Induction, which proceeds directly opposite to the method of

deduction, is the method by which all our ultimate knowledge has been

obtained. By observing individual instances man has gathered a great

store of general truths. There was a time when the first man would not

have been justified in saying, "The sun will rise in the east

to-morrow." The general law had not been established. To-day it is

practically certain that the sun will rise in the east to-morrow

morning, because it has done so for thousands of years; the large

number of instances establishes the general truth. Yet there may come

a day when it will rise in the south, or not rise at all. Until every

case has been tried and found to conform to the law, theoretically man

cannot be absolutely certain of any general truth. There may come an

exception to the general rule that all men must die. So far, however,

there is no experience to justify any man in hoping to escape death.

"As sure as death" means in practice absolutely sure, though this is

not what is called a perfect induction; that is, an induction in which

every possible case has been included. "All the other States are

smaller than Texas" is a perfect induction, but it forms no basis for

argument. All the cases must be known for a perfect induction; there

is no unknown to argue to. This, then, is only a short statement of

many individual truths, and has but little of value. Induction that is

imperfect is more valuable; for with many cases the probability

becomes so strong that it is a practical certainty. It is the method

of science.

More valuable for literature is another division of arguments into

arguments from cause, arguments from sign, and arguments from example.

Arguments from Cause.

Arguments from cause include those propositions which, if they were

granted, would account for the fact or proposition maintained. The

decisive test is to suppose the proposition to be true; then, if it

will account for the condition, it is an argument from cause. A child

holds its finger in a flame; therefore its finger is burned. If the

first proposition be supposed to be true, it will account for a burned

finger. It is an argument from cause, and it is conclusive. Again, if

a man severs his carotid artery, he will die. If the first proposition

be supposed to be true, it will account for the man's subsequent

death. Now, supposing a man takes strychnine, he will die. This is not

quite so sure. If a stomach-pump were used or an antidote given, he

might not die. The cause has been hindered in its action, or another

cause has intervened to counterbalance the first. If, then, a cause be

adequate to produce the effect, and if it act unhindered or

unmodified, the effect will certainly follow the active cause. An

argument that uses as a premise such a cause may predicate its effect

as a conclusion with absolute certainty. Such an argument is

conclusive.

The argument from cause is used more frequently to establish a

probability than to prove a fact or proposition. However strong the

proofs of a statement may be, men hesitate to accept either the

statement or the proofs if the proposition is not plausible, or, as

people say, if "they do not understand it," or if "it is not

reasonable." If a murder be done and circumstances all point to your

friend, you do not believe your friend to be the criminal until some

fact is produced sufficient to cause your friend to commit the

crime,--until some motive is established. If it be shown that the

friend hated the murdered man and would be benefited by his death, a

motive is established,--the proposition is made plausible. A man could

"understand how he came to do it." The hatred and the benefit being

granted, they would account for his deed. It is an argument from

cause, used not as a proof, but to establish a probability. It makes

the proposition ready for proof.

Arguments from Sign.

The second class of arguments, arguments from sign, is most often used

for proof. If two facts or conditions always occur together, the

presence of one is a sign of the presence of the other. Cause and

effect are so related that if either be observed, it is an indication

of the other. No cause acts without a consequent effect; an effect is

a sure sign of a preceding cause. Supposing one should say, "Because

the flowers are dead, there was a frost," or "If ice has formed on the

river, it must have been cold," in both instances the argument would

be an argument from sign. Both also proceed from the effect to the

cause. Only a low temperature forms ice on the river; the argument

from effect to cause is conclusive. In the first case, the argument is

not conclusive, because flowers may die from other causes. In a case

like this, it is necessary to find all possible causes, and then by

testing each in succession to determine which could not have acted and

leave the one that is the only actual cause. A man is found dead;

death has resulted from natural causes, from murder, or from suicide.

Each possible cause would be tested; and by elimination of the other

possible causes the one right cause would be left. This method of

elimination is frequently employed in arguments from effect to cause.

When this method is used the alternatives should be few, else it gives

rise to confusion and to lack of attention caused by the tediousness

of the discussion. And an enumeration of all possible causes must be

made; for if one be omitted it may be the one that is in fact the

right one.

The relation between cause and effect is so intimate that the

occurrence of one may be regarded as a sure sign of the presence of

the other. If an effect is produced by only one cause, the presence of

the effect is a certain indication of the cause. If several causes

produce the same effect, some other methods must be used to determine

the cause operating in this special case.

Sequence and Cause.

In reasoning from effect to cause, one must be sure that he is dealing

with a cause. As effect follows cause, there is danger that anything

that follows another may be considered as caused by it. Because a man

died just after eating, it would not be quite reasonable to connect

eating and death as cause and effect. The fact is that death is surer

to follow starvation. The glow at evening is generally followed by

fair weather the next day; but the fair weather is not an effect of a

clear sunset. Common sense must be used to determine whether the

relation is one of cause and effect; something more than a simple

sequence is necessary.

Another argument from sign associates conditions that frequently occur

together, though one is not the cause of the other. "James is near,

because there is his blind father," means that James always

accompanies his father; where the father is, the son is too. If one

had noticed that potatoes planted at the full of the moon grew well,

and potatoes planted at other times did not thrive, he might say as a

result of years of observation that a certain crop would be a failure

because it was not planted at the right time. This argument might have

weight with ignorant people, but intelligent persons do not consider

it a sure sign. All signs belong to this class of arguments; they are

of value or worthless as they come true more or less frequently. Every

time there is an exception the argument is weakened; another case of

its working strengthens it. Where there is no sure relation like cause

and effect, the strength of the argument depends on the frequency of

the recurrence of the associated conditions.

A third argument from sign associates two effects of the same cause. A

lad on waking exclaims, "The window is covered with frost; I can go

skating to-day." The frost on the window is not the cause of the ice

on the river. Rather, both phenomena are results of the same cause.

This kind of argument is not necessarily conclusive; yet with others

it always strengthens a case.

Testimony is usually called an argument from sign. The assertion by

some one that a thing occurred is not sure proof; it is only a sign

that it occurred. People have said that they have seen witches,

ghosts, and sea serpents, and unquestionably believed it; men

generally do not accept their testimony. In a criminal case, it would

be difficult to accept the testimony of both sides. Though testimony

seems a strong argument, it is or it is not, according to the

conditions under which it is given. One would care little for the

testimony of an ignorant man in a matter that called for wisdom; he

would hesitate to accept the testimony of a man who claimed he saw,

but upon cross-examination could not report what he saw; and he would

not think it fair to be condemned upon the testimony of his enemies.

Books have been written upon evidence, but three principles are all

that are needed in ordinary arguments. First, the person giving

testimony must be capable of observation; second, he must be able to

report accurately what he has observed; third, he must have a desire

to tell the exact truth.

Arguments from Example.

The third large division comprises arguments from example. That is, if

a truth be asserted of an individual, it can therefore be predicated

of the class to which the individual belongs. For instance, if the

first time a person saw a giraffe, he observed that it was eating

grass, he would be justified in saying that giraffes are herbivorous.

All gold is yellow, heavy, and not corroded by acid, though no one has

tested it all. However, every giraffe does not have one ear brown and

the other gray because the first one seen happened to be so marked;

neither is all gold in the shape of ten-dollar gold pieces. Only

common sense will serve to pick out essential qualities; but if

essential and invariable qualities be selected, the argument from the

example of an individual to all members of its class is very powerful.

Analogies resemble examples. In exposition they are used for

illustration; in argument they are employed as proofs. Though two

things belong to different classes of objects, they may have some

qualities that are similar, and so an argument may be made from one to

another. "Natural Law in the Spiritual World" is a book written to

show how the physical laws hold true in the region of spirit. It is

not because an enemy sowed tares in a neighbor's field that there are

wicked men in the world; nor is it because a lover of jewels will sell

everything that he has to buy the pearl of greatest price that men

devote everything they have to the kingdom of heaven. Analogies prove

nothing. They clear up relations and often help the reader to

appreciate other arguments. They are valuable when the likeness is

broad and easily traced. They should never be used alone.

These, then, are the principal forms of argument: deduction and

induction; arguments from cause, from sign, and from example. Upon

these men depend when they wish to convince of truth or error.

Selection of Material.

In argument the material is selected with reference to its value as

proof. Every particle of matter must be carefully tested. While a

piece of material that could be omitted without loss to the

explanation may sometimes find a place in exposition, such a thing

must not occur in argument. As soon as a reader discovers that the

writer is off the track, either he loses respect for the author's

words, or he suspects him of trying to hide the weakness of his

position in a cloud of worthless and irrelevant matters. Every bit of

material should advance the argument one step; it should fill its

niche in the well-planned structure; it should contribute its part to

the strength of the whole.

Plan called The Brief.

When the material has been selected, it must be arranged. An argument

is a demonstration. Each of its parts is the natural result of what

has preceded, and, up to the last step, each part is the basis for the

next step. As in geometry a demonstration that omits one step in its

development, or, which comes to the same thing, puts the point out of

its logical order, is worthless as a demonstration, so in argument not

one essential step can be omitted, nor can it be misplaced. The plan

in an argument may be more evident than in exposition. We are a little

offended if the framework shows too plainly in exposition; but there

is no offense in a well-articulated skeleton in an argument. It is

quite the rule that the general plan and the main divisions of the

argument are announced at the very beginning. Any device that will

make the relation of the parts clearer should be used. Over and over

again the writer should arrange the cards with the topics until he is

certain that no other order is so good. The writing is a mere trifle

compared with the outline, called in argument the brief.

Though the brief is so essential, it is unfortunately a thing about

which but few suggestions can be given. The circumstances under which

arguments are written--especially whether written to defend a position

or to attack it--are so various that rules cannot be given. Still a

few general principles may be of value.

Climax.

Proofs should be arranged in a climax. This does not mean that the

weakest argument should come first, and the next stronger should

follow, and so on until the last and strongest is reached. It is

necessary to begin with something that will catch the attention; and

in argument it is frequently a proof strong enough to convince the

reader that the writer knows what he is contending for, and that he

can strike a hard blow. Then again, it is evident that in all

arguments there are main points in the discussion that must be

established by points of minor importance. The main points should be

arranged in a logical climax, and the sub-topics which go to support

one of the main divisions should have their climax. At the end of the

whole should be the strongest and the most comprehensive argument. It

should be a general advance of the whole line of argument, including

all the propositions that have previously been called into action,

sweeping everything before it.

Inductive precedes Deductive.

To gain this climax what kind of arguments should precede? Of

inductive and deductive, the inductive proofs generally go first. The

advance from particular instances to general truths is the best suited

to catch the attention, for men think with individual examples, and

general truths make little appeal to them. Moreover, if one is

addressing people of opposing views,--and in most cases he is, else

why is he arguing?--it is unwise to begin with bald statements of

unwelcome truths. They will be rejected without consideration. They

can with advantage be delayed until they are reached in the regular

development, and the reader has been prepared for their reception.

General truths and their application by deductive arguments usually

stand late in the brief.

Cause precedes Sign.

Of arguments from cause, sign, or example, it is ordinarily wise to

place arguments from cause first. A person does not listen to any

explanation of an unknown truth until he knows that the explanation is

plausible; that the cause assigned is adequate to produce the result.

After one knows that the cause is sufficient and may have brought

about the result, he is in a position to learn that it is the very

cause that produced the effect. Arguments from cause are very rarely

conclusive proofs of fact. They only establish a probability. And it

would be unwise to prove that a thing might be a possibility after one

had attempted to prove that it is a fact. It would be a long step

backward, a retreat. Therefore arguments from cause, unless absolutely

conclusive proof of fact, should not come last; but by other

arguments,--by testimony, by example, by analogy,--the possibility,

which has been reached by the argument from cause, may be established

as a fact.

Example follows Sign.

Of the two, sign and example, example generally follows sign. In

arguments about human affairs, examples seldom prove anything; for

under similar conditions one person may not act like another. Though

this be true, the argument from example is one of the most

effective--it is not at all conclusive--in that class of cases where

oratory is combined with argument to convince and persuade. This is

because men learn most readily from examples. To reason about matters

of conduct on abstract principles of morality convinces but few; to

point to a Lincoln or a Franklin has persuaded thousands. Examples are

of most use in enforcing and illustrating and strengthening a point

already established, and they generally follow arguments from sign.

Refutation.

One other class of arguments finds a place in debate: namely, indirect

arguments. It is often as much an advantage to a debater to dispose of

objections as it is to establish his own case. This is because a

question usually has two alternatives. If one can refute the arguments

in favor of the opponent's position, he has by that very process

established his own. If the points of the refutation are of minor

importance and are related to any division of his own direct argument,

the refutation of such points should be taken up in connection with

the related parts of the direct argument. If, however, it is an

argument of some weight and should be considered separate and apart

from the direct argument, it is generally wisest to proceed to its

demolition at the end of the direct argument and before the conclusion

of the whole. For then the whole weight of the direct argument will be

thrown into the refutation and will render every word so much the more

destructive. Again, if the opposing argument be very strong and have

taken complete possession of the audience, it must be attacked and

disposed of at the very beginning. Otherwise it is impossible for the

direct argument to make any advance.

From these suggestions one derives the general principle that each

case must be considered by itself. There will be cases of conflict

among the rules, and there must be a careful weighing of methods.

Common sense and patient labor are the most valuable assistants in

arranging a powerful argument.

It hardly needs to be said that the suggestions made in the chapter on

Exposition regarding Mass and Coherence should be observed here. In

argument as in exposition, topics are emphasized by position, and by

proportion in the scale of treatment. Here as there, matters that are

closely related in thought should be connected in the discourse, and

matters that are not related in thought should not be associated in

the essay.

It will be an advantage now to look through "Conciliation with the

Colonies" and note its general plan of structure. Only the main

divisions of this powerful oration can be given, as to make a full

brief would deprive this piece of literature of half its value for

study.

Analysis of Burke's Oration.

Mr. Burke begins by saying that it is "an awful subject or there is

none this side of the grave." He states that he has studied the

question for years, and while Parliament has pursued a vacillating

policy and one aggravating to the colonies, he has a fixed policy and

one sure to restore "the former unsuspecting confidence in the Mother

Country." His policy is simple peace. This by way of introduction. He

then divides the argument into two large divisions and proceeds.

I. OUGHT YOU TO CONCEDE?

A. What are "the true nature and the peculiar circumstances of

the object which we have before us?"

I. America has a rapidly growing population.

II. It has a rapidly increasing commercial value, shown by

1. Its demand for our goods.

2. The value of its agricultural products.

3. The value of the products of its fisheries.

III. There is in the people a "fierce spirit of liberty."

This is the result of

1. Their descent from Englishmen.

2. Their popular form of government.

3. Religion in the North.

4. The haughty spirit of the South.

5. Their education.

6. Their remoteness from the governing body.

B. "You have before you the object." "What ... shall we do with

it?" "There are but three ways of proceeding relative to this

stubborn spirit in the colonies."

I. To change it by removing the causes. This is

impracticable.

II. To prosecute it as criminal. This is inexpedient.

III. _To comply with it as necessary._ This is the answer to

the first question.

II. OF WHAT NATURE OUGHT THE CONCESSION TO BE?

A. A concession that grants to any colony the satisfaction of the

grievances it complains of brings about conciliation and

peace. This general proposition is established by the

following examples. It has done so in

1. Ireland,

2. Wales,

3. Durham, and

4. Chester.

B. The grievances complained of in America are unjust taxation

and no representation.

C. Therefore these resolutions rehearsing facts and calculated to

satisfy their grievances will bring about conciliation and

peace.

I. They are unrepresented.

II. They are taxed.

III. No method has been devised for procuring a representation

in Parliament for the said Colonies.

IV. Each colony has within itself a body with powers to

raise, levy, and assess taxes.

V. These assemblies have at sundry times granted large

subsidies and aids to his Majesty's service.

VI. Experience teaches that it is expedient to follow their

method rather than force payment.

D. As a result of the adoption of these resolutions, "everything

which has been made to enforce a contrary system must, I take

it for granted, fall along with it. On that ground, I have

drawn the following resolutions."

I. It is proper to repeal certain legislation regarding

taxes, imports, and administration of justice.

II. To secure a fair and unbiased judiciary.

III. To provide better for the Courts of Admiralty.

E. He next considers objections.

Conclusion.

Notice first the introduction. It goes straight to the question. To

tell a large opposition that it has vacillated on a great question is

not calculated to win a kind hearing; yet this point, necessary to

Burke's argument, is so delicately handled that no one could be

seriously offended, nor could any one charge him with weakness. The

introduction serves its purpose; it gains the attention of the

audience and it exactly states the proposition.

He then divides the whole argument into two parts. The framework is

visible, and with intent. These great divisions he takes up

separately. First, that there may be a perfect understanding of the

question, he explains "the true nature and the peculiar circumstances

of the object which we have before us." This illustrates the use of

exposition in argument. The descent and education did not prove that

the Americans had a fiery spirit; that was acknowledged and needed no

proof. It simply sets forth the facts,--facts which he afterward uses

as powerful instruments of conviction. As long as a man can use

exposition, he can carry his readers with him; it is when he begins to

argue, to force matters, that he raises opposition. So this use of

exposition was fortunate. America was an English colony. Her strength

and riches were England's strength and wealth. It would be pleasing to

all Englishmen to hear the recital of America's prosperity. Up to the

time he asks, "What, in the name of God, shall we do with it," the

oration is not essentially argument; it does nothing more than place

"before you the object."

In the section marked "I. B," Burke begins the real argument by the

method of elimination. He asserts that there are only three ways of

dealing with this fierce spirit of liberty. Then he conclusively

proves the first impracticable and the second inexpedient. There is

left but the one course, concession. This method of proof is

absolutely conclusive if every possible contingency is stated and

provided for. Notice that in this section "B" everything that was

mentioned in the first section "A" is used, and the whole is one solid

mass moving forward irresistibly to the conclusion of the first and

the most important part of this argument.

The second main division is devoted to the conclusion of the first. If

you must concede,--the conclusion of the first half,--what will be the

nature of your concession? A concession, to be a concession, must

grant what the colonists wish, not what the ministry thinks would be

good for them. Then by the history of England's dealings with Ireland,

Wales, Chester, and Durham, he proves that such a concession has been

followed by peace. This makes the major premise of his syllogism,

stated in "II. A." The minor premise is a statement of the grievances

of the colonies. The conclusion is in the resolutions for the redress

of the grievances of the colonies. The second part is then one great

syllogism, the premises of which are established by ample proof, the

conclusion of which cannot well be disputed.

"And here I should close," says the orator; the direct argument is

finished. There are some objections which demand dignified

consideration. At this point, however, it is easy to refute any

objections, for behind each word there is now the crushing weight of

the whole argument.

The conclusion recites the advantages of Burke's plan over all others,

and reasserts its value, now proven at every point. It is a powerful

summary, and a skillful plea for the adoption of a policy of

conciliation with the colonies of America.

Every kind of argument is used in this oration. One would look long

for a treasury better supplied with illustrations. The great

conclusions are reached by the certain methods of elimination and

deduction. In establishing the minor points Burke has used arguments

from sign, cause, example, and induction. He calls in testimony; he

quotes authority; he illustrates. Not any device of sound argument

that a man honest in his search for truth may use has been omitted. It

is worthy of patient study.

In conclusion, the student of argument should learn well the value of

different kinds of argument; he should exercise the most careful

scrutiny in selecting his material, without any hesitation rejecting

irrelevant matter; he should state the proposition so that it cannot

be misunderstood; he must consider his readers, guiding his course

wisely with regard for all the conditions under which he produces his

argument; he should remember that the law in argument is climax, and

that coherence should be sought with infinite pains. Above all, the

man who takes up a debate must be fair and honest; only so will he win

favor from his readers, and gain what is worth more than victory,--the

distinction of being a servant of truth.

SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS

QUESTIONS.

MACAULAY'S ESSAY ON MILTON.

(Riverside Literature Series, No. 103.)

Put into a syllogism, Macaulay's opponents said, "An educated man

living in an enlightened age has better facilities for writing poetry

than an uneducated man at the dawn of civilization. Milton was an

educated man, living in an enlightened age; therefore Macaulay had

better facilities," etc.

Which premise does Macaulay attack? Does he demolish it?

What value is there in an analogy between experimental sciences and

imitative arts? Between poetry and a magic-lantern? Is either an

argument that is convincing? Are both effective in the essay?

What do you think of Macaulay's estimate of Wordsworth? Granting that

this estimate is true, what kind of a proof is it of the proposition

that "his very talents will be a hindrance to him"?

Is it a uniform phenomenon that as civilization advances, poetry

declines? Name some instances that prove it.

Name some instances that disprove it. What method of proof have you

used in both?

Is an uncivilized state of society the cause of good poetry, or only

an attendant circumstance?

What method of proof is adopted on pages 34 and 35?

Granting that you cannot conceive "a good man and an unnatural

father," does that prove anything about the first sentence at the

bottom of page 55?

Does the example of the prisoner on page 60 prove anything?

BURKE'S SPEECH ON CONCILIATION WITH THE COLONIES.

(Riverside Literature Series, No. 100.)

What argument does Burke use to prove that hedging in the population

is not practicable?

When he says that they will occupy territory because they have done

so, is that an inductive or deductive argument, or is it an argument

from sign?

If it is deductive, what is the suppressed premise?

Are the arguments from 48 to 64 more in the nature of direct or

indirect proofs?

What value is there in an indirect argument?

"Americans speak the English language, therefore they are English." Is

the argument good? Where is the fault? Look for the suppressed

premise.

Is paragraph 55 direct or indirect argument?

Does he prove that criminal procedure against the colonies would fail,

by sign or by deduction?

Do the four precedents which he cites of Ireland, Wales, Durham, and

Chester prove that his plan will work in America?

Upon what general principle do all arguments from example depend?

Is paragraph 79 in itself exposition or argument?

What method is adopted in paragraph 88 to prove that the principle of

concession is applicable to America?

How does he prove that Americans were grieved by taxes?

How does he establish the competence of the colony assemblies?

How could the arguments have made "the conclusion irresistible"?

(Paragraph 112.)

What principle of argument is stated in paragraph 114?

In paragraph 127 is the one example cited enough to prove the rule?

Find an example of argument from sign. Is it a relation of cause and

effect? Is it conclusive?

In paragraph 129 what does Burke mention as arguments of value?

What kind of arguments in paragraphs 128 to 136? What is the

conclusion?

Whenever Burke states a general truth it forms a part of what? Supply

the other premise in five cases, and derive a conclusion.

Does he ever use an argument from cause to establish a probability? To

establish a fact?

Does he use deduction more frequently than sign?

Does he seek for a climax in the arrangement of the parts of his

brief?

* * * * *

CHAPTER VII

PARAGRAPHS

Definition.

So far we have been dealing with whole compositions; we now take up

the study of paragraphs, sentences, and words. A paragraph in many

respects resembles a whole composition. It may be narrative,

descriptive, expositive, or argumentative. It must have a beginning, a

middle, and an end. It is constructed with regard to Unity, Mass, and

Coherence. And as a whole composition treats a single theme, so a

paragraph treats one division of a theme. It has been defined as a

composition in miniature. A paragraph is a sentence or a group of

sentences serving a single purpose in the development of a theme. The

purpose may be simply to announce the theme-subject, to make a

conclusion, to indicate a transition; but in the great majority of

cases its purpose is to treat a single topic. So true is this that

many authors, with good reason, define a paragraph as a group of

sentences treating a single topic.

Long and Short Paragraphs.

Nobody would have trouble in telling where on a page a paragraph began

and where it ended. The indention at the beginning, and usually the

incomplete line at the end, mark its visible limits. Unfortunately

there is no specified length after which the writer is to make a break

in the lines and begin a new paragraph. The length of a paragraph

depends on something deeper than appearances; as the topic requires a

lengthy or but a short treatment, as the paragraph may be a long

summary or a short transition, the length of a paragraph varies. Yet

there is one circumstance which should counsel an author to keep his

paragraphs within certain bounds: he should always have regard for his

readers. Readers shirk heavy labor. If a book or an article looks

hard, it is passed by; if it looks easy, it is read. If the paragraphs

be long and the page solid, the composition looks difficult; if the

paragraphs be short and the page broken, the piece looks easy. This

fact should advise a writer to make the page attractive by using short

paragraphs; provided, and the provision is important, he can so make

real paragraphs, divisions of composition that fully treat one topic.

These divisions may in reality be but one sentence, and they may just

as unquestionably be two pages of hard reading.

Successive paragraphs, each more than a page of ordinary print in

length, repel as too hard; and a series of paragraphs of less than a

quarter of a page impresses a reader as scrappy, and the work seems to

lack the authority of complete treatment. An author will serve his

readers and himself best by so subdividing his subject that the

paragraphs are within these limits.

The following paragraph is much too long and can with no difficulty be

subdivided. The paragraphs in the next group are too short, and they

are incomplete.

"Keating rode up now, and the transaction became more

complicated. It ended in the purchase of the horse by Bryce

for a hundred and twenty, to be paid on the delivery of

Wildfire, safe and sound, at the Batherley stables. It did

occur to Dunsey that it might be wise for him to give up the

day's hunting, proceed at once to Batherley, and, having

waited for Bryce's return, hire a horse to carry him home

with the money in his pocket. But the inclination for a run,

encouraged by confidence in his luck, and by a draught of

brandy from his pocket-pistol at the conclusion of the

bargain, was not easy to overcome, especially with a horse

under him that would take the fences to the admiration of

the field. Dunstan, however, took one fence too many, and

got his horse pierced with a hedge-stake. His own

ill-favored person, which was quite unmarketable, escaped

without injury; but poor Wildfire, unconscious of his price,

turned on his flank, and painfully panted his last. It

happened that Dunstan, a short time before, having had to

get down to arrange his stirrup, had muttered a good many

curses at this interruption, which had thrown him in the

rear of the hunt near the moment of glory, and under this

exasperation had taken the fences more blindly. He would

soon have been up with the hounds again, when the fatal

accident happened; and hence he was between eager riders in

advance, not troubling themselves about what happened behind

them, and far-off stragglers, who were as likely as not to

pass quite aloof from the line of road in which Wildfire had

fallen. Dunstan, whose nature it was to care more for

immediate annoyances than for remote consequences, no sooner

recovered his legs, and saw that it was all over with

Wildfire, than he felt a satisfaction at the absence of

witnesses to a position which no swaggering could make

enviable. Reinforcing himself, after his shake, with a

little brandy and much swearing, he walked as fast as he

could to a coppice on his right hand, through which it

occurred to him that he could make his way to Batherley

without danger of encountering any member of the hunt. His

first intention was to hire a horse there and ride home

forthwith, for to walk many miles without a gun in his hand,

and along an ordinary road, was as much out of the question

to him as to other spirited young men of his kind. He did

not much mind about taking the bad news to Godfrey, for he

had to offer him at the same time the resource of Marner's

money; and if Godfrey kicked, as he always did, at the

notion of making a fresh debt, from which he himself got the

smallest share of advantage, why, he wouldn't kick long:

Dunstan felt sure he could worry Godfrey into anything. The

idea of Marner's money kept growing in vividness, now the

want of it had become immediate; the prospect of having to

make his appearance with the muddy boots of a pedestrian at

Batherley, and to encounter the grinning queries of

stablemen, stood unpleasantly in the way of his impatience

to be back at Raveloe and carry out his felicitous plan; and

a casual visitation of his waistcoat-pocket, as he was

ruminating, awakened his memory to the fact that the two or

three small coins his fore-finger encountered there were of

too pale a color to cover that small debt, without payment

of which the stable-keeper had declared he would never do

any more business with Dunsey Cass. After all, according to

the direction in which the run had brought him, he was not

so very much farther from home than he was from Batherley;

but Dunsey, not being remarkable for clearness of head, was

only led to this conclusion by the gradual perception that

there were other reasons for choosing the unprecedented

course of walking home. It was now nearly four o'clock, and

a mist was gathering: the sooner he got into the road the

better. He remembered having crossed the road and seen the

finger-post only a little while before Wildfire broke down;

so, buttoning his coat, twisting the lash of his

hunting-whip compactly round the handle, and rapping the

tops of his boots with a self-possessed air, as if to assure

himself that he was not at all taken by surprise, he set off

with the sense that he was undertaking a remarkable feat of

bodily exertion, which somehow, and at some time, he should

be able to dress up and magnify to the admiration of a

select circle at the Rainbow. When a young gentleman like

Dunsey is reduced to so exceptional a mode of locomotion as

walking, a whip in his hand is a desirable corrective to a

too bewildering dreamy sense of unwontedness in his

position; and Dunstan, as he went along through the

gathering mist, was always rapping his whip somewhere. It

was Godfrey's whip, which he had chosen to take without

leave because it had a gold handle; of course no one could

see, when Dunstan held it, that the name _Godfrey Cass_ was

cut in deep letters on that gold handle--they could only see

that it was a very handsome whip. Dunsey was not without

fear that he might meet some acquaintance in whose eyes he

would cut a pitiable figure, for mist is no screen when

people get close to each other; but when he at last found

himself in the well-known Raveloe lanes without having met a

soul, he silently remarked that that was part of his usual

good luck. But now the mist, helped by the evening darkness,

was more of a screen than he desired, for it hid the ruts

into which his feet were liable to slip--hid everything, so

that he had to guide his steps by dragging his whip along

the low bushes in advance of the hedgerow. He must soon, he

thought, be getting near the opening at the Stone-pits: he

should find it out by the break in the hedgerow. He found it

out, however, by another circumstance which he had not

expected--namely, by certain gleams of light, which he

presently guessed to proceed from Silas Marner's cottage.

That cottage and the money hidden within it had been in his

mind continually during his walk, and he had been imagining

ways of cajoling and tempting the weaver to part with the

immediate possession of his money for the sake of receiving

interest. Dunstan felt as if there must be a little

frightening added to the cajolery, for his own arithmetical

convictions were not clear enough to afford him any forcible

demonstration as to the advantages of interest; and as for

security, he regarded it vaguely as a means of cheating a

man by making him believe that he would be paid. Altogether,

the operation on the miser's mind was a task that Godfrey

would be sure to hand over to his more daring and cunning

brother: Dunstan had made up his mind to that; and by the

time he saw the light gleaming through the chinks of

Marner's shutters, the idea of a dialogue with the weaver

had become so familiar to him, that it occurred to him as

quite a natural thing to make the acquaintance forthwith.

There might be several conveniences attending this course:

the weaver had possibly got a lantern, and Dunstan was tired

of feeling his way. He was still nearly three quarters of a

mile from home, and the lane was becoming unpleasantly

slippery, for the mist was passing into rain. He turned up

the bank, not without some fear lest he might miss the right

way, since he was not certain whether the light were in

front or on the side of the cottage. But he felt the ground

before him cautiously with his whip-handle, and at last

arrived safely at the door. He knocked loudly, rather

enjoying the idea that the old fellow would be frightened at

the sudden noise. He heard no movement in reply: all was

silence in the cottage. Was the weaver gone to bed, then? If

so, why had he left a light? That was a strange

forgetfulness in a miser. Dunstan knocked still more loudly,

and, without pausing for a reply, pushed his fingers through

the latch-hole, intending to shake the door and pull the

latch-string up and down, not doubting that the door was

fastened. But, to his surprise, at this double motion the

door opened, and he found himself in front of a bright fire,

which lit up every corner of the cottage--the bed, the loom,

the three chairs, and the table--and showed him that Marner

was not there."[23]

"The country, all white, lit up by the fire, shone like a

cloth of silver tinted with red.

"A bell, far off, began to toll.

"The old 'Sauvage' remained standing before her ruined

dwelling, armed with her gun, her son's gun, for fear lest

one of those men might escape.

"When she saw that it was ended, she threw her weapon into

the brasier. A loud report rang back.

"People were coming, the peasants, the Prussians.

"They found the woman seated on the trunk of a tree, calm

and satisfied.

"A German officer, who spoke French like a son of France,

demanded of her:--

"'Where are your soldiers?'

"She extended her thin arm towards the red heap of fire

which was gradually going out, and she answered with a

strong voice:--

"'There!'

"They crowded round her. The Prussian asked:--

"'How did it take fire?'

"She said:--

"'It was I who set it on fire.'"[24]

Topic Sentence.

Paragraphs are developments of a definite topic; and this topic is

generally announced at the beginning of the paragraph. In isolated

paragraphs, paragraphs that are indeed compositions in miniature, the

topic-sentence is the first sentence. The reader is then advised of

the subject of the discussion; and as sentence after sentence passes

him, he can relate it to the topic, and the thought is a cumulative

whole. If the subject be not announced, the individual sentences must

be held in mind until the reader catches the drift of the discussion,

or the author at last presents the topic.

Below are four paragraphs, from different forms of discourse, all

having the topic-sentence at the beginning.

"_But success or defeat was a minor matter to them, who had

only thought for the safety of those they loved._ Amelia, at

the news of the victory, became still more agitated even

than before. She was for going that moment to the army. She

besought her brother with tears to conduct her thither. Her

doubts and terrors reached their paroxysm; and the poor

girl, who for many hours had been plunged into stupor, raved

and ran hither and thither in hysteric insanity,--a piteous

sight. No man writhing in pain in the hard-fought field

fifteen miles off, where lay, after their struggles, so many

of the brave--no man suffered more keenly than this poor

harmless victim of the war. Jos could not bear the sight of

her pain. He left his sister in the charge of her stouter

female companion and descended once more to the threshold of

the hotel, where everybody still lingered, and talked, and

waited for more news."[25]

"_Yet the fact remains that the honey-bee is essentially a

wild creature, and never has been and cannot be thoroughly

domesticated._ Its proper home is the woods, and thither

every new swarm counts on going; and thither many do go in

spite of the care and watchfulness of the bee-keeper. If the

woods in any given locality are deficient in trees with

suitable cavities, the bees resort to all kinds of

makeshifts; they go into chimneys, into barns and outhouses,

under stones, into rocks, and so forth. Several chimneys in

my locality with disused flues are taken possession of by

colonies of bees nearly every season. One day, while

bee-hunting, I developed a line that went toward a farmhouse

where I had reason to believe no bees were kept. I followed

it up and questioned the farmer about his bees. He said he

kept no bees, but that a swarm had taken possession of his

chimney, and another had gone under the clapboards in the

gable end of his house. He had taken a large lot of honey

out of both places the year before. Another farmer told me

that one day his family had seen a number of bees examining

a knot-hole in the side of his house; the next day as they

were sitting down to dinner their attention was attracted by

a loud humming noise, when they discovered a swarm of bees

settling upon the side of the house and pouring into the

knot-hole. In subsequent years other swarms came to the same

place."[26]

"_It is important, therefore, to hold fast to this: that

poetry is at bottom a criticism of life;_ that the greatness

of a poet lies in his powerful and beautiful application of

ideas to life,--to the question: How to live. Morals are

often treated in a narrow and false fashion; they are bound

up with systems of thought and belief which have had their

day; they have fallen into the hands of pedants and

professional dealers; they grow tiresome to some of us. We

find attraction, at times, even in a poetry of revolt

against them; in a poetry which might take for its motto

Omar Khayyam's words: 'Let us make up in the tavern for the

time which we have wasted in the mosque.' Or we find

attractions in a poetry indifferent to them; in a poetry

where the contents may be what they will, but where the form

is studied and exquisite. We delude ourselves in either

case; and the best cure for our delusion is to let our minds

rest upon that great and inexhaustible word _life,_ until we

learn to enter into its meaning. A poetry of revolt against

moral ideas is a poetry of revolt against _life;_ a poetry

of indifference toward moral ideas is a poetry of

indifference toward _life._"[27]

"_The advantages arising from a system of copyright are

obvious._ It is desirable that we should have a supply of

good books: we cannot have such a supply unless men of

letters are liberally remunerated; and the least

objectionable way of remunerating them is by means of

copyright. You cannot depend for literary instruction and

amusement on the leisure of men occupied in the pursuits of

active life. Such men may occasionally produce compositions

of great merit. But you must not look to such men for works

which require deep meditation and long research. Works of

that kind you can expect only from persons who make

literature the business of their lives. Of these persons few

will be found among the rich and the noble. The rich and the

noble are not impelled to intellectual exertion by

necessity. They may be impelled to intellectual exertion by

the desire of distinguishing themselves, or by the desire of

benefiting the community. But it is generally within these

walls that they seek to signalize themselves and to serve

their fellow-creatures. Both their ambition and their public

spirit, in a country like this, naturally take a political

turn. It is then on men whose profession is literature, and

whose private means are not ample, that you must rely for a

supply of valuable books. Such men must be remunerated for

their literary labor. And there are only two ways in which

they can be remunerated. One of those ways is patronage; the

other is copyright."[28]

Frequently the topic-sentence is delayed until after the connection

between what was said in the preceding paragraph and what will be said

has been made. To establish this relation requires sometimes but a

word or a short phrase, and sometimes sentences. In these cases the

topic-sentence follows the transition, and it may come as late as the

middle of the paragraph.

"The crows we have always with us, but it is not every day

or every season that one sees an eagle. _Hence I must

preserve the memory of one I saw the last day I went

bee-hunting._ As I was laboring up the side of a mountain at

the head of a valley, the noble bird sprang from the top of

a dry tree above me and came sailing directly over my head.

I saw him bend his eye down upon me, and I could hear the

low hum of his plumage, as if the web of every quill in his

great wings vibrated in his strong, level flight. I watched

him as long as my eye could hold him. When he was fairly

clear of the mountain he began that sweeping spiral movement

in which he climbs the sky. Up and up he went without once

breaking his majestic poise till he appeared to sight some

far-off alien geography, when he bent his course

thitherward, and gradually vanished in the blue depths. The

eagle is a bird of large ideas, he embraces long distances;

the continent is his home. I never look upon one without

emotion; I follow him with my eye as long as I can. I think

of Canada, of the Great Lakes, of the Rocky Mountains, of

the wild and sounding sea-coast. The waters are his, and the

woods and the inaccessible cliffs. He pierces behind the

veil of the storm, and his joy is height and depth and vast

spaces."[29]

"Now these insinuations and questions shall be answered in

their proper places; here I will but say that I scorn and

detest lying, and quibbling, and double-tongued practice,

and slyness, and cunning, and smoothness, and cant, and

pretence, quite as much as any Protestants hate them; and I

pray to be kept from the snare of them. But all this is just

now by the bye; _my present subject is my Accuser;_ what I

insist upon here is this unmanly attempt of his, in his

concluding pages, to cut the ground from under my feet;--to

poison by anticipation the public mind against me, John

Henry Newman, and to infuse into the imaginations of my

readers suspicion and mistrust of everything that I may say

in reply to him. This I call poisoning the wells."

("Apologia.")

In exposition and argument, and sometimes in the other forms of

discourse, the topic-sentence may be at the end of the paragraph. This

is for emphasis in narration and description. In exposition and

argument it is better to lead up to an unwelcome truth than to

announce it at once.

"Thus the matter of life, so far as we know it (and we have

no right to speculate on any other), breaks up, in

consequence of that continual death which is the condition

of its manifesting vitality, into carbonic acid, water, and

nitrogenous compounds which certainly possess no properties

but those of ordinary matter. And out of these same forms of

ordinary matter, and from none which are simpler, the

vegetable world builds up all the protoplasm which keeps the

animal world a-going. _Plants are the accumulators of the

power which animals distribute and disperse._"[30]

No Topic-Sentence.

Sometimes no topic-sentence appears in the paragraph. In such a case

it is easily discovered; or at times it is too fragile to be

compressed into any definite shape--a feeling, or a sentiment too

delicate, too volatile for expression. A paragraph with no

topic-sentence is most common in narration and description.

"The tide of color has ebbed from the upper sky. In the west

the sea of sunken fire draws back; and the stars leap forth,

and tremble, and retire before the advancing moon, who slips

the silver train of cloud from her shoulders, and, with her

foot upon the pine-tops, surveys heaven." ("Richard

Feverel," by George Meredith.)

The Plan.

Whether the topic form a part of the paragraph or not, it should be

distinctly before the writer, and he should write upon the topic.

Nothing contributes so much to the success of paragraphs as a definite

treatment of one single topic. The paragraph is the development, the

growth of this topic, as the plant is the development of its seed.

Moreover, the development is according to a definite plan. The

different steps are not usually laid out, as was done in the outline

of a theme. Genung, in the "Practical Elements of Rhetoric," presents

what he calls a typical form for a paragraph. It shows that a

paragraph which is fully developed is in reality a miniature theme. It

is as follows:--

The Subject proposed.

I. Whatever is needed to explain the subject.

Repetition.

Obverse.

Definition.

II. Whatever is needed to establish the subject.

Exemplification or detail.

Illustration.

Proof.

III. Whatever is needed to apply the subject.

Result or consequence.

Enforcement.

Summary or recapitulation.

Kinds of Paragraphs.

This typical form of a paragraph embodies all that paragraphs may do,

and it is the logical arrangement. However, it is rare, perhaps it

never occurs, that a paragraph is found having all these elements

developed. The purpose determines which part of a paragraph should

receive the amplification. If it be narrative or descriptive, there is

no definition or proof; but the development by details will

predominate. In an argument, definition and proof will form the large

part of the paragraphs. Again, the position in the theme determines

what kind of a paragraph should be used. In exposition the first

paragraphs would be devoted to stating the proposition, and would

therefore be largely given up to definition and repetition; the body

would be especially paragraphs of detail and illustration; while the

closing paragraph would be taken up with results and a summary. As one

of the elements of a paragraph has been especially developed,

paragraphs have been named paragraphs of repetition,[31] of the

obverse, of details, of instances or examples, and of comparisons.

Such a division is somewhat mechanical; but for purposes of study and

for conscious practice in construction it has value.

Details.

The paragraph of details is by far the most common. It is found in all

kinds of discourse. It originates from the fact that persons generally

give the general truth first and follow this statement with the

details or particulars. Whether the storyteller begins by saying, "Now

I'll tell you just how they happened to be there;" or the traveler

writes, "From the Place de la Concorde one has about him magnificent

views," or "There were many unfortunate circumstances about the

Dreyfus affair;" in each case he will follow the general statement of

the opening sentence with sentences going into particulars or details.

_"All was now bustle and hubbub in the late quiet

schoolroom._ The scholars were hurried through their lessons

without stopping at trifles; those who were nimble skipped

over half with impunity, and those who were tardy had a

smart application now and then in the rear, to quicken their

speed or help them over a tall word. Books were flung aside

without being put away on the shelves, inkstands were

overturned, benches thrown down, and the whole school was

turned loose an hour before the usual time, bursting forth

like a legion of young imps, yelping and racketing about the

green in joy at their early emancipation."[32]

"It was toward evening that Ichabod arrived at the castle of

the Heer Van Tassel, _which he found thronged with the pride

and flower of the adjacent country._ Old farmers, a spare

leathern-faced race, in homespun coats and breeches, blue

stocking, huge shoes, and magnificent pewter buckles. Their

brisk, withered little dames, in close crimped caps,

long-waisted short-gowns, homespun petticoats, with scissors

and pincushions, and gay calico pockets hanging on the

outside. Buxom lasses, almost as antiquated as their

mothers, excepting where a straw hat, a fine ribbon, or

perhaps a white frock gave symptoms of city innovation. The

sons, in short square-skirted coats, with rows of stupendous

brass buttons, and their hair generally queued in the

fashion of the times, especially if they could procure an

eelskin for the purpose, it being esteemed throughout the

country as a potent nourisher and strengthener of the

hair."[32]

"The enemies of the Parliament, indeed, rarely choose to

take issue in the great points of the question. They content

themselves with exposing some of _the crimes and follies_ to

which public commotions necessarily give birth. They bewail

the unmerited fate of Strafford. They execrate the lawless

violence of the army. They laugh at the scriptural names of

the preachers. Major-generals fleecing their districts;

soldiers reveling on the spoils of a ruined peasantry;

upstarts, enriched by the public plunder, taking possession

of the hospitable firesides and hereditary trees of the old

gentry; boys smashing the beautiful windows of cathedrals;

Quakers riding naked through the market-place;

Fifth-monarchy men shouting for King Jesus; agitators

lecturing from the tops of tubs on the fate of Agag,--all

these, they tell us, were the offspring of the great

Rebellion."[33]

In narration and in a short paragraph of description this paragraph of

details is frequently without a topic-sentence. The circumstances that

make up a transaction are grouped, but there is no need of writing, "I

will now detail this." In the following, since the paragraph is

plainly about the preparation for the fight, it is unnecessary to say

so. Such a patent statement would hinder the movement of the story.

"Alan drew a dirk, which he held in his left hand in case

they should run in under his sword. I, on my part, clambered

up into the berth with an armful of pistols and something of

a heavy heart, and set open the window where I was to watch.

It was a small part of the deck that I could overlook, but

enough for our purpose. The sea had gone down, and the wind

was steady and kept the sails quiet; so that there was a

great stillness on the ship, in which I made sure I heard

the sound of muttering voices. A little after, and there

came a clash of steel upon the deck, by which I knew they

were dealing out the cutlasses, and one had been let fall;

and after that silence again."[34]

Comparisons.

The paragraph of comparisons tells what a thing is like and what a

thing is not like. It is much used in description and exposition. It

is often the clearest way to describe an object or to explain a

proposition. One thing may be likened to a number of things, drawing

from each a quality that more definitely pictures it; or it may be

compared with but one, and the likeness may be followed out to the

limit of its value. In the same manner it is often of value to tell

what a thing or a proposition does not resemble, to contrast it with

one or more ideas, and by this means exclude what might otherwise be

confusing. Note that after the negative comparison the paragraph

closes with what it is like, or what it is.

From Macaulay's long comparison of the writings of Milton and Dante,

one paragraph is enough to illustrate the use of contrast.

"Now let us _compare_ with the exact details of Dante the

dim intimations of Milton. We will cite a few examples. The

English poet has never thought of taking the measure of

Satan. He gives us merely a vague idea of vast bulk. In one

passage the fiend lies stretched out, huge in length,

floating many a rood, equal in size to the earth-born

enemies of Jove, or to the sea monster which the mariner

mistakes for an island. When he addresses himself to battle

against the guardian angels, he stands like Teneriffe or

Atlas; his stature reaches the sky. Contrast with these

descriptions the lines in which Dante has described the

gigantic spectre of Nimrod: 'His face seemed to me as long

and as broad as the ball of St. Peter's at Rome, and his

other limbs were in proportion; so that the bank, which

concealed him from the waist downwards, nevertheless showed

so much of him that three tall Germans would in vain have

attempted to reach to his hair.'" ("Essay on Milton.")

The following indicates the use of similarity.

"It is the character of such revolutions that we always see

the worst of them at first. Till men have been some time

free, they know not how to use their freedom. The natives of

wine countries are generally sober. In climates where wine

is a rarity intemperance abounds. 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. It is just at this

crisis that its enemies love to exhibit it. They pull down

the scaffolding from the half-finished edifice; they point

to the flying dust, the falling bricks, the comfortless

rooms, the frightful irregularity of the whole appearance,

and then ask in scorn where the promised splendor and

comfort is to be found. If such miserable sophisms were to

prevail, there would never be a good house or a good

government in the world." ("Essay on Milton," by Lord

Macaulay.)

Repetition.

A third method of developing a paragraph from a topic-sentence is by

repetition. Simply to repeat in other words would be useless

redundancy; but so to repeat that with each repetition the thought

broadens or deepens is valuable in proposing a subject or explaining

it. No person has attained greater skill in repetition than Matthew

Arnold, and much of his clearness comes from his repetition, often of

the very same phrases.

"Wordsworth has been in his grave for some thirty years, and

certainly his lovers and admirers cannot flatter themselves

that this great and steady light of glory as yet shines over

him. He is not fully recognized at home; he is not

recognized at all abroad. Yet I firmly believe that the

poetical performance of Wordsworth is, after that of

Shakespeare and Milton, of which all the world now

recognizes the worth, undoubtedly the most considerable in

our language from the Elizabethan age to the present time.

Chaucer is anterior; and on other grounds, too, he cannot

well be brought into the comparison. But taking the roll of

our chief poetical names, besides Shakespeare and Milton,

from the age of Elizabeth downwards, and going through

it,--Spenser, Dryden, Pope, Gray, Goldsmith, Cowper, Burns,

Coleridge, Scott, Campbell, Moore, Byron, Shelley, Keats (I

mention those only who are dead),--I think it certain that

Wordsworth's name deserves to stand, and will finally stand,

above them all. Several of the poets named have gifts and

excellencies which Wordsworth has not. But taking the

performance of each as a whole, I say that Wordsworth seems

to me to have left a body of poetical work superior in

power, in interest, in the qualities which give enduring

freshness, to that which any one of the others has left."

("Essay on Wordsworth," by Matthew Arnold.)

"Perhaps no person can be a poet, or can even enjoy poetry,

without a certain unsoundness of mind, if anything which

gives so much pleasure ought to be called unsoundness. By

poetry we mean not all writing in verse, nor even all good

writing in verse. Our definition excludes many metrical

compositions which, on other grounds, deserve the highest

praise. By poetry, we mean the art of employing words in

such a manner as to produce an illusion on the imagination,

the art of doing by means of words what the painter does by

means of colors. Thus the greatest of the poets has

described it, in lines universally admired for the vigor and

felicity of their diction, and still more valuable on

account of the just notion which they convey of the art in

which he excelled:--

'As imagination bodies forth

The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen

Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing

A local habitation and a name.'

These are the fruits of the 'fine frenzy' which he ascribes

to the poet,--a fine frenzy, doubtless, but still a frenzy.

Truth, indeed, is essential to poetry, but it is the truth

of madness. The reasonings are just, but the premises are

false. After the first suppositions have been made,

everything ought to be consistent; but those first

suppositions require a degree of credulity which almost

amounts to a partial and temporary derangement of the

intellect. Hence, of all people, children are the most

imaginative. They abandon themselves without reserve to

every illusion. Every image which is strongly presented to

their mental eye produces in them the effect of reality. No

man, whatever his sensibility may be, is ever affected by

Hamlet or Lear as a little girl is affected by the story of

poor Red Riding Hood. She knows it is all false, that wolves

cannot speak, that there are no wolves in England. Yet in

spite of her knowledge she believes; she weeps; she

trembles; she dares not go into a dark room lest she should

feel the teeth of the monster at her throat. Such is the

despotism of the imagination over uncultivated minds."

("Essay on Milton," by Macaulay.)

Obverse.

A fourth method of building up a paragraph from a topic-sentence

consists in telling what it is not; that is, giving the obverse. This

is very effective in argument, and is employed in exposition and

description. The obverse usually follows a positive statement, and

again is followed by the affirmative; that is, first what it is, then

what it is not, and last, what it is again. In the following

description by Ruskin, the method appears and reappears. Notice the

"nots" and "buts," indicating the change from the negative to the

positive statement. It would be a sacrilege to omit the last

paragraph, though it does not illustrate this manner of development.

"For all other rivers there is a surface, and an underneath,

and a vaguely displeasing idea of the bottom. But the Rhone

flows like one lambent jewel; its surface is nowhere, its

ethereal self is everywhere, the iridescent rush and

translucent strength of it blue to the shore, and radiant to

the depth.

"Fifteen feet thick, not of flowing, but flying water; not

water, neither--melted glacier, rather, one should call it;

the force of the ice is with it, and the wreathing of the

clouds, the gladness of the sky, and the continuance of

Time.

"Waves of clear sea are, indeed, lovely to watch, but they

are always coming or gone, never in any taken shape to be

seen for a second. But here was one mighty wave that was

always itself, and every fluted swirl of it, constant as the

wreathing of a shell. No wasting away of the fallen foam, no

pause for gathering of power, no helpless ebb of discouraged

recoil; but alike through bright day and lulling night, the

never-pausing plunge, and never-fading flash, and

never-hushing whisper, and, while the sun was up, the

ever-answering glow of unearthly aquamarine, ultramarine,

violet-blue, gentian-blue, peacock-blue, river-of-paradise

blue, glass of a painted window melted in the sun, and the

witch of the Alps flinging the spun tresses of it forever

from her snow.

"The innocent way, too, in which the river used to stop to

look into every little corner. Great torrents always seem

angry, and great rivers are often too sullen; but there is

no anger, no disdain in the Rhone. It seemed as if the

mountain stream was in mere bliss at recovering itself again

out of the lake-sleep, and raced because it rejoiced in

racing, fain yet to return and stay. There were pieces of

wave that danced all day, as if Perdita were looking on to

learn; there were little streams that skipped like lambs and

leaped like chamois; there were pools that shook the

sunshine all through them, and were rippled in layers of

overlaid ripples, like crystal sand; there were currents

that twisted the light into golden braids, and inlaid the

threads with turquoise enamel; there were strips of stream

that had certainly above the lake been mill-stream, and were

looking busily for mills to turn again; and there were

shoots of stream that had once shot fearfully into the air,

and now sprang up again, laughing, that they had only fallen

a foot or two;--and in the midst of all the gay glittering

and eddied lingering, the noble bearing by of the midmost

depth, so mighty, yet so terrorless and harmless, with its

swallows skimming in spite of petrels, and the dear old

decrepit town as safe in the embracing sweep of it as if it

were set in a brooch of sapphires."[35]

This extract from Burke's speech is a good example of the same method.

"I put this consideration of the present and the growing

numbers in the front of our deliberation, because, Sir, this

consideration will make it evident to a blunter discernment

than yours, that _no_ partial, narrow, contracted, pinched,

occasional system will be at all suitable to such an object.

It will show you that it is _not_ to be considered as one of

those _minima_ which are out of the eye and consideration of

the law; _not_ a paltry excrescence of the state; _not_ a

mean dependent, who may be neglected with little damage and

provoked with little danger. It will prove that some degree

of care and caution is required in the handling such an

object; it will show that you ought not, in reason, to

trifle with so large a mass of the interests and feelings of

the human race. You could at no time do so without guilt;

and be assured you will not be able to do it long with

impunity."[36]

Examples.

A fifth method of expanding a topic is by means of illustrations and

examples. It is used largely in establishing or enforcing a

proposition. The author selects one example, or perhaps more than one,

to illustrate his proposition. Note the words that may introduce

specific instances: _for example, for instance, to illustrate, a case

in point,_ and so forth.

In the first of the following quotations, Cardinal Newman is showing

that simply to acquire is not true mental enlargement. The paragraph

is made up of a series of instances. The second paragraph is by

Macaulay.

"The _case is the same still more strikingly when_ the

persons in question are beyond dispute men of inferior

powers and deficient education. Perhaps they have been much

in foreign countries, and they receive, in a passive,

otiose, unfruitful way, the various facts which are forced

upon them there. Seafaring men, _for example,_ range from

one end of the earth to the other; but the multiplicity of

external objects which they have encountered forms no

symmetrical and consistent picture upon their imagination;

they see the tapestry of human life, as it were, on the

wrong side, and it tells no story. They sleep, and they rise

up, and they find themselves, now in Europe, now in Asia;

they see visions of great cities and wild regions; they are

in the marts of commerce, or amid the islands of the South;

they gaze on Pompey's Pillar, or on the Andes; and nothing

which meets them carries them forward or backward, to any

idea beyond itself. Nothing has a drift or relation; nothing

has a history or a promise. Everything stands by itself and

comes and goes in its turn, like the shifting scenes of a

show, which leave the spectator where he was. Perhaps you

are near such a man on a particular occasion, and expect him

to be shocked or perplexed at something which occurs; but

one thing is much the same to him as another; or, if he is

perplexed, it is as not knowing what to say, whether it is

right to admire, or to ridicule, or to disapprove, while

conscious that some expression of opinion is expected from

him; for in fact he has no standard of judgment at all, and

no landmarks to guide him to a conclusion. Such is mere

acquisition, and, I repeat, no one would dream of calling it

philosophy." ("Idea of a University," by Cardinal Newman.)

"I will give _another instance._ One of the most

instructive, interesting, and delightful books in our

language is Boswell's 'Life of Johnson.' Now it is well

known that Boswell's eldest son considered this book,

considered the whole relation of Boswell to Johnson, as a

blot in the escutcheon of the family. He thought, not

perhaps altogether without reason, that his father had

exhibited himself in a ludicrous and degrading light. And

thus he became so sore and irritable that at last he could

not bear to hear the 'Life of Johnson' mentioned. Suppose

that the law had been what my honorable and learned friend

wishes to make it. Suppose that the copyright of Boswell's

'Life of Johnson' had belonged, as it well might, during

sixty years, to Boswell's eldest son. What would have been

the consequence? An unadulterated copy of the finest

biographical work in the world would have been as scarce as

the first edition of Camden's 'Britannia.'" (Speech,

"Copyright," by Macaulay.)

Combines Two or More Forms.

As was said at the beginning, a paragraph is seldom made exclusively

of one form. One part of the typical paragraph is usually developed

more than any other and gives to the paragraph its character and its

name. By far the most common variety of paragraph is that which

combines two or more of the other forms. It is not necessary to cite

examples; they are everywhere. Though combination is the commonest

method of development, it should be guarded. It is a poor paragraph

that combines the forms indiscriminately. It should follow some plan;

and the best plan is the one already given in the typical paragraph.

All paragraphs, whatever be the special method of development, are

governed by the three principles which have guided in the structure of

whole compositions. Whether the purpose be to prove or to narrate, to

enforce a conclusion or to illustrate, if a paragraph is to produce

its greatest effect, it should have unity, it should be well massed,

and it should be coherent.

It is not necessary now to define unity in a paragraph; the need is

rather to notice the offenses against it that frequently occur. They

are manifestly two: too much may be included, and not all may be

included. The accompanying circumstance of the one, not necessarily

the cause, however, is often a very long paragraph, and of the other a

short paragraph.

Unity.

Violations of the unity of a paragraph most frequently result from

including more than belongs there. The theme has been selected; it is

narrow and concise. When one begins to write, many things crowd in

pell-mell. Impressions, which come and go, we hardly know how or why,

are the only products of most minds. Impressions, not shaped and

logical thoughts, make up the mixed confusion frequently called a

theme. The writer puts down enough of these impressions to make a

paragraph, and then goes on to do it again, fancying that so he is

really paragraphing. Even should he keep within the limits of his

theme, he cannot in this way paragraph. As everything upon a subject

does not belong in a theme, so everything in a theme may not be

introduced indiscriminately into any paragraph.

The other danger lies in the short paragraph. It does not allow a

writer room to say all he has to say upon the topic, so it runs over

into the next paragraph. All of the thought-paragraph should appear in

one division on the page. This error is not so common as the former.

Examples of each are to be found on pages 152-157.

Need of Outline.

The remedy for this confusion clearly is hard thinking; and a great

assistance is the outline. Before a word is written, think through the

theme; get clearly the purpose of each paragraph in the development of

the whole. Then write just what the paragraph was intended to include,

and no more. More will be suggested because the parts of a whole theme

are all closely related, but that more belongs somewhere else. Make a

sharp outline, and follow it.

Mass.

A paragraph should be so arranged that the parts which arrest the eye

will be important.[37] When a person glances down a page, his eye

rests upon the beginning and the end of each paragraph. A reader going

rapidly through an article to get what he wants of it does not read

religiously every word; he knows that he will be directed to the

contents of each paragraph by the first and last sentences. If a

writer considers his readers, if he desires to arrange his paragraph

so that it will be most effective, he will have at these points such

sentences as will accurately indicate its contents and the trend of

the discussion; and he will form these sentences so well that they

will deserve the attention which is given them by reason of their

position in the paragraph.

What begins and what ends a Paragraph?

What are the words that deserve the distinction of opening and closing

a paragraph? As in the theme, so in a paragraph, the first thing is to

announce the subject of discussion. When the subject is simply

announced without giving any indication as to the drift of the

discussion, the conclusion of the discussion is generally stated in

the last sentence. Burke says, "The first thing we have to consider

with regard to the nature of the object is the number of people in the

colonies." He concludes the paragraph with, "Whilst we are discussing

any given magnitude, they are grown to it. Whilst we spend our time in

deliberating on the mode of governing two millions, we shall find we

have millions more to manage. Your children do not grow faster from

infancy to manhood than they spread from families to communities, and

from villages to nations." In other cases the opening sentence states

the conclusion at which the paragraph will arrive. Then the closing

sentence may be a repetition of the opening or topic sentence; or it

may be one of the points used to exemplify or establish the

proposition which opens the paragraph. Again, in a short paragraph the

topic need not be announced at the beginning; in this case it should

be given in the concluding sentence. Or, should the topic be given in

the opening sentence of a short paragraph, it is unnecessary to repeat

it at the end. In any case, whether the paragraph opens with a simple

announcement of the topic to be discussed, or with the conclusion

which the paragraph aims to explain, establish, or illustrate, or

whether it closes with the conclusion of the whole matter, or with one

of the main points in the development, the sentences at the beginning

and the end of a paragraph should be strong sentences worthy of their

distinguished position.

In the first paragraph below, there is a proposition in the first

sentence and its repetition in the last. In the two following, though

they close with no general statement, the specific assertions used to

substantiate and illustrate the first sentences are strong and carry

in themselves the truth of the topic-sentence.

"The eloquence of Mr. Adams resembled his general character,

and formed, indeed, a part of it. It was bold, manly, and

energetic; and such the crisis required. When public bodies

are to be addressed on momentous occasions, when great

interests are at stake, and strong passions excited, nothing

is valuable in speech farther than as it is connected with

high intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness, force,

and earnestness are the qualities which produce conviction.

True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. It

cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for

it, but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be

marshaled in every way, but they cannot compass it. It must

exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion.

Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of

declamation, all may aspire to it; they cannot reach it. It

comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain

from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires,

with spontaneous, original, native force. The graces taught

in the schools, the costly ornaments and studied

contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men when their own

lives and the fate of their wives, their children, and their

country hang on the decision of the hour. Then words have

lost their power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate

oratory contemptible. Even genius itself then feels rebuked

and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities. Then

patriotism is eloquent; then self-devotion is eloquent. The

clear conception, outrunning the deductions of logic, the

high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit,

speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing

every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward

to his object--this, this is eloquence: or rather it is

something greater and higher than all eloquence; it is

action, noble, sublime, godlike action."[38]

"The prejudiced man travels, and then everything he sees in

Catholic countries only serves to make him more thankful

that his notions are so true; and the more he sees of

Popery, the more abominable he feels it to be. If there is

any sin, any evil in a foreign population, though it be

found among Protestants also, still Popery is clearly the

cause of it. If great cities are the schools of vice, it is

owing to Popery. If Sunday is profaned, if there is a

carnival, it is the fault of the Catholic Church. Then,

there are no private houses, as in England; families live in

staircases; see what it is to belong to a Popish country.

Why do the Roman laborers wheel their barrows so slow in the

Forum? why do the Lazzaroni of Naples lie so listlessly on

the beach? why, but because they are under the _malaria_ of

a false religion. Rage, as is well known, is in the Roman

like a falling sickness, almost as if his will had no part

in it and he had no responsibility; see what it is to be a

Papist. Bloodletting is as frequent and as much a matter of

course in the South as hair-cutting in England; it is a

trick borrowed from the convents, when they wish to tame

down refractory spirits."[39]

"Excuse me, Sir, if turning from such thoughts I resume this

comparative view once more. You have seen it on a large

scale; look at it on a small one. I will point out to your

attention a particular instance of it in the single province

of Pennsylvania. In the year 1704 that province called for

L11,459 in value of your commodities, native and foreign.

This was the whole. What did it demand in 1772? Why, nearly

fifty times as much; for in that year the export to

Pennsylvania was L507,909, nearly equal to the export to all

the colonies together in the first period."[40]

The following illustrates the weakness of closing with a specific

instance when it does not rise to the level of the remainder of a

paragraph. The last sentence would better be omitted.

"We often hear of the magical influence of poetry. The

expression in general means nothing; but, applied to the

writings of Milton, it is most appropriate. His poetry acts

like an incantation. Its merit lies less in its obvious

meaning than in its occult power. There would seem, at first

sight, to be no more in his words than in other words. But

they are words of enchantment. No sooner are they pronounced

than the past is present and the distant near. New forms of

beauty start at once into existence, and all the

burial-places of memory give up their dead. Change the

structure of the sentence, substitute one synonym for

another, and the whole effect is destroyed. The spell loses

its power; and he who should then hope to conjure with it

would find himself as much mistaken as Cassim in the Arabian

tale, when he stood crying, 'Open Wheat,' 'Open Barley,' to

the door which obeyed no sound but 'Open Sesame.' In the

miserable failure of Dryden in his attempt to translate into

his own diction some parts of the 'Paradise Lost' is a

remarkable instance of this." ("Essay on Milton," by

Macaulay.)

Length of opening and closing Sentences.

By examination, one finds that the first sentence of a paragraph of

exposition and of argument is usually a terse statement of the

proposition; and that after the proposition has been established there

follows a longer sentence gathering up all the points of the

discussion into a full, rounded period which forms a suitable climax

and conclusion of the paragraph. Of Macaulay's "Milton" one is quite

inside the truth when he says that of those paragraphs containing an

opening topic-sentence and its restatement as a conclusion, the

closing sentence is the longer in the ratio of two to one. In Burke's

"Conciliation," the ratio rises as high as four to one. There are,

however, exceptions to the rule. Paragraphs sometimes close with a

shorter statement of the proposition, a sort of aphorism or epigram.

As this kind of sentence is fascinating, some books have said that

paragraphs should close so; that it is like cracking a whip, and gives

a snap to the paragraph not gained in any other way. Even if readers

enjoyed having paragraphs close in this cracking manner, it must be

borne in mind that not all conclusions are capable of such a

statement, and, what is worse, that the tendency to seek for epigrams

leads to untruth and a degenerated form of witticism. Such forced

sentences are only half truths, or they are a bit of cheap repartee.

Such a close is effective, if the whole truth can be so expressed; but

to seek for such sentences is dangerous. The best rule is the one

already stated; it applies to the long sentence and the short sentence

alike. It is that a paragraph should close with words that deserve

distinction.

Proportion.

The body of a paragraph should have the matter so proportioned that

the more important points shall receive the longer treatment. In a

paragraph of proof, details, or comparison, that point in the proof,

that particular, that part of the comparison, which for the specific

purpose has most significance, should have proportionately fuller

treatment. It is the same principle already noticed in exposition.

Indicate the relative importance of topics in a paragraph by the

relative number of words used in their treatment.

For mass in a paragraph, then, keep in mind that the last sentence

should contain matter and form worthy of the position it occupies;

that the position of next importance is at the beginning; and that the

relative importance of the matters in the body of a paragraph is

pretty correctly indicated by the relative length of treatment.

Coherence and Clearness.

Coherence, the third principle of structure, is the most important;

and it is the most difficult to apply. For one can make a beginning

and an end, he can select his materials so that there is unity, but to

make all the parts stick together, to arrange the sentences so that

one grows naturally from the preceding and leads into the next,

requires nice adjustment of parts, and rewriting many times. How

essential coherence in a paragraph is, simply to make the thought easy

to grasp, may be seen by taking a paragraph to pieces and mixing up

its sentences, and at the same time removing all words that bind its

parts together. The following can hardly be understood at all, but in

its original condition it is so clear that it cannot be misunderstood.

If the sentences be arranged in the following order, the original

paragraph will appear: 1, 5, 3, 9, 8, 6, 2, 4, 7, 10.

1. "The first question which obviously suggests itself is

how these wonderful moral effects are to be wrought under

the instrumentality of the physical sciences. 2. To know is

one thing, to do is another; the two things are altogether

distinct. 3. Does Sir Robert Peel mean to say, that whatever

be the occult reasons for the result, so it is; you have but

to drench the popular mind with physics, and moral and

religious advancement follows on the whole, in spite of

individual failures? 4. A man knows he should get up in the

morning,--he lies abed; he knows he should not lose his

temper, yet he cannot keep it. 5. Can the process be

analyzed and drawn out, or does it act like a dose or a

charm which comes into general use empirically? 6. It is

natural and becoming to seek for some clear idea of the

meaning of so dark an oracle. 7. A laboring man knows he

should not go to the ale-house, and his wife knows 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. 8. Or rather, does

he mean, that, from the nature of the case, he who is imbued

with science and literature, unless adverse influences

interfere, cannot but be a better man? 9. Yet when has the

experiment been tried on so large a scale as to justify such

anticipations? 10. There are, then, large families of

instances, to say the least, in which men may become wiser,

without becoming better; what, then, is the meaning of this

great maxim in the mouth of its promulgators?"

Coherence, so necessary to the easy understanding of a paragraph, is

gained in three ways: by the order in which the sentences are

arranged; by the use of parallel constructions for parallel ideas; and

by the use of connectives.

Two Arrangements of Sentences in a Paragraph.

Material which has been selected with regard to the principle of unity

is all informed with one idea. Yet though one thought runs through it

all and unites it, the parts do not stand in an equally close relation

to the conclusion, nor is each part equally related to every other

part. Had they been, the last paragraph quoted would have been as well

in one order as another. Rather the sentences seem to fall into groups

of more closely related matters; or at times one sentence seems to

follow as the direct consequence of the preceding sentence. With

respect to the way in which the sentences contribute to the topic of

the paragraph, whether the topic be announced first or last, sentences

may be said to contribute directly to the proposition or indirectly.

If directly, the paragraph is a collection of sentences, each having a

common purpose, each having a similar relation to the topic, arranged,

as it were, side by side, and advancing as one body to the conclusion.

This may be termed an individual arrangement of sentences, since as

individuals they each contribute to the topic. The conclusion derives

its force from the combined mass of all. If indirectly, the paragraph

is a series of sentences, each growing out of the one preceding it,

each receiving a push from the sentence before, and the last having

the combined force of all. This may be styled a serial arrangement of

sentences, since in such a case each contributes to the topic only as

one in a chain. The former overcomes by its mass; the latter strikes

by reason of its velocity. The one advances in rank; the other

advances in single file.

An illustration of each will help to an understanding of this. In the

following paragraph from Macaulay's essay on Milton, each of the

details mentioned points directly to "those days" when the race became

a "byword and a shaking of the head to the nations." Their aggregate

mass enforces the topic of the paragraph. They are all one body

equally informed with the common principle which is the topic. Notice

that one sentence is not the source of the next, but that all the

sentences stand in a similar relation to the conclusion. This

arrangement is common in description. In the second paragraph, from

Irving's "Legend of Sleepy Hollow," each detail contributes to the

appearance of Ichabod, not through some other sentence, but directly.

"Then came those days, never to be recalled without a blush,

the days of servitude without loyalty and sensuality without

love; of dwarfish talents and gigantic vices; the paradise

of cold hearts and narrow minds; the golden age of the

coward, the bigot, and the slave. The king cringed to his

rival that he might trample on his people; sank into a

viceroy of France, and pocketed with complacent infamy her

degrading insults and her more degrading gold. The caresses

of harlots and the jests of buffoons regulated the policy of

the state. The government had just ability enough to

deceive, and just religion enough to persecute. The

principles of liberty were the scoff of every grinning

courtier, and the Anathema Maranatha of every fawning dean.

In every high place, worship was paid to Charles and James,

Belial and Moloch; and England propitiated those obscene and

cruel idols with the blood of her best and bravest children.

Crime succeeded to crime, and disgrace to disgrace, till the

race, accursed of God and man, was a second time driven

forth to wander on the face of the earth, and to be a byword

and a shaking of the head to the nations."

"Ichabod was a suitable figure for such a steed. He rode

with short stirrups, which brought his knees nearly up to

the pommel of the saddle; his sharp elbows stuck out like

grasshoppers'; he carried his whip perpendicularly in his

hand, like a sceptre, and as his horse jogged on, the motion

of his arms was not unlike the flapping of a pair of wings.

A small wool hat rested on the top of his nose, for so his

scanty strip of forehead might be called, and the skirts of

his black coat fluttered out almost to the horse's tail.

Such was the appearance of Ichabod and his steed as they

shambled out of the gate of Hans Van Ripper, and it was

altogether such an apparition as is seldom to be met with in

broad daylight."

The following paragraph in the essay on Milton contains an example of

the second method of arrangement. Each sentence is the result of the

one before it. The sentences advance in single file. Notice that each

sentence does not contribute directly to the conclusion, but that it

acts through the succeeding sentence. The phrases from which a

succeeding sentence springs are in small capitals; and the phrases

which refer back are in italics.

"Most of the remarks which we have hitherto made on the

public character of Milton apply to him only as one of A

LARGE BODY. WE SHALL PROCEED to notice some of the

peculiarities which distinguished him _from his

contemporaries._ _And for that purpose_ it is necessary to

take a short survey of THE PARTIES into which the political

world was at that time divided. We must premise that our

observations are intended to apply only to THOSE WHO

ADHERED, from a sincere preference, to one or to the other

side. In days of public commotion, _every faction,_ like an

Oriental army, is attended by a crowd of camp-followers, a

useless and heartless RABBLE, who prowl round its line of

march in the hope of picking up something under its

protection, but desert it in the day of battle, and often

join to exterminate it after defeat. England, at the time of

which we are treating, abounded with fickle and _selfish

politicians,_ who transferred their support to every

government as it rose; who kissed the hand of the king in

1640, and spat in his face in 1649; who shouted with equal

glee when Cromwell was inaugurated in Westminster Hall, and

when he was dug up to be hanged at Tyburn; who dined on

calves' heads or broiled rumps, and cut down oak branches or

stuck them up, as circumstances altered, without the

slightest shame or repugnance. _These_ we leave out of

account. We take our estimate of parties from _those who_

really deserve to be called partisans."

(For other examples of the same arrangement see the next quotation,

and also a paragraph quoted on page 222.)

Paragraphs are most frequently found to combine the two methods. In

the following, notice that the second sentence grows out of the first,

the third from the second, and so the serial arrangement is maintained

until the eighth is reached. Sentences nine, ten, eleven, and twelve

give body to sentence eight. Then begins again the regular succession.

Sentences sixteen to twenty are the outgrowth of the phrase "on his

account."

"1. The Puritans were men whose minds had derived a peculiar

character from the daily contemplation of superior beings

and eternal interests. 2. Not content with acknowledging in

general terms an overruling Providence, they habitually

ascribed every event to the will of the Great Being, for

whose power nothing was too vast, for whose inspection

nothing was too minute. 3. To know Him, to serve Him, to

enjoy Him, was with them the great end of existence. 4. They

rejected with contempt the ceremonious homage which other

sects substituted for the pure worship of the soul. 5.

Instead of catching occasional glimpses of the Deity through

an obscuring veil, they aspired to gaze full on the

intolerable brightness, and to commune with Him face to

face. 6. Hence originated their contempt for terrestrial

distinctions. 7. The difference between the greatest and the

meanest of mankind seemed to vanish when compared with the

boundless interval which separated the whole race from Him

on whom their own eyes were constantly fixed. 8. They

recognized no title to superiority but His favor; and,

confident of that favor, they despised all the

accomplishments and all the dignities of the world. 9. If

they were unacquainted with the works of philosophers and

poets, they were deeply read in the oracles of God. 10. If

their names were not found in the registers of heralds, they

were recorded in the Book of Life. 11. If their steps were

not accompanied by a splendid train of menials, legions of

ministering angels had charge over them. 12. Their palaces

were houses not made with hands; their diadems, crowns of

glory which should never fade away. 13. On the rich and the

eloquent, on nobles and priests, they looked down with

contempt; for they esteemed themselves rich in a more

precious treasure, and eloquent in a more sublime language,

nobles by the right of an earlier creation, and priests by

the imposition of a mightier hand. 14. The very meanest of

them was a being to whose fate a mysterious and terrible

importance belonged, on whose slightest action the spirits

of light and darkness looked with anxious interest; who had

been destined, before heaven and earth were created, to

enjoy a felicity which should continue when heaven and earth

should have passed away. 15. Events which short-sighted

politicians ascribed to earthly causes had been ordained on

his account. 16. For his sake empires had risen, and

flourished, and decayed. 17. For his sake the Almighty had

proclaimed His will by the pen of the Evangelist and the

harp of the prophet. 18. He had been wrested by no common

deliverer from the grasp of no common foe. 19. He had been

ransomed by the sweat of no vulgar agony, by the blood of no

earthly sacrifice. 20. It was for him that the sun had been

darkened, that the rocks had been rent, that the dead had

risen, that all nature had shuddered at the sufferings of

her expiring God."

This division has been made because by its aid an approach can be made

toward rules for arrangement. In the paragraph quoted on page 183, the

different sentences are equally related to the topic. Is there, then,

no reason why one should be first rather than another? Notice the

topics of the sentences and the order becomes a necessity. King, state

policy, government, liberty, religion,--it is an ascending scale. On

page 96 is a paragraph on the charmed names used by Milton. "One,"

"another," "a third," "a fourth,"--for all one can see as to the

relation of each to the topic, "a fourth" might as well have been

"one" as fourth. But upon reading the paragraph it is evident that

Macaulay thought the last more important than the first. So in the

paragraph just quoted about the Puritans, when the arrangement of the

first eight sentences changes in sentences nine through eleven, and

again in sentences sixteen to twenty, the order is a climax. Moreover,

those topics are associated which are more closely related in thought.

King is more closely related to government than to religion, and

religion is more intimately associated with the idea of liberty than

with king. The order, then, is the natural order of association. From

these examples we derive the first principle of arrangement. In a

paragraph where several sentences contribute individually to the

topic, they must be arranged in the order in which the thoughts are

associated and follow each other; and, when possible, they should take

the order of a climax.

Definite References.

In the paragraph made up of sentences in a series, each linked to the

sentence before and after, the difficulty is in transmitting the force

of one sentence to the next one undiminished. This is done by binding

the sentences so closely together that one cannot slip on the other.

In the paragraph about the Puritans, of the second sentence the "Great

Being" goes back to "superior beings" of the first; and "Him" in the

next springs from "Great Being." "To know Him, to serve Him, to enjoy

Him,"--what is it but the "pure worship" of the fourth? while

"ceremonious homage" of the fourth is the "occasional glimpses of the

Deity through an obscuring veil" of the fifth. One sentence grows out

of some phrase of the preceding sentence; the sentences are firmly

locked together by the repetition, a little modified, of the thought

of a preceding phrase. There is no slipping. To get this result there

must be no question of the thought-sequence in the sentences. Each

sentence must be a consequence of a preceding sentence. And there must

be attention to the choice and position of the words from which the

following sentence is to spring. Such words cannot be indefinite,

mushy words; they must be definite, firm words. Moreover, they must

not be buried out of sight by a mass of unimportant matters; they must

be so placed that they are unhindered, free to push forward the

thought toward its ultimate conclusion. This often requires inversion

in the sentence. That phrase which is the source of the next sentence

must be thrown up into a prominent position; and it is usually pressed

toward the end of the sentence, nearer to the sentence which is its

consequence. In a paragraph quoted on page 222, where this same

subject is taken up in connection with sentences, there is an

excellent illustration of this. "Slow and obscure," "inadequate

ideas," "small circle," and the numerous phrases which repeat the

thought, though not the words, are firm words binding the sentences

together indissolubly.

Use of Pronouns.

Not all sentences permit such clear reference as this. Still it must

be said that where the thought is logical and clear, the reference is

never missed: the binding words are important words and they occupy

prominent positions. There is, however, a whole group of words whose

function is to make the references sure. They are pronouns. Pronouns

refer back, and they point forward. Their careful use is the commonest

method of making sure of references, and so of binding sentences

together. The ones in common use are _this, that, the former, the

latter;_ the relatives _who, which,_ and _that;_ and the personal

pronouns _he, she, it._ To these may be added some adverbs: _here,

there, hence, whence, now, then, when,_ and _while._ The binding force

of these words is manifest in every paragraph of composition.

The following paragraph, from Burke's speech on "Conciliation with the

Colonies," illustrates the use of pronouns as words referring back,

and binding the whole into one inseparable unit.

"As to the wealth which the colonies have drawn from the sea

by their fisheries, you had all that matter fully opened at

your bar. You surely thought _those_ acquisitions of value,

for _they_ seemed even to excite your envy; and yet the

spirit by which _that_ enterprising employment has been

exercised ought rather, in my opinion, to have raised your

esteem and admiration. And pray, Sir, what in the world is

equal to _it?_ Pass by the other parts, and look at the

manner in which the people of New England have of late

carried on the whale fishery. Whilst we follow _them_ among

the tumbling mountains of ice, and behold _them_ penetrating

into the deepest frozen recesses of Hudson's Bay and Davis's

Straits, whilst we are looking for _them_ beneath the arctic

circle, we hear that _they_ have pierced into the opposite

region of polar cold, that _they_ are at the antipodes, and

engaged under the frozen Serpent of the south. Falkland

Island, which seemed too remote and romantic an object for

the grasp of national ambition, is but a stage and

resting-place in the progress of _their_ victorious

industry. Nor is the equinoctial heat more discouraging to

_them_ than the accumulated winter of both the poles. We

know that whilst _some_ of _them_ draw the line and strike

the harpoon on the coast of Africa, _others_ run the

longitude and pursue _their_ gigantic game along the coast

of Brazil. No sea but what is vexed by _their_ fisheries; no

climate that is not witness to _their_ toils. Neither the

perseverance of Holland, nor the activity of France, nor the

dexterous and firm sagacity of English enterprise ever

carried _this_ most perilous mode of hardy industry to the

extent to which _it_ has been pushed by _this_ recent

people; a people who are still, as it were, but in the

gristle, and not yet hardened into the bone of manhood. When

I contemplate _these_ things; when I know that the colonies

in general owe little or nothing to any care of ours, and

that they are not squeezed into this happy form by the

constraints of watchful and suspicious government, but that,

through a wise and salutary neglect, a generous nature has

been suffered to take her own way to perfection; when I

reflect upon _these_ effects, when I see how profitable

_they_ have been to us, I feel all the pride of power sink,

and all presumption in the wisdom of human contrivances melt

and die away within me. My rigor relents. I pardon something

to the spirit of liberty."

Of Conjunctions.

Another group of words which give coherence to a paragraph is

conjunctions. They indicate the relations between sentences, and they

point the direction of the new sentence. The common relations between

sentences indicated by conjunctions are coordinative, subordinative,

adversative, concessive, and illative. Each young writer has usually

but one word, at the most two words, in his vocabulary to express each

of these relations. He knows _and, but, if, although,_ and

_therefore._ Each person should learn from a grammar the whole list,

for no class of words indicates clear thinking so unmistakably as

conjunctions.

Two words of advice should be given regarding the use of conjunctions.

If the thought all bends one way, if this direction is perfectly

clear, there is no need of conjunctions. It is when the course of the

discussion is tortuous, when the road is not direct, when the reader

may lose the way without these guides, that conjunctions should be

used. On the other hand, conjunctions are an annoyance when not

needed. Just as guideposts along a road where there is no chance to

leave the direct path are useless, and their recurrence is a cause of

aggravation, so it is with unnecessary conjunctions. They attract

attention to themselves, and so draw it from the thought. The first

caution is, Do not use conjunctions unless needed.

In the following, the repetition of _and_ is unnecessary and annoying.

"Six shillings a week does not keep body and soul together

very unitedly. They want to get away from each other when

there is only such a very slight bond as that between them;

and one day, I suppose, the pain and the dull monotony of it

all had stood before her eyes plainer than usual, and the

mocking spectre had frightened her. She had made one last

appeal to friends, but, against the chill wall of their

respectability, the voice of the erring outcast fell

unheeded; _and_ then she had gone to see her child--had held

it in her arms and kissed it, in a weary, dull sort of way,

_and_ without betraying any particular emotion of any kind,

_and_ had left it, after putting into its hand a penny box

of chocolate she had bought it, _and_ afterwards, with her

last few shillings, had taken a ticket _and_ come down to

Goring.

"It seemed that the bitterest thoughts of her life must have

centred about the wooded reaches and the bright green

meadows around Goring; but women strangely hug the knife

that stabs them, and, perhaps, amidst the gall, there may

have mingled also sunny memories of sweetest hours, spent

upon those shadowed deeps over which the great trees bend

their branches down so low.

"She had wandered about the woods by the river's brink all

day, _and_ then, when evening fell _and_ the gray twilight

spread its dusky robe upon the waters, she stretched out her

arms to the silent river that had known her sorrow and her

joy. _And_ the old river had taken her into its gentle arms,

_and_ had laid her weary head upon its bosom, _and_ had

hushed away the pain."

The other word is: When possible put the conjunction that connects two

sentences into the body of the sentence, rather than at its beginning.

In this way its binding power is increased. This principle should

limit the use of _and_ and _but_ at the beginning of a sentence.

Rarely is _and_ needed in such a place. If the thought goes straight

forward--and it must do so if _and_ correctly expresses the

relation--there is usually no gain in its use. At times when the

reader might be led to expect some change of direction from some

phrase in the preceding sentence, then it would be wise to set him

right by the use of _and._ Moreover, there are times when coordinate

thoughts are so important, and the expression of the coordination is

so important, that a sentence beginning with _and_ is the only

adequate means of expressing it. However, be very sure that there is

need for every _and_ that you use. The same caution may be given about

_but._ _But_ indicates an abrupt turn in the thought. Is such a

contrast in the thought? If so, is there no other word to express the

thought? Some persons go so far as to say that these words should

never begin a sentence. This is too pedantic and not true. When

coordinative and adversative relations are to be expressed, however,

it is certainly more elegant if some variety can be obtained, and the

union is closer if the conjunction be placed in the body of the

sentence. This requires the use of other words besides _and_ and

_but._ _Also, in like manner, besides, too, nevertheless, however,

after all, for all that,_ should be as familiar as the two overworked

words _and_ and _but._ Look for ways to bind sentences in the middle

rather than at the end. It is more elegant and it is much safer.

Parallel Constructions.

A third principle of arrangement is the use of parallel constructions

for parallel thoughts. By parallel structure is meant that the

principal elements of the sentences shall be arranged in the same

order. If subordinate clauses precede principal clauses in one

sentence, they shall in the other; if they follow in one, they shall

follow in the other. If an active voice be used in one, it shall be

used in the other; if the predicate go before the subject in one, it

shall in the other. The use of parallel structure frequently demands

repetition of forms and even of identical words and phrases. It is

very effective in giving clearness to a paragraph and in securing

coherence of its parts.

In the first of the two illustrations below, read one sentence this

way and observe the ruin that is wrought. "The North American colonies

made such a struggle against the mother country." In the second

paragraph, change two of the sentences to the passive voice. The

effect is evident loss in clearness and strength.

"All history is full of revolutions, produced by causes

similar to those which are now operating in England. A

portion of the community which had been of no account,

expands and becomes strong. It demands a place in the

system, suited, not to its former weakness, but to its

present power. If this is granted, all is well. If this is

refused, then comes the struggle between the young energy of

one class and the ancient privileges of another. Such was

the struggle between the Plebeians and Patricians of Rome.

Such was the struggle of the Italian allies for admission to

the full rights of Roman citizens. Such was the struggle of

our North American colonies against the mother country. Such

was the struggle which the Third Estate of France maintained

against the aristocracy of birth. Such was the struggle

which the Roman Catholics of Ireland maintained against the

aristocracy of creed. Such is the struggle which the free

people of color in Jamaica are now maintaining against the

aristocracy of skin. Such, finally, is the struggle which

the middle classes in England are maintaining against an

aristocracy of mere locality, against an aristocracy, the

principle of which is to invest a hundred drunken

pot-wallopers in one place, or the owner of a ruined hovel

in another, with powers which are withheld from cities

renowned to the furthest ends of the earth for the marvels

of their wealth and of their industry."[41]

"Man is a being of genius, passion, intellect, conscience,

power. He exercises these various gifts in various ways, in

great deeds, in great thoughts, in heroic acts, in hateful

crimes. He founds states, he fights battles, he builds

cities, he ploughs the forest, he subdues the elements, he

rules his kind. He creates vast ideas, and influences many

generations. He takes a thousand shapes, and undergoes a

thousand fortunes. Literature records them all to the

life.... He pours out his fervid soul in poetry; he sways to

and fro, he soars, he dives, in his restless speculations;

his lips drop eloquence; he touches the canvas, and it glows

with beauty; he sweeps the strings, and they thrill with an

ecstatic meaning. He looks back into himself, and he reads

his own thoughts, and notes them down; he looks out into the

universe, and tells over and celebrates the elements and

principles of which it is the product."[42]

(The principles of Mass and Coherence in paragraphs are closely allied

with these same principles regarding sentences. Some further

discussion of these important matters, as well as more illustrations,

will be found in the next chapter.)

Good sense must be exercised in the use of parallel constructions.

Although a short series of sentences containing parallel thoughts is

common and demands this treatment, it is not at all frequent that one

has such a long series as these paragraphs contain. In these

paragraphs the parallel is in the thought; it has not been searched

out. Because one is pleased with these effects of parallel

construction, he should not be led to seek for opportunities where he

can force sentences into similar shapes. The thoughts must be

parallel. If the thought is actually parallel, a parallel treatment

may be adopted with great advantage to clearness and force; if it is

not parallel, any attempt to treat it as such is detected as a shallow

trick. To search for thoughts to trail along in a series results in

thinnest bombast. As everywhere else in composition, so here a writer

must rely on his good taste and good sense.

Summary.

Whatever may be the special mode of development, of whatever form of

discourse it is to be a part, the three fundamental principles which

guide in making a paragraph are Unity, Mass, and Coherence. The unity

of the paragraph is secured by referring all of the material to the

topic, including what contributes to the main thought and excluding

what has no value. Paragraphs excessively long or very short may lead

to offenses against unity. Mass in a paragraph is gained by placing

worthy words in the positions of distinction; by treating the more

important matters at greater length; and, when possible without

disturbing coherence, by arranging the material in a climax. Coherence

is secured by keeping together matters related in thought; by a wise

choice and placing of all words which bind sentences together; and by

the use of parallel constructions for parallel ideas. Carefully chosen

material, arranged so that worthy words occupy the positions of

distinction, and all so skillfully knit together that every sentence,

every phrase, every word, takes the reader one step toward the

conclusion,--this constitutes a good paragraph.

SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS

THE OLD MANSE.

(Riverside Literature Series, No. 69.)

In the paragraph beginning at the bottom of page 19, what do you think

of the selection of material? Does the last detail give the finishing

touch to the paragraph? Is it a real climax?

On page 25 a paragraph begins, "Lightly as," etc. In the second

sentence "bound volume" goes back to what words in the first sentence?

"he," of the third, to what of the second? "thus it was" to what

before?

Now take the paragraph on pages 34 and 35 and trace the connection of

the sentences, drawing two lines under the phrase from which a

succeeding sentence springs, and one line under words that refer back

to a preceding phrase; also trace out the dovetailing in the sentences

on pages 6 and 7. In the paragraph on pages 18 and 19 the development

is not so. Each sentence emphasizes "the sombre aspect of external

nature." What is the law of their arrangement? (See text-book, pages

181-187.)

Find other paragraphs arranged in this way. (See pages 35, 36.)

What is the topic of the second paragraph?

Can you divide the paragraph filling the middle of page 8? Where?

What is the relation between the first sentence and the last in the

paragraph at the bottom of page 11? Give the words that join the

sentences of the paragraph together.

In the paragraph beginning on page 13, what is the purpose of the

first two sentences?

On page 14, does it seem to you that Hawthorne had forgotten the Old

Manse enough so that it could be called a digression? or do you think

that the delightful, rambling character of the essay permits it? Can

you divide this paragraph on pages 14 and 15? Where?

What figure at the bottom of page 15? Is it the custom to use a

capital letter in such a case? Has the paragraph in which the figure

occurs unity? Where could you divide it? Give the topic of both new

paragraphs.

Of the paragraph on pages 16 and 17, what is the relation of the last

three sentences to the topic?

What comment would you make upon the last sentence of the paragraph

ending at the top of page 25?

At the opening of the paragraph beginning on page 29, do you like the

figure? Trace the relation between the first and second sentences;

between the second and the third. Could this paragraph be divided?

RIP VAN WINKLE AND THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW.

(Riverside Literature Series, No. 51.)

In the paragraph on page 11, what is the relation between the first

and last sentences? Why is the middle of the paragraph introduced? Is

it effective?

What method of development is adopted in the next paragraph?

Trace out the connection of the paragraphs in the first five pages of

this essay. What words at the beginning of each paragraph are

especially helpful in joining the parts?

On page 13 Irving writes, "Times grew worse and worse for Rip Van

Winkle," etc. How many paragraphs are given to this topic? Could all

of them be put into one? Should they? What is the last part of the

first sentence of this paragraph?

Why are there so few topic sentences in this essay? How did Irving

know where to paragraph? Give topics of the paragraphs on pages 16,

17, 18. In the paragraph beginning at the bottom of p. 17, why are the

clothes of the man mentioned first?

What method of paragraph development is adopted in the paragraph

beginning in the middle of page 23? Is the last detail important?

From the use on pages 24 and 25, what do you gather as to the rule for

paragraphing where dialogue is reported?

In the paragraph on page 40, what reason has Irving for saying

"therefore"? From what sentence does the last of this paragraph arise?

Do you think the specific closing of the paragraph worthy of the

position?

When Irving says on page 41 that he was "an odd mixture of small

shrewdness and simple credulity," did he mean that he was shrewd, or

that he was not shrewd? Can you find anything in the paragraphs to

develop the thought that he was shrewd? How many paragraphs are given

to his simple credulity? Why so many?

In the paragraph beginning at the bottom of page 42, what advantage is

there in the exclamatory sentences?

Would it be as well to divide the next paragraph into three sentences?

Give your reasons. As the paragraph stands, is the sentence loose or

periodic?

In the paragraph beginning at the bottom of page 45, what is the

method of development? Why is the chanticleer mentioned last?

Are Irving's sentences long? Do they seem long? Why, or why not?

What is the relation of the first sentence of the first paragraph on

page 55 to the last?

What is the topic of the next paragraph? Do you think it would be just

as well to put the second sentence of this paragraph last?

In the paragraph beginning at the bottom of page 55, what method of

development has been used? Why is the "blue jay" mentioned last?

THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER.

(Riverside Literature Series, No. 119.)

Do you think the first paragraph too long? Where can you divide it?

What is the test of the length of a paragraph?

At the bottom of page 67, do you think the first sentence of the

paragraph the topic? or is it the last sentence? Give reasons.

Is the detail at the end of the paragraph beginning on the middle of

page 71 upon the topic of the paragraph? Is it good there? How do you

know that Usher did not say "him"?

Of the paragraph on page 73, what sentence is the topic?

What proportion of the paragraphs have topic sentences? Have the

others topics? Give them for the paragraphs on the first five pages.

What method of paragraph development has Poe adopted in the paragraph

beginning in the middle of page 81? What is the relation between the

opening and the close of the paragraph? Why is the middle needed?

Do you like the second sentence of the next paragraph? What is there

disagreeable in it?

As you read along do the paragraphs run into one another? Is such a

condition good?

SILAS MARNER.

(Riverside Literature Series, No. 83.)

Divide paragraphs on pages 10 and 11. What is the topic of each of the

new paragraphs?

In the first paragraph of chapter two each sentence grows out of the

one preceding. Put two lines under the words in each sentence which

are the source of the next sentence. Draw one line under the words in

each sentence which refer back to the preceding sentence.

In the paragraph beginning at the bottom of page 94, what is the topic

sentence? What relation has the last sentence to the first? What

method of development in the paragraph?

Can the paragraphs of exposition usually be divided? Do they violate

unity? If not, upon what principle can you divide them?

What is the tendency in regard to the length of paragraphs in recent

literature?

* * * * *

CHAPTER VIII

SENTENCES

Definition and Classification. Simple Sentences.

A sentence is a group of words expressing a complete thought.

Sentences have been classified as simple, complex, and compound. In

reality there are but two classes of sentences,--simple and compound.

It is not material to the construction of a sentence whether a

modifier be a word, a phrase, or a clause; it still remains an

adjective, adverb, or noun modifier, and the method in which the

subject and predicate are developed is the same. By means of

modifiers, a subject and predicate of but two words may grow to the

size of a paragraph, and yet be a group of words expressing one

complete thought.

In the sentence below, the subject and predicate are "we are free."

This does not, however, express Burke's complete thought. It is not

what he meant. Free to do what? How free? When may it be done? Why

now? What bill? All these introduce modifications to the simple

assertion, "we are free," modifications which are essential to the

completeness of the thought.

"By the return of this bill, which seemed to have taken its

flight forever, we are at this very instant nearly as free

to choose a plan for our American government as we were on

the first day of the session."

Compound Sentences.

On the other hand, the compound sentence is usually said to consist of

at least two independent clauses; and the very fact of their

independence, which is only a grammatical independence, to be sure,

makes the clauses very nearly independent sentences. So near to

sentences may the clauses be in their independence that some writers

would make them so. The following group of sentences Kipling certainly

could have handled in another way. "The reason for her wandering was

simple enough. Coppy, in a tone of too hastily assumed authority, had

told her over night that she must not ride out by the river. And she

had gone to prove her own spirit and teach Coppy a lesson." Certainly

the last two sentences could be united into a compound sentence, nor

would it be straining the structure to put all three sentences into

one. This example is not exceptional. Many similar cases may be found

in all prose writers; and in Macaulay's writings there are certainly

occasions when it would be better to unite independent sentences. If

the fundamental ideas of the two clauses bear certain definite and

evident relations to each other, they should stand in one compound

sentence. These evident relations are: first, an assertion and its

repetition in some other form; second, an assertion and its contrast;

third, an assertion and its consequence; and fourth, an assertion and

an example. If the clauses do not bear one of these evident relations

to each other, they should receive special attention; for they may be

two separate, independent thoughts requiring for their expression two

sentences. The following sentences illustrate the common relations

that may exist between the clauses of a compound sentence.

_Repetition._ "Nothing has a drift or relation; nothing has a

promise or history."

"But the religion most prevalent in our northern colonies is

a refinement on the principle of resistance; it is the

dissidence of dissent, and the protestantism of the

Protestant religion."

_Contrast._ "If the people approve the way in which these

authorities are interpreting and using the Constitution,

they go on; if the people disapprove, they pause, or at

least slacken their pace."

"Every court is equally bound to pronounce, and competent to

pronounce, on such questions, a State court no less than a

Federal court; but as all the more important questions are

carried by appeal to the supreme Federal court, it is

practically that court whose opinion determines them."

_Consequence._ "The British and American line had run near it

during the war; it had, _therefore,_ been the scene of

marauding, and infested with refugees, cow-boys, and all

kinds of border chivalry."