two are different kinds of composition. Tliey are different in na- ture and method, because they have to handle subjects which are different in character. a. But we often conu' upon something as we read which seems to us to be Xarration, and yet it seems to be ilescribing something. What would you caU that? Here is an ex- ample of what I mean : ■■ At last they came to an ojien drive or avenue of the forest where LTeat oaks were growing. Some distance up the avenue they saw a high park pale stretching iway on either hand, and in the centre of the drive were iron gates covered with gilt scrolls and letters. The Oourt Chap- lain pushed tlie gates open and they went in. Inside, the forest dnve was planted with young trees in triple I'ows. After walking for some distance they reai-hed another gate, similar to the first, but ]iroviiled with 'loges,' or guanl- rooms, on either side. Oiir or two soldiers were standing listlesslv about, but they took no heed. Here the dri\ c entered the palace gardens, laid out in grass 2>lots and stoiu^ terraces, and cros.sed liy lofty hedges which shut out the view. They approarlieil the long facade of a house wilh pointed roofs and green shutter blinds t,c) all the win- dows." Sliorthouse: '/'//r A////'- SrhmiJi/ifi-s/rr M((rl,\ eh. ii. [Parts of two paragraphs arc- here run together.] 3t'i COXSTRVCTirE lillETORIC. That would seem to be dcscriiition, and yet its parts evidently come to the attention, not all at one time, but in sequence. If yon try to think this matter out for yourself, as a man must think out everythin? that he really wants to make his own, you will, I think, see that this is practically a Description, because the parts of the object described did really exist all at one time. The reason that it looks to us like a Narrative is that the parts are presented to us in surcession. The frateway and the plantation, the gardens and the palace, these all existed at one time, and these make really the suliject of the extract, not the Little Sidiocil- master's walk from one place to the other. That walk was a sequence of events ; each part came into existence and then went out of existence as the next was comini; to tie. But the thing that that walk made him ae(|uaiiited with was not a sequence; each part was existing; all the time. The necessities ot' language compel us to arranj:e these parts, which really coexist, in some sequence; and what sei|\ience more convenient than that of the mder in which they eome to our knowledge, tion of the kind that follows, where the observer himself remains in one place and describes the changing and shifting circumstances. " The sun lingered, while up tlie arch of the opjiosite heavens the moon, \nthin one day of being full, seemed hastening to our aid. She finally appeared exactly behind the peak of the Eympfischhom, the cone of the mountain being projected for a short time as a triangle on the lunar disc. Only for a short time, however; the silver sphere soon cleared the mountain, and bore away through the tinted sky. The motion was quite visible, and resembled that of a vast balloon. As the day approached its end the scene assumed the most sublime aspect. All the lower portions of the mountain were deeply shaded, while the loftiest peaks, ranged upon a semicircle, were fully ex- posed to the sinking sun. They seemed pyramids of scil id fire, while here and there long stretches of crimson light drawn over the higher snow-fields linked the summits to- gether. An intensely illuminated geranium ll(]\vcr seems to swim in its own colors which apparently suiTounds I lie petals like a layer, and defeats by its lustre any attempt of the eye to seize upon the sharp outline of its leaves. A similar effect was here observed upon the mdiinlains; tlie glory did not seem to eome from them alone, Init sei'inecl also effluent from the air around lliem. As the evening 3s luysTiiucTivi: liUEroma advanced, the eastern heavens low down assumed a deep puiple line, above which, and blendinsr with it by in- finitesimal gradations, was a belt of red, and over this again zones of orange and violet. . . . After sunset the ptirple . . . changed to a deep neutral tint, and against tlie faded red which spread above it the sun-forsaken moun- tains laid their cold and ghastly heads. The ruddy color vanished more and more; the stars strengthened in lustre, until finally the moon and they held uiulisputed pcissessiou of the sky."' — Tyndall: IIcmi:y of £.rcrcise in ihe Aljis, ch. ix. This I should say would clearly be Desi'ription and not Narration; whether to call it a innipound description or a ilescrijition of changing phenomena is largely a verbal question. (/. There remains still another point, — I have already called your attention to it on p. 1-1, — tbe topic which may be treated either by Narration or l)eseription. lint this, as we have seen, is not really an exci'plion to our princi]ile. ^V thing which is really a succession of parts may be considered without any reference to that succes- sion. Tlie i;c\(ilutionary War, for instance: one might narrate the events of wbicii it is made uji, or else one might think of what sort of thing it was avs a whole, witliout any special ivgard to tlie time see.siription by com- paring it with Narration. We have seen that i)cs( ri]]tion has the iircjblum of hanilling something which picsents lis with a number of impres.sions all at once, a diffieiiit prob- lem for language, which can ileal with t)ut one tiling at a time. We shall get some further light on our .subject if we compare Description with another kind of (■otii[io,sition 4<) COSSTRUCTIVE RUETORIC. that resembles it in some respects, namely, Exposition. Let ns again begin with some examples. " In all the universities of Europe, excepting our own, the languages and sciences are distrilnitccl among a nu- merous list of effective professors: the stiuleiits, jiccoi'ding to thiir tastes, their calling, and their diligence, apply tlu'iiiselves to the proper masters; and in the annual repetition of public and private lectures these masters are assiduously employed. Our curiosity may inquire what number of professors has been instituted at Oxford? (for I shall now confine myself to my own university;) by whom are they appointed, and what m;iy be the probable cliances of merit or incapacity; how many are stationed to the three faculties, and how many are left for the liberal arts? what is the form, and what the substance, of their lessons? But all these questions are silenced by one short and singu- lar answer, 'That in the university of Oxford the ffreater part X. 45 to do, all works of art, and the fairor forms of liuman life, as powers or forces, producing sensations, cacli of a more or less peculiar and unique kind. " We might as -well regard everything that we have to deal with in writing as being " more or less peculiar and unique," if we can only find out just how. "We shall get to enjoy everything the more tlioroughly the better we find oui-selves able to discriminate between it and everything else. " But," you will perhaps say, " I don't always want to know the peculiar and unique. I may know that; I may want to know the generalities about some particular thing. Take Queen Elizabeth: I know the unique thing about her; slit- reigned over England from 1558 to lOUo. That iden- tifies her; no one else did that. What I want to know is, What were her human (ptalities ? " This is very just. Wiien we read the description of the character of some- body — Queen Elizabeth, since we are speaking of her ' — we hear of qualities which the individual shared with other people. Elizabeth was a courtier, and a scholar as well ; so were many others of her day. She was resolute and many- siiled and popular and lonely. These are not peculiarly indiviilual qualities, they are, on the whole, common. Wlierein, then, lay Elizaljetli's individuality ? In the union of them all, I suppose, in the person of the Queen of England, daughter of Henry VIII. and Anne Holeyn. And that union is as much a particularization as is the fact that she reigned such and such a time. It is always getting at something particular, something unique, is De- scription, but that something unique may be of difiering kind. It will be well, however, to look at this matter a little more closely. Are we in Description to mention only those things which are absolutely particular V That is certainly hardly possible in some cases. And it will jirobably at ' By (ireen, for instance, in his Sliorter HiaUiry, ch. VII. sec. iii. u; ( -oysTi; ucri ve nnETORic. onto occur to vou that n,:my descriptions of particular tliiiiL's contain mention of points that are by no means particular to the sulijeet in hand.' Suppose I say, " It was one of those bhie misty mornings not uncommon in Octul)er. but I shall ahvays remember it from the solemn stillness in which everybody asked news of the President." Now certainly the first thing said there of that morning is nut particular. ]'>y its very form it might have been saiil of nniny otlier mornings. < ir if one sliould say, " The trees stmid bare and gaunt and black in the driving rain, waving their bi-anches in fantastic dread of some evil to come." There too the tirst things said are not particular, but might apply to many trees. This ubjection is quite just, and brings forward another thing about Deserijition that will be of value to us. Those remarks criticised are nut particular, they are general. And yet they nnduubtedly have their place in the descri])- timi. What is that place? Why, those things serve to classify. 'I'liey serve tn place the subject of which we are speaking in smne well-known class: when that is done, we ca]i niite the particular. First we put onr subject into the cla>s of " those blue misty iiKu-uings not uncdiumon in Oc- tober," or, in case of the trees, into such as are " bare, gaunt, and black in the driving rain." That gives us .■some- thing of an idea to start with, and we go on to make the idea more dclinite. Sonietiiucs we can do our elassilication by a single word: as by the word tramp we understand a person who is rag^'ed and dirty, who hasn't eaten anything for three days, and who is an.\ir>us for work. In such ea.dc. At till- same time I would ail vi.-e any cue who likes to deal with a ix.iod proMem, to consider the matter in relation, .say, to the discussion ef lle^'crs philosophy in Koyce, .'Spirit uf Muihrn P/tUot- ophtj. lect. VII. sec. iii. Tin-: I'Km-HssKs uF ni-:s(i;ii'Tioy. 47 say smiiotliing of the class t(i briiii; it to tho reader's mind. Those remarks which serve to riassii'y may not seem to be Doseriiition in tlie strict sense of the word, but we see tliat the}' are pi-aetieally necessary. A curious analo.iry which may serve as ilhistration may he oliserved in tlie method of identifying criminals in use liy the Parisian Police.' This system jn-ovides for the measurement of criminals according to certain princijiles, and for the noting all private marks, such as moles, scars, tattooings, and so on. It is evident that these latter marks are the truly de- scriptive ones. If von find a man with a mole to tlie left of the larynx, the sear for operation for croup just below it, a deep scar an inch long lying oliliquely on the right collar bone, and a particular tattoo mark on his left wrist, it is certain that he is the same man on whom those marks were recorded twenty years before. There you have the police ilesoi'iption. But the question, when you have a criminal, is. How to get at the right description? There are over a hundred thousand such desi riptions in the An- thropometi-ic IJureau at Paris or at Scotland Yard in Lon- don. The man arrested to-day may have left his descrip- tion among them, hut how are you going to find it ? The descriptions must be classified somehow, if you are to be able easily to get at any desired description in a hurry. As a means for this classifying serve the measure- ments. The length of head is one means of division, the width of head of subdivisicm under that, then the length of the left middle finger, and so on; so hy i\\v time you get to the last measurement, the width of the rijrlit ear, you have reaciied a i-iass that is comparatively small. Thei-e may be only half a dozen men out of the huiidri'd thousand whose measuremenls' practically coincide. Among these half dozen you can easily enough find your man by the ' r)fscrilicrl in tlie Kiiutrenth Cutnry for Sept. Islil. pp. ;!.-,(!- ;!7(). ' Tliey are almost all of bony parts which are constant in uduUs. 4s voysmrcTivE RnEToma private marks. What this system — Bertillonage it is called — means, is, first C'lassitieation, and then IH'seription. We may learn sometliiiig from it. A\'e now begin to understand what we are doing when we describe. We are talkinsj about some particular thing and We are saying particular things abont it. That is tlie real Description. F'urthermore, we say things that might be said, also, (jf some other subject, but those are only lireliminary. '!' kdli'j'i ; oOO ft. above the sea, lo-T.i ft. above the lake), the second city and larLrest railway- centre of the United States, is situated on the w. slicirf nf Lake Mi-higan. at the mouths of the rivers '/((>,/,/'/ anil Cahnnff. It is s.50 rn. from Baltimore, the nearest jioint on the Atlantic, and "2415 m. from San Frami^ro. It LMjvers an area of 1^1 >i[. m. (more than any ■itlu r city in the country), and in IS'.iii contained l.d'.t'.i.S.iu inhab., an increase of 1 1 s per cent in ten years, and actually a- well as relatively greater than that of Lomlnn proper ii: the same period. The city has a water front on the lakf of ■^•2 ni. and is dividerire on the X. side. It i- c-timated that not more than :iO(i.(M"i of the inhabitants are native Americans; nearly 4im*,(MMi are (iermans, -^-Jo.ikk) are Irish, '.Ki.dUU Scandinavians, •iu.iMiu Polrs, .iii.iHid Bohemians, and 4.").dn() KiiLdish ami S. Mttish."" — Baedeki-r".- Inilnl S/n/rf:, p. -^si. " Few Knglishmen can realize wliat the sctiie of the riotiuir in ChiraiM is like, for an Englishman who ha- never crossed the Atlantic lias never seen anv city like f'hi- (\iL'o. Conceive an enormous level nirion, liouTideil on one side by the great lake and stragL'ling away in all other directions into the prairie (hi tlii- plain live l.fiud.oud jieople. Railroads intersect it everywhere, the track- run- niiiiT level tlirnii;:h the streets. Conceive, al-o. dirtv rivers and canals crowded with steamer- and huge ' whale- back-." over which tlie streets run bv mean- of huce swiu^' THE PURPOSE OF DKScltl I'TioX. t)\ bridges. Alimg the streets, ■which are villainously paved, run all day ami nidst of the iiiulit little trains of ealile cars crammed with as many people as •:'aii contrive to get a footing on them. In the centre of the city gigantic build- ings tower up to the bky, twelve, fifteen, and twenty stories high. A pall of snioko hangs over tlie busy scene, rising from the factories, mills, iron-works, and steamers on the lake and river. Beer-saloons and cigar-stores are everrwhere. most of them with (ierman names over the doors. Outside of the central business part Chicago is very largely what Mr. (irant Allen calls London — ' a squalid village' The exceptions arc the parks, which are for the must part admirable, the embankment along the lake, and the fa.-hicinable boulevards, which contain many nf the nidst licautiful houses in the world." — The London (lirun- icle for .Uily IG, is'.ti. Here are two descrijitions of the city of Chicago, each presumably written by an Englishman for English reailcrs, but very clearly with different nbjects in view. The two kind- have been called Description for Information and Description for Impression, and, although we cannot easily .-et anj' hard-and-fast defining line between the two, the ili-tinction is of value. Of De.-cripticnfor Information there are many examples. Description.^ of dresses or dislies in ladies' papers are homely instances. The -pccifications of an arcjiitecl or an engineer are more comjilicated cases. So also when a scientist Jiaji- peiis upon something which he desires the learned world to know about, he writes a description of it. When ho has some particular thing the }ieciiliarities of «liii'h he makes public, then we have Dc-cription for Information. If he speaks of a thing as belonging to a class, mentioning nidv tiiose points coinmon to the sjiecics or genus, then I should call it i-lxposition. Hut tlici'i; are of coursi' pjcnly of esami)lc- of Scientific Description. Eatlier more interesting to us, however, is what wc call 52 COXsmVCTIYE RHETOIUC. Description for Impression. Xot a very accurate distinc- tion in the names, it must be confessed; for this latter kind of Description conveys information, and is meant to. 15ut whereas the first kind of Description usually conveys a certain set of facts which are desired and appreciated as such, our second kind, if it gives us wliat are conimonlv called facts, gives them, as it were, by the way. 'Wliat we desire and appreciate is not merely the fact as such. The architect who would build a House of Seven Gables for some patron gives many necessary facts to the builder. But Hawthorne, when he described his House of Seven Gables, hardly troubled himself at all about the facts, or more accurately, he was interested in facts very different from the architect's facts. He had nothing in especial to tell us for information alone, but much that should im- press our feelings and imagination. Now if we consider further the difference between tlie two kinds of Description, we shall sec that the former has for its object to enable him who reads to construct or recon- struct the subject in all important details, either actually, as when the builder builds a house, or practically, as when a zoologist places and classifies a new-found specimen. But sucli actual reconstruction is rarely the object of the second kind of Description. Tliis Description for Impression is the more common in literature, and we shall do well to remember that the object of literary description is very rarely to enable one either to construct or reconstruct the subject de- scribed. In the great majority of cases the tiling cannot be done, and it is well to recntrnize the fact at once. De- scribe a splendid cathedral, a beautiful sunrise, a strange terror, a vivacious yonni: woman, an interestiuc criminal, — by no means can you put tlie reader in the place of one wlio sees the cathedral or the sunrise, who feels the terror, who talks to the young woman or the criminal. You may THE PVUPO^E OF J)/:SCIiIPT!(L\. 5;3 perhaps put the reader in tlie jiositinii of one who remem- bers those things, but not in the place of one who is ex- periencing them. You can. perhaps, make the permanent impression, but jou cannot reproiluce the whole impression of the time, either in yourself or in anybody else. It is, then, the right permanent impression that we want. When we hear that an author desoriKes anything so that '• he brings it before our very eyes." ' we may he sure that our authority is indulging himself either in nonsense or in a figure of speech. When we read that " he puts us in the phice of his cliarac ters," that " we see them before us." we may be sure of the same thing, l^e.-iription in language has its limitaiiuiis. and we cannot attain its full power unless we rectignize them, unless we cease to expect lan- guage to do what it cannot do, and make full use of the Very great powers that it lias. Language cannot bring a thing before the eyes: it can, however, bring a thing before the mind, and that is really the important thin:;. If we keep a tight hold oti this idea, we shall find our- selves helped out of a gnoj many difficulties. We want to describe a certain church, let us say, from the outside. Ilemember that we are in it to try to bring it before the eves, and at once we see that a number of details may be left out. What are left? Why, let us see. — the white, painted brick with the climbing ivy, the tall spire and the clock in the bell-tower, the doves flyin;; in and out ahuve. and the elL-ctric cars in the busy street lielow. Nobody could make much of a picture out of that. ISnt that's what I remember of the church, ami if the leaiitT gets that he gets my idea. Or suppose it be a man. (iive up the idea of a photograph either of his fai-e or of his mind and ' Different |ii-.i[ile Lav very difTircnt |i}' iiTc.lk'i'iii.i] the same impression as by sciii.g. .ji royri;wil(i\. n.") dilTereiit oirciiiiist;inces. Iloro are several short tk'sc]-ip- tioiis: "Awodilon cross bleaclieil by many storms sunnounls the piiiuacle of tlie .ELr.irisrlihoni, and at tlie liaso ol" it I now take my place and scan the surrounding scene. ])i)\vii from its birthplace in the monntains conies that noblest of ice-streams tlie Great Aletsch glacier. Its arms are thrown round the slioulders of the Jungfrau, while from the ^luiik and the Trugberi;-. the (iletscherhorn, the Breit- horn, the Aletschhorn, and many another noble pile, the tributary sn.'ws descend and thicken into ice. Tlie moun- tains are well protected by their wintry coats, and hence the quantity of ilibris upon the glacier is comparatively small; still, along it can be noticed dark longitudinal streaks, which are incipient moraines. Right and left from these longitudinal bands sweep finer curves, twisted here and tlierc into complex windings, which mark the lamina- tion of the subjacent ice. The glacier lies in a curved valley, the side towards which its convex curvature is turned is thrown into a state of strain, the ice breaks across the line of tension, a curious system of oblique glacier ravines being thus produced. From the snow-line, etc." — Tyndall: Hours of Ejvrcise in the Alps, ch. vii. " The two men rose, and followed Rheinhardt out into the garden, and thence on to the road, which wound be- hind the stal)les and hayricks of the old farm. The sun was sinking, hidden behind a thick bank of grey clouds, and below them was a rift of open sky, wliitc, luminous, lustrous, into which gradually eniei'ired the lip of the sun, slowly working its way, a gicat raylcss ball of brilliant white, into this sea of white luminousness; tlie sky like a liquid, molten sun; the sun like a denser moi'e lustrous sky, white upon white, metallic sheen upon metallic sheen, and all the while the clouds from whence the sun had descended grew dark, of bluish grey, and all the upper sky .■,(■, CdSSTUVCTIVE EllKTdlilC. of strange darkness; not the darkness of cloud, for it sienic'd scarce eovfrud with mist film, but a metallic dark- ness as of burnislied steel."— Vernon Lee : Baldirin. p. 4','. " It was a still summer evening in the shick lietwocn hay and harvest on the farm of Drumquhat. The Gallo- way moors rose in long purple ridges to the west. Tlie sun had set, and in the hollows pools of mist were gather- ing, islanded witli clumps of willow. The " niaister ' liad made his nightly roundr, and was now meditatively taking his smoke, leaning on the gate at the head of the loaning, and looking over a gieen cornfield, tlirough the raw colour of which tlie first yellow was beginning to glimmer. From the village half a mile away he could hear tlie clink of the smith's an.vil. There came into his mind a slow thought of the good crack going on there, and he erected himself as far as a habitual stoop would allow him, as if he propiised ' daunerin ' over to the village to make Due of the company in the lie;irtsnme 'sniiddy.'" S. U. Crockett: T/ir Slirl-it Minis/,/; p. 114. " But the Col de la Faucille, on that d.ay of 1S:5."), opened to me in distinct vision the Holy Land of my future work and true home in tliis world. My eyes had been opened and my heart witli them, tu see and to jiossess royally such a kingdom! Far as the eye could reach— that land and its moving or pausing waters; Arvc and his gates ol Cluse, and his glacier fountains; Hhone, and the infini- tude of his sajijil.ire lake, — his jieaee lieueath the narcis- sus meads of Vevay— liis cruelty beneath the prouion- t(iries of Sii'ire. And all that ruse against and melted into the sky, nf mountain and mountain snow, and all that living plain, burning with hutnan gladness — studded with white homes, — a milky way of star-dwellings cast across its sunlit blue." — Kuskin: Pnih'ritu, ch. ix. These descriptions are all fi.ur of some extent of coun- try or something of the sort, but the different authors TiiK pinrosE OF PKscufrTiox. 57 have had very different ideas in mind. Tyndall bad the forms in mind, Vernon Lee the colors, Crockett the feel- ings aroused, and Ruskin the thoughts associated with the sight.' EXEECISES. These subjects are for short descriptions of perhaps 300 words. In each case — 1-O.j — ynii should go and look at the ])lace in cjui'^- tion (of course these titles are only suufrestive : vnu will select simi- lar things which are familiar to vou) and ask ymiiself : a. "What is there that makes this place it!.elf? different from other [Elms, or Mills, or (.'rossiiigs] ?" b. " What are the most striking characteristics to me? What im- presses me most '! " 1. The Great Elm at the Cross- roads. 2. The .\ bandoneii Mill. 3. The Grade-crossing. 4. The Canal, looking from one of the Bridges. 5. TheBluif- below the Rapids. 6. The Rapids (looking up- streai]]) 7. The Old Revolutionary House. 8. My (irandmother's Flower- garden. 9. The I'roiJuei' Store. 10. The Town Scales. 11. The Wood Market. 1-3. The Entrance to (Jrecntree Gorge. 13. The Lake from Huckleberry Hill. 14. The New Union Station. 1.5 The Edison Works at Clos- ing-time. 10. The Aqueduct (from the river-siile above). 17. The Old (iraveyarJ. 18. The Science Building. (Take the most characteristic of the College Buildings and note the place from which to look at it.) 19. The Sunset (or Sunrise) over the Lake (on such and such a day). 30. The Campus in the afternoon from the Middle Building. 21. The Reading-room in the Evening. '2i. The Quarry. 2ij. The OM Man opposite me in the Electric Car. 24. The Blue liate. 2^>. The Campus by Moonlight. ' It hardly does a."! a class exercise, but it is worth while at other times than in class to try to think irilh irkiit piirjiom you would render this or that. .Vs roSsrUVCTIVE lUIETolUC. Tlii-'>H are all tilings one can see ; it is not so hard to note some of their distinctive features. TLe following subjects are somewLat liarder. Tlify are (or were), however, just as much particular tilings, though not material. 26. The British ('.institution. [ 32. The Present State of the 27 Hannihal's Hatred of Rome. 28. The Character of Oliver Oold.stuith, or anyone else of marked individuality. 29. The Humor of Dickens. 30. Tlie Style of Macaulay. 31. The Triple Alliance. Ea.stern Question. 33. The Educational Sy.stem of Japan. 34. The Empire nf Charlemagne. 85. Athens in the time of Per- icles. B. THE METHOD OF DESCRIPTION. 20. The Point of View. If we undir.staiul by this time what kiiiil of thing Ikscription is, what we may reasonably try to do when we describe, let us turn our attention to the way we should go about it. And fir.st a.s to those Canons of Rhetoric that we considered in our stuins are ])rcttv much alike in general characteristics, but I had never before held classes in a L'eologicul lecture-room, so I remarked things which escaped the attention of the students who were familiar with the place. It is always so with travel- lers: they notice things about a t(pwn which those who SEQUENCE. (W have lived tliero all their lives would never think of men- tioning. Everybody luis a snmewh;it difFerint stiuidpoint. Here is an opportunity to make your writing represent yourself. This matter of Individuality, which counts for so much in Selection, is of more importance in Xarration and De- scription than in Exposition or Argument. The first two are the Artist's kinds of composition; the two latter be- long rather to the Scientist. And we can see how the Canon of Selection plays a vastly more important part in the former two than in the latter. For with particulars tliere are always so many more things that may be said, there is so much more opportunity to select those things tliat must be said. Almost all the general characteristics of a general idea are important, and almost all the proofs of a truth; in Exj)osition and Arg-ument tliere is not nearly so much room for select icni, nor for the individuality which it expresses. I sometimes think tliat this is the reason why we are more apt to call our artists men of genius than our scientists. The first must make choice of wliat they will say, tlie second are content to tell us all the truth. 22. Sequence. As we consider these Canons of Ehetoric further we shall see that there is one which was not of so much service to us in studying Narration as it will be now. I mean the Canon of Sequence. We have seen that the ver}' thing that made such a striking; dillVicnce be- tween the subjects for Narration and Description was that in the former there was a natural sequence, while in the latter there was not. In Xarration we saw that there were sometimes reasons for varying; from the luituial order, but in Description tliere hardly seems to be any natural order to Vary from. In some sijecial cases, it is true, we saw a certain order more or less prescribed for us (1<>), but as a rule a ^ini^de oljject does not olTer ns any such chrono- logical sequence. We see everything all at once, or so ii2 cnysruvrrn E i:iiEi'> we saw tliat the different particulars came to notice one after anotlier. In that case it was quite noticeable, but of course the peculiarity may exist where it is not so marked. Here is a description by Walter Scott: — "The library at O-baldistone Hall was a gloomy room, whose antique shelves bent beneath the weiL;ht of ponder- ii4 COysTRUCTIVE RIIFTOniC. ous folios so dear to tlie sevpiitceiith century. . . The col- lection was chiefly of the classic,^, as well foreign as ancient history, and above all divinity. It was in wretched order." — Roh Eoij, ch. X. Now here it v.ould be dangerous to alter the order of the four paitifulars nntcMl. because the order is really chrono- logical. On eTiterini; tlic room one lirst perceives that it is gloomy, on looking round, that it is lined with folios; on looking at the books one sees what tliey are about, and not till then does one observe that they are in wretched order. Here the time gives us the order as before; it is a shorter time, that is the only real difference. Here is another example, a pai t of the description of Rashleigh Osbaldistone. " His appearance was not in itself prepossessing. He was of low stature, whereas all his brethren seenuMl tn lie descendants of Anak; and while they were handsomely formed, Rashleigh, though strong in prrsoii, was bull- necked and cross-made, and from some early injury in his youth had an imperfection in his gait, so much resembling an al)S()liite halt, that many alle;:ed, etc. . . . "The features of Iiaslileigh were such as, having once looked upon, we in vain wish to banish from our memory, to which they recur as objects of painful curiosity, al- though we dwell upon them with a feeling of dislike, and even of disgust. It was not the actual plainness of his fai'e, taken sejiarately from the meaning, which made this strong impression. His features were, indeed, irregular, but they were by no njeans vulgar; and his keen dark eyes and shaggy eyeluows redeemed his face from the charge of commonplaiH' ugliness. But there was in these eyes an ex- pression of art and desicru, and upon provocation, a ferocity tempered by caution, which nature had made obvious to the most ordinary physiognomi.^t. perhaps with tlie same intention that she has given the rattle to the poisonous snake. As if to compensate him for these disadvantages of exterior, Rashleigh Osbaldistone was possessed of a voice the most soft, mellow, and rich in its tones that I ever heavd. and was at no loss for language of every sort suited to so fine an organ." — Rob Boi/, ch. vi. The first thing noticeable about Ixashleigh before one looked at him particularly was that he was shorter than his brothers, and slightly lame. As soon as one looked at his face one received a strong and disagreeable impression. A second look showed that b".s face, though plain, was not vulgar. So far he has not spoken; when he sjieaks his voice is at once remarkable. These examples may give us a hint. It is no especial mannerism of .Scott's that they illustrate, and even if it were, the idea is a good one. If you are at a loss in the matter, describe a thing as you become acquainted with it. There you have a clue which may help you out of many labyrinths. And as in these cases the time element may be of help, so also may the space element often give us some idea of Sequence. In Walter Pater's few words on the faQade of the Catliedral of Amiens, for instance, his eye runs from the ground upward : " The great western towers are lost in the west front, the grandest, perhaps the earliest example of its species — three profound, sculptured portals; a double gallery above, the upper gallery carrying colossal images of twenty-two kings of the House of Judah, ancestors of Our I.ady; then the great rose; above it the ringer's gallery, half masking the gable of the nave, and uniting at their toji- most stories the twin, but not exactly equal or similar, towers, oddly oblong in plan, as if never intended to carry pyramids or spires." — Miscellaneous ShulirK, p. 104. On a like plan, proceeding from beneath upward, is the CC, rl|^STRVCTIVE HHETOlilC. ■well-known description of St. Mark's, Venice, by IJuskin, which maybe found in Stones of Venice, vol. ii., chap. iv., S 14. But it must be admitted that there will be not a few cases where your own ingenuity must devise an arrange- ment which will seem natural. This is just as well. "We certainly don't want to be too hide-bound. It is well to allow some play for natural ability. And, just a step farther, it must also be admitted that there arc some cases where it matters very little what sort of sequence there may be. " We spread a mat on deck, lighted our lautorn, and sat down to supper, while the gentle north wind slowly carried our boat along through shadows of palms and clear spaces of moonlight. Ibrahim filled the shebooks, and for four hours we sat in the open air, which seemed to grow sweeter and purer with every breath we inhaled. We were a triad — the sacred number — and it would have been diflictilt to find another triad so harmonious, and yet differing so strongly in its jiarts. One was a Landwirth from Saxe-Cobiirg, a man of forty-five, tall, yet portly in person, and accustomed to the most comfortable living and the best society in (jerniany. Another was a Sniyrniote merchant, a young man of thirty, to whom all parts of Europe were familiar, who spoke eight languaires, and who within four months had visited Ispahan and the Caucasus. Of the third it behoves me not to speak, save that he was from the New World, and that he differed entirely from his friends in stature, features, station in life, and everything else but mutual .iruudfollowship. 'Ah,' said the German in the fulness of his heart, as we basked in the moonli;4ht, ' what aheaveiily air! what beautiful palms! and this wonderful rejiose in Xuture, which I never felt before! ' 'It is better than the jrardens of Ispahan,' added the Smyrniote; nor did I deeeive them when I said that for inauy months past I had known no mood of mind so peaceful and grateful." — Bayard Taylor: Central Afn'ra, cb. ii. In that paragraph we could not well change the order of sentences very much. We could not have what the friends said lief ore we knew who they were, and we should not know who they were until we knew where they were, and of course, of the three, Bayard Taylor put himself last. So we may account for some things in the order. But why should the Landwirth come before the 8 myrniote? Well, there is no deep rhetorical reason for that. He came first because Bayard Taylor thought of him first, and he thought of him first because he liked him best; the book is dedicated to him. But otherwise there's no reason for that particular order, and the same thing may be said of other questions of Sequence. <;>, LVysTRUiTIVE lUlETORlC. III. EXPOSITION. A. THE NATURE <)F EXPOSITIOX. 23. Exposition and Description. Wo have already got a fair notion of wliat Expcsiiiuii is from our study of l>e- scription. A\'e have sclii that the aim of Description is to remark as accurately as jmssible tlie distinguishing charac- teristics of uiiy particular thing, and to make our reader apprehend them clearly and vividly. Exposition, on the other hand, deals in generalities. It deals, not with gen- eral things, for things are always particular, but with general ideas. Having clearly in mind the characteristics which are common to all individuals of a class, our aim in Exposition is to give tliat notion to the reader. It is true that in this case or that we may have smne doubt as to whether we are really dealing with a j)articular or a gen- eral. But if we make up our own mind and then follow the method in order, we shall not go far wrong, l-'cir in- stance, let us supjKise that one of us goes to Europe. We sail for .Vutwerp, say, and as we wind up the Scheldt we look at the great cathedra] spire: the liist thing we hear as we drive tliroiigh the town is the silvery cathedral chime. Sci wi' see the Antwerji cathedral, and let us sup- pose that We have never seen a cathedral before. When we write home, we write an enthusiastic description of its beauty. A deserijition it is. of course, even though we may happen tu mention no particular which is not com- nmn to all catliedrals. Suppose we are imjiressed bv its dark and time-stained e.xterior, its high-pitched roof, its flying buttresses, and when we come inside by its vast ex- tent (pf pillars and its innumerable shrines, each with the twinkling candles before it. These mav be tlie chief H.M'o.^rnoX AAJ) HHScinPTIOX. CjO points of our description. But these are no particular characteristics of the cathedral of Antwerp: we shall see them over and over again as we travel through Europe, we shall remark them at Amiens, at Notre Dame, at Cologne; the_v will become familiar to us, tliey will in time he among the ideas called up in our minds by the word Cathedral. But the first time they were particular impressions, and as long as they so remained they were the means of Descrip- tion, although the description was not a very good one. Exposition has to do with general ideas; its topics are general terms, names of classes. So long as we told what we saw in the Antwerp cathedral, we were describing. But suppose, having gdt home and wanting to write a paper on Gothic Cathedrals (to exhibit our photographs), suppose we say. " If one wants to know what is a cathedral, let him stand with mc before the great cathedral of Ant- wer]i." Then, even if we speak only of that building, so long as we use that building merely as an example of the general idea, we are dealing with Exposition. This example will make you see a little more clearly perhaps just what was meant when on page 15 I spoke of Exposition which seemed to have a particular thing for a subject. The subject, you observe, is really the general class; the particular thing is only the means we take to express ourselves. So if ever hesitating as to whether such and such a topic is to be handled by Exposition or De- scription, ask yourself. What is the real subject? What is it that is to be done ? Are we rendering particular im- pressions or are we generalizing ? Go out into the country and get one of the lads on the farm to show you how to catch a craylish. If you never saw one before, it may interest you to describe it. But Huxley, in describing the crayfish, — and he says you ought always to have a real [particular] crayfish at hand while you are studying the book, — has given us an excellent c\- 7u ('lysruirTlVE ItlJElORIt' ample of Kxjinjition. Suppose yon :;o to Switzorliiiid and cliiiil] out oil tliat i;reiit i^'lapier that ei)nios down from ^fniit Blanc, railed the .Mrr di' (ihice. You might de- scrilje it afterward and make a vrry i:jood description. ])Ut T\ iidall, in telling of his excursions on the Mer do (ilace, has mauiiged to make out of it a cajiital exposition of the LTOiieral idea (llacicr.' In each case ytui mentioned the i)articnlar jioints you observed; for aught yon knew they might have been distinguishing characteristics or points eoinnion to a whole class. But the scientists, although to lie more readily undei'stood tiiey ofli'ii take a special examjile (p. l'"i), lay stress only on ttujsc j)oiiits that aic found in ever\ thing else of the kind.' EXERCISES. Tlic Exorcises at tlie end of I 7 may lie Uf-eil liere liy omitting the particular thing which was there the subject. Thu^ you will have . 1. The .Mpine I'l'uks. '.'. The l-:iiglish Cathedral. ;i Triumphal .\iihes. i. The Personal .\ppi'araiice of Napoh'en. 5. Italian lianlin--. li. The .Madonnas of the C)ld .Masiirs, or the Madonna of Modern -Art. I add a few more .sufrp^stions. T. The Siajjc Beauty (uuiscnline or feminine). M. \n .\nierican SlaO- ( 'apitol. 9. A Tian-allanlic I.iner. 10. A Focthall Field. * Srr the two vcdiiiue-. in the liitei-natiiiiial Scii-iititic S'-ries ; — ITuxley : The ( 'nii/fi.^fi : Tyndall . Forms of Waller in (Shutih. Uniit, lint r»^ Ire. aud fi/aid in this .sirtinn of lii -criptinn njay In- ajiplied to Narration (p. 1.")). for li'ith di-al with particular iliiiit:^ which may 1»' taken as example;, of yi-m-ral cla^-e.'-. J'J\ril^lTII>.\ AM) Add I yiKMATIOK. 71 In each case you must look (it all tbe individuals presented to you and endeavor to note the cnmmon characteristics, excludiujj; cverv- tliini:: that is particular to omc of the specimens. After some ]ir:i<'ticf' of this kind you might as well go on to less obvious subjects, trying to treat them iu the t.ame way. In each of the following cases the student should name the individuals which serve as a basis for gen- eralization. 11. The American Politician. 10 The (I'reek Orator. 13. The Spirit of the Modern Strike. 14. The Romantic Novel (or the Realistic Novel). 1.5. The Place of Athletics iu American Colleges (actually, not theoretically), 16. England's Oain from Colonization. 17. The Good Fortune of Great Inventors. 15. The Characteristics of .\merican Cities. 19. Siicr-.-^^ of CoUet'-e-bred Meu in Business (or the reverse). 2U. The Elizabethan Drama. 24. Exposition and Argumentation. But we have already considered this subject pretty carefully, and we have finished with Description for the present. Exposition is the technical name given to the expression of the meaning of a general term. That term may be simple in cliai-arter as Wealth, Government, Danger; or it may be somewliat complex, as The Danger to Aiiuiiian Government in tlie Present Vast Accumulations of Wealth. Or it may be of terms more complicated still, as will come to illustration later. When we regard Exposition in this light, we see that it is a necessary precedent to Argumentation. A\'e cannot argue rightly without understanding the meaning of the terms employed, and these may be general — indeed they usually are. '• A University should provide instruction in the Eine Arts." Here is an assertion which may be argued. A\'e may be able to show that a univf^r.'^ity shriuld provide the instruction mentioned, or we may be able to prove the converse, namely, that such teaching does not come within r2 roysi'iiVCTiVh: liinrmuK- the sjilici'i.' iif iiiiivcTaitv activity. But we must first grasp firnil\' the conception of a University, of its Duties, of the Fine Arts. Before we have some definite opinion ou these matters no argument is jKjssible. We may believe that a university is an institution for the advancement of science, or for the general education of young men and women, or for the teaching of general knowk^dge. Unless we have some definite conr-cption it will be foolish t/■' i:xpo.^iTi()y. T.T no very exact kind, probably, but still something that is of the very same nature as the most advanced and accurate forms. I have already said that Exposition as a form of ex- pression is a more advanced, a more intellectual, kind of composition. It is pre-eminently the mode of expression of the scholar. Knowledge exists in general terms and propositions. And these generalities it is the office of the scholar to grasp and to expound. It is true that Argu- mentation is also a mode of composition pre-eminently the scholar's. It is by the principles governing Argumenta- tion that he aiJvances in his art — the art of discovering truth. It is by argument itself, perhaps, by which he en- forces the acceptance of the truth that he has discovered. But Exposition is of the first necessity. One may be a scholar and never argue; that is j)erliaps the highest sort of scholarship which knows and never feels need to strive or cry. But one cannot be a scholar without understand- ing the meaning of general terms and without knowing how that meaning is to be attained and expressed. 25. The Subject-matter of Exposition.' We made this distinction between Exposition and Argument, that the former dealt with general ideas and the latter with propo- sitions. This distinction, it must be confessed, is not in keeping with the opinions of several well-known writers on the subject. Thus Aristotle, who is seldom wrong on such points, remarks : " A speech '' has two parts. It is necessary first to state the case and then to prove it. It is impossible therefore to state your case without proceeding to prove it or to ])rove it without having first stated it; for a proof is necessarily a proof of something, and a preliminary state- ' This paragraph is reiiUy not much mori' than a fuller and further liandling of thf subject of '24. The topic is so important, however, that it .^eeras worth while to ^tick to it until '.t in quite dear. ' The spieeche.s he had in mind were uhuaily arguments. T-t cuXsmvcrn-E imErniui-. meiit is not niado except in order to lie proved " {Rhetoric, bk. iii.,ch. xiii., Welldon's Translation, p. -74). So coming down to t^onio of the recent books on the subject we find in (oiiung [I'riirtical Rhetoric, p. 3SC) terms and propo- sitions noted as subjects of Expositions, and among the exanijilrs, "The poet is born, not made." Newcomer { h'/if/Iisti C'(iiii/i(if:itiii)i, p. 119) also speaks of terms and propositions, givinjj as an example, "The child is fatlier of the man." And .Scott and Denney (/'ad us to see that if so treated, they are not considered strictly as propositions. In many cases the exposition of a proposition amounts only to the expo.sition of the terms of the proposition. This is obviously the coucejition implied in Seott and 1 'onncy, p. 75, whoin speaking of the siilijeet say: "Or it ( Exjiosition] lakes a general jiroiio.sition sueh as, ' Kduca- tiou is btnefieial in all the pursuits of life,' and. without assuniin<,' the truth or falsity of the pr(.i|iosition, it seeks to answej- the iiuestion, What is education Y to analyze it into its elements, and to classify the pursuits of life." In such a case as this we have the Exposition of several subjects which happen to lome to our notice in conjunction; there is i.oihing to do with the statement, as such, in a treat- ment like this. Exjiosition of this kind sometimes goes by the name of Exegesis of Terms, and is very commonly met with. TIIE SUBJECT- ]fATTKn OF KXPOSlTIoy. Tr> Bnt there are oases -where the Exposition of propositions is not so obviously an Exegesis of Terms. In the example " The child is father of the man '" no Exposition is neces- sary to make the nniin terms perfectly comprehensible. What, then, is to be expounded ? I shonld say that the relation implied by the words is father is not that which is nsnally suggested by them. We must explain what is meant by the verb is father; it is bnt anotlier case of Exegesis of Terms. AVhen we get beyond such explana- tion there is no more Exposition; it is time for Argu- ment. In many cases the matter may then be so simple that no formal argument is necessary. Bnt the mind may, I suppose, be said to argue unconsciously in simple cases, where the process has become habitual to it. In the remaining example quoted, we would seem to have one which does not fall under either of the cases mentioned. '' The poet is born, not made." Here cer- tainly the terms need not be explained, for everybody understands them. If this example can be expounded, it must be in some further way than by mere explanation of what is meant by the words used. If we consider the case, we shall see, first, that we may take this as subject for two expositions rather than for one only. AVe may resolve it into two propositions, " The poet is born " and " The poet is not made." If the terms of these jiropositions be properly understood there is no more Exposition. It may be that they will not be at once rightly understood, that neither lidm nor made is here used in its usual sense, and in this ca>e Exposition is of course possible. On the other hand, we may feel that the statement should be re- garded as a single proposition. We may say that the word horn implies the not being made, that the being nwdo would imply the not binng born; that tliis relation is what we wish in this ease to make clear. Now this relation betweeti horn and made is a sulijcct that may be ex- pounded. A\'e have not any general term to expi-ess i(, eer- 7»; Coy^^TRUCTIVE UlIKToIUC. tainly; but tliat is the fault of our language, or rather of our own iiigenuit\- in adapting our language to cmr thoui,'lits. But the relation we are speaking of is perfectly general in character, and it is only because we have no particular word for it that it seems to us strange to call it a general term. And whatever we call it, it is obviouslv not a jiroposition. There remains, however, the remark of Aristotle which we shall do well not to disregard. lie says nothing aliout Exegesis of 'i'ernis: he says that one must stale a case before proving it. The mark is so straightforward and sensible that it can hardly occur to any one to deny it. But the stating a case and explaining it, what is that but Exposition '^ I think wo may still call this " stating a case " the ex- pounding a general idea. Witli the examples given wo may, perhaps, exjiound the born-not-made characteristic of the poet, the fatlier-<'liaraeteristic in the relation of cliild to man, the benelicial-characteristic of education in all tlie walks of life. These are all general terms, though veiv clumsily expressed. But the essence of a prnpcisition is truth or falsity, and truth or falsity are things which (except in the case of axioms) are attained by coiiseious argument. The essence of a proposition consists in the foot-note, " This is a Fact." In fine. Exposition concerns itself with general terms, or general ideas if that make the matter clearer, and explains their meaning. Argument concerns itself with projiositious and proves their truth.' If we are clear in our minds as to this point it is well worth the trouble we have taken in arriving at it. For there is great good, and great pleasure as well, in having clear-cut and definite ' To disprove is mtTL-ly to provi- tin? negative Wbi'ii one proves a statement to Ijc- false, he is really proving tlii- mjjutive to be true. THE SCBJECT-MArTEli OF EXPOSITIOX. 77 ideas. And if we left the subject feeling that we could expound a statement or prove it. according to our con- venience, we should have somewhat hazy ideas on the sub- ject. We should not be clear as to the precise dividing- line between expounding and proving, and our later work would suffer. Nor is this the only advantage. When we come to discuss the Method of Exposition, we shall be thankful that we have to deal with terms only; relations and actions being considered for our present purpose as terms, for if they are not such, it is through the accident of language. Strictly speaking, the Method of Exposition applies only to terms, and it is noteworthy that those writers who include propositions under tlie subject-matter of Exposition do not state how a proposition, as such, may be treated by Definition or Division. EXERCISES. Are the following subjrcts best handled by Exposition or by Argu- mentation ? What would be the difference in treatment in each case? How could you expound them? 1. The American has not that respect for law that marks the Eng- lishman. 2. The rapid thinning of our forests will have a bad effect on our climate. 3. Many persons now travel in Europe during the summer. 4. A young man in a week's vacation often spends more than he can earn in a month. i). Hon>"-ty is the best policy. 6. When winter's come, spring is not far behiml. 7. The Voung think the Old are fools ; the Old know the Young ones are. y. Public opinion is the only means of sustaining tho purity of politics. 9. The blood of the martyrs is the seed uf the church. 10. History offers do real analogy to tlie Niiiilicntli Ccritury. 11. Oreiit wits to madni-.^s siiri- an- near alliril. 12. The present relations of Labor and ( upital are full of daii^'ir to society. 7s cny^TIirCTIVE UnETORIC. B THE METIKH) ol-' EXPHSlTloX. 26. Definition and Division. We are now dealing with a niodu of exprcs.'^^ion somowliat mure difficult to handle than tlmse we have already considered. We shall at pres- ent, then, study only the general method of considering ironeral idea?, leaving the particular means of expression that will ,escri])tion. Vou see man is a classifving animal. We spend much of our time in putting things into jiigeoii-holes, so to speak. We divide up that great chaos of things in general by all tnanner of lines int(j all manner of (dasses, and eii- dea\or tliereby io make out of it a i-osmcjs. Ws the aid of such classilication Kxposition works. In some of the sciences this elas.-ilieatioii is very complete.' The.^e are, however, oidv svstematic and succ'cssful ef- forts, where in general we proceed in rather an unsyste- ' JevuMs mentiiiii-^ ('rwtalli.LTuiiliy a."* fifTering " perhaps the most liorf.ci and iii^inietive iu>iaiR-e" i The Principlet of Science. iJM.j-U.H'di. iii-in^' |"rfec t. it will lie found to ln' snincwliat alistruse . the systems ot clas-iliLatiou in Botany and '/.ooUjgy offer more useful examples. DKFixiTiiix Ay It nivisioy. 1\\ matic wiiy. But just as in Botany, to know any spn/iua or genus thoroughly, we have to know — a. The classes above. h. The characteristics which distinguish it from co-or- dinate classes. c. The classes below. So it is with any other general notion. Exposition con- sists in noting that a, b, c about it. Suppose we wish to expound tlie Idea of a University as Caniinal Newman did. He began by saying: " The view taken of a Univer- sity in these Discourses is the following: That it is a place of teaching universal knoichdgc." (Preface to The IJea of a Universiti/.) That is, he formed a classification something like this: ' Institutions. i n Institutions dealing witli knowledge. Institutions dealing with other matters. M Institutions for teaching knowledge. Institutions dealing I I with knowleilf^c in other ways. I i ~i b. Institutions for teaching universal Institutions with knowledge, i.e., Universities. other aims in leaching. Here we have no (r), but in another book Newman treated of the rise and growth of universities (Historical Sketches), so we might add the further classification:' c. Universities in (irei-ce and Home ; in thi/ Middle .Ages; Parih, Dublin, in the Modern World ; Oxford, Paris. The two books together form a pretty complete exposi- ' The curious selection of particular modi^rval and modern univer- sities comes from another aim of that particular exposition, which neid not be mentioned here, 'i'lie point is not that wi; liave Ihtc the iKibt possitde cla.ssification, but that wo have .sonje elussilii'afion. S(i coysTnrrTivE nuETonic. tion of the general idea University as Newman conceived it. It is worth noting that lie pays chief attention to (6) and (c). We have here an example of formalized Exposition, with its tliree steps, which we may call: a. Classification; b. Discrimination; c. Division. Of these the first two usually go under the name of Definition, and it is this part of the method of Exposition that is common to De- scription: it consists of a statement of the relation of sub- ject in qnestion to the superior chi^ses and to the rest of its own class. In technical terms, it states the f/c>iii.i and the differentia. Division, however, as has been remarked, does not occur in Description, for the reason that with a particular object Classification has come to an end. We may divide a fiarticular tiling into parts, but not into kinds. In following this method of Exposition we must always have in mind one point. We must never forgot that our classification must be made on lines that will be service- able. Here is the idea University in another classifica- tion: a. Forces affecting Rtli;:;ioiis Thought at the Present Day. i i 6. I'uiversities. Other Furces. ! I I c StaU- Universities. Private Corporations. I I Those prcit'issin^c a lulig- Tpon a Religiou.s P'oundation. ious CharacttT. Thus,- not pmtVssing such Upon a Secular Foundation, a I'haraetur. We miglit expound the idea T'liiversity according to this basis, but we see at once that our tjcatinent, however interesting from a particular point of view, could not grasp the full scn|ie of the general idea. This classification is made on lines that may Le called accidental. Xewman'a DKFIMTIOX AM) DIVISIOX. Si classification (except [c]) aimed at being essential in character. One of the difficulties of Definition and Di- vision lies in determining an essential classification. But it would be going rather too far afield to show how this should be done. Here are a number of classifications of various degrees of excellence : I. The Novel. 1. Literal 11 Tf, Poetry. Prose. I I The Xovel. The Sliurf Story. The Fable. The Idealistic Novel, the Romantic, the Realistic, Literature. I Poetry. I Prose. I The X..vel 3. Writing^s. Verse. I I The Short Storv. The Fable. I I For Improrement. For other purposes. The Novel. I I Sermons, etc. The Religious, Economic, Socialistic Novel. II. College Sjiirit. A. Enthusiastic Loyalty. 1. To College : "Collet,'e Sjiirit." i 3. To ( 'ouiitry : " Patriotism." 3. To other Institutions. College Spirit proper: (How manifested.) I Class Spirit. Fraternity Feeling. By taking part in By upholding the By doing one's work Athletics. reputation and honor up to the handle. of the Colh-ge. ( V Xsm rcTI\ >; lUIETORW. College Spirit jiroper. I On tlie part of rnilirtrradiintis. On tbc part of tiraduates. li. InHiRiicis of C'dlletrt' Life. l__ I I " I (cille^'c Spirit : Books and ('iille{;e Indejiendence. \V<,rk. is different according as it appears in I Till- SiiiiiU <_'olIf{;e. Tlic Universitv. The Professional School. OR is different according as it appears in I I J The .\thletic- Manager. The Athlete. The Hooter. The Pif;, etc., etc. 111. .\erial Xuvif;ation in War. Aerial Navigation I ' Means therefor (Partition). Other topics. I I I Flying Machines. Balloons. I / \ Flying .Macliines \\ ar Balloons. Balloon-, for other ill \Nar. 1. In France. Purposes. 2. F.lsewhere This of cnnr,-;o i.s oiilv one \v:iv of limiting,' the topic Aerial N:ivii;:itioii. We might limit it in ntiier ways: .\erial Navigation. 1,1. I Partition, not ,,., ' . itO>ai,^'ers- p,,,,^i,;„ Other topics. To Society in (Jeneral To those who Navigate. 1. liiiTe,'i.-;eil fueilitiev f,,r burglary, eti-. '.?. Inoreasi-d difficulties in tracing criminals. 3. l>e-triieiiMii ,,f many conventions iciimected with terrestrial trans]M.rli.tion. Exrosrnoy nv dkfimtiox axd nrvisiox. s:\ These last examples are wmth inspecting, because they introduce a now element to our ttmsidoratioii. Itivisiou notes kinds; Partition, of \\hich we hero have two ex- amples, notes the parts, which may and usually do belong to every kind. Partition belongs first to Description. We canuot, as has been said, carry ou any division into kinds when we have got down to au individual, but we can divide it into parts and speak of each part separately. So we may also, of a class as well as of any thing, speak of the parts. In this case every kind of Aerial Navigation must have some means; in like manner every kind of Atrial Navigation may have its dangers. But the Means of Aerial Navigation is not some kind of Aerial Navigation, nor are the Dangers of it some kind. Partition, then, may always be convenient. It does not take the place in the Method of Exjiosition that Division does, but it often serves its purpose very conveniently. 27. Examples of Exposition by Definition and Division. In order to be sure that the foregoing treatment will be useful to us, and that it is not merely a piece of scientific discussion that has little to do with the art of writing, let us consider some topic that is likely to come before us for treatment, and see whether we gain anything by handling it according to the principles in the text. Let us take such a topic as is likely to be given out as an essay-subject: for instance, " Americanism." That is something we hear more or less about; we are not unlikely to want to write or say something about it. In the first place — since it is already in form a proper subject for Exposition — we want to put it in a classifica- tion. To do this we must understand clearly tlie meaning of the word, and this word is used in more senses than one. Putting aside the meaning, "a word or oxpressicni current only in America," let us ask if wo are to under- stand by the word Americanism — v4 CoysTItUCTIVE UIIKTOUIC. 1. The patriotic feeling of an American, or the attach- ment and sympathy of a foreigner for our hind and our institutions? As if we should say " The sturdy Ameri- canism of Washington would admit no iiitcri'st before that of his country." Or 2. The type of character which best rejiresents America, the wavs, habits, thoughts of a true American? •• The strilviug characteristic of Franlvlin, EnKTsim. Lincoln, was their Amerii'anism, their rejiresentative quality, that which made them typical of their time and their oountry." Suppose we take tlie last nn-aning. Then we may make a classification soniethiug like this. 't'hc Type of t'Laractcr rfpri'^ciiting Nutionalily. I 1 I AiiH'iiiaiiiMii: The English Tin- Greek. The Roman. Devfliipt'd iiitii CbuructiT. different fnriii^ iu I I I 'J' I] I- Statesman. The >i.n of Affairs. TIji- Man of Letters, Having nnide such a classification we must examine it narniwly to .-cl' whether it is souml, wlietlier the discrimi- nations are sensible and nut merely formal, and so on. Suppose tlii.< line staii'ls the test. AVe want tiien to con- sider our particular topic in relation to the superior class and the cuordinatc divisions, and t(i consider the infeinii- divisions. We may then note ddwn 1. The Tyjie of .National C'liaracter, what it is, and how it can be manifested in an individual. '.'. Americanism is the ajipearance in our own country of what has always aiipeared in every nation having a strong national life. :i. Me may compare Americanism, if we choose, witli some otlier tyjies 4. We ma\ tlimk of examples of other national repre- EXPOSITIOy BY DEFIMTWy ASD DIVISWX. 85 sentatives. Plato, t"a't;;ir. for iustaucc, Sir Plillip Sidney, or Palmerston. 5. Thiuking especially of Americanism we see that it may develop into somewhat different forms under difl'erent circumstances, — the same characteristics working them- selves out iu different ways. G. Looking for examples of typical Americans, we think of Washington as the Statesman, or would some one of our own day he better ? of Franklin as the Man of Affairs, or perhaps of one of our more modern industrial barons; of Emerson as the Man of Letters, or, even here, we may have some contemporary in mind. T. The consideration of all these examples is in itself valuable. Those mentioned above are almost the first that come to mind, but if we criticise them severely we may learn something. Why is Ca?sar a typical Roman? Was Sir Philip Sidney a better example than Sir Francis Drake ? We might have said Lincoln instead of Washing- ton ; the former had a sort of homely plainness very differ- ent from the somewhat cold and aristocratic line in Wash- ington's character. Which of the two was the more American ? In a topic like this we may not be able to demand absolute universality, but we may ask what quali- ties are the more typical, the more widely spread. Thus we liave got together a number of ideas on our subject, and, unless our earlier work is at fault or our classi- fication made on wrong lines, tliey ought to be ideas which will bring out some of the essential points. They are not arranged in very good order for presentation, it is true; but so far we arc only gathering material— we are not drawing up a plan for an essay. That is something to come later (p. 117). To take another example : "The Extension of P^ducation must on the whole result iu (iood ": — this is a proposition to which, perliaj)s, some m; COysTRVCTIVE EUKlUlilc people mi^ht not agree unreservedly; but aside from proof or disproof, let us expound the idea which we have in mind when we affirm. AVe will state what it is that we believe (if we make the statement) without saying why we believe it. As it stands we cannot very well put it into any classifi- cation, we cannot define it nor divide it. nor can we very well note any general characleristics of the projiosition that would be of use to us. But we have learned (•-'•')) how to deal with such matters; we want, at first, either to select certain of the terms for Exposition or else to convert the proposition into a general term. If we follow the first plan we have the ideas Extension of Education and Its (iood lii'sults. If we follow the second and try to find some general term which will give the idea of the proiiosi- tion, wo have Good Results of the Extension of I'Iducation, with the proviso that the good results are to be on tiie whole necessary. But this last limitation evidently re- quires argument, so we may disregard it at present. AVe are left then with the general term Extension of Educa- tion limited by the modifier (iood Kesults, which jn-aeti- cally amounts to the same thing as our former.analysis. As to a classification, we must think over the character- istics of our topic with a view to getting hold of really essential points. Kegleuting the universal aspects of the case, I suggest that we confine ourselves to a more modern, more empirical treatment, and construct tlie following: Modern Movcnieuts in tbr Sjiirit (if Christian Dfiuocracy. I \ ' \ I Extensiiinof Opening of BrnaileniDg of Movements aiin- Education. Politieal Privileges. Religious Tliouu'lit. in;,' at Industrial j Keform. 1 ^1 \ J The .\merican Increase in < ipening of I niversity Kxten- Common school Terhnical and Uiglier Eda- sion and Summer Sv.-tem. Trade ScL'iols. cation to Schools. \\ omen. Kxi'osrrro.y nr uKrixrnox .i,v/> btv/skix. s7 Now whether this classification be accepted or rejected (and according to one's standpoint onr may be as inclined to do one as the other), it at least serves, if not to throw a good deal of light on onr topic, to open to us certain as- pects which may not before liavc been obvious. tSupjiosc, however, we accept it. We must remem])er, tlien, tliat we are dealing with the topic only in so far as regards its results, in fact its good results — we gain the following views : — 1. The Extension of Education is one of those things which, good or bad as they may be, have marked the Nine- teenth Centujy, and America, jierhaps, more than the rest of the world. "2. We may consider some of these movements: The extension of the franchise in England, the growth of con- stitutionalism <.in the Continent, the increase of cooperation, the emancipation of slaves and serfs, modern scientific philanthropy, the advance in Christian liberalism, and so forth. 3. Of all these movements there have been obvious good results, tending on the whole in the same direction, i.e., that of Christian Ileinoiracy. 4. Although the Extension of Education has so much in common with these other great tendencies of our time, it is distinguished from most of them not only by the differ- ence of its field, but by the fact that it has not excited by any means the same opposition as many of them. 5. Although our idea of the Extension of I'jdueation may have been somewhat confined, tiiere are really many different forms of it, our common-school system, etc. 6. Of these some have been so long established Ihaitlieir good results are matters well-known and undisputed. We may therefore concern ourselves chiefly with s(.iirH' of tlie other divisions. 7. We liave now to look more particularly for the (iood ss coyy^rnrrTivE ruetohw. Kfsults of some of these last divisions, llore iloulitless if not before we find tluit we need nmic information. We have at least fonnd some of tliu directions in which definite information is to be soutrht. EXEECISES. Consider the following subjects by Definition and Division ; i.e. give I'licU its place in a classification and note, as above, the ideii> re'-ulting. 1. Tbi- Value of Vacations to AnH-riraus. 2. The Clicii]) Magazine of the I'resent l>:i_v. 3. A CnllcKe Education is nf great Hinelit to a Uiisiness man. 4. Our National S|iirit of Moiie\ iri'tting, 5. The Fall Wi'iitlicr in New England is very di-ligbtful. li. 'i'lii' Main Tendency of the lOtli Century has liein in the direftiuii of Scientific OiscoviTv. 7. Corruption in Politics. S. Education will prove the Solution of the Present Ijilxir Trouliles. '.I. lihitorie may be pursued either a-s a Srience or as an Art. 10. IiuproM'Mients in the Means of Travel in the hist fifty yi.-ars. 11. The Aim of the Orator. Vi. Colli-ge .Vtliletics are tend- ing tiUMiril I'rofessioiuilisin. 13. Thi' Racing of Ocean Slealiiers, 14. Ilypnnti^in may lie iiseii in ways very hanufnl to Society. IT) .\merican Humor. These examjiles should be sufficient tn make plain the jiroi'css of ( 'lassilicatioii which lies at the foundation of Definition and Division, and tu slmw how these processes are useful in jriviiig us ideas upon whatever tojiic \vc liave in hand. In these two ])nj(es.ses the most imj)0]'taiit parts are the discrimination lietween co-ordinate classes and the division into inferior classes. U'his is because as a rule the ireiieral imsitinii of our idea is well enoiiirli known. We do not need to spend any time in slKiwinsr that a University is an institution (p. 7!i), nor in slKJwini; ihut it is esjieciajly an institution dealinir with knowlodire: so niiicli c\erybody knows. The interesting,' point is in the discriminating be- UlttKHKM' KISBS OF EXPOSITION. SO tween the uuiversiiy and other institutions dealing with knowledge; iu Cardinal Newman's preface, between the university and learned academies, scientific associations, and the like. Thus though Exposition differs decidedly from l)cscri])tion in its subject and in the study that must precede it, we have seen that there is something analogous in this part of its method. Exposition uotes those things which separate one general idea from other coordinate ideas. Description notes those things which distinguish one thing from otlicrs of the same kind. Such is the general method of Exposition. I am far from spying either that this method must always be followed or that it is sufficient for all cases. It is an old and well- known process. ]\Iy idea of it is that it offers a systematic way of thinking out a subject that gives one a good deal of mental strength. Practice in this sort of thing is not amusing, I admit with readiness; but I have no doubt that it gives the mind a power and flexibility that are neces- sities to good work, and I think it gives one the best way of getting at the essential points of any general idea that may be presented to us. Practice with simple ideas will enable us to do good work with more complicated subjects, even though we do not proceed iu a strictly methodical manner. I am very far from offering the above classifica- tions as good plans for essays. Xor do 1 offer Definition and Division as a wholly sufficient method of Exposition. What is known as Exposition by Partition may also be employed. But this process so resembles Description that the slight note of it already made will probably be enough for practical purposes. C. EXPOSITION AS WF, FIND IT IN LITERATFIiE. 28. Different Kinds of Exposition. E\[iositioii is a very common thing in this world; jieople who never heard 90 CoysTRUCTIVE RIIEroIilC. the technical term mako use of it constantly, although as in the case of amateur argument, their speculations are often valueless from their in't comprehending the appliea- tion of the principles of common sense to what they are talking about. But whether it be well done or ill done, it is Exposition, or Ar<,annent, and of course our desire is to find out how the thing may be done best. If we turn to Literature to see how it actually has been done we shall find Exposition in great abundance of very different degrees of excellence and of very dilTeient kinds. But I incline to think that the following shdrt analysis will be found to mark at least the most important types, and that, by noting characteristics in a way that will be of value to ns. I. Exposition with a view to the Subject. A. Scholarly Exposition. B. Popular Exposition. II. Exposition with a view to the Reader. A. Easy-chair Exposition. B. Pastoral Exposition. Of course the main divisions are made according to the most obvious tendency. Every sort of Exposition, as every sort of writing, must have a view both to reader and to subject. But there are kinds of discourse where one or the other seems the more important. 'J'o speak of these last forms of Exposition first. Easy- chair Exposition is the name I give to such expounding as is done by Addison iu the Spvi-tafnr, by Charles Lamb in the h'ssays o/" 7:7/". and by Thackeray in the Udiiinl- (ilioiit /'(//irrs, as well as liy thousands of others who have followed tlieir example. In sueli a ease tlic author need have no very serious desire to gain a clear and full under- standinir of the extent and meaning of his subjer-t. IIow could (iiie attempt to grasp the true extent and meaning of the term '• lioast Pig,'" that when they ai'e necessary they will seem old friends. ' Must of tliem arc nmilr- use of in this iKxik. It would be a useful exercise to eseiujilify each ])oint. DEVICES OF POPILAR KXPDSfT/o.X '.K, 10. JoiiiiiiLi: of Karratioii to Exposition iu order to kocj) up tlie interL'st. 11. Bc'giiiiiiiiji with familiar iiuittors and reserving difli- culties as long as possible. 12. Doscrijition of a jnirtioular case used instead of Ex- position of the general term. See p. TO. 13. The statement of laws in indurti\e form. These artifices— as they may bo called — all depend, as we easily see. upon two or three general prineijiles. 1-C). The Appeal to Personality. T-10. The Avoidance of Technicality. 11-13. The Approach of the Unfamiliar by way of the Familiar. It would be hard in the space at hand to yive examples which should illustrate all these points. Sdme of them, however, appear in the following extracts from lloyeo, The Spirit of Mmlrrii Pliilusaplty, originally a series of lectures I choose purposely a somewhat abstract subject, and add for purposes of comparison a piece of scholarly exposition covering much the same ground. Yon will iibservo how much more pains Dr. Royce takes to be com- prehensible than Dr. Harris. 1. "Examine yourself at any instant: 'I,' you say, ' know just now this that is now present to me, this feel- ing, this sound, this thought. Of past and future, of remote things, of other people, I can conjecture this or that, but just now and here I know whatever is here and now for me.' Yes, indeed, but n'hut is hero and now for me? See, even as I tnj to tell, tlie here and nuw have floiun. I know this note of music that sounds, this wave that breaks on the beach. No, not so; even as I try to tell what I now know, the Ti.<. Here tiie same writer has occasion to present much the same nialter in different forms. The former is the more popular. PART TWO. THE PJRA and these groups gatlier into larger eolleetiuns which have no analogy in a eiiain. When we think of any i|nestion in tliis way, when we join tliouglits together into groups, and join tliose groups into larger divisions, and so tn\. wc are said to ronsiikT it synthetically. We are rather more familiar perhaps with the analytic point of view: that is, with the division of a eouipleteil piece of work into its parts, ^'ou will tiiid something on the making of anal\>es on j)p. llj fT. At present, if vou do not feel ijuite clear as to what an analysis is, it will be enough to consult the specimen given on p. lis. It is these larger or smaller groujis of thought formed liv svnthesis, or re\ealed by analysis, that may bo imlieated bv paragraph structure. And now we are readv to turn our attention more directly to the paragraph as we gener- ally think of it. The first (juestion about it wcjuld b<', " What good is it!-' What is it here for? Why shouldn't we get on just as well if ue didn't bother about paragraphs at all, but just move right along without any ? " We have already said something that would serve as answer to the question. But to be more particular, the answer would be that the indication of paragra]ih structure is a convenience and assistance to the reader and to the THE PAUAORAPH .1.'? .l.V AID To THE i;h.,i)ER. 10", writer as well. We will think of each of these points in turn. Xo exercises are offered to illustrate tbis paragraph and the two foUowiug. It will probably be better to continue tlir exercises in Ex- position, of which there can hardly be too many. The principles of these sections will be more particularly applied in 33. B. THE PARAGRAPH FROM THE STANDPOINT OF THI<; READER. 31. The Paragraph as an Aid to the Reader. First, as to the reader. How is the paragraph to be made a conven- ience and assistance to him ? If we think of ourselves, for a moment, as readers rather than writers, if we imagine ourselves opening a book and turning page after page of solid blocks of type, going on and on, as though over the Desert of .Suhara, with never an indentation for oasis to get a bit of rest and refreshment in, — we have all looked into books something like that, and been tired before we began to read them, — if we just bring that to mind we shall easily see one way in which the paragraph may be a convenience. It may serve for a slight rest, — a very short period for re-collection and, perhaps, re-creation of thought as one goes on. It may form a convenient stopping-place. That seems very clear. We have all had actual experience of that use of the paragraph. I'ut if we try to sfe a little farther into the matter, we come up uL'ain.st this question: Why is it any easier to rest on a ]jara;.'ruiili than anywhere else? Why should a solid )i:ige seem so tiresome? Can't you stop where you want to and rest as long as you like ? Is a ]i:irai;raph use- ful only l)erause you're not so likely to lose your place ? Well, there is one answer to this question which may seem superficial, but I am conviiiced that it expresses human nature aceurately. It is, for one thing, easier to stop at a paragraph, just as it is easier, wlien you are walking, to rest 1(4 CoysTliVCriVE lillETiiIlIC. at some set point, a milestone, a fentf, a tixc, than anj'where b}' the roadside or in the middle of a iiold. You arc tired, but von say, ' Well, I'll walk to that next fence and tlien sit down." It's more natural to stdji at a dutinite poiiit than at a point that one chooses merely by chance. This ]iroliably has something to do with tlie matter. But there is a reason somewhat deeper than this — perhaps the reason for tliis reason. Wlien we get to a jiaragraph we liave an instinctive feeling that we liave got to the end of one stretcli and may pause before we lier;in another. Just as when you are walking in rolling country or in the moun- tains, as long as you can see but a little way ahead, you keep on. But at the top of every rise, at every point that has a little view, there is always a feeling for slop- jiiriir and looking around. So it is with the paragraph. We feel that we luvve got through with one bit and we begin another. Between whiles we may stop to coiisidcr what we have gone over, to summarize, to grasp more firmly. At bottom that is the reason why every intelligent reailcr likes to see jiaragrapli divisions. It is not tiuit he couldn't stop wliciever lie might wisli, wlietlier the i)ara- graph-raark were there or not. It is tiiat lie prefers to have the author mark the best stopping-places. He has an instincti\ e. unconscious desire to pause in liis reading, for a longer or shorter time. at the best place. 'I lie jiaragraphs seem made with tliat end iu view. If you study out your feeling as a reader about para- graphs, especially in books that are ratlier liard reading, I think you will find that your feelings cmwv to about that. You feel tliat the paragraph presents places where you can pause a moment in the course of thought, where you can look back a minute and forward. Now then, as a writer, your duty is plain. The reader will depend upon you to indicate such places to him. THE pahacuapu as ax aid to the reader. 105 whether you like it or not. If you take uo trouble about the matter, if you merely leave it to chance, he is likely enough to be deceived, confused, muddled. And then it's all up with you. That reader will uever sound your praises. Keep the Golden Rule iu mind. Remember the relief afforded you by the paragraph-marks in Mill's Political Economy or Paley's Evidences, when you first read those great works, — and be kind to your reader. In other words, let your paragraph structure be, in some degree, the index to the structure of your thoughts. We have seen already that this is natural enough. There is but one matter further to settle. You are going to indicate to the reader as far as may be the grouping of your thoughts, in some sort to give an analysis of your work. How far will you carry this indication ? AVill you indicate only the large divisions ? Or the subdivisions, too ? Or the sub-topics ? Or will you go on and mark every minor group of thought? Here again you must think chiefly of the reader's convenience. The paragraph is only the mark of a group. It doesn't say whether this group is a chief division or a minor point. It indicates the beginning of a chief division aiid of a minor point in the very same way. There are other means of showing the higher stages of division. Mill divided his " System of Logic " into IJooks, Chapters, Sections, and Paragraphs. Where the aim is chiefly to convey information, the divi- sion will be more carefully and particularly marked. But in any ease the paragraph is the last means of division be- fore getting down to the sentence. In what you will have occasion to write, division by paragraph will probably be sufficient. AVhen you are writing an examination paper it will be convenient to separate the answers to the different questions. But, as a rule, you will be content with para- graphing, to indicate all divisions. So, to return to our 1 M t > coysm rvTi i e riiek ihk : question. How far should wc indicate our analysis by the paiagraph 'f The answer is, Oo as far as will best suit the reader; on which matter you must yourself be judge. In considering the question, bear tliis in mind. If you paragraph at all you must take some position between two extremes, (hie extreme is where no paragraphs at all are indicated, and the other is where every sentence stands as a paragraph. The tlr.st extreme is not often met with nowadays, but is not uncommon in old books, or in manuscripts written in the days when parchment was dear. Tlie otiier is, however, (|uite common. In English it is generally ronfined to such work as is paid for by the yard. It may be well to oiTer an example. '•She would see who it was that thus insulted the memory of her dead lover. ".Vdelaide stepped foiwai-d and walked around to the othiT side of the cluster. "There was no one in sight. "The clump was small, not ten feet in area, flanked on one side by the brook, which laved the very roots of the buslies. " Daie she peep within ? " Tlie sun had slipped below the lioses and possibilities of paragraph structure. Let us now turn to some particular points wliicli may best ho handled separately. Some of them we have already in a measure anticipated, but there will be no harm in putting each into its place in our treatment. We shall consider first the puragrapli strurtme, regarding each paragraph as a whole, and next the internal structure of any paragraph. A. THE PAKAORAPH AS A WIIdLE. I. THE rXITY OF THE PARAGUAPH. 33. Ordinary Paragraphs. 'I'he first thing to speak of when we think of the paraLrrajih in general is our old friend Unity, as applied to this particular case. We have already sei u (p. 'l'-)) tliat I'nity in lihetoric does not mean some particular quality of tlie paragraph, or of tlie sen- tence, or of anything else. It is the name wliich we give to a general principle which is of importance in Rhetoric as it is in almost any other matter of human interest, and in one department in Khetoiic about as much as another. It means primarily that you should keep your mind upon ORDIXA II y P.l /iM ^■ /,'. 1 P1L\ 1 1 1 the particular thing you arc doing and not bother about other things whicli have uo immediate cDnncction with the case. Now, as applied to the paragrapli, the princi])le of Unity would run about as follows: Every ]iaragraph should have sonic definite topic. It should include all that is necessary on that topic, and ntithing else. That is rather a rigid preserijition, but on the whole it will hold good.' l>ne must understand it thorouuhly. "All that is necessary " may be open to misconception if we do not add " under the circumstances."' Hut of course that must be understood. Suppose you are writing a sketch about American Universities and give a paragraph to the one of which you are a member. You can't say as much as though you devoted your whole sketch to the subject; you must omit a great deal. But you can't afford to leave out anything that is necessary. Moi'e or less will be necessary, according to the scale upon which your work is arranged. Suppojr, however, you happen to handle the same topic in several paragraphs. There is no especial reason why you should. But if you do, you will generally find that although it mav seem to be the ^ume tojiic, if it is handled in a succession, it is really a set of sub-topics. In one in- stance you may write three paragrajjlis on your own Uni- versity, but it will be liest to take the university buildings for one [laragraph, the students for another, and the pro- fessors for another (if these be the subjects you speak of). If anv sucli subdivision exist, you will find it well to (ib- serve it in y(jur paragraphing. If it do not exist, there is no good rcas(jn for having moi-e than one pai-agi-a[)h. ]'>ut generally some such division may be made if you ai-c clever enough to find out what it is. So, on the other hand, a para;.n-aph may r^ontain a number of matters ap- parently separate. Hut you nill see at omi; I hat tliey all ' It is the ili-liniliori nf 'I'nii- Eli"|iiciii-i' frivi'Ti liy It'ii-licrdininikl, J/-(.n)H'.v, I--.1. l(iT8, No. :J.JO. 112 COySTRUCTirE RHETORIC. coiiiu under some more general head. Otherwise there is no good reason fur lumping tliem in togothur. And whun we sav that a jKuagrapli should contain " nothing else," tlie mutter is equally plain. This some- tliing else, uuiiccessary to our special tojiic, that we are tempted to add may be necessary to some other topic. In that case put it where it belongs. Or it may bo un- necessary to any topic, in which case you might as well run your pen through whatever you have written about it. You may ask, •' Shall we have nothing beyond bare neces- sity ? Is there no place for ornament, for amusement, for humor?" That depends, I should say, on what your pur- pose is. If your purpose include humor, amusement, ornament, those things are necessities. If not, they are out of place. All this is, perhuiis, too commonplace to have spent our time over. A great deal that finds ]ilace in text-books on Rhetoric is commonjilace if we look at it from the right point of view. If this is u commonplace, so much the better. The best practice one can have in giving Unity to one's paragraphs consists in making analyses of the paragraph structure of other people's writing and making analyses of paragraph structure for one's self to follow. The first exer- cise serves to put into a practical form what we have been already thinking over, and the second serves to familiarize us with the process as ajiplied to our own habits of thouj^'lit. Si line material for such work will be found a little later (p. 117); just at present there is a special word to say upon the latter process. The makini^f uf analyses of whatever is to be written is a practice frequently commended to students, and by about three out of four of them rejected as wholly useless. Almost every teacher of English who has got to close quar- ters with his students has been told, often by the best of ORDIXARY PARAnRAPHS. 113 them, that such analyses were a hindrance ratlicr than a help. "I make tliom bocanso you tell us to," one will say, " but it's ever so much easier to make them after Writing the essays than before. I don't got any help from them myself. If I make one beforehand I can never keep to it. I go on for a page or two and then leave it." Now such a view has its foundation. It is not easier to write an essay on an analysis. It is often much harder. Nor is the particular essay always better. It may lack vitality and be very wooden. We may go farther and say that probably very few good writers ever make analyses of what they are about to write. They have a general ]ilan in mind before writing, but not much more. Indeed, such writers may never have made such analyses; they may have acquired in wholly different ways their ability to handle even intricate questions with wonderful clearness. And even if one have made a very good analysis of a subject beforehand, one will very often see reason to leave it before one is half throuirh. In spite of all this, — for all these points are well taken as far as the facts are concerned, — even allowing all this, there can be little doubt that mak- ing previiius analyses is the best practice yet devised for cultivating general clearness of expression. You see we have here two points which must be consid- ered. Such work is practice work, for one thing, and, for another, it is to cultivate general clearness of expression. As i') its being practice work not much need be said. All the work in this book is practice work. This is not like a cookery-book by means of which a cook can learn to make an apple-pie in the course of half an hour. It is not a complete letter-writer which will enalile you to concoct a resijectable letter on almost any topii' in fifteen minutes. It isn't a Royal Koad to Klietoric. It is not meant to enable you to turn out finished work at once any more than a book on painting or on football is meant to 114 ( oysTM V( ■ n I -E lUiETi iiiir. enable you to piiint a good picture at oiicf, or to play half- back. But just as a book on painting or ou football is meant to train the powers that you will need to use iu jiaiiiting a picture or playing half, so this book is meant to train those powers that will (if they e\er get trained) enable you to express yourself well. Just read Knskin on Perspective and go out and try to draw a clump (if trees, or read Mr. Camp on football and go into a hard game. or, better still, read a book on swimming and jump into the water where it's (lut of your depth. In each case you will at once frngct everything that was in the book and begin to battle for life. But in such cases, after careful study of the principles and much good practice, one begins to do things intuitively. Long and jtainful practice makes second nature. Some men get along without the princi- ples and with only the roughest jiractice. l'"or such a one who succeeds there are many who fail. And those who succeed, especially in writing, are generally men ])articu- larlv well qualified. Here we do not assume to have any better heads than tlie rest of the world. 'i'hon as to the second point. Tlie object of such work is to cultivate clt'arTiess. If your aim Ik' humor, or bril- lianitv, or ease, or anything else but clearness, this writing upon an analvsis is not the best way to reach it. It may e\eri be prejudicial to certain other good characlerislics that von have. It may take all the mituralness out of your writing and make it conventional and stiff. It may take away all your spirit and dash and make yon dried iip and j)eilaniic. It may do these things and worse, if you are not careful; and if you think that it is doing the,-e things, and if the qualities that you are losing aie of more value to von than general clearness of I'xpi'ession, or if you are sure that your writing is clear enough as it is, — why, then, you don't want to make any more analyses. They will help you to clearness of thought and perspicuity ORDTXARY PARAd RAPHS. llTi lit" expression. And those iwq vei-y i^noil qualities; wlien you think it over, you will see that clearness is ii good thiuo; in itself, that it is a great element in streiiLfth and ease. It is well worth trying for. even at a slight loss. And if YOU have ynur eyes oj^en for the harm that may be done, you stand a pretty ijodil chanee of avoiding it. Making analyses of tlie work of others and following careful analyses of your own will hell) you to form the habit of mind that will enable you to write clearly without such help. That's all that we can e.xpeet to get — the riuht habit of mind. When yon have once gut that, you may throw all your analyses into the fire. A word or two on making analyses of what has been alreadv written may be of praetiral ser\i(e. I shdiild gi) about it in this way. Take your subject, let us say Mauiiee's sermon (hi f'lirr^' and go through it paragraph bv paragraph, trying always t(^ set down the true tojiic (if the paragraph in a few words that will be concise and clear. Par. 1. Circumstances under which the gift of Peace was made. 2. Strangeness in the thought of jjeace at such a time. 3. Yet these cir"«ilo'ii, ['[k lo.l-llo. 111! roXSTRUCTIVE RHETORIC. 9. This Peace, originally a deliverer from strife, must be held fast in strife. 10. Bearing upon the service of Holy Cununuuion. From this statement you see that ilaurice was not vorv caicful abdiit his paragraj)h structure. At least it is not a very definite guide to the structure of liis sermon. Hence you sec the necessity of reading every ]iara;,n-aj)h carefully and making sure that you have got its real intent. It will not do to read only the first sentence: some of these para- graphs have two topics. Having got so far, we want some kind of systematic grouping of the ideas. Here Maurice himself has marked out the main divisions, and we may proceed witluiut further difficulty to put our first notes (which were more of ail aljstract or memorandum) into an analytic form, with the following result, which you see is rather different from a mere statement of the subjects of the paragraphs. Introduction. The conditions of this gift of Peace make clear its meaning. Par. 1, 2, 3, as above. Part I. What that Peace was not. a. Not with the world. | ,, , b. Not among theuiselves. \ c. Not freedom from internal conllict. Par. 5. Part II. What that Peace was. 'J'he Nature of the Peace of Christ. Par. (J. Part 111. The Conditions of the Interpretation. The sin of the Disciples had made evident to them- selves a. The nature of their need. b. Where they were to find aid. Hence a consideiatiun of the nature of the aid: i-Par. contrast between the world's gifts and this gift of Clirist. ORDiyARY rARAiiUAPUS. 117 Part IV. Application to our own circumstances. Par. 8. 9. Coiiclusiou. The Bearing of the al.>ovc upon tlie service of Holy Communion. Par. Id. Such is a simple example of an analysis which will t^ive you an idea of how to proceed in more comjilicatcd cases. Don't try to make au abstract of the cst^ay or whatever else you are at work on. Au abstract aims to convey the same information as the original; an analysis aims only to give the course of the tliought to note and arrange the topics. The two may not coincide; in an abstract, for iustarue, you may find it convenient to depart from the original order. An analysis, as a rule, contents itself with noting the topics; an abstract reduces the statement to lower terms. And lastly, an analysis makes obvious the system of division and subdivision of thought, the structure of the piece, which is not so commonly attended to in making .■ili.^tracts. EXERCISES. 1. Make an analysis, as aliuvp, of some essay or piece nf writing tliat you are familiar with. Suljjiits are easily found; .Maiaulay anfl Burke ar^' f.'Ood to \>cg\x\ on, Ijecause of tlie care willi which tliey olj->erve the I iiity of the Paragraph. Macaulay's Ijife of Johnson (Encyc. Brit.) or a [lart of it, Burke on Conciliation u ith .\merica, ar>- good examples. De Quincey is not so simj^le, liut tl ssay on Shakespeare (Biographies), which will give us some good examples later, is less digressive and more regular in structure than much of his work. Huskin's Sf.vune and JJHm and (.'roirti of Wild Olin-s offer easv examples, for \\i- marks the main ]iarts of the analysis himself. The essays of Mattliew Arnold and Walter Pater are good for later practice, being a little more difficult on uccunnt ni the na ture of their -uliject-inatter. 2. Take one of the collections of material made in the e\ircise in 2 7 and arrange it in sucli form as would sersc as a plan Icir an essay. N'>te down, as on j'age 107, each idea that is in serve as a paragraph-topic, and then arrange and group them tngeiher in llie best way that occurs to you. You will often lind that you havo to 11 ^ roy^JIiUCTIVK RIIKTORIC do a pooil deal of rearranging before vou are satisfied with your rr-,alt. For example ; I gather from the classification on jiage SI the fol lowing topics : College Spirit. 1. Colluge Spirit, a feeling of entllusia^tic loyalty for one's col- lege. 2. Such a feeling, as such, a good and j;eiierous thing. 3. Akin to jiiUriotiMa. 4 To pirsonul loyalty. 5. To religious ilcvolion. 6. C'olh m;l- spirit pru]pi-r dilTers somewhat iu undergraduate and graduate. 7. The undergraduate shows it liy taking part in intercollegiate contests, athletic or otlnrw isi- ; by doing his ndlege work in a su- perior manner; by always upholding the reputation and honor of the .•ollrf,re. 8. Also in less excellent ways. 9. 'i'lie graduate's loyalty. 10. One form of ('olht;!' Sjiirit is Class Spirit. 11. Almost destroyed ut the large universities, it is a useful influ- enc'o in the colleges. 12 Still different is Fraternity Feeling. 13. Which has its good points. 14. And its bad ones. If I were going to write u paper on this material, it would take some such form as the following: Tiitr:ithi,ii,iii. (H) Many people imagine that College Spirit is nothing more than an impulse to steal signs and blow tin liorns. Mitiii Hi-rii.'oses of this exercise you may well eiiuugh imafjiue that the essays contemplated in the plan are to lie of any length you choose. Here is an example of a par;i>;raph of connection written to come between I and II in the plan of p. 118. " Xor is it on such general considerations alone that one may be sure that ( 'oUeire Si.irit is something more than the noisy ebullition of boyishness set free from restraint. One can see it in its manifesta- tions and effects in college life." II. COXXECTION. 35. The second matter that we must handle here is that of Connection. There are other things that may oc- cur to you — the question of Sequence, for instance. But that belongs to another part of our study (4o), and indeed we liave already had a good deal to say concerning it. So with some other points you may think of. The thing of real importance now is Connection. 'i'he para;,'raph has often been compared to a link in a chain (p. \(yi). Just a.s the links of a chain are connected together, so must the paragraphs of a piece of writing be connected. The analogy is a u.seftil one, but we siiould mark one rather important difference. You cannot con- nect the links of an iron chain by conceiving of a connec- tion in your mind. But you can connect a number of paragraphs in just that way. A\'ith an iron cliaiii there must be material connection Ijetweru link ami link: in a chain of para!ri-ii])l)8 it will very often be uiiiieci'ssary to expre.=.s ativ connection; it will be so obvious that, it will be impertinent to .stalo it. Vou may treat. yi)iir ivadrr as 124 (ijysTRUrTIVE RnETORIC. a rational being. As Mr. Justice Story said to a lawyer who was full of detail on some simple niattor. " .Mr. , tliere are some things that even the Supreme Court of the United States may be presumed to know." So, then, in many cases, though there should always be some connection of paragiaph in a coherent discourse, it is not by any means necessary always to state it. In practice it is generally left unexpressed: 1. In Narration; because the chronological sequence is generally assumed. It is only a child who begins ewry new breath with " Then we went," or " Then we came." 2. In cases where the subject has already been clearly indicated by an outline (34). After a parai;ra]ili of out- line, the connection of succeeding paragraphs may often be omitted. 3. In cases where the paragraphs actually or practically depend upon something preceding, as in the case of this paragraph you are now reading. 4. In works wliere the writer can count on the utmost concentration of attention (m the part of his reader. Such are many technical works, text-books, and so on. Even if the connection Ijc not obvious to the casual reader, the writer who is dealing with minds trained to his suljject, and bent upon iraining his meaning at any cost, will often leave out the delinite I'oniieetions. 5. In any ease where, as above noted, the connection is so obvious that a connection exju'essed would lie only in the way. But if you are not particular to imlicate the connection between paraj^raph and juiragrajih, do not ever fori^et that theie uuist be some connection. We can read a collection of wholly separate items in a newspaper, because we know we liave to do with a number i>f unconnected things. But if we begin anything with the idea that it is the treatment of some subject, and find that it is merely a number of coy XEC Troy at the BBaiyy/yn. \2:> wholly uuconnected thoughts on tlic mutter, \vc feci disiip- poiuted. A very slight connection is often sufficient. And some connection there always ought to bo in your work between topic and topic. For if there be none, you can have little reason for the order you adopt. And if you can give no reason for your mode of treatment, it is improbable that any one else will try to. So, then, there should always be some connection, and often enough it is useful to express it very plainly. You can see that this will often be the case in public speaking, where the hearer is never able to turn back to what has gone before; and so it is often in writing. It's worth while to save the reader the trouble of thinking back. And it may be added that even where it is not absolutely neces- sary it will often be well to express some connection. It takes away a sort of crudeness or abruptness that may otherwise exist — a quality very jarring to a cultivated taste. Having it, then, in mind to express whatever connec- tion exists, we consider next where to express it. Strictly speaking, the connecting link belongs as much to the para- graph whicli you have written, as to the one you are about to write. It might stand by itself as with the paragrapli quoted from Wordsworth on p. 121. But this seems ratlier slow, even clumsy; in practice, connei;tion is almost al- ways expressed, if at all, either at the beginning of a para- graph or at the end. 36. Connection at the Beginning. The most obvious place for expressed connection is at the beginning. There are a good many ways of managing the matter. We may put in a connecting sentence, or oven two; but this is Tather formal and iii practice not very eiininiiin. A\'e may use part of the fir.st sentence, jierljaps a clause Iiefore a semicolon. We may repeat some W(jrd or thought tliat has occurred toward tlie end of the preceding paiagiaph. llT, ((iXSTUrCTIVE RIIEToIUr. The simplest and commonest way is by means of a demon- strutive pronoun or some cunjunetion wliich will point to what has gone before. If we keep the matter in mind we shall find little difKcnlty in contriviii;j; means. It is always instrnctive to look in wiiut ymi aie reading for esam[iles. In the chapter nf Kiiskiii's S/nnes of J'('iure. of which I spoke .i short time agn (•!-!), there is a bit which is very illustrative (vol. iii, eh. ii. S xcii to tlie end). We have not ri)om for the whole passaLje, but I think you will see how carefully he manai,'es iiis I'onnec- tious from the endinirs and lieLjinniiigs of tlie paragraphs, which, by the way, are all nnmlicred. '■ § xcii. . . . to an infidelity only the more fatal because it still retained the form and langiiarje of faith. S xciii. In noticing the more jironiinent forms in wliich this fai/kh'gsness manifested itself, it is necessary . . . . . two vast multitudes — one tending to Reformation, the other to Infidelity. g xciv. Of' t/tesc the last stood, as it were, ai)art . . . . . and a thousand enthusia^nls and heresies, etc. § xcv. But the main evils . . . ... it was rendered tenfold more bitter by the natural but most sinful animosity of the two divisicjns of the Church auainst each other. S xcvi. (In the one side this animosihj was of course in- evitable . . . S xcvii. L'l'sii/es this . . . S xcviii. Nor, on the n/lirr haml, was the opposition of Protestantism, etc. . . . with the ashes of Jerome and the blood of Charles. S xcix. Now all this evil, etc. . . . grammar, logir. and rhetoric. S c. Tile study of ttiisc scii mr^, therefore . . . S ci. Jiitt it \\as Hot the grammarian and logician alone . . . COyXFCCTRLX AT THE BEGiyyLXd. ll'T § cii. 77/ (".s fatal result. § ciii. Nitf /hit: iras not all. Now iill this evil, observe, etc. [T^his begins a para- graph; there are tlnee in the section.] I believe that iu a lew 3-ears we shall awake from all these errors," ' etc. In each one of these fourteen jiaragraphs Ruskin took care to point out the connection with what had i,'one be- fore. In SS xcv and ci the connection is slii,ditest; the connection in thought is indicated by the conjunctions. In §S xciii and xcvi there is a repetition of a word or idea coming near the end of the foregoing ]iaragraph. in the others, as a rule, attention is called to what has pre- ceded by a demonstrative pronoun or a similar expression, as in § sciv the words the last. It may not seem to yuu necessary to be so particular about expressing connection; few writers are so explicit; Ruskin himself is not always. But the example serves to show what may be done and how to do it; and if you will look up the passage and read it carefully, you will see that the care has by no means been thrown away. There are other ways of expressing connection than those nsed by Ruskin. A common device lies in the use of a short summary of what has preceded, a summary of a clause or perhaps a sentence. In the Erst example fol- lowing, De Quiucey has been speaking of Shakespeare's women. He turns to a discussion of the supernatural ele- ment in Shakespeare. ■' In the great world, therefore, of women, as the inter- preter of the shifting phases and the lunar varieties of that mighty changeable planet, the satellite of man, Shake- speare stands not the first only, not the original only, but is yet the sole authentic oracle of truth. Woinan, therefore. ' The italicizing througLcjiit is miue. 128 ruX'^ThTCriVE RIIKTOUIC. tlie beauty of the female mind, this is one great field of his power. The supernatural world, the world of appari- tions, that is another; for reasons which it would be easy to give, etc." — De Quineey: Shahcsjivnic. (The para- graph goes on to considerable length.) The next example is from Macaulay's essay on Bacon, lie has been speaking of the power exerted over us by " the great minds of former ages.'' " Nothing, tlien, can be more natural tlian that a person endowed with sensibility and imagination should entertain a respectful and affectionate feeling towards tiiose great men with whose minds he has daily communion. ... |It is not for some little time that he comes to the real subject of the paiagraph.] . . . But the fanaticism of the devimt worsliipper of genius is proof against all evidence and all argument. . . ." EXEECISE8. I. Write a single paratrra])b on one or irior(> of the following ti)]>i(S, supposing it to be a jmrt of a lon^jer rsMiy, and indicating in tlie first sentcnLe tlie connection with what has gone before, the sub- ject-matter of which you must point out ; e.g., preceding paragraph on the good results of written examinations. " In spite of all this, and admitting readily that written exaiiiina tions at stated times give certain advantages not so easily conie at otherwise, yet it remains a fact that they have their drawl>acl(s, and very serious ones. First in the list comes the evil effect of cram- ming," etc., etc. In this example the connection is made rather too explicit and prominent. Try to manai,M> your exercise more easily. II. Tlie Humor i>f Lincoln (having spoken of bis public char- acter). b. Electricity as a modern means of Locomotion (having sjjoken of Steam). c. The Australian Ballot (having spoken of corruption at the polls). d. Japan goes to war with China (having spoken of her advances in civilization). e. Washington's refusal of a Third Term, coyyEcTio.x at the i:xd. \-l\\ t. The English march from Ijexington to Concord. g. The Private Character of Xapoloon. h. The place of the Small Ci>llege in America. 2. Take a plan for an essav made in accordance with 33, and write one or more paragraphs, taking care, as above, to mark the connec- tion ; e.g., * li on p. ll'.l. "Somewhat like Class Spirit, in that it flourishes on the whole more at a small College than at a large University, is Fraternity feeling. Doubtless the same causes arouse and discourage both, etc." 37. Connection at the End. Since the connection liu longs as much to one paragraph as to the otlier, it may be stated at the end of that whicli conies first. If yon look over the examples of connection at tlie beginning of a paragraph, however, with a view to adapting thoni to use at the end of the paragraph preceding, you will find that they will not all serve your purpose. Demonstrative pro- nouns are of little use, for they usually refer to something that has gone before and not to what is still to come. The same may be said of the conjunctions, which have been useful as connectives at the beginning. And repetitions of ;i word or an idea will not be useful for much the same reason; you can't repeat a word that hasn't yet been writ- ten. When you have got so far it may occur to you that auv of these devices may really be used as well at the end as at the beginning. It may seem as if it were merely a question of where you jilace the sentence with the connect- ing words, where you make the paragrajih division. It may seem that tliey would do quite as well at the end of one paragraph as at the beginning of the next. But read the pa8sa;.fe we have considered and try the effect of truns- jiosiiig the first sentence in each paragraph to the end of the paragraph preceding. I think you will see that the thing must be otherwise managed. To find out liow it is to be managed we may well I'liougli turn to examples again. But as there is no writer who systematically puts his connections at the end of his para- 130 coysTRVcrivE niiKiuiiic. graphs, we shall uut be able to find a wliole iiatsauo to il- lustrate our point. A few uxaniplrs must bo sutticiont, the following being from Macaula\ s L-ssay on llacon. I quote the last two sentences of the paragraplis in qiios- tiou. Tile paragraphs are not consecutive. "•. . . While Elizabeth lived, indeed, this disapprobation, thougli deeply felt, was not loudly expressed. But a great eluuige was at hand." " . . Neither on this occasion, nor on any other, could his bad actions be attributed to any defect nf head. They sprang from quite a different cause." " . . In the House of Commons he had many personal friends and many warm admirers. But at length, about six weeks after the meeting of Parliament, the storm broke." The seventh paragraph of the essay in which Jlacaulay finishes general mention of Mr. Montagu, and turns to the life of Bacon, ends as follows : " . . We shall attempt, with the valuable assistance which 'Mr. Montagu has afforded, to frame such an ac- count of Bacon's life as may enable our readers correctly to estimate his character." Such connecting sentences are sometimes found in one of the early paragraphs of an essay. It is a not unusual mode of beginning an essay to mention something which is not the particular subject to be discussed. After such al- lusion the transition to the subject is made, and usually at the end of a paragraph. Here are the first two jjarai^'raiibs of Alatthew Arnold's essay on Tolstoi: " In reviewing at the time of its first publication, thirty years ago, Flaubert's remarkable novel of Maddnw Bovary, Sainte-Beuvo observed that in Flaubert we come to aiiotliei' manner, another kind of ins])iratiuu from those which had l)revailed hitherto; we find ourselves dealing, he said, with a man of a new and different generation from novelists like (ieorge Sand. The ideal has ceased, tlie lyric vein is dried ui>; the new men are cured of lyiieisai and the ideal; 'a coyyEcriox at the em). i;!l severe and pitiless tnitli has made its entry, as tlie last word iif experience, even niiti) art itself.' The eharacters of the new literature of fiction are ' science, a spirit of observation, maturity, force, a touch of hardness.' L'idi'al a ccfsc, le lyriqne ii fan'. "The sjiiritof observation and the touch of hardness (let us retain these mild and inoffensive terms) have since been carried in the French novel very far. So far have they been carried, indeed, that in spite of the advantage which the French language, familiar to the cultivated classes everywhere, confers on the French novel, this novel has lost much of its attraction for those classes ; it no longer com- mands their attention as it did formerly. The famous English novelists have passed away and left no successors of like fame. It is not the English novel, therefore, which has inherited the vogue lust by the French novel. It is the novel of a country new to literature, or, at any rate, unre- garded till lately by the general public of readers ; it is the novel of Russia. The Russian novel has now the vogue, and deserves to have it. If fresh literary produc- tions maintain this vogue and enhance it, we shall all be learning Russian." — Essays in Criticism: Second Series, p. 253. Here the subject is a Russian novelist, but we get no no- tion of it till the last sentence in the second paragraph. The third paragraph begins on the Russians. EXEBCISES. Take the subjects of :',(>. 1, and without troubling about conin'oticm at tbc IjHfrinninj,', writi; paragraphs wbirli sliall distinctly turn tlic subjert to the tijpic to l>u taken u|] next. Or, as in 30, 2, tri'ut sojnc of till' paragriiplis in tln' analyses in ;{.'[ in tin; same way. This exeri Ue is not so easy as the ])reriiiing. The usual difficulty is that the turn fniiji one subject to another at the end of a ]iiira^'raph is made far too abru|^t and obvious. (Mien some very stiff si'iilence is tacked on to the end of the paragraph like this; " Let us now l?,-2 roXSTRrCTIVK laiETOlilC. consiiliT wliiitevrr may be saiil in favor of writlin exaiuiuations," or "Having exiimiued the ili'l.-cts uf tlic prcM'iit system we will turn to a study of its >tn)nf; jioiiits." (Iiir must use some iiifjriuiity tii manage the matter without seeming bold. Yuu must remember that the device is by no means a Mnessiiy of style: it is only a convenience, lo be used now and then, for variety's sake or other reasons. B. THE STKrcTIKE nF THE I'.MMtJK.VPll. Our paragraphs, tlifn.the different links in our chain, must be all of the right stuff ami curb miuio fust to the one before as to the onu coming after. That is wlitit wc must bear in mind about the [larai^naph as it stands a.s a whole in our writing,'. To turn next to the jiuragraph in itselfj to its particular structure Of the internal strucfuicof the paru;,'raph there is much that has been very well saiil, and that in various ways. The subject has been ccnisidoru'il from different points of view. But as, in writing, we have to \k'>X\i\ e\fry ptira- graph, to carry it through somehow or other, and then to make an end of it liofino we turn t(j another, let us think lii-st of the beginning, then of tiie geneitil structure, then of tlte end. Ktither a rule-ol-lhumb order, perhaps, but one tlitit will serve. I. TIIE BKr.INXIN'ti OF THE P.ML.VDKAIII. 38. Beginning-, a. The easiest \v;iy tcj beLcin a paragraph, and the coiiiiiioiiest way tdO, is to s;iy wliat yim are guing to write about, — sunietliing a.s if you were [Hitting a title to a biidk, this is. In mure furnud langtiaoe we might sav: The tujiic of the paragraph is eomniniily .stated or in- dicated in tiio first sentence. This is a simple idea to grasp; one may well enough woniler where else one should put the tiijiic. 'i'liere are uther j)laces, whicii we shall come to later. At present, without more explanation, here beglwjm;. 1 33 are a few examples of })ar;igr:ip]is wliei'e tlic tdjiic is staled plainly and directly at tlio vei'y outset. It would take Ido much space to print the whole of each paragraph, so 1 will give only the first sentences. In Emerson's essay on 7//,s7n?-^ many good examples may be found. Indeed at the beginning of the essay the lirst sentences may be taken as an alistraet of the essay. These four sentences might almost be the four sentences of a single paragraph, each one of which Emerson took out and elaborateil. '•■ There is one mind common to all individual men." " Of the works of this mind histoi'y is the record." " The human mind wrote histor\-, and this must read it." " It is the universal nature which gives worth to particu- lar men and things." Later on the peculiarity is not so marked. I suppose Emerson cultivated tliis mode of expression to counter- balance another characteristic of his — a general lack of obvious connection between sentence and sentence. He wanted his reader to have the main idea well in mind before he began on his comparisons and examples and analogies. Other good examples maybe found almost anywhere; e.g., in Walter Pater's essay on the Italian painter Botti- celli in " The Renaissance." The whole essay is worth studying from our present point of view. It consists of ten paragraphs. The first proposes the subjeet of the essay in the first and penultimate sentenees. The second states its own subject in the first sentence. The third in the first two. The fourth not till the third sentence, owing to its bringing in a contiasting idea (p. 13(i). The fiftli states its subject in the first and second sentences. The sixth in the first. Tlie seventh has a eonncclion in the first sentence and a statement of topic in the second l:;4 coyy^rRrcTivh: rhetoric. (p. 135). The eighth and nintli each states tlio topic at once. Su ilnrs the tenth in the form of :i i|uestion icvert- iii;,% in the answer, to the subject of the essay as pro- Iiuundeil toward the end of the first paragraph. Fulhuv- ing is tlie second paragraph. '■ In an age when the lives of artists were full of adven- ture, his life is almost colourless. (^I'iticisin indeed lias cleared away uuich of the gossip which \"asari aeeiiinu- latcd, has tuuched the legend of Lipjio and Lucrezia, and rehabilitated the ebaiaeter of Andrea del (.'astagno; but in Botticelli's case there was no legend to dissipate. lU' did Hdt even go by his tnu' name: Samlro is ii nieknanie, and his true name is Filipejii, ISnttieelli being only tlie name of the goldsmith who first taught him art. Only two thiiigft happened tn him, twn things whieh he shared with otlier artists — he was in\ited to iJume to paint in the Sistine Chapel, and he fell in later lile nndt'r the influ- ence of Sa\ iiiiarohi, passing ajijiaiently almost out nf men's sight in a sort of i-eligious nieluncholy whieh lasted till his death in 151. 'i, aceurding to the rceeived date. Vasari says tliat he plunged into tlie study of Dante, and even wrote a eoniment on the ' l)i\ine Comedy.' iJiit it seems strange that he should have lived on inactive so long; and one almost wishes that some doeumeiit migjit come to light whieh. fixing tlie date of his tieath earlie)-, might re- lieve one, in thinking of him, of his dejected old age." EXERCISES. \. Take from the fi>ltowing tcpjiics' subjiits for paragraphs, taliiufr care to 1h i.'iu >ucli |iara^'rapU with a .^luIi-ucb slutiug or indiaitiug L'lriirly till' theme. 1. Fall WfiitliL-r. '.3 Vucalion amu^i'iiiiiits. 3. ' 'heating in Examinations. ' They are only suggi-sticms, on which vnu can uimk-l tii))i(S of your own. BEniyyrya. 135 4. ytuiiiiit Honor. 5. (.tooii l\esi>lutioiis. 6. Benefits of Idlinjj. T. M_v lirajulfathiTV !^toiies of Lis Boyhood. S. The Orijrin of Thanksgiving. 9. Old-time Celebrations of Chri--t mas. 10. The Rush to California for Ookl. 11. Some good tbinire abi>ut a bad memory. \'2. S.ime bad things about u. good meiimry 13. Legends of the Hudson. (See Washington Irving.) 14. Leatherstocking. (See Cooper.) lo. KecoUections of Seott's Novels. 16. The Boyli.,,,d .>f Franklin. 17. The Cc>nver>-ation n( Dr. Johnson. ]"<. Independence in Politics. 19. Imagination and Sclmlarship. 20. The Monroe Doctrine. B. Take the nutline Idr an Essay written in accordance with 33, and write one or more ]inragiaphs iipon the heads noted there, being careful as in the i>receding exercise to indicate or state the subject in the first sentence. This way of beginning a paragraph is a matter very easy of practice and very well worth it. There are one or two variations and exceptions, which should be noted. b. In the first phice. we mii.st remember what we have been saying about ('oimecticjn. We saw that it was often the very first thing to have in mind. Sometimes it was enongli to put in but a word or two, as in many of the ex- amples which we looked at. Sometinies, however, we saw that a whole sentence was gi\ en uj) to the connection. In such cases the statement or indication of tlie topic would natu- rally be deferrcil. Tliis is hardly an exception; it is usual enough to put the to])ic into tlie first sentence, but much the same effect is produced if it comes well up tnwurd the beginning. Atnl, of course, it is the eU'ecl, that is your business; you want your rea<]er to get ludd of th(.' matter in a certain way. Xo rules liave any excellence in this re- !:-.•> roysTurrriVE nilEToniC sjit-et. unless thcv will ultimately help you in this direction. c. There is another way of beginning a jiaragraph which is well enough to remember. Sumctiineo a writer, instead of stating his subject directly, will bring forward or sug- gest something- else that will form a contrast. A contrast- ing idea often helps the understanding, and, of course. it nuiy be brought in before tlie main idea or after it. Macaulay was very fond of bringing it in before. Here are the beginnings of some of his paragraphs in his cssav on Adilisini : Par. 1. '• Some reviewers are of opinion tliat a lady who dares to publisli a book renounces liy that act tiie franchises appertaining to her sex, and ean claim no exeniiition from the utmost rigor orcriticul procedure. From that opinion we dissent. ..." Par. ■-'. "" Xor are the immunities of sex the only iinimini- ties "which Miss Aiken may rightfully plead. Several of her works . . . have fully entitled her to the privileges en- joyed by good writers. ..." Par. 4. " To Addison himself we are bound l)y a senti- ment as much like alTection as any sentiment can be, wliieh is inspired by one wlio has been sleeping a hundred and twenty years in Westminster Abliey. We trust, however, tliat this feeling will not betray us into tljat abject idola- try," etc. Par, o. " As a man he may not have deserved the admi- ration which he received. But after full inquiry and im- partial reflection, we have long lieen convinced that lie deserved as much love and esteem as can \>v justly claimed liy any of our infirm and erring race." Here out of five paragraphs are four beginning with the same device. In reading the essay all through, however, we shall not find many more examples. It is not verv well suited to narration, and somehow Macaulav did not employ it frequently in the critical portions of the essay. It is, I PE(;Txyr\(;. 137 believe, a common opinion tliat this mode of ("xprcssion, together witli several othci's, was so constantly nscil by ilacaulay as to be little more than a mannerism. A man- nerism in style is a mode of speeih that has become so habitual that it is used witlimit thought as to whether it be especially suitable to the occasion or notj Whether this way of beginning were or were not used too often by !Ma- canlay, it is one which you might as well aoquii-e the use of. There is one kind of composition in wliich it is frequently a most natural one, namely, Argument. You will often be- gin a paragraph with some projiosition that is the direct contrary of the one you desire to establish. In some cases this proposition is really the topic nf the paragraph. But often this denial of the obverse is used merely to introduce the direct statement. cL There is yet another exception to the practice of stat- ing the topic at the beginning of the paragraph. The topic may be of such a nature that it cannot readily be stated in short form. Such is very frequently the case in narration. Open a novel at random and select a narrative jmragraph: the following comes near tlie end of T/ie Laiinmia Preacli- iiir/, by S. R. Crockett: " The minister wrenched himself free, and s{)rang along the trunk with wonderful agilify. '"I'm intimated to preach at C'uuldshaw's this night, and my text is " Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might," ' he shouted. " He made his way up and up the slope of the fir-tree, which, having little grip of the rock, dijipcd and swayed under his tread. Ebie Kirguii fell on hisknei.s and prayed aloud. lie had not prayed sim-c his stepmother boxed his ears for getting into bed without saying his i)rayers twenty vears ago. This had set him against it. Hut ho i)raved now, and to infinitely more purjioso than his min- ister had recently done. But when the climber had reached 13s COysTRVCTIVE RUETORIC. the branchy top, ;uk1 was striving to ijet a few feet fartlier in order to clear tlu' surging linn before he maile his sprini:, Ebie rose to his feet, leaving his prayer unfiuished. He sent forth an almost animal shriek of ter- ror, Tlie tree roots cracked like breaking cables and slowly gave wa\, an ayalanche of stones plumped down into the whirl, and the top of the fir craslied downwards on the rocks of the opposite bank. ■' ■ Oh man, call on the name of the Lord! ' cried Ebie Kirgan, the raggeil jireacher. at the top of his voice. "Then he saw something detach itself from the tree lis it rebounded, and for a moment rise and fall, black against the sunset. Then Kbic the outcast fell on his face like a dead man." — S. K. Crorkett: Tin- Slichit Miiiistvr, p. W. In this l(p|ige.^l paragi'aj)h we have a scries of events con- nected logeilierand having sutlicient unity. Tiiey e-Xpiess the nioment before the cri.-is. But it would be rather hard to state the topii' at the licginning ami any attempt to do- so would interfeie seriously with tlie tlow of the narrative, which, at this ])la<'e certainly, should not be im- peded. Atid it may be addei^ that not only do we often have narrative paragiajihs whei'e there coiilil not well be any statement of topic, but in descriptions also it would often serve no good purpose. f. .\ f(jiirth exception to the practice is to be found in the paragraphs discussed in 34. They consist usually of two or three sentences only, sometimes only of one, and for this reason, as well as that their topic is usually much more complicated than that of an ordinary paragraph, the practice would not be very useful. /. A la^t exception is in the case of paragraphs where the subject is not stateil definitely until the end. Such ]iaragra{ihs are not very common : we shall discuss them later. There is an example on p. l.JG. A.VPIJFTCATIOX I'.'Ai II. THE MAIN PART OF THE PARAGRAPH. <■. AMPI.IFIC VTION. 39. Amplification. It is now a inattor of interest to con- sider tlie process by which our plan wilh its bare headings, or even its topic sentences, if we liavc gone so far, is to be enlarged, developed, filled out into a siitticient and satis- fai.'tory treatment. .^(Uiiethini;- or other must olivioii>ly be done, — we have noted down onr "'heads "so that we see our idea taking shape, but of ccuirse we must in some way embody it, give it form and fulness, in a word amjjlify it, so that it may mean as much to everylnidy else as it does to us. One or another head serves to fix in our mind u good many ideas, although tliey may be but vaguely gath- ered about it; we must express them so that they will call those ideas into the mind of the re.ader. This is, to tell the truth, rather a question of fact than otherwise; the skeleton does somehow take form. If you take the work of any good writer you will find that yon can always make an abstract, wliich shall be much shorter than the work itself and yet state all the important points, so that it serves excellently to call to mind the course of his ideas. Yet no one would think of stating his ideas in so bare a form as an abstract, excejit for a memorandum, perhaps, or for some such purpose. So in one way or another every- body goes through a process the reverse of making an ab- stract. And for the various processes which people follow naturally enough in working out their plan or analysis into a complete treatment rhetoricians have various names, the different processes being usually included under the gen- eral head Am[)lification. ( »f these jiroci'sses I shall speak here only of Repetition, (Mjvri-se Iteration, and I'lxplana- tion. Another and u vciv useful form of Am|)lifiratiou (it should perhaps be included under tin.' head of Keju't ilion) consists of Illustration and Figure, to group under a 1-io CdS^TRCCTIVE niiETonic. double name things wliich are not very clearly ili>tin- giiisheil. But lliis topic is such that it is worth while to treat it more fully than the others, and we will take it up later in Part Four; it is muw ditlieult than the others, and to most people comes less naturally. 40. Repetition. The teim Repetition and also the name Iteration, which is .'^onietinies used, are lioth likely to he a little misleading. \\e certainly do not mean, by either of them, repel ition of the same thoui^lit in the same words or in other words. Such real repetition may now and then lie of value in s[)oken discouisc. where it is more necessary to impress an idea upon the hearer, who can never pause over anvthiuL,' to consider it fully. In oratory it may sometime,--, I suppose, be well to rejieat the same tliou^dit in dilTereiit words, or even in the same woi'ds. But evi'U in oratory such a practiee tends to lead the hearer to iniai;ine that he is jrettiiig more than he really is. 'The English lan^juage with its stoi-e of words from different sources (p. IMS) offers a constant temptation in tliis ilii-ec- lioii ' which one must be careful to avoiil. The kind of lu petition wiiiidi is useful is an enlaiije- inent of your idea, a stating all that is im])lied in it, a get- ting at different aspects of it, a develojunent of it. l>oiri repeat the very same idea, except to impress it uj)outiie attention; it's the way to become verbose. P]nlarge your idea, however, develo]> its resources, look at it from an- other point of view, and yon will make a gain. To speak exaetlv. this is not merely nepctitioii, but the name will serve our purpose. A gooil example which would come in hero may be found in some remarks of Barrett Wendell on the character of rei'tain forms of artistic expression: (a) "To phrase an emotional mood an artist must, as it ' Evfii ddwn to the u-^iiifj pairs of words which mean no more than one of tliem alone, as " will and testaiUL-iit," " aid and abet." " beg and ln-M.fcU. " REPETlTloy. 141 were, cut his nature in twd. With i)art of himself he must cling to the mood in questioi., or at least revive it at will. With another part of himself he must deliberately with- draw from the mood, observe it, ciiticise it, and cai-efully seek the vehicle of expression which shall best serve to convey it to other minds than his own. The self who speaks, in short, is not quite the self whom he would dis- cuss. To put the matter otherwise, an artist must some- times be almost conscious of what modern psyehologists would call double personality. To put it differently still, every art of expression involves a fundamental use of the art which is in least repute, — the histrionic. The lyric poet must first experience his emotion, must then abstract himself from it, — thereby relieving himself considerably, — and finally must imaginatively and critically revive it at will." — Barrett Wendell: William Slidlceriperc, p. 1'IS. Here the matter is first put in a figure. In the two sentences following the process is stated somewhat pre- cisely. The matter is in the fourth sentence generalized. It is next put into the language of psychology. It is then put into connection with the science of eesthetics. Lastly, it is again stated in a somewhat abstract manner. For another example we may take the second paragraph of Emerson's essay on //('.v/or//. We have already seen that the topic is stated in the first sentence (p. 133); we want now to see how that topic is amplified. (J) " Of the works of this mind history is the record. Its genius is illustrated by the entire .series of days. l\Ian is explicable by nothing less than all his history. Witliout hurry, without rest, the human spirit goes forth from the beginning to embody every faculty, (tveiy thought, every emotion, which belongs to it in approi)riate events. But the thought is always prior to the fact; all the facts of history pre-exist in the mind as laws. Each law is made by circumstances predominant, and the limits of nature 142 ((/y.^rnnrivK riietoric. !j:i\e power to but one at a tiiuf. .V man is the whole eu- cyclopajdia of facts, 'i'lii,' creatimi of a thousaml forests is in one acorn, and Eyvjit, GrcLce. liuino, Gaul, Britain, America, lie folded already in tlie first man. Epoch nfier epoch, camp, kingdom, empire, republic, deiiunracy, are merely the applications of his manifold spirit to the mani- fold world." — E.^yays : First Srriey. Looking tlirou<,di this paragraph, we note that tlie im- pcirtaiit wiii'd in 4he seeuiid j^eiitence is e«///7'. which de- velops an idea imidied to some extent in the first sentence. The third sentence brings ii< back fnun 7>iiii(i to iikiii (cf. the topic i)f the first paraLrrajib, p. i:!:'.): it is in a meas- ure a connectiny- .sentence. The fourth states the idea in somewhat figurative lanirnapfe and a little in(]re at length; aside from the figure the words I he humuii spiril . embody . . . a/i/irvjind/i' nrnts. convey the ideas niiid. rcrnrd, hisliirij of the tirst sentence. The fifth sentence has for adilitidus to the idea the words yiri'o/- and pre-v.rist. Tile si.xlh explains more fully how tjie idea comes to reali- zation. The next two sentences are figurative. The last is a statenient which siiirgests some particulars. The forms of li'i>|)etitii>ii, then, as we observe them in these exii-acis. are as follows (the references are to the 1st, ■-'d, I5d, sentences, etc., in either extract): 1. More detailed statement, mention of how, when, where, etc. : a '.', a '■'<. a 4. ■'. Necessary addition aiid completion, statement of somethinLT implicit in the first sentence: b'2, bi). d. Partieularization: b '.K 4. (ieiieralization : a -i. 5. 'J'lie languaLTC of ditTerent standpoints: o 5, a G. C. Figure: '; 1, i 4, i ?, // 8. This is of couise no complete enumeration; by analyz- ing other paragraphs yon could find other forms of Repe- tition. Hut the above are the points to which attention is common! V called. liKi'F.Tirioy. U3 EXERCISES.' Take the folloniiic: sentences as in the paragraph M'ntpni'i'> lirst and amplify them bv repetition. 1 indiiato the forms of repetition which seem most available, except in the case of 5, which is not easy of practice, and of (5, in which exercises are ilcfernMl to Part Four. Tou need not, however, confine yourselves to the modes of repetition indicated ; a. Amplify (1) by more detailed statement and (2) necessary addi- tion and completion . 1. The New York Central trains make very short time between New York and BuiTalo. 3 England is the great colonizing power of the Nineteenth Century. 3. The great generals of the Civil ^Var are n(jw almost all gone. 4. The present working of our system of electing a President was not foreseen by the makers of the Constitution. .5. The past football season has done a good deal to raise the game in general estimation. 6. The American citizen has other duties besides voting. 7. European History during the last hundred years is full of at- tempts at revolution. 8. Lovejoy was not the only Abolitionist to sjifEer for his opinions. 9. The wholesale destruction of forests has a serious eifect upon climate. 10. College life involves a good deal more than the mere acquisi- tion of knowledge. 6. Amplify the following by particular examples (3) real or imagi- nary : 1. (ireat wealth has its responsibilities. 2. There may be too much even of a good thing. 3. The man who is always late robs his friinds. 4. The same thing often looks very differently to different people. 5. Disapi>ointment makes many jienitrnts. 'This form of exercise, useil alsn in 4'i, was devised by Siiitt and pinney, and developed with much sliill in their J'tinii/nip/i Writing. .\fter the fa.shion of scholars, hnwi'vcr, tlicy have not patented their method, and allow me to avail mysi'lf of it. Two of tlic alinve sentences are taken from their liouk, as I have found them success- ful in class-room work. 144 COysTUVrTTVE RHETORIl'. 6. Music liuh. to a great degree tbo power of arousing ncollictlon. 7. The world gives its griatcst rewards to tliose who Lave learned to do without them. H America has of late produced many examples of enormous private fortunes. '.(. \Mieu honest men fall out, then thieves may come by what is nut their own. 10. Procrastination is a thief who bides his booty beyond finding, c. Amplify the following by generalizing (4) and otherwise: 1. Throw mud cmugh, and some will stick. 2. Watt and Sli-i>hLU»on are both good examples of — 3. Watering sand will never make good soil. 4. A blackbird that can't sing and will sing should be put iu a j.ir. 5. In his early life, Lincoln, like many another .\mericaii wlm ha.s become eminent — C. Teun_v.son reflects the life and thought of his time. (How about other great ]«ietsy) 7. (irant will be rememlirred as a general, not as a President . A successful military leadir is often — H. The early worm often gets caught. 9. If shallow water is m"ddy, wo may think it deep. 10. Don Quixote was not of any one time or place. There have always been — 41. Obverse Iteration. One of tlie points of view uften valuable is taken in what is sometiine.s called liiosely Ob- vcr.-;e Iteration. We may often do well in stating the ob- verse or denying the ne^rative of our subject or some part of it. Even to a very mitior jiuiiit may the principle be carried. Emerson in the paragraph quoted in 40 says in the ,<;ecei>iirses in America. He first speaks of what Emerson Wiis nut, then of what he was. So in Frederick Penison .Maurice's ser- mon (hi I'airc (see p. 115). EXERCISES. Drvelop the following tojiics into ]iariiixraph.s with the to|iii-siii- Icnoe iit tlie beginning, liy dIimiv-c itrriitinu. .\ icmtru-sting idrii is indicated in 1-.") in a parenthesis. 1. Tem|>erance ; (.Mistini'nci' is sometliiiif,' different.) 2. Equality as a pciliticul idea ; (dues nut mean tM|m[|ity in alt re- spects.) 3. Japan is now the greatest power in the East; (formerly she was less ciinsidered than t.'hina.) 4. Happiness as an en. The ruling idea of the Puritan settlers of Massachusetts ; (not universal lihirty of religious opinion.) ti. Nece^sily f>f some (hiy ol' rest. 7. The vahie of a enllege education. 5. Mural bravery. 9. The laws sucli as tliey are should be enforced. ID. True ecollolliy. 42. Explanation. Another kind of Atnplification somc- tiiiies mentioned is E.\|ihinatioii. It is a simple means, but a useful line. As the name imjilies, it consists of explain- ing the meaning of sonietliing wliii'h has been said. Smne- tinies it roiisists of repetition in simpler language of some- thing which has been stated in somewhat technical terms or too concisely for fnll understanding, as in the case of a definition, ."sumetimes it consists of Exposition on a small M-ide, or the explaining nf partietdar terms whiidi wouM EXPLAyATJOX. 147 not have been rciitlily understood. ]\r;icaulay was a master of our first means, ilattliew Arnulil, with an intense striv- ing- after clearness, offers not a few examples of our seeoiid. Every reader of Matthew Arnold will rememher how much care he takes to explain his definitions, his distinctidns, his terms. For iustanee, one may reeall his explanations of such dicta as that "the noble and profound application of ideas to life is the most essential part of jjoctic greatness" (On Transhiling Ilumer), that "poetry is at bottom a crit- icism of life" (Introduction to Schclions from Words;. «'y;7/(), that "life is three fourths i:u\\i\uci" (I.iicndnrc atid iJiii/imi, eh. i), that "the grand style arises in poeti-y where a noble nature poetically gifted treats with simjdic- ity or with severity a serious sui.iject " (O// Tninxlutinj Homer), that "eriticisin [in a larger sense than as used ab'.'Ve] is a disinterested endeavour to learn and propagate the best that is known and thought in the world " {On the Function of Criticism at the Present Time), or for ex- ample of explanation of jiarticular expressions one will recall his effort to make quite plain just what he meant by Sweetness and Light, Philistines, ^lachinery. Curiosity, and many others. Another form of explanation consists in offering the reasons for the ttatement which is to be amplified, or the causes of the phenomenon which it mentions. Such ex- planation may readily run into ai'gument, but often enough it is merely a statement of the eauses of some well- admitted events. EXERCISES. Amplify, as in tlic cx.rc-ihc-s tu 40, but by explanation, the fol- lowinfj topic sentirin-s : 1, It is li -St not to jiiilge on first appcanuii is. 2. A written i-xuniination may In- a ])oor l<-st of a stiiili-nt's real ability. :i. Politics will always have an aUrm'ticm tor young men. 14^ (OXSTRVCTIYE BllETORIC. 4 Toll-ration may often decline into Indifff nnce. 5. The English constitution is not a written document. 6. We often hear the word Socialism n.iwadays, and ollon without any very definite meaning. 7. In certain circumstumes, revolution may lie not only a right, but a duty. 8. The true cause of earthquakes is even to-day not very generally understood. 9. The attractions to a business career are not so great as they were fifty years ago. 10. The amount of gold in the United States will vary according to Gresham'.s law. 6. PAKAOHAPn STRUCTIIIE AS CONDITIONED BY KINDS OF rOMfOSITION, 43. Certain Limitations. Tluri' roniains to be said a frw words upon the structure of the paragraph, as distinct from its substance. We have seen that we may begin either by stating or in sdine way indicating the subject- matter of otir paragrapli, or else by expressing the connec- tion with wliat goes before. We may liegin by calling at- tention to something which will make our subject stand out more clearly by contrast, or we may begin :it once with i)articulais, in ea,ses wliere a general statement is im- jiiissible or iiie.xiiedient, or else where we desire to lead up to some direct statement at the end. If you notice especially the beginnings (jf jiaragrajilis, either in classii' authors or in current literature or in gond newspaper writing of the day, you will 11 lid that one or another of these means occurs in the great majority of eases. Now having got a good start, how shall we go on ?" Here we have the question of SiM|iienee as applied to the paragraph. It would lie very hard to lay down any special forms for the mtiin structure of the paragraph; one c;in .'-oe at a glance that, what witli dilTereiices in subject and in mode of treatment we slioiild hardly be able to exhaust the pos- sibilities. .\nd even could we reach a statement of some CERTAiy LIMITATinys. 149 generalities on the subject, they would not be of much use. If they wore broad enough to cover all cases, they would be so vague as to be of slight service. If they were nar- rowed down to cover each case, they would be so numerous that in practice it would be almost impossible to remember them. I cannot get much farther than this, as a direction for practice work: Have some sort of arrangement in mind. I believe that if you will work along for a time always with a view to giving some reasonable structure to each paragraph, you will iind finally that you have ac- quired such a readiness that you ■■ ill have no further trouble. When I say '■ some reasonable structure," I mean some arrangement of ideas such that any change in order would be for the worse. If you go on writing paragraph after paragraph always with the idea of putting each one into the best form you can devise at the time, you will pretty siion acquire an ijidependence and self-reliance in the matter that will make you your own master as far as paragraph structure is concerned. If vou proceed in such a course you will find that although the form into which you put a paragraph is to some extent a matter of choice, yet there are certain modifying influences which will have their effect in spite of you. You want, of course, to know what they are, that you may take whatever advantage may follow from them. These modifying influences come chiefly from the par- ticular kind of composition you are dealing with. If the paragraph be really narrative in character, if it have for its subject a series of events, the chronological order will usually be the one to follow naturally and without any trouble (see «). Not all the paragraphs in a narration aie really narrative in character ; many of tlieni are descrip- tive, some may be expositiona! or even argumentative. But even if your paragraph be desciiptive, the s(alenient of the characteristics of souic particular thing, the subject l.jo roxsTRVcriVE RHETOUIC. itself will oiten be a guide. It is usually licst to put any general remarks first (see 1^1, ;uid to follow with the details. And even in tlie sequeiiLe of the detuils you will often be guided by the subject it.sclf (-"-). In para- graphs that are really exjioitional in character, treatments of some general idea, the order will be nuuh more largely left to you. raruL;i-aj)hs that are really expositional soiiie- tinie.s occur in Narration or Description, and constantly in Argument, just as nanative, descrijitive, and ai'ijumenta- tive ])aragraplis may well enough ciccnr in the e.\])(isiii'jn of a general idea. Jn a paragrajih which is strieliy argu- mentative iu character, one which is devnted Id ju'ovin;; tlie truth (if a proposition, the line of ai-guinent will genei'- aliy determine tlie order. If the argument consist of in- dejjeiident reascjns, it is usual to jiut the more important ones at the licijinning and end. But iu any extended argument the paragraphs are usually expositioual in char- acter, 'i'lie topics of the different paragraplis are usually stc[)s in the argument. But in an extended argumetit the office of each separate jiaragraph is generally to expound its special tojiic, i.e., they are exjiosilional. A truly ai'gu- meiitative paragraph is one which seeks to prove nouie especial point and which gives all the j)roof necessary to that point.' It remains still to think of those special forms of para- graph strui'iujc (:{4), paragraphs of outline, summary, or connection. ISut these are usually so slioi't that their struc- ture is not a matter of much difficulty. And whether they be short or not, they, more than others, are limited hy their subjcit-matter. A paiagraph which propounds your line of treatment should follow the order of treatment which you have planned. \ paragraph of summary usually con- ' It may W the casi- that such jirDof is extimli-il over stviTal para- graplis. but in such aises the i>arajfrapli division is usually based rather lai cUaiicc tliau on reason. so.vh' rAirncui.AJi devices. I.M forms to the order of the material it siininiarizes. A para- graph of connection naturally puts first tliat wliicli has gone before and follows with that which is to come. These paragraphs more even than others have almost of necessity a certain order. If you notice them as you road you will see that there could rarely be any doubt about them. Tlieir career was determined long before they were licirn. This will, I believe, make it clear to you that the nature of your subject considered in tlie light of what we have al- ready gone over under the head Kinds of Composition, will often be a sutVuient guide to you in determining the general structure of any particular paragraph. There re- mains, as we have seen, the must leeway in Exposition Here one cannot easily lay down rules: still you have al- readv enough to go on t<> deterinine in a general way how vou will turn an ordinary paragrajih. Tluit ought to be enough for vou. To give more particular directions would leave you no freedom. Your writing would become stiff, wooden, conventional, liut if you have thought out for yourself the nature of each kind of composition as far as we have srone, and considered the kind of treatment necessary or convenient to it, you will have no more difficulty in con- structing a good paiagraph according to the "rules of Rhetoric" tlian in planning an essay. Each process de- pends verv largely upon your having got into the habit of Considering the nature of your subject and your aim in handling, and of being careful to be guided in your work by the dictates of common-sense. EXERCISES. It will be Ijcttr^r to continm- ]irurtici- on 40, 41, 4'2, payiiif? (■^r"'■ cial attention to tlji: ordirnf tljcseiilriii-cs. 44. Some Particular Devices. With all the liinilations imposed by the nature of your subject, Iheic is yet a cvy- 152 coysTnucriVE hheturic. tain keway in many cases. Or iierhaps it is more proper to say tliat tliere aru ciTtaiu devices of style of wliich you may often ailuj)! one or another when you have room for choice. It will be useful to note them before passing on. They are not exactly forms of paragraph structure, at least not more than of sentence structure, or in the case of one or two, of the structure of pretty much anything else. Cif these one is the device of Contrast, another is that known as i'arallel Construction, and a third is Climax, or in some eases anticlimax. It is not .always that these devices can be directly employed, but it does no harm to be thoroughly habituated to them, and you will often find occasions when you can use one or another to good effect. The principle of Contrast is familiar enough. It is the means, for instance, by which yon are enabletl to read to best advantaLTC the Ictteis of this particular word that you are now looking at. We have already considered one par- ticular aspect of the niatlei-— its importance in beginning a paragraph. There is still a little more to say of it just here. You will sometimes find a paragrajih topic that really consists of a contrast between two things. p]ven if such topics are 7iot an absolute necessity in your treatment, you will see that the iffectiveness of contrast in jjaragiaph and its use in displaying a subject may well enough lead you to think up contrasts that will be to the purpose. The ques- tion is now, What does contrast have to do with jiaragra])li structure ? A i)aragraph which jjreseiits a contrast may d(j it in two ways. It may jnesent first one thing and then the other, ur it may present the contrasting points of eaeli side by side. In the first case a stickler might hold that two paragraphs would be better than one, but if it is really the contrast that you want to present you will Lrencrally find that one paragraph makes the matter clearer than two. For exani]iles of contrast (jue vwu always turn safely to .Macaulay, for he could always perceive one, even between SOME PARTICULAR DEVICES. 153 things which to other peoplo seemed exactly alike, even twins, for instance, I fancy. Tlie following examples are taken from ilacauhiy's essay on The Comic Dramuti! sooner had the old king been carried to St. Denis than tiie whole court unmasked. Every man hastened to in- demnify hiniself by the excess of licentiousness and impu- dence for years of mortification. The same persons who, a few months before, with meek voices and demure looks, had consulted divines about the state of their souls, now surrounded the midnight table, where, amid the bounding of champagne corks, a drunken prince, enthroned between Dubois and JIadamede Parabeie, hiccoughed out atheisti- f-al arguments and obscene jests. The early part of the reign of Lewis the Fourteentli liad been a time of license; but the most dissolute men of that generation would have blushed at the orgies of tlie Regency." \:a coysritvcTiVE iuietoiuc •■ But in every poiut Congreve maintained his sujx'iiority to Wycberley. Wycherluy had wit; but the wit of Con greve far outshines that of every Loniic writer except Sheridan, who lias arisen within the last two centuries. Congreve had not, in a large measure, the poetical faculty; but compared with AVyclierley be might be called a great poet. Wycberley had some knowledge of books; but Con- greve was a man of real learning. Coiigrcvc's offences against decorum, though highly culpable, were not so gioss as those of AVycherluy, nor did Congi'eve, like Wychcrley, exhibit to the world the deplorable spectacle of a licentious dotage. Congreve died in the enjoyment of high consider- ation ; Wycberley, forgotten or despised. Congrcvc's will was absurd and capricious; but Wyeherley's last actions apiiear to have been 2)i(iinpted by obdurate malignity.'" All that has been said of contrast as affecting paragraph structure might also be said of comparison in general. But comparison of like qualities is not so striking a device and is by means so often employed at any length as com- parison of qualities unlike. For comparison in general see Til Our second device for paragraph structure is that known as Parallel Construction. Parallel Construction, as its name rather implies, means, when used ot a sentence, that suc- ceeding clauses will jireseut the same order of grammatical parts ; when used of a paragraph, it means that succeeding sentences are similarly constructed. I do not tliink that one often comes across paragraphs that are wholly based on this idea, but it forms a convenient device often for a part; it is a good way to jirescnt ideas of a similar character. It has its basis in the fact that the mind accepts more easily an order of thought already familiar, that it is for a time more impressed by repetition of the same order of thouglit, than by new and different arrangements. Parallel ( oiistruction is an effective device to use now and tiien, but si)}rR PAUTK'CLAR DEVICE!^. !(>■> it is too pronounced ;ui artifice to be used nften, unless we have our very best clothes ou, and want to make a great impression. " The poor boy at the village school has been cheered as he has read that the time was that Daniel Webster, whose father told him he should go to college if he had to sell every acre of his farm to pay the expense, laid his head on the shoulder of that fond and discerning parent, and wept the thanks he could not speak. Tlie pale student who ekes out his scanty support by extra toil has gathered comfort when reminded that the tiist jurist, statesman, and orator of the time earned with his weary fingers by the midnight lamp the means of securing the same advan- tages of education to a beloved brother. Every true hearted citizen throughout the Union has felt an honest pride, as he reperu.-es the narrative, in reflecting that he lives beneath a constitution and a government under which such a man has been formed and trained, and that he himself is compatriot with him." Everett: Tlie Death of Daniel Webster; Wks., iii. MO. There is a concluding sentence which I do not reprint ; this constitutes the main structure. With Parallel (_'"n-truction is sometimes joined our third device, Climax. So far as the paragraph is co/iecrned, ( 'limax means the arrangement of the sentences in order of continually increasing effect. It may, as I have said, be com bined with Parallel ('onstruction,or with Contrast. But it mav also exist by itself. It has no especial connection with the paragraph; it is the same principle that has weight with the story-teller or the dramatist, or indeed sometimes with ordinary everyday people in common alfairs of life. In the paragra])h the continually inci'easing edVet is oljtained usually by irnM-ease of actual length or iiiciease in weight of meaning, or, preferably, in both. You will find the principle of climax is often useful when ynn have a uuin- bei- of things to say wliieh do not oth(^rwise fall into any Ijt3 CoysTnUCTIVE RHETORIC. order— a number of examples, for instauce, or a number of amplifying sentences. But it can hardly be very f reqtiently employed. The following short paragraph from Eufas Choate's Speech on Protection of American Labor is aiTanged on the principle of climax, both of sentence length and of importance of the thought. Note the short sentence com- ing afterwards. " Well, what are the proofs ? Have you any evidence of experienced persons, collected by a committeo ? Have any witnesses been examined, any opinions taken, any parlia- mentary inquisition holden ? Nothing of the sort." — Choate, Works, ii. '^'SS. The following paragraph from the same speech appears to be arranged on the same principle; it would be rather better if the third and fourth sentences were transposed. " Besides, Sir, for the maintenance of the Doctrine to which I am devoted, and with the steady and constant ])ructice of which the comfort, the prosperity, and the greatness of America are inseparably intertwined, more general discussion is needless. The defence of the system of protection is made. It has been made before and else- where, by ten thousand tongues and pens, and by that which is more eloquent and more persuasive than anv tongue or pen,— the teachings of experience, — the lapse of time, — the revelations of events, — the past and present of our own country and of all countries. It has been made, lifie and now, by the senators from Maine, Connecticut, Vermont, Rhode Island, and (leorgia, and by my friend and colleague, with a fulness and ability that leaves nothing to be desired and nothing to be added. If this Troy of ours can be defended; if these daily and indispensable em- jjjoyments of our people can be preserved to them, if these fields and shops of useful, honest, and respectable labor — labor which at once elevates and blesses the individual MATTER. 157 operative, by huudreds and thousands, and, in its larger results, contributes to fill the measure of the nation's glory — if these can bo defended, their hands will have been suf- ficient to make the defence. If theirs are not, my feeble efforts can avail nothing."— Ibid., ii. 174. Such, then, are some of the commoner devices of style which may often influence paragraph structure. I call them commoner, although I do not wish to give you the idea that it is by any means a good plan to use them often. But there is no great need of warning you against using them too often, for, as we have already seen, the cliaraeter of your subject will most often indicate to you what struc- ture maybe most con\eniently adojited. It will only be now and then that it will be possible for you to use either Contrast, Parallel Construction, or Climax. When you have the opportunity, you must suit yourself about their use. If handled well, they ujidoubtedly give a brilliancy that is often very much in keeping. III. THE END OF THE PARAGRAPH. 45. Matter. So having, let us hope, made a good begin- ning to our paragrapl], and having realized the opportuni- ties and limitations of our subjeit sufficiently to get the general structure pretty nearly right, we approach the end. Now the end of almost anything is a matter of mnwe importance, and it is in writing, whether it lie the end of a book, a chapter, a paragraph, or a sentence. Even in single word.T the end is of importance, of more importance in a highly inflected language than in Eni;lish. The end of any piece of writinf,' is of importance in great part be- cause the effect of the end remains in the mind a bit longer than of what precedes; in a tTjcasure, too, because the attention is more concentrated upon the end tlian else- where. Wishing, then, to end our jKirai^'raphs with tiie very best i:.s c'ly^TiiiVTiVK RiiEroiuc. cfTfct, \\f will think iiarticularly what sort of effect we ran give hv manipulating tiie tlionght, and thi-ii wlial effect wi.^ can give bv nianiinilatiiiu: the style. On the first of these [xiiuts we have already had nmre or less to say. We have seen (liT) that it may he con- venient t(i etid a jiaraiirapli with the connection with what is to cunie, and that usa;,'(' wo liave discussed sutVicienlly. We have also seen (lis, /) that in some parai^'raphs the statement of the idjiic may he reserved until the end, but this matter calls for a wurd or two nmre than we Lave given it. Such ])ara^naphs may be called " periodic," from the fact thai that word is the lechnical udjeclive fi>r those sentences that intrudu<;e modiliers and limitingclauses tirsi, which maintain a grammatical suspense till the end. Her- bert Speiii'cr is sti'onglv in I'avnr of a sivle which ileals chiefly in sucii sontcni'es. as apjiears from the following: '■ 'i'he habitual use of sentences in which all or most of the descriptive and limiting elements precede those de- scribed and limited gi\es rise to what is called the inverted st\le. . . .V more ajipropriate title would Ijc the diri'il stii!r,-ds conti-asted with the other or iii'/irti/ s/i/lc: tin' [icculiaritv of the one being that it conveys each thought into the mind step by step with little liability to erriu-; anv a fiu'^ure, from an article by Frederic Harrison: '■ Why do we not make a better use of our rich men? We waste them, and let them run to seed anyhow, a liurden to themselves and a nuisance to the public. We ouuiit to utilize theui, and make citizens of them, liftiiii; them from their condition of ineptitude and dcLrradalion to become lesjiectable members (jf the coinnumuealth. Like the tides, the sun, or the iicLCro race, they could do a |,M-cat deal of useful work if they were i)roperly turned to it. As it is, we let their vast motive ])owei- run to waste, like the water^ at XiaLjara in noise and foam. " They are not bad fellows — at least not all of them. Many of them are really anxious to do something and to becoiuc decent citizens. They bore themsehes iiiloleiablv ; an. g. Popular Exposition endeavors after Simjilicitv. -!>. /(. In ueneial, any subject may lie liandled in a manner nnire simidc or less: that is. Simplicity is in a measure independent of kinds uf Composition. '.^. I'm riiii njih St nutiire. a. In LTcneral, parairrajihs of nn^derate length are simpler. h. Statement of the topic at the beginning jironjotes Sim- plicity. :!s (/. c. Explanation jiromotes Simplicitv. 42. d. The particular devices of 44 are opjiosed t(j Simplicitv. ft The periodic paragraph is not simjile. 4.>. /. The devices for ending the paragrajdi are not simple. 40. SIMPLICITY AND CLEARXESS. KV,} B. Clearness. 1. Kinds of Compositiii)). (I. Description and Exposition are more likely to become confused tlmii Nurnitioii and Argument, s. b. Prciportion (in all kinds of Composition) tends toward Clearnoss. 10, 12. '•. Complex Narration may easily become confused. 14. (/. (Jood sequence is Necessary to Clearness. 1<>, '22. e. Description for Information may easily become con- fused, through multiplicity of detail. 19. /. Holding one Point of View promotes Clearness. 20. g. Argumentation cannot well be clear unless the terms are understood beforehand. 24. h. Exposition may lie rendered clearer by attention to Definition and Division. 26. 2. Paragraph Structure. a. The general object of paragraph structure as far as the reader is concerned is to promote Clearness. 31. b. Strict unity in paragraphs aids in Clearness. 33. c. Paragraphs of outline, summary, and connection are a gain in Clearness. 34. d. Statement of connection and topic at the beginning promotes Clearness. 36, 38. e. So also Obverse Iteration. 41. /. And the devices of Contrast and Parallel Construction. 44. 170 tvysTRULTlVE UHETulUC. SECOND POSTSCRIPT TO PaRTS ONE AND TWO. STATEMENT AND SU(iUESTION. 49. Different Forms of Expression. Having now gone (iviT the chief means by which we carry our rough ideas on any subject through various stages tu a full and complete ux|iiesaioii, and liaving considered sonio of the qualities which we desire our writing to have, there is one nnitter more to wliich 1 would call your attention before ]iassiiisif to other divisions of our subject. And, a.s it is not a matter of such miiinentas tu call for a sejiarate division by itself, I put it here as a surt nf appendix, for, in tnitli, it can be passed over for the present liy any one in a hurry, altliiiugh 1 suppose this is on the whole the best ])lace to consiilei' it. Now that you have come to an understand- ing of tlie processes of rounding out your ideas and giving them a sort of fulness of development, I would put the (|Uestion, IIow would you state the matter? It may be that the question will not appear intelligible, for certainly the simple and ordinary way tu proceed is to .state directly and plainly each jioint as it comes up, and in certain kinds of writing one might well ask with a little surprise. What else is there to do ? In most Narration, for instance, in Description for Information and in Scholarly Exposition, plain statement would seem to be the natural thing. It is hardly necessary to give examples: the ac- count of the football match (p. 24) even if iiBproved in the ways suggested would be an example of Narration, Baedeker's description of Chicago (p. 50) of Description for Information: and as to Scholarly Exposition you may consult one of your text-books in PUilosophy, say. or Chem- DIFFEREXT FORMS OF EX PRESS foX. 171 istry, and imagine it written in ;uiy other way than by direct statement. But not only in these kinds of composi- tion can we find examples enouijh; in all kinds of Descrip- tion, in all kinds of Exposition, the direct statement is the nuisD usual, tn many the only natural way to write. Here are a few examples: a. Description for Impression: " Oi the proviuces which had been subject to the house of Tamerlane the wealthiest was Bengal. No part of India possessed such natural advantages both for agriculture and for commerce. The Ganges, rushing through a hundred channels to the sea. has formed a vast plain of rich mould which even under the tropical sky rivals the verdure of an English AjDril. The rice-fields yield an increase such as is elsewhere unknown. Spiees, sugar, vegetable oils, are produced with marvellous exuberance. The rivers afford an inexhaustible supply of fish. The desolate islands along the seaeoast, overgrown by noxious vegetation, and swarming with deer and tigers, supply the cultivated dis- tricts with abundance of salt. The great stream which fertilizes the soil is, at the same time, the chief highway of Eastern commerce. On its banks and on those of its tribu- tary waters are the wealthiest marts, the most splendid capitals, and the most sacred shiines of India." — Macaulay : Lnrd ( 'lice. b. Popular P^xposition : '• The crocodiles are animals which, as a group, have a very vast antiquity. They abounded ages before the chalk was deposited; they throng the rivers in waim climates at the present day. There is a diffei'eiice in the form of the joints of the back-bone, and in S(jnie minor particulars, be- tween the crocodiles of the present epoch and those which lived before the chalk; but in the cretaceous epocli, as I have already mentioned, the ci-ocodiles had assumed the modern typo of structure. Notwithstanding this the croco- 172 coys/RcrrrvK RHEK^nic. diles of the clialk are not identically the same as those which lived in tlio times called 'oldur tertiary,' which suc- ceeded the cietaceous epoch; and the crocodiles of the older tertiaries are not identical with those of the newer tertiaries, iiur are these identical with existing forms. I leave open the question whether particular species may have lived on from ejiucli to epoch. But each e])och had its peculiar crocodiles; though all, since the chalk, have belonged to the modern type, and differ simply in their proportions, and in such structural |>articulars as are dis- cernible only to trained eyes." — llnxley: On a Piece of Ciialk: Lay Sen/ions, etc., p. "JOO. (. Pastoral Exj>osition: ■ Few substances are found pure in nature. Those con- stitutions which can bear in open day the rough dealing of the world must lie of that mean and average temperature — such as iron and salt, atmospheric air and water. But tliere are metals, like potassium and sodium, which, to Ijc kejit pure, must be kept under naphtha. Such are the talents determined on some specialty, which a culminating civilization fosters in the heart of great cities and in royal chambers. Nature ]niitects her own work. 'I'o the culture of the world, an Archimedes, a Newton, is indispenable; so she guards them by a certain aridity. If these had been good fellows, fond of dancing, port, and cluljs, we should have no ' Theory of the Sphere,' and no ' Principia.' 'I'iiey had that necessity of isolation which genius feels. Each must stand on his glass tripod if he would keeji his electricity." ' Emerson: Society and SuUtuile. In these examples almost every sentence is a direct state- ment of a fact or an illustration. The writing is not bald nr bare; Emerson's is figurative, .Macaulav's brilliant, Huxley "s, even, although the simplest of the three, has a ' The first and last sentences of the paragraph are omitted. DIFFERKST FollMS oF FXI'UFssIox. 17;', eliaracter of its owir But in eucli the author seoms to have seen each idea iu turn clearly before him, as it were, and tlien to have stated it, not always simply, ])erliai)s, but at least directly. And indeed direct statement is by far tlie most usual form of ex]iression. There are, however, other forms of expression vvhicli aim at putting the reader iu possession of an idea a little less directly. Just now we need not consider why one should want to convey ideas indirectly; let us merely assume for the moment that such is the case, it may be from a pedan- tic love of obscurity, it may be for much better reasons. When the fact is made plain, we will see whether there be good reason for it. If you will compare the two pieces of writing by Walter Pater which follow, you will perceive a great difference in the mode of exprcs-ion. The two pieces were written, one not long before his death, the other early in his literary life. They are examples — especially chosen, of course, but still representative— uf a real change of style in twenty-five years. If yi.u examine them, you will observe that they are on much the same subject, both matters of exposition — one on the character of Greek sculpture, the other on the ideal of life of a Oreek. philosopher. The first jiassage consists of a number of careful generalizations quite pre- cisely stated. The piece is as clear-cut as its subject. The second passage is nothing of the sort. We will go into its characteristics in detail afterwards. " In it, therefore [he is speaking of Sculpture], not tlie special situation, but the type, the general chai-actcr of the subject to be delineated is all-important. In poetry and painting, the situation predominates over the chararter; in sculpture, the character over the situation. Excluded by the limitations of its material from the development of ex- quisite situations, it has to choose from a select number of types intrinsically interesting, interesting, that is, iude- 171 coysrnucriVE nuirroiuc. pendeuily of any special situatiou iuto which they may be thrown. Sculpture finds tlie secret of its pnwcr in pre- senting these types in their broad, central incisive lines. 'J'his it effects not by accuiiiiilation of detail, Imt by ab- stracting,' from it. All tliat is accidental, tliat detracts from the simple effects of the supreme tyjies of hiiuianity, all traces in them of tlie cuinnioniipss of the Wdi-ld, it grad- ually purges away." — Thr Hcnuissinii-c (Isted.). p. 18ti. " I'nderstaud, then, the poetry and music, the arts and crafts, of tlie City of the Perfect — what is left of them ilierc, and remember how the (ireuks themselves used to .say that ' the half is mure than the whole." Liken its music, if you will, to (ireLrniiaii music, and call tu mind the kind of architecture, militarvnr monastic again, tliat must be built to such luu^ic. and tlieu the kind of coloring that will fill its jealously allotted space U])On the walls, the sort of carviuL;- tiutt will venture to display itself in cornice or capital. Tlie walls, the pillars, the streets — you see them in thought I nay, the very trees and animals, the attire of those who move along the streets, their looks and voices, their stvle — the hieratic I'lU'iaii andiitei'tiire, t(j speak jire- cisely, the Dorian manner everywhere, in ])ossessiou of the whole of life. . . . 'Stay then,' says the I'latoiiist, too sanguine, jierhaps, — "abide," he says to youth, 'in these jilaces, and the like of them, and mechanically, irresistibly, the soul of them will impregnate yours. With whatever beside is in congiiiity with them in the order of hearing and sighi. they will tell (despite, it may be, of unkindly nature at vour first making) upon your very euuntenance, your walk ami gestures, in the course and coiu/atenatioii of your inmost tlmughts.' "' — I'luto am/ rialniusin, p. '.'.J'.'. Now doubtless this latter passage may not give you a clear idea,— the reason would be largely because we have pulled a bit right out of its i-ounecticjn, — but still you can see what a very different mode of expression it is from the .SOMK M(>J)/-:s OF .'^UddhSTJoy. 17."> direct stateiiieut of the first p;issau(\ Instead of saying the cit}- is to be thus and so, and it will have sucli and sucli an influence upon its inhabitants, he puts his ideas in all surts of indirect forms; in other words, in every sentence he suggests some idea that he does not directly state. If we contrast Suggestion with Statement as a form of expression, we shall have a jniir of words that will serve to call to mind the distinction. 50. Some Modes of Suggestion. If now we inquire a little further about Suggestion, which is the less obvious form of expression, we shall find that there are many ways of giving a man an idea beside stating it to him directly. There is first the suggestion of the idea by the mention of something that will call it to mind; particular cases may serve to give the general idea, imaginary examples may show us better than if we had the whole exposition, the effect gives us the cause or the cause the effect, another man's thought may call nj) our own. we may state some resembling idea, or something which we know has always been connected with the idea in question. Such sugges- tions may even be expressed in the form of a statement and yet the style will not be exactly direct. There is also Suggestion in form as well as Suggestion in idea, and this mode of expression is more susceptible of treatment than the other. There is, for instance, the Question, or perhaps we should rather say the t^uery.' We think of such an artifice as being poetical, Biblical, out of the way, perhaps. Not at all; it is very common in ' From our present point of view we may distijif^misli four kinds of (Questions : 1. C^uestions asked only to lie answured riglitly. 2. Questions to wliicli the wrong answer is given in order to be corrected. 3. Questions a.ssuining the answiT Vi^s or .N'o. 4. Questions to which no answer is I'itlicr given or assumed, of these 1 is the least, 4 the most, su^fgi'stivu. iTfi roxsTRrrrrrF: RnETOEic. jiruse. Or not so very different from the Query is the Con- jecture or the Supposition. Not out of place, ynu may think, in popular exjmsition where the writer and the reader are both following out a somewhat difficult inquiry; but it is useful elsewhere, too. Then there are Exclama- tions or Remarks — it is not easy to know just what to cull them. One may give a personal impression from which the riirht idea may be easily inferred. You may bid the reader think or consider if this or that be not so. It is hardly possible to analyze all the devices of a su<,'i;estive style, but if you read carefully the followiiii; examples, and ask yourself sentence by sentence. Is this Statement or Siiijgestion ? and if it be tlie latter ask again, IldW is the SuLTgcstion given ? you will come tn something of an uuder- stauding of the matter. EXAMPLICS. a. Xnrration. . . . "And Nancy's decjiest wounds had all come from the perception that the absence of children from their hearth was dwelt on in her husband's mind as a privation to which he could not reconcile himself. '■ Yet sweet Nancy might have been expected to feel still more keenly the denial of a blessing to which she had looked forward with all the varii'd expectations and |irepa- rations, solemn and prettily trivial, uiiich fill the mind of a loving woman when she expec'ts to become a mother. \\ iis there not a drawer filled with the neat work of her hands all unworn and untouched, just us siie had arranged it there fourteen years ago — just, but for one little dress, ' I have tliuuglit it would be well to select examples of Saf^tCHhtinu in tlif dilTi-rent kinds of composition from the work of tlic sunn- authors. The real rhetorical value of reading: comes fis much from a careful analysis of a little as from a cursory reading of a gnat deal. SOME MODES OF srOOKSTKJX. 177 wbioli had been made the burial dicss ? But under this immediate personal trial Xaiicv was so firmly unmurmur- ing that years ago she had suddenly renounced the habit of visiting this drawer, lest she should in this way be cher- ishing a longing for what was not given." — George Eliot : Silas Afariier, ch. xvii. " The linaria must have been brought ' home ' (the Sim- plon village inn vas already more that to me than ever I'eiimark Hill), and painted next morning — it could not have been so rightly colored at night; also the day had been a heavy one. At six, morning, I had visited Signor Zanetti, and reviewed his collection of pictures on Isola Pescatore; walked up most of the defile of Gondo; and the moment we got to the Simplon village, dashed off to catch the sunset from the col; five miles uphill against time, (and walk against time up a regular slope of eight feet in the hundred is the most trying foot-work I know,) five miles back under the stars, with the hills not under but aiiionff them, and careful entry, of which I have only given a sentence, make up a day which shows there was now no farther need to be alarmed about my health. My good father, who was never well in the high air, and hated the chills from patches of melting snow, stayed nevertheless all next day at the village, to let me climb the long-coveted peak west of the .Simplon col, which forms the great preci- pice on the Brieg side," etc. — Kuskin : Prmteritu, vol. ii. ch. V. i. Description. " The questionable sound of Silas's loom, so unlike the natural cheerful trolling of the winnowingniariiine, or the simpler rhythm of the flail, had a half-fearful fascination for the llavcloe boys, who would often leave off their nut- ting or birds'-nesting to peep in at the window of the stone cottage, counterbalancing a certain awe at the my.stc;riuu.s ITS coyxTRUcriVE larnTORK : action of the loom by a pleasant sense of srnrnful supcii- ority, drawn from the mockery of its alternating noises, along with the bent treadmill attitude of the weaver. But sometimes it happened that Marner, pausing to adjust an irregularity in his thread, became aware of the small siDundrels, and, though chary of his time, he liked their intrusion so ill tliat he would descend from his loom, and, opening the door, would fix on them a gaze that was always enough to make tl>em take to their leijs in terror. For how was it possible to believe that those large brown protuberant eyes in Silas ]\larner's pale face really saw- nothing very distinctly that was not close to them, and not rather that their dreadful stare could dart cramp, (jr rickets, or a wry mouth at any boy who hapjiened to lie in the rear? They had, perhaps, heard their fathers and mothers hint that Sihis Mavner could cure folk's rheuma- tism if he had a mind, and add, still more darkly, that if you could only speak the devil fair enough, he might save you the cost of a doctor.'' — Silas Munier. eh. i. " But outside the ramparts, no more poor. A sputter, perhaps, southward, along the Sa\oyri)ail: but in all the champaign round, no mean rows of culiic lodgings with Doric porches; no s(|ualid lields of mud and thistles; no deserts of abandoned l)rick-field and insolvent kitchen- garden. On the instant, outside dwelling-house. A dwelling-house indeed, all tlic ye:ir round; no travelling from it to fairer lands possible; no shutting np for seasons in town; hay-time and fruit-time, school-time and play, for generation after generation, within the cheerful white domicile with its green shutters and shingle roof, pinnacled perhaps, humorously, at the corners, glittering on the edges with silvery tin." — Frwtc- rita, vol. ii. ch. v. c. Exposition. " In the days when the .spinning-wheels hummed busily in the farmhouses — and even great ladies, elothed in silk and thread-lace, had their toy spinning-wheels of polished "uk^there might be seen in districts far away among the lanes, or deep in the bosom of the hills, certain pallid under-sized men, who, by the side of the brawny country- folk, looked like the remnants of a disinherited race. The shepherd's dug barked fiercely when one- of these alien- looking men appeared on the upland, dark against the early winter sunset ; for what dog likes a figure bent under a heavy bag ? and these pale men rarely stirred abroad without that mysterious burden. The shepherd himself, though he had good reason to believe that the bag held noth- ing but flaxen thread, or else the long rolls of strong linen spun from that thread, was nrtt quite sure that this trade of weaving, indispensable though it was, could be carried on entirely without the help of the Evil One. In that far-off time superstition clung easily round every person or thing that was at all unwonted, or even intermittent and occasional merely, like the visits of the jjedlar or the knife-grinder. Xo one knew where wandering men had their origin; and how was a man to be e-\[)lained unless you at least knew somebody who knew his father and mother ^''—jS'/V^.y Marner, ch. i. "A not large room, with a single counter at the further iMi (■(lysTia'crivE nuETORic. side. Xutliinj; shown on the counter. Two confidential attendants behind it, and — it might possibly be -Mr. liauttel or his son — or his partner — or anyhow thi.' Killing imwcr- at his desk beside the back window. You Idlil what you wanted: it was necessary to know your mind, and to be sure you did want it: there was no showing of tilings for temptation at Bautte's. You wanted a luaielet, a brooch, a watch — plain or euamelkd. Choice of wluit was wanted was i|uietly givi'u. There were no big stones, nor blinding galaxies of wealth. Entirely sound workmanship in the purest gold that could be worked; fine enamel for the most jiart, for color, rather than jewels: and a certain Haut- tcsi|ue suljticty (if linked and wreathed design which the cxiicrienced eye recognized when worn in Paris or Lon- don. Absolutely just and moderate price: wear, — to the end of your days. You came away with a sense of duty fullilled, of treasure possessed, and of a new foiinihitiou to tile respectaliility of yuur family." — /'r(rtiri/ii,\i'\^ ii. cli. v. 61. The Value of a Suggestive Style. All tliis, liowever, does not give us ussuraiico tliat a suggestive style is liettiT than line which proceeds mure liy direct statement. No- bndy s style, indeed, is entirely the one thing i>v the dtliei-: to tt'll the truth, there is almost always nioie direct state- nieiit than anything else; even in the exatiijilcs above, esjiecially picked out to illustrate the jKiiiit, there is State- ment enough. The real question is. Is it worth while to deal in SuLr^'estion at all ? and if so. How suggestive is one's style to be? 'I'o this (|Uestion, as to so many in our study, we cannot give a perfectly definite answer. It would be quite con- trary to the general ]ilan ot our work to inquire particularly into just the elicit produced upon the mind by direct statenienl and by iileas put in a suggestive form in order to learn which may be the more efticacions. Some of the nunc obvious coiisiileratioiis, however, will not be out of THE VALUE OF A Sl'ddEST/VE STYLE. ISl place. We may say, first, that in certain directions Sui,'i,res- tiou is really better appreciated liy the rcailer, other things being equal, than direct statement ; and, second, that some minds express themselves more naturally by such approxi- mations than by efforts to go more directly to the mark. The reason why Suggestion may often give the reader a better apprehension of the subject is that it is by nature stimulating. It arouses the reader's interest by making him a partner in the undertaking. It fixes his attention by offering a slight difficulty to the full grasp of the idea. It calls into play powers of the mind that are active rather than jiassive. The reader no longer has a constant succession of ideas to appropriate, no longer is it his sole function to understand and remember, he is no longer a mere absorber of facts. He must exert himself, the thought must be his thought, his mind must be in constant activity to seize the idea in all the varied forms of its presentation. To a certain extent such a style is easily seen to be an advantage; even when carried to an extreme it has its at- traction to some minds. The half -enigmatic sayings of the oldest (ireek philosophers possess the same fascination for some people that the pregnant obscurities (as they are often called) of Browning have for others. The principle would seem to be the same in both cases, as in the many cases which have come between the two. The mind works bettor under some kind of stimulus, and even obscurity serves as a challenge to the reader who believes that his effort is to be rewarded. But you must remember that there must be some reward: a difficult style and no ideas behind it will not stimulate after its emptiness is discov- ered. I would not have you imagine that even the most direct Statement, so far as form is concerned, may not often pos- sess the quality of suggestion. If you will examine the quotation from Macaulay on p. 171, you will see that the 1^2 coysTiacTivK niiEKiiiU: ideas, ami even the words tliuiiisolvus. oftrii suj^gL'st a good deal more than i» exjaressed. " The Claiiges with its hun- dred channels," "the verdure of an English April," "the noxious vegetation swarming with deer and tigers," " the splendid capitals and sacred slirines," — these expi-essions suggest readily to the imaginative uuicli more than thev aetually slate. All language is siigi^estive in a greater or less degree aeecuiling to the nature of the hearer. So even direct Statement nften has tn a considerable extent the ad- vantages of Suggestion as we have considered tlicin. Wo are dealing, however, at jiresent. cliietly with tiie form of the i)resentation, not so much with the nature of the tlicjiiglits as the form of tlte thought and the form of the ex]iressioii. And where these also arc suggesti\e they Inive (with whatever drawbacks are incident) the advantage which I have mentioned. "The form of the thought and the form of the ex])res- sion," I said, and tliis brings us to the second point. A suggestive style is often the most expressive mode of pre- senting one"s ideas; I mean that thus the course of thought is most accurately and truly rejiresented. For everybody does not proceed from jioint to point by clear and definite lines, and indeed the jioints themsehes are sometimes more nebula- than anything else. And doubtless there are many whose ideas move in a way that bears more resemblance to a suggestive style, to a series of queries, approximations, illustrations, than to a style more di.-timt, brilliant, and clear-cut. I have no doubt that such was the case with Mr. Pater, from whose work I qnoteil above (p. 174). I suppose that in the course of his literary career lie became conscious that his style did not express his mode of thought. Either that or, it may be, his mode of thought underwent some change. Whichever were the case, he would seem to have made a distinct effort after a more representative style. In his opinion it was necessary, if writing: was to rilE VALVE (IF A sViinESTIVE STYLE. 183 be a fine art. that one's writing should have a distinct per- sonal qualitw "For just in proportion," says he; "as the writer's aim, conscionsly or unconsciously, comes to be the transcribing, not of the world, not of mere fact, but of his sense of it, he bcconies an artist, his work fine art; and good art (as I hope ultimately to show) in jiroportiou to the truth of his presentment of that sense."' (Essay on >7;/?e). Pater may or may not have been happy in his application of this principle to his own work, but almost any one will regard the theory as sound that the style of a great (or even of a good) writer is, in one way or another, representative of his way of looking at the world. Indeed, it is a commonplace of criticism, taking generally the form of the often quoted saying of Sainte-Beuvc, " Lr style c'ef^t Vhonime" And to us certainly, who are especially intei*- ested in the connection of matter and manner, who have based our work in part ou the principle that we would as far as possible recognize the importance of the development of thought as well as of that of style, who have indeed so far considered the subject in such a way that it would be hard to say which we had thought of most, the matter or the manner, to us this should be a reason of a good deal of interest. These two ends, then, does a suggestive style tend to reach: it is often better apprehended by the reader, and it is often more really expiessive of the writer. And so we come to the last question. Supposing we desire to use Sug- gestion as a means of expression, how far is it best to go ? Here there can be no absolute answer; dillerciit writers may naturally express themselves in differing degrees of suggestiveness, and diiferent ilegrees of suggestion will seem appropriate to different kinds of writing. The poet is more suggestive than the scicMitist, and there are many degrees between You must take the jilaee that seems to belong to you. So Suggestion in I)esc,riptiou is one thing IS-i roysTRUCTIVE RHETORIC. and in Argument another: you must have your eyes open for propriety. But whatever degree of the suggestive quality may exist iu any piece of writing, it is well to ro- niember that tlie element of direct statement is never lack- ing. On the other hand, the suggestive eliineiit, so far as form is coiiecrneil, su far as the deviees mentioned above are concerned, very often is almost entirely lackinir. It is hicking in Macaulay, who was a man of very positive and clear-cut convictions. It is largely lacking (cxcejit in passages smnewhat ironic) in ilattliew Arnold, whose ob- ject is always " to see the objeet as in itself it really is." It is largely lacking in Emerson, whose principle of self- reliance led him to desire to speak out his ideas in siicli formulations as were supplied him by his everyday medi- tations. On the other haiul, it makes a considerable ele- ment in the later works of Walter I'uter. in the jieisua- sive writings of Newman, and to a less degree it may be noted in the lectures of Ruskin. Hut even in these last it is only an element, and never the main form of expies- sion. PART THREE. THE VOCABULARY. I. CONSTRUCTIVE WOEK. A. IN OEXERAL. 52. The Constructive Standpoint. I suppose very many teachers of English C'cuiiposition have noticed, wliat Wen- dell was the first to remark, so far as I know, that the questions usually asked about good writing by friends are almost always on matters of detail. I should say myself that they were commonly questions as to correct diction. " Is this word or that admissible ? " says Wendell. " Why, in a piece of writing I once published, did I permit myself to use the apparently commercial phrase 'at any rate ' ? Are not words of Su.xon origin invariably preferable to all others?" — EikjUsIi C'oiiijio.iitio)i, j). 1. If you have agreed with me so far, you will not regard these matters as the only matters of importance. A pure and exact diction is a very desirable thing, but we cannot regard it as the one thing needful for the writer. Doubt- less many other excellencies follow naturally in its course, but it must, 1 believe, be admitted that one might have at his fingers' ends the usage of the best authors in any given case, and yet be unable to give an iiitelligil)lc treatment of a difficult matter; while there are not a few instances of writers who have made themselves i^icat icimtations for 185 l^t; roysTurcTivE nnETOuic. tlieir suggestive and vigorous ideas, whose mode of expres- sion was at times almost barbaric. The most careful study of good usage in every conceivable casi^' will not of itsglf make a man a good writer, and a man may well be a good writer, in a certain sense, whose usage is not excellent. We have so far jmt two other matters before this ques- tion of Diction. The power of conceiving a subject, and the power of arranging it for presentation and in a gen- eral way of presenting it — these seemed to us to be things of prior importance, to be the things which one wanted before anything else. Therefore the first part of our work was largely given to practice in thinking over a subject, in getting the right things to say. The second was devoted chiefly to a general sliajiing of material and to putting what ^^•e had to say in a roughly elTi'ctive form. lUit if you have mastered the subject so fur, you will be very con- scious of the difficulty with whirh wc have now to deal — the difficulty of getting always the right words. However well thought out our itleas, however well arranged and ordered, our writing will always be crude, and to a great extent inefTectivt', unless we have just tlie right words in which to convey our meaning. A very common way of looking at this jiarticulur part of rhetorical study consists in pointing out what words not to use, in excising from the vocabulary expressions that are useless or worse than u.-.eJess, of a consideration of tliose matters which go by the names of Purity, Propriety, and so forth. All such work is valuable, but its place is hardly at the beginning of an effort to use words strongly. I must confess that I have sometimes thought that the efforts of good teachers went rather astray when they sjivnt so much time in an endea\or to refine and purify the diction of the .students under their charge. Criticism and correcti(/ii, the constant exrision of illegitimate words and ]ihra.~cs. the most careful jiains never to use doubtful TIIK CDysTKlCTIVE STAMil'oLXT. Is7 exprossions, all these efforts have sometimes seemed to \ui' to miss by a little the roal need of a student. It is tdo iieirative. It assumes too nmch. For mj- own part I am a dozen times in difSoulty for any word at all for once that I am in difWculty as to the " correct " word. As I have said before, I believe that the student's feeling often is. not "■ Is this expression sanctioned liy the best usai,fe ?" but ""What words are there anyway to express my idea ? " In other words, our effort heri! will be to apply con- structive methods, can we find them, to the vocabulary. Our first effort will be to increase and streiigthen tlie vocabulary, to render it broad and flexiMe. A\e may for a time neglect criticism as such, for it is our desire that our stock of words shall first grow and flonrisli, rather than that it be clipped and pruned and cut down. I am no authority on garderjing, but I feel quite sure that if you have rather a weakly, stunted, little rose-bush, you will never get it into tlic best condition merely by picking off all the imperfect and useless leaves and flowers and branches. That's a good thing, I suppose, but what is most wanted is water and snnlight and manure. So it is witli our words when we begin to write. Mere pruning won't do. We want to increase ratlier than to diminish. Our first effort, therefore, will be directed to increasing our stock of words, to enlarging our vocabulary; we will turn to critical work later. I would not have you understand me to imagine that no one has ever endeavored to offer training of this sort. As we shall see later, there have been a number of sugges- tions made by writers upon our subjeet. The critical study of diction itself is put forward as being to a great degree I'onstrurtive, and I liave no doubt (M) tliat it is so. All tliese suggestions, liowever, have left me still with a desire for some method nl' enlarging our stock of words, of increasing our power of exac^l c.\|iressiiin, which 1>^ CoXsnU'CTIVE liJIETORIC. is more definite, more systematic, than auvthiug I liavo hitherto seen. To that end Mill the following section be devoted; but before turning directly to practical work, there are one or two things to say in a general way upon the subject. 53. The Value of a Good Vocabulary. The first thing is that we cannot expect to gain the most good from aiiv method which attempts to offer us a vocabulary ready made. That is the way we generally acquire our fir.--t stock of words in a foreign language; we lenrn a number of words by heart. But evidently such a method will not do licTc. Unless we could go to work and learn all the words in a small dictionary we should hiirdly know evfii how to begin to get at a stock of word.s that would be use- ful to us. In this matter, as in those we have already studied, our real aim is to gain certain habits of mind. Just as our study of the kinds of cmiipositioii was nie;iiit to train the mind to deal witli any subject that might chance to come up, just as our study of jiaiagraph struc- ture was meant to train the mind to put into good jiara- graph form whatever we had to say. so our work on the vocabulary will have for its aim to give us a habit of mind that will enable us to go on increasing and strengthening our stock of words. To the formation of such a habit some general ideas are very useful. And here I think I shall serve your purposes better if I quote some things which have been very suu'i^es- tively said by masters in our art than if I attempted to ex)iress the same iileas myself. Probably the contemporary writei- of English who has thought most about the power of words is the late Walter I'attr. lie has been, it is true, somewhat adverselv criti- cised for the way he carried out his ideas, and for some of the examples and illustrations that he chose for expound- ing them, but I think you will find nothing misleading in Tllh: VALUE OF A cuol) VOCABCLAUY. Is'.t the extract which follows, and luucli that is stiimiliiting. lie has expressed himself more direetly and systematically ou the subject in his essay on Shilv, an essay lai'j;ely given to a consideration of words, and the right use of words, so largely, indeed, that it shows the paramount importance that Pater attached to our present tojiie. That essay is well worth your reading just now. But the following ex- tract is taken from Murius the Epicurean, from the sixth chapter, that account so suguestiug and inspiring of the young Roman who might have become a great man of let- ters had he not been too early cut off. Pater has been telling how Flavian and Marius had read 77^6 Metamor- phoses of Apuleius. *' Its effect upon the elder youth was a more practical one: it stimulated the literary ambition, already so strong a motive with him, by a signal example of success, and made him more than ever an ardent, indefatigable student of words, of the means or instrument of the literary art. The secrets of utterance, of exi)ression itself, of that through which alone any intellectual or spiritual power within one can actually take effect upon others to over- awe or charm them to one's side, presented themselves to this ambitious lad in immediate connection witli that desire for predominance, for the satisfaction of which another might have relied on the acquisition and display of brilliant military qualities. In him a fine instinctive sentiment of the exact value and power of words was connate with the eager longing for sway over his fellows, lie saw himself already a gallant and effective leader, innovating or conser- vative as occasion might require, Iti the reliabilitaticjii of the mother tongue, then fallen so tarnished and hniguid; yet the sole object, as he mused wit bin himself, of the ii.sly peilantie, the colloquial idiom, on the otlier hand, otfered a thousand chancc-tust gems of racy or }iictiires(|ue expression, rejected or at least unguthered by 'vhat claiined to be classical Laliii. The time was ciniiing when neither the jiedauts nor the ]icople wonld really understand C'iceio; though tliere were some indeed like this new writer, Apulcius, who, dejiart- ing from the custom of writing in (ireek which had been a fashionable affectation among the sprightlicst wits since the days of Hadrian, had written in the vermicular. . . . " Fcjr words, after all, words manipulated with all his delicate force, wei'e tcj lie the apjiaratus of a war for himself. To be forcibly imjiressed, in the first place; and in the next, to find the means of making visible to others that which was \ividly apparent, delightful, of lively intt'iest to himself, to the exclusion of all that was but middling, tame, or only half-true even to hini^this scnipulousiie.-s of literai'y art actually awoke in Flavian, for the first time, a sort of chivalrous conscience. What care for style I what patieiK'e of execution! what research for the siguili- cant tones of ancient idiom — si)it is this much: the best use of v:ords is not a natural or an easy thing, it is not the posses.ion of every one; it is something to be worked for, in other words it is an op- jiortunity. The finding just the right words— there you have a chance. And now look at it from the other side. Here is an extract from Emerson's Journal: ''The secret of eloquence is to realize all vou sav. Do not give us eomitcrs of liase coin, but iverv word a real value. Only whilst it has new values does it warm and THE VALVE OF A aOOT) VOCAnJ'IART. 101 invite aud enable to write. Tlie essential mark of poetry is that it betrays m every word instant activity of mind. A man is sometimes enervated as mucb by words as by any otbe: luxury. A thing represents nature and aboriginal force; but men transformed by books become impotent praters. •"Expression is what we want; not knowledge, but vent. But an utterance, whole, generous, sustained, equal, grad- uated at will, such as ^lontaigne, such as Beaumont and Fletcher, so habitually and easily attain, I miss in myself most of all, but also in my contemporaries. I don't know but I value the name of a thing, that is, the true poet's name for it, more than the thing. If I can get the right word for the moon, or for its manners and influences, the word that suggests to me and to all men its humane and universal beauty and siguiiicance, then I have what I want of it; for I have no desire that a road be made from my garden to the moon, or that a deed of its acres and square miles be made over to me.'' — Cabot's .)feinoir, i. 293. There are two ideas. Have a word for every impression and have an impression for every word. We need not stop now for more than the suggestion, although it is well worth thinking over. Emerson and Pater, the two men were very different, but they each had this zeal for the right words. This is what Lowell says of Emerson's vocabulary: "For choice and pith of language he belongs to a better age than ours, and might rub shoulders with Fuller and Browne, — though he does use that abominable word reliable. His eye for a fine telling phrase that will carry true is like that of a back- woodsman for a rifle; and he will dredge you up a ohoico word from the mud of Cotton Mather hininolf. A dictiim at once so rich and so homely as his I know not where to match in these days of writing by the page; it is like a homespun cloth of gold." — Lowell, IIo/Vun, i. ;i51. 102 COysTRUCTIVE RHETORIC. We can easily' see, I think, the vahie to ourselves in a careful and accurate use of words, over and above the lielp we get in expressing our thoughts. I sometimes think that of all the means of expression, this one has the strongest moulding, formative influence upon the one who uses it. Let me call your attention to some things said by Coleridge in his essay on Wordsworth's poetry. It is in the Biograjihia l itcraria (iii. 485), but too long to quote here. Snme of his phrases haunt the memory: " an austere purity of language," ■' the result and pledge ... of fine and luminous distinction," '■ fanaticism which masters the feelings more especially by indistinct watchwords." Good is the remark that " tci a youth led from his first boyhood to investigate the meaning of every word and the reason for its choice and position, logic presents itself as an old acquaintance under new names." So, too, the hint at "the close connection between veracity and mental accuracy." 54. Methods Suggested for the Increase of the Vocabu- lary. The question now is, How to obtain any such mas- tery of words as has been here hinted at. (Jf course we must be careful and rigorous in excision, in pruning away everything that is not of the best. But how to i,'ot any- thing that will bear pruning? Well, of course, what you really want is to have at command all the wordt^ in the language. Then you can refine to your heart's content. But since this is impossible you must content yourself with something less, 'i'ou cannot have at command all there are, but you can doubtless get at more than you are now familiar with. You can increase the number of words you have to choose from, and you can cultivate yourself carefully in the principles of clioice. To these two ends then, we will direct our attention. The best way of cultivating the vocabulary would duiibt- less lie in a hroiv] and systematic enltivation of our power of thought. Campbell in discussing Imputable U-e METHODS SVanKSTF.n FOR THE TXCUEASE. 193 murks of the greater number of niankinil tluit tlieir riingo of ideas is necessarily limited, and proceeds to note that "as the ideas which occupy their minds are few, the por- tion of the language known to them must be very scanty. It is impossible that our knowledge of words should out- strip our knowledge of things. It may, and often doth, come short of it" {Rhetoric, t^. 105). And Emerson says in a passage of The American Scholar which is worth turning to at this point, " If it were only for a vocabulary, the scholar should be covetous of action '' (p. 98). And one would hardly doubt the pre-eminent excellence of a vocabu- lary got together by pertinacious iucjuiry into the facts of life, always with a view to the expression of them. But such a course of study and observation can hardly be con- ducted in a college class-nioni, nor, indeed, if it could would it be especially the function of the teacher of Eng- lish composition. We must seek for some other means of reaching the same end, or rather of using the means at our control in such a way as to get as far ahead as we can. Other writers on Rhetoric have made suggestions of a somewhat more practical nature — or rather have sug- gested plans which, being more particular, are more easily put into practice. Wendell, for instance, says: "The way to increase your vocabulary is very like the way to increase your personal acquaintance. Put yourself in the way of meeting as many different phases of expres- sion a.s you can, — read widely, talk with clever people, — and whenever you come across a new word or expression train yourself, so far as possible, to understand it, just as you would train yourself to classify and remember people voii meet, gentle and vulgar, good, bad, or indifferent. Each one has its place in that great composite fact — human nature and human life. "Some such process as this is consciously or uncon- sciously followed by pretty much everybody who lias had 194 CONSTRrcTIVh: UIIETORir. any experience iu tlie art of verbal uxpressiou." — Barrett Wendell : English CuitijHisilion, p. ri"2. A. S. Hill cilTcrs suggt'slions siniicwliat different: "Other things being equal, it is nbvioiis that the writer who has must wurcl.s to choose from is most likely to find in his assortment just the wurd which he needs at a given moment. It is therefoie worth while for a young writer to keep his ears ripen while conversation is going on about him, and his eyes open while be is reading; and to note and remember e\ery word that is new to him in itself or ill tlio meaning given it. lie may thus, while avoiding vulgarisms on the one hand and high-flown expres-imis on the other, eniieh his diction from the racy speech mind and to employ all the words you alieady own, and to tax and torment invention and discovery and tlie very deepest memory for aililitiunal, rich, and admirably t^xpressise words.'" — A. S. Hill: The Founda/ioiis s the thought in his mind." — E. R. Sliaw : English Ciiiiipvsition by Practice, p. '23. In the same text-book, e.g., pp. 125 fE. occurs an exercise which in a developed form may be found in (ienung's Outlines, p. I'J. and elsewhere. lu this exercise the student is continually placed in the position of having to decide between several wdrds, the words to choose from being sug- gested. AVe all of us do something of the sort whenever we write: the position (often without the words to choose from) is one of the difficulties which meet all beginners. Exercises such as these, however, still leave open further possibilities. B. EXERCISES FOR THE INCREASE OF THE VOCABULARY. I. THE VO' ABULARY OF A (ilVEN IDEA. 55. Some of the Necessities for such Exercises. I have already said that it i< hardly to be imagined that we .shall get much farther along tli ui the forming a good mental habit: we cannot expect to make great acqiiisitiims in bulk, so to ."peak. In studying foi'eign languages one often begins bv learning Ijy heart lists of words. Hut wilh our own language we have all of us got well lu'yond that point. It would puzzle a teacher to draw up such lists, even if his studiMils could lie indured lo learn tliem. The Earl of Chatham is said to have Ijeen in tlie habit of read- 196 coxsTErcTirE RnETomc. ing the Dictionary before he made a speech, but it may bo presumed that it was not merely Xo learn words out of it.' It is not the net gain in words that we are to liave in mind; our real want is something that will give us the habit of mind which gathers about the nucleus of words already possessed stores of other words perhaps vasjuely known before, perhajis quite unknown; which assimilates the new material with the old, and makes out of all agocid working instrument. If our class-work can lay the foun- dation of such a habit, we may well be satisfied. We can- not rightly expect it to do more. Ill certain directions, it is true, we can and habitually do make absolute acquisitions. AVhen we interest ourselves in any new study or in any new occujiatiim, we always have to familiarize ourselves with a new vocabulaiy which is of different value in ditTerent circumstances, is sometimes large and sometimes small, sometimes quite technical, sometimes more general. But of whatever kind it be we always have to make it our own, we have to make a direct acquisition. Such direct acquisitions, however, do nol have vei-y mucli connection with our pi-cscnt occupalioTi. In the first place such acquisitions are not matters (jf difti- culty, and in the second they do not make much addition to our general voealjulary. If a person desires an accurate knowledge of the technical terms of architecture, for in- stance, he can acquaint himself with them witlioiit great difliculty by reading some books on the subjei't. But after he has done so he is not very much lielter off as far as con- cerns his general vocabulary. He is better fitted to discuss matters of architecture, but the technical terms of archi- tecture do not make a great part of that general vocabulary which is the object of our present study. In one respect, it is well to point out, is such study very advantageous eveu ' Cf. Emerson . " The Poet," EMayt, .Sfcnd tytitn. SOME OF THE AKCKSsrriES. 107 in a general way. It encourages tlie liabit of using words exactly. A person who distinguishos between the words machicolatcd and crenellated, let us say, has done some- thing at least toward a habit which will be of great general value. But our desire is for something which shall affect the general vocabulary as directly as may be. The ideal state of mind so far as vocabulary is concerned would be that — 1. For every idea should come to mind a word. "2. The word should correctly convey the idea in ques- tion to others. Doubtless no one attains this ideal. .Still it serves to show what we may aim at. Doulitless, also, we can hardly hope that for every idea there shall immediately come to mind one word only, and that the right one. We may well be satisfied if — 1. Every idea brings to mind a number of words somehow connected with it, •,'. From which we are able to select the right one for our special purpose. If, then, we are to pursue our work in an orderly way, we want some systematic way of accumulating around any idea the words that are in some way or other connected with it, and we want also some systematic arrangement of ideas that it will be useful to gather words around. Then next, we want to have in mind the principles that will guide us in particular cases to discriminate between words of similar meaning so as to use always the right Avord. With a view of accomplishing the first of these ends I shall turn aside for a moment to a consideration of the En;;lish vocabulary from three standpoints, i.e., according to the origin of its words, according to their structure, and according to the grammatical function that they serve. Ills coysTRUCTIVE lillElonir a. THE WiillDS UK THE EXCil.ISll V( l( A1U LAliV. 56. According to their Origin. Tbe vcHiilnihuv of the EiiLrlish hmgna^o is of a very coiiipiisite cliararlLT; tliat is tosay,tliC' words have lierii g(]t tniicthir, in jirucuss of time, frotii many different sources. It provides iniiUTneralik' ex- amples of what students of hmijuaL;'.' have called " burrowed words." ' When two peoples speaking different languages ccjine in contact with each other for any length of time, eaeli of them, as a rule, borrows words of the other. So also is tlicre borrowing when a people interests itself gi'eatly in the literature of another tongue. The Knglish-speaking peoples liave always Ijorrowed words from other languages with great facility, and as a emiseciuenci' the English vo- cabulary is made up of words from manv dillV'i'ent souices. Whoever may have been the very earliest inhabitants of the British Islands, the earlit'st known to history were of Keltic stoidv, which about tlie time of the Christian era was spread over a gnat j)art of Western l';iiroj)e. ( :esar calls them llrilhini (or Ilritanni) and the islaiul liriltnniii, whence our words JSritish and /I'ri/iiiii. 'J"he Anglo-Saxon wi-itei-s. se\eral centuries afteiwards, calleij them Wealas, whence the name Welsh.' The foi-niei- was the Latinized form of the nami' that they gave themsidves; the latter is a Teutonic word meaning " sii-ani:ers," and in one form or another has been gi\en liv the Teutoinc peoples to various of their neighbors.' I'.olh names lun e been proeived. The Keltic ]iame is now shared by their Teutonic coiif|uerors; the name given tliein has pro\ed mole permanent in its re- stricted aj)plication. The languages spoken liv the Keltic ' The term " liiiiu-wnrcls " i^ al~n iisi'il. The wuril mmmu-s tu me rntliiT bllrba^(lll^ and imt very (lisiri|itivf-, for ilii- wdhIs are not sn iiincli loaned liy one nation un borrowed liy the otljir, and that, as is often till- way with 1)orrowiT>, without the sliKhli-^t inti-niion of re- payment. ' (). E. Welise. ' Or it may originally have been borrowed from Kelt. I'o'ciic. ArCOUDTXn TO THEIR oil/am. lit',* }ieoples of (ireat Britain are usually divided into AVolsh aud Corui^li, which are closely conuected with the Armori- caii, still existent in Brittany, and as another division Gaelic (Scotch), Manx, and Irish. As to the tribal divi- sion of the people, it proliably correspdmls in a general way with this division of the dialects, as would be inferred from a glance at the map. Britain became a Roman province somewhat before our era and remained such for about five centuries. But in the fifth century came the great movement of the Teutonic tribes upon the Roman empire. (Cf. the extracts from Motley and Xewman, pp. 2G7, ~iis.) Among the separate steps may be noted: 4011-450. The Yandalic invasion, in which the Vandals swept through France and Spain into Africa. 370-410. The Visigothic invasion, following somewhat the same line, but coming to a halt in Spain. 490-5.J2. The Ostrogothic kingdom in Italy, the result of the Ostrogothic invasion. 400-"ino. The Burgundian kingdom on the Upper Rhine. i)iJS. The invasion of Upper Italy by the Langobardi under Alboin. 4SG. Battle of Soissons, marking the Prankish incur- sions across the Rhine. Of these six peoples the Langobardi seem to have come originally from the region to the south of the Baltic, where thev had previously lived in some tribal connection with the Angles, the Jutes, and the Saxons. They them • •selves took a southern course, but their neighbors were tempted westward into the province of Britain, from which the Roman legions had been withdrawTi. This seventh great movement was very gradual, but by the end of the fifth century it was practically coniplcle The Anglo- Saxons, as they arc henceforward to Ik^ called, were mas- ters of the southern part of the island of Great Britain. 200 COXSTRUCTIVE RHETOniC. They wltc a Teutonic people ' and spoke a 'luiitonic dialect of much the same character as that spoken by tlie Frisians, who lived not far from them. But wliile the other "Teutonic tribes which had invaded the lumiau em- pire gradually gave up their own speech and adopted tliat of the conquered people among whom they lived, the Anglo-SaxoiiK retained their language, and it is the basis of the English of to-day.' They borrowed a few words from the Kelts and Romans with whom they had inter- course, but no great number. We may note a few groups. (). Iliinoiringsfrom the Latin. 1. Before leaving the Continent they had probably a few words of Latin origin. Street comes to us fmm stnilti via (a ])aved way), tlie name given to one of tliosc gi'eat roads that tlie Romans pushed all over the known world. Clicst, suck, ark, shrine, were probably borrowed from tlie Roman traders who had pressed up as far as the Bailie, whence they obtaineil amber. The last two words have now a sjieeial significance; at first they meant liillc more tlian lidskel and bii.r. The wine-culture had early lii'en eslablishrd on the I'jjper Rhine, and the .\iigIo-Sax(Jiis jiroliably liad the word wine before leaving I he ( 'ontiiicut. I am iiieliiieil to add here the wmd chnrcli from the Greek KvpiaKiir, "[the house] of the Lord," and [lossibly ileril. (UK/ft, /lisJiii/i, from the Latin. ■-'. < hi reaching Britain tliey adopted a few geograiihical names whieh had remained from the lioman dominion, -rhester {-(-ester, -caster), -port, -/rati, -iricli {-/rick}, whirl) are now coinmonlv found in names of iilaees. ' I.e., i)li- whom we, following thi- Latin, usually cull .\iiglcs. The (■ in the stem syllable is tin- n-siilt of i-iimluut of an original a. — Sievers-Cook: Grai/ii/iar of Old E/iyliKli, -^ S9, 1, and Acconniya ro their oricix. 201 3. Witli the advent of Cliristianity, which caiiu' not only from Irehmd by way of the north, but also from Rome direet, came a number of words having to do with the church: aJm'<. aposth'. clerk, deacon, ilifciph, nums, mi li- ster, monk, pric,'i(ins had gone, but there were left many who still sjioke the Latin languaui'. Skeat gives a list of such words in his Principles of English Etijmolotjy, i. § 402. /tf. BurroiciiKj.i from tin Keltic. From the Keltic also did the Anglo-Saxons borrow words. But there are not very many Keltic words that can confidently be referred to this early period. Most of the Keltic words in English (and there are not very many) rome from later iiitercourse with the Welsh, Scotch, and Irish, and, as a rule, are used only for Keltic things or imitations of them. 1. Early borrowings : cmiihr, doirn, crarj, chnif, cart, cradle. Geographical names and household terms; the Kelts were a conquered people. "2. Much later borrowings: From Welsh, ruracle, cromlech, melherjlin. From Scotch, clan, claymore, collie, macJiiiitosli, pibroch, plaid, slogan. From Irish, brogue, shillelagh, sltamrork. These words are names of things of Keltic origin. The following aie more general: WeXuh, Jlannel, kick ; Seotih, coj//, quaff; Irisli, hog, f tin. y. Borroirinfift from tlw SrnndinaiHan. These Keltic Ijorrowings were, however, few in number. Somewhat Larger is the number of words from another source, the Danish, or, ueeording to the commoner expres- sion, the Scandinavian. l'ii2 CoXSmurTIVE RIIETdRIC. The Scandinavians or Xorse were srreat seafarers. Tlie ninth and tentli centuries go by the name of the X'ikiiii; Age in recognition of their prowess. They settled tlie Faroes, Iceland, and Greenhmd, they are said to liave leaclieil America, tliey crossed over to Russia, tliey estali- lisiied themselves on the coast df France, whence they penetrated into the Mediterranean and settled in Sicily, and they also harried the coasts of (ireat IJritain and Ire- land. (Cf the extract from Newman, p. X!(1S, and the fol- lowing jiaragraphs in the essay.) They made settlements in the Orkneys, the Isle of Man, about Dublin, and else- where, but their most important cimijiiests were on the east coast of Knjland, to the north and scnith of the Ilumber. Here they established kingiloms so powerful that from KU:! to lli-t'.' the English throne was occiijiied by Danish kings. With so mueli intercourse as naturally followed lietween the peoples it is not surprising that there are many Scandi- navian words in England. IIow many belong to tlic period before the Conquest is doubtful; comparatively few appear in ()ld English literature. But we must remember that it does not therefore follow that they did not exist in the jiopular language. I shall note only a few divisions. 1. Seafaring terms: hihjr. kcrl, hinr, sli'rn, hawser, k-eibjc, r'uj, l(ickh\ thirart. wind/iisx, nlnfl, bowline, creir, liiirhnr, lee, leach, raft. It is to be observed that tlie.-c are all particular terms; such general names as ship and hunt are not Danish, for the English had ships (atid names for them) before the Danes appeared. iS'or are the names for the chief parts of the ship Danish, such as iiKixt, yard, sail, oar, rudder. Pr(jbably the English learned a good many minor devices from the Danes and took the names along with them. 1. Geographical names in -/-//, -garth, -hatigh, -ness, -thorpe, -thwaite are generally of Scandinavian origin. AirORDiyO TO THEIR ORIGLY. i'03 These suffixes were originally words signifying respectively village, stronghold, temple (?), promontory, village, a pieee of hnul. 3. Words having some connection with law or institu- tions: fellow, citrl (in a new sense), luisbiuid, linxfings, law (as a simple word), thndl. There are also a good many more words of Scandinavian origin, among them, curiously enough, the pronoun thei/, f/ieir, them, which did not get wholly acclimated all over England until the fifteenth century. S. Borrowings from tin- French. The next great borrowing is of far greater importance. Even in the reign of Edward the drnfessor there were Xorman nobles of influence in England. But the real in- troduction of the Norman dialect into the country was in litiJG with William the Conqueror. I have called it the \ni-inan dialect: it is more usually called simplv French, or, by scholars, Anglo-Xorman. It was a French dialect, and in course of time came to differ from the Xorman of the Continent. We have here the beginning of the immense influence the French language has had upon the English vocabulary. It became at once the dominant language in p]iigland, just as English had six centuries before become the dominant language in the place of the Keltic. The outcome, however, was somewhat different. To gain a correct idea of the way in which the French element found its way into the English language we must iiinember that so long as the French-speaking Normans were a separate and dominant class the influence of the language upon English was not very great. It was not until they began to become more and more anglicized that the English language began to take to itself ninnbors of French words. This is not very hard to understand. So long as the Xorman noble spoke only French and the ■jiiJ: coysTiiucriVE iuieioiuc. Saxon freeman or serf spoke only Eiiglisli the mixture of laii^iage was not so very great. When, liowever, the Norman began to speak English, he spoke it with a strong recollection of the other tongue. Therefore the time when French had the most influence on English was the time it w:is falling into disuse. It is not in the last half of the eleventh century that most French words witc borrowed. Even Orm and Layamon, writing in English about 1200, have very few French words. In the last half of the fourteenth century, however, when English was dis- placiiiLT French in the schools, the courts, the jiarliament, wf find in riiaucer and Langland a vocabulary full of words from the French. I add two tables which will make tlie matter plainer. I. |)atus marking the disuse of .Vnglo-Xorman in Eng- land- [10(i(i. Battle of SeiihK.'.J r2ri8. Proclamation of Henry III. in English. (An isolated case.) i:!(j'2. I'leading.s in the law courts in English, althougii reconled in Latin. ]'.!ij'2 and VM'i. Parliament opened with an English sj)ccrh, liiS.'). Trevisa reports that English rathei- than French is used in the gramuiar-sc-liools. i:'>si;. Pi'titions to Parliament Ijegin to be in English. 14(111. Wills and such documents l/egin to be in Knglish. II. Number of French words in English authors: Orm, r. 1200. About 10 words in '^(i.doi) lines. Layamon. c. I'.MKt. About 100 words in :!."i.O(iO lines. Iiobert of (iloueester, c. 12SU. About lOO words in first .'.(tO lines. Kobert of Brunne, c. 1350. About 170 words in first 500 lines. Mandeville, c. 1350. Ilis work is in prose, but the pro- portion is about as in Robert of Brunne. Acciinn/M: TO THEIR OlilGiy. 'iO," riiaiu'or, c. 1300. 440 words in tlie first 5()0 linos of the Canterbury Tales. Laugland. about the same time, has a somewhat larger proportion. It will not be worth while to give a fuller aceouiit of these Words from the French, exeejit to remark that tliey are almost all either nouns, verbs, adjectives, or adverbs. Articles, pronouns (exce]it ihey, etc.), conjunctions, prep- ositions, are all native Kiiglish. Sd are the numerals, ex- cept ftrcmid and millio)!. Hut these last-named parts of speech make up a small part of the vocabulary. And in the other divisions there are a great numljer of French words. All this time there had lieen presumably some borrowing of words from the Tjatin. Hut the chronology of our Latin element is not very definitely detei-mined for these cen- turies. We are ajiproacliing a jieriod, however, when there was a verv decided influx of words not only from Latin, but from (ireek as well. The Revival of Learning is the name given to that period in wliich men's minds were turned with a new intei-est to the elassi(;al litei'atures. Witli the increased stuily i>f Latin and (ireek came new borrowing. Sir Tliomas Klyot (in l."i:!l) was openly of the opinion that tlie English langiiaire was poor and meagre, ami that it should be steadfa-tly enriched by words from the polite lanLHiagi's. His iileas wci'e cumbated lysoiiie.but followed by more, so that during the seventeenth century scholarly men like Milton and Sir Thomas Hi-owne wroti' in a style crammed full of Latinisms. Many of tlioir boi-i'owings were never adopted, but durini,' these two hundred years a great many Latin words bocame aeclimaleil. The borrowing from the FiimicIi went on, and in the six- teenth century we notice a tendency to borrow from Ilaiiaij •I^w; coysTurrriVE luiKTORin. and S]iaiiish as well. It;il_v was the rcuiiilry of polite letters and accomplishments; its influence on English litenitnre was vr-i'}- great from Wyiitt and Suni y down to tlie Eliza- licthan dramatists. Spain was at this time one of the fore- most countries of Europe, and one with which England had much to do both as frimd and as foe. We must also mention the Dutch, wlm in the sevfntci'nth century became 'jriat sailors and disputed witii ^^nghunl the snjircniacy of thi' ocean and even of the narrow seas. It is to this jieriod tliut wc owe the Dutch words which ai-e to lie found along witii the earlier Scandinavian in onr natifical vocabulary. In the seventeenth century begins EnLrhmd's immense commei-cial supremacy; Amei'ica, India, Australia, each counlry as it Ijci-ame the dwellini,'-]ilacc of i'lnglish jieojile gave sy the sixteenth century, at least, these older compounds had passed entirely out of use. 8ir .John t'heke, who in the earlier years of that century traiislateii the (iospel of Matthew with the idea of excluding all foreign tenus, uses none of the Old English compounds. On tlio other hand he does use some of the foreign expressions wliieh were so familiar to him that he may have taken ihein for native Knglish words. In our day we do to some extent originate tiew compounds, but comparing the possibilities in our case with those in the case of (Jerman, we see at iincc that we stand somewhat behind them in this respect. We have made uj) for the lack by our ease in assiniihiting foreign material. If word-formation were more general in English than it i<, tliCre Would be more value to the vocabulary in those studies which, doubtless, many of you have followed under the name Word-buildiui; or Etymology. The trouble with such work frum our present point of view is that it diK-s not increase the vocabulary with new words until we ktiow whetlier the words in que^tion are or are not in good use. GBAinrATriAL FVXCTTOX. 200 Tliiis I extrart an illustration from a text-book on the sub- ject. It is presented in the following form: e or com ■ ^ ive > mot < . pro { ion re J l^ er If we could compound freely, we could by means of this illustration make twenty-four words. As it is, less than half of the twenty-four arc in good use, viz., promote, remote, motor, motive, motion, emotion, commotion, pro- motive, promotion, promoter, unless our idea of good use is broad enongh to include commote, remotion, emotive. One cannot be at all sure when engaged in word-building whether one is huilding card castles or more enduring structures. For our purpose it will be enough to note that although we have to a great degree lost the power of ready word-for- mation we have yet in the language a vast number of compounds. Many of the Old English compounds have gone out of use, and their place has been taken by words from some foreign language. But we still have left numer- ous groups of words which present various modifications of the same idea, some of them being of words which have been formed either by derivation or composition in English, and others of words which, like most of those quoted on the previous page, have been procured ready-made. 58. According to their Grammatical Function. In con- sidering words according to their grammatical function we may observe that there is a species of connection lic- tween nouns, verbs, adjectives, and adverbs which such words do not have as a general rule with the other jiarts of speech, nor do the other parts uf speech generally have any such connection existing among them. Adjectives and adverbs have only a formal difference, so that we may con- '2i(t (oysrnccTiVE rhetohw. sider the former as representing both. We may then uli- serve that often enough a verb, a noun, an adjective, seem to be merely different forms of the same idea. This is most obvious in certain forms of the verb. The usual forms I comu, I came, I shall come, I have come, I had come, these are all of the same character; but the particip- ial coming is rather hard to distinguish from an adjective. It often amounts to little more than the adjective fiitiirr. In like manner coming may be used as a noun like the word (iilre/it. which was itself originally participial inform. Of this point, which is familiar enough to all, you may find numberless illustrations. The English language has so few in (lections that sometimes the sauic word may be used as a verb, a noun, or an adjective. We may say: To black boots. Black is white. A black man. To irou collars. Iron is a metal. Iron bands. To gauio away A game of cards. A game chicken, one's money. A number of examples will occur to anybody who will stop to think of them. Besides such cases, there are many instances where I he connection is not so complete. (('«//•, t((lk', ruin, fhidn/cr, ii'dfer. land, and a great many other words may be used as nouns or verbs. In other cases either nouns ai'e derived from verbs, as nmk-rr, building, whniration, or vcrl>s are derived from nouns, as tyrnuHizi', ariginalf. In like man- ner are adjectives ami nouns connected: irise, irisdmii; qood, goodness; and less frequently adjectives and verbs: large, eidargr. Often it is difficult to tell which is the original form, as in the words band, bind, bond, bound. Hut this is a ques- tion of etvniology and does not concern us at present. What i< important for us to notice is that the same idea may apparently be exjiressed as a noun, an adjective, or a (HiAMMATICAL FrXCTlOX 2M verb, or, to use a somewhat more exact expression, we may often find noun, adjective, and veili which have a niiicli closer connection in meaning witli each other tlian with otlier words of the same grammatical function. If we formed groups of words according to the ideas thej- repre- sented, we should often have to include nouns, adjectives, and verbs in the same list. 6. DEVELOPMENT OP THE VOCABVLART OF A GIVEN IDKA. 59. If now we return from this excursus to our original idea, the increasing of our vocabular}-, we see readily enough that any given idea may be made the centre of a group of words expressing different modifications of it. Suppose we have some simple noun of English origin: we can very often find words from the Latin or French, or perhaps from other languages, with kindred meanings; we can usually find expressions for the idea in adjective-form or verb-form; and we can also readily enough find numbers of derivatives or compounds closely enough related to our original to be of use to us. Theoretically we should be able to develop any particular idea into at least eighteen different words by thinking of English, French, and Latin; noun, adjective, and verb; simple and compound (includ- ing derivatives). But practically there will be many more words sometimes, and now and then less. There are often synonyms from other languages than Latin and French which increases the number. And often the idea is not found in simple form in the three grammatical categories, which diminishes it. So there will be a variable number of words which may bo grouped around any given word we may have in mind. The j)oint to note is tliat we have here a systematic method of gathering whalevcr words the language affords as expressive of any given idea and its modifications and developments. In cairying out such a method one may proceed in various ways— one should use ■21-2 rdy-^nn'irrvE rhetoric. wluitever opportunities are at hand. Turn first to tlie dictionary; look up your word, and tlien look up all the synonyms that are given. Each one will lead you aloiiLr, so that practieally the difficulty is to know whei'e to stoj). It is ratlier an amusing occuiiation to hunt an idea tlirough the dictionary, following all its turnings and twistings, its changes of form and changes of application, and those who do not find it amusing will find it extremely instructive. When you have finished with the dictionary, see if your knowledge of foreign languages will not help you. Think of the word in (ireek, Latin, French, (!erman, and any other language you know and see if it do not suggest some of our horrowings. Then try to think up compounds and derivatives; if you are helped hy such work as that noteil on p. ','09 so much the better.' For the sake of an example let us take the word Iiousr. Our knowledge of French and Latin at once provides us with tlie words niunsion and dumicile. The Greek word for house appears in the word ecKiiomij. but this is a little too far away in meaning to be of much real use to us. Wlieu we come to look for verbs, we have at first a slight difficulty. Wliat is the house-idea in verb-form ? To house, to put under cover, to shelter; this would seem to be the nearest idea. I have found, however, that it is more practical when the idea itself in verb-form does not seem as though it would be very productive to take some other verb-idea closely connected with that we have in hand. In this case the verb-idea which will be found most fruitful is, I believe, to live in, to abide in, to dwell in. From the French we get the word reside, from the Latin iiiJia/jil. ' Tlie idea -iiiTin --tiiiLr this exerciM- will Ik- found in tLni* ciirioun books i-iititli'd llai((llu,iik [respectivi-ly] of Anglo-Siij-im l;n,,t-irunh Aiii,il'>->^iion DtriTiitires.and ol l-'ni/rnftid W^nlx, publislji'i m .Ww York lt>5.j, X'^'t'), IS.")?, and ostfiLsilily tlic ]pn>duction of a literury as- scH'iation, Imo rt-ally writtfii, as I Nnrii from tLe kindne^.s 'ii !>. Ajipletou iV (\> , the publishers, by James Sr..it and Jobn L. CLapman. VOCADULAnr OF A <;IVEX IDEA. 213 As far as adjectives are concerned we shall not find any in simple form. Where house is used as an adjective, it is in compounds, as in housc-do;/, Jiou^r-niaid, and so forth. Wo may proceed, however, with our simple nouns to form com- pounds or derivatives, nouns, adjectives, and verbs, and then with our simple -erbs in like manner. At first we shall get something like this: House. \ Simple. Derivative and Compound. Eng. House Warelioiisp, and Dwelling many other such Abiding-place compounds H Fr. Mansion Mansion-house Residence '^ Lat. Domicile Habitation Varia. .- -Eng. ■B Fr Resident r I Jit. Domestic I/omiciliary Habitable '■? Varia. < Eng. To live [in] dwell To house ■Ti abide U Fr. reside remain ">■ Lat. Varia. inhabit domicile domesticate Having arrived at this point, it is worth while to note one thing before going farther, '^'ou will at once observe that among the simjile or i)riinitive words I have placed a number which are not primitive. 'J'his 1 do for conveni- ence' sake. Of course iuhdhil is not it simple word, if we consider its Latin origin. Hut if we thiiii< of it in English I should say that practically it was simple. It certainly is ■214: COysTEVCTIVE HIIETdRIC. not in the minds of most people componntled of in and habit. On the other hand such a word as iiihcibi/nnf and, to a less degree, hiiliifatio/i are. I believe, ijenerallv tlimigjit of as compounds, and are connected in mind with the word i/ihahit. In like manner resiile, though not really a primitive word, is practically primitive as far as we are concerned, for it is not derived or compounded from any other English words, and from it are derived the words rcsidintt and residence. So with dauticile and (lomicilinri/. This way of pidrceding may seem to some rather easy- going, but it seems to me rei,'ular enough. ^\'e must stoji somewhere in our search for primitives, or we shall lie led to the ridiculous idea of inserting nothing under our iiisi column but Aryan roots. I have found it in practice more convenient to consider as simjilc such as are j)ractically so in English, whatever their previous condition may have been. The practice involves us in some difficulties, it is true, but not in so maiiy as if we were stricter. Having got so far, we may now ]iroceed as much farther as we want, filling out our list in two different ways: tiist, Ijy noting synonyms for e-Xjiressions we already have, and, secondly, by adding as many compounds as seems worili while. It will be found that one must be somewhat regu- lated in this matter by a rough and ready feeling as to the usefulness of the words one gathers. Will they be of more use here or elsewhere ? Are they not so far removed from our original idea that tliey will really be of no especial help to us ? Von nnist be guided by common sense in tlie matter. Your desire is to get together those words which will help you to express tlie idea house in its various modi- ficatious. It is well enough to have domestic, and so also domesticate, though it takes us a little out of our way. I should not, Imwcver, go on to set down t<(me. L'cside is convenient for us, but it would go rather too far to insert also residuum, dregs, lees, etc. VOrAnri.ABY OF A aiYEX IDEA. i! 1 5 One good pur[ioso is served oven by very considerable exteusiou: it serves to fiuniliarize us with the relations of a very wide range of ideas. In some of the examjiles fol- lowing 1 have carried ilie development to a very consider- able extent. But every one must suit himself in this re- spect; it will probably be well to have no hard and fast rule in the matter, but to proceed sometimes in oneway, sometimes in another. Mind. Simple. Derivative and Compound. Eoff. Mind Wit[s] Witness, witticism, witling Brain[s] Thought, knowledge Understanding - Fr. Reason Reasoner, rationale 'A Lat. Intellnct Intelligence Intellectuality Intelligencer Juilt^ment, opinion, argument C''>t'itatinn, speculation, etc., etc. ■it Eng, Mindful, witty, wittingly > I'nderstandinglv, thoughtful t' Fr. Reasonable, rational -^ Lat. MenUl Intelligent, intellectual < Intelligible Eng. To think To unilerstuiK To know Fr. To muse To reason Lat. To meditate, reflect. >■ consi Country Popular, populous t 1 Racial — . l.at. Tribal, terrii.irial < Kelt. Repulilican, etc. Clannish It is often worth while to confiiK.' one's attention to one division, as, for instance, nouns milv. In the following case tlie nearest verb I should say was to yu or to come (p. '-0): Street. Simple. Derivative and Coniponnd. Kng. Strict (originally from Lat.) \Nay Path l.nne Road Highway, roadway Pathway Walk TL.ir.'Uglifare 'riiriiiiiki- Fr. Aviniic, iNjulevard, mall Promenade Alley Route, track, trail, j.iurncy Pa^^age ]VOIil)s TO WnliK ri'OX. 2\7 To this may be added some !J|ieci:iI names for streets, as Row, Place, Cuiut. Scjuare, Road, Lane, and in England Gardens, Terrace, Circus. 60. Words to Work Upon. This proceeding is a sys- tematic way of getting together the words expressing the various ideas that gather about any particular idea. In itself it does not go very far, but it does for us this much, it gets us to rummage out all the words we can think of that are connected with the word with which we begin. These undigested masses of words are not of themselves of great value, but they are very good material to work ujion. Meanwhile, supposing the process to be good so far, you will doubtless perceive one difficulty in the way of system- atic work. If we have a base, as we may call our funda- mental idea, we can proceed as systematically as you like. But how are we to proceed systematically to get the right words to use as bases? This problem is a difficult one, and I am by no means whollv satisfied with the answer I am able to offer. "What we want is a list of words which being developed will give us a vocabulary of from five to ten thousand words. Xow it will take a good many words to do that. On the next page I place a list of words which I think will be useful. That it is the best list that can be devised I do not feel quite !iur(.', although it was carefully made i)y comparing and checking various lists made both by experiment and by tlieorv. I should here, however, mention some very considerable omissions: 1. Pronouns, numerals, prepositions, conjuiH-tioiis, inter- jections, arc omitted. Any one lan makr a list of them at his leisure by consulting a few go(id grammars. 2. Many opportunities for gathering the names of par- ticulars are (jrnitted. Parts of a house, for iTistaiicc, kinds of houses, parts of tlie body (for whc^re should we stop. ■Jlx roysrnrcTiVE niiRTonio. short of ;i course in aniitoiii\ ?), ocnipations of nmiikiiul, aud such mat tors. 3. A large numljor of names for emotions, disiiositioiis, etc., are omitted as being ratlier difficult to treat bv this method and more interesting to liandle in an exercise which comes later (63). In short, the main purjiose of the exercise, as I have so often said befoie, is not to supply a ready-made vocabu- lary, but to give such means of forming a mental habit a.-; will be in themselves useful. The following list of words can doubtless be imjirovcd ; even as it stands, however, it will supply profitalile work for any one until he has got along so far as to be fully able to shift for himself. In general, it may be said tliat it will l)e hardly wortli while to try to find simple nouns, adjectives, and verbs for every example. In some cases the co-ordinate words will be obvious: in the case of the adjective rich the noun wealth is naturally thought of, or in the case of tlie noun friend, the vcrl) fo lore,' or, having the verb bv(jin, the adjective first. But when some idea does not suggest itself readily it will be ratlier Ijetter to spend the time on something else. EXEBCISE. rievi'lo]! as nil. ivf the following: N'oi Ns. Bodji, mill, iiiiml, man, beaut, family, fri< ml, muntir, neri-diil, /iiiiiKi'. stnrl, city, nation, tree, Jlotrer, fruit, /till, talliy, forest, mraitiiir, land, water, matter, ■manner, irhole, jiart, kind, /last, future. Ad.ikiTIn K-J Fiml, last, full, emjity, good, bad, great, amall, Jiajipi/, hard, xuft, mar, far, neir, yonixg, old, poor, ricit, rigid, u>rong, strong, iruik, true, fuUe, irig,, silly. Veuiis. Tu It, begin, break, build, c/teer, do, drink, eat, end, fall, find, get, gire, go, grotc, hajipi'n, Jian, >i l^arit, lie, lire, lose, mourn, plan, ploy, mid, sni/. see, .v/iip, tin, sit, stnkc surf'ir, tmcli, tliiuk, try, use, iris/i. trurk, irors/iip, irrilf. 61. The Grouping of Synonyms, lliiving now these rude, imdigested nuissos of words, the question is how to get tlie good of them. Tn make tlieni oui' own we must be familiar with tliem, and the real way to become familiar with words is to use them frequently. iS'ow this is the best thing to do in this case, but, like a good many other things of the same sort, it can't readily be done in the class-room. We must have some sort of exercise which will, not take the place of practice, for nothing can do that, but aid and assist us iu the use of the material we are accumulating. The best exercise I know of to this end lies in the discrimination of synonyms. To proceed to the discrimination of synonyms from such collections of words as we have at hand recjuires some middle stage. Sunie of the words in a group we may profitably comjiare with each other, — house and tnansion, for instance, — but it would evidently be useless to discriminate between residence and inhabitant, for the words are not such as any one would think of as synonyms. We must divide the larger grou])s into smaller groups of words that are really synonymous. Suppose we take, with a view to dividing into sets of synonyms, the verbs collected about the idea to speak. Proceeding roughly, we can easily put together some small trruups, e.g. : 1. Speiik, xdi/. 3. Shiiut, c.rclaiui. 2. Tell, niirrute. 4. Ansicer, reply. Of tliese the words in (1) convey little more than the general idea. We might join to them tlic wui'd utier, and perhajjs also pronounce, (irUcuhdc, atate, e.rpres.^. The words in (2) have the notion of speaking of simiething which has hajipened; we may add relnle, repurl, recount, reveal, dicuhje, ilinclose, although here we are getting to a i'l'd roysriiucTivf: riiBtoric. new notion. The speaking of things which liave happoned may suggest to us another group (.')) to pi'uphisi/, fore/ell, predict, and perhaps announce and proclaim. (H) may easily be enlarged by vociferate, cry, hoirl, shriek, scream, yell, hollo. They all have the idea of speaking in a loud tone and may suggest (6) wliisper, murmur, mutter, groicl, grumble, mumble. (4) seems to have rather a peculiar meaning: it means to speak to another in reply to some- thing; if we leave out the last modification, we have to address, impart, cummunc. cmirerse, discuss, debate, harangue, lecture, rejoin, dictate. But fhese are evidently too various in meaning. AVe may divide them into: 4. Answer, reply, rejoin. ". Cunccrse, discuss, debate, talk. 8. Address, harangue, lecture. 9. Dictate, bid, command, charge, order, direct. These words all imjily speaking to another; we have only (10) soliloqni'.c, meaning definitely to sj)eak to oneself. AVe may make other groups still : 11. Chat, chatter, gossip, prate, prattle, jabber, babble. 12. Remark, obserre, mention, allude, hint. We have here several groups of words so nearly alike in meaning that it is worth while to discriminate particularly liotweeii their meanings. This is one advnntai;e of divid- ing up our lists of words. Another is that we generally increase their number; one list suj^frests anotlicr. AVhen we have a very particular idea, it is easier to fjct to;:i'ther the words that will express it than when we have only an ill-defined conception. I add another example of words got together into irroups. To go, to come : 1. To go away, withdraw, leave, retire, retreat, vanish. '2. To come, draw near (or nigh), approach. 3. To go up, mount, ascend, rise, climb, scale. JilsclUmyATTOX OF srXOXT.Vs. 22i 4. To go down, descend, fall, drop. T). To run, rush, hurry, hasten. t5. To ramble, wander, roam, stray, meander. Siiih groups can readily be made of the words which one had gathered about the main idea. EXERCISE. Divide into groups the words gathered accordinj; to CO- This divi- sion, if Tou proceed with a certain amount of system, will not only put together the synonyms, but will also suggest new wcirds. 62. Discrimination of Synonyms. Having now sorted out of the uudigested aggregates which we had gathered together some groups of words which are so nearly alike that there is some possibility of their being confused with one another, we desire some method of proceeding farther. Of course the dictionary is always a resource, or some special work on Synonyms.' But the scholarly way of dealing with the question i.s to endeavor after the princi- ples at bottom, to try to habituate the mind to particular discrimination, so that we may ourselves be able to have an opinion upon the subject that will be at least well based. The problem is, given a number of words of similar meaning, how can we best bring out the special meaning of each one ? For in almost all cases the words in (piestion will be found to be different in particular meaning, although they may at first sight seem to mean about the same thing. For instance, let us consider the words learning, wisdom, knou'hdge. Tlicy are an interesting set of words, they are words that we ought to know a g()0(l deal about. They all have something to do with intellectual attain- ment, but they all l)ave different particular mi'aiiings. Here are a number of rather interesting quotations: ' Crabbe's SijitmnimK is a well-known and iiselul IjcmiIc. I have found Smith's Si/iioni/rnH Dixrriniiniileil rallier jjitter. Mi'ither of tliein hiAvever, quotes very njoderji autlioritits. 222 idX^TRl'CTIVE lUIETdPjr. "Let me be not learned, but wise." — Chauuiug: Life (1-vol. ed.). p. 1U4. " I am inclined to think that Shakespeare had more learning even, not to say knowledge, than is commonly al- lowed him." — Lowi'll: Works, ii. '2!i."). ■' But though Ijijchiel had very little knowledge of books, he was eminently wise in council." — ilacanlay: Hidory, ch. xiii. Compare also the antithesis made by Tennyson in the Introduction to lit Mimdrimn, Ijetween knowlvil(j<\ sts. 0, 7, and irisihnii, St. 11. Evidently these three words are sufficiently different to be used almost antithetically. In considering now, how best to familiarize ourselves with these minor differences we may well enough consider how it is that we are familiar with the more general mean- ings of words, and even how words come to have any mean- ings at all. In answer to the first question we may say that we hear and use a word in various expressions until we have liy a process of exclusion which is usually uncon- scious brought it down to whatever sense we may assign to it. In answer to the second we may say that words only have the meaning which the common consent of usage gives them. We sliall do well, then, to proceed by cervasive; the word has more likeness to chment than to part. D. Til (lain, Ae(|uire, (u't. (^litaiii. Win, Earn, lliiy. The onlv thini;s wurthy of especial iiinark here are: 1. /)'(/// differs fmrn all tlie rest in such a way that it mii^lit as well be left out. 'J. ]Viii and gain are so nearly alike in meaning that it requires a little particular eaie to distinguish between them. A statesman wins public confidence. A general wins a battle. A comj>eritor wins .i prize. luscniMiyATioy of !^Y^()^YM>' -jl'T But iu all these cases we could use gaiii.-i as well, and should have still to exjilaiii the difference in moaning. One ^vius tlie prize in a lottery, a race, a medal, *i."i.00 on a boat-race. One gains a livelihood, the victory, health and strength, ¥5.00 by that transaction. These are sentences in wliicli the verbs could not well be transposed. They give us such an idea of the words that we could write: The statesman won public favor by a single brilliant speech. Or, The statesman gained public confidence by years of devoted service. Here the transposition of the words would hardly result in right usage. With such a number of examples of special usage we form a good idea of the word without any definition at all. E. Irritable, Peevish, Ill-tempered, Captious, Peppery, Irascible. These words are hardly synonyms — some of them at least. Xor can we mention one a.s being such a general term as includes the rest. But such groups of words have their use. They are to some extent representative of dif- ferent degrees of a common quality. It will be useful to arrange them in some order; for instance, that of the in- tensity or violence of the general quality. I should arrange them as follows: Irascible, i/eji/ieri/, irritable, peevish, ccqiiions, iU-kiii- pcred. When we come to form sentences to iUu.sti'ate their meaning we shall see tiuit each has some jieculiarity of meaning, as well as its especial degree of the general quality. 22^ (uy.^TRrCTIVE liHETdRlC. EXERCISE.' Discriminate benvctn the following: 1. Wiiff,.s, salary, honorarium, fee. 2. Q'lii-k, fast, siri/l, brink, rnjnd. hasty. 3. lieli'ji'Kis. jiiuiis, devotional, holy. 4. Aj,l. lihly, liable. 5. I'hnii. char, ohrious, ccident, rnanifi.it, apparent. 6. .[ulliciitir, triiL, genuine, very. 7 Phase, aspct. uliite, condition. N. Diiiiiti/, e.rr/i/inite, nice, deliralc, refined. 9. (rrtat, imnten.' to have any ideas without words expipssive of them, Icl us see wliat can be done in this diii'(ttion in addition to what we have already done. Perhaps wo cannot have an exact idea without a word for it, liut ovoi vl)(idy knows by experi- ence how it feels to have something (idea or not) floating about in the head without a word to fasten to. Our next task is to see what we can do here. We have first a difficulty in getting to work. In pro- ceeding from words to meanings we had something defi- nite: there are so and so many words; all we had to do was to put the right meanings to them. But whore are we to find any collection of wordless meanings? Obviously we must proceed by rather tentative efforts. Indeed, I know of no such systematic exercise as that we have just gone through. I can only propose some particular exercises which tend in the direction. The first part of the preceding exercise was somewhat to the point; it stimulated us to search out and find expression for related meanings. In some particular cases the same thing may be done in other ways. a. I shall first call your attention to an exercise pro- posed first, I believe, by Abbot and Seeley {op. cU., § 10). In their first chapter they have some discussion of antonyms. An antonym is a word which has, not something the same meaning as a given word, but an opposite meaning. This is rather a vague mode of expression, but it will serve our present purpose. Good and had are antonyms, rich and poor, flint and slow, and so on with a great number of pairs of words. We can think of numbers of antonyms without difficulty.' If we do so think up antonyms we see very soon tliat some words have no antonyms at all. What is the antonym of house, for instance. We can ' Sc<- II. P. SiiiitU, Si/n/mymn itiid Antonr/ms, and also yl Stiindnrd Dirtioii'ini where under many words antonyms are given an well as synonyms. L';')!! ( rjys Til I -< 'Tl I '/:,• lillETOUK : hardly conceive such an idea as not house, much less do we have any word for it. In fact the irrcater number of nouns liave no antonyms; of a few only can we find any- thing that can be considered as such. Love and hate and similar pairs might ])erhaps serve, but for a vast number of nouns tliere is nothing of the sort. The same thing may be said nf verbs. If we now try another tack and look out for such words as undoubtedly do have what we think of as antonyms, we shall find that the most obvious class consists of adjectives ex]iressin<; characteristics, and especially siicli adjectives as e.xjucss pcrscnal cluiracter- istics. With tlicse adjcctivi's, of cnui'se, will go their coordinate nouns and vcrl)S. (lood and had are airain examples, or, to take less common words, let us say, /irm/i- gal and iKirsiniuniitus. In this last case our authors point out that tlie two wni-ils seem to reiiresont, one the defect and one the excess of sc/inc middle quality for which j)er- haps thrift ij would be the right word. They therefore ]ir(i]iosc as an exercise the naming the Kxcess the Mean, the Defect, of various qualities. This e\e]-cise, althdiigh when one bei:iiis to reason out its logical and psychological basis one finds certain theoretical difficulties, has laiher a stimulating etToct. I find it useful in just this jilace, for it gives us practice in exactly explaining certain notions which we have or think we oupht to have. If pnx- sionate indicate an excess, what indicates the defect ? I should say phhgi.mtic, and give cveii-tenipen'd as a mean. In like manner wr Id I arrani;e: bluntness candor hyj)0cri8y boorish or cultivated pedantic illiterate skeptical or open-mimlcd credulous bigoted intemperate plain abstinent ur sober abstemious florid ornate SOME ynyoii exeuitses. 231 Exercise of this kind I think of vaku-, although I have found tliut great differences of opinioa are aroused by it. EXERCISES. Consider the follaibarisnis, Solecisms, and Improprieties. Under each head we are told what forms of expression to avoid. In that respect, certainly, the process is confining and limit- ihL'. But as far as the voeabulary is coni'erned we must not suppose that this is entirely n wceding-miL pi-oeess. •2:u roxsmrcTivE miBJonjc S(i far as concerns the actual number nf words at our coniniand, we can lose but a very few in the scvcic,-t stiuly (if diction, and on the other hand we uaiu a i^roat niauv. A Barbari-ni is a word which, stiiitly speaking, is not a word, according to good usage. A Sulrcisin is an oirciicc against the graniniatiial use of words. An Iniproprictv is a word otherwise unexceptional used in a sense Jiot war- ranted liy good usage. If any one who meant to say, " Wlio do they think is bound Ijy the agreement!-"' slioukl write, " Who do tliey expect does it obligate ? " he would commit all three eiroi-s. Ohiigah' is a barbarism, wh goes; l}ut vlio and r.riiccl. although tjiey were not rightly used in that sentence, are still :il your service, and that in a way that thev were not before. In other words, the oidv loss to the vocabulary under the most se\erely critical study is that of barharisuis. Xow it has been remarked by various writers that tlie number of barbarisms in any jiersonV vocalnilary is, even in extreme cases, comparatively small, liy far the greater number of cases that are brought to a teacher of rhetoric for his oi>inion are snlecisms or improprieties. Few people remember many olisoU'te words; we have hecn prettv well laughed out of using foreign cxjircssions; the cliief soui-ee of ilanger is the tendency to colloquialism and to the formation of new compounds where we have enough good words without them. But a few barbarisms in any one's vocabulary make a great show; one is enough to taint a whole page. The numerical loss in getting rid of these will be very small, hardly more than one i)er cent with most of us. And this loss of barbarisms is probably made up bv the restoration of other words to their true tises and a more accurate distribution of words to their ideas. On /rs- loxsmrcTrvE vata'e. 23.^ the whole, I should say the vocabulary was the i^^ainer in quantity, even by critical work. In another way, too, tliouirh it is not often thuught of, do we make a real gain by this critical work. Wc all of us have two vocaluilaries: one of words we readily understand, and one of words we commonly use, the latter being much the smaller. Every one who has studied a foreign language will at once see what I mean. Compare your readiness in readiuir Latin, for instance, and in writing Latin. There are plenty of us who can read what is written in a foreign language with ease, although we are quite unable to ex- press ourselves in it. This is true not only of reading and writing, but of hearing and speaking. One learns to under- stand what is said to one long before one can talk intel- liLrilily. Of course part of the difficulty lies in the syntax, which we rareh' think of in reading and hearing, but which is a source of great anguish in writing and speaking. But a good part (if the difWculty lies in our knowledge of the words. A.S it is with a foreign language so is it in a minor degree with our mother toiiLrue. Many words which we comprehend well enough as we read them lie entirely out- side our speaking vocabulary. Probably every one has had the curious experience as a child when learning to read, of knowing perfectly well the Inok and sense of certain words which one never ventured to utter. It is much the same with us as we grow up, although we are not conscious of it. A simple proof of the matter lies in the ease with which we read Slia' espeare. Shakespeare uses perhaps threi' times as many words as mo.-t of us do, and yet we reeoLniize readily nine tenllis of his words. That we are apt enough not to understand thein in the sense in which he used them makes no dilTerence; we iincbTstand them in soino sen.se, but never use tlieni at all. Now the nmre we study words and their meanings, even in the most critical manner, L'3ti fVSSTRl'CTIVE RHETORIC. the more do we familiarize ourselves with lliem, the more does our writing vocabulary approach our r.;iiliiig vocabu- lary. And this, from the rhetorical point of view, is a distinct gain. Having seen, then, how far the critical stndy of diction is directly in the line of our aim, we may pnxei'd to a short consideration of the points of most importance. A. GOOD rSAUE. 65. Good Usage is Changing. The first thing to be re- marked is that here, as in every similar case, our first want is a standard. The very expressions " bad English," " an incorrect use," and so on indicate by their adjectives the existence of some standard. The standard always accepted ill our case is that of (iood Tsau'e. (»f the charai'teristics of good usage I will speak in a minute, but I would first call your attention to the fact that it is by its very nature fluctuating and ehaii;,Mng. It is this which gives a va<,'ne and somewhat unsatisfactory character to this braneli of our subject. We cannot set down once for all a statomeiit of correct and incorrect usage; each new i,'enuration has the task in hand to l)e!.'-in upon. Exeellent illustrations of the changing character of usat^e may be found by read- ing that part of ('auii)beirs Rhetoric «hich refers to dic- tion. Campbell was jiresunuibly a good judu'e; certainly his Rhetoric, although written more tiiaii a hundred years ano. is in some resperts authoritative. In what he says on the nature of (Jooil Use he is as valuable as ever; the latest Rhetoric that I have seen (J. M Hart, ls'.),j) follows his characterization. But his examples often show very curi- ously how different is the standard of good usage nowa- davs from that of a hundred years ago. For instance, Campbell says that adrice meaning in- furmation is a commercial expression; it is so to-day. But (WOD vsAdE IS ciiAyaiyri. 2157 he says immediat'^ly afterward that iicrnnis meauing of weak nerces is medical cant, aiul that tur/lc meaiiiiif; tor- toise is used only by sailors and gluttons. At present ner- vous meaning powerful and turtle meaning a kind of dove would, of course, be underst(i>t sometimes council take and simietiiues tea." PurE : liiipe af the Luck, canto iii. 11. 7, 8. The change of meaning in words is one of tlie most in- teresting of linguistic studies. I will uMve example of but one kind of change, the natui'eof wliich is familiar enough to you alreailw The following words may he found in the first half of the seventeenth century with the meanings set aijainsL them: Til prevent 'J'd go before reiterate go back and forth err wander incense burn Returted Twisted back, as hair from the forehead, t'andor Whiteness Continent Anything that contains, e.g., an aiinm with flowers in it. In all these cases the physical meaning, if we mav sd call it, has wholly passed away, leaving only the metaphori- cal sense. I.,angtiage itself being therefure in .such a state of per- petual flux, it. is not at all retnarkable that good usage should vary also. It is all arbitrary, all the lesiilt of iin- exjiresseil agreement. If wc could all get t(igetlier, we might make any changes in the language that we chose, and if we cuulil hold to them it would be well enough. .\s it is, cveryboily approximates to what he hears from everybody else, and so a rough kind of balance is struck. 66. Characteristics of Good Usage. But since Cood Usage varies we must get as near as we can to the good usage of the Present. The first point generally agreed upon concerning good usage is that it should be Present Usage. There is, perhaps, a little doubt as to just what we should call Present Usage. I should mvself sav the CHAIiAcTElllsTirs oF IHIOD VsACh'. L':'.!) usage of the best writers of the generation just passing away, such men as Caidiiuil Xewniaii, .Matthew Arimld, Iviiskiu, James Russell Lowell, Waltei- Pater. (»f euiirse a writer of an earlier time may l>e a better anthoi-ity than line who comes later. Maeaulay, who died in lS."i!i, is still a better authority in this matter than C'arlyle, who died a quarter of a century afterward. But that is for another reason. It is not because Maeaulay was a gieater man than Carlyle, or a greater author. It is mainly because in all those respects which mark one as fitted to ho an authority on good English, .Maeaulay was the superior. Entirely aside from the comparative power of thought, Maeaulay is, as a man of letters, of far greater reputation than Carlyle. One thing we are told of good use, namely, that it must be Reputable, such as is common to authors of reputation, and here the greater the reputation (using the words in their best sense) the greater the authority. I lia\e said that in this matter Maeaulay is a greater authority than Carlyle. .So also must he be said to be a greater authority than (.Car- dinal Newman, for he has a greater reputation, and there- fore a greater influence. One may feel that Cardinal Newman is the better authority, but for one reader of Newman theic are a hundred of ^Maeaulay. Maeaulay is, then, i/i' facto more of an authority, and language almost always submits to a de facto government. With these two f haracteristics of Cood Usage— that it should be Present and ileputable. is commonly joined a third — that it should be National. This is the dictum of Campbell: in his day it was a simple and obvious idt'a; it e.xehided foreign expressions and provincialisms. But nowadays the English language is so widely spoken that this point is one of some difficulty. When we s]ieak of National Usage, do we mean the usage of I'lnglisli authors only ? or do we, heie in America, mean the usage of Ameri- can authors? or must we have a consensus of usage in (iicat 2-1:0 roxsTnurrrvE rhetoric. Britain, America, and the great British Colonies ? The general tendencj- in America is, I believe, to cling to cer- tain cherished Americanisms, and such a feeling ajijK'ars to me to accord with the universal characteristics of laiiL;uaL;e, which never yet endured an aiitliority not of itself without harm. But English usage must always he a cheek upon us: though we need not talk of coals and trams, we must, at present at least, acknowledge that for one American author of national reputation there are half a dozen Eng- lish authors. If, however, some difficulty exist in ilcter- mining the iirecise meaning to give the term National in tliis sense, there is another sense in which the term is delliiitely understood. The word is used also to exclude any professional terms, or the slang of any partiiiilar set, or vulgar word belonging lathcr to a class than to the nation. B. VIOL.VrioNS OF (iOOD T'SACJE. 67. Mode of Treatment. So much, then, as to the standard which we acknowledge. It is a vague one; it is with ditliculty that we attain to an exact knowledge of it in a given case; yet it is all we have, and we must do our liest to gain a knowledge of it. I believe that a real knowl- edge can only be gained by cotistantand careful reading, l>y constant and careful self-criticism. Such a knowledge is rare, and we most of us refer hugely to tlic dictionary. Of course the dictionary has the advantage of us, for it is made by a number of scholars; but just at present the dictionaries do not take great pains to inform us in regard to good usage. They commonly mark obsolescent words and slang words — which is something; but the modern dictionary-maker cannot be said to have a very delicate literary conscience. The real function of the lexicographer is. perhap-. rather the imj)artial recording of usage than the distinguishing between good usage and bad. BAIiBARrs^rs. 241 But having a standard, such as it is. the critical study of diction consists largely in remarking and correcting varia- tions from it. And in such a taslv wc see at once how ini- jiossihle it is to be complete. Even could we give a com- plete list of errors that have been committed up to tlie time of writing, the ingenuity of man would devise new ones before the book had left the press. All we can do is to present in as orderly a way as possible the directions in which one is most likely to run into error. The common classification, as has been already noted (p. 233), is into Barbarisms. Solecisms, and Improprieties. 68. Barbarisms are words of which the form is not sanc- tioned by good usage — words which are not in any sense used l.iy good authors. Such words may be too old, they may be too new; they may be in use at the present time, but not in natioiuil or reputable use. The main divisions are therefore into Obsolete words, Coined words, Foreign words, SluTig, and Low words. Oiisolete words are often called Archaisms. They are common enough in poetry, but in prose they are to be avoided. There is no great danger of using them, for people as a rule forget words as they become obsolescent. Coined words, on the other hand, or Xeologisms, as they are often called, are words that are too new. They are a constant source of danger, for we are always seeing them, and there is no way of knowing whether they would be ac- ceptable to a good writer or whether they will in time be aicejited into the language. Foreign words, are often called Gallicisms, Briticisms, Americanisms, according to the language from whicli thev come. Some twenty years and more ago there would seem to have been a great tendency on the part of youjig wiiters to use French words: at least all the writers on Ulietoric were full of cautions on the subject. I have not noticed that students are much tempted to use French •J4-2 roysTUl-rriVE RIlETomc terms. Perhaps tluv have been laughed out nf the liabit by this time, or it may be that many of them are more familiar with (ierman than with French. You will most of you have an idea of what I mean liv Slang: it may be well to remark that I use the woiil in rather a broad sense, to include all technical terms that are TKit in good use. Low words are such words as can hardly lie called slan;;:, which sometimes occur in conversation, but t;oem hardlv (it for writing. They are often termed < nlloquialism.-i, which is, on the wiiolc. a better name for them.' Sneli being the kinds of Barbarisms, it is more to our purpose to inquire why any one should have any desire to use them than to try to find out just what they are. I am inclined to think that three heads will cover most cases. 1. Tlierc have been not a few autliois who have fell tliemselves a bit cramped by the idea that they should use no words but such as were sanctioned by Ljood authority. Such a one was Tom \asli in the time of HIizabeth, wl]o>e exuberance led him to the frequent use of coined woids and slang. Snch a one was Thonnis Carlvle in our own time. Such a one also was Walt Whitman hero in .\merica. \\'alt Whitunin desired to express himself iu the frees! possible manner, he wanteil to do away with evirv sort of eonventionality that could possibly cramp or limit his idea. ' I have notoci iilwjvi- the points usuallv iin-ntioncil liy w ritcr^ nn the suliji'i-t. But the matter i-> rather cmifusiil, and «c are as vii without any real lia>i> i>f' fait or iiriniiple on which in pnireiil. Why should it be a jirinciple to avnid fiiriii,'n wurils, wljin ii is liy using; them that the language has always f.'rown ? What is the dif- ferenie between ('olliierly under the head Improprieties: I'rge, 2.j; pave, 32; merge, 47, and others all used as nouns. Birthed, 222; preluding, 287. And such locutions as — Chants democratic, 7; Marches humanitarian, 72. 2, Such is real exuberance. One feels that this is a natural (a needful, if you like) mode of expression. It does not make the words good English, but it is evidently neces- sary for such men as Walt Whitman to dismiss the care for pooil English from their minds and surge ahead. Auotlier cause of the use of barbarisms does not seem to have tlii.-i reason. A good many wiitei-s seem to use liai'- barisnjs from affectation. Most often is it in the poets that one me(;ts witli such affectation. A part of tlie seAer- itv of the (Junrterhi h'crieii' (vol. xix. p. 20 1) was directed upon Keats' barbaric vocabulary. A young poet is very 24-1 coysTIU'CTIVE RIIETOmC. apt to fuel that the ordinary laiigiiiige of evervday people is uot refined and delicate fiiough to express his own iv- pecial sentiments. One sometimes meets with the charac- teristic in a prose writer. The affectation is usually for neologisms which may be invented by the author himself or adopted from the usage of someboily else. Here are a number of examples chosen from Robertson: Essays toward a ('ritical Mvlliml. Liillclaidif'l,?>\ st ifl ixf. ]K\fi^\m: statist (one who states), 13; Ix'tlettrist, fictimiiyt. rrilicchlc, ~ I: likeahte, 171; con- )iiii!rirj), were mostly used in ignorance of the fact that tliey are not recognized by good usage, or in caielessness of it, or more jirobably in some combination of the two. I'.i-ibly there maybe also a bit of affectation, a desii'e to be s]iiey and smart. Xviucndittural, usuhlc, /silnritr, jxicerdom, spirital, ren- sor.h'crs.us. 24-5 dition, arhitrage, fuiiionist, fake, hunt, hiiddlc. farh hilk, sijiiclcli, sIus?iy,ta<;es vii and viii. It is thought I hat with well-prejiared students the matter will be sufticienily atti'uded to in the correction of the exercises in previous sections. But if the student's preparation is such that he is unable to use words clearly and correctly it may be well to give some practice on the matter. The general opinion of the best teachers at present is opposed to the giving out ' Perhaps br'ttrr classed hh improprieties. •2i(y COXSTRL'CTIVE lillETORIC. of incorrect work to be corrected, aud various other means liave lieeii ik-vised for attaining the same und. The teacher will find in Plielps' Ehtturic: lis Tlieorij and Pnictici', ed. Frink, pp. C0!i-'^4T, and Buehler's Practical E.rcrcuics in English, a great number of exercises which may be given to the class by dictation or otherwise, if it be deemed necessary. PART FOUR. FIG IRE A XI) ILL US TEA TION. 71. Significance of the Topic. I often think that it is in his treatment of Fillies of Speed) that the writer on Rhetoric is most suspected of pedantry by tlie cold workl, and sometimes, it seems to me, with uood reason. It is hard in all cases for the average mind to acijuiesce in the idea that rules (for as such are tlie princijjles of Rhetoric usually thought of) can in any way be a good thing in writing, except for the satisfaction of critics. And critics, it may be remarked, are commonly regarded as people who prefer to consider the things of literature according to the conventions of a scholastic senselessness rather than with the eye of common sense. The usual idea is that if a man wants to write well he should liave plenty of practice. Then, if the Lord designed him for a writer, he will write well. (.)therwise let hiiu turn his attention elsewhere. That any one ever gains any help from Rhetoric is generally regarded as one of the delusions of academic folly. To a certain extent there is good foundation for such a view in some treatments of Figures of Speech. Such presentations as are strictly scientific in character are not readily made of wah by the young writer. The comnum division irjto Figures of Similarity, Contiguity, and Vun- trast, for instance, is useful, j)er]iaps, from the psychrjlog- ical point of \iew, but I fancy no one was ever better able to use simile or metonyniy thereby. It is certainly difficult to conceive of a wholly satisfac- tory method. But we arc confronted by the fact- that many persons express themselves naturally by moans of P'igure, 247 24^ CoysTKUCTIVE lillETOHW. and witli excellent effect. Indeed one of the most power- ful linguistic tendencies is that toward figure. The tiiru- riitive t'lement in coninion speech is very gn-at. Take so many everyday expressions: a business house, a football team, chair of English, a man-o'-war, horse and foot, a red- coat, a bluejacket, a bigwig, eoiisider the examples of metaphorical extension on p. 238, consider certain exten- sions of adjectives: quick a> a flasli, good as gold, hot as Tophet, cold as (Jreeiiland, or the great number of figura- tive proverbs (see p. S'lli), or recall siune petrified meta- phors: "a turn is given to our ways of thinking," " heme it follows" (mole examples are given on p. 21):!), and you will see some of the dii-ections in which the tendenev to figure is most felt. Then, whethei- we like to study tiie question or not, about nine tenths of us will use figure con- sciously in our everyday conversation. The matter is well })ut by Emerson, whose f course he wants to know something of how they are made, in order that he may be sure that they will last, or that they will enable him to convey the effects he lias in mind. But their use is what he aims at even when he studies their origin. Now a care- ful consideration of Figures of Speech according to their origin has no doubt its value, but it is not especially useful to the student who wants to use figure intelligently. He wants to attain certain qualities in his writing, and he is lirst interested in Figure and Illustration as helping hiiu in the attainment of one or another of thrni. The qualities that one most often scc^ks to attain are Simplicity and Clearness, which we have already cNiusidered from our fornrer standpoints, and Fone.' under wliich ' I omit consirlcratiofi of tlic rjiidii-rous and tln' PutliL-tic. t'onstnic- tive treatment ). B. If Force be our aim, we shall find that — 1. Metaphiir i.s rather the most useful of all the figures. ■J. Allegory, , Synecdoche, . are more serviceable than in A. Metonymy,' \ ' Meaning'' of mursc such pa^^-a^i'^ as are distinctly (IcHcriptivt', e-ijiositiv.' III-., without regard to the ^niicral character of the |iiiii- ill which they occur. ' Mftiinymy and Syncijuche are viry liroad terms, and each ilnuljt- h'ss includes some exircwion^ which ratlur detrai t from force than help it. (See Canijiliell . Rhetoric, p. 331 ff.) SIMILE. 2:,?, 3. The devices mentioned in A, 4-6, are only in a minor degree useful. 4. The figure of Personificutioii. and such modes of expression as Irony, Hyperbole, Epigram, Exclamation, Interrogation, Apostrophe, may be used to advantage. As a rule, too, these devices may be used in any kind of composition, although in Argument the Force ought always to depend rather upon the accuracy of the reasoning than on the mode of statement. But Exposition plays so large a part iu most argumentative composition that the excep- tion is rather pro forma than otherwise. C. If Simplicity be our aim, we shall find that — 1. Example is the great aid, rlthough it can only be used in Exposition and Argument. ■2. One form of Synecdoche may to some extent take the place of Example in other kindi of composition. 3. Devices of Style, such as Exclamation, etc., are opposed to Simplicity. (See, however, pp. 176, 27'J.) 4. The common figures are as such not productive of simplicity, but, on the other hand, are directly opposed to it. But although in form they are opposed to simplicity, they may often conduce to it on account of their material (p. 26G) : in general, if not carried to a great extent, they are no great drawback, and may at the same time be a considerable help. The foregoing summary needs some words of explanation, and especially in regard to those figures involving a like- ness between the idea under consideration and something else, i.e.. Simile, Metaphor, and Allegory. A word as to Comparison and Analogy will also be needed, and another on Example. A. Simile, Allk'^oiiy, Mktapiioi!. 73. Sinile. In speaking of anything, a man may — 1. State the fact: "In tbi^ midst of his eager anticipa- tion he began to perceive difficnltios." L'.:>4 coysTurcTirE riiktouic. Or he may state also sometliing which the fact resembles. He may — '-'. Speak of the fact as being like siiincthiug else: add to tlie example above, " as one sees a summer sky begin to overclcmi]." 3. .Speak of something else, and imply that the fact in question resembles it : " In the midst of his eager anticii>a- tion he bc'2'.)-:S;;(J : "As some rich woman, on a winter's morn, Kyes through her silken curtains the poor drudge Who with numb blackened fingers makes her fire. At cockcrow, on a starlit winter's morn. When the frost flowers the whitened window-panes— And wonders how she lives, and what the thoughts Of that poor drudire may be; so iiustum eyed The unknown adventurous youth. . Here the silken curtains, the poor drudge, the blackened fingers, the frost-flowers, the cuekcrow, the otlier details, have nothing at all in common with the original idea. They exist only to make the image called up more distinct It will, I think, be found that they have this effect. These figures, although at the time it may seem as though they were needlessly full and explicit, do have a remark- able power of standing out sharply in our minds. They are not easily forgotten, for they impress themselves dis- tinctly upon our attention. Somewhat different from these figures are those careful similes which will be remembered in the work of Cardinal Newman, in which, although it is not always possible to follow out the resemblance through every particular, we usually feel that detail after detail is added to the iniaire not merely to secure its greater distinctness, but to make the more full and sure ourapjirehension of the resemblance. " To a near-sighted person colors run together and in- termix, outlines disappear, blues and reds and yellows be- ALLEGORY. 2r>7 come russets or browns, the lamps or candles of an illu- mination spread into an unmeaning glare or dissolve into a milky way. He takes up an eyei,']ass, and the mist clears up; every image stands out distinct, and the rays of light fall back upon their centres. It is this haziness of intellectual vision which is the malady of all classes of men by nature of those who read and write and compose quite as well as of those who cannot, of all who have not had a really good education." — The Idea of a Unirevsitij, p. 333. "' It is natural to expect this from the very circum- stance that the philosophy of Education is founded on truths in the natural order. AVhere the sun shines bright, in the warm climate of the south, the natives of the place know little of safeguards against cold and wet. They have, indeed, bleak and piercing blasts; they have chill and pouring rain, but only now and then, for a day or a week; they bear the inconvenience as they best may, but they have not made it an art to repel it; it is not worth their while: the science of calefaction and ventilation is reserved for the north. It is in this way that Protestants stand relatively to Catholics in the science of education; Protestants depending on human means mainly are led to make the most of them," etc. — Ibid., p. .5. 74. Allegory. In a Simile the author presents two ideas and affirms a resemblance. In Allegory he contents himself with presenting one idea only and implying a re- semblance to some other idea which may or may not jiave been stated beforehand. The term Allegory is com- monly restricted to longer and more sustained examples. Thus the rilgrim's Progrerfs depicts the journey of a wanderer from one city to another. The implication is obvious that Bunyan is presenting the Christian Life, l)ut he does not state the comparison explicitly. Spenser in the Faerie Oucene presents to us the adventures of varirms -' . ' ^ ' o A > TR 1 7 • 77 VE lillETORIC knights and ladies. He explains at the beginning that his charactei's are typical of virtues and \ices. Hoth are Allugoi-ies, for Ijotli are statements of one idea with an im- plied representation of another. The short allegories of the Bible are commoidy called Parables.' A good example is that parable first recorded, the parable of Jothani, .JniIijcx ix. S-15. The term is also more generally used, although the more generic term for a short allegory is Fable, which term also has with certain writers a restriction ' with which we need not trouble our- selves. Oriental literature if we may judge from transla- tions abounds in Allegory in our sense. Here is a stury from Saadi's, (iulisinn, viii. 1 (trans. James lioss): " A certain nobleman had a dunce of a son. He sent him to a learned man, saying: Verily you will give instruc- tion to this 3'outh, peradventure he may become a rational lieing. He continued to give him lessons for some time, but they made no impression on him, when he sent a message to the father sayingr This son is not getting wise, and he has well nigh made me a fool! — Where the innate capacity is good, education may make an impression upon it ; but no furbisher knows how to give a polish to iron which is of a bad temper. Wash a dog seven times in the 'The Paral)lesin Matthew :iri- usually introdui-i-d as Similes. Biit tlifv are net Similes: tin- iiitniduction is only fonnal. Kg.: "Tin' kiuficlom .if lii'aven is lil;i-neil umril"m of heaven is like unto a man that is a liniisilioMir " txx. Ill) This is nnly a form. It is nut tin- kingdom of heaven that is represented by the sower, the merchant, the kinf,', the householder. The expression serves to introduce the jiarable In I.uke the in- trniluotion i-~ almost iiluayv ..niltted, as in the (iood Samaritan, x. 30 (cf. p. 27(i) ; the I'mdi^'al Son, xv. 11; Dives and I/azariis, xvi. 1!»; the Talents, xix 12. Snalso in .some of the parables in Matthew, as the Siiuer. xiii. 3. Mjesbini.'. Ahhaiidluiiii, II iVier die Fiih,l, I. Wn, dun ll'iicn Jer F'll'il. La Fontaine : ieaking it can hardly make anything clearer, at least immediately, to detract attention from ii to something else. But at least Simile does not interfere with Clear- ness very much. It says: ''This thing we are talking,' tibout is like that other thing in such and such a way." There is no real confusion there. Nor is Alletjorv really confusing if one lie at once aware of the implied com- parison. The fact that the comparison is not stated in- terferes with the simplicity of the thin:,% but if the com- parison be understood at the outset Allegory is no more IIHLATIOX OF THE PRECF.niM! FldCUHS. 'Jf',.", confusing tliiin Simile. On the other hand metaphor is in its very nature a eonfusion. It speaks of one thing as if it were really something else. It is true tiiat very often "hen the metaphor is simple we do not notice the con- fusicMi, but on the whole the metaphor is oppused to clear thinking. I often think that there is no fact of Rhetoric which is more luxuriantly illustrated in the history of tliuught than this very one. The number of cases in which people have made metaphors take the place of ideas is enormous. But whether they have noticed the fact or not, yet on the whole those writers who have had clearness chiefly in mind avoid metaphorical expre>.-ion. Contrary to a common impression, the best orator uses tew metaplKjrs. Even so florid a speaker as Burke never expresses himself in the style of Emerson or Lowell. The reason, I take it, is that the orator feels instinctively that it is a bit harder to make himself understood than it is for the wiiter, — when a per- son is merely to hear something once, he hardly takes it in as surely as when he is reading. So the orator, although his desire for brilliancy and energy leads him often to metaphorical expression, is yet inclined to be careful for clearness' sake So alsci the scientist whose object it is mainly to be clear, — we will not say the scientist in his technical work, but in popular expositimi. In popular ex- position there is almost always abundance ol' illustration, but in the best of such work there is little metaphor. Lastly, those authors with whom a sincere desire to l)r understood is evidently one of the chief aims —I should mention Macaulay, Xewmaii, ilatthew Arnold — will, as a rule, be found to indulge sparingly in metajilmr. But clearness is Tiot the only aim in writing, and it is obvious enough that if metapiior does not tend toward clearness, it does give us liveliness, brilliaiiry, cnei-gy, far more than does simile. Compare the same illusiiatious in L'f.i; ((lysmvcTiVE niiEToitic. the form of a nietaplmr ami nf a simile, and see bow iiiucli the metaphor gains in its brc\ity and even in its ellijisis. 'I'lirre is a dash aliout it and a lack of old-fnirevism that is atti-artive. It is more impressive tcio. Ijecaiise it lacks a certain roundabout character that would seem to exist in the same thint; put in simile form. I am the (iood Sjiepherd. I am like a <,'i)od shepherd. ^\ hen a new planet swims into his ken. When a new planet cimies into the field with the lan- guorous, hangini,' nu)lion of a fish. He fired up a little when I told him so. When 1 tiild him so he became a little excited, as when yon strike a parlor-malch. 'I'liere are many eases where I'learness nec^il not be so jiartieularly th). If you take the trouble to state carefully the likeness you will see that you lose in vigor; it seems a little tamer. As far as sin}pliiity is concerned, no one of- the three can be said to be especially useful. In fact, thcoreticallv one may say that every figure, as such, is a sie]i away from simplicity. This is true enough, I believe, but it i.s rather jiedantic to give much weight to the fact. For although as figuies — that is, as far as form is concerned — Simile, Allegory, and Metaphor are all somewhat opposed to sim- RELATioy OF TifK riiEcKiuyi; fi(!Vhi:k iiCT plicity, yet when we consider their content wo shall soo that it may be such us to make the niatler in liiind really simpler. Comparisons, of whatever kind, to matters with which we are acquainted really serve, if they be sound, to make a statement simpler to lis. They bring it down to our level, take away the strangeness, show us what there is about it that is not really so abstruse as at first seemed to be the case. "When the geographer compares the earth tn an orange, there is really a gain in simplicity — the matter is not so abstruse, although the statement "The earth is an oblate spheroid " is more literal. So now you should have some idea of what these figures are worth. Remember that if you use them, whether with a purpose or not, they will certainly have tbeir particular effects, whether I have stated those efEeets correctly or not. And remember also tliat if you don't avail yourself of their help you are merely wasting; your opportunities. You should be able to know, when you are writing, what you are trying to accomplish. If you are writing some scholarly jiaper you want to be clear. If you are explaining some technical matter you want to be simple. If you are telling a story or giving an account of something that has hap- pened to you, you want to be brilliant, lively, vivacious. You must be able to tell for yourself what is the chief aim vou have in mind, and you should now have some idea of one of the means by which it maybe attained. One thing, however, I must caution you against. Don't think that tijrures are necessary to any quality of style. Macaulay, whose stvle is certainly clear and brilliant, does not often in his later work use anything that could be called either simile, allegory, or metaphor. Let me ask you to attend to these two extracts — one of them extremely metaphorical, and the other wholly bare of figure. The latter passage is quite as effective as the former - pcrliajjs nioi-e so. "Obscure but important movements in the regions of •2t',S ri>ysTRL'rriVE JUlEToKW. eternal twilight, revolutions of which hi^tl>ly has beeu silent, in the mysterious deptlis of Asia, dutpouriugs of human rivers aldiig the sides of the Altai mountains, con- vulsions ujiheaving remote realms and unknown dynas- ties, shock after shock throbbing throughout the bar- barian world and dying upon the edge of ci\ ilizatiun. vast throes which shake the earth as preeursive pangs to the birth of a new empire — as dying symptoms of the jirmid but effete realm which called itself the world; scattered hordes of sanguinary, grotesque savages pushed from their own homes and hovering with vague purposes upon the Eomau frontier, constantly repelled and perpetually reap- pearing in ever-increasing sw.irms, guided thither by a fierce instinct or Ijy mysterious laws — such are the well- known phenomena which preceded the fall of western Home. Stately, externally powerful, although undermined and putrescent at the core, the death-stricken empire still dashed back the assaults of its barbarous enemies." — Motley: liisc uf the Thitch Hi public; Introduction, v. " Hitiierto the barbarian inroads had been but the migration of restless populations from the East to the We,vt. .Vcross the table-lands of Asia, or the vast plains of Europe, the mighty host moved on, with the speed of horsemen, or the slow paceof flocks and lierds.or wilhteni- ]iorarv lialts or long settlements here or there, as the case might be accoriling to their own jileasure or the comjiul- sion of an enemy in the rear. Before them the land was iipen and presented no oljstacle,and they liad only to move in order to go forward. The distant ocean was the only terra of their wanderings and of their C(jnquests. Thus tlie two Islands of the West were safe from this invasion, which lasted for centuries. It was otherwise with the fierce northern tribes, who afterwards appear upon the scene of histoiv. What the horse was to the Hun, such was the light bark to the Norwegian or Dane. If the Ilun was CoMPAWSoy ASD AXALOar. '2(V,l never on foot the Xorthnuin never needed ];ind. The sea, instead of being a barrier, was the very element and condi- tion of his victories, and carried him upon his bosom up and down with an ease and expedition which even in an open plain country was impracticable." — Xewman: His- torical Skt'fches: The XortJinicn and Xuniimis, i. 4. The paragraph quoted last is followed by two which from the point of style make rather a better comparison. I have selected this one on account of its subjeet-matter. B. Comparison and Analogy. 79. We must now say a word about Comparison and Analogy, and see wiiat they are and why they should be distinguished and set apart from the figures we have already been speaking of. They would certainly seem to be very like them. Of course Simile, Allegory, and Jletaphor all involve a comparison of two ideas. Equally true is it that an Analogy and a Contrast involve such comparison. It would seem that so general a term as Comparison was out of place as a particular designation. Yet I think, provided we do ni^it trouble ourselves witli the attempt to define the exact limits of each term, we shall see certain modes of illustration broadly different which seem to call for names. AVe have already used Simile, Allegory, Mctaj)hor for cer- tain indications of i-esemblance between two ideas. They involve comparisotis, but the term Comparison we shall u.se in a narrower seii.=e. These three wc call Figures of Speech, but they also serve as Illustrations. There are, however, certain other statements of likeness which we do not call Figures. When, for instance, Ma- cau lay in his Hixtdrij coTnjiares LochicI with Lewis WY. (iii. 25?) or the state of Scotland in IG.SO witli the stale of Europe (iii. 249) or the Iiestointion witli the li'evohitioii (iii. 314), or Schomberg with Wellington (iii. IJ'.VS), we do 27i) COSHTRUGTIVE RUETOUIC. not tliink of these as figures. If you will compare them with the examples in the previous section you will per- ceive that there is a difference. As to what the precise difference may he we need not inquire very particularly: it probahly lies in the fact that in this case we are com- paring things of the same kind, whereas in the figures we were comparing things of different kinds. AVe may at least take this as the distinction between a simile, for in- stance, and a comparison. It has not been our plan to endeavor after very nice dis- tinctions in critical definition. But we can hardly read a good history without perfeiving that the device of cum- parison, in the broadest sense, may serve various different purposes. A curious examiile oilers itself in the third Let-ture of Stanley's JrwisJi Church. Compare, if you will, the following passages: " Tbe ground was strewn with wide sheets of bare rock; here and there stood up isolated fragments, like ancient liruidieal monuments." i. 64. "The monument. . .must have been, like so many described or seen in other times and countries, a rude copy of the natural features of the i)lace, as at Carnac in Brit- tany, tlie cromlechs of Wales and Cornwall, or tlie walls of 'I'iryns. where the play of nature and the simple city of art are almost undistinguishable." i. tJ-t. " When we see the rude remains of Abury in our own country, there is a strange interest in the thought that they Were the fii'st architectural witness of English re- ligion. Even so the pillar or cairn or cromlech of Bethel must have been looked upon by the Israelites." i. 05. Here, almost in the same page, we have the stotie set up by Jacob brought nearer to ns by three comparisons — to use the broadest term. The fii-st is obviously a simile. The second we should call a compari-on proper, for it com- pares Jacob's monument with other monuments of similar C(>MPAJ{/S(L\ .L\I) AAA /.<)(; r. '271 character, and marks very piirtieularly a ccitaiii cmiinioii characterii^tic. In tlie tliird we liave a slii,'lit dilTerence: it is not Jacob's nioiuimeiit that is compared to tlic rude remains of Abury. We are tdkl that the relation of the monument of Jacob to the Israel itish i-eliffion was much the same as that of tlie remains of Abury to the English religion. When a likeness in relation is noted between two things, it is called an Analogy. Let us for a moment fix our attention upon this last mode of illustration. A very little historical reading will show you what a powerful means it is of bringing to our comprehension things that it might otherwise have been diflBcnlt to understand. I should recommend to you, if you do not feel clear on this point, to read carefully some good history and to note the analogies. Of course it is not every historian who looks at his subject in this way. Motley, for instance, as a rule has his mind tcjo intently on his subject for the time being to comjiare it with like events of other times and places. And Macaulay, on the other hand, was always ready with a comparison or an analogy. I will give you a few examples from Dean Stanley's work just quoted. 7'/ic Historij of the Jevn&li Church is particularly rich in illustrations of this kind, for the author had constantly in mind the idea that the history of the Jews, althou;,'h the history of a sacred people, was not a sacred history, that the events (if the Bible have had their analogies in succeeding times. 'Wt impress his reader with that idea he is constantly noticing similari- ties which often take the form of Atialogies as we have defined theni When Abraham purchasei] the cave of Machpelah, he says (i. 4^!): " The tomb of .Machpelaii is a ])roof stpmliiiix to this day of the long predetermined assiiranee that the children of Abraham should inherit Uie laud in which this was their ancestors' sole but most precious pussession. It '27-J ((iXSTRUcTIVE RIIFA'ORIC. is like the purchase of the site of Ilaiiiiibars c:inip by the strong faitli and hope of tlie besieged senators of lioine." " It has been said that Eiryjtt must hiive jtresented to the nomadic tribes of Asia tlie same contrast and the same attractions that Italy and the southern provinces of the Roman empire presented to tlie (idthic and Celtic tribes who descended upon them from the Alps." i. S4. Abimelech "on the other hand. . .appealed tci I lie common element of himself and the subject Sliecheiniirs. like our Ileiiiy, the first Xorman eon of a Saxon mother." i ?>s:>. Xote also the more elaborate analoj^'v drawn between Israel under the Judges and the Middle A!:;es (i. I!4:'> foil.), which is partly direct comparisnii. C'lmipare also the call- ing Jacob "the Hebrew Ulysses " (i. l>*ii}; the comparing the Hebrews in Ei^ypt and the I'elas^'iaiis in Attica (i. !i'.'): the influence of KLrypt on tlie Hebrews and that of Rome upon the early (Christian ('hurch (i. 94); the impression made by Strabo's mention of Muses, and Pliny's mention of the early (.'hristian society (i. 11")); the passage of the Red Sea. and the raising of the siei^^e of Leyden, and the overthrow of the Armada (i. 145); and in fact the whole work jiiia.sini. We oiii^'lit now to have an understanding of Analogy: it concerns not the thiii<;s in question so much as their relation to something else. It is not tliat the Hebrews resembled the "(iothic and t'eltic tribes," for instam-e, but that the effect (jf Kgypt on the former must have been much the same as the etlect of Italy on the latter. Hein;.', then, a comparison of relations, we shall find it most useful in the case of Description, liecause in that kind of com- jiosition we are dealing with particular things, which, however individual they may be. are naturally enough in relations which are often repeated. In Exposition, on tlicr other hand, analogies it would seem are not so obvious, for VALVE OF THE FOHEdolXC MODES. 'JT;; general ideas do uot so often exist in repeated relations as particular things. The argument liy analogy is not a matter of illustration and does not belong to the present discussion. Having:, then, distinguished analogies from other com- parisons, there is not much to say now. Contrast as a form of comparison is readily understood and its usefulness is obvious. We have said a good deal about it already (3s, c 44). The term Parallel is sometimes used for a de- tailed comparison of two things which agree in several respects. Otherwise the term comparison is used (as above) for a presentation of an agreement between two things of the same kind, and also, somewhat vaguely, for a somewhat detailed statement of the points of agreement and disagreement. It may be properly applied, I believe, to very short comparisons or very long ones. The re- striction usually held in mind is that a comparison notes likeness to some thing of the same kind as the thing compared. 8P. Value of the Foregoing Modes of Illustration. Hav- ing illustrated Analoi,'y and Comparison in stich detail, it seems hardly necessary to show how effective they may be made as means of illustration. They are not merely for use as adornment, they are a solid help. I have remarked, for instance, that Analogy is more useful in Description than elsewhere. Tliis does not mean that it should be carefully avoided in other kinds of composition. That matter will doubtless take cure of itself without trouble on your part. The thing for you to take care of is to busy yourself about thinking them up when you are etnploved over something where they will be useful. You must not expect that they will spring into your mind wit li- on t trouble. Perhaps they will; so much the bettor. lUit if thev will not eome uncalled you had belter .send for them, and although, like (Jlendouer's spirits, they aie not -'74 (vys-rnrrnvF; rhetoric. always sure to come, yet it is well to get into the habit of thinking them up, for they not only help you to express yourself, bnt they often help you to see your suliject in a clearer light. For instance, suppose you are writini; of Ocii- eral (Jrant : It will undoubteilly give you clearer iileas if you compare him with one or another man who resembled him in some respects. Like Xapoleon he rose from rather a low position. Like him he first made his reputation as a general. I'idike Xajwlcon he never became an emperor : and why not? Here you will probably get at souietliing about (irant that will be worth while, ^'ou may either use the comparison in your writing or nut. but it has been worth while already if it lias made you appiTciate some of the strong and noble traits of character whicli our .Viucri- can general jiossessed, even if he lacked some of the genius of P'l-enchman. Or suppose you look about for analogies. Grant having been a distinguislicd general was intrnsled by tiie people with tlie highest otlire in their gift. So the Duke of Wellington after his military larecr became Prime Minister of England. Without compaiing the two men, have we a useful aiudogy here ? Docs it thi-ow any light ujion the reasons for (irant's election as I'loidi'nt, and for tile lack of success in sonu> respects cjf his adniinistral ion ? Thinking out a subject in this way will be of value to you, even if you do luit use the comparis(jns or conti-asis, the analogies or jiarallels, tliat may have occui'rei] to vou. If they have suggested to you things which enable you to see your >ul)jcct more exactly, they will probably be of some use to your reader. Hut it is enough for practical purposes if tliey suggest something to you. EXERCISE. Think up Comparisons or .^naloffips wLicli will bring ont interest- ing point-- concerning — 1. Bismarck. 2. Lincoln. EXAMl'LE 'H:> 3. Unlileo. 4. PlymoHtb Rock. 0. The I'alifoniia Gold Craze. tJ. United Si:ii(s Coiitrol over an luteroceanic Canal. 7. Tlie Ketreat from Moscow. >^ Tlie Colonial Expansion of England. 'J The Coxey Movement of 1894. 10. Chinese Immigration iuto the United States. C. Ex.\>IPLE .\ND AnT0K0.\1-\SI-\. 81. Example. Sometliiiig oiiglit to be saiJ of Ivxaniple, of which I liave remarked that it is of use only in E.x^iosi- tiou. This is merely because it is ouly of ;i general idea that an example is possible. You cannot liave an exain])le of a particular thing; you have the thing itself. Otlier things may be useful in the way of illustration; you may draw parallels or contrasts, but they are not examples. There is a form of argument called the argument from example, but, as in the case of the argument from analogy, it; cannot properly be called an ilhistration. The use.-; of Example in Exposition are two: first, as a device for the exposition itself ; and, secondly^ as a means of illustration. We have alreaily seen (p. 70j that it is pos- sible to expound a general idea by taking a particular example and mentioning only those things which are common to the species. I have spoken of Tyndall's ex- position of the term glacier by means cliiefly of an ac- count of the Mer de (ilace. So Iluxley in writing on the Crawfish assumes that the student has before him a speci- men of the crawfish. lie tells him what he will find about the specimen, but because what he says is as true of one crawfish as of another the account is an expcj.siiion, not a description. Somewhat different is the use of Example as ati illustra- tion. Here it does not take the place of the i'X|iosition of the general term, but follows the stiitemciit of it in Ian- L'7t; roXSTRCCTIVE RHETORIC. guage more or less abstract (for instance, p. '2.")4). It is a getting down to the coucretL'. Hence it is that I have iiR-ntiiined it as particuhirly useful if we desire our writing to lie simple. It is not a great help toward clearness or toward force. But almost everybody grasps a concrete case better tlian an aVistract principle. Two kinds of Example may be distinguished wfth ad- vantage, the real and the imaginary. We must niK insist too rigorously upon the e.xaitness of the names; if they suggest a difference, it is sufficient for our purpose. Real examples of course are common. Throughout this l)ook I have offered a number of real examples, of particular in- stances of the general ideas I was trying to expound. Im- aginary examjiles are more of the nature of figures; tliey have in fact a resemblance to allegory. The Good Samari- tan, the Publican and the Pharisee are instances. They are not facts, but there is no especial reason why they should not have been. They are called Parables, but there is a difference between tlie (iood S: maritan and the Prodigal Son, let us say; the former is an example of the man who loved his neiglibor, the latter is a symbolic rci)resentatiou of sinful and repentant humanity. 82. Antonomasia. You will remember that on p. '.'.'i:! I remarked that certain forms of Synecdoche might in a mi'a^ure take the place of Example in Dcsiriptinn. Of Metonymy and Syneciloclie in general I do not purpose to speak, for tliev do not seem to lend themsehes to the line of wiirk which we are following. I will remark, hnwevei', that the distinction commonly drawn between them is rather misleading. Synecdoche is really a kind of Me'ton- ymy, not something different from it. \'arioiis forms of statement are mentioned as Metcjnyniv of which the last two are commonly cajjeil Synecdoche; i.e: Metonymy consists (among other things) of — 1. The speaking of the (.'aiise for the Kffct. AXroXOMASfA. 27 1 '-. Of the Substance for the Qniility. :>. Of tho sign for the thing Signified. 4. Of Time / , - for persons or events. b. Of Place ) ^ G. Of a Part for the Whole ) (commonly called r. Of the Whole for a Part f Synecdoche). One form of Synecdoche is the use of — 6a. The Individual for the General. 7flf. The (ieneral for the Individual. 'I'iiis form of Synecdoche is called Antonomasia. Now of the^e two kinds the first has something of a relation to K.xample, and I am led to believe that it is in some re- spfcts an aid to Simplicity. The mind is given some- thing concrete to deal with, something which it handles more easily, I should .say, than the general term the place of which it takes. Take such exjiressions as these: Some village Hampden. Some mute inglorious Milton. Some Cromwell. A Daniel come to judgment. Doubting Thomas and careless Gallio. A Napoleon of finance. The Seattle of the eastern hemisphere. A Solomon; a Jezebel; a Croesus; a Solon. yiinto {.Ufi mini, -p. 98) notes of Macanlay, " lie says that had Bacon given to Literature the time that he gave to Law and Politics ' he would have been not only the iMoses, but the .Joshua of philosophy.' " That such expressions are a help toward Force seems plain; I take them to be also a help toward Simplicity. The use of the personal name instead of tjie general iiloa seems to me to be really easier of apprehension. Of much the same effect is anollier form of Synecdoche (at least so classed by Bain, Hhelnrir, i, isii), which con- sists of putting the coiicret<> for the abstract. I'Ts (oysmvcTiVh: hiiktiuuc. EXEHCISE. lAi>rf"i< the followinp conceptinns by Antonomn-^ia. For example: A boy wbo has manaL'i'il to accumulate more mar- blrs than the whole schoolyard put tofrftlicr may pn>i)erly bi- calliii " tlic Jay (ioiiUl or the Hothschikl of this spherical currency," Avoid having your tiirnre too Uacliiuyed on the one hand and ton recoiulite on the other. 1. A hypocrite. 2. A i>erson given to lying. 3. An orator of extrcuie eloquenca 4. .\ very enifly person. 5. A man unjustly jealous. 0. A person always delaying. 7. A corruiit politician. 8. An exceedingly powerful man, either physically or intcUee- tually. 9. A great leader and establisher of his country's freedom. 10. A man of extraordinary sen.si ol honor. D. Other Fir.ritEs .vxd Devices. 83. Of the other forms of Figure and Illii.stration it is, I believe, iinneces.sary to .«ay very much. I'cr.-cniification is an obvious enough fiijiire. It does not, however, seem til call for jiractice, and we must always remember Ma- caulay's remai'k ujiou the personificutidns of Robert Monl- }:;omery. Nor does Hyperbole seem tu call fur ])ractice; it is only the technical name for that kind of exaggeration of statement which is so Cdnimon to American.^ that their cliicf need in the matter is wholesome restraint. It must be rememlieieil that IIy])erl)(ile i.s like any kind of varia- tion: it is jierrejitible only when there is something to vary from. If all our statement is e.xatrgeraloil, jieople get so used to it that they do not pay it any sjiecial attention. This might be said of Maeaulay'.s u.se of Ilvjierbole. We get used to hearing that " no man was ever," etc. Those devices (if style — they are sometimes railed Figures of Speech, but they have not very much in common witli Simile, Metaphor, and the rest — known as Exclamation, OrilEli FlhTUh.S. 2 I 'J Interrogation, Ajtostrophe may also l)e dismissed in ;i few words. Tlii'V obviously have no special coiiiiccl ion with Clearness. WIkmi thoy arc not carried to excess, however, they give an energy and vigor to one's writing, of which every reader of Carlyle will recognize the character. Nor when we think of some fine passages by ]>e (^hiinccy and Newman can we say that they lack a certain dignity. They are, however, devices which may very easily be misused if tised merely for effect, so that one would hardly recommend them to the young writer who would like to turn out forcible and vigorous work. But we have already seen (2!>) how modified forms of two of these devices may be made ctTcctive in Popular Exposition. That is, ibey are often means for Simplicity. Wlieu one is hand- ling some rather abstruse topic, it is often a great assist- ance to address the reader personally and to put questions either to oneself or to him. Of course such expedients do not usually go by the name of Apostrophe or Interroga- tion, but the principle at bottom is the same; it is only the use to which the device is put that differs. And having already considered this matter in another place, we need not stop any longer over it. There remain to be mentioned Irony and Epigram. In a critical study an investigation of these figures would have its place, but I do not believe that anybody was ever yet taught outright to speak ironically or to make good epigi'ams. The remark that they are elTcctive means to Force, if not to Clearness or Simplicity, must therefore be sufficient for them here. •2S(t CoysTRl'CTIVE RUETORIC. II. FIOURES IN THEIR RELATION TO SPECIAL PURPOSES. 84. So much for Illustration and Figure as to their jnir- ])Osi', as far a.s the nioru general qualities of style arc con- cerned. But we may have other purposes in mind than ( 'Kaniess and the rest, more particular juii-poses; «'c may want to make tliis or that attractive to the reader, m- unattractive, or ridiculous, fir familiar, or whatever else. Tlic writer aware of the resources of good writing has vari- ous ways of accomplishing his end. He may do something liy the kind of words that he uses,' but he may do even nifu-e liy the kind of figure that he uses. Not liy the kind of figure as far as form is concerned, for there is not mucli difference in the various figures in this respect — as far as form is concerned simile is not more ridiculous than mda- j)lior, nor personification more familiar than analogy. Figures may be more or less attractive or familiar as tiiey are more or less simple, or clear, oi' forojlilc, but tiu' finali- ties of style as influenced by figuiative expression we have ' This is a liij.ic wliieli I bave imt iiientioinMl mnlrr tlif lii'iid Vo- ciiljulary. But iIlc follnwing part uf a s-i'iitiiici- from Newman will t;ive till' idea: " Nowtlie autlior of tin- I'liiiMi'in Vnir found tlic .\nKli''"n 'i.v'le aerion ; so he uses a vulgar expression, which i^ very maiked in the oLlierwisi- heightened dietiuu. Notiee. too, the lif_'ure iiliuciUed mrnij. FIGURE AM) SPKCIAL PURPOSES. 'jsl iilready discussed. We are low concerned only with the subject-matter of figures. There cau be no doubt that tlie general character of the subject-matter of a similitude or comi^arison, aside from the particular points which are conqiareil, is something that may have its influence on our impression of the object of the comparison. The general character of the image, to use our old phraseology, influences our conception of the idea. Doubtless not iu every case, for often the com- parison or simile neitbei- elevates the idea in our mind nor degrades it; l)ut in other cases its general nature has its effect. To take an extreme case we may remember the effect which a comparison with something low or mean seems always to have upon readers of poetry. To illustrate what is, perhaps, familiar enough I quote a few lines from (ioldsmith : " Homer has been blamed for the bad choice of his similes on some particular occasions. He compares Ajax to an ass in the Iliad, and Ulysses to a steak broiling on the coals in the Odyssey. " His admirers have endeavored to excuse him by re- minding us of the simplicity of the age in which he wrote; but they have not been able to prove that any ideas of dig- nity or importance were, even in those days, affixed to the character of an ass or the quality of a beef-collop; there fore they were very improper illustrations for any situa- tions in which a king ought to be represented. " \'irgil has degraded the wife of King liatinus by com- paring her, when she was a.ituated by the Fury, to a top which the boys lash for diversion." — /■Jx!-iii/ x.ci, On the Use of Mi'/ri/i/iors. .Making some allowance foi- the pedantry of the critics of whom rioldsmith writes, it is obvious enough tliat one thinks of Ajax very differently wlien ho is ])resenle(l to us as being like an ass ami when be is rcjniparcd to a lion, l<'t us say. It would seem natural enough that our ^'eneral lis!' coysTHrcTrVE RHETORIC. (-tiination of the image, the kind of tiling to which tlic idea i.s eomiiared, slioukl make us feel in this w;iy or tliat aljiiut the idea. And if such is the cast- we want to know liow til avail ourselves of the power which is thus put into our hands. It would hardly lie according to our plan to attempt a careful classification of figures from this point of view. It would be immensely difficult, and so complicated as to lie of no more service to you than a simpler arrangement at once unscientific and incomplete. I shall only try to sug- gest to you by a few examples the possibilities in this direc- tion. We may say, first, that the subject-matter of the ima;L,'c niav be such as to arouse a sympathetic interest on our part, or just the reverse. To attain our first end we must make the comparison with something that is interesting or attrac- tive to the readei'. The greater number of stock compari- sons were originally of this kind : a hero was compared to a lion by those who admired the lion; a beauty was compared to a swan, for instance, or to a tlower, by such as felt swans and ilowers to be beautiful. X, resembled. Those who are t'(im|iare(l to swine iiro so far reiiuivetl from our syiiiimtliy (altlioiigh the liog is a wurtli^' aiiinial), whei'eas the comparison In a " wolf, or beai-, or ounce, or tiger " is not so had hj- any means. Hence we feel au interest in Ciree which w'e do not feel in Comus, for we laugh at the victims of the one and we rather re- spect th" victims of the other. Even in the later forms of tlie oki story Piens turned to a woodpecker and Anonvnins changed to an elephant have no real hold on our svmpa- thies.' As to the effect of the ridiculous, we all know how strong ■,n will obHciAc (bk. ill. 1. ,'34U); Hawthorne [('irn-'K Puliif in In inilcirnod TiiI(h) lias been a little more Huccessful with King i'icn.s, l>ut ht- wisely left the ('Irphaiit lo himself. L's4 <().\srill'CTIVE lUIETOniC iies.s in his legs " ( 'I'lif h'ni/li/ili Muil-coach.) Sn the coacli- man is afterw.ird nieiuioned as " ii cioroiiik' belonging to the anteiienultiniiite generation," and in W Quincey's W- c'cimes ■■ a venerable crocodile, in a royal livery of scarlet and gold, in a coat with sixteen capes." Of course the crociiilile is nut an espeeially ridiculous animal, but the incongruity of the comparison arouses feelings which we allach to the man. '!'o go from the ridiculous to the trivial, we would not compare anything important to anything essentially insig- nitieaiit, and conversely a cdnipaiisiin to a trivial thing will make us think slightingly of it. So Ruskin, desiring to degrade the hurry for wealth in our day, tells a story of Some children who were free of a beautiful house in which they might have enjoyed any kind of deliglittiil j)leasuie, and goes on: •• Hut in the midst of all this it struck t-wo or tiiree of the nidie ' practical ' children that they would like Some of tile brass-headed nails that studded the chairs; and so they set to work to pull them out." And finally they all got wild about the brass-headed nails, and quarrel- led with eacli other and hurt their fingers in trying to get them out, and m-gleeted all the pleasures they might have enjiiyeil, merely for this foolish fancy. You may remember the illustration; it is in Tlic Mtislii-i/ of Life ami i/.i .Ir/s. Tiie cmnparison with such trivi>ioii, or scjiiie inward instinct, or some obsi'iire memory; ami tiius ii makes prou'i-ess not unlike a clainlicrer on a steep cliff, who l)y (|uick eye. prompt hand, and firm foi;t asccmls, how he knows not himself, by per- sonal endowments and by p:,ictice rather than by ruh', h'avini; no track behind him, ami unable lo tea<'h another. It is not too innoh to say thai the slepjjini,' by which i,n'eat i;eniii>es scale the nionntain of truth is as unsafe and jire- carioiis to men in ^eiieral as the ascent of a skilful moun- taineer up a literal crai;." — (Irjuril I'/iircr.'^i/i/ .'s;), p. ■-';.'). And I inav briui,' this sliirht e\enrsns to an end liva pair of comparisons which illu-trate both sides of the matter, namelv, llio,-e of the l-'irsl I'salm: " And lie [the i'ii,'hleous inanj sliall be liki' a tree ])lanted by tlie rivers of water, that brin^^'th forth his fruit in his season ; his leaf also shall not witlier. and whatsoever lie doeth shall prosjiei-. The unLjodlv aie not so, Imt are like tjie chalT which the wind dri\ethawav. Tbd'efore the uni^odly shall not stand in the judjjment, nor sinners in the i-oMi;re<,'ation of tiie righteous." 'I'he riL;hteous man is coinpai-ed to a palm, bei-iuse he is fruitful, tiriuly rooied, lloiirishini;; and the wicked is, as in many other ]ia-saL;e-, like chall, liecaiis<' it is suddenly scattered and comes to nauirlit. But in each comparison tiiat which is not nientioiicd is as important as that which is; tiie palm is a blessing to all about it, the chaff is worthless and despised by all. EXERCISE. Fiiiil siiine lifTiire which, asi.li' from the a])tness of the couiparLson ■illllll put tlie fiillouing ill u f^noil or liii.l lif;lil: 1. The S.h.ilar. 0. The Hiin.ly. 2 'I'he MisiT. 7. Thi- Man of ( 'ommon Sense, :5 The Dfiuagogue. s Thi- i io.i.l HotisckiM-pi-r. 4 The Bully. n. Doiiit; Wron^'. d. The Flirt. in |i..;ng l.'i-l.t. EVEUYDAT AFFAIRS. 287 III. THE SOURCES OF SIMILITUDES. 85. Everyday Affairs. By far the gioatiT number of tisfure.^. if not of illustrations, are drawn from the e\outs and affairs of everyda\' life, a combination of phenomena so vast and unrelated that it would be as difficult as it •would be for us useless a task to attempt any classificaticju. One merit have such figures: they compare with some- thing familiar to all. One drawback they may perhajis be thought to have, tliat they are commonplace. But commonplace tliey need not be; however common the image, a happy likeness gives an air of distinction. How excellent are some of Lowell's figures from the commonest sources. When he says of Cliaucer that " in him we see the first result of the Xurman yeast upon the home-baked Saxon loaf "' (J/'/ Study Windon's, p. '2o\), or of the Life of Josiah Qiiincy, " Thus many a door into the past, long irrevocably shut upon us, is set ajar" {Ibid., 99), or in the essay on Thoreau, " The word * transcendental ' then was the maid of all work for those who could not think, as ' Pre-Kaphaelite ' has been more recently for people of the .-ame limited housekeeping " (7i;'tZ., 195), the figure is ;is good as those drawn from (iothic volume (p. "-•'il), the horn of Huon of Bordeaux (p. 100), or stained-glass win- dows (p. \'.i')). So it is with Emerson. Of "those affections and c(in- ,-iietudes that grow near us, he says " These old shoes are easy to the feet " (Essaiix, Firyl Srrifs, Pri/deiiri'); of Life, " Seen from the nook and chin^noy-side of prudence, it wears a raggr'd and dangerous front {I hid., Ilfrnisni): of tlie power of exhilai'ation of tiic imagination he says " We aic 2ss cnx^THrcTIVE nilETnllir. like persons who come out of . . .a cellar into the open air' {n,iil.. InteUccI). Of course many such similitudes are now so trite that we hardly notice them; roads and walls, fire and food, debit and credit, and a thousand other things give us metajtlmrs that everybody uses withditt thinking. But this is because we use them merely from having hoard them. A keen observation stores the mind with ori<;iiial imaircs. Lowell is as figurative a writer as I kn(iw,and his similitudes are rarely trite; but I should say the niajority of them came from tlie simplest things. 86. Nature. Next to the great world i>f everyday mat- ters, and, indeed, nut so very different from it, though de- serving a place liy itself, is nature. We all kimw how trite are sume figures from nature; the flowing of a streaui, tlu' tossing of the sea, the sprouting of a sccil, solid rocks, shifting: sands, liirds, beasts, and what not, jrive forms of exjircjsion so common that eveiyboijy shuns them. But lierc again the keen observer has always something new. 1 quote again from Lowell's .1/v Study Wiinlmrs. Of Ivnerson's writinu's he says: "It is wholesome to angle ill those profound pools, though one be rewarded with nothing more than the leap of a fish tiiat flashes his freckled side in the sun and as suddenly ab-coiuls in the dark and dreamy waters again" (p. ISTT). And of his oratory: '• There is a kind of undertow in that rich baritone of Ids that sweeps our minds from tiieir focjtbolil into deeper waters with a drift we cannot and would not resist " (p. iis:;). f forcrotten ones" (]i. -34). ( >f the si miles of the old rhymes: ' I'hev are wood- (Kii/Arx REQViREMEyTs OF FrouRi:. 2srt strawberries, prized in proportion as we must turn over more leaves ere we fiud one '' (p. 257). These figures are certainly not commonplace; they are the figures of a poet. 87. Certain Requirements of Figure. In these two direc- tions, nature and the common things and affairs of every- day life, we do not, perhaps, note one of the necessities of a good figure; the quality is there, but we are likely enough not to notice it. If you are going to make a thing clearer or simpler bv comparing it with something else, that some- thing else must, as a rule, be more familiar to your reader than the thing spoiien of; the image must be more familiar than the idea, to use our old phraseology. As far as force is concerned, we should have to state much the same prin- ciple with a little modification. In the figures we have been inspecting the image is something familiar in a gen- eral way to every one. This is as it should be; and yet we do not desire our similitudes to be commonplace. There would seem to be two opposing influences. If your images are too recondite ' the figure will be merely abstruse; if they are too familiar, the figure will be or- dinary. But there is evidently an error here, for we have already seen that comparisons with the most famil- iar things are not necessarily ordinary. It is not the familiaritv of the image, but the familiarity of the com- parison, that makes so many a figure trite. '' So and so is a mighty beacon-light" is a trite figure, despite the fact that few persons, except dwellers by the sea, arc verv familiar with beacons. " Hitch your wagon to a star," says P>nerson, and is original, although every one sees wagons aud stars nearly every twenty-four hours. But although there is a fallacy in the latter part of our statement, there is none in the former. It is no use as far ' As with Donne, now and tlifn, and Hiiini! of liis Hui-rcasors. L'lMt coxsrnrcTin-: riietoiuc. as clearness, simplicity, force ;iro ccinceriici] to company your idea to something that the reader knows nothing nf. It serves some minor purposes tn use recondite comj>ari- Bons. but not the common ends of style. Figures from the sources I have mentioned rarely offend in this respect, but liiTures from Literature, from Srieiice. from History, and from many other minor sources may easily enough do so. Thus wlien Lowell says, " Kven swearing had its advo- cates, who answered a simple inquiry after their health with an elaborate ingenuity that might have been lionora- bly mentioned by JIarlborough in general orders," lie is obscure in a gciici-ation unfamiliar with I'ris! r((iii Sluiudji. When he says, "The nameless eagle of the tree Ygdrasil was about to sit at last," he is obscure to such as are unac- quainted with the main lines of Xcnse niytholoLrv. When he speaks of something as being sent forth to illustrate the •• feathered ilercui-y as defined by Wcbsterand Worcester," ' we have to go to the dictionary before we have much of a notion of his meaning This is a danger, although only a relative danLrcr. There are not a few people, even nowadays, who remember that "onr army swore honibly in Flanders " ami who know sometliiiig uf the tree Ygdrasil, even if the '' feathered Mercury " be unfamiliar. The matter is relative: if we are writing for people like ourselves, we shall probably not run into error. With this caution in mind we may find sources for simili- tudes in all our reading and all our action. 88. Science. "'Language is fossil jioetry. As the lime- stone of the Continent consists of infinite nias>es of the sliells of animalcules, so laiiL,aiage is made up of tro]ies, which now in their secondary state have long since ceased ' All three exaniiMes occur in tbe liist page of the e^sav on Thoreau ill M'l St'ldy Wiiahnrs. to reiriiiul us of their poetio origin."— Einurson: B.^.'^ai/s, ,'-I (ls:io, ji. :;•,') says: " I'.iit this became a kind of 'To ^cp wliat may ln' iloriL- |^criiiu-l\ a,s wpII as inmii-iiUv) mif njav ri-aii Mr. Hu'ikih'.s lifrivatinns of tlji- uiuni-- of Sliakcs|ji-«ri-'H cliarai'- tiT-- witb Muttliew .Xmiilil's coniiiniit { Ekxhi/i, in t'rilirism, i. 71). 71), anil als,) what So< rati-; has to say of the names of the gorls in the ' rut 1,1 UK iJowi'tf.s tran.slalion). LITEUATUUE AXD ART. 'ifl.'! mis/icism, which to intelligonce is but a mistij bridging over of the schism between God and man.'' Aside from the ridiculousness of the last two ideas, this illustration is bad, because the word iin/st/cisiii has no con- nection at all with the other words mentioned, so that the whole thing sinks into the nature of a pun, or, to give it a finer name, it is an example of paronomasia. The jjun tends to associate an erroneous and rather silly idea with the word vii/s/icisin, so that the fixing the desired idea in the mind is accomplished at some little expense. Of course, when humor is our aim, such puns may be all very well, as when the Married Man. who is weary of much moving of his household goods, makes '" the interesting philological discovery . . . that the word /•mi as applied to the trucks we have to ninve our household possessions is derived from the parent word caudal, a vandal being one who iLrnorantly destroys that which is beautiful. — J. K. Banjrs: The Paradise Chih. ch. vi. 90. Literature and Art. Another great source of illus- tration is to be found in Literature and Art. Here I need do no more, I suppose, than mention the possibilities and to emphasize a little a caution already offered on p. 290. All cultivated people have, of course, an immense common possession in the works of the great artists of the world. A certain acquaintance with literature and art we may as- sume. If we are writing especially for uneducated people, the ease is different, and so it is if we care to address our- selves only to the smaller number of especially cultivated jiersons. Tint in general we may rightly assume a certain acquaintance with such matters, and we gain a good deal by so doing. Such illustrations are commonly allusions, or sometimes quotations or adaptations of quotations. (/. "Impartial as .lonathan AVililc's great ancestor." "The same Gauo wiiich hail betrayed me," ■_'04 coysTRl'crfVK RHETdUir " The Edinburgh IJeview never would have tliought of asking. ' Wlio reads a liussian bonk ? " " " Rousseau-tinted speotaeles." People who " see iinthiug uiore than the burning of a chimney in that clash of Michael and Satan." " As keenly as Johnson felt it at Charing Cross." b. "I know not wliether it is beiaiise I am pigeon- livered and lack gall."' " Art thou there, old Truepenny ? " " Ilath r.ot an American organs," etc. Of some of these examples (from [jowell's essay On a Cerfaiit ('diidesrension O/i.terrii/ili' in I'lireiynera) I should say that the allusions might be just a step bcynnd the ordi- nary reader. Hut whether they lie or not they show how a mind penetrated with Ljood reading finds for everything compariscius and analoLries. Tnvvard the end of his essay on .Milton Maeaulay says: '■ His thoughts resemble those eelestial fr.iits and flow- ers which tlie Viigin .Martyr of MassingiM- sent down from the gardens of I'.ii-adise tn the eaitli, and which were dis- tinguished from the productions of other soils, n(jt oidy liy superior bloom and sweetness, but by niiraeiilous ellieaey to invigorate and lieal." One might say in regaril Ui tlii< illustratiun that it do<'s not carry us very far, since es the point. .Mueli the same remark may be made of another illustration in the same essay, where Maoaulay evidently had no e.xjiceta- tiou that his reader would recall the passage of Ariosto he Tine mju.i:. 'Ji»;. had iu mind. But he wanted to use the comparisou, and he put it so that all would uiKk'istaud it: " Ariosto tells a pretty story of a fairy, who, by some mysterious law of her nature, was condemned tu appear at certain seasons in the form of a foul and poisonous snake. Tlioso who injured her during the period of her disguise were forever excluded from participation iu the blessings which she bestowed. But to those who, in spite of her Icathsome aspect, pitied and protected her she afterwards revealed herself in the lieautiful and celestial form which was natural to her, accompanied their steps, granted all their wishes, filled their houses with wealth, made them happy in love and victorious iu war. Such a spirit is Liberty. At times," etc. Under the present rubric we might add figures based upon Fables and well-knowu Tales. I need only instance allusions to King Log and King Storlc, The Fox and the <: rapes, Jack's Beanstalk, Jack Horner and his Pie, and we might add Bluebeard and his Wives, tSinbad and the Old Man of the .Sea, Alnaschar, and so on. And nearly connected with these are matters of Com- mon Tradition, such as 1'he Chinese Wall, The Colosstts of Rhodes, The Blue Laws, The Laws of the Medes and Persians, llui-'.-^'opes, (iracles. Temples, Giants, Dwarfs, Mermaids, and other matters which everybody has heard of, but never seen. In such directions may numbers of illustrations be found, the chief danger being that somebody else has found them already, so that the world has become so well accustomed to them that it will regard your efforts as being ratlier dull. 9L The Bible. Another source of illustration and fig- ure- is the Bible. Here you are rather apt to burn your fin;.'ers, but if you leully know your Bible it is a gicat help. It is practically effective and theoretically as well. 2'.h; (ijysTurcrivE RiiKionii'. For the characteristic of figure auJ illustnilion is that thoy sliould be iuterinediaries between your itloa, which is un- familiar to your reader, let us say, and the ideas and thoughts -which are not unfamiliar to him. Now tlie Bible is so universally reail that its language, its mode of thought, its ideas, its figures, are very commonly familiar. Allusions to the Bible are more sure of an understanding than allusions to any other piece of literature. Hence the not very uneo'imon u.-e of Biblical language by various authors. " The stars in their courses fought against ilr. Quiui'y's party." — Lowell: My Study W'induirs, p. 105. "... burning some memoranda, lest they should rise up in judgment." — Ibid., p. 110. ■ Emerson awakened us, saved uv from the body of this death." — Jbid., j). luSl. Kuskiu is noteworthy for the elTertiveness with which he uses Bible inuigery. He has the right to use it, as any one will acknowle(l;^e who will look at the account of his early readings with his mother in /'ni/crifa, cli. ii. (iood examples may be found in almost any of his writ- ings. The following is the end (>[ tiie second lecture in Srsdiiif iind Lilies: " Who is it, think y[iecch, wliy then it Ijccomes to a great degree futile.' The ]n-esent chapter, thin, will only olTer some sujiple- meutary remarks, will only suggest some things that will ' 1 M-i' that the autLor nf one of tljt- ll^-^t of tbe ri'i-i-ril Imnks on lli- critical stmly of diction njaliis a similar niiiark. " It will Ix- iikiP' profitaljlc for them [i.e., students] tororriTt ilnirown offences afrainst clearne^^. force, ease, and unity tlian to corrirt similar offences com- mitted byotliers. " — Bueliler: Practical Kxncia-a in Eiiylmh, \i. \~>i. ryrrr of the sKxrhwc/-:. ;!ol be useful in nioiikliny: and adapting mie's soDtrnces to the general form which seems, for one reason or anotlier, to be the most elTective. 1 will call attention to the cliief points usually mentioned in treating the matter, but the practice exercises must be general and critical. EXERCISES. The exercises on 3S-42 sbould be resumed here. As to critical TTorli for giving grammatical correctness, sec what is said on p. 24i3 concerning the critical stndy of diction and also |i]>. vii, viii. 94. Unity of the Sentence. We sliall do well to begin by considering the application to sentence structure of those C'anojisor Princijiles which we have already had to do with. AVe shall find them as useful here as elsewhere. And first of Unity. Very probably most of you are familiar with the term " Unity of the Sentence/' more so, perhaps, than with Unity of anything else rhetorical. It is not hard to see the general application of the Canon of Unity to the sentence, but there has been some trouble expended in trying to make exact statements on the subject. In a general way the principle of unity of the Sentence is to the effect that each sentence should have some leading idea to which the other ideas should be subordinate, or, if it consists of a number of co-ordinate clauses, that these should be such as may be easily grasped and understood together; in either case there should be a fairly close relation of thougiit between everything in the sentence, there should be no irrelevant matter. Here are two examples, both from De (^uincey, whose sentences give especial opportunities for the study of tliis subject in its most refined casuistries. The first is a onin- paratively complicated sentence, in which, however, all the parts have some I'elation to one main idea; and the second is a simpler sentence, in wliich the several difToi-eiit ideas are of like import and character, so that they may all be easily comprehended togethei. .;n2 (■ii.\srnr(Tr]/-: iniETdRii- "And the four following facts may be iiK'iitioin.'il, as nuticcablf at this time: ■■ I. That as the creative state of the eye increased, a sympathy seeiin-d to arise lietween the wakiiiu and the dreaming states of the brain in one point. — that whatso- ever I happened to call up and trace by a voluntary act upi>n the darkness was very a]it tn transfer itself into my ilreanis; so that I feared to exercise this faculty; fur as Midas turned all things to gold, tliat yet baffled his hopes and defrauileil liis human desires, so wllat^oever things I'apable of being visually rejjresented I did but think of in the darkness immediately .shaped ihenisehes into plnin- toms of the eye; and. by a jirocess appai'ently no less inevi- table, when thus traced in faint and \isi(iiKxry colors, like writing-; in sympathetic ink, they were drawn oul, by the fierce chemistry of my dream-, into insulTorable splendor that fretted uiy heart. — I'diifrssidiis of an Kiiijlish ()/iiiuii- rdlcr. '• I have had occasion to renuirk. at various periods of my life. that the deatlis of tliose whom we love, and, indeed, the Contemplation of death, Lrcncrally. \a (ct'leris iKirihiis) more alTecting in sum.ner tiuin in any other season of the year. And the I'casoiis ;'re these three. I think: fii'st, that the visible heavens in summer apprar far higher, nioi'e dis- tant, and (if such a solecism niav be excused) more in- finite; the clouds, by which ehiefiy the eye expounds the distance of the blue pavilion stretched over our heads, are in summer more volumiuous, masseil, and accumulated in far grander and more towering i)iles; secondly, the light and the appearances of the ileclining and setting sun are much more fitted to be types and characters of the infinite; and, thirdly (which is the main reason), the exuberant and riotous prodigality of life luiturally f) gives an intei-esling l.-ihle show- ing somethini: of the use of C(]nucctive conjunctions by Kiiglish authors. Ascham, Spenser, and Walton i-onneet about half their sentences with conjunctions.' In (iibbon, ' Sacli is, I believe, the- l«-st present iisaye. Thir.fmi may l)e fdund at tlie beginning of a Miitenii-, especially in earlier jjrosei'and there lire plenty of nindeni example- of /wirrnriD the same plare, usually with a ^o^t of adverbial meaning. ' So far a> the table j.n,e>. of course. It is based on 300 sentenees from each author. PROpnuTiox. DOT Johnsoi), ]\I;ieaulaY the proportion runs from ^ with tlic first to \ with the hist, ^[oderii iisaije is not niiiforni, hiiwever; ])e Quinct'y and Coleridge are cari'tiilly I'lm- neetod. wliereas in Emerson and Holmes the (■(iimectinn is much more rarely oxjiressed. 96. Proportion. Next to Unity and Connection wo mnst think of the Canon of Proportion in its relation to sentence strnrtnre. Proportion we already understand to be the indication by the manipulation of the foini, of the comparative importance of different parts of the subject- matter. Like the other Canons it has its relation to the sentence as to larger units of thouijht. Its main character we have already discussed ; its relation to the eentence is largely the question of emphasis. How are we to obtain emphasis where we want it ? If we are able always to place important 'words so as to be especially emphatic, we shall have done a good deal toward obtaining a good Pro- portion. That the beginning and the end of a sentence are the emphatic places, so that it is well to put important words either at the heLrinning or at the end, is probably one of the best known of all devices of Rhetoric. I need not phort sentence structure it is a]it to give rather a discrete, detached, almost disjointed elTed. And even with a longer sentence it is ajit to have an eticct somewhat monotonous. The invariable stress at the end of the sentence gives a sort of sentence rhythm which, in time, Ijecomes rather tiresome. The constantly emphatic sentence-ending, never carrie(l out entirely even bv .Macau- lay, is now rather out of favor in connected writing, or I)erhaps only out of fashion. There are a few minor ]>oints worth mentioning. ' Englinh Ctiii'pn.^iiioii, |i. 103. riiopoiirrnx. rtoi) 1. If succeeding clanses or siMitoiiccs end with tlie panic word, tlie emjthatic place in the second and later sentences is not at tlie end, but just before the i-ei)eated expression. For instance: " The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth." " That government of tlie people, by the people, and for tl.e people. " " They . . . attempt to do what they really cannot do." — Xewnian: The Idea of a Unircr''iti/, p. TS. Even when the word repeated docs not come at the end of a clause the etfeet is much the same: " It must bo eonfes.Ncd, will be confessed, there is no refuge from eont'es.^ion but suicide, — and suicide is confes- sion." — Web>ter : S/ii-cr/i in the Wldfe Murder Case. " If it were not so, all but a very few men would be shut out from the happiness of all men." — ilatthew Arnold: Essays ill reposition or a pronoun. If the pronoun, for instance, be emphatic, il may very well beat the end: " Finding no one else to do il, lie did il himself." But a prefiosition is \(!ry raicly an emphatic word, and a pronoun is n(jt apt to be, so that the rule wouL. nio roxsrnn'TiVE luiEmnic ajiply in most oases. UsaLri' i^ alti'rin;: in tlu' matter. I'erliiips with the desire nf avoiding tim emistaiit eniphasi.s ill seiiteiice-eniliiiLr, a pood many nindeni writers liave a rnii>iilerable iiumlier of seiitenees eiidiuic with proncmu or preposition.' Anothei- way of obtaining; emphasis is hv Inversion, '^'oii will (jflen note tlu' device in prose tliat is sliL^litlv elevated; if often nseil in oi-iiinary ju-ose, it will prolialily seem atTeeted. There is so miieli l(ioseness, eompanitiyelv speakin;.', to Knixli^li word-order that .-onietinies vou may not lie able to invert with good elfei't, for it may not always oe ol)vions just wdiat has been inverted. Bnt, as a rule, an Invei'.-ion will be notieeable, and tbe etVert will be to give i'ni|iliasis. In the following the italieized words (the italies are mine) are rendered emjiliatie by inversion; " When, then, a number of ]iei'.~'i. 97. Long Sentences and Short, i'rccnian, the historian, once gave a compendium of rhetorical tca(-hiiig in the words, " Write siiort sentences," which lie seeineil to think was the only advice po>,~ilile or ncces.sirv. 'I'licrc is a sorl of brus(|ue common sense to ilie counsel, which is in itself l)uoii a imniber tii;atinL;- the sentences (if ilacanlay, found that in the E.'-sdi/s the average was abdut 'i'.\ words. Turning to the Hisforj/ (if h'ii(/linul, he found not only that the average there was io -j-, but that taking ten thousand sentences at a time it was about the same for each ten thousand. Wlien he considered the averages tiy the thousand sentences, there were nicirc of •,':! -|- and 'H + than of any other length. It has alsd been slinwn by the same schular (loc. cit.) that the average sentence length of English writers has materially decreased in the last two centuries. Men write shorter sen- tences than bcfiire. There are still those wlio habitually write long and intricate sentences, but on the whole the ten- dency is to be shorter. It would not seem, however, that our best writers hold tn avery short sentence length. As far as data exist, the chief writers of short sentences are ^Macau- hiy, Dickens, tieorge Elidt, Emerson, whose sentences average less than ".;.;> words. «)ii the other band, Knskin, Matthew Arnold, Walter Pater, Cardinal Newman, have a sentence avera2:c of more than :in, the last two in fact generally run above V i. Si, much for the facts as far as we know them. As to tlic ijiferences, the rules, if any. the ideas to Ite got from them, each man must find out what to do for himself, for each man's ca,~e is peruliar. If it be his habit tn write long and involved senteiic-cs, he will do well te Qiiiacey iiud stiniisly ailvoeateil liy Herbert Speneer in his essay on The P/iil(ii<(iji/ii/ of Shjlv, alreaily re- ferred t(i, 45. Spencer is of the opiniim that a style largely periodic is superior to one that is looser, he would call it the " direct style," he retjards it as enabling an economy of attention on the part of the reader, while a looser style he holds te. be rather more approjiriate to the uncultivated mind. The following is of interest: " A greater grasp of mind is required for the reaily com- prehension of thoughts expressed in the dirert manner, where the ?eiitences are in any wise intricate. To rerolleet a number of preliminaries stated iu elucidation of a coming idea, and to apply them all to the formation of it when suggested, demands a good memory and considerable power of concentration. To one jiossessing these, the direct method will mostly seem the l)est; while to one deficient in them it will seem the worst. Just as it may cost a strong man less etfort to carry a hundredweight from place to place at once than by a stone at a time, so to an active mind it may be easier t. These three sentences illustrate a cdinmon conversati unrolded my meaning." — J-^iijjIiufs (ed. Arber), p. 8(i. 316 roysTRVcriVE niiirninic " I ("111 neitlier n-iiionibor our Tiiisirirs without grief, nor riMlruss our mishaps without irroans." — /J., ]). 1(h;. " Youtlis thiit were wimt to carry di'vices of victory xijioii their sliieUls now engrave ])osies of love on tlicir rings." — ( 'ii/iijiiiy/it', lY. iii. This mode of writing was thonght very admirable, and was imitated by vurious contcnijioraries, cs]iccially Nash and (Ireene, of whom tlie latter jiroduced the following inaster- piccc, in which we have not only balance, but jiarallel con- struction : " r>ut let their love be never so slight, and tlieir fancy never so fickle, yet they will be counted as constant if vows may cloak their vanity \u\> that hath but trasli; faitii that bath but flattery; truth that hath but trifles; yea, sl;e should enjoy a trusty lover, that is glad of a trotlib^s lecho\ir."" — (ireene: Works, ii. 1:U. IJut Euphuism with its balanced sentences and oilier deviet's was oidy a fasluon and ran its coui-se vei'y quickly. It probably had an influence on 1-jiglish prose in the direc- tion of care for structure and for euphony, but as far as its ])articular characteristics were concerned it died out \ei-y (|uickly. And a~ to the iialanced sentence, i^, is not for half a century or so that we fiiul many examples, and then in the e- Quoted by Minto ; Afaiiunl, \i. 87. .'5]^ CnysTni'CTIVh: iriETdlUC. iliiliri' a fancy for the balaifce to any txtnit, you will Mcin artificial. If ymi try always to iiu:,keyour oiulin^s enipliatii', you will los(_' the fITci't you are aiiniiii; at liy the monotony, ('oniu'ction yon need not lie nun-h afraid of, luit even here too ;:reat insistence leads to ]iartii- ilar u.saLTes and favorite mannciisins. In fact any dcvicf when enijiloyeil so often as to lieconie notict'able loses its force. It is a little sti-ani:c: onr would .'-ay that if tiicsc wa\s i writiuLT sentences were Lfood ways, if they were really tli ■ best ways of exprrssini;- this or that, it would niatii r lift c if the reader shouM heronie aware of tlicin, nay, even that it would lie for tl;e better that hi' should bceoine awai'c of tliein. Kut it woidd seem that such is not tin- ease; a writer with niarke idea takes sometime.^ this form, sometimes that, so uidess we have a particular bias in >oiue direction there is not very much to fear. W lieu we revise what we have written, e^pceiallv if we read our work over aloud, we can be on the aliTt to notiee any monotony and to eorreel it. 'i'lu' ( 'unon of N'ariety is of more imjiort in critical work than in work that aims to be eonstruetive. 101. Sentence Structure and Modes of Thought. Hither- to we lui\e always tried to reeoe;iiJze \vhatt'\er eouneetion there miL,dit he between the iiiea and the mode of expres- sion. We have dealt with Rhetorie as mui-h from the staiul- poinl of the man who wa- thinkiui: of what be meant to write a> from that of tin' man who wa- writine; of what he had alreaily thou^rbt about. Or rather, as it mav seem, we have passed from one standpoiTit to the other, — forthestinlv of kinds of eonipo.-iiion iinojved mostly the nianii)ulati(.in sEWTRxcK sThTcrrnK. 319 of ouriileiis, — and now in tliis rlia[>t('V nii scntenr-o strnctni-c we liavo tliought entirely of tlie mode of exjircssicin. ^^ e have already si^^n, howevi'i'. merand over aj^'aiii, tlial the expression can never lie eonsidereeiitence structure have mere or less of briskness, inertia, statelincss, or what nut, and so are approjiriate to this or that subje£'t-matter; still, not to press the idea too far, we can easily see that some cunnection there is. Most easy is it to observe the fai-t in a manner chiefly critical. Sujipose we comjiare the sentence structure of De Quincey and that of Macaulay. The sentences of the latter are, on the whole, concise and clear-cut, never cum- brous, often antithetic, generally of manifest elfeetiveness, full of mannei'isms. These are all matters of sentence strui-turc, and yet such as they are they are very appropriate to the brisk, definite, practical, imposing, successful, ojiin- ionated .Mucaiday. I)e Quincey, on the other liand, writes his sentences very much longer, and fills them with modi- fiers and limiting clauses; they are carefully conducted to a jicrioilic clo.-e, they are rhythm ieal and rolling in sound — in a word, they are chara(;teristic of the philosophic di'eamer, the man who lived in intellectual i-onccption, the disorderly, extravagant, oratiind man of letters aiul of thought. Sui'eh' Macanlay could not over have written sentences like i'c (^uin'e\ 's, nor could I)(^ (Quincey have so aroused himself as to write like -Macaulay, This is only one instance, but 3-20 CoySTRUrTIVE RIIErORIC. if you study the sentence structure of Carlyle say in Sinior /t'siir/iis, of p]nu'rsrin in his Bssf/i/s, of Walter Pater in any of the writings of the hist few years of his life, you will find further exemplification, as indeed you may find it elsc- wliero. Imi'H sentence stmcture can be representative; your sentence stnieture may represent your jicrsonality, if you like, as well as other mattei's. It must he confessed that not eveiT personality constructs for itself a garment so well litting as those we have lieen looking at. It takes a jiowei'- ful, a striking character to work out its exju'cssion in the not very ductile material at the service of the writer. Most people ran no nion' dcsiLrn a garment of style than they can ilesii,ni a garment of any other kind. As with clothes so with writing: the average num follows the i'asiiion, the reason being that he is an avei'age man. I would not advise you to search about in your minds to see what forms of senteiiee structure may he most appro- priate to your own particular form of originality. But to tell the truth the advice would be useless and needless: if you have any originality, it will find its own mode of e\- jiression 'u due time; if you have not any origiiudity, ycju will have to settle down into some ordinary form of expres- sion like almost evervbodv else. PART SIX. ARCr UMEXTA TIOX. 102. The Place of Argumentation in Rhetoric. Before we bring our work to an end we must have a few words mi Ai'gumentatiou. Here I shall be able to give you but a short treatment of the question, as in the ease of sentence structure, although not for the same reason. Sentence structure we considered shortly', because the subject did not lend itself readily to constructive treatment. Such is not the case with Argumentation; it may be excellently treated in constructive fashion, and, indeed, has lately been so treated by (i. P. Baker,' in such a fashion, too, that it is hardly wortli while to totich it at all here. For other reasons, however. Argumentation holds a somewhat peculiar position in our study. Just how far Argumentation belongs to Rhetoric, and just how much Rhetoric belongs to Argumentation, is rather a nice question. Certainly a good part of Argnnientiition .-eenis of very different nature from the th'ngs we have been considering so far. An argument always consists of reason- in;^', and the Science of Reasoning is usually held to be Logic. If, therefore, we include a treatment of Arguinentation in our work, we must include a study of Logic, a piece of work quite as extensive as all that we have gone over already. And further, Argumentation, beside reasoning u|) to the truth of a proposition, aims also at jicrsuasion, at gaining the reader's assent. And Persuasion seems tn dejieml T?ie Princip/rn nf Argymentation. 331 ■ )0 roySTRUCTI VE nilETORIC. upiiii sn many r'niiditimis quiU' oxtra-rhctdrical. It appc';ils so lar!.''fly to the enuitioiis, — liow larirely is clmiiieiuH' a pnvt of jiiT>uasiiiii ! — ami despiti' the example "f Aristotle it seems impossiliie to include in Ulietoi'ic a study ol' tlieliunum emotions. There is certainly a f,n-eat deal to Av^umentation which we cannot think of handling in a hook like this. On tile other hand, .Vrpumentation is certainly Pisi'durse of some kind, it is Expression in writing or speaking, it c^er- tainly comes within our idea of Rhetoric (p. I). We cannot very well avoid treating the manner, at least, of ArL'umeutation. Xor can we vei-y well avoiil handling the subject-matter; we liave hitherto spent our tiTuc oti thought as well as on expression, ami there seems no good reason for not doing so here. And lastly, .Vrgumcntation has always been considered l)y rlietoricians as a part of tiieir topic, — by some, from .\ristotic to Wliately, the main jiarl. It would almost seem that we had before us this dih'mma: eitiu'r to ineluile in our work a .system of Logic and a treat- ment of the emotions and the incentives to human acti), how <-ertain processes were common to Descrijition and Exposition (]). IpS), how even Narration and Exjiosition had their com- mon points (p. 1.5); in each ea.^e the aim was to give the reader the full si-ojie and meaning, the exten.-ion and im- plication, of some term. But Argumentation is something dilTcrent; it eonrerns the relation of jiropositions. It is one tiling to understand that A is thus and thus and ]'. so THE I'LACK OF MidVMEyTMloy. 3L*:'> and si\ whiitcvor A or \\ may ri'pvc'^riit, wlicllici- event, tiling, or genoral idea; bnt it is sDuietliing different tn sec that if -S- is tluis and tlnis B )inisl bv so and so. We liave already seen that one uiKlerstands the nature of the reasoning that leads to truth by the Science of Ijogic. We may ask, in thinking of what has jnst liecn saiil, Is there not some special seieiiee which leads one to iniileislunil the processes whereliy we grasp the scope anil meaning of terms, their extension and implication ''. In other woi-ils,jf Logic be the science which gives the basis of Ai'gumeiitation, is there not some science which gives the basis to Narra- tion. Description, l-Ajiosition V Looking back over the matters you have already studied, you will see that some of them ari' eertaiidy logical in char- acter. C'lassitication (1>»), for instance, depending upon Generalization (23) and leading up to definition and Divi- sion (20) — all these processes are subsidiary to the proc- esses of reasoning, and treatment of them may be found in any text-b(]ok on Logic. These processes, however, have chiefly to do with Kxpo- sition; we have still those processes which have to do with appreciating the nature of some event, some character, some scene — in other words, the princesses characteristic of De- scrijition and Narration. Heiv ue seem at once to lie Hear- ing the ground of Psychology; perception, discrimination, comparison, imagination, association — such jirocesscs as the-e are cei-tainly needful in our ajipreciating jiarticular things, in our apprehending iiarticular terms, and these things ai'c all treated of by i'sychology. On the other hand, it may he supposed that I'sychology is intei'c-tcd in these pi'oce-ses, and others loo of like enough nature, as proi'csses, without I'egai'd to the objects of them, and that we I'aii hardly iinagine any Art founded ii[ion such a considei'ation. \\C liave been looking at objects with a cer- tain purjiose, — dindy a]iparent pci'liaps already, — namely, the purpose of being strongly inijircssi'd liy s methods whicli best exercise the thoui;'lit in argui]!?, iiiiil which offer best praetiee in the expression of (nie's ar;;iimeut. Only, since we have here a topii' which is really as !ari,a' as all the other kinds of composition put together, since we have a matter which should really have a book to itself, if we would treat it im the scale on which we handled the other kinds of composition, even although arguiuentativo discipline is really of slight worth uidess it be thorough and systematic, I sludl give but a slight treatment, not for a moment thinking to olTur any discipline which shall suffi- ciently exercise one in argumentative writing, but aiming merely at an indication of the main jioints of the subject. I. PROCESSES PRELIM IXAKY TO TUB AR(;UMEM\ 103. Before the Argument Proper. In the first place, in considei'ing aipiotiou with a view to argument you want to think whether you have something that really requires argument. We have already seen (2.») how a proposition may be dealt with by PJxposition; if the truth or falsity of the proposition be admitted, it lieconies practically a gen- eral tenn and may be exjiounded as such. The question should be, Is the truth or falsity of this proposition, when it is rightly understood, a matter of question';' \'ery possi- bly not, in which case the necessity for argument disap])ears. It is not easy to give examples of such propositions that will make the case as clear as I think your own recolltM-tion can make it. Have you never, especially in earlici- days, conducted a heated argument which finally wound up with, " Oh, well, if Ikat was what you meant, any one would agree with vou. Hut that wasn't what I tliought you meant"? l>e sure, then, that your pi'opcjsition is rightly understood at the start, fen- it may save you trouble. But this phrase "rightly understoiid " opens anolhei- .iL't; ctiy^TRrcTivt-: luiEToiiir. mutter. The terms of the jM-dpDsition iind its Lr(>uoral \t\\v- liort m^l^t, as we have situ, be riglitly uiuli'i'stodil, at K'asi in the juiltrment of tlie parties to the ilisiu~si(ni. If the terms of the jjrdjinsitinii are umlerstiidd in different senses, you can come to no real aLrreenient. Nnu the elTi)rt to have the terms of the ]iroposition and its pnrpni't I'learly tinder- stood calls for ilxpo-ition, or it may be l)e-rri|itioii or Xari-a- tion, and then this prior exjilanation may call for ari^'uinent on its own aecount. Just at ])resent we see it ofteti stateil that "the Monroe doetriiie eonipels the United Slates'" to take such and sneh trrounds. If we w\<\\ to ari^nie the (piestion, we iiiust tirst lie ipiite sure al"iut the Moin'oe doe- trine, and the settling this matter may call foi- as much argument as the ipiestion itself. In lei^al i'a~e~ it is often a irreat ]iart of the arL.ainient to show that this cjr >hat e\- pres>ion in a statute or an instrtimeiil has this or thai meaning. The meaning lieiiig admitted, the way may he quite clear. So. for instance, with the language of our Constitution; so, inrrect one."" Hut it mu^l often happen, of cour.^e, that when IXposi- tiou has done all its work, or Narration or ne-ciiption, as the case may he, there will still remain ditVereuce of opinion concerning the pro]iosition which is clearly unilerstood and agrec(l upon. It now he<'oines a matter of importance to make rure exactly what is to he proved and who is to jirove it. That is, we must deterruine the issue and >ee where lies the hurileii of proof. On this tir-t point it is not very easy to give any explicit rule. A good analysis of the topic is the first rerpiisite, ami a ijfood judgment eouies next to see ju-t where argniment is neces disdwu the Constitution in this particular case; in fact tliev called it a " compact with hell." Before proceeding to argue, then, look just to see whether argument is necessary, locs whicli have been entertained, or which well can be entertained, resj)ei'ting the j)ast history of nature." Of these three the third is the so-calh'd " hypothesis of evolution." ('learly if the lii'st and secoiul theories can he shown to be unfounded there will be a strong |ii'esunij)tiMn ci'eati'd for the third. lie states the first theory and ends as follows: " And inasmuch as, under tliese circumstances, l.liert^ need he nf) limit to the propagation of :uiiinals and plants, it is clear that the consistent working out of the luiiformi- tariiiii idea )riii,flit lead to the coik f]itioii of the eternity of tile worlil. Not that I mean tity one spi'rial and imjxirtanl branch of know ledire is omitted. I ,siy, the advoeati' of sneli an institution nlu^l say ///is, or he must say //i/i/ : he must own, either tliat little or noihini.'' is known about the Su- preme lleiiii:, or that his seat of learning; calls itst^lf what it is not. " The third development I will call for the moment the l^oonieran;.'. for it consists in turniui: an arirnment au'ainst the maker of it, it Ixiists the eni;in. cr w ith hi.■^ own ])etard. I would, however, use a more oi'dinaiT name were I ac- quainted with the true technical term. It is not easy lo olTer a comase illustration of this mode of refutation, for it is apt to be too extended to quote con\eniently. Yfui mav fiiul a number of examples in Maeaulay's cs.say on Sud/rr'n l.iiir tif P(i/inlii/iiiii. an c^sav which (.'onsists alnuist entirelv of refutation, and, indeed, offers illustiations of all three ])oiiits that 1 have mentioned. I quote .i passajje oi' two, but will leave it to you to find the working out: " Mr. Sadh'i- '/[Wii a lonij table of all the towjis of Mii^r- land and Ireland which, he tell- us, iri-efra;;ably demon- ' I quott' from <>. V. Balier •Spf.-i^m i,k of Arijnmiiitjitin,,, p. crji, 1. viTv ccmvenienl litile voluini- of Mclcutioiis where good illustrations o( all tliesL- points may V)e found. lyDi'crutx Ayn iiEincTKiy. ^.v^\ titrates liis principle. Wr assort, and will ]>ro\r, that tlu'si' tables are almie sufficient to upset his whole tliedi'v." '' To prove this point he quotes Aristotle, Hippocrates, Dr. Slmrt, Dr. (iregory, Dr. I'erceval, M. Villernii, Lord Bacon, and Kousseau. We will not dispute about it; for it seems quite clear to us that if he succeeds in establishing it he overturns his own theory." 105. Induction and Deduction. When yon consider your own position, whether you try first to dispose of an o]i])osing argument or not, you will find that you nnist depend almost entirely uiion your knowledge of the subject, and uimn your quickness in perceiving the relation lictweeii the special point to be proved and wii ])osition may be a special case of some more general principle; sncli relations form the subject-matter of what is called Deduc'tive Logic. <»r you may have in hand a number of sejiarate facts and desii'e to establish some general principle Ijy tlieir means; such arguments are dealt with in what is called Inductive Logic. In jiractice ycai will find that most arguments coiidjine the two processes. I"or iii.-tance, vou mav desire to show that the United States sliould control and juanage the telegraph. A rougli- and-i'cadv argument savs, " The United States manages the I'o>t-oITicc succcssfidly ; it should tlicrcfoi'c manage the telegraph." But if we run through the vvid steps of the aigumcnt we shall find tlicm to ijc something like this: (1) The Unitcil Slates should control the telegraph; for (■i) I'^'ci-y nation should control its telegraph; for (:i) Kvei'y nation controls its I'ost-ollice; and 332 roys'JurCTIVE RllEToRir. (4) Every ii;iti(in should control surli institutions as the I'nst-dtKre. But (.")) the telegraph is such an iustitutiim as tlie I'ost- ofiice. 'I'liriifoi-e tlie propositions (2) and (1). Hero we come first by Deduction from (1) to (■,'); it's a,sini])le matter, every one would agree to it witliout Loirie. It gives us, liowever, a general jiropositiou to pi'ove instead of a particular one. To prove it we carry it hack to one still more general, namely, (4). So far we have had to do only with Deductive argument; but how shall we j)roeeed ? liow shall we substantiate proposition (4) V We nniy, of course, by tile same ]iroi-ess carry tlie argu- ment still further back. But we nuiy also argue the matter in this way: (jreat Britain has found it advisable to control the tele- graph. So France, Germany, Austria, eti'. Therefore any nation will find it advisable to roiiti-ol the telegraph; which is practically the same thing as (•,') al)o\c. This also is a simple enougli argument; anv one ac- quainted with the facts would think of it witliout studving Inductive Logic. Indeed tlie jirocesses of Logic, wliotiicr Inductive or Dediclive, are, as a rule, obvious enough. The real dith- cultv lies in their a]iplication. l''or instance, in (Jiir iirst argument we affirmed that the telegraph was such an iiistitutititution as the I'ost- otlice, but certainly not exactly such an institution; it differs in some respects, and it may be that one of the ]ioints of difference may be such as to invalidate the reasoning which led to (1). The telegraph has been siicccssfnlly operated liy private companies over the whole United Siute-; the I'ot-ollice has not. That difference may be enough lynucTIoX AM) DEDUCTIOX. 333 til invalidate tlio argument. Tlio tclciri-apli is liy no means so constantly and universally nseil liy all classes of iieo])lo as the I'ost-ofWce ; the telegrapli depends more upon me- chanical invention tlian the I'ost-otKce, and such inven- tion is most encouraLTcd in a private enterprise. Tliese differences may he of such a nature as to invalidate the argument. You must know the subject well enough to be able to tell whether a premise like (3) is really sound, or whether its language is such as to lead to error. So with the second case. You have four, or iieihajis more, instances in which it has been found wise for a nation to assume charge of its telegraph. 15ut in spite of that it may be that it would not be wise for every nation to do so, for tlie I'nited States, let us say. If the nati(jiis in question were similar, theoretical, ideal nations, and other nations, including the United States, were of like nature, the argument would be sound. But how different nations are, in character, in government, in political principles. The United States, for instance, has developed very largely through private enterprise; the United States is opposed to the existence of a large office-holding class; the United States giiviM-imient, we may hold, has no powers which are not particularly delegated to it. Such, one might si.y, are >onie of the points of difference between the United States and the other nations in question, ami such differences may be sutticient to invalidate the Induction. In fact you will find that Induction and Deduction, al- though both jircjccsses are of value in hel])ing to ]nit your argument into a form in which it is easily criticised, both leave the main strength of the argument to your own knowledge of tiie subject. But even if your own knowledge be sufficient for the case there ai'c two jioints in wjiicli you will have to be jiarticularly careful. One concerns your reliance on other jjersons, and the other, we nuiy say, has to do with your reliance on yonrself. We will go on with a word or two on I'e.-timony and I'allacy. ;5:;4 CnX>.TRlCTrVE RnKTOIiTC. 106. Testimony. In cuniluctihi,' an iiriiunimt yoii will almost ahvay.s liavt' to depeiul in ,<(iiiii' doirrei' upon the statements nf dtliers. Soiuetinn's, as when vmi :.re pivinij the lesiilts nf ymir own experiment.s, there will be eonijiara- tively little rel'ereiiee to any one else. Sometimes, as when you are ilisciissiug some question of public policy, yon will have to rely larirely nimii otjier men's work. In almost all east's, howi'Ner. the part played in artrnnient hv 'I'estimoiiv is an ini]iortaiit one. It may he that you are inclined to accept an ojiinion upon the authority of some one, it ma\' he that yw when it comes to bo(jks you certaiidy can be exa<-t. You can be sure of the author, the title, the edition, and the paLfe of whatever you quote, and you cun lie sure of your cpiotatioii- by takingr proper e-are. If by any cliance you cannot gain access to the book you refer to, you TKSTIMOXY. ?,?,:> should lot it be miderstodil that you rofer t(i a statciiicnt as quoted hv soiuehody olsr. In regard to the statements of men also you can he fairly exaet by takiiii;- pains; and sufficient pains ynu are bound to take both for their sakes and fur vour own. In the second \A\\rv you want to be sure that your au- thority is authoritative, that he is eopqietent to pronounce upon the matter. People are ncit very careful liere if we may judge from a gmid many advertisements. One I'eads, fnr instance, the statement (if Mr. J. S. (arrompanied l)y his portrait), a prominent New York alderman, to the elfcrt tliat such and surh a tonic is the l)est inc(liciiic that can lie taken when one becomes weak, nervdus, and sk-ejiless from overwork, or prcilimged strain on the brain nr nerves. The makers of tlie tonic are of the opinion that " such an un- fpialified endnrsement . is informatimi for the peojile of especial value." Hut the value of such inf(irmati of this kind ;i liiviiian may be ptifiloned for erring. P>utyoii will remeinher that although you ma\ not be to blame for an error, your argument may collapse lie- cause of it. In so far tis you can, hfiwevei-, you niiist be siii'e of just who or what is tiuthority for your sttitemeiits, and be sure, too, that your authority is good. 336 cnxHTRrrTiVE uiietoric. 107. Fallacies. ( oitaiu common enurs in roasoniii;: are ffcneralizeil under the name of Fallacies. To s|H'(iry tlicni, to treat tlieni separately, would hanlly be possililo witlmnt assuniiiii.' sciiiie kimwleilire nf the Imrieal principles which they eoiitniveiie. .\s in a former ease, then (<>7), instead (if stating the eriors one is liable to make, I will merely try to pfiint out some of the eomnioner causes that Icail one to fall into erriir. They are eiiietly such as may W avdiiled liy due cautinn. The errors tliat yon fall into because you really know no better are eiim]iarati\ el\ few. I'ar ijrealer is the number nf errors which you would be likely to detect were the artrument put forward by somelxidy else. It is our own mistakes to whicli we are all apt to be rather l)lin(l. The two chief cases in whii'h yon will be apt to overlook mistakes in reasoiiiui: are, tir.-t, when you are quite sure tiiat you are rij;lit; and, second, when ycni are rpiite sure tliat you are not wrouir. Tiiere may not seem to be very much ililfeieiiee: but by tlie lir>t alternative I mean that we are all of us inelined under one circumstance or anotiier to pursue an ariruinent eontideully, with no espei'iaj feebiii,' against tlie contrary j)o>ition, but with suHicient absorption in our own idea to often miss errors tliat will be obvious to one more impartial; by the secoiul alternative 1 mean to desii;nale tho.>e eases which are often enoii;,'h called cases of prejudice. We are all of us to some dec'rin- jire jiidieed ; it is a diffi- eidt matter to i;et so clear of cireum-laiice as to come to a question without bi;is in one direi'tion or another. .Most important of all is jirobably the prejudiie of interest and of pride. We are apt to find it hard to see tlie Justice of anv- tliiiii; that jiicks a flaw in our ideas about our family, our religion, our country, or our (jwn ideas as such merely, or of anythim; that attacks cur pleasure, our occuputions, our pocket-book. It is not nece-,-ary that tlie.-^e im])ortant nuitters >liould be really endaii^'ereil ; the mere idea is eiiou;_di to arciuse us. Any arirument that even theoreticallv favcjrs FALLACIES. 3?,7 them has a good chance with us; wo are pretty sure that it eaniiot be wrung, although we may not; see jiisl iiow it must he light. Next in importance I take to he tlie prejufliee of habit and of feeling. Any weak spot in a view whieli we have been taught in youtli, in wliich we liave for a good wliile been aocnstomed tn believe, or whieji stii's our sym- pathy and emotion is likely tii the other hand, the being sure tliat you are right is, 1 believe, not so common as the tendency 1 have just men- tioned. It arises chiefly when we liave becimie embarked on any line of thought and are carried cheerfully along by the mere plea-ure of active enei'gy, or it ina\' lie that the nei'cssity iif having some opinion, the habit of always hav- ing definite ideas on things, is so strong within us that it unconsciously leads us to accept too quickly some position as sufficiently established, when really it has no definite foundation at all. In neither instance are we so prepossessed against an error in our argument as in cases of prejudice; it may often happen that we don't see a fallacy, in cases of prejudice we practically won't see them. How, then, to guard against these difficulties':' I have no panacea. I can only say that you must think of each ques- tion you mean to argue from the points of view we have considered: ask yourself whether it runs along in dangerous conformity with your feelings, ynur habits, your iiitei'csts, your pride; ask if you have coine to your belief meiiely for want of a Ijettcr, or because you were carrit'd along by the mere ])lcasure of work. If it conies under either of tliese heads, be careful; it will not lie out of jilace to test your own position by trying to argue the negative. ( oys/RLCriVE liUETORlC. III. THE EXPRKSSIOX oF AN AlicrMHNT. 108. Other Kinds of Composition in Argumentation. You rAW rasilv write SdiiU'tliiiiLT wliicli sluiU be Avuiiniriil.i- tioii piii-f and simple — a parat,n-M|ili, for instance, iiotin;; tiic sti'}>s wliirii lead to tlic estalilisliineiit of soiiie point. Hut it is far more common tliat your arirnnic>nt will express itself hii'irelv in liits of Kx])osition, I 'e.-ei-iptioii, or .Narriit ion. Kach separate part of the arLTument, eS), >o may we throw some light njioii this kind of ronipositiou liy considering the relation to it of the (Qualities of Style. 1 shall be able only to give yoti a few words on Clearness, in this resjieet the most important quality. .Vrgumeutatiou is not a simple matter, and it may be beyond all your elTorts to make a particular course of reasoning anything hut diffi- cult and abstruse. Force is a quality of the utmost value in Argumentation, but the foree of an argument should lie chiefly in the matter, and not so much in the expression. The chief quality in Argumentation is C'learnes.--. We have already seen various ways (is, 72) in which by manipulating paragraph-structure, illustration, and so on, we could do more or less to make our writing clear. These aids to clearness may lie used in any kind of writing; is there anything esiiecially applicable to Argumentation Y We must here make chief mention of .i practice, although not applicable to Argumentation alone, already spoken of under the head of the Paragraph (33) ; namely, the making of an outline beforehand, or, as it is more commonly called in the case of Argunicntatiini, a brief.' For this drawing of briefs may be urged all the reasons that were given on pp. lii;;-l(i(;, and the further one that as Argumentation is usually a more difficult and hazardous matter even than Exjjosition, such a preliminary is all the more necessary. It is so necessary in Argumentation to see clearly just what it is that you allege; you must not spare yourself, you must put your reasoning to the severest test to determine its validity. It may look very jioor and thin when yon stale merely the skeleton of it, stripped of the amplilicaiion ' This ijiatt(*r deserves far niore extended ti'i'iitniciit tlian eiiii l)e givi'ii it Lerc^ Mr. |{ali> , pp. 1-5; /'rinctple-^ "J' Aiu'ft/niitiirison. 2tll)-271 ; illustrated, 272. 273; value of, 273; and the Qualities of St\ 1.-, 2.")2. .\naly.ses. 102; and alistracts, 117; examples of, 114-1 111; value of previous analvses, 109, 112- 115. Anaphora, 30'.l. a/iil as a si-ntence-co]iiie<-tive, 311(1 Anglo-Norman, sec I-'rench words. Ant:lo-Sa\ons. 1!)S-201. Anonyms. 231. Antonoinasia, 276, 277. Antonyms, 22'J, 231. Antwerp, cathedral of, as an ex- ample. (iS. 69. Apostrophe. 253. 279. Archaisms, 241. Arjfumentation, Part Six : an ad- vanced kind of writing, 18 ; a scholarly form, 61 ; place in present studv. 1(1 ; how far it belongs to lilietoric. 321, 322; r. analofxics in teaching dif- f.-n-iit arts, tl. 7. 2\>'J. Aschaiu, c'"nuiiiivi.-s in, Ijoii. Australian wonls in Englisli, 200. Autliurity, IJo4. ooO Baedekei!, li'iid: B:>i>k to the i'l.iiid St!iruL;r!iph, i;»'J-i:'.M; ot a uar- lat i\ I-, 21) , pur]i'ise I'i, o4 BEitTuri.i.oN, liis metliiHl of Iiiiliic recognition, 47, 4S Bllil.K, tbe, as a source of tigure, 2'.iri. Hi'iloj.ry, 2. U.K.iiii'rang, the, 330. Hi)sam;uet, B., llisti.ri/ of .Ks llutii-, :!2S Borrdwed wc.-nl-, 19><. Blti;«sri;!!, W. T., Sji,riiiuni> of .\,in;ili<>„, ;!4. Briel, use of, in Argumentation, BrilliiUK'y. 2'i2 Briticisms, 241. Buow.NK, Sir TiKiMAS. 2iio Blfow.Nf.Mi, [;(iiil.l;r,l.e:;iiis at tbe lieart of the matter, 3il; value of Canons of rnity. Selrciidn. Se qu^'iice, i'rn]M.rTioii, Vjiriet} , 2ii IT,, ;llil, o4li. See uniler each bead. (.ahi.yle, s, 2:'.'.i, 242. 2112 , bis fiirures, 24'.i, excliunation, c'tc, in, 2711, cbaractcristic sentence- structure. 320 Hi roiii and lliro-ici'ishij). 411 Change of meaning in Eugli.sb words. 2:!.H. CiiANMNii, \V. ]■: , /.if,. 222. CiiAi'.MAN. John 1> . IIniidbih'hH. 212 note. CinTiiAM. Earl of, Hiri. CiiAi ( KK, 2;!7, freiicli words in, 20."). Chicago, two de.scription.s of, Wl, .)1. I'IKIATE, HiKI S, ProliCliin of Aimririiii Lnhur. ITid. Clircuioliiuni'iil order in I'escrip- tion, li.'i, U;i, 1)4. [ ( 'irce, iii_\ ill 111', 2S2 I Civil KnullU'erihi:, 4. I Cla-siiicatii)n, 32:); in lii'scriiilini;, 46(1.; in i:\|..isiti.in, 7H IT., SS; e\iUU])li-s 111', 711, N2, Cleurni-.s unil Simplicity, ICri, in tlie dilTiient Kinds ol Compnsi- tion anil in the I'iinif;raiih, see lf)U for rel.rences ; l''i^iires tending til, 2.")2, 2(1."), value in Ar^runientatiuii, ',',:',',), Climax in paragrajih .structure, 1.V2. I.-,.-) Cnined wnrils, 241. Ciii.EniDGh, cnnniM-tives in, l;07; Hl'iijinpliii I.itininn. 1112. his pretrnanl ulisciirilies. 1^1 i Culluiiuiiilisru ill Popular KsLposi- BuEin.l-.li. 11. ee Figures). 273; in paragraph, 1.J2-154 . and the Qualities of Stvle, 252 CoiiK, .\LBEKT S . translation of Sievers, 2110 note. CowLKT, £««.///.«. 3Ui. CitABBE. Si/i,oiiym.i. 221 note. Critics, y. Criticism, as a Kind of Composi- tion, 16. ClRK-KETT, S. R., 27(6 Siickit Minister, 56, loT. Danish conquests in the British I-1.-S, 202. D.iNTE, Carlyle's description of, 49. I>.iRwiN, 2, 93. Deduction, 331-333. Definition, ;)/ r genus et differen- tia . NO, by discrimination of synon^nii--, 222; and Division, Ty, 80", S':*. 323. Development of the vocabulary of a ^jiven idea, 211. Df:-NN Kv, Si iiTT and. Paragraph- Writing, V, 74, 143 note. Dk Qi in(i;v, periodic sentences, 313, 314. characteristic sen- teiiie-struiture, 319; sentem-e- connection, 307; perirjdic para- e-iaplis, \'>>i; exilu]i]ntion, etr., 27'J. Kii/jUkI, Mail C.arli, 2N4, Opium- El it 1 1\ 302; SIhiI, i xjntii-f, 127, 159. Description, Part Hue, II' a simpler kind of writing, IH, .'in artistic form, 01; ]ilaee in present study, 10; rough deli- uition, 13, 39, -12; in narrative form, 3."i; mingleil with Narra- tion, 3(i; of changing ]ibenoui- eiia, 3^. topics treated eitlier by l)e--eript.ion or Narration, 14, 36; eoin|iai'e(l with Exposi- tion, 39, (J8; its processes, 44; kinds of individuality sought in, 45; classification, 40; for information or impression, 52; its different iiur))oses, 54— "ili, its method, 5y fl.; l^nitv in, 58; Point of Vii'w, 5S; Selec- tion, 51); Seijuenee, 35, Ol-Oli; Se(|Uence in descriptive para- graphs, 149, 150; relation to Clearness and Simplicity, 108; Statement and Suggestion in, 170-177; figures useful, 252; and P.syi'hology, 323. DiciiENS, sen fence- length, 311. Diction, critical study of, 186, 233, 234. Differentia, see Definition. Dignity, 252. Dilemma, 330. Division and Definition, 78, 83, 89, 323. Divisions of thought and para- graph structure, 105. Dunne, Jciiin, recondite figures, 289 note. DOTLE, CoN.vN, i^lierlock ILibncn, 30. Dutch words in English, 206. Eaule, J., KHiu\ III; a more Bilvauccil kind of coinpo- sition, !">; the scholar's mode (if (-xpri'ssiou, 61, 73; place in ]in"M'iit study, HI, rou^rh deti- nition. 13; and .Narratinu, 15; (■oui]iari-.l with I 'is,-ii|)tion, 3',t, 42, (i.'<, 275: compared with .\r- ffuiuentation, 14, 71-77, ])re cedes IV'Scription, is. precedes .\rifuiiieutaticiii. 325. metlmil by I'elinitioii and I>ivisii>ii ex plained, 711 - S3 ; exemplified, S:'.-ss . Sequence in eximsiiive parae-rai'hs, 1.50; iUustratiou in, 252; liilTen-iit Itiiids iu litera- ture, "-'.1-93; F.asv-chair llxpo- sitic.n, yn, 91; PaVtoral, 91. Ii2. Srlinlarlv, !<2. Popular, W2, 'J4- !I5, 279, ■ Kable, a source nf ti;;ure, 295. Fallacy, 333, 3311. l-'ie-iui- of Speeeli, Part Four; plaie in present study, 9, 12; univi-rsal u^e of, 24s. relation to clear thinking'. 250; charac-- leriMic ot tli.iii::lii, 29~ -,ime necessities 'if, 2^11. itiA neces sary to a brilliant style, 2li7 , a form of Amplification. 139, 142. kinds of, 253-2119, 2;r,-279. and tjualitiesof style. 251-2711. api'lied to special purjioses, 2S0 flf. ; source-, of, 2s7 ff. ; divi- sion into figures of similarity, of contiguity, of i-outrast, 247 Fune, Figures lendini; III, 252. Fl.vimkut, lii-TAVi;, 42, 43. for a.s a sentence-cinnective. 306. Foreign words, 341. Freem.vx, E. a., advice in Rhetoric, 310. 312. French words in Eiifrlisli, 203- 20.5. Frink, H. a., edition of Phelps' RheUmc, 244. 246. Gallicisius, 237, 241. (ieneral ideas handled by Exposi- tion, till. (ieueralizatioH, 323; use iu am- plilyiut;, 142- lieneva. as an exauiiile, 5N. liENUNfi, J. F., Pi;i<-U,;il li'/itl- ofi.-, 74, 75, Oiitliiuii iif i;i,,t- • irir, 105. tieriu-, -ee Definition. (uM>f;r«phicul names, see Keltic or Sranilinavian words in Entrlish, liHUtilK, IIk.nhy, 335. (ilBBON, El)W.\Ul>, connectives in. 301;. Aiili/hioi/niji/ii/. 'W I il,.\|i--niNK, as all example, 511, (idl DsMITII, h'.^sdl/s, 281. (ioiid I 'sajje. 230-240, viohitions of, 240-245. (Tramiuatical Function, Kne^lish words according to, 209-21 1. liii.iNT.r. S as an example, L'74. j HHKKN, J. ]{., JHhIuiII cf Ihi' KiiijUnl, P,„id., 32. 33, S)u„t,r ■ Ih^hnii. 45 ! liREiNK. KciBERT, balanced sen- ' tences, :;iri. • iIEL,i/c)H«« of Swni ( nihil. ^, 52 Tangle- irood Tales, 'ix-i Ihhveics, Ejiiatle to l/it. 'M)\). Hegel's LiHjic nK'ntit>ni'tl,40 note. Hn.i., .\. S . '>4.') VoiiHihilioiis of lilutori,-, 194. Hill, D. .1., delinition of Kbet- oric. 0. Historical I'reM-ut, 'JS. History, a source of figure, 290. HoL-MLs. Oliver Wk.ndell, connectives in. 307. HoMEB, unilignifieil comparisons, isl. m.id] ill -2.-1.-). lioinrir as a sentence-connective, 306. Hugo, Victor, Les I>iinn«. 163. HrxLEV. T. H., 2. SKj. n, iniji- P-^li. 7U; On a I'iice of Cliiiik, "l72. Hyperbole. 2.")0, 2."i;J, 27s. Illustration, Part Four: and Qualities of Style, 2.52, 2.'i:3. 273, 274; a form of Amplifica- tion, 139, Impression, Oe^cription for. .52 Impressiciiis, difference of , ."i4-."iO Improprieties. 283, 234, 24-~). Indian ^^o^ds in Kntrlisli, 206. Individuality in .N'iirralion and Description, 61. Induction, 331-333. Interrogation, 2'"j3, 27U. Inversion, a lielji to good pro- portion, 310. Issue, determining tLe, 326. Irony, 2.'>;i. 27^i. iRVixr;, \\'a8III.ni;tii.v, Knirhir- hocker'n Xmr Yorl, , 2iJ, Iteration, see He|ietitioii, Iteration, obverse, j:i(j, i;;9, 144, 14.J. James, Willi \-m, Psi/rholnijij, 231. JlCVONS, W. S,, Pl-iniv'jil(.i of Si-irnce. 78. J0I1.VS(.)N, Sa.MIEI,, bulajice in 310; connectives in, 3(17. Judges, Book of, 258. Kkats, barbarisms in his early jioems, 243. h'liili/iiiinii. 283. Keltic words in Englisb, 201. Kinds of C'oniiiositioM, Part One, N;n rulion, I )esi'ii| it ion, Exposi- tion, and Part Six. Argumen- tation. PUic-e in tlie present study, 10. '.I'.l; basis for the current division, 13; other kinds, 16; common points be- tween the different, 14, 15, 822, intiueni-e on paragraph-struc- ture, 148-151. La FdNTAiM-;, Fuhks Choisis, •J,"iS. Lamb, C]|.\rli;s, Kssni/s of Klin, 911, Lamont, II , Siirciiiienn vf Kx- pn«itinn. 115, 120. LAN(iLAXD,French words in. 205, Language, analogy with Narra- tion, 19-22; with Argumenta- tion, 341; limitations in De- scription, 19, 20, 53; in Expo- sition, 841; constantly chang- ing, 287; extended bv nieta- |i|]or, 208. Latin words in English. 200, 205 Lav\mi)X, French words in, 204, Lecture-form in Popular Expo- sition, 94. Legal words, see Scandinavian wtjrds in English. Length of sentence, 311. LhssiNci, 82S, LiiiikiHin. 11) ; Ali- liiinilluiiyen khir die luilnl , 25M. Letter-writing, 16. Lewis, E. 11., Ihslnnj if llu Enij- lish Pnrni/rap/i, 800. Literature, Exjiosition in, S9 , a source of ligure, 290, 29;!. " Loan-\vords," see lioi'i'owed words, Logii-, relation to ArgiiiiientatioM. 821, 828, 881. 34S ISDEX. Long sentences, 310-31-. L'liKp sentences. 312-315. Low words, i\\, 24'-'. Ldweli.. J\mes Hi^si'.Li,. '-':)',•, 'ill-^ ; figures, 349. .)/// Stmlij Windows. 191. -S7--,>!Mi passim; Old KwjlUh DniuiulMx, 2-,"^. Ludiinjus, the. '-'il note. Ll'KK, (.ios]iel according to, '-'")S. Lyly, John, Knphuei, SIT), 316. M.^iAiLAV, 8, lyi, 339; man- ncri'-ms, l:i7 ; use nf cuntrust, lo3 ; paragraph-ending's, Kil; clear ijut not simple, lliT; lack of suggestion, XSi; useof uieta- plior, 365, 367 ; use of compari- son. 271 : Use of connectives, 307, seuteiice-enilings, 310; use of balanced sentences, 3],'», 316 ; characteristic sentence- structure. 319. Addi.'.oi,. 133, 136; llu-ot,, 13S. l:lli, 14."), 146; J>!/r"ii, 3113 ; Cliri\ 171 ; l':imir Draniiilists nf thf llet'irimition, 153; ]Ii.'r_v. 354; defi- nition. 360; Uiixeii, 3111; petri- fied, 263, expri-s^ed as simile, 366; and the Qualities of Stvle, 252, 264. .Metonymy, 232 and note. 376. Mill,' John Stiakt, 93, 167, 335. Logie. 4. 105; Poliliail Ei'onoiny. 105. Mu.ton, 3o5. Comus, -'^^'i. MiNTO. Wii.i.lAM, Manual rse wonls in Kiif;lish, l!0'3. Obsdlete words, '.Ml), '^41. Cilivorse Iteration, 136, 139, 144, 145. Originality, where it is impor- tant, 60. On/i, French words in, 'JIM. Outline, paragraphs of, 119, 138, l.")(l. liiitlines, see Analyses. Paintiui;. 2. 1'.\i.i;y, EcUiiiices of ('/inxliaiiili/, lU."). Parables, the, '-!.■)«. 270. Paragraph, Part '1 wo : place in the jiresent stiidv, 9, 10, 11; sign for, 1111; what it is, 100; a link in the chain of thought, 102; an aid to the reader, 1113, 104; an aid to the writer, IDS, lil'J. Unity of. 110; Connection, 12S. 124 ;' SiMjuence, liy-lol ; Beginning. 1:12-138; Structure, 1:;J-1.jT; Knd, 1.'>7-Ui4: periodic paragraphs, l.'js : paragraph division, 106. los ; the short paragraph, 27, 2^, 106. Parallel, 27:i. Parallel construction, in the sen- tenre, 31."i; in the paragraph, \r,2. l.")4. Particularization, use in amplify- ing, 142. Partition, in Exposition, h3. Pateu, Walter, 2:>'J; sagges- tive charaoti r of his lati-r style, IHI, .ser]tei]i'i--length, 311; sentence-structure, ;'20; Apprf^rUitifiiHf 3'>.~», 314; M'trl- u» the Kpicnrfii n, IHiJ; Miarel- btlinms SlildiiS, fj."!, I'UllO lli'd Platuiiixm, 291 : Tlu Hiiiain- saiire, 44, 13:', 131, 173; Style, 183. Pathetic, the, 2."il note. Pa( I,, Hekman.n, 33."). Periodic j)aragraphs, 138, 158. Periodic senteiici>s ;il2,313. I'ersonulity and Popular Kx]iosi- tion, it."). Personification, 2.')3, 278. l'ersi>icuity, 180. Persuasion 10, 321. Phelps, Austin, Itheturii-. 244, 246. Picas, 283. Plato, Cndi/liis. 202 note. Poetry and Prose, in the Lnvknini, 19." Point of View, in Description, ."i8. Police recognition. 47. Poi'E, 'J'/ii Ji'ijii' of till Lock. 238. Practice, the necessity of, in writing, 4. Preciseness, 107. Prejudice, 337. Present, the Historical, misused in English, 27. Present Usage, 233. Prince. Tikjmas, History of MiiHsiiiliuselts, 20. Principles, Rhetorical; see Can- ons. Proportion, canon of, 23; in the sentence, 31)7; in the para- graph, 108; in Narration, 24-27; in Argument, 34(i. ;i42. Proof, Burden of, 32(i. Propriety, 186. Prose and Poetry, in the Lnokoijii, 19. Proverbs, allegory in, 2.j9. Psalms, the, 280. Psychology , and Rhetoric, 323. Purity, 18(1. Qualities of Stvle and Kinds of Coiniiosition.'lOS, 109; and the Paragraph, lOM, l(li»; and Fig- ure, 2.')2, 2.')3; and Arginm-nt, :!3K. (^NiTV. a form of sugges.'ion, 1 7.1 truest ion, the. in Po])ular Kx- ]iosi1ioi], '.11; a form of sug- gestion, 175. Hea.soniiig and Argument, 321. liiailir, lo Ije (■(]nsi^urdiiin, o'J'.l. Scutt iiml I>KXNl,v, Paragnip/i- licrutiitiuu, :ijs. trritiiig, v. 74, 14)! note. lii-mark, n form of Miiriri'-tiou. ."^iott, Jame^, Handbooks, 212 17ii llKMBK \NDT. 2. KeiM-tition. i;;'.), 14(1-143. l{e])iitable I'-ii^'e. 'SS'.K lievi^inn of line's wiirk, lO'.l, :;is, Ulirtnric, a word of vaL''iie mean- inj;, 1; ns a ^cieiiee and as an art, 1 4, niitliods of critical stiiii\, ."), *1, aiial"^.-ie.s la-t^cen Ithetiiric and otljer art^, ."i. 0, 7; no royal mud tUitlier, IIIJ; re lation to l.uifir. INvclioiof;v, JvMlietics, -.a-A. H-2i. lihi-torical l'rinci|il(s,-ee ('an(pii>< KUIIAHIIMIN. SA.MiKr.. lU. Itoiuii'i of (iluucesler, French ".ird-. in, 204. HdiiKiiTuf Bruune, French words in, 204 KiiUKUTMiN. J, M , h'.ism/.Htoioard n Cnli.-.'l Mtl/i;(l. 244. line UK, Sir Hon i.k, ','02. Kouian eni]iiri'. Teutonic inva- sions of the. 111!) Kll.M.\NI,s. It J , o.i') Kiivi h, .liisi.vii, S/,in'l "1 Mo'l^rn l>/ii/,,s Ildi iii-;k()1"(aii.1). M,i.r!iii.i, 111. KisKiN. .loiiN, 23it; suLiuc-^tive- ui'sv in his stvie, l.'^ I . sentenee- endiue-~. 310, sentence length, 311*. on Stiukespeare's names, 2112 note. Cr:'ini ,,f Wild OliCiX. 2112; l-y, mfi:l.i of Jiniir- tug mid P: rspenir,-. 114; J.ir- til res on Art, 27, 2.S, Mi.xl, nj nf Liu mid its Arts, 2s4; Pnf- t.iil.i. ly note, .jii, 177, 17-<. IT'.t. 290. Six'ime ami LiUfn, 2H0. :escri]ition, .""p9; in .Arennienlalicui, 3-10, ;i42, in senti-nce structure, 317. Sentence, jilace in the pri-ent study, y, 11; constructive «ork on tlie sentence, 209. critii'al work on the sentence, viii, ilOO; ]treie(juisites for ^ood sentence- writing'. ;)oo. I'nitv , :;(ii it , connection, 304 IT.; I'ro|iortion. ;J07 ff ; h.n^; or slu.rt, 310 IT.; loose or jieriodic, :il2 IT.; Oal- anced,31."itT ; N'ariely, :!I7, ;UM, and modes ol tlioufjlit, 'MX- 320. Sequi-nce. i anon of, 23; in I'e- si-n]ition, 3.'), On, 01-67; in Are-umeTiiiition, ;i40, :i41; in the --enteni-e, ;117; jn tin ]iara- -raph. M.'^-l.'il. SiiAivi.-i-i.\i{E, 21M note; his vo- cabulary, 2;!.'>. lliiiiil,t, 201 ; M. irlnuit ..f r, /,/.,, lli;j. Sll \W, ]■:. [j.. h'in/'l.'./i l'.,tlill,,kill,lll till I'r.ii-tir,', 19.-,. SlIEIl.MAN, L A., Aliilliitii-s iif lAl, nihni , 311, Short senicnres. 312. Siii>I;Tll(ii ~|.., J II , The I.ilUe S,-/,. „,/,„. 1,1,,- .)/.,,■/., ;!,-,. SiKVi-.ns, E., I ill! Ill mar ,,/ (ihi Enijhsll, 200 licrte. Similarity, Fi^'ures of, see Fig- ures. Simile, distinguished from alle. iTory and Tneta)ihi>r, 2."i;; 2."i4 ; '■onsidered and exemplified, 2.">4 ff.; and the (inalities of M.vle, 2.-,2. 204. .-irailituile-., >.Minesof. 2.17-297 IXDKX. Sim]'lo and compound wards, ' Synrodni-lio. 052 and note. -'13. Sininlicity and C'lminios, l(jG; in the diftiTent kinds of coni|io- sitiun. and in the parafrrajib, M,'e liis for references; tiguns tendini; to, 'J")3, ','IUI. 'JTT Ske\t. \V. ^^■., Piihi-ipUs of Eiiijli.ili Etymohiqii, 'Jill, Slaui;. 240, 241. 242', 2411. Smith, I'. \j., Si,i,oiiyins Discritn- inatal. 221 note. Smitb, H. P., Si/ I,,, III/ III. 1 and An- tvl,,,ln.S, 22!1. " Snle.i>nis, 233. 2:14, 24."). StU'RiAU, P., Lii Sinjiji'ition dans i'Art. 'A. i'li noti-. Space-eleinent, the, in Descrip- tion, 20, ()•">. SpanisU words in English, 206. Spencer, IIekbeut, ',i:! : Philoao- pliy of S!;/l' . l"is, 159, 313. Spenser, 3n6 ; Fun-ie (^'ucne, 2.JT. Spoken discourse, 261. 265. St.vnley, a. p., llistiiri/ of the Jewish C/iuir/i, 270-272. Stutrliness. 252. Statement and Siiirtre-tion, 170- 175. Steuktt, J. M., Stmiii ■« in. Hegel, 202. Structure, importance of some paraLTaph-structure, 149-151 ; £n;:lisli words according to their structure, 207-2il'J. Style, connection with thought, 7, H ; how to acquire a style, 60. Siicricsinn of events in Narra- tion, 31-34. Su(_'Kestion, and Statement, 170- 175; .some moiles of, 175-lHO; value of, lHn-lH4 Summarv, paragraphs of, 119, 13H, l5o. Suppo.sition, a form of sugges- tion. 176. Surrey, Earl of, 206. Synonyms, 211 ; grouping of, 219-221 ; discrimination of, 221-227. Tales, l'(i|iular, as a source of linure, 2',)5. Tavi.iiu. li.WARD, Central Africa, 66. Technical terms, explanation of, 114. Tennysun, Ali-red, Idi/lh if the King, 283; /// Ml iiiiiriaiii. 222. Terms, the sul>ject-matter of Nar- ration, l)esi'i'i|ition and Exposi- tion, 13. Testimony, 333. 334. Teutonic invasions of the Eoman empire, 199. TiiACKKi! vv, endings to his nov- els, 33. Rotindiihuiit Piiihik, 90. therefore as a sentence-connec- tive, 306. thi.i as a sentence-connective, 305. Thought, and style, 7, S; and fig- ure, 29S ; and sentence-struc- ture, 3 IS. Time-element in Narration and language, 19. Topic, of paragraph at begin- ning, 132-134; at end, 13S, 15.S- 160. Tradition, common, a source of figure, 2'.I5. Transition, see Connection. 'J'ri.itrinii Shmidy. 2!I0. Tyndall, .IdEiN, 93. ForiiiK of Wider. 70 note, IIM ; (ilm-ii rs of tlie Alji.i, ys; lloiiiH of Exerei.ie in the Alpn, 37, 55, T'nity, Canon of, 23, in liescri])- tion, 5H, in .\rgnmentnticiu, 310, 341 ; nf the senti'oce, 301 ; of the |,araf:ra]ih, 110 IT., 120. I'sage, see (ini>d. National, Pres- ent, or He|Hitalile I'sai^e. Variety, Canon of, 23; in .\rgii- meiilalion, 310, 312; in sen- tnici^ sinicliiiT, 317 IT, \'i',i, \si(i I',/,, 2. Veriiosily, danf,'er of, 1 10. TyiiKX. Vki!non- Lek, Baldirin, 56. Vi-ro, -J.VJ. ViKiiiL, undignified comparisons, ■;S1. .Kh.iil. -'9. Visualizing, differing power of, 'hi Mlitiv Vivacity, ^,2. \niiiluiliir\ . nci'd of, 9, 11; Emor- sN, the Duke of, a.s an example, 274 \\i;.\DELL. B.VRHETT, h'nijl i.'ili (nN,ji,'!~iti"n. IS.'i, 19.:. hlis , S/ni/:,.-,j„,ir,, 140. Wn.\TEi.Y. :!22. WiilT.M.\N, W.VLT, harliari'^ins, 242 ; method of l>escrii>tion. 63. Manniiliiittii. ('.2. WiiiTTlEii. J. c;.. 2112 Word building, 2IW. \\ ord-compn-ition in Kni;lisli. French, and Iiidciii. 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