"Night is a dead monotonous period under a roof; but in the

open world it passes lightly, with its stars and dews and

perfumes, and the hours are marked by changes in the face of

Nature. What seems a kind of temporal death to people choked

between walls and curtains is only a light and living

slumber to the man who sleeps afield. All night long he can

hear Nature breathing deeply and freely; even as she takes

her rest she turns and smiles; and there is one stirring

hour unknown to those who dwell in houses, when a wakeful

influence goes abroad over the sleeping hemisphere, and all

the outdoor world are on their feet. It is then that the

first cock crows, not this time to announce the dawn, but

like a cheerful watchman speeding the course of the night.

Cattle awake on the meadows; sheep break their fast on the

dewy hillsides, and change to a new lair among the ferns;

and houseless men, who have lain down with the fowls, open

their dim eyes and behold the beauty of the night.

"At what inaudible summons, at what gentle touch of Nature,

are all these sleepers thus recalled in the same hour to

life? Do the stars rain down an influence, or do we share

some thrill of mother earth below our resting bodies? Even

shepherds and old country-folk, who are the deepest read in

these arcana, have not a guess as to the means or purpose of

this nightly resurrection. Towards two in the morning they

declare the thing takes place; and neither know nor inquire

further. And at least it is a pleasant incident. We are

disturbed in our slumber only, like the luxurious Montaigne,

'that we may the better and more sensibly enjoy it.' We have

a moment to look upon the stars. And there is a special

pleasure for some minds in the reflection that we share the

impulse with all outdoor creatures in our neighborhood, that

we have escaped out of the Bastille of civilization, and are

become, for the time being, a more kindly animal and a sheep

of Nature's flock." ("Travels with a Donkey.")

Length of Descriptions.

There is one more step in the exclusion of details. This considers

neither the point of view nor the purpose of the writer, but it is

what is due the reader. Stevenson says in one of his essays that a

description which lasts longer than two minutes is never attempted in

conversation. The listener cannot hold the details enumerated. The

clearest statement regarding this comes from Jules Lemaitre in a

criticism upon some descriptions by Emile Zola which the critic says

are praised by persons who have never read them. He says:--

"It has been one of the greatest literary blunders of the

time to suppose that an enumeration of parts is a picture,

to think that forever placing details side by side, however

picturesque they may be, is able in the end to make a

picture, to give us any conception of the vast spectacles in

the physical universe. In reality, a written description

arranges its parts in our mind only when the impression of

the first features of which it is formed are remembered

sufficiently, so that we can easily join the first to those

which complete and end it. In short, a piece of description

is ineffective if we cannot hold in mind all its details at

one time. It is necessary that all the details coexist in

our memory just as the parts of a painting coexist under our

eye. This becomes next to impossible if the description of

one definite object last over fifteen minutes of reading.

The longer it is, the more obscure it becomes. The

individual features fade away in proportion to the number

which are presented; and for this reason one might say that

we cannot see the forest for the trees. Every description

which is over fifty lines ceases to be clear to a mind of

ordinary vigor. After that there is only a succession of

fragmentary pictures which fatigues and overwhelms the

reader."[8]

These, then, are the principles that guide in the choice of materials

for a description. First, the point of view, whether fixed or movable,

should be made clear to the reader; it should be retained throughout

the description, or the change should be announced. By regard for it

the writer will be guided to the exclusion of matters that could not

be observed, and to the inclusion of such details as can be seen and

are essential. Second, the writer will keep out matters that do not

contribute to his purpose, and will select only those details which

assist in producing the desired impression. Third, the limitations of

the reader's powers advise a writer to be brief: five hundred words

should be the outside; two hundred are enough for most writers. These

principles will give to the whole that unity of materials and of

structure which is the first requisite of an effective description.

The next matter for consideration is the arrangement of the materials.

The arrangement depends on the principles that guided in narration,

Mass and Coherence.

Arrangement of Details in Description.

After we have looked at any object long enough to be able to write

about it, one feature comes to assume an importance that sets it far

above all others. To a writer who has looked long at a man, he may

shrink to a cringing piece of weakness, or he may grow to a strong,

self-centred power whose presence alone inspires serenest trust.

Hawthorne, standing in St. Peter's, saw only the gorgeous coloring;

proportions, immensity, and sacredness were as nothing to the

harmonious brilliancy of this expanded "jewel casket."[9] Stevenson,

thinking of the beast of burden best suited to carry his great

sleeping sack, discarded the horse, for, as he says, "she is a fine

lady among animals."[10] The description of a horse which follows this

statement emphasizes the fact that a horse is not intended for

carrying burdens. From the germinal impression of a description, all

the details grow; to this primary impression they all contribute. In

the case of buildings, or other things material, this impression is

generally one of form, sometimes of the height of the object; if

striking, it may be color. The strongest impression of persons is a

quality of character which shows itself either in the face or in the

pose of a man. An example of each may be found in the following

paragraphs from "David Copperfield:"--

"At length we stopped before a very old house bulging out

over the road; a house with long, low lattice-windows

bulging out still farther, and beams with carved heads on

the ends bulging out too, so that I fancied the whole house

was leaning forward, trying to see who was passing on the

narrow pavement below. It was quite spotless in its

cleanliness. The old-fashioned brass knocker on the

low-arched door, ornamented with carved garlands of fruits

and flowers, twinkled like a star; the two stone steps

descending to the door were as white as if they had been

covered with fair linen; and all the angles and corners, and

carvings and mouldings, and quaint little panes of glass,

and quainter little windows, though as old as the hills,

were as pure as any snow that ever fell upon the hills.

"When the pony-chaise stopped at the door, and my eyes were

intent upon the house, I saw a cadaverous face appear at a

small window on the ground floor (in a little round tower

that formed one side of the house), and quickly disappear.

The low arched door then opened, and the face came out. It

was quite as cadaverous as it had looked in the window,

though in the grain of it there was that tinge of red which

is sometimes to be observed in the skins of red-haired

people. It belonged to a red-haired person--a youth of

fifteen, as I take it now, but looking much older whose hair

was cropped as close as the closest stubble; who had hardly

any eyebrows, and no eyelashes, and eyes of a red-brown; so

unsheltered and unshaded that I remember wondering how he

went to sleep. He was high-shouldered and bony; dressed in

decent black, with a white wisp of a neck cloth; buttoned up

to the throat; and had a long, lank, skeleton hand, which

particularly attracted my attention, as he stood at the

pony's head, rubbing his chin with it, and looking up at us

in the chaise."

Hawthorne thus begins his description of "The House of the Seven

Gables:"--

"Maule's Lane, or Pyncheon Street, as it were now more

decorous to call it, was thronged, at the appointed hour, as

with a congregation on its way to church. All, as they

approached, looked upward at the imposing edifice, which was

henceforth to assume its rank among the habitations of

mankind."

And in the same volume his description of "The Pyncheon of To-day"

begins:--

"As the child went down the steps, a gentleman ascended

them, and made his entrance into the shop. It was the

portly, and, had it possessed the advantage of a little more

height, would have been the stately figure of a man,

considerably in the decline of life, dressed in a black suit

of some thin stuff, resembling broadcloth as closely as

possible."

If the description be long, and the object will lend itself to such a

treatment, a definite, tangible, easily understood shape or form

should be suggested at once. Notice Newman's first sentence describing

Attica: "A confined triangle, perhaps fifty miles its greatest length,

and thirty its greatest breadth." Like this is the beginning of the

description of the battle of Waterloo by Victor Hugo.

"Those who would get a clear idea of the battle of Waterloo

have only to lay down upon the ground in their mind a

capital letter A. The left stroke of the A is the road to

Nivelles, the right stroke is the road from Genappe, the

cross of the A is the sunken road from Ohain to Braine

l'Alleud. The top of the A is Mont Saint Jean, Wellington is

there; the left-hand lower point is Hougomont, Reille is

there with Jerome Bonaparte; the right-hand lower point is

La Belle Alliance, Napoleon is there. A little below the

point where the cross of the A meets and cuts the right

stroke, is La Haie Sainte. At the middle of this cross is

the precise point where the final battle word was spoken.

There the lion is placed, the involuntary symbol of the

supreme heroism of the Imperial Guard. The triangle

contained at the top of the A, between the two strokes and

the cross, is the plateau of Mont Saint Jean. The struggle

for this plateau was the whole of the battle."[11]

In "The Vision of Sir Launfal" Lowell opens his beautiful description

with the words, "And what is so rare as a day in June?" From this

general and comprehensive sentence follow all the details which make a

June day perfect.

Hawthorne, after telling how he happened to write of him, begins his

long description of "The Old Apple Dealer" with the following

paragraph:--

"He is a small man, with gray hair and gray stubble beard,

and is invariably clad in a shabby surtout of snuff color,

closely buttoned, and half concealing a pair of gray

pantaloons; the whole dress, though clean and entire, being

evidently flimsy with much wear. His face, thin, withered,

furrowed, and with features which even age has failed to

render impressive, has a frost-bitten aspect. It is a moral

frost which no physical warmth or comfortableness could

counteract. The summer sunshine may fling its white heat

upon him, or the good fire of the depot room may make him

the focus of its blaze on a winter's day; but all in vain;

for still the old man looks as if he were in a frosty

atmosphere, with scarcely warmth enough to keep life in the

region about his heart. It is a patient, long-suffering,

quiet, hopeless, shivering aspect. He is not

desperate,--that, though its etymology implies no more,

would be too positive an expression,--but merely devoid of

hope. As all his past life, probably, offers no spots of

brightness to his memory, so he takes his present poverty

and discomfort as entirely a matter of course; he thinks it

the definition of existence, so far as himself is concerned,

to be poor, cold, and uncomfortable. It may be added, that

time has not thrown dignity as a mantle over the old man's

figure: there is nothing venerable about him: you pity him

without a scruple."

So this old apple dealer shivers all through this description of nine

pages to the last sentences:--

"God be praised, were it only for your sake, that the

present shapes of human existence are not cast in iron nor

hewn in everlasting adamant, but moulded of the vapors that

vanish away while the essence flits upward to the Infinite.

There is a spiritual essence in this gray and lean old shape

that shall flit upward too. Yes; doubtless there is a region

where the lifelong shiver will pass away from his being, and

that quiet sigh, which it has taken him so many years to

breathe, will be brought to a close for good and all."

The prominent characteristic may be the feeling aroused by the object.

It may be horror, as in a description of a haunted house or a

murderer; it may be love, as in the picture of an old home or a

sainted mother. The emotion occasioned is often mentioned or suggested

at once, and the details are afterward given which have called forth

the feeling. Poe uses this in the first paragraph of "The House of

Usher."

"During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the

autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in

the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through

a singularly dreary tract of country, and at length found

myself, as the shades of evening drew on, within view of the

melancholy House of Usher. I know not how it was--but, with

the first glimpse of the building, _a sense of insufferable

gloom pervaded my spirit._ I say insufferable; for the

feeling was unrelieved by any of that half-pleasurable,

because poetic, sentiment with which the mind usually

receives even the sternest natural images of the desolate or

terrible. I looked upon the scene before me--upon the mere

house, and the simple landscape features of the domain--upon

the bleak walls--upon the vacant, eye-like windows--upon a

few rank sedges--and upon a few white trunks of decayed

trees--with an utter depression of soul which I can compare

to no earthly sensation more properly than to the

after-dream of a reveler upon opium--the bitter lapse into

every-day life--the hideous dropping off of the veil. There

was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart--an

unredeemed dreariness of thought which no goading of the

imagination could torture into aught of the sublime.... It

was, possible, I reflected, that a mere different

arrangement of the particulars of the scene, of the details

of the picture, would be sufficient to modify, or perhaps to

annihilate, its capacity for sorrowful impression; and,

acting upon this idea, I reined my horse to the precipitous

brink of a black and lurid tarn that lay in unruffled lustre

by the dwelling, and gazed down--but with a shudder even

more thrilling than before--upon the remodeled and inverted

images of the gray sedge, and the ghastly tree-stems, and

the vacant and eye-like windows."

And one may see from looking back at the illustrations given that the

dominant impression which gives the character to the whole

description, this leading quality which is the essence of the whole,

usually stands at the very beginning, and to it all the succeeding

details cling.

The End of a Description.

The end of a description is equally as important as the opening. In

most descriptions, whether short or long, the most important detail,

the detail that emphasizes most the general feeling of the whole,

stands at the end. If the description be short, the necessity of a

comprehensive opening statement is not imperative,--indeed, it may be

made so formal and ostentatious when compared with the rest of the

description as to be ridiculous; yet even in the short description

some important detail should close it. In a long description the

repetition of the opening statement in a new form sometimes stands at

the end. If the description be of movement or change, the end will be

the climax of the movement, the result of the change.

In the examples already given there are illustrations of the methods

of closing. In each case, there is an important detail or an artistic

repetition of the general impression. Many examples of short

characterization can be found in all narratives. In Irving's

description of Ichabod Crane, the next to the last sentence gives the

significant detail, and the last gives another general impression. It

reads:--

"The cognomen of Crane was not inapplicable to his person.

He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders,

long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his

sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and his

whole frame most loosely hung together. His head was small,

and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes,

and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weather-cock

perched upon his spindle neck to tell which way the wind

blew." ("The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.")

So far this is but an amplification of his likeness to a crane;

certainly "a long snipe nose" "upon his spindle neck" is the most

important detail. Next the author gives another general impression:--

"To see him striding along the profile of a hill on a windy

day, with his clothes bagging and fluttering about him, one

might have mistaken him for the genius of famine descending

upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield."

The following is from "The House of Usher:"--

"Shaking off from my spirit what _must_ have been a dream, I

scanned more narrowly the real aspect of the building. Its

principal feature seemed to be that of an excessive

antiquity. The discoloration of ages had been great. Minute

fungi overspread the whole exterior, hanging in a fine

tangled web-work from the eaves. Yet all this was apart from

any extraordinary dilapidation. No portion of the masonry

had fallen, and there appeared to be a wild inconsistency

between its still perfect adaptation of parts and the

crumbling condition of the individual stones. In this there

was much that reminded me of the specious totality of old

woodwork which has rotted for long years in some neglected

vault with no disturbance from the breath of the external

air. Beyond this indication of extensive decay, however, the

fabric gave little token of instability. Perhaps the eye of

a scrutinizing observer might have discovered a barely

perceptible fissure, which, extending from the roof of the

building in front, made its way down the wall in a zigzag

direction, until it became lost in the sullen waters of the

tarn."

In this every detail emphasizes the "excessive antiquity" of the

house; and on reading the story there is no question of the importance

of the "barely perceptible fissure." Thereby hangs the tale.

The two following are descriptions of dawn, of change; they have

marked climaxes. The first is by Edward Everett, the second by

Stevenson. The similarity in choice of words and in the feelings of

the men is remarkable.

"Such was the glorious spectacle as I entered the train. As

we proceeded, the timid approach of twilight became more

perceptible; the intense blue of the sky began to soften;

the smaller stars, like little children, went first to rest;

the sister-beams of the Pleiades soon melted together; but

the bright constellations of the west and north remained

unchanged. Steadily the wondrous transfiguration went on.

Hands of angels, hidden from mortal eyes, shifted the

scenery of the heavens; the glories of night dissolved into

the glories of dawn. The blue sky now turned more softly

gray; the great watch-stars shut up their holy eyes; the

east began to kindle. Faint streaks of purple soon blushed

along the sky; the whole celestial concave was filled with

the inflowing tides of the morning light, which came pouring

down from above in one great ocean of radiance, till at

length, as we reached the Blue Hills, a flash of purple

blazed out from above the horizon, and turned the dewy

teardrops of flower and leaf into rubies and diamonds. In a

few seconds, the everlasting gates of morning were thrown

wide open, and the lord of day, arrayed in glories too

severe for the gaze of man, began his state." ("The Uses of

Astronomy.")

"At last she began to be aware of a wonderful revolution,

compared to which the fire of Mittwalden Palace was but a

crack and flash of a percussion cap. The countenance with

which the pines regarded her began insensibly to change; the

grass, too, short as it was, and the whole winding staircase

of the brook's course, began to wear a solemn freshness of

appearance. And this slow transfiguration reached her heart,

and played upon it, and transpierced it with a serious

thrill. She looked all about; the whole face of nature

looked back, brimful of meaning, finger on lip, leaking its

glad secret. She looked up. Heaven was almost emptied of

stars. Such as still lingered shone with a changed and

waning brightness, and began to faint in their stations. And

the color of the sky itself was most wonderful; for the rich

blue of the night had now melted and softened and

brightened; and there had succeeded a hue that has no name,

and that is never seen but as the herald of the morning.

'Oh!' she cried, joy catching at her voice, 'Oh! it is the

dawn!'

"In a breath she passed over the brook, and looped up her

skirts and fairly ran in the dim alleys. As she ran, her

ears were aware of many pipings, more beautiful than music;

in the small, dish-shaped houses in the fork of giant arms,

where they had lain all night, lover by lover, warmly

pressed, the bright-eyed, big-hearted singers began to

awaken for the day. Her heart melted and flowed forth to

them in kindness. And they, from their small and high

perches in the clerestories of the wood cathedral, peered

down sidelong at the ragged Princess as she flitted below

them on the carpet of the moss and tassel.

"Soon she had struggled to a certain hilltop, and saw far

before her the silent inflooding of the day. Out of the East

it welled and whitened; the darkness trembled into light;

and the stars were extinguished like the street-lamps of a

human city. The whiteness brightened into silver; the silver

warmed into gold, and the gold kindled into pure and living

fire; and the face of the East was barred with elemental

scarlet. The day drew its first long breath, steady and

chill; and for leagues around the woods sighed and shivered.

And then, at one bound the sun had floated up; and her

startled eyes received day's first arrow, and quailed under

the buffet. On every side, the shadows leaped from their

ambush and fell prone. The day was come, plain and garish;

and up the steep and solitary eastern heaven, the sun,

victorious over his competitors, continued slowly and

royally to mount." ("Prince Otto.")

Proportion.

One thing further should be said regarding Mass. Not everything can

stand first or last; some important details must be placed in the

midst of a description. These particulars will not be of equal

importance. The more important details may be given their

proportionate emphasis by relatively increasing the length of their

treatment. If one detail is more important than another, it requires

more to be said about it; unimportant matters should be passed over

with a word. Proportion in the length of treatment is a guide to the

relative importance of the matters introduced into a description.

In the description of "The House of Usher," position emphasizes the

barely perceptible fissure. Proportion singles out the crumbling

condition of the individual stones and makes this detail more emphatic

than either the discoloration or the fungi. And in Newman's

description, the olive-tree, the brilliant atmosphere, the thyme, the

bees, all add to the charms of bright and beautiful Athens; but most

of all the Aegean, with its chain of islands, its dark violet billows,

its jets of silver, the heaving and panting of its long waves,--the

restless living element fascinates and enraptures "yon pilgrim

student." Position and proportion are the means of emphasis in a

paragraph of description.

Arrangement must be natural.

Having settled the massing of the description, the next matter for

consideration is the arrangement. In order that the parts of a

description may be coherent, hold together, they should be arranged in

the order in which they would naturally be perceived. What strikes the

eye of the beholder as most important, often the general

characteristic of the whole, should be mentioned first; and the

details should follow as they are seen. In a building, the usual way

of observing and describing is from foundation to turret stone. A

landscape may be described by beginning with what is near and

extending the view; this is common. Sometimes the very opposite plan

is pursued; or one may begin on either hand and advance toward the

other. Of a person near by, the face is the first thing observed; for

it is there that his character can be best discovered. Afterward

details of clothing follow as they would naturally be noticed. If a

person be at a distance his pose and carriage would be about all that

could be seen; as he approaches, the other details would be mentioned

as they came into view. To arrange details in the order in which they

are naturally observed will result in an association in the

description of the details that are contiguous in the objects. Jumping

about in a description is a source of confusion. How entirely it may

ruin a paragraph can be estimated by the effect upon this single

sentence, "He was tall, with feet that might have served for shovels,

narrow shoulders, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, long

arms and legs, and his whole frame most loosely hung together." This

rearrangement makes but a disjointed and feeble impression; and the

reason is entirely that an order in which no person ever observed a

man has been substituted for the commonest order,--from head to foot.

Arrange details so that the parts which are contiguous shall be

associated in the description, and proceed in the order in which the

details are naturally observed.

The following is by Irving; he is describing the stage-coachman:--

"He has commonly a broad, full face, curiously mottled with

red, as if the blood had been forced by hard feeding into

every vessel of the skin; he is swelled into jolly

dimensions by frequent potations of malt liquors, and his

bulk is still further increased by a multiplicity of coats,

in which he is buried like a cauliflower, the upper one

reaching to his heels. He wears a broad-brimmed, low-crowned

hat; a huge roll of colored handkerchief about his neck,

knowingly knotted and tucked in at the bosom; and has in

summer time a large bouquet of flowers in his buttonhole,

the present, most probably, of some enamored country lass.

His waistcoat is commonly of some bright color, striped, and

his small-clothes extend far below the knees, to meet a pair

of jockey boots which reach about half way up his legs."[12]

Use Familiar Images.

When the materials have been selected and arranged, the hardest part

of the work has been done. It now remains to express in language the

picture. A few suggestions regarding the kind of language will be

helpful. The writer must always bear in mind the fact that in

constructing a mental picture each reader does it from the images he

already possesses. "Quaint arabesques" is without meaning to many

persons; and until the word has been looked up in the dictionary, and

the picture seen there, the beautiful line of "Sir Launfal" suggests

no image whatever. So when Stevenson speaks of the birds in the

"clerestories of the wood cathedral," the image is not distinct in the

mind of a young American. Supposing a pupil in California were asked

to describe an orange to an Esquimau. He might say that it is a

spheroid about the size of an apple, and the color of one of

Lorraine's sunsets. This would be absolutely worthless to a child of

the frigid zone. Had he been told that an orange was about the size of

a snowball, much the color of the flame of a candle, that the peeling

came off like the skin from a seal, and that the inside was good to

eat, he would have known more of this fruit. The images which lie in

our minds and from which we construct new pictures are much like the

blocks that a child-builder rearranges in many different forms; but

the blocks do not change. From them he may build a castle or a mill;

yet the only difference is a difference in arrangement. So it is with

the pictures we build up in imagination: our castle in Spain we have

never seen, but the individual elements which we associate to lift up

this happy dwelling-place are the things we know and have seen. A

reader creates nothing new; all he does is to rearrange in his own

mind the images already familiar. Only so may he pass from the known

to the unknown.

The fact that we construct pictures of what we read from those images

already in our minds warns the writer against using materials which

those for whom he writes could not understand. It compels him to

select definite images, and it urges him to use the common and the

concrete. It frequently drives him to use comparisons.

Use of Comparisons.

To represent the extremely bare and unornamented appearance of a

building, one might write, "It looked like a great barn," or "It was a

great barn." In either case the image would be definite, common, and

concrete. In both cases there is a comparison. In the first, where the

comparison is expressed, there is a _simile;_ in the second, where the

comparison is only implied, there is a _metaphor._ These two figures

of speech are very common in description, and it is because they are

of great value. One other is sometimes used,--_personification,_ which

ascribes to inanimate things the attributes of life which are the

property of animate nature. What could be happier than this by

Stevenson: "All night long he can hear Nature breathing deeply and

freely; even as she takes her rest she turns and smiles"? or this, "A

faint sound, more like a moving coolness than a stream of air"? And at

the end of the chapter which describes his "night under the pines," he

speaks of the "tapestries" and "the inimitable ceiling" and "the view

which I command from the windows." In this one chapter are

personification, simile, metaphor,--all comparisons, and doing what

could hardly be done without them. Common, distinct, concrete images

are surest.

Choice of Words. Adjectives and Nouns.

To body forth these common, distinct, concrete images calls for a

discriminating choice of words; for in the choice of words lies a

large part of the vividness of description. If the thing described be

unknown to the reader, it requires the right word to place it before

him; if it be common, still must the right word be found to set it

apart from the thousand other objects of the same class. The words

that may justly be called describing words are adjectives and nouns;

and of these the adjective is the first descriptive word. The rule

that a writer should never use two adjectives where one will do, and

that he should not use one if a noun can be found that completely

expresses the thought, is a good one to follow. One certain stroke of

the crayon is worth a hundred lines, each approaching the right one.

One word, the only one, will tell the truth more vividly than ten that

approach its expression. For it must be remembered that a description

must be done quickly; every word that is used and does nothing is not

only a waste of time, but is actually in the way. In a description

every word must count. It may be a comparison, an epithet,

personification, or what not, but whatever method is adopted, the

right word must do it quickly.

How much depends on the nice choice of words may be seen by a study of

the selections already quoted; and especially by a careful reading of

those by Stevenson and Everett. To show the use of adjectives and

nouns in description, the following from Kipling is a good

illustration. Toomai had just reached the elephants' "ball-room" when

he saw--

"white-tusked wild males, with fallen leaves and nuts and

twigs lying in the wrinkles of their necks and the folds of

their ears; fat, slow-footed she-elephants, with restless

pinky-black calves only three or four feet high, running

under their stomachs; young elephants with their tusks just

beginning to show, and very proud of them; lanky, scraggy,

old-maid elephants, with their hollow, anxious faces, and

trunks like rough bark; savage old bull-elephants, scarred

from shoulder to flank with great weals and cuts of by-gone

fights, and the caked dirt of their solitary mud bath

dropping from their shoulders; and there was one with a

broken tusk and the marks of the full-stroke, the terrible

drawing scrape of a tiger's claw on his side."[13]

One third of the words in this paragraph are descriptive nouns and

adjectives, none of which the reader wishes to change.

Use of Verbs.

Verbs also have a great value in description. In the paragraph

picturing the dawn, Stevenson has not neglected the verbs. "Welled,"

"whitened," "trembled," "brightened," "warmed," "kindled," and so on

through the paragraph. Try to change them, and it is apparent that

something is lost by any substitution. Kaa, the python, "_pours_

himself along the ground." If he is angry, "Baloo and Bagheera could

see the big swallowing-muscles on either side of Kaa's throat _ripple_

and _bulge._"

Yet in the choice of words, one may search for the bizarre and unusual

rather than for the truly picturesque. Stevenson at times seems to

have lapsed. When he says that Modestine would feel a switch "more

_tenderly_ than my cane;" that he "must _instantly_ maltreat this

uncomplaining animal," meaning constantly; and at another place that

he "had to labor so _consistently_ with" his stick that the sweat ran

into his eyes, there is a suspicion of a desire for the sensational

rather than the direct truth. On the other hand, the beginner finds

himself using words that have lost, their meaning through

indiscriminate usage. "Awful good," "awful pretty," and "awful sweet"

mean something less than good, pretty, and sweet. "Lovely," "dear,"

"splendid," "unique," and a large number of good words have been much

dulled by the ignorant use of babblers. Superlatives and all words

denoting comparison should be used with stinginess. One cannot afford

to part with this kind of coin frequently; the cheaper coins should be

used, else he will find an empty purse when need arises. Thackeray has

this: "Her voice was the sweetest, low song." How much better this,

Her voice was a sweet, low song. All the world is shut out from this,

while in the former he challenges the world by the comparison.

Shakespeare was wiser when he made Lear say,--

"Her voice was ever soft,

Gentle, and low,--an excellent thing in woman."

Avoid words which have lost their meaning by indiscriminate use; shun

the sensational and the bizarre; use superlatives with economy; but in

all you do, whether in unadorned or figurative language, choose the

word that is quick and sure and vivid--the one word that exactly

suggests the picture.

SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS AND EXERCISES

QUESTIONS.

THE OLD MANSE.

(Riverside Literature Series, No. 69.)

Are there narrative portions in "The Old Manse"? paragraphs of

exposition?

Do you term the whole narration, description, or exposition? Why?

Frame a sentence which you think would be an adequate topic sentence

for the whole piece.

What phrase in the first paragraph allows the author to begin the

second with the words, "Nor, in truth, had the Old Manse," etc.? Where

in the second paragraph is found the words which are the source of "my

design," mentioned in the third? How does the author pass from the

fourth paragraph to the fifth? In the same way note the connections

between the succeeding paragraphs. They are most skillfully dovetailed

together. Now make a list of the phrases in the first fifteen pages

which introduce paragraphs, telling from what in the preceding

paragraph each new paragraph springs. Do you think that such a

felicitous result just happened? or did Hawthorne plan it?

Does Hawthorne generally introduce his descriptions by giving the

feeling aroused by the object described, a method very common with

Poe?

In the paragraph beginning at the bottom of p. 18, what do you think

of the selection of material? What have guided in the inclusion and

exclusion of details?

Write a paragraph upon this topic: There could not be a more joyous

aspect of external nature than as seen from the windows of my study

just after the passing of a cooling shower. Be careful to select

things that have been made happy, and to use adjectives and nouns that

are full of joy.

Make a list of the words used to describe "The Old Apple Dealer."

Has this description Unity?

What relation to the whole has the first sentence of paragraph three?

the last?

Do you think there is a grammatical error in the third sentence of

this paragraph?

By contrasts to what has Hawthorne brought out better the character of

the Apple Dealer? When can contrasts help?

AN INDIAN-SUMMER REVERIE, AND OTHER POEMS.

(Riverside Literature Series, No. 30.)

In this poem what purpose is served by the first two stanzas?

Where in the landscape does the author begin? Which way does he

progress?

Quote stanzas in which other senses than sight are called upon.

Make a list of the figures of speech. How many similes? metaphors?

examples of personification? Which seems most effective? Which

instance of its use do you prefer? Has Lowell used too many figures?

Read "The Oak," "The Dandelion," and "Al Fresco."

Are they description or exposition? Do they bear out Lowell's estimate

of himself?

THE SKETCH-BOOK.

(Riverside Literature Series, Nos. 51, 52.)

Why has Irving given four pages to the description of Sleepy Hollow

before he introduces Ichabod Crane?

Why, then, seven pages to Ichabod before the story begins?

What gives the peculiar interest to this tale?

In the "Legend of Sleepy Hollow" how many paragraphs of description

close with an important detail?

In how many with a general characterization?

In all the descriptions of buildings by Irving that you have read,

what are the first things mentioned,--size, shape, color, or what?

Make a list, so as to be sure.

Does Irving use many comparisons? Are the likenesses to common things?

Select the ten you think best. Are there more in narrative or

descriptive passages? What do you gather from this fact?

In "Christmas Day," on p. 51 (R. L. S., No. 52), does Irving proceed

from far to near in the landscape? Is this common? Find another

example.

How has Irving emphasized the littleness of the minister described on

p. 56 (R. L. S., No. 52)?

THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER.

(Riverside Literature Series, No. 119.)

Is the arrangement of the details in the last two lines of the first

paragraph stronger than the arrangement of the same details on p. 63?

Why, or why not?

In the description of the hall, pp. 67 and 68, do the details produce

the effect upon you which they did upon Poe?

Find a description in this piece which closes with an important

detail.

Is Usher described at all when Poe says, "I gazed upon him with a

feeling half of pity, half of awe"? Do the details enumerated arouse

such feelings in you? Would the feeling have been called forth if it

had not been suggested by Poe? Is there, then, any advantage in this

method of opening a description?

What good was done by describing Usher as Poe knew him in youth?

Why is the parenthetical clause on p. 72 necessary?

On p. 80, should Poe write "previously to its final interment"?

What do you think of the length of the sentence quoted on p. 85?

Does Poe use description to accent the mood of the narrative, or to

make concrete the places and persons?

Why is "The Haunted Palace" introduced into the story?

Is this story as good as "The Gold-Bug"?

SILAS MARNER.

(Riverside Literature Series, No. 83.)

Why is not the early history of Silas Marner related first in the

story?

By what steps has the author approached the definite time?

From the fragments about his appearance, do you get a clear idea of

how Marner looks?

Do you approve this method of scattering the description along through

the story? Write a description of Marner on the night he was going to

the tavern.

Could not the quarrel between Godfrey and Dunsey been omitted?

Describe the interior of Marner's cottage.

Why should Sally Oates and her dropsy be admitted to the story?

Do you know as well how George Eliot's characters look as how they

think and feel?

What do you think of the last sentence of Chapter IV.? Why does not

Chapter V. go on with Dunsey's story? Why is Chapter VI. introduced at

all? What of its close?

What figure in the last sentence of Chapter X.?

Would you prefer to know how tall Eppie was, what kind of clothes she

wore, etc., to the knowledge you gain of her on p. 178?

Suppose that Dunsey came home the night he staked Wildfire, recite the

conversation between him and Godfrey.

Have Dolly Winthrop, Priscilla Lammeter, and Mr. Macey talk over "The

New Minister."

Write on "What I see in George Eliot's Face."

THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

(Riverside Literature Series, No. 68.)

Is this piece description or exposition?

In the first stanza where is the topic sentence?

The author has made two groups of charms. Would it be as well to

change them about? Give your reasons.

Where has he used the ear instead of the eye to suggest his picture?

Is it clear?

What method is adopted in lines 125-128? See also lines 237-250.

Can you unite the paragraphs on p. 25? Why do you think so?

Could you suggest a new arrangement of details in lines 341-362 that

would be as good as the present? What are the last four lines for?

EXERCISES.

Enumerative Description may well employ a few lessons. In it accuracy

of detail must be studied, and every detail must be introduced.

1. The Teacher's Desk.

2. Write a letter to a carpenter giving details for the construction

of a small bookcase.

3. By telling how you made it, describe a camp, a kite, a dress, or a

cake. Narration may be employed for the purpose of description. A good

example may be found in "Robinson Crusoe" in the chapter describing

his home after the shipwreck.

4. Describe an unfurnished room. Shape, size, position, and number of

windows, the fireplace, etc., should be definite. Be sure to give the

point of view. To say "On my right hand," "In front of me," or any

similar phrases means nothing unless the reader knows where you are.

In these exercises the pupil will doubtless employ the paragraph of

particulars. This is the most common in description. Other forms are

valuable.

5. Using a paragraph telling what it was not, finish this: I followed

the great singer to her home. Imagine my surprise in finding that the

house in which this lady lived was not a home of luxury and

splendor,--not even a home of comfort. Go on with the details of a

home of luxury which were _not_ there. Finish with what you did see.

This is really a description of two houses set in artistic contrast to

heighten the effect. Remember you are outside.

6. By the use of comparison finish this: The home of my poor little

friend was but little better than a barn. Choose only such details as

emphasize the barn-like appearance of the home. There is but one room.

Remember where you are standing; and keep in mind the effect you wish

to produce.

7. Using a moving point of view, describe an interior. Do not have too

many rooms.

8. Furnish the room described in number four to suit your taste. Tell

how it looks. Remember that a few things give character to a room.

9. Describe your childhood's home as it would look to you after years

of absence.

10. Using a paragraph of the obverse, describe the appearance of the

house from which you were driven by the cruelty of a drunken father.

11. Describe a single tree standing alone in a field. It will be well

for the teacher to read to the class some descriptions of

trees,--Lowell's "Birch" and "Oak," "Under the Willows," and some

stanzas from "An Indian Summer Reverie." Holmes has some good

paragraphs on trees in "The Autocrat." Any good tree descriptions will

help pupils to do it better than they can without suggestion. They

should describe their own tree, however.

12. Describe some single flower growing wild. Read Lowell's

"Dandelion," "Violet, Sweet Violet," Wordsworth's "Daisy," "The

Daffodils," "The Small Celandine," and Burns's "Daisy." These do not

so much describe as they arouse a feeling of love for the flowers

which will show itself in the composition.

13. Describe a view of a lake. If possible, have your point of view

above the lake and use the paragraph of comparison.

14. Describe a landscape from a single point of view. Read Curtis's

"My Castles in Spain" from "Prue and I," many descriptions in "An

Inland Voyage" by Stevenson, and "Bay Street" by Bliss Carman in "The

Atlantic Monthly."

15. Describe your first view of a small cluster of houses or a small

town.

16. Approach the town, describing its principal features. Keep the

reader informed as to where you are.

17. Describe a dog of your own.

18. Describe a dog of your neighbor's. Before the description is

undertaken read "Our Dogs" and "Rab" by Dr. Brown; "A Dog of Flanders"

by Ouida. Scott has some noble fellows in his novels.

19. Describe a flock of chickens. There are good descriptions of

chickens in "The House of the Seven Gables" and in "Sketches" by

Dickens.

20. Describe the burning of your own home. Be careful not to narrate.

21. Describe a stranger you met on the street to-day. It is easier to

describe a person if you and the person you describe move toward each

other. Remember that you begin the description at a distance. Details

should be mentioned as they actually come into view.

22. Describe your father in his favorite corner at home.

23. Describe a person you do not like, by telling what he is not.

24. Describe a person you admire, but are not acquainted with, using

the paragraph of comparisons.

25. Describe a picture.

It would be well to have at the end of this year four or five stories

written, in which description plays a part. Its principal use is to

give the setting to the story, to give concreteness to the characters,

and to accent the mood of the story.

Most passages of description are short. Rarely will any pupil write

over three hundred words. One hundred are often better. The short

composition gives an opportunity for the study of accuracy of

expression. What details to include; in what order to arrange them

that they produce the best effect, both of vividness and naturalness;

and the influence of the point of view and the purpose of the author

on the unity of description should be kept constantly present in the

exercises. Careful attention should be paid to choice of words, for on

right words depends in a large degree the vividness of a description.

Right words in well-massed paragraphs of vivid description should be

the object this term.

* * * * *

CHAPTER V

EXPOSITION

So far we have studied discourse which deals with things,--things

active, doing something, considered under the head of narration; and

things at rest, and pictured, considered in description. Now we come

to exposition, which deals with ideas either separately or in

combinations. Instead of Mr. Smith's horse, exposition treats of the

general term, horse. "The Great Stone Face" may have taught a lesson

by its story, but the discussion of the value of lofty ideals is a

subject for exposition.

General Terms Difficult.

That general terms and propositions are harder to get hold of than

concrete facts is readily apparent in the first reading of an author

like Emerson. To a young person it means little. Yet when he puts in

the place of the general terms some specific examples, and so verifies

the statements, the general propositions have a mine of meaning, and

"the sense of the author is as broad as the world." This stanza from

Lowell is but little suggestive to young readers:--

"Such earnest natures are the fiery pith,

The compact nucleus, round which systems grow!

Mass after mass becomes inspired therewith,

And whirls impregnate with the central glow."[14]

Yet when Columbus and Luther and Garrison are mentioned as

illustrations of the meaning, it becomes world-wide in its

application. Still in order to get at the thought, there is first the

need of the specific and the concrete; afterward we pass to the

general and the abstract.

As abstract ideas are harder to get hold of than concrete facts, so

exposition has difficulties greater than those found in narration and

description. It is not so hard to tell what belongs in a story; the

events are all distinct. Nor is it so difficult to know what to

include in a description; one can look and see. In exposition this is

not so. In most minds ideas do not have distinct limits; the edges

rather are indistinct. It is hard to tell where the idea stops. In

writing of "The Uses of Coal," it is easy to wander over an indistinct

boundary and to take a survey of "The Origin of Coal." Not only may

one include what unquestionably should be excluded, but there is no

definite guide to the arrangement of the materials, such as was found

in narration. There a sequence of time was an almost infallible rule;

here the writer must search carefully how to arrange hazy ideas in

some effective form. As discourse comes to deal more with general

ideas, the difficulties of writing increase; and the difficulties are

not due to any new principles of structure which must be introduced.

When one says that the material should be selected according to the

familiar law of Unity, he has given the guiding principle. Yet the

real difficulty is still before an author: it is to decide what stamp

to put upon such elusive matter as ideas. They cannot be kept long

enough in the twilight of consciousness to analyze them; and often

ideas that have been marked "accepted" have, upon reexamination, to be

"rejected." To examine ideas--the material used in this form of

discourse--so thoroughly that they may be accurately, definitely known

in their backward relation and their bearing upon what follows, this

is the seat of the difficulty in exposition.

Exposition may conveniently be classified into exposition of a term,

or definition; and exposition of a proposition, which is generally

suggested by the term exposition.

Definition.

Definition of a word means giving its limits or boundaries. Of man it

might be said that it is a living animal, having a strong bony

skeleton; that this skeleton consists of a trunk from which extend

four limbs, called arms and legs, and is surmounted by a bony cavity,

called a skull; that the skeleton protects the vital organs, and is

itself covered by a muscular tissue which moves the bones and gives a

rounded beauty to their ugliness; that man has a highly developed

nervous system, the centre of which is the brain placed in the skull.

So a person might go on for pages, enumerating the attributes which,

taken together, make up the general idea of man.

Exposition and Description distinguished.

This sort of exposition is very near description; indeed, were the

purpose different, it would be description. The purpose, however, is

not to tell how an individual looks, but to place the object in a

class. It is therefore not description, but exposition. Moreover, the

method is different. In description those characteristics are given

that distinguish the object from the rest of the class; while in

exposition those qualities are selected which are common to all

objects of its class.

Logical Definition.

On account of the length of the definition by an enumeration of all

the attributes, it is not frequently used except in long treatises.

For it there has been substituted what is called a _logical

definition._ Instead of naming all the characteristics of an object, a

logical definition groups many attributes under one general term, and

then adds a quality which distinguishes the object from the others of

the general class. Man has been defined as the "reasoning animal." In

this definition a large number of attributes have been gathered

together in the general term "animal;" then man is separated from the

whole class "animal" by the word "reasoning." A logical definition

consists, then, of two parts: the general term naming the genus, and

the limiting term naming the distinguishing attribute called the

differentia.

Genus and Differentia.

Genus and differentia are found in every good definition. The _genus_

should be a term more general than the term defined. "Man is a person

who reasons" is a poor definition; because "person" is no more general

than "man." "A canine is a dog that is wild" is very bad, because

"dog," the general term in the definition, is less general than the

word defined. However, to say that "a dog is a canine that has been

domesticated," is a definition in which the genus is more general than

the term defined.

Next, the genus should be a term well understood. "Man is a mammal who

reasons" is all right, in having a genus more general than the term

defined, but the definition fails with many because "mammal" is not

well understood. "Botany is that branch of biology which treats of

plant life" has in it the same error. "Biology" is not so well

understood as "botany," though it is a more general term. In cases of

this sort, the writer should go farther toward the more general until

he finds a term perfectly clear to all. "Man is an animal that

reasons," "botany is the branch of science that treats of plant life,"

would both be easily understood. The genus should be a term better

understood than the term defined; and it should be a term more general

than the term defined.

A definition may be faulty in its _differentia_ also. The differentia

is that part of a definition which names the difference between the

term defined and the general class to which it belongs. "Man is a

reasoning animal." "Animal" names the general class, and "reasoning"

is the differentia which separates "man" from other "animals." On the

selection of this limiting word depends the accuracy of the

definition. "Man is an animal that walks," or "that has hands," or

"that talks," are all faulty; because bears walk, monkeys have hands,

and parrots talk. Supposing the following definitions were given: "A

cat is an animal that catches rats and mice;" "A rose is a flower that

bears thorns;" "Gold is a metal that is heavy;" all would be faulty

because the differentia in each is faulty. Notice, too, the

definitions of "dog" and "canine" already given. Even "man is a

reasoning animal" may fail; since many men declare that other animals

reason. The differentia should include all the members that the term

denotes, and it should exclude all that it does not denote.

Requisites of a good Definition.

The requisites of a good definition are: first, that it shall include

or denote all the members of the class; second, that it shall exclude

everything which does not belong to its class; third, that the words

used in the definition shall be better understood than the word

defined; fourth, that it shall be brief.

A definition may perfectly expound a term; and because of the very

qualities that make it a good definition, accuracy and brevity, it may

be almost valueless to the ordinary reader. For instance, this

definition, "An acid is a substance, usually sour and sharp to the

taste, that changes vegetable blue colors to red, and, combining with

an earth, an alkali, or a metallic oxide, forms a salt," would not

generally be understood. So it frequently becomes necessary to do more

than give a definition in order to explain the meaning of a term. This

brings us to the study of exposition, as it is generally understood,

in which all the resources of language are called into service to

explain a term or a proposition.

How do Men explain? First, by Repetition.

What, then, are the methods of explaining a proposition? First, _a

proposition may be explained by the repetition of the thought in some

other form._ To be effective, repetition must add something to what

has been said; the words used may be more specific or they may be more

general. For example, "A strong partisan may not be a good citizen.

The stanchest Republican may by reason of a blind adherence to party

be working an injury to the country he loves. Indeed, one can easily

conceive a body of men so devoted to a theory, beautiful though it may

be in many respects, that they stand in the way of the world's

progress." The second sentence repeats the thought of the first in

more specific terms; the third repeats it in more general terms. The

specific may be explained by the general; more often the general is

cleared up by the specific. In either case, the proposition must be

brought one step nearer to the reader by the restatement, or the

repetition is not good.

Speaking of written or printed words, Barrett Wendell writes:--

"In themselves, these black marks are nothing but black

marks more or less regular in appearance. Modern English

type and script are rather simple to the eye. Old English

and German are less so; less so still, Hebrew and Chinese.

But all alphabets present to the eye pretty obvious traces

of regularity; in a written or printed page the same mark

will occur over and over again. This is positively all we

see,--a number of marks grouped together and occasionally

repeated. A glance at a mummy-case, an old-fashioned

tea-chest, a Hebrew Bible, will show us all that any eye can

ever see in a written or printed document. The outward and

visible body of style consists of a limited number of marks

which, for all any reader is apt to know, are purely

arbitrary." ("English Composition.")

In this paragraph every sentence is a repetition of some part of the

opening or topic sentence, and serves to explain it.

Second, by telling the obverse.

Second, _a proposition may be explained by telling what it is not._ At

times this is as valuable as telling what it is. Care should be taken

that the thing excluded or denied have some likeness to the

proposition or term being explained; that the two be really in some

danger of being confused. Unless to a hopelessly ignorant person, it

would not explain anything to say "a horse is not a man;" but to

assert that "a whale is not a fish, though they have many points in

common," would prepare the way for an explanation of what a whale is.

The obverse statement is nearly always followed by a repetition of

what the thing is.

The following from Newman illustrates the method:

"Now what is Theology? First, I will tell you what it is

not. And here, in the first place (though of course I speak

on the subject as a Catholic), observe that, strictly

speaking, I am not assuming that Catholicism is true, while

I make myself the champion of Theology. Catholicism has not

formally entered into my argument hitherto, nor shall I just

now assume any principle peculiar to it, for reasons which

will appear in the sequel, though of course I shall use

Catholic language. Neither, secondly, will I fall into the

fashion of the day, of identifying Natural Theology with

Physical Theology; which said Physical Theology is a most

jejune study, considered as a science, and really no science

at all, for it is ordinarily no more than a series of pious

or polemical remarks upon the physical world viewed

religiously, whereas the word 'Natural' comprehends man and

society, and all that is involved therein, as the great

Protestant writer, Dr. Butler, shows us. Nor, in the third

place, do I mean by Theology polemics of any kind; for

instance, what are called 'Evidences of Religion,' or 'the

Christian Evidences.'... Nor, fourthly, do I mean by

Theology that vague thing called 'Christianity,' or 'our

common Christianity,' or 'Christianity the law of the land,'

if there is any man alive who can tell what it is....

Lastly, I do not understand by Theology, acquaintance with

the Scriptures; for, though no person of religious feeling

can read Scripture but he will find those feelings roused,

and gain much knowledge of history into the bargain, yet

historical reading and religious feeling are not a science.

I mean none of these things by Theology. I simply mean the

Science of God, or the truths we know about God put into a

system; just as we have a science of the stars, and call it

astronomy, or of the crust of the earth, and call it

geology."[15]

Third, by Details.

Third, _a common way of explaining a proposition is to go into

particulars about it._ Enough particulars should be given to furnish a

reasonable explanation of the proposition. Macaulay, writing of the

"muster-rolls of names" which Milton uses, goes into details. He

says:--

"They are charmed names. Every one of them is the first link

in a long chain of associated ideas. Like the dwelling place

of our infancy revisited in manhood, like the song of our

country heard in a strange land, they produce upon us an

effect wholly independent of their intrinsic value. One

transports us back to a remote period of history. Another

places us among the novel scenes and manners of a distant

region. A third evokes all the dear classical recollections

of childhood,--the schoolroom, the dog-eared Virgil, the

holiday, and the prize. A fourth brings before us the

splendid phantoms of chivalrous romance, the trophied lists,

the embroidered housings, the quaint devices, the haunted

forests, the enchanted gardens, the achievements of

enamoured knights, and the smiles of rescued

princesses."[16]

Fourth, by Illustrations.

Fourth, _a proposition may be explained by the use of a single example

or illustration._ The value of this method depends on the choice of

the example. It must in no essential way differ from the general case

it is intended to illustrate. Supposing this proposition were advanced

by some woman-hater: "All women are, by nature, liars," and it should

be followed by this sentence, "For example, take this lady of

fashion." Such an illustration is worthless. The individual chosen

does not fairly represent the class. If, on the other hand, a teacher

in physics should announce that "all bodies fall at the same rate in a

vacuum," and should illustrate by saying, "If I place a bullet and a

feather in a tube from which the air has been exhausted, they will be

found to fall equally fast," his example would be a fair one, as the

two objects differ in no manner essential to the experiment from "all

bodies."

Here should be included anecdotes used as illustrations. They are of

value if they are of the same type as the general class they are

intended to explain. They may be of little value, however. It could

safely be said that half the stories told in campaign speeches are not

instances in point at all, but are told only to amuse and deceive.

Specific instances must be chosen with care if they are to serve a

useful purpose in exposition.

This example is from Newman:--

"To know is one thing, to do is another; the two things are

altogether distinct. A man knows that he should get up in

the morning,--he lies abed; he knows that he should not lose

his temper, yet he cannot keep it. A laboring man knows that

he should not go to the ale-house, and his wife knows that

she should not filch when she goes out charing, but,

nevertheless, in these cases, the consciousness of a duty is

not all one with the performance of it. There are, then,

large families of instances, to say the least, in which men

may become wiser, without becoming better."[17]

Fifth, by Comparisons.

Last, _a thing may be explained by telling what it is like, or what it

is not like._ This method of comparison is very frequently employed.

To liken a thing to something already known is a vivid way of

explaining. Moreover in many cases it is easier than the method of

repetition or that of details. By this method Macaulay explains his

proposition that "it is the character of such revolutions that we

always see the worst of them first." He says:--

"A newly liberated people may be compared to a northern army

encamped on the Rhine or the Xeres. It is said that when

soldiers in such a situation first find themselves able to

indulge without restraint in such a rare and expensive

luxury, nothing is to be seen but intoxication. Soon,

however, plenty teaches discretion, and, after wine has been

for a few months their daily fare, they become more

temperate than they had ever been in their own country. In

the same manner, the final and permanent fruits of liberty

are wisdom, moderation, and mercy. Its immediate effects are

often atrocious crimes, conflicting errors, skepticism on

points the most clear, dogmatism on points the most

mysterious."[18]

The comparison may be a simile or a metaphor, as when Huxley writes,

explaining "the physical basis of life:"--

"Protoplasm, simple or nucleated, is the formal basis of all

life. It is the clay of the potter: which, bake it and paint

it as he will, remains clay, separated by artifice, and not

by nature, from the commonest brick or sun-dried clod."[19]

These, then, are the methods commonly adopted for explaining terms and

propositions. First, by the use of definitions; second, by repeating

the proposition either directly or obversely, adding something to the

thought by each repetition; third, by enumerating particulars which

form the ground for the statement; fourth, by selecting an instance

which fairly illustrates the proposition; fifth, by the use of

comparisons and analogies.

The Subject.

Some general considerations regarding the choice of a subject have

been given. A subject should lend itself to the form of discourse

employed; next, it should be a subject interesting to the readers; and

third, it should be interesting to the writer and suited to his

ability. The last condition makes it advisable to limit the subject to

a narrow field. Few persons have the ability to view a general subject

in all its relations. "Books" everybody knows something of; yet very

few are able to treat this general subject in all its ramifications. A

person writing of the general topic "books" would not only be

compelled to know what a book is, what may truly be called a book, and

what is the value of books to readers, and therefore the influence of

the different kinds of literature; he would also be driven to study

the machinery for making books, the history of printing, illustrating,

and binding books, and all the mechanical processes connected with the

manufacture of books. The subject might take quite another turn, and

be the development of fiction or drama; it might be a discussion of

the influences, political or social, that have moulded literature; it

might be a study of character as manifested in an author's works. No

one is well fitted to write on the general topic "books." A subject

should be limited.

The Subject should allow Concrete Treatment.

For young persons _the subject should be so selected and stated that

the treatment may be concrete._ As persons advance they make more

generalizations; few, however, go so far as to think in general terms.

Macaulay says, "Logicians may reason about abstractions, but the great

mass of men must have images." That author depended largely for his

glittering effects upon the use of common, concrete things which the

masses understand. The subject should be such that it can be treated

concretely. "Love," as a general proposition, is beautiful; but what

more can a young writer say about it? Let him leave the whole horde of

abstract subjects found in old rhetorics alone. They are subjects for

experience; they cannot be handled by youth.

The Theme.

After the subject has been chosen, the writer next considers how he

shall treat it. He selects the attitude he will assume toward the

proposition, his point of view; and this position he embodies in a

short sentence, called his _theme._ For instance, "patriotism" is the

subject; as it stands it is abstract and very general. However, this,

"Can a partisan be a patriot?" would be sufficiently concrete to be

treated. Even yet there is no indication of the author's point of

view. Should he write, "A real partisan is no patriot," his theme is

announced, and his point of view known.

A _theme,_ either explicit or implicit, _is essential in exposition._

It is not necessary that it shall be stated to the reader, but it must

be clearly stated by the writer for his own guidance. It is, however,

usually announced at the opening of the essay. Whether announced or

not, it is most essential to the success of the essay. It is the

touchstone by which the author tries all the material which he has

collected. Not everything on the subject of patriotism should be

admitted to an essay that has for its theme, "A real partisan cannot

be a true patriot." It would save many a digression if the theme were

always written in bold, black letters, and placed before the author as

he writes. Every word in a theme should be there for a purpose,

expressing some important modification of the thought. For instance,

the statement above regarding a partisan may be too sweeping; perhaps

the essayist would prefer to discuss the modified statement that "a

blind partisan cannot always be a true patriot." The theme should

state exactly what will be treated in the essay. The statement of it

should employ the hardest kind of thinking; and when the theme is

determined definitely and for all, the essay is safe from the

intrusion of foreign ideas which disturb the harmony of the whole.

Another advantage in the theme is that, when once chosen, it will go

far toward writing the essay. One great trouble with the young writer

is that he is not willing to rely on his theme to suggest his

composition. Mr. Palmer well says:--

"He examines his pen point, the curtains, his inkstand, to

see if perhaps ideas may not be had from these. He wonders

what the teacher will wish him to say, and he tries to

recall how the passage sounded in the Third Reader. In every

direction but one he turns, and that is the direction where

lies the prime mover of his toil, his subject. Of that he is

afraid. Now, what I want to make evident is that his subject

is not in reality the foe, but the friend. It is his only

helper. His composition is not to be, as he seems to

suppose, a mass of laborious inventions, but it is made up

exclusively of what the subject dictates. He has only to

attend. At present he stands in his own way, making such a

din with his private anxieties that he cannot hear the rich

suggestions of his subject. He is bothered with considering

how he feels, or what he or somebody else will like to see

on his paper. This is debilitating business. He must lean on

his subject, if he would have his writing strong, and busy

himself with what it says, rather than with what he would

say."[20]

The Title.

Having selected a subject, and with care stated the theme, it yet

remains to give the essay a name. There is something in a name, and

those authors who make a living by the pen are the shrewdest in

displaying their wares under the most attractive titles. _The title

should be attractive,_ but it should not promise what the essay does

not give. Newspaper headlines are usually attractive enough, but

shamefully untruthful. Next, the title should _indicate the scope of

the essay._ When Mr. Palmer calls his little book "Self-Cultivation in

English," it is evident that it is not a text-book, and that it will

not treat English as literature or as a science. Then, the title

should be _short._ The theme can rarely be used as a title; it is too

long. But the paramount idea developed in the essay should be embodied

in the title. "Partisanship and Patriotism" would be a good subject to

give the essay we have spoken of. The title, then, should be

attractive; it should be short; and it should truthfully indicate the

contents of the essay.

Selection of Material.

One of the important factors in the construction of an essay is the

selection of material. Though theme and title have already been

discussed, it was not because they are the things for a writer to

consider next after he has chosen his subject, but because they are so

intimately bound up in the subject that their consideration at that

time was natural. Before a writer can decide upon the position he will

assume toward a proposition, he should have looked over the field in a

general way; for only with the facts before him is he competent to

choose his point of view and to state his theme. The title is not in

the least essential to the writing of the essay; it may be deferred

until the essay is finished. It is necessary, however, that the writer

have much knowledge of his subject, and that from this knowledge he be

able to frame an opinion regarding the subject. When this has been

done he is ready to begin the work of constructing his essay; and the

first question in exposition, as in narration and description, is the

selection of material to develop the theme he has chosen.

The selection of material is a more difficult matter in exposition

than in narration and description. It requires the shrewdest scrutiny

to keep out matter that does not help the thought forward. In

narration we decided by the main incident; in description by the

purpose and the point of view; in exposition we test all material by

its relation to the theme. Does it help to explain the theme? If not,

however good material it may be, it has no business in the essay.

Association of ideas is a law by which, when one of two related ideas

is mentioned, the other is suggested. To illustrate, when Manila is

mentioned, Admiral Dewey appears; when treason is spoken of, Arnold is

in the mind. This law is of fundamental importance in arranging an

essay; one thing should suggest the next. But valuable as it is, even

indispensable, it may become the source of much mischief. For

instance, a pupil has this for a topic, "Reading gives pleasure to

many." He writes as his second sentence, "By pleasure I mean the

opposite of pain," and goes on. "All things are understood by their

opposites. If we did not know sickness, we could not enjoy our health.

Joy is understood through sorrow. I remember my first sorrow. My

father had just given me a new knife,--my first knife," and so on from

one thing to another. And not so unnaturally either; each sentence has

suggested the next, but not one is on the topic. The most anxious

watch must be kept in the selection of material. Some will be admitted

without any question; some will be excluded with a brusqueness almost

brutal. There is a third class, however, that is allied with the

subject, yet it is not so easy to determine whether it should be

admitted or rejected. This class requires the closest questioning. It

must contribute to the strength of the essay, not to its pages, or it

has no place there.

Scale of Treatment.

_There is another condition which must be considered in the selection

of material, the scale of treatment._ If Macaulay had been asked by a

daily paper to contribute a paragraph of five hundred words on Milton,

he could not have introduced all the numerous topics which have their

place in his essay of one hundred pages. He might have mentioned

Milton's poetry and his character, the two main divisions of the

present essay; but Dante and Aeschylus, Puritan and Royalist, would

scarcely have received notice. The second consideration in selecting

material is the purpose and length of the essay, and the consequent

thoroughness with which the subject is to be treated.

_The exhaustiveness with which an author treats any subject depends,

first, on his knowledge._ Any person could write a paragraph on

Milton; Macaulay and Lowell wrote delightful essays on the topic;

David Masson has written volumes about him. These would have been

impossible except to a person who had been a special student of the

subject. Second, the thoroughness of the treatment depends _on the

knowledge of the readers._ For persons acquainted with the record of

the momentous events of Milton's time, it would have been quite

unnecessary, it might be considered even an insult to intelligence, to

go into such details of history. The shortest statement suffices when

the reader is already familiar with the subject and needs only to know

the application in this case. Third, the scale of treatment depends

_on the purpose for which the essay is written._ If a newspaper

paragraph, it is one thing; if for a magazine, it is quite another; if

it is to be the final word on the subject, it may reach to volumes.

An apt illustration of proportion in the scale of treatment has been

given by Scott and Denny in their "Composition-Rhetoric." They suggest

that three maps of the United States, one very large, another half the

size of the first, and a third very small, be hung side by side. If a

comparison be made, it will be found that, whereas a great number of

cities are represented on the largest map, only half as many appear on

the middle-sized map. If the smallest map be examined, only the

largest cities, the longest rivers, the greatest lakes, and the

highest mountains can be found; all others must be omitted. On all

three maps the same relation of parts is maintained. In proportion to

the whole, New York State will hold the same position in all of them.

The Mississippi River will flow from Minnesota to the Gulf of Mexico,

and the Gulf will sweep in a curve from Texas to Florida. The scale is

different, but the proportion does not change.

This principle applies in the construction of themes. In a paragraph

only very important topics will receive any mention. In an essay these

important topics retain their proper place and relation, while many

other points of subordinate rank will be introduced. If the treatment

be lengthened to a book, a host of minor sub-topics will be

considered, each adding something to the development of the theme, and

each giving to its principal topic the relative importance which

belongs to the main divisions of the essay. The scale of treatment

will have much to do with the selection of material.

Using Macaulay's "Milton" as an illustration, the analyses below will

show how by increasing the size of the essay new subjects come into

the field for notice. The first is but a paragraph and has the two

main divisions of the essay. The second is an outline for an essay of

two thousand words. In the third only one of the sub-topics is

analyzed, as Macaulay has discussed it. It would take too much space

to analyze minutely the whole essay.

MILTON.

A. Milton's poetry has given him his position among great men.

B. His conduct was such as was to be expected from a man of a spirit

so high and of an intellect so powerful.

In the following outline the same main headings are retained, and the

sub-topics which explain them are introduced. The numbers indicate the

paragraphs in Macaulay's essay given to each topic.

INTRODUCTION (1-8).

A. Milton's poetry has given him his position among men. (9-46.)

I. No poet has ever triumphed over greater difficulties than

Milton. (10-19.)

II. In his lesser works he shows his great power. (20-31.)

III. There is but one modern poem that can be compared with

"Paradise Lost;" Dante's "Divine Comedy" has great power, is

upon a kindred subject, but in style of treatment widely

different. (32-46.)

Transition. (47-49.)

B. His conduct was such as was to be expected from a man of a spirit

so high and of an intellect so powerful. (50-90.)

I. He lived at one of the most memorable eras in the history of

mankind, and his conduct must be judged as that of the people

is judged. (50-78.)

II. There were some peculiarities which distinguished him from

his contemporaries. (79-90.)

Conclusion. (91-94.)

Again, taking up but one section, B, II., the analysis is as

follows:--

II. There were some peculiarities which distinguished him from his

contemporaries. (79-90.)

A. Milton adopted the noblest qualities of every party--

1. Puritans. (80-84.)

a. They excited contempt. However

b. They were no vulgar fanatics; but

c. They derived their peculiarities from their daily

contemplation of superior beings and eternal

interests.

d. Thus the Puritan was made up of two men,--the one

all self-abasement, the other all pride.

e. Resume of character of Puritans.

2. Heathens were passionate lovers of freedom. (85.)

3. Royalists had individual independence, learning, and

polite manners of the Court.

B. But he alone fought the battle for the freedom of the mind.

(88.)

1. This led him to discard parties; and (89)

2. To dare the boldest literary services. (90.)

The fundamental principle guiding in the selection of material is

unity. It decides what may with propriety be admitted to the essay,

and it determines in part what must be left out. Another principle,

secondary to this, is scale of treatment. If the essay is to be short,

only essentials may be used; if long, many related sub-topics must

take their subordinate positions in the essay.

Arrangement.

Following the selection of material comes its arrangement. Here also

there is greater difficulty than was experienced in narration or

description. Though the same principles of Coherence and Mass guide,

they are more difficult to apply. The seat of the difficulty is in the

elusiveness of the material. It is hard to picture distinctly the

value and relation of the different topics of an essay. Suppose the

subject is "The Evils of War." The first paragraph might contain a

general statement announcing the theme. Then these topics are to be

discussed:--

1. The effect on the _morale_ of a nation.

2. The suffering of friends and relatives.

3. The destruction of life.

4. The backward step in civilization.

5. The destruction of property.

The order could not be much worse. How shall a better be obtained?

Use Cards for Subdivisions.

The most helpful suggestion regarding a method of making the material

in some degree visible, capable of being grasped, is that each

subdivision be placed on a separate card, and that, as the material is

gathered, it be put upon the card containing the group to which it

belongs. By different arrangements of these cards the writer can find

most easily the order that is natural and effective. It is much like

anagrams, this ordering of matter in an essay. Take these letters,

s-l-y-w-a-r-e, and in your head try to put them together to make a

word; you will have some trouble, probably. If, however, these same

letters be put upon separate slips of paper, you may with some

arrangement get out the rather common word, lawyers. It is much the

same with topic cards in exposition; they can be moved and rearranged

in all possible ways, and at last an order distinctly better than any

other will be found.

Speaking of cards, it might be well to say that the habit of putting

down a fact or an idea bearing on a topic just as soon as it occurs to

one is invaluable for a writer. All men have good memories; some

persons have better ones than others. But there is no one who does not

forget; and each catches himself very often saying, "I knew that, but

I forgot it." It is a fact, not perhaps complimentary, that paper

tablets are surer than the tablets of memory.

An Outline.

In exposition, where the whole attention of the reader should be given

to the thought, where more than ever the mind should be freed from

every hindrance, and its whole energy directed to getting the meaning,

the greatest care should be given to making a plan. No person who has

attained distinction in prose has worked without a plan. Any piece of

literature, even the most discursive, has in it something of plan; but

in literature of the first rank the plan is easily discovered. How

clear it is in Macaulay's essay has been seen. In Burke it is yet more

logical and exact. However beautiful a piece may be, however naturally

one thought grows out of another, as though it were always so and

could be no other way, be sure it is so because of some man's thought,

on account of careful planning. And it may be said without a chance of

contradiction that when an essay has been well planned it is half

done, and that half by far the harder. "We can hardly at the present

day understand what Menander meant, when he told a man who inquired as

to the progress of his comedy that he had finished it, not having yet

written a single line, because he had constructed the action of it in

his mind. A modern critic would have assured him that the merit of his

piece depended on the brilliant things which arose under his pen as he

went along." The brilliant things are but the gargoyles and the

scrolls, the ornaments of the structure; and when so brilliant as to

attract especial attention, they divert the mind from the total effect

much as a series of beautiful marbles set between those perfect

columns would have ruined the Parthenon. It was not in any single

feature--not in pediment, column, or capital, not in frieze,

architrave, or tympanum--that its glorious beauty lay, but in the

simple strength and the harmonious symmetry of the whole, in the

general plan. Webster planned his orations, Newman planned his essays,

Carlyle planned his Frederick the Great. Their works are not a

momentary inspiration; they are the result of forethought, long and

painstaking. The absolute essential in the structure of an essay, that

without which it will fail to arrive anywhere, that compared to which

all ornament, all fine writing, is but sounding brass and a tinkling

cymbal, that absolute essential is the total effect secured by making

a plan.

Mass the End.

The principles governing the arrangement of material are Mass and

Coherence. Both are equally essential, but in practice some questions

regarding Mass are settled first. _The important positions in an essay

are the beginning and the end; of these the more important is the

end._ In this place, then, there shall be those sentences or those

paragraphs which deserve that distinction. Here frequently stands the

theme, the conclusion of the whole matter, that for which the

composition was constructed. So that if one wished to know the theme

of an essay, he would be justified in looking at its conclusion to

find it. In the essay on "Milton," it is evident from the last

paragraph that Macaulay never intended it to be only a criticism of

his poetry, though he has devoted many pages to this discussion. Here

is just the last sentence: "Nor do we envy the man who can study

either the life or the writings of the great poet and patriot without

aspiring to emulate, not indeed the sublime works with which his

genius has enriched our literature, but the zeal with which he labored

for the public good, the fortitude with which he endured every private

calamity, the lofty disdain with which he looked down on temptations

and dangers, the deadly hatred which he bore to bigots and tyrants,

and the faith which he so sternly kept with his country and his fame."

Notice the last sentence of a delightful essay by George William

Curtis; one could easily guess the contents and the title. "Fear of

yourself, fear of your own rebuke, fear of betraying your

consciousness of your duty and not doing it--that is the fear that

Lovelace loved better than Lucasta; that is the fear which Francis,

having done his duty, saved, and justly called it honor." Examples of

the ending in which the theme of the essay stands in the place of

greatest distinction are so plentiful that there needs no collector to

establish the assertion.

In a single paragraph of exposition not exceeding two or three hundred

words, it is a very safe rule for a beginner always to have the theme

in the last sentence; or if he has stated the theme in the opening, to

have a restatement of it in different form, fuller and more explicit

usually, sometimes a shorter and more epigrammatic form, in the

conclusion.

If the pupil should obey this little rule to have at the end something

worthy of the position, a vast amount of time would be saved both to

teacher and to pupil. It can be safely said that not more than one

half the essays end when the thought ends. Instead of quitting when he

has finished, the writer dribbles on, repeating in diluted fashion

what he has said with some force before, and often introducing matters

that are not within hailing distance of his theme. When one has said

what he started out to say, it is time to stop. If he stops then, he

will have something important in the place of distinction.

The Beginning.

_The position of second importance is the beginning._ If but a

paragraph be written, the topic is usually announced at the opening.

In short essays this is the most frequent beginning, and it may safely

be used at all times. Exposition is explanation; the natural thing is

to let the reader know at once what the writer is attempting to

explain. Then the reader knows what the author is talking about and

can relate every statement to the general proposition. To delay the

topic compels the reader to hold in mind all that has been said up to

the time the real theme is uncovered; this frequently results in

inattention. In the little book by Mr. Palmer, the first paragraph

opens with these two sentences: "English as a study has four aims: the

mastery of our language as a science, as a history, as a joy, and as a

tool. I am concerned with but one, the mastery of it as a tool." So,

too, the essay of which the last sentence has been quoted begins:

"These are very precious words of Lovelace:--

'I could not love thee, dear, so much,

Loved I not honor more.'

And Francis First's message to his mother after Pavia, 'All is lost

but honor,' is in the same key."

Instead of announcing the theme at the very beginning, in essays of

some length there is sometimes an account of the occasion which led to

the composition. Macaulay has used this opening in the essay on

"Milton." Second, the opening may be the clearing away of matters

unrelated in reality, but which people have commonly associated with

the topic. And third, the essay may open with definitions of the terms

that will be used in the discussion. Of these three, only the first

will be much used by young persons. It makes an easy approach to the

subject, and avoids the unpleasant jar of an abrupt start. It is

common with Macaulay, Lowell, and many essayists that write in an

easy, almost conversational style.

There is one case in which the theme should not be announced at the

opening. If the proposition were distasteful, if it were generally

believed to be false, it would not be policy to announce it at the

beginning. However reasonable men may be, it is still true that reason

is subject to emotions and beliefs to a greater degree than is

praiseworthy. If a man should open an address upon Abraham Lincoln by

saying that he was a cringing coward, he would have difficulty to get

an audience to hear anything he said after that, no matter how much

truth he spoke. The author of such a statement would be so disliked

that nothing would win for him favor. When an unwelcome theme is to be

discussed, it must be approached carefully by successive steps which

prepare the reader for the reception of a truth that before seemed

false to him. In this case the theme will be stated at the end, but

not at the beginning of the essay.

Get started as soon as you can, and stop when you have finished; by so

doing you will have important matters in those places which will

emphasize them. Shun the allurements of high-sounding introductions

and conclusions. Professor Marston used to tell his pupils to write

the best introduction they could, to fashion their most gorgeous

peroration, and to be sure to have the discussion clear, logical, and

well expressed. Then he said that when he had cut off both ends, he

generally had left a good essay. An essay should be done much as a

business man does business. He does not want the gentleman who calls

on him during business hours to bow and scatter compliments before he

takes up the matter which brought him there; nor does he care to see

him swaying on the doorknob after the business is finished. To the

business at once, and leave off when you have done. Introductions,

exordiums, perorations, and conclusions are worthless unless they be

in reality a part of the discussion and necessary to the understanding

of the whole.

Proportion in Treatment.

Everything, however, cannot occupy the first and last places. How can

other matters be emphasized? To refer to the parallel of the map, in

order to make people see that the Mississippi River is longer than the

Hudson, the designer made it longer on the map. That is exactly what

is done in an essay. If one matter is of greater importance than

another, it should take up a larger part of the essay. When Macaulay

passes over Milton's sonnets with a paragraph, while he devotes

sixteen paragraphs to "Paradise Lost," he indicates by the greater

mass the greater value he ascribes to the epic. So again, a very good

proof that he did not intend this essay to be a literary criticism

primarily, another evidence beside the closing paragraph, is found in

his division of the whole essay. To Milton's poetry he has given

forty-one paragraphs, and to his character fifty-two paragraphs. The

most common way of emphasizing important divisions of an essay is by

increasing the length of treatment.

Emphasis of Emotion.

However, there are times when this cannot be done: a point may be so

well known that it needs no amplification. In such a case there may be

an emphasis of emotion; that is, the statement may be made with an

intensity that counterbalances the weight of the larger treatment. It

might be said that the one has great velocity and little mass, while

the other has great mass and little velocity. By hurling forth the

smaller mass at a higher velocity, the momentum may be as great as

when the larger mass moves with little velocity. The dynamic force of

burning words may give an emphasis to a paragraph out of all

proportion to the length of treatment. In one paragraph Macaulay

dashes aside all the defenses of Charles. He writes:--

"The advocates of Charles, like the advocates of other

malefactors against whom overwhelming evidence is produced,

generally decline all controversy about the facts, and

content themselves with calling testimony to character. He

had so many private virtues! And had James II. no private

virtues? Was Oliver Cromwell, his bitterest enemies

themselves being the judges, destitute of private virtues?

And what, after all, are the virtues ascribed to Charles? A

religious zeal, not more sincere than that of his son, and

fully as weak and narrow-minded, and a few of the ordinary

household decencies which half the tombstones in England

claim for those who lie beneath them. A good father! A good

husband! Ample apologies indeed for fifteen years of

persecution, tyranny, and falsehood." ("Essay on Milton.")

Phrases indicating Emphasis.

Moreover, phrases and sentences may be introduced to show that a

writer considers some topics of equal importance to others, or even of

greater importance, though they do not demand the same length of

treatment. _Of equal importance, not less weighty, beyond question the

most pertinent,_ illustrate what is meant by phrases which indicate

values. These and many of their class which the occasion will call

forth are necessary to give certain topics the rank they hold in the

writer's conception of the whole subject. In discussing the temper and

character of the American people, Burke ascribes it to six powerful

causes. The relative value of these is indicated in the last three by

phrases. I quote only the opening sentences.

"First, the people of the colonies are descendants of

Englishmen."... "They were further confirmed in this

pleasing error by the form of their provincial legislative

assemblies."... "If anything were wanting to this necessary

operation of the form of government, religion would have

given it a complete effect."... "There is a circumstance

attending these [southern] colonies which makes the spirit

of liberty _still more_ high and haughty than in those to

the northward."... "Permit me, Sir, to add another

circumstance which contributes _no mean part_ towards the

growth and effect of this untractable spirit."... "The last

cause of this disobedient spirit in the colonies is _hardly

less powerful_ than the rest."[21]

Emphasis is indicated, then, by position; by the length of treatment;

by dynamic statement; and by phrases denoting values.

Coherence.

Coherence is the second principle which modifies the internal

structure of a composition. That arrangement should be sought for that

places in proximity one to another those ideas which are most closely

related. More than in composition dealing with things, in those forms

of discourse dealing with intangible, invisible ideas,--with thoughts,

with speculations,--the greatest care is necessary to make one topic

spring of necessity from a preceding topic. And this is not impossible

when the material has been carefully selected. The principal divisions

of the subject bear a necessary and logical relation to the whole

theme, and the subordinate divisions have a similar relation to their

main topic. In the essay on "Milton," Macaulay is seeking to commend

his hero to the reader for two reasons: first, because his writings

"are powerful, not only to delight, but to elevate and purify;"

second, because "the zeal with which he labored for the public good,

the fortitude with which he endured every private calamity, the lofty

disdain with which he looked down on temptations and dangers, the

deadly hatred which he bore to bigots and tyrants, and the faith which

he so sternly kept with his country and with his fame" made him a

patriot worthy of emulation. We feel instinctively that this

arrangement, poetry first and character next, and not the reverse, is

the right order. To discuss character first and poetry last would have

been ruinous to Macaulay's purpose. Notice next the development of a

sub-topic in the same essay. Only one sentence from a paragraph is

given. The defenders of Charles do not choose to discuss "the great

points of the question," but "content themselves with exposing some of

the crimes and follies to which public commotions necessarily give

birth." "Be it so." "Many evils were produced by the Civil War." "It

is the character of such revolutions that we always see the worst of

them first." Yet "there is only one cure for the evils which newly

acquired freedom produces, and that cure is freedom." "Therefore it is

that we decidedly approve of the conduct of Milton and the other wise

and good men who, in spite of much that was ridiculous and hateful in

the conduct of their associates, stood firmly by the cause of public

liberty." No other arrangement of these paragraphs seems possible. To

shift the sequence would break the chain. Each paragraph grows

naturally from the paragraph preceding. Closely related topics stand

together. There is Coherence.

Transition Phrases.

The logical connection between topics which have been well arranged

may be made more evident by the skillful use of words and phrases that

indicate the relation of what has been said to what is to be said.

These phrases are guideposts pointing the direction the next topic

will take. They advise the reader where he is and whither he is going.

Cardinal Newman, who had the ability to write not only so that he

could be understood, but so that he could not be misunderstood, made

frequent use of these guides. The question in one of his essays is

"whether knowledge, that is, acquirement, is the real principle of

enlargement, or whether that is not rather something beyond it." These

fragments of sentences open a series of paragraphs. 1. "For instance,

let a person ... go for the first time where physical nature puts on

her wilder and more awful forms," etc. 2. "Again, the view of the

heavens which the telescope opens," etc. 3. "And so again, the sight

of beasts of prey and other foreign animals," etc. 4. "Hence Physical

Science generally," etc. 5. "Again, the study of history," etc. 6.

"And in like manner, what is called seeing the world," etc. 7. "And

then again, the first time the mind comes across the arguments and

speculations of unbelievers," etc. 8. "On the other hand, Religion has

its own enlargement," etc. 9. "Now from these instances, ... it is

plain, first, that the communication of knowledge certainly is either

a condition or a means of that sense of enlargement, or enlightenment

of which at this day we hear so much in certain quarters: this cannot

be denied; but next, it is equally plain, that such communication is

not the whole of the process." How extremely valuable such phrases are

may be realized from the fact that, though the matter is entirely

unknown, any one can know the relation of the parts of this essay,

whither it tends, and can almost supply Newman's thoughts.

Summary and Transition.

To secure coherence between the main divisions of an essay, instead of

words and phrases, there are employed sentences and paragraphs of

summary and transition. Summaries gather up what has been said on the

topic, much like a conclusion to a theme; transitions show the

relation between the topic already discussed and the one next to be

treated. Summaries at the conclusion of any division of the whole

subject are like the seats on a mountain path which are conveniently

arranged to give the climber a needed rest, and to spread out at his

feet the features of the landscape through which he has made his way.

Summaries put the reader in possession of the situation up to that

point, and make him ready for the next stage of the advance. At the

end of the summary there is frequently a transition, either a few

sentences or sometimes a short paragraph. The sentence or paragraph of

transition is much more frequent than the paragraph which summarizes.

The examples of these summaries and transitions are so frequent in

Macaulay and Burke that one transition is sufficient to indicate their

use. Macaulay writes:--

"There are several minor poems of Milton on which we would

willingly make a few remarks.... Our limits, however,

prevent us from discussing the point at length. We hasten on

to that extraordinary production which the general suffrage

of critics has placed in the highest class of human

compositions." ("Essay on Milton.")

To conclude, exposition embraces definition and explanation.

Definition is usually too concise to be clear, and needs an added

explanation. In any piece of exposition there must be unity, and this

principle will dispense with everything that is not essential to the

theme; there must be judicious massing, that those parts of the essay

deserving emphasis may receive it; and there must be a coherence

between the parts, large and small, so close and intimate that the

progress from one topic to another shall be steady and without

hindrance. Unity, Mass, and Coherence should be the main

considerations in composition the aim of which is to explain a term or

a proposition.

SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS AND EXERCISES.

QUESTIONS.

MACAULAY'S ESSAY ON MILTON.

(Riverside Literature Series, No. 103.)

What makes up the introduction of this essay? Does he use the same

method in the Essay on Addison? Take a volume of his essays and see

how many begin in similar fashion. At what paragraph of this Essay on

Milton does the introduction end? Would it be as well to omit it? Give

reasons for your opinion.

Make an analysis of his argument of the proposition, "No poet has ever

triumphed over greater difficulties than Milton."

Does Macaulay give a definition of poetry on page 13, or is it an

exposition of the term?

What figure of speech do you find in the last sentence of the

paragraph on page 43?

When Macaulay begins to discuss "the public conduct of Milton," what

method of introduction does he adopt? What value is there in it?

Do the trifles mentioned at the end of the paragraph on page 55 make

an anticlimax?

What arrangement of sentences in the paragraph does he use most,

individual or serial?

Does he close his paragraphs with a repetition of the topic more

frequently than with a single detail emphasizing the topic?

Is his last sentence, in case it is a repetition of the topic, longer

or shorter than the topic sentence?

Does Macaulay frequently use epigrams? antitheses?

Find all transition paragraphs.

Find ten full sentence transitions outside of the transition

paragraphs.

Where, in such paragraphs, is the topic sentence?

In this essay find examples of the five methods of expounding a

proposition.

Which method does Macaulay use oftenest?

Is his treatment of the subject concrete?

What advantage is there in such treatment?

OF KINGS' TREASURIES.

(Riverside Literature Series, No. 142.)

Do you think the title good?

Is Ruskin wise in disclosing his subject at once?

In section 3 what purpose does the first paragraph fulfill? What

method of exposition is adopted in the last paragraph? What method in

section 4?

For what purpose is the first paragraph of section 5 introduced? Is

the last paragraph of this section a digression?

Do you think the last sentence of section 9 upon the topic announced

in the first sentence? Where does Ruskin begin to treat the second

topic? Should there be two paragraphs?

Find the genus and differentia in the definition of "a good book of

the hour."

What is the use of the analogy in section 13?

What figure do you find in section 14?

Do you think a large part of section 30 a digression?

What do you think of the structure of sentences 4 and 8 in section 32?

Could you improve it by a change of punctuation?

What is the effect of the supposed case at the end of section 33? Is

it a fair deduction? Is it at the right place in the paragraph, and

why?

Where would you divide the paragraph in section 37?

Is the example in section 36 a fair one, and does it prove the case?

What is a very common method with Ruskin of connecting paragraphs?

Could you break up the sixth sentence of section 31 so that it would

be better?

If his audience had been hostile to him would he have been fortunate

in some of his assertions? Make an analysis of the whole essay. Does

he seem to you to have digressed from his topic? At what point? Should

it be two essays?

What led Ruskin into this long criticism of English character?

Could you include all the main topics that Ruskin has included, and by

a change in proportion keep the essay on the subject?

WEBSTER'S BUNKER HILL ORATION.

(Riverside Literature Series, No. 56.)

Number the paragraphs in this oration.

Why is paragraph 3 introduced?

What method of development is used in paragraph 7? In paragraph 8?

In how many paragraphs is the last sentence short?

In how many is the last sentence a repetition of the topic?

What purpose is served in paragraphs 8, 9, and 10?

In paragraph 12 note the use of contrast.

What kind of development in paragraph 27?

Analyze the oration from paragraph 28.

Does he place the topic sentence near the beginning of the paragraphs?

Does he frequently use transition sentences?

Do you think the outline of this as distinct as that of Macaulay's

Essay on Milton? Should it be?

What figure of speech in the word "axe" in paragraph 32, and "bayonet"

in paragraph 36?

What figure at the end of paragraph 40?

Does he use figures as frequently as Macaulay?

EXERCISES.

This year, taking up the study of exposition, offers especially good

opportunities for exercises in paragraph and sentence construction.

During the first eight or ten weeks the pupils will write isolated

paragraphs. The unity and arrangement of these should be carefully

criticised. Also the exercises should be arranged so that the pupils

will employ all forms of paragraphs. Before he begins to write a

paragraph, the pupil should know what he is to include in it, and in

what order; otherwise the paragraph will fail in unity and effective

massing. Paragraphs are made by forethought, not by inspiration.

Following the writing of isolated paragraphs is the composition of the

long essay. The first thing is a study of outlines. This will take up

six or eight weeks. To secure the view of the whole in different

arrangements, use the cards.

When the class has gained some grasp of outlines, the writing of

essays should be begun. At the option of the pupils, they may write

some of the essays already outlined, or study new themes. Two or three

paragraphs are all that can be well done for a lesson. Good, not much,

should be the ideal. In this way a single essay may occupy a class

from three to six weeks.

It should be remembered that these exercises are written consciously

for practice. They are exercises--no more. Their purpose is to give

skill and judgment in composition. It is because they are exercises

that they may be somewhat stereotyped and artificial in form, just as

exercises in music may be artificially constructed to meet the

difficulties the young musician will have to confront.

During the writing of these essays special attention should be given

to sentence construction. The inclusion of just the ideas needed in

the sentence and no more; the massing that makes prominent the thought

that deserves prominence; and the nice adjustment of one sentence to

the next: these objects should be striven for during this semester.

1, 2. Write definitions of such common terms as jingoism, civil

service, gold standard, the submerged tenth, sweat shop, internal

revenue, cyclonic area, foreign policy, imperialism, free silver,

mugwump, political pull, Monroe doctrine, etc. Five or six terms which

are not found in a dictionary will make a hard exercise; and two or

three lessons in definitions will set the pupils in the direction of

accurate and adequate statements.

For isolated paragraphs write upon the following subjects:--

3. Novel reading gives one a knowledge of the world not to be gained

in any other way. Particulars.

4. Novel reading unfits people for the actualities of life. Specific

instances.

5. Among the numerous uses of biography three stand forth

preeminent,--it furnishes the material of history, it lets us into the

secrets of the good and great, and it sets before us attainable ideals

of noble humanity. Repetition.

6. It is beyond any possibility of successful contradiction that the

examination system encourages cheating. Proofs.

7. Electric cars and automobiles are driving horses out of the cities.

Instances.

8. Every great development in the culture of a nation has followed a

great war. Proofs.

9. From the following general subjects have the pupils state definite

themes. Write isolated paragraphs on a few of them.

Political Parties.

War.

Books.

Machines.

Inventions.

Great Men.

Planets.

Civil Service.

Coeducation.

Roads.

Tramps.

Boycotts.

10. Place another similar list on the board and have the pupils vote

on what three they prefer. Use these in making outlines. Then select

more.

Supposing they had settled upon this theme: The tramp is the logical

result of our economic system; have it outlined. The result might be

as follows:--

A. What is a tramp?

1. Who become tramps?

2. Their number.

3. Where are they?

B. Why is he a tramp?

1. Inventions have increased the power of production more rapidly

than the demand for products has grown.

a. On the farm.

b. Transportation.

c. Factories.

d. Piecework.

2. Women now do much work formerly done by men.

a. As clerks.

b. As typewriters, stenographers, and bookkeepers.

c. In the professions.

3. The result of these causes is that many men willing to work

are out of employment.

C. What must be done?

11. Fill out the following outline.

Subject: The Thermometer.

A. Its Invention.

B. Its Construction.

C. Its Value and Uses.

12. Outline six more themes.

13. Beginning the writing of long essays, write essays in sections.

Using "Tramps" for an illustration, as it is outlined it contains

about twelve paragraphs. All of section "A" may be included in one

paragraph. "B, 1" may be a paragraph of repetition; "a," "b," "c,"

"d," may each make a paragraph of particulars. By stating "B, 2" in

the following way, it may be a paragraph of "what not:" It was once

considered unladylike for women to engage in any occupation outside of

the home. Men said that they could not retain, etc.--Go on with the

things woman could not do, closing with a statement of what she does

do.

"B, 2, a." On account of their fidelity, honesty, and courtesy, women

succeed as clerks. Repetition.

b. The quickness of their intelligence and the accuracy of their

work have made women more desirable for routine work in an

office than men. Comparison and Contrast.

c. There are certain feminine qualities which especially fit women

for the practice of teaching and medicine. Details.

"B, 3." By Combination of Forms.

"C." By Details.

It would be a pleasure to go on with this list of exercises, but it is

unnecessary and it is unwise. These indicate the objects to be sought

for in the exercises. They are not a specific course, though they

might suit a certain environment. Each teacher knows her own

pupils,--their attainments and their interests. The subjects should be

chosen to suit their special cases. Only make them interesting; put

them into such form that there is something to get hold of; and adapt

them so that all the topics to be studied will be illustrated in the

work. The pupils should be able to write any form of paragraph, to

arrange it so that any idea is made prominent, and to make easy

transitions. Arrange the exercises to accomplish definite results.

During the third year, attention should be given to words and to the

refinements of elegant composition. These the pupils will best learn

by careful watch of the literature. The teacher should be quick to

feel the strength and beauty of any passage and able to point out the

means adopted to obtain the delightful effect. Clearness first is the

thing to be desired; if to this can be added force and a degree of

elegance during the last two years, the work of the instructor has

been well done.

* * * * *

CHAPTER VI

ARGUMENT

Argument has been defined as that form of discourse the purpose of

which is to convince the reader of the truth or falsity of a

proposition. It is closely allied with exposition. To convince a

person, it is first necessary that the proposition be explained to

him. This is all that is necessary in many cases. Did men decide all

matters without prejudice, and were they willing to accept the truth

at any cost, even to discard the beliefs that have been to them the

source of greatest happiness, the simple explanation would be

sufficient. However, as men are not all-wise, and as they are not

always "reasonable," they are found to hold different opinions

regarding the same subject; and one person often wishes to convince

another of the error of his beliefs. Men continually use the words

_because_ and _therefore;_ indeed, a great deal of writing has in it

an element of argument.

From the fact that argument and exposition are so nearly alike, it

follows that they will be governed by much the same principles. As

argument, in addition to explaining, seeks to convince, it is

necessary, in addition to knowing how to explain, to know what is

considered convincing,--what are proofs; and secondly, what is the

best order in which to arrange proofs.

Induction and Deduction.

Arguments have been classified as inductive and deductive.[22]

Induction includes arguments that proceed from individual cases to

establish a general truth. Deduction comprises arguments that proceed

from a general truth to establish the proposition in specific

instances, or groups of instances.

Syllogism. Premises.

If one should say "Socrates is mortal because he is a man," or

"Socrates will die because all men are mortal," or "Socrates is a man,

therefore he will die," by any of these he has expressed a truth which

all men accept. In any of these expressions are bound up two

propositions, called premises, from which a third proposition, called

a conclusion, is derived. If expanded, the three propositions assume

this form: All men are mortal. Socrates is a man. Therefore Socrates

is mortal. This is termed a syllogism. A syllogism consists of a major

premise, a predication about all the members of a general class of

objects; a minor premise, a predication that includes an individual or

a group of individuals in the general class named by the major

premise; and a conclusion, the proposition which is derived from the

relation existing between the other two propositions. The propositions

above would be classified as follows:--

Major premise: All men are mortal, a predication about _all_

men.

Minor premise: Socrates is a man, including an individual in

the general class.

Conclusion: Socrates is mortal.

Terms.

In every syllogism there are three terms,--major, minor, and middle.

The middle term is found in both the premises, but not in the

conclusion. It is the link connecting the major and minor terms. The

major term is usually the predicate of the major premise and the

predicate of the conclusion. The minor term is the subject of the

minor premise and the subject of the conclusion. "Men" is the middle

term, "are mortal" the major term, and "Socrates," the minor term.

Enthymeme.

It is rarely the case in literature that the syllogism is fully

stated: generally one of the premises is omitted. Such a form of

statement is termed an enthymeme. "Socrates will die because all men

are mortal" is an enthymeme. The minor premise has been omitted.

"Socrates is mortal because he is a man" is also an enthymeme, because

the major premise which states that "all men are mortal" has been

omitted.

The conclusions arrived at by means of syllogisms are irresistible,

provided the form be correct and the premises be true. It is

impossible here to discuss the forms of syllogisms; they are too many.

It will be of value, however, to call attention to a few of the

commonest errors in syllogisms.

Definition of Terms.

The first error arises from a misunderstanding of terms. It is often

said that George Eliot is a poet; there are some who disagree. Certain

it is that she wrote in verse form; and it is true that she has

embodied noble thoughts in verse; but it is quite as true that she

lacks "the bird-note." If this were reduced to a syllogism, it would

not be a discussion of whether George Eliot be a poet, but rather a

discussion of what is a poet. Stated, it reads: All persons who embody

noble thoughts in verse form are poets. George Eliot is a person who

has embodied noble thoughts in verse form. Therefore George Eliot is a

poet. If the major premise of this syllogism be granted, the

conclusion is unquestionable. The terms should be defined at the

beginning; then this error, springing from a misunderstanding of

terms, perhaps the most common, would be avoided.

Undistributed Middle.

The second error arises from the fact that the middle term is not

"distributed;" that is, the major premise makes no statement about all

the members of a class. The premises in the following are true, but

the conclusion is nonsense.

A horse is an animal.

Man is an animal.

Therefore, man is a horse.

The middle term, in this case "animal," must be "distributed;" some

statement must be made of _all_ animals. The following would be true:

All animals have life; therefore man has life. The major premise

predicates life of all animals.

False Premises.

A third error in a syllogism is in the premises themselves. If either

premise be false, the conclusion is not necessarily true. A parent

might say to his son, "You are doing wrong, and you will pay the

penalty for it soon." Generally he would be right. However, if this

were put into a syllogism, it would read as follows: All persons who

do wrong pay the penalty soon. You are such a person. Therefore, etc.

Admitting the son is breaking the law, the fact is that the major

premise is not always true, and the conclusion holds the weakness of

the weak premise. Again, supposing everybody accepted the general

truth, "All unrepentant sinners will be punished." The minister might

then say to a young man, "You will certainly be punished, because all

unrepentant sinners will be punished." The young man might deny the

suppressed minor premise, which is, "You are an unrepentant sinner."

Both premises must be true if they prove anything. The conclusion

contains the weakness of either premise. In both of these examples

note that the mistake is in the premise which does not appear. In an

enthymeme, great care should be taken with the suppressed premise. Be

sure it is true when you use this form of argument, and be sure to

look for it and state it in full when examining another's argument. It

is a common way of hiding a weak point to cover it in the suppressed

premise of an enthymeme.

Method of Induction.