the children, particularly the youngest; and like the lion
bold, which whilom so magnanimously the lamb did hold, he
would sit with a child on one knee, and rock a cradle with
his foot for whole hours together."
There is another condition which masses many details into one compound
sentence. If in narration a writer wishes to give the impression that
many things are done in a moment of time, and together form one
incident, he may group many circumstances, nearly independent except
for the matter of time, into one compound sentence. In description he
may present groups of details hastily in one sentence, and so give the
impression of unity. The same thing may be done in exposition. Many
independent ideas may bear a common relation to another idea, either
expressed or understood; and in order to get them before the reader as
one whole, the author may group them in a single sentence. The
examples below illustrate this method of sentence development.
_Narration._ "For a moment the terror of Hans Van Ripper's wrath
passed across his mind, for it was his Sunday saddle; but
this was no time for petty fears; the goblin was hard on his
haunches; and (unskillful rider that he was!) he had much
ado to maintain his seat; sometimes slipping on one side,
sometimes on another, and sometimes jolted on the high ridge
of his horse's backbone, with a violence that he verily
feared would cleave him asunder."[43]
_Description._ "In one corner stood a huge bag of wool, ready to
be spun; in another, a quantity of linsey-woolsey just from
the loom; ears of Indian corn, and strings of dried apples
and peaches, hung in gay festoons along the walls, mingled
with the gaud of red peppers; and a door left ajar gave him
a peep into the best parlor, where the claw-footed chairs
and dark mahogany tables shone like mirrors; andirons, with
their accompanying shovel and tongs, glistened from their
covert of asparagus tops; mock oranges and conch shells
decorated the mantelpiece; strings of various-colored birds'
eggs were suspended above it; a great ostrich egg was hung
from the centre of the room, and a corner cupboard,
knowingly left open, displayed immense treasures of old
silver and well-mended china."[43]
_Exposition._ "That perfection of the Intellect, which is the
result of Education, and its _beau ideal,_ to be imparted to
individuals in their respective measures, is the clear,
calm, accurate vision and comprehension of all things, as
far as the finite mind can embrace them, each in its place,
and with its own characteristics upon it. It is almost
prophetic from its knowledge of history; it is almost
heart-searching from its knowledge of human nature; it has
almost supernatural charity from its freedom from littleness
and prejudice; it has almost the repose of faith, because
nothing can startle it; it has almost the beauty and harmony
of heavenly contemplation, so intimate is it with the
eternal order of things and the music of the spheres."[44]
(Notice the use of the semicolon in the last two groups of sentences.
The parts of compound sentences such as these should be separated by
semicolons.)
Short Sentences.
Having determined approximately what relations may be grouped in a
single sentence, the first question for consideration is whether
sentences should be long or short. This cannot be definitely answered.
Since they should be concise, the short sentence is well suited for
definitions. Since a proposition should be announced in as few words
as can be used, without sacrificing brevity to clearness, short
sentences serve best for this purpose. As changes in the direction of
the development of a thought should be quickly indicated, a short
sentence is generally used for transition. And as at times when the
mind is under a stress of strong feeling, or the action of a story is
rapid, all explanatory matters are cut away, the barest statements in
shortest sentences serve best to express strong emotion and rapid
action.
Long Sentences.
Long sentences have the very opposite uses. To amplify a topic, to
develop a proposition by repetition, by details, by proofs, or by
example, long sentences are serviceable; by them the finer
modifications of a thought can be expressed. So, too, a summary of a
paragraph or a chapter frequently employs long sentences to express
the whole thought with precision and with proper subordination of
parts. Again, as short sentences best express haste and intensity, so
long sentences give the feeling of quiet deliberation and dignified
calm.
Illustrations of definitions, propositions, transitions, and
exemplifications are to be found everywhere. Slow movement expressed
by long sentences is well illustrated in Irving and Hawthorne. One
selection from George Meredith, to show the peculiar adaptation of the
short sentence to express intensity of feeling, is given. Richard
Feverel has just learned that the wife whom he had deserted has borne
him a son. Description and narration are mingled. The short, nervous
sentences express both the vividness of his impressions and the
intensity of his emotions.
"A pale gray light on the skirts of the flying tempest
displayed the dawn. Richard was walking hurriedly. The green
drenched woods lay all about his path, bent thick, and the
forest drooped glimmeringly. Impelled as a man who feels a
revelation mounting obscurely to his brain, Richard was
passing one of those little forest-chapels, hung with votive
wreaths, where the peasants halt to kneel and pray. Cold,
still, in the twilight it stood, rain-drops pattering round
it. He looked within, and saw the Virgin holding her Child.
He moved not by. But not many steps had he gone before the
strength went out of him, and he shuddered. What was it? He
asked not. He was in other hands. Vivid as lightning the
Spirit of Life illumined him. He felt in his heart the cry
of his child, his darling's touch. With shut eyes he saw
them both. They drew him from the depths; they led him a
blind and tottering man. And as they led him he had a sense
of purification so sweet he shuddered again and again."
Unity.
In a sentence, as in a theme or a paragraph, the first question
regarding its structure is what to put into it. The germ of a
paragraph is usually a sentence; of the sentence it is one word or but
very few words. This kernel of a sentence may be developed through the
many modifications of the thought; but always the additions must be
distinctly related to the germ words. If this relation of parts to the
kernel of the sentence be unmistakable, the sentence has unity; if
there are parts whose connection with the germ of the sentence cannot
be easily traced, they should be rejected as belonging to another
sentence. The pith of the whole sentence can be stated in a few words,
if the sentence has unity.
Long sentences should be watched. One thing easily suggests another,
interesting too, it may be; and when an essay is to be written,
anything,--especially if it have so worthy a quality as interest to
recommend it,--anything is allowed to go in. Such a sentence as the
following can be explained on no other principle: "Just then James
came rushing downstairs like mad to find the fellow who had punched a
hole in the tire of his bicycle, which was a Columbia which he got two
years before at a second-hand store, paying for it in work at fifteen
cents an hour." Plainly everything after "bicycle" is nothing to the
present purpose and should be excluded. The following from a
description of Cologne Cathedral is as bad, in some respects, worse;
for there is one point where the break is so abrupt that a child would
detect it. "The superintendence was intrusted to Mr. Ahlert, whose
ideas were not well adapted to inspire him for his grand task, under
his direction much of the former beauty and artistical skill was lost
sight of, but at all events it was a great satisfaction to see the
work go on and to have the expenses defrayed by the State." In this
case the writer, beyond doubt, thinks long sentences the correct
thing. Long sentences are necessary at times; but the desire simply to
write long sentences or to fill up space should never lead one to
forget that a sentence is the expression of one--not more--of one
complete thought.
On the other hand, sentences should contain the whole of one thought;
none of it should run over into another sentence. Strange as it may
seem, sentences are sometimes found like the following: "James was on
the whole a bad boy. But he had some redeeming qualities." "The first
day at school was all new to me. While it was interesting as well."
"He said that he was going. And that I might go with him." There is no
ground for an explanation of such errors as these except laziness and
grossest illiteracy. It is by no device so simple as the insertion of
a period that man can separate what has been joined in thought. _And_
and _but_ rarely begin sentences; in nearly all cases it will be found
that the sentences they purport to connect are but the independent
clauses of one compound sentence. _While_ or any other subordinating
conjunction introduces a dependent clause; a dependent clause is not a
sentence; it can never stand alone.
The offenses against the unity of a sentence are including too much
and including too little. Both are the result of carelessness or
inability to think. The purpose, the kernel, the germ of the sentence,
should be so clearly in mind that every necessary modification of the
thought shall be included and every unnecessary phrase be excluded.
Some further suggestions concerning unity are found in the paragraphs
treating primarily of mass and coherence.
Mass.
As advance is made in the ability to grasp quickly the thought of a
book, it becomes more and more evident that the eye must be taken into
account when arranging the parts of a composition. The eye sees the
headings of the chapters; it catches the last words of one paragraph
and the first words of the next; it lights upon the words near the
periods; so the parts of a composition should be arranged so that
these points shall contain worthy words. Moreover, within the sentence
the colon marks the greatest independence of the parts; the semicolon
comes next; and the comma marks the smallest division of thought.
Following the guidance of the eye, then, the words before a period
should be the most important; those near a colon, a semicolon, and a
comma will have a descending scale of value. A speaker has no
difficulty with punctuation; unconsciously he pauses with the thought.
So true is this, that one is inclined to say that if the writer will
read aloud his own composition, and punctuate where he pauses in the
reading, always remembering the rank of the marks of punctuation, he
will not be far from right. It will be noticed that he has paused in
the reading after important words, as if the thought stayed a moment
there for the help of the reader. Naturally we pause after important
words; and conversely, the places of importance in a sentence are near
the marks of punctuation, increasing from the comma to the period.
End of a Sentence.
The end of a sentence is more important than the beginning; and the
difference in value is greater than in a paragraph. In a paragraph the
opening is very important, generally containing the topic. In a
sentence, however, the beginning more often has some phrase of
transition, or some modifier; while it is the end that contains the
gist of the sentence. This fact makes it imperative that no unworthy
matter stand at the end. How important a position it is, and how much
is expected of the final words of a sentence, is evident from the
effect of failure produced by a sentence that closes with weak words.
In the following sentences, phrases have been moved from their places;
the weakness is apparent.
Abstract liberty is not to be found; and this is true of
other mere abstractions.
This is a persuasion built upon liberty, and not only
favorable to it.
I pass, therefore, to their agriculture, another point of
view.
Of course Burke never wrote such sentences as these. However,
sentences like them can be found in school compositions.
"Lincoln's character is worthy to be any young man's ideal;
having in it much to admire."
"Euclid Avenue, with its broad lawns, and with Wade Park as
the fitting climax of its spacious beauty, is the most
attractive driveway in the United States, which is saying a
good deal."
"Minnesota has many beautiful lakes; Mille Lacs, fringed
with dark pines; Osakis, with its beach of glistening sand;
Minnetonka, skirted by a lovely boulevard bordered by cool
lawns and cosy cottages; and many others not so big."
Such sentences as these are not uncommon. Their ruin is wrought by the
closing words. Watch for trailing relatives, dangling participles, and
straggling generalities at the end of sentences. The end of a sentence
is a position of distinction; it should be held by words of
distinction.
So influential is position in a sentence that by virtue of it a word
or a clause of equal rank with others can be made to take on a certain
added authority. By observing the end of a sentence, a reader can
determine what was uppermost in the mind of an author careful of these
things. In the following sentence as it was written by Burke the
emphasis is on the duration of the time; but by a change of position
it is put upon the fact. "Refined policy ever has been the parent of
confusion; and ever will be so, as long as the world endures."
Changing the last clause it reads, "and, as long as the world endures,
ever will be so." This is not weak; but the stress is not where Burke
placed it. The position of the words gives them an importance that
does not inhere in the words themselves.
Effect of Anti-climax.
Still, as the tenure of a place of distinction cannot save a fool from
the reputation of folly, position in a sentence cannot redeem empty
words from their truly insipid character. Indeed, as the imbecility of
a shallow pate is made all the more apparent by a position of
distinction, so is the utter unfitness of certain words for their
position painfully manifest. This is the secret of anti-climax. By
reason of its very position in a sentence, the last phrase should be
distinguished; instead the position is held by a silly nothing.
Disappointing anti-climaxes, like those already cited, are frequently
made by young writers; and they are sometimes met with in the works of
the best authors. The following sentence is from Newman: from the
point of view of an ardent churchman, it may be a climax; but from the
point of view of the general reader who considers the whole greater
than any of its parts, in spite of all the sense preceding the final
phrase, that is absurd and disappointing nonsense.
"I protest to you, gentlemen, that if I had to choose
between a so-called university, which dispensed with
residence and tutorial superintendence, and gave its degrees
to any person who passed an examination in a wide range of
subjects, and a university which had no professors and
examinations at all, but merely brought a number of young
men together for three or four years, and then sent them
away as the University of Oxford is said to have done some
sixty years since, if I were asked which of these methods
was the better discipline of the intellect,--mind, I do not
say which is _morally_ the better, for it is plain that
compulsory study must be a good and idleness an intolerable
mischief,--but if I must determine which of the two courses
was the more successful in training, moulding, and enlarging
the mind, which sent out men the more fitted for their
secular duties, which produced better public men, men of the
world, men whose names would descend to posterity, I have no
hesitation in giving the preference to that university which
did nothing, over that which exacted an acquaintance with
every science under the sun. And, paradox as this may seem,
still if results be the test of systems, the influence of
the public schools and colleges of England, in the course of
the last century, at least will bear out one side of the
contrast as I have drawn it. What could come, on the other
hand, of the ideal systems of education which have
fascinated the imagination of this age, could they ever take
effect, and whether they would not produce a generation
frivolous, narrow-minded, and resourceless, intellectually
considered, is a fair subject for debate; but so far is
certain, that the universities and scholastic
establishments, to which I refer, and which did little more
than bring together first boys and then youths in large
numbers, these institutions, with miserable deformities on
the side of morals, with a hollow profession of
Christianity, and a heathen code of ethics,--I say, at
least, they can boast of a succession of heroes and
statesmen, of literary men and philosophers, of men
conspicuous for great natural virtues, for habits of
business, for knowledge of life, for practical judgment, for
cultivated tastes, for accomplishments, who have made
England what it is,--able to subdue the earth, _able to
domineer over Catholics._"[45]
Use of Climax.
From what has been said, it is evident that the parts of a sentence,
as far as may be, should be arranged in a climax. The climax should be
in the thought, with a corresponding increase in the weight of the
phrases. If the thoughts increase in importance, the words that
express them should increase in number. The number of words in the
treatment bears a pretty constant ratio to the importance of the
subject treated. The paragraph quoted from Newman is an excellent
illustration of the use of climax,--until it comes to that last
phrase. Note in the first sentence the repetition of the condition,
three times repeated. Change the second to the third and see how
different it is. Then he has "public men, men of the world, men whose
names would descend to posterity,"--a steady increase in the thought,
and a corresponding increase in the length of phrases. The last
sentence contains a fine example of climax. "Of heroes and statesmen,
of literary men and philosophers, of men conspicuous for great natural
virtues, for habits of business, for knowledge of life, for practical
judgment, for cultivated tastes, for accomplishments, who have made
England what it is,--able to subdue the earth." Climax is the
arrangement that produces the effect of vigorous strength. In
arranging a succession of modifiers, so far as possible without
breaking some other more important principle, a writer will gain in
force if he seeks for climax.
Loose and Periodic.
Sentences are divided into two classes: loose and periodic. A loose
sentence may be broken at some point before the end, and up to that
point be grammatically a complete sentence. An arrangement of the
parts of a sentence that suspends the meaning until the close is
called periodic. The periodic sentence is generally so massed that the
end contains words of distinction, and the sentence forms a climax.
Not all climaxes are periods; but nearly all periods are climaxes.
The Period.
The philosophy of the periodic sentence has been best stated by
Herbert Spencer. He starts with the axiom that the whole amount of
attention a reader can give at any moment is limited and fixed. A
reader must give a part of it to merely acquiring the meaning; the
remainder of his attention he can give to the thought itself. In
reading Cicero the pupil has to put a large part of his attention upon
the vocabulary, upon the order and construction of the words; the
barest fragment of attention he can bestow upon the thought of the
great orator. So when the reader attacks one of Browning's most
involved and obscure passages, he is kept from the thought by the
difficulties in the language. As it is the purpose of language to
convey thought, and as it is usually the wish of an author to be
understood, he should use up as little as possible of the reader's
limited attention for the mere acquisition of the thought, and leave
the reader as much as he can to put upon the meaning. In applying this
to sentences, the question is, which form of sentence demands least
effort to get at its meaning: the periodic sentence, which suspends
the meaning to the end; or the loose sentence, which may be broken at
several points and gives its meaning in installments? The old example
is as good as any: shall we say as the French do, a horse black; or
shall we say as the English do, a black horse? for in the arrangement
of these three words there lies the difference between a loose and a
periodic sentence. Consider the French order first. When a person
hears the words "a horse," he at once thinks of the horse he knows
best; that is, generally, a bay horse. When the word "black" follows,
the whole image has to be changed from the bay horse he knows to the
black horse he has occasionally seen. There has been a waste of
attention. On the other hand, when the words "a black" are heard, the
mind constructs no image; it waits until the noun modified is spoken.
Then the whole image springs up at once; it is correct and it needs no
remodeling. The following sentence illustrates the point. "I am
wasting time" is the beginning. It would be difficult to enumerate the
many thoughts suggested by these words; each person has his own idea
of wasting time. When the rest of the sentence is added, "trying to
learn my geometry lesson," the whole has to be reconstructed. On the
other hand the periodic statement suspends the meaning to the end.
There is no place where, without additions to the words used, the mind
can rest. "Trying to learn a geometry lesson is for me a waste of
time." Theoretically the periodic sentence is better than the loose
sentence; for it economizes attention.
There is another side to the question, however. If the details be
many, and if each be long, they would be more than the mind could
carry without great effort; and instead of economy of attention, there
is improvident waste. The mind will carry a long, carefully arranged
period at intervals; but a succession of periods is sure to result in
its absolute refusal to do so any longer. There is a limit to the
length of a period that economizes attention; and there is a limit to
the number of successive periods which a reader can endure.
Periodic and Loose combined.
There is another form of sentence, which combines the loose and the
periodic. It generally begins with the periodic form and sustains this
until it is better to relieve the mind of the stress, when the period
ends or the loose structure begins; and the sentence may as a whole be
periodic while containing parts that are loose. This kind of sentence
is a common form for long sentences. It gives to prose much of the
dignity of the period, together with the familiarity of the loose
sentence.
The sentence below may be changed, by putting the last clause first,
to a loose sentence; and by placing it after the word "subject" it
becomes mixed.
"By all persons who have written of the subject, for the
grandeur of its mountains and the deep quiet of its green
valleys for the leaping torrents of its foaming rivers and
blue calm of its crag-walled lakes, Switzerland has been
named 'the Paradise of Europe.'"
The following paragraph from Burke contains examples of loose,
periodic, and mixed sentences:--
"To restore order and repose to an empire so great and so
distracted as, ours, is, merely in the attempt, an
undertaking that would ennoble the flights of the highest
genius, and obtain pardon for the efforts of the meanest
understanding. Struggling a good while with these thoughts,
by degrees I felt myself more firm. I derived, at length,
some confidence from what in other circumstances usually
produces timidity. I grew less anxious, even from the idea
of my own insignificance. For, judging of what you are by
what you ought to be, I persuaded myself that you would not
reject a reasonable proposition because it had nothing but
its reason to recommend it. On the other hand, being totally
destitute of all shadow of influence, natural or
adventitious, I was very sure that, if my proposition were
futile or dangerous--if it were weakly conceived, or
improperly timed,--there was nothing exterior to it of power
to awe, dazzle, or delude you. You will see it just as it
is; and you will treat it just as it deserves."[46]
Which shall be used?
Which shall be used, loose sentences or periodic? In literature the
loose more frequently occur. They are informal and conversational, and
are especially suited to letter-writing, story-telling, and the light
essay. The period is formal; it has the air of preparation. The
oration, the formal essay, well-wrought argument,--forms of literature
where preparation is expected,--may use the period with good effect.
It has a finish, a scholarly refinement, not found in the loose
sentence; and yet a series of periods would be as much out of place in
a letter as a court regalia at a downtown restaurant. The loose
sentence is easy, informal, and familiar; the periodic is stiff,
artificial, and aristocratic. To use none but loose sentences gives a
composition an air of familiarity even to the verge of vulgarity; to
employ only periodic sentences induces a feeling of stiff
artificiality bordering on bombast. The fitness of each for its
purpose is the guide for its use.
There is, however, a reason why young persons should be encouraged to
use periodic sentences. Usually they compose short sentences, so there
is little danger of overburdening the reader's attention. With this
danger removed, the result of the generous use of periodic sentences
will be nothing worse than a too obvious preparation. The sentences
will all be finished to a degree, and unquestionably will give a
feeling of artificiality. However, the attention to sentence-structure
necessary in order to make it periodic is a thing devoutly to be
wished at this stage of growth. No other fault is so common in
sentence-construction as carelessness. A theme will be logically
outlined, a paragraph carefully planned, but a sentence,--anybody
standing on one foot can make a sentence. A well-turned sentence is a
work of art, and it is never made in moments when the writer "didn't
think." The end must be seen at the beginning: else it does not end;
it plays out. There is no other remedy for careless, slipshod
sentence-making so effective as the construction of many periodic
sentences.
Not only will there be care in the arrangement of the material, but
when all details must be introduced before the principal thought,
there will be little chance of any phrase slipping into the sentence
that does not in truth belong there. Dangling participles, trailing
relatives, and straggling generalities can find no chance to hang on
to a periodic sentence. Every detail must be a real and necessary
modification of the germ thought of the sentence, else it can hardly
be forced in. Periodic sentences, then, besides insuring a careful
finish to the work, are also a safeguard against the introduction of
irrelevant material,--the commonest offense against sentence-unity.
Emphasis by Change of Order.
Closely connected with the emphasis gained by the periodic arrangement
of the parts of a sentence is the emphasis gained by forcing words out
of their natural order. In a sentence the points which arrest the eye
and the attention are the beginning and the end. However, if the
subject stands first and the words of the predicate in their natural
order, there is no more emphasis upon them than these important
elements of a sentence ordinarily deserve. To emphasize either it is
necessary to force it out of its natural position. "George next went
to Boston," is the natural order of this sentence. Supposing, however,
that a writer wished to emphasize the fact that it was George who went
next, not James or Fred, he could do it by forcing the word "George"
from its present natural position to a position unnatural. He could
write, "It was George who next went to Boston," or, "The next to go to
Boston was George." Forcing the subject toward the position usually
occupied by the predicate emphasizes the subject. This is similar to
the emphasis given by the period. "It was George" is so far periodic,
followed by the loose structure; and the last arrangement is quite
periodic. Every device for throwing the subject back into the sentence
makes the sentence up to the point where the subject is introduced
periodic; this arrangement throws the emphasis forward to the word
that closes the period.
Other parts of a sentence may be emphasized by being placed out of
their natural order. In the natural order, adjectives and adverbs
precede the words they modify; conditional and concessive clauses
precede the clauses they modify; an object follows a verb; and
prepositional phrases and adjective clauses follow the words they
modify. These rules are general. Moving a part of a sentence from this
general order usually emphasizes it. "George went to Boston next"
emphasizes a little the time; but "Next George went to Boston" places
great emphasis on the time. So "It was to Boston that George went
next" emphasizes the place. "Went" cannot be so dealt with. It seems
irrevocably fixed that in a prose declarative sentence the verb shall
never stand first. It is not allowed by good use.
The rearrangement of the following sentence illustrates the emphasis
given by putting words out of their natural order:--
The strong and swarthy sailors of the Patria slowly rowed
the party to the shore.
The sailors of the Patria, strong and swarthy, slowly rowed
the party to the shore.
Slowly the strong and swarthy sailors of the Patria rowed
the party to the shore.
Of the steamer Patria, the sailors, strong and swarthy,
rowed the party to the shore.
To show the arrangement of clauses the following will be sufficient:--
He cannot make advancement, even if he studies hard.
Even if he studies hard, he cannot make advancement.
"Your Irish pensioners would starve, if they had no other
fund to live on than the taxes granted by English
authority."
If they had no other fund to live on than the taxes granted
by English authority, your Irish pensioners would starve.
The latter arrangement emphasizes the conclusion much more than the
former; at the same time it subordinates the condition. Burke wished
the emphasis to be upon the condition; he placed it after the
conclusion.
Subdue Unimportant Elements.
Emphasis is gained by placing words in important positions in a
sentence by arranging the parts to form a climax; by the use of the
period; by forcing words out of their natural order. It is also gained
by the subdual of parts not important. This emphasis is a matter of
relative intensity. The beauty and strength of any artistic product
depend as much upon the subdual of the accessories as upon the
intensifying of the necessaries. In order to get the emphasis upon
certain phrases, it is necessary to subordinate other phrases. In the
talk of a child every thought phrases itself as a simple sentence. Not
until it grows to youth does the child recognize that there is a
difference in values, and adopt means for expressing it. To grasp
firmly the principal idea and then subdue all other ideas is an
elegant way of emphasizing.
The subdual of parts is accomplished by reducing to subordinate
clauses, to phrases, to words, some of the ideas which in a child's
talk would be expressed in sentences. A thought of barely enough
importance to be mentioned should be squeezed into a word. If it
deserves more notice, perhaps a prepositional phrase will express it.
A participial phrase will often serve for a clause or a sentence. A
subordinate clause may be needed if the thought is of great
importance. And last, if it deserves such a distinction, the thought
may demand an independent clause or a sentence for itself. If the
following sentence be broken into bits as a child would tell it, the
nice effects of emphasis which Irving has given it are ruined:--
"When the dance was at an end, Ichabod was attracted to a
knot of the sager folks, who, with old Van Tassel, sat
smoking at one end of the piazza, gossiping over former
times, and drawing out long stories about the war."[47]
Put into simple sentences, it would be like this: The dance was at an
end. Ichabod was attracted to a knot of folks. The folks were older.
They sat at the end of the piazza. Old Van Tassel was with them. They
were smoking, etc.
In such sentences, nothing is emphatic; it is all alike. In Irving's
sentences, where ideas are reduced to clause, phrase, even a word,
there is no question about what is important and what is unimportant.
He has secured an exquisite emphasis by a discriminating subdual of
subordinate ideas.
This brings up the sentences by Kipling already quoted on page 201.
The author has used three independent sentences. They can be written
as one, thus: The reason of her wandering was simple enough; for
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.
There is a reason, however, why Kipling wished that last sentence to
stand alone. Subordinated as it is here rewritten, it does not half
express the spiteful independence she assumed to teach Coppy a lesson.
It needs the independent construction. Just as surely as Kipling is
right in putting the reasons into two sharp, independent sentences, is
Irving right when he puts the reason in the following sentence into a
subordinate clause. It is not important enough to deserve a sentence
all by itself.
"He was, moreover, esteemed by the women as a man of great
erudition, for he had read several books quite through, and
was a perfect master of Cotton Mather's 'History of New
England Witchcraft,' in which, by the way, he most firmly
and potently believed."
In the following sentence the effect of subordination is
unmistakable:--
"He had a name in the village for brutally misusing the ass;
yet it is certain that he shed a tear _which_ made a clean
mark down one cheek."
Now read it again:--
"He had a name in the village for brutally misusing the ass;
yet it is certain that he shed a tear, _and the tear_ made a
clean mark down one cheek."
The last clause has burst away from its former submission, and in its
independence has made the most important announcement of the
sentence,--the witty climax. Emphasis is, to a large degree, a matter
of position, but position cannot emancipate any clause from the
thralldom of subordination. To emphasize one idea, subordinate
ancillary ideas; make them take their proper rank in the sentence.
Reduce them to a clause or to a phrase; and if a word justly expresses
the relative importance of the thought, reduce its expression to a
single word.
The Dynamic Point of a Sentence.
In the chapter on paragraphs it was said that one sentence is often
the source of the succeeding sentence; that such a sentence seemed to
be charged like a Leyden jar, and to discharge its whole power through
a single word or phrase; and further, that this word or phrase should
be left free to act,--it should be uncovered. How a sentence can be
arranged so that this word or phrase shall have the prominence it
deserves, and can unhindered transmit the undiminished force of one
sentence to the next, has now been explained. First, such words can be
made dynamic by placing them at the beginning or the end of a
sentence; second, by placing them near the major marks of punctuation;
third, by forcing them from their natural order; and fourth, by the
subdual of the other parts of the sentence. The greatest care in
massing sentences so that none of their power be lost in transmission
is one of the secrets of the literature that carries the reader
irresistibly forward. Sometimes he may be annoyed by the repetition of
phrases; but he cannot get away; he must go forward. In the paragraph
below, quoted from Matthew Arnold, every phrase that is the point from
which the next sentence springs is in a position where it can act
untrammeled. Through it the whole force of the sentence passes:--
"It will be said that it is a very subtle and indirect
action which I am thus prescribing for criticism, and that,
by embracing in this manner the Indian virtue of detachment
and abandoning the sphere of practical life, it condemns
itself as a slow and obscure work. Slow and obscure it may
be, but it is the only proper work of criticism. The mass of
mankind will never have any ardent zeal for seeing things as
they are; very inadequate ideas will satisfy them. On these
inadequate ideas reposes, and must repose, the general
practice of the world. That is as much as saying that
whoever sets himself to see things as they are will find
himself one of a very small circle; but it is only by this
small circle resolutely doing its own work that adequate
ideas will ever get current at all. The rush and uproar of
practical life will always have a dizzying and attracting
effect upon the most collected spectator, and tend to draw
him into its vortex; most of all will this be the case where
that life is so powerful as it is in England. But it is only
by remaining collected, and refusing to lend himself to the
point of view of the practical man, that the critic can do
the practical man any service; and it is only by the
greatest sincerity in pursuing his own course, and by at
last convincing even the practical man of his sincerity,
that he can escape misunderstandings which perpetually
threaten him."[48]
Good Use.
Good use has been mentioned. In massing the parts of a sentence for
the purpose of emphasizing some idea, a writer has not entire freedom.
Good use, which is the use of acknowledged masters, decides what may
be done. There are certain arrangements of words to which we are
accustomed; and the disregard of them leads to obscurity or downright
contrariety in the thought. "Brutus stabbed Caesar" is the common
order; "Brutus Caesar stabbed," or "Stabbed Brutus Caesar," is obscure;
while "Caesar stabbed Brutus" is the very opposite of the truth. Those
who have studied Latin know that as far as understanding the sentence
is concerned, it would make no difference in which order the three
Latin words should be arranged; though it would make a mighty
difference in the emphasis. In Latin the case endings determine the
construction of the words. In an inflected language the words may be
massed almost to suit the writer; in an uninflected language, within
certain limits the order determines the relation between groups of
words. Though for emphasis it might be advisable to have the object
first, for the sake of clearness in a short sentence the object cannot
stand first. The primary consideration in making any piece of
literature is that it may be understood. To be understood, the
sentence must be arranged in the order to which we are accustomed. The
order to which we are accustomed has been determined by good use.
The variety in the arrangement of the parts of a sentence that has
been sanctioned by good usage is great, yet there are limits. Grammar
is based upon the usage of the best writers. Any offense against the
grammar of our language is a sin against good use. Browning may use
constructions so erratic that the ordinary reader does not know what
he is reading about; Carlyle may forge a new word rather than take the
trouble to find one that other people have used. But the young writer,
at least, is far safer while keeping within the limits of good use.
Clearness gained by Coherence.
Coherence in a sentence is that principle of structure by which its
parts are best arranged to stick together. The parts of a sentence
containing related ideas should be so associated that there can be no
mistake regarding the reference or the modification. Such a sentence
as the following cannot be understood; the reference is obscure.
"James told him that he did not see what he was to do in the matter."
If the reader were sure of the first "he," he could not come nearer
than a guess at the reference of the second "he." The third personal
pronoun--he, she, it--in all its cases is especially uncertain in its
references.
The first sentence below is from an English grammar. The second is
from a recently published biography. Both are obscure in the reference
of the pronouns.
"When 'self' is added to a pronoun of the First and Second
person, it is preceded by the Possessive case. But when it
is added to a pronoun of the Third person, it is preceded by
a pronoun in the Objective case."
"I am reminded of Swinburne's view of Providence when he
said that he never saw an old gentleman give a sixpence to a
beggar, but he was straightway run over by a 'bus."
The relative pronoun is also uncertain in its references.
Some Southerners were among the ship's passengers, of whom a
few had served in the Rebellion. (Obscure reference.)
Red lights were displayed in a peculiar succession, which
warned of impending storm. (No antecedent.)
To make the reference of pronouns, personal and relative, distinct,
the antecedent must be made prominent; sometimes the only way out of
the difficulty is a repetition of the antecedent. And the pronoun
should stand near the word to which it refers. Keep associated ideas
together.
Like pronouns in the uncertainty of their reference are participles.
Either the subject is not expressed, or it is uncertain.
Hastening up the steps, the door opened. (None.)
Coming from the spring, with a pail of water in either hand,
he saw her for the first time. (Uncertain.)
Adverbs are sometimes placed so that they make a sentence ridiculous;
and frequently their meaning is lost by being separated from the words
they modify. "Only" is a word to be watched. Like adverbs are
correlative conjunctions. They are frequently so placed that they do
not join the elements they were intended to unite.
He seized the young girl as she rose from the water almost
roughly.
I think I hardly shall.
I only went as far as the gate.
"Who shall say, of us who know only of rest and peace by
toil and strife?"
He not only learned algebra readily but also Latin.
Phrases and clauses may lose their reference by being removed from the
words they modify.
Toiling up the hill, he arrived at Hotel Bellevue through a
drizzling rain.
Addison rose to a post which dukes, the heads of the great
houses of Talbot, Russell, and Bentinck, have thought it an
honor to fill without high birth, and with little property.
"Fred was liked well; but he had the habit of that class
that cannot get the English Language in the right order when
a little excited."
All the classes of errors which have been exemplified here are due to
the infringement of one rule: things that belong together in thought
should stand together in composition. Nothing should be allowed to
come between a pronoun, an adjective, an adverb, a correlative, a
phrase, or a clause, and the word it modifies. Sometimes other
modifiers have to be taken into account: where more than one word or
phrase modifies the same word, a trial will have to be made to arrange
them so that there shall be no obscurity or absurdity. Keep related
ideas together; keep unrelated ideas apart.
Parallel Construction.
The second principle which helps to make the relation of parts clear
is parallel construction. It has already been explained in paragraphs.
In sentences the commonest errors are in linking an infinitive with a
gerund, a participle with a verb, an active with a passive voice, a
phrase with a clause. The result is sentences like the following:--
You cannot persuade him to go and into buying what he does
not want.
Thus he spoke, and turning to the door.
The king began to force the collection of duties, and an
army was sent by him to execute his wishes.
He was resolved to use patience and that he would often
exercise charity.
Such sentences are offensive to the ear; and were they as long as the
ones below, they would not be clear.
"You cannot persuade them _to burn_ their books of curious
science; _to banish_ their lawyers from their courts of
laws; or _to quench_ the lights of their assemblies by
refusing to choose those persons who are best read in their
privileges."
"For though rebellion is declared, it _is_ not _proceeded
against_ as such, nor _have_ any steps _been taken_ towards
the apprehension or conviction of any individual offender,
either on our late or our former Address; but modes of
public coercion _have been adopted,_ and such as have much
more resemblance to a sort of qualified hostility towards an
independent power than the punishment of rebellious
subjects."
"My Resolutions therefore mean TO ESTABLISH the equity and
justice of a taxation of America by grant and not by
imposition; TO MARK the legal competency of the colony
Assemblies for the support of their government in peace, and
for public aids in time of war; TO ACKNOWLEDGE _that this
legal competency has had_ a dutiful and beneficial exercise;
and _that experience has shown_ the benefit of their grants,
and the futility of Parliamentary taxation as a method of
supply."[49]
In the second sentence Burke has used a passive voice when it would
certainly be more elegant to change to the active. "Is proceeded
against" is surely awkward, but for uniformity and resulting clearness
he has retained the passive. In the last sentence the infinitives "to
establish," "to mark," and "to acknowledge" are in the same
construction; they are objects of "mean." Then comes a change of form
to show that the clauses "that this legal competency has had," etc.,
and "that experience has shown," etc., are in a like relation to the
infinitive "to acknowledge." Though the last clause by reason of the
punctuation looks correlative with the others, it is not related as
object to the verb "mean," as the others are, but it is the object of
"to acknowledge." There could hardly be a better example of the value
of parallel constructions for the purpose of avoiding confusion, and
linking together parts that are related.
Balanced Sentences.
Parallel constructions are used in balanced sentences. In balanced
sentences one part is balanced against another,--a noun and a noun, an
adjective and an adjective, phrase and phrase. Balanced sentences are
especially suited to express antithesis, the figure of speech where
two ideas are sharply opposed to each other. In the following from
Newman, the balancing is admirable: "Inebriated with the cup of
insanity, and flung upon the stream of recklessness, she dashes down
the cataract of nonsense and whirls amid the pools of confusion." This
is not antithesis, however; but the following from Macaulay is: "She
seems to have written about the Elizabethan age, because she had read
much about it; she seems, on the other hand, to have read a little
about the age of Addison, because she had determined to write about
it."
The danger in the use of balanced sentences is excess. Macaulay is
very fond of brilliant contrasts. _But_ is a very common word with
him. In some cases the reader feels that for the sake of the figure he
has forced the truth. Balanced sentences are palpably artificial, and
should be used but sparingly.
There is, however, but little danger of overdoing the parallel
construction where there is no antithesis. The parts of succeeding
sentences do not resemble each other so much in thought that there is
great danger of resulting monotony in its expression. However, should
the difficulty arise, the monotony may be broken up by a trifling
variation. Macaulay has done this well in the sentences quoted on page
186, beginning with the words, "For his sake empires had risen, and
flourished, and decayed," and continuing to the end of the paragraph.
Use of Connectives.
The third method of securing coherence in a sentence is by the use of
connectives. The skillful use of prepositions and conjunctions
indicates a master of words. The use of connectives has been discussed
when treating of emphasis secured by subdual of unimportant details.
Such parts are connected, and in a very definite way. The relations
are evident. Two examples will illustrate. The first group of
sentences are the fragments of but one of Irving's.
He did not look to the right or left. He did not notice the
scene. The scene was of rural wealth. He had often gloated
on this scene. He went straight to the stable. He kicked and
cuffed his steed several times, and so forth.
Now note the value of prepositions in giving these separate sentences
coherence.
"Without looking to the right or left to notice the scene of
rural wealth, on which he had so often gloated, he went
straight to the stable, and with several hearty cuffs and
kicks roused his steed most unceremoniously from the
comfortable quarters in which he was soundly sleeping,
dreaming of mountains of corn and oats, and whole valleys of
timothy and clover."
The next also is from Irving, and shows the skillful use of
conjunctions to point out unerringly the relation of the clauses in a
sentence.
"What seemed particularly odd to Rip was that, though these
folks were evidently amusing themselves, yet they maintained
the gravest faces, the most mysterious silence, and were,
withal, the most melancholy party of pleasure he had ever
witnessed."
Coherence, the principle of structure that surely holds the parts of a
sentence together, is of greater importance than Mass. Upon Coherence
depends the meaning of a sentence; upon Mass the force with which the
meaning is expressed. That the meaning may be clear, it is necessary
that the relation of the parts shall be perfectly evident. This
lucidity is gained by placing related parts near together, and
conversely, by separating unrelated ideas; by using parallel
constructions for parallel thoughts; and by indicating relations by
the correct use of prepositions and conjunctions.
To summarize, sentences are the elements of discourse. The ability of
a sentence to effect with certainty its purpose depends upon Unity,
Mass, and Coherence. A sentence must contain all that is needed to
express the whole thought, but it must contain no more. A sentence
must be arranged so that its important parts shall be prominent.
Position and proportion are the means of emphasis in a sentence. By
placing the important words near the major marks of punctuation, by
arranging the parts in a climax or a period, by forcing words out of
the natural order, and by subduing unimportant details, a sentence is
massed to give the important elements their relative emphasis. Last,
the parts of a sentence should be arranged so that their relations
shall be clear and unmistakable. Proximity of related parts, parallel
construction for parallel ideas, and connectives are the surest means
of securing Coherence in a sentence.
SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS
SILAS MARNER.
(Riverside Literature Series, No. 83.)
On page 18 put together the sentence beginning "Every man's work,"
etc., with the next. What connective and what punctuation will you
use? What is the difference in effect? What one of the relations of a
compound sentence does the second part bear to the first?
On page 26 could you make two sentences of the sentence beginning,
"Raveloe lay low among the bushy trees"? Would it be as well? Would it
be better?
On page 35 do the three parts of the compound sentence beginning, "He
would have liked," etc., belong to one sentence? Which one?
Is it right to say, "He would have liked to spring," or would it be
better to say, "He would have liked to have sprung"?
Do you think colons are used too frequently in Silas Marner? Compare
their use with their use in Hawthorne's Stories and Irving's Sketches.
In the sentence beginning, "Let him live," etc., at the bottom of page
94, is "a possible state of mind in some possible person not yet
forthcoming," a climax or an anti-climax? Why?
At the bottom of page 183 why was it necessary to crowd so much into
one sentence?
MACAULAY'S ESSAY ON MILTON.
(Riverside Literature Series, No. 103.)
Re-write the sentence on page 33 beginning, "Of all poets," etc.,
making it loose. Is it better or worse?
Why does "here" stand first in the next sentence?
What poets with whom you are familiar have philosophized too much?
Is the first sentence of the paragraph beginning in the middle of page
36 periodic or loose?
How many periodic sentences in this paragraph?
In the paragraph on pages 37 and 38 trace the relation of the
succeeding sentences.
At the bottom of page 45 what is the reason for putting first in the
sentence, "of those principles"? What do you think of the massing of
the whole sentence? What has been made emphatic?
Note the last two sentences at the end of the paragraph on page 58. Is
their arrangement effective? Change one. What is the effect? (See also
the middle of page 64.)
On page 60 why did he not say, "She grovels like a beast, she hisses
like a serpent, she stings like a scorpion"?
What arrangement of clauses in the first sentence in the paragraph
beginning at the bottom of page 66? Does it add clearness?
In the same paragraph find a balanced sentence.
What advantage is there in the short sentences on page 68?
In the first sentence of the paragraph, beginning on page 71, read one
of the clauses, "by whom king, church, and aristocracy were trampled
down." What is the effect of the change?
Is the parallel construction in the last sentence beginning on page 77
good? Is it good in the last sentence of this paragraph?
In the next paragraph, why is Macaulay's way better than this: "He was
neither Puritan, free thinker, nor royalist"?
When a sentence is introduced by a participial phrase or a dependent
clause it is in part or wholly periodic. Does Macaulay frequently use
this introduction? What is the effect upon his style?
Can you find examples of sentences beginning with a loose structure,
and having within them examples of the periodic structure?
In the paragraph filling pages 79 and 80 there are many examples of
periodic and parallel structure. Contrast this paragraph with some of
Lamb's paragraphs.
What is the effect of position upon the phrase, "Even in his hands,"
on page 67?
When Macaulay inverts the order of a sentence does he usually do it
for emphasis or to secure coherence?
Does he use many pronouns and conjunctions?
Does he repeat words?
BURKE'S SPEECH ON CONCILIATION WITH THE COLONIES.
(Riverside Literature Series, No. 100.)
How many sentences in the first paragraph are periodic?
What kind of sentences in paragraph 10?
What is the effect of this paragraph?
Notice the arrangement of loose and periodic clauses in the last
sentence in paragraph 12. Make this sentence entirely loose.
In the long sentence in paragraph 25 do the he's and him's all refer
to the same person?
What would you say of Burke's use of pronouns?
Find examples of balanced sentences in this oration.
Are you ever astray regarding Burke's meaning?
What has he done to gain clearness?
For what purpose does he frequently use questions?
WEBSTER'S BUNKER HILL ORATION.
(Riverside Literature Series, No. 56.)
What relation has the second sentence of paragraph 1 to the first?
Is the last sentence in paragraph 3 clear? How has he made it so?
Compare this sentence with the one beginning at the bottom of page 12.
In the last sentence of paragraph 6 where does loose structure change
to the periodic?
In paragraph 7 why would it be a blemish to write, "That we may keep
alive similar sentiments"?
Why does he repeat "We wish" so many times? Why did he not substitute
synonyms?
In paragraph 18 why has he used the word "interest" more than once? If
the thought is to be repeated, why not some other word?
In the eighth sentence of paragraph 21 is the structure periodic or
loose?
Reverse the order of clauses in the last sentence of paragraph 28.
What is the effect?
* * * * *
CHAPTER IX
WORDS
A word is the sign of an idea. Whether the idea be an object, a
quality, an action, simple existence, or a relation, if it be
communicated to another, it must have some sign; in language these
signs are words. Infinitely varied are the ideas man has to express.
Each day, each moment, has its new combination of circumstances; yet
by the common person the effect of the novel situation is described as
"horrid" or "awful" or "perfectly lovely." Three adjectives to
describe all creation! No wonder that people are constantly
misunderstood; that others do not get their ideas. How can they? Do
the best the master can, the thought will not pass from him to his
reader without considerable deflection. He cannot say exactly what he
would. His words do not hold the same meaning for him as for others.
"Mother" to him is a dear woman with a gentle voice, always dressed in
black, sitting by the window of home; to another she is a shrieking
termagant, whose phrases are punctuated by blows. There is not a word
that means exactly the same to two persons; yet with words men must
express their thoughts, their feelings, their hopes, their
purposes,--always changing, ever new,--and for all this shall they use
but a few score of words? Words are the last, least elements of
language; without these least elements, these atoms of language, no
sentence, however simple, can be made; by means of them, the master
drives mobs to frenzy or soothes the pain of eternal loss. The calm
and peace which Emerson knew, we know; the perpetual benediction of
past years which Wordsworth felt, all may feel. These thoughts masters
have expressed in words, but not in three words. Thousands are not
enough accurately to transfer their visions of this changing universe
from them to us. Ideas infinite in their variety demand for their
expression all the means which our language has placed at the disposal
of the master. For this true expression the whole dictionary with its
thousands of words is all too small.
Need of a Large Vocabulary.
Whoever hopes to be understood must acquire a full, rich vocabulary.
However clearly he may think, however much he may feel, until he has
words, the thought, the emotion, must remain his alone. To get a
vocabulary, then, is a person's business. He who has it can command
him who has it not. Not in literature alone, but in business,--in
medicine, in law, behind the accountant's desk or the salesman's
counter,--he is master who can say what he means so that the person to
whom he speaks must know just what he means. Now it is a singular
truth that when we read any great author, the words which we do not
understand are remarkably few. Even in Shakespeare there are not many;
and the few are unknown by reason of a constantly changing vocabulary.
It was probably true then, as it would certainly be to-day, that the
large majority of audiences lost not a word of his fifteen thousand,
while they themselves used less than eight hundred. We know what
others say; yet we say nothing ourselves. What a vocabulary one could
accumulate, if from six to eighteen he added only two words a day!
Twelve years, and each year more than seven hundred words! It does not
look a difficult task. Children do more, and never realize the
superiority of their achievement. Nine thousand words at eighteen!
Shakespeare alone used more. Macaulay needed scarcely six thousand.
Dictionary.
How shall a vocabulary be accumulated? One method is by the use of a
dictionary; and many persons find it a source of great pleasure. The
genealogy and biography of words are as fascinating to a devoted
philologist as stamps to a philatelist or cathedrals to an architect.
"Canteen" is quite an unassuming little word. Yet imperious Caesar knew
it in its childhood. The Roman camp was laid out like a small city,
with regular streets and avenues. On one of these streets called the
"Via Quintana" all the supplies were kept. When the word passed into
the Italian, it became "cantina;" and cantinas may be found among all
nations who have drawn their language from the Latin. There is this
difference, however: that whereas eatables were to be had in the Roman
quintana, only drinkables can be found in the Italian cantina. When
the English adopted the word, the middle meaning, a place where wines
are stored, a wine-cellar, came to be a small flask especially fitted
for the rough usage of a soldier's life, in which a necessary supply
of some sort of liquid may be carried. So the name of a street has
become the much-berated canteen of the sutler and the much needed
canteen of the soldier. The dictionary is full of such fascinating
biographies. Still its fascination is not the reason why most people
study the dictionary: it is because such a study is necessary for the
person who hopes for an accurate knowledge of the words he reads. It
is not impossible to know "pretty nearly what it means" from the
context; but no master uses words without knowing exactly what they
mean. Certainty of meaning precedes frequency of use; and this
necessary confidence is gained from a study of the dictionary. In a
general way we know all the words of Macaulay's vocabulary; but the
average man uses only eight hundred of them. His knowledge of words is
no more than an indistinct, mumbling knowledge. To lift each word out
of its context, to make it a distinct, living entity, capable of
serving, the definition must be studied. Then the student knows just
what service the word is fitted for, and finds a pleasure in being
competent to command that service. The dictionary is a necessity to
the person who hopes to use words.
Study of Literature.
Yet the knowledge of words that the student derives from the
dictionary is not sufficient. When one hears an educated foreigner
speak, he detects little errors in his use of words,--errors which are
not the fault of definition, but errors in the idiomatic use of words.
This use cannot be learned from a dictionary, where words are studied
individually, but only by studying them in combination with other
words where the influence of one word upon another may be noted. There
is little difference in the size of a pile of stones, whether we say a
great pile of stones or a large pile of stones; but a great man is of
much more consequence than a large man. A dictionary could hardly have
told a foreigner this. A man may pursue or chase a robber, as the
author wishes; but he may not chase a course. Prepositions are
especially liable to be misused, and their correct use comes from a
study of literature, not of the dictionary. The nice and
discriminating refinements in the use of words are learned by careful
reading. When a phrase is met, such as "the steep and solitary eastern
heaven," where each word has been born to a new beauty; or this, "And
the sweet city with her dreaming spires," where the adjectives "sweet"
and "dreaming" have a richer content, they should be regarded with
great care and greeted with even more delight than words entirely new.
How to read that we may gain this complete mastery of words, Mr.
Ruskin has best told us in "Sesame and Lilies." Every person should
know "Of Kings' Treasuries" by reading and re-reading. Literature, the
way masters have used words, will furnish a knowledge of the nicer
discriminations in their use.
The dictionary and literature are the sources of a full and refined
vocabulary. But the vocabulary which may be perfectly understood is
not entirely in one's possession until it is used. Seek the first
opportunity to use the newly acquired word. It will be hard to utter
it; you will feel an effort in getting it out. Only once, however;
after that it rises as easily as any old familiar word. Because the
companion with whom you speak is always "just as mad as" she can be,
is no reason why you may not at times be vexed, annoyed, aggravated,
exasperated, or angry. Men are not always either "perfectly lovely" or
"awful;" neither are all ladies "jewels." There are degrees of
villainy and nobility; and all jewels have not the same lustre. Know
what you want to say, and find the one word that will exactly say it.
This costs work, it is true; but what is there worth having which has
not cost some one work? Do the work; search for the word; then use it.
In this way a vocabulary becomes a real possession.
The words which a person may use are generally described as reputable,
national, and present. Words must be reputable; that is, sanctioned by
the authority of the creators of English literature. They must be
national; words that are the property of the mass of the people, not
of a clique or a district. And they must be of the present; Chaucer's
vocabulary, though it be the source of English, will not satisfy the
conditions of to-day.
Vulgarisms are not reputable.
First, words must be of reputable use. No person would consider
vulgarisms reputable. When a person says "I hain't got none," he has
reached about the acme of vulgarisms, the language of the illiterate.
Grammar has been disregarded; a word has been used which is not a
word; and another word has no reason for its appearance in the
sentence. Yet sometimes this expression is heard; seldom seen written.
It is always set down to the account of an illiterate home; for no one
can reach a high school without knowing its grammatical errors. The
unerring use of _don't, me, I, lie, lay, set,_ and _sit,_ is not so
assured that the list can be omitted. Adjectives are used for adverbs;
"real good" is not yet forgotten. Nouns are called upon to do the work
of verbs. This is the language of the illiterate, and it should be
avoided; for vulgarisms are not reputable.
Slang is not reputable.
Neither is slang reputable. He would be a prude who would not
recognize that slang is sometimes right to the point; and that many of
our strongest idioms were originally slang. Still, although many
phrases which to-day are called slang were at one time reputable, the
fact of their respectable birth cannot save them from the slight
imputation that now they are slang. Notwithstanding the fact that we
owe some of our strongest idioms to slang, the free use of slang
always vulgarizes. It generally is called upon to supply a deficiency
either in thought or in the power of expression. People too lazy to
think, too indolent to read, with little to say, and but a few slang
phrases to say it with, may be allowed to practice this vulgarity; but
cultured persons in cultured conversation will eschew all acquaintance
with it. To find it in the serious composition of educated persons
always raises a question of their refinement. It is the stock in trade
of the lazy and the uncultured. It is used to divert attention from
poverty of thought and a threadbare vocabulary. It is unnecessary for
the complete expression of thought by the scholar and man of
refinement.
It is a real misfortune that many good words have been tarnished by
the handling of the illiterate. "Awful," "horrid," and "lovely" are
good words; but they have been sullied by common use. So common have
they become that they approach slang. They may be rescued from that
charge in each person's writing, if he shows by accurate use of them
that he is master of their secret strength.
Milton wrote in "Paradise Lost:"--
"No! let us rather choose,
Armed with Hell-flames and fury, all at once
O'er Heav'n's high towers to force resistless way,
Turning our tortures into _horrid_ arms
Against the Torturer."
Lord Lytton makes Richelieu exclaim:--
"Look where she stands! Around her form I draw
The _awful_ circle of our solemn church."
And in the New Testament we read:--
"Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever
things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever
things are pure, whatsoever things are _lovely,_ whatsoever
things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if
there be any praise, think on these things."
There is no question here of the words; they have all the freshness
and vigor of their youth. Do not hesitate to use such words exactly.
When the thought calls for them, they say with certainty what can be
expressed only doubtfully by other words.
Words must be national. Provincialisms.
Second, words must be of national use. They cannot be words confined
to a locality. When Morris talks of a house that has been "gammoned,"
he deprives a large number of readers of his meaning. "Gums" and
"brasses" may be good in certain districts of England, but in
literature they should not be used, for they would not generally be
understood. For the same reason much of the common conversation of the
South is foreign to a native of New York. Whoever employs the language
of a locality limits his circle of readers to that locality. To write
for all he must use the language of all; he must avoid provincialisms.
Technical and Bookish Words.
Like words that are used by a small region are words which are
understood by a clique of persons. Scholars are inclined to use a
scholarly vocabulary. The biologist has one; the chemist another; the
philosopher a third. This technical vocabulary may be a necessity at
times; but when a specialist addresses the public, his words must be
the words which an average cultured man can understand. Such words can
be found if the writer will look for them; if he does not, his work
can scarcely be called literature. Technical words and bookish terms
are not words of national use.
The following by Josiah Royce illustrates how clearly a most abstruse
topic can be handled by a man willing to take the trouble:[50]--
"If you ask what sort of thing this substance is, the first
answer is, that it is something eternal; and that means, not
that it lasts a good while, but that no possible temporal
view of it could exhaust its nature. All things that happen
result from the one substance. This surely means that what
happens now and what happened millions of years ago are, for
the substance, equally present and necessary results. To
illustrate once more in my own way: A spider creeping back
and forth across a circle could, if she were geometrically
disposed, measure out in temporal succession first this
diameter, and then that. Crawling first over one diameter,
she would say, 'I now find this so long.' Afterwards
examining another diameter, she would say, 'It has now
happened that what I have just measured proves to be
precisely as long as what I measured some time since, and no
longer.' The toil of such a spider might last many hours,
and be full of such successive measurements, each marked by
a spun thread of web. But the true circle itself within
which the web was spun, the circle in actual space as the
geometer knows it, would its nature be thus a series of
events, a mere succession of spun threads? No, the true
circle would be timeless, a truth founded in the nature of
space, outlasting, preceding, determining all the weary
web-spinning of this time-worn spider. Even so we, spinning
our web of experience in all its dreary complications in the
midst of the eternal nature of the world-embracing
substance, imagine that our lives somehow contain true
novelty, discover for the substance what it never knew
before, invent new forms of being. We fancy our past wholly
past, and our future wholly unmade. We think that where we
have yet spun no web, there is nothing, and that what we
long ago spun has vanished, broken by the winds of time into
nothingness. It is not so. For the eternal substance there
is no before and after; all truth is truth. 'Far and forgot
to me is near,' it says. In the unvarying precision of its
mathematical universe, all is eternally written.
'Not all your piety nor wit
Can lure it back to cancel half a line,
Nor all your tears wash out one word of it.'"
Foreign Words.
Words and phrases from a foreign language should be used only as a
last resort. _Bon mot, sine qua non,_ and _dolce far niente_ are all
very apt, and to a person like Mr. Lowell, who was intimately
acquainted with many languages, they may come as soon as their English
equivalents. In the case of such a person, the reason why they should
not be used is that the reader cannot understand them. But when a
young smatterer uses them to advertise his calling acquaintance with a
language, he is but proclaiming his own lack of good taste. In his
composition they are as ineffective to make it respectable as a large
diamond on a gamester's finger to make him an honored gentleman. Use
the English language when writing for English-speaking people. It has
the fullest, richest vocabulary in the world. It will not be found
unequal to the task of expressing your thoughts.
Words in Present Use.
Third, words should be in present use. Words may be so new that people
do not know them; they may have passed out of use after years of good
service. Of new words, but little can be said. The language constantly
changes. New discoveries and inventions demand new words. What ones
will be more than temporary cannot be prophesied. "Blizzard" and
"mugwump" were new but a short time ago: the latter is dying from
disuse, the former has come to stay. In this uncertainty one thing can
be said, however. No word which has not secured recognition should be
used by a young person, if by reputable words already in the language
he can express his meaning. And just as he should not be the first to
take up an untried word, so the young writer should not be the last to
drop a dead one. There is at present a sort of fad for old English. A
large number of words that have been resting quietly in their graves
for centuries have been called forth. Some may enjoy a second life;
most of them will feel only the weakness of a second obsolescence.
"Foreword" and "inwit" were good once; but "preface" and "conscience"
mean as much and have the advantage of being alive. To be understood
use the words of the present.
Words in their Present Meaning.
Use words in their present signification. Not only has language cast
out many words; it has changed many others so that they are hardly
recognized. When Chaucer wrote,
"Ther may no man Mercury mortify
But hit be with his brother knowleching,"
"mortify" meant to make dead, to kill. To-day a lady may say she was
mortified to death; but that is hyperbole. In "Paradise Lost" Satan
may
"Through the palpable obscure find out
His uncouth way."
But a person to-day is not justified in using "uncouth" for "unknown."
The works of Shakespeare and Milton abound in words whose life has
been prolonged to the present, but whose signification has been
changed. The writer who seeks to use words with these old meanings is
standing in his own light. Such use always attracts attention to the
words themselves, and by so much subtracts attention from the thought.
Words of Latin and Saxon Origin.
Words that are in good use have been divided into two classes, as they
have been drawn from two sources. Some differences between Anglo-Saxon
and Latin words are marked. Saxon words are generally short; Latin
words long. The first are the words of home and are concerned with the
necessities of life; the second are the words of the court and the
adornments of polite society. The former made the foundation of our
language and gave to it its idiomatic strength; the latter came later,
and added to the strength of the language its grace and refinement.
In our speech there can be no doubt that short words are used when the
purpose is to be understood quickly, even harshly, while the longer
words are frequently employed for saying unpleasant things pleasantly.
Euphemism, the choice of words not harsh for harsh ideas, has its
uses. It is not always wrong to say, "He was taken away" for "He was
killed." But when the plain truth is to be spoken, when, as in most
composition, the object is to be understood, the words should be
chosen which exactly express the thought, be those words Latin or
Saxon. For any one to say, "Was launched into eternity" for "Was
hanged," or "When the fatal noose was adjusted about the neck of the
unfortunate victim of his own unbridled passions" for "When the halter
was put around his neck," is a useless parade of vocabulary.[51] One
knows that such phrases are made by a writer who is ignorant of the
value of words, or by a penny-a-liner, willing to sacrifice every
effect of language to the immediate needs of his purse. Such writing
has no power. The words are dictated by too low a motive to have any
force in them. Let a writer go straight to the point as directly as
the hindrances of language will allow. Even then his expression will
lag behind his thought.
This does not mean that one is to use Saxon words always. It means
that one shall use the words that say exactly what is to be said, so
that the reader can get the exact thought with the least outlay of
attention to the words. Latin words are as common as Saxon words. To
search out a Saxon word because it is Saxon and short is as
reprehensible as to use the indirection of Latin words where
directness is wanted. Latin words have a place; they express the finer
distinctions and gradations of thought. In the discussion of any
question requiring nice precision of statement Latin words are
necessary. In the following from Newman, it would be difficult,
perhaps impossible, to substitute words of Anglo-Saxon origin for the
words of Latin origin, and could it be done, the passage would not
then have the clearness it now has from his use of common words,
though they be Latin:--
"I mean then by the Supreme Being, one who is simply
self-dependent, and the only Being who is such; moreover,
that He is without beginning or Eternal, and the only
Eternal; that in consequence He has lived a whole eternity
by Himself; and hence that He is all-sufficient, sufficient
for his own blessedness, and all-blessed, and ever-blessed.
Further, I mean a Being who, having these prerogatives, has
the Supreme Good, or rather is the Supreme Good, or has all
the attributes of good in infinite intenseness; all wisdom,
all truth, all justice, all love, all holiness, all
beautifulness; who is omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent;
ineffably one, absolutely perfect; and such that what we do
not know of Him is far more wonderful than what we do and
can."[52]
Latin words, moreover, have a fullness of sound which gives them an
added weight and dignity. One would hesitate long before changing one
of Milton's big-sounding phrases, even if he were not compelled to
sacrifice the metre. In Webster's orations there is a dignity, a
sublimity, gained by the use of full-mouthed polysyllables. Supposing
he had said at the beginning of his eulogy of Adams and Jefferson,
"This is a new sight" instead of "This is an unaccustomed spectacle,"
the whole effect of dignified utterance commensurate with the occasion
would have been lost. The oration abounds in examples of reverberating
cadences. Milton's sentences are a stately procession of gorgeous
words: the dignified pomp of the advance is occasioned by the wealth
of essential beauty and historical association in the individual
words:--
"That proud honor claimed
Azazel as his right, a Cherube tall:
Who forthwith from the glittering staff unfurl'd
Th' imperial ensign, which, full high advanc't
Shon like a meteor streaming to the wind,
With gemms and golden lustre rich emblaz'd
Seraphic arms and trophies; all the while
Sonorous metall blowing martial sounds:
At which the universal host up-sent
A shout that tore Hell's concave, and beyond
Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night.
All in a moment through the gloom were seen
Ten thousand banners rise into the air,
With orient colours waving; with them rose
A forrest huge of spears; and thronging helms
Appear'd, and serried shields in thick array
Of depth immeasurable." ("Paradise Lost.")
The choice of words does not depend on whether they are of Latin or of
Saxon origin. In use it will be found that short words, like short
sentences, give more directness and force to the composition; while
long words have a dignified elegance and refinement of discrimination
not the property of monosyllables. No one should think, however, that
short words cause the force or long words cause the dignity. These
qualities belong to the thought; the completeness of its expression is
approached by a choice in words. Choose words for their fitness to say
what you think, or feel, or purpose, having no regard for their
origin.
General and specific.
Words are also classified as general and specific. By a general word
is meant a word common to or denoting a large number of ideas. By
specific is meant a word that denotes or specifies a single idea.
"Man," "move," "bad," are general and denote a large number of ideas;
while "Whittier," "glide," "thieving," are specific, denoting but one
man, one movement, one kind of badness. "Man" denotes the whole human
race, while it implies a feeling, thinking, speaking, willing animal.
"Whittier" denotes but a single person, but beside all the common
qualities implied by the, word "man," "Whittier" suggests, among other
things, a homely face, serious and kind, a poet, and an anti-slavery
worker.
Use Words that suggest most.
As a principle in composition, it may be said that the more a word or
phrase can be made to imply or suggest, while at the same time
expressing all that the writer wishes to say, the more valuable does
that word or phrase become. Yet it should be remembered that words may
be so specific that they do not include all that the author wishes to
include. For instance, if instead of "Blessed are the peacemakers,"
the beatitude should be made to read "Blessed are the Quakers," though
this organized body of persons labor for the blessings of peace, yet
the meaning would be restricted by the limited denotation of the term.
It does not include enough. So in almost all of Emerson's writing, it
would not be possible to express his entire thought with more specific
words. Therefore regard must always be had for the thought,--that it
may be expressed in its perfect fullness and entirety. Keeping this
full expression in view, those words are strongest, truest, richest,
which suggest most. To say of a person that he is a bad man is one
thing; that he is a traitor is quite another; but when one writes that
he is a veritable Judas, words fail to keep pace with suggestions, and
reason yields to emotion. Specific words, if they denote the whole
idea, are as much better than general terms as their suggestion
exceeds the suggestion of general terms.
Synecdoche, Metonymy.
Much of the force of figures of speech is derived from the suggestive
quality of the specific words employed. When a man calls another a
dog, he has used a metaphor. He has availed himself of a term that
gathers up all the snarling qualities of the worst of the dog species.
The figure has high suggestive power. Synecdoche, too, that figure of
speech in which a part is used for the whole or the whole for a part,
employs a term of higher suggestive power for one of lower connoting
force. "All hands took hold" is better than "All persons went to
work." Metonymy is the substitution of the name of one thing for that
of another to which the former bears a known and close relation. The
most common of these known and close relations are those of cause and
its effects, of container and the thing contained, and of sign and the
thing signified. "He has read Shakespeare," "He was addicted to the
use of the bottle," "All patriots fight for the flag," are examples of
metonymy. All these figures depend in large degree for their power
upon the greater suggestiveness of specific words; and their use gives
to composition an efficiency and directness commensurate with the
greater connoting value of the specific words.
Care in Choice of Specific Words.
A writer should keep in mind the fact that the same word may mean
widely different things to two persons. For this reason the specific
word that appeals to him most may be of no value in addressing others.
"Free silver" means to one set of men the withdrawal of money from
investment, consequent stagnation in business, followed by the closing
of factories and penury among laborers. To others it means three
dollars a day for unskilled labor, fire, clothes, and something to
eat. Again, if one wished to present the horrors of devastating
disease, in the South he would mention yellow fever, in the North
smallpox; but to a lady who saw six little brothers and sisters dead
from it in one week, three carried to the graveyard on the hillside
one chill November morning, all the terrors of contagious disease are
suggested by the word "diphtheria." Words are weighted with our
experiences. They are laden with what we have lived into them. As
persons have different experiences, each word carries to each person a
different meaning. The wise writer chooses those specific words which
suggest most to the men he addresses,--in general, to the average man.
There are many words that carry some of the same suggestions to all.
These words are connected with the common things of life: such words
as "home," "death," "mother," and the many more that have been with
all people from childhood. They are simple little words crowded with
experiences. Such words carry a weight of suggestion not found in
strange new words. It is for this reason that simple language goes
straight to the heart; it is so loaded with life. Of two expressions
that convey the thought with equal accuracy, always choose the
simpler.
The following poems--one by Tennyson,[53] steeped in pain, perfect in
its phrasing; the other by Kipling, rising to a conception of a true
artist's work, never before so simply expressed--are both written in
home words, little words, but words all know, words that carry to all
a common meaning:--
"Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean:
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy autumn fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.
"Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail
That brings our friends up from the underworld;
Sad as the last which reddens over one
That sinks with all we love below the verge;
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
"Ah! sad and strange as in dark summer dawns
The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.
"Dear as remembered kisses after death,
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned
On lips that are for others; deep as love,
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;
O Death in Life, the days that are no more!"
L'ENVOI.[54]
"When Earth's last picture is painted
and the tubes are twisted and dried,
When the oldest colors have faded,
and the youngest critic has died,
We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it--
lie down for an aeon or two,
Till the Master of All Good Workmen
shall put us to work anew!
"And those that were good shall be happy:
they shall sit in a golden chair;
They shall splash at a ten-league canvas
with brushes of comets' hair;
They shall find real saints to draw from--
Magdalene, Peter, and Paul;
They shall work for an age at a sitting
and never be tired at all!
"And only the Master shall praise us,
and only the Master shall blame;
And no one shall work for money,
and no one shall work for fame;
But each for the joy of the working,
and each, in his separate star,
Shall draw the Thing as he sees It
for the God of Things as They Are!"
Avoid Hackneyed Phrases.
Much like general terms, which mean something or nothing, are
expressions that have become trite and hackneyed. At some time they
were accurate phrases, saying just what was needed. By being used for
all sorts of purposes, they have lost the original thought of which
they were the accurate expression. They have no freshness. The
sounding phrases repeated in the pulpit, or the equally empty phrases
of the scientist, however good they were at their inception, are, in
the writing of many persons, but theological and scientific cant
relied upon by ignorant people to cover up the vacuity of their
thought. One's own expression, even though it be not so elegant and
graceful, is better than any worn-out, hackneyed phrase. Think for
yourself; then say what you have thought in the best language you can
find yourself.
"Fine Writing."
"Fine writing," the subjection of noble words to ignoble service, is
to be avoided. Mr. Micawber was addicted to this pomposity of
language; and Dickens, by the creation of this character, has done
literature a real service, by showing how absurd it is, how valueless
for anything more than humor. "'Under the impression,' said Mr.
Micawber, 'that your peregrinations in this metropolis have not as yet
been extensive, and that you might have some difficulty in penetrating
the arcana of the Modern Babylon in the direction of the City Road--in
short,' said Mr. Micawber, in another burst of confidence, 'that you
might lose yourself--I shall be happy to call this evening, and
install you in the knowledge of the nearest way.'" Here are great
words in profusion to dress out a little thought. "Fine writing" is as
much out of taste as over-dressing. When the thought calls for noble
expression, then all one's energies should be bent to finding noble
phrases; but for common things common expressions are the only ones in
good taste.
In Prose avoid Poetical Words.
Much like "fine writing" is the use of poetical words in prose. _Enow,
erstwhile, besprent, methinks, agone,_ and _thine_ are examples of a
large class of words which, though in perfectly good taste in poetry,
are in extremely poor taste in prose. They are out of place; and so
attract attention to themselves, not to the thought they express. When
writing prose, avoid poetical words.
All of this comes at last to one rule: be exact, be accurate in the
choice of words. Not a word that half expresses the thought, not even
one that is pretty near, but the only word that exactly expresses the
meaning, that word must be used. It is not a question of long or
short, of Latin or Saxon, of general or specific; it is a question of
accuracy or inaccuracy, the whole or a part, the whole or too much, of
just right or about right. No one would entirely misunderstand the
following sentence; and just as certainly no one would derive from
these words the impression the author had when he wrote it. He has
phrased it as follows: "Another direction in which free education is
most valuable to society, is the way in which it removes the gulf
affixed between the rich and poor." The boy wanted the opening
sentence to sound big, and forgot that the first use of words is
accurately to express the thought. In this sentence are the commonest
errors in the choice of words. "Most valuable" says more than truth;
"direction" says less than truth; and "affixed" does not say anything.
Had the boy studied the dictionary, had he been familiar with the
Bible, had he carefully considered the figure he introduced with the
word "gulf," he would not have written this incongruous sentence; he
would not have been inaccurate. Spare no pains in your effort to be
exact. Search through the words of your own vocabulary; if these fall
short, find others in the dictionary. Get the word that exactly
expresses the thought. Let no fine-sounding or high-born word trick
you into saying what you do not mean. Be master of your words; never
let fine expressions enslave you. In a word, be accurate.
Such painstaking labor has its reward not alone in the increased power
of expression; there is also a corresponding growth in the ability to
observe accurately and to think clearly. No man can write such
descriptions as Ruskin and Stevenson have written without seeing
accurately; nor can a man speak with the definite certainty of Burke
without thinking clearly. The desire to be accurate in expression
drives a writer to be accurate in thinking. To think is the highest
that man can hope from education. Anything that contributes to this
highest attainment should be undertaken with joy. Whether planning a
story or constructing an argument; whether excluding irrelevant matter
or including what contributes to the perfection of the whole; whether
massing the material so that all the parts shall receive their due
emphasis; whether relating the parts so that the thought advances
steadily and there can be no misunderstanding,--in all this the
student will find arduous labor. Yet after all this is done,--when the
theme, the paragraphs, and the sentences contain exactly what is
needed, are properly massed, and are set in perfect order,--then comes
the long labor of revision, which does not stop until the exact word
is hunted out. For upon words, at last, we are dependent for the
expression of our observation and thought. He is most entirely master
of his thoughts who can accurately express them: clearly, that he
cannot be misunderstood; forcefully, that he will not be unread; and
elegantly, that he give the reader joy. And this mastery he evinces in
a finely discriminating choice of words.
* * * * *
CHAPTER X
FIGURES OF SPEECH
Figurative Language.
There is a generally accepted division of language into literal and
figurative. Language that is literal uses words in their accepted and
accurate meaning. Figurative language employs words with meanings not
strictly literal, but varying from their ordinary definitions.
Much of our language is figurative. When a person says, "He is a
bright boy," he has used the word "bright" in a sense that is not
literal; the use is figurative. In the following there is hardly a
sentence that has not some variation from literal language.
"Down by the river there is, as yet, little sign of spring.
Its bed is all choked with last year's reeds, trampled about
like a manger. Yet its running seems to have caught a
happier note, and here and there along its banks flash
silvery wands of palm. Right down among the shabby burnt-out
underwood moves the sordid figure of a man. His hat is
battered, and he wears no collar. I don't like staring at
his face, for he has been unfortunate. Yet a glimpse tells
me that he is far down the hill of life, old and
drink-corroded at fifty." (Le Gallienne.)
In the second sentence there are at least three figurative
expressions. "Bed," "choked," and "trampled like a manger" are not
literal. So, too, in the next sentence there are two beautiful
variations from literal expression. Going on through the
selection the reader will find frequently some happy change from
literalness,--sometimes just a word, sometimes a phrase.
Figurative language is of great value. It adds clearness to our
speech; it gives it more force; or it imparts to literature beauty.
The last use is the most common; indeed, it is so common that
sometimes the other uses are overlooked. However, when such a sentence
as the following is read, the comparison is of value in giving
_clearness_ to the thought, although it does not state the literal
truth.
"In the early history of our planet, the moon was flung off
into space, as mud is thrown from a turning wagon wheel."
_Force_ is often gained by the use of figurative language. The
following is a good illustration:--
"Neither the perseverance of Holland, nor the activity of
France, nor the dextrous 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 these
people [Americans]; a people who are still, as it were, but
in the gristle, and not yet hardened into the bone of
manhood."
The next is an illustration of a figure used for _beauty:--_
"Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return."
_A figure of speech is any use of words with a sense varying from
their literal definition, to secure clearness, force, or beauty of
expression._
Figures add so much to the attractiveness of literature, that every
one would like to use them. Yet figures should never be sought for.
When they come of themselves, when they insist on being used, and are
a part of the thought itself, and seem to be its only adequate
expression, then they should be used. In most cases figures are
ornaments of literature; it must be remembered that ornament is always
secondary, and that no ornament is good unless it is in entire harmony
with the thing it is to beautify. (See Preface, p. viii.)
When a figure suggests itself, it must be so clearly seen that there
can be no mixing of images. Some people are determined to use figures,
and they force them into every possible place. The result is that
there is often a confusion of comparisons. The following is bad: "His
name went resounding in golden letters through the corridors of time."
Just how a name could resound "in golden letters" is a difficult
question. Longfellow used the last phrase beautifully:--
"Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of time."
Of the two hundred or more figures of speech which have been named and
defined, only a few need be mentioned here. And the purpose is not
that you shall use them more, but that you may recognize them when you
meet them in literature.
Figures based upon Likeness.
There is a large group of figures of speech based upon likeness. One
thing is so much like another that it is spoken of as like it, or,
more frequently, one is said to be the other. Yet if the things
compared are very much alike, there is no figure. To say that a cat is
like a panther is not considered figurative. It is when in objects
essentially different we detect and name some likeness that we say
there is a figure of speech. There is at first thought no likeness
between hope and a nurse; yet were it not for hope most persons would
die. Thackeray was right when he said that "Hope is the nurse of
life."
The principal figures based upon likeness are metaphor, epithet,
personification, apostrophe, allegory, and simile.
_A metaphor is an implied comparison between things essentially
different, but having some common quality._ Metaphor is by far the
most common figure of speech; indeed, so common is it that figurative
language is often called metaphorical.
"Tombs are the clothes of the dead; a grave is but a plain
suit, and a rich monument is one embroidered."
"Let me choose;
For as I am, I live upon the rack."
"The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep."
Only a little removed from metaphor is epithet. _An epithet is a word,
generally a descriptive adjective or a noun, used, not to give
information, but to impart strength or ornament to diction._ It is
like a shortened metaphor. It is very often found in impassioned prose
or verse. Notice that in each epithet there is a comparison; that the
figure is based on likeness.
"Here are sever'd lips
Parted with _sugar_ breath."
"Base _dog!_ why shouldst thou stand here?"
_Personification is a figure that ascribes to inanimate things,
abstract ideas, and the lower animals the attributes of human beings._
It is plain that there must be some resemblance of the lower to the
higher, else this figure could not be used. Personification, like the
epithet, is a modification of the metaphor. Indeed, in every
personification there is also a metaphor.
"When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees
And they did make no noise."
"But ever heaves and moans the restless Deep."
_Apostrophe is an address to the dead as if living; to abstract ideas
or inanimate objects as if they were persons._ It is a variety of
personification.
"O Caledonia! stern and wild,
Meet nurse for a poetic child!"
"Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower,
Thou's met me in an evil hour;
For I maun crush amang the stoure
Thy slender stem."
"Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour."
_Allegory is a narrative in which material things and circumstances
are used to illustrate and enforce high spiritual truths._ It is a
continued personification. Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress" and Spenser's
"Faerie Queene" are good examples of allegory.
All these figures are varieties of metaphor. In them there is always
an implied, not an expressed, comparison.
_A simile is an expressed comparison between unlike things that have
some common quality._ This comparison is usually indicated by _like_
or _as._
"Ilbrahim was like a domesticated sunbeam, brightening moody
countenances, and chasing away the gloom from the dark
corners of the cottage."
(Does this figure change to another in its course?)
"How far that little candle throws its beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world."
Of retired Dutch valleys, Irving wrote:--
"They are like those little nooks of still water which
border a rapid stream; where we may see the straw and bubble
riding quietly at anchor, or slowly revolving in their mimic
harbor, undisturbed by the rush of the passing current."
Figures based upon Sentence Structure.
There are a number of figures that express emotion by simply changing
the normal order of the sentence. Among these are inversion,
exclamation, interrogation, climax, and irony.
_Inversion is a figure intended to give emphasis to the thought by a
change from the natural order of the words in a sentence._
"_Thine_ be the glory!"
"_Few_ were the words they said."
"He saved others; _himself_ he cannot save."
_Exclamation is an expression of strong emotion in abrupt, inverted,
or elliptical phrases._ It is among sentences what the interjection is
among words.
"How far that little candle throws its beams!"
"Oh, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!"
_Interrogation is a figure in which a question is asked, not to get an
answer, but for the sake of emphasis._
"Do men gather grapes from thorns, or figs from thistles?"
"Fear ye foes who kill for hire?
Will ye to your homes retire?"
"Am I a coward?"
_Climax is a figure in which the intensity of the thought and emotion
gradually increases with the successive groups of words or phrases._
(See p. 211.)
"Your children do not grow faster from infancy to manhood
than they [the American colonists] spread from families to
communities, from villages to nations."
_Irony is a figure in which one thing is said and the opposite is
meant._
"And Job answered and said, No doubt but ye are the people,
and wisdom shall die with you."
"O Jew, an upright judge, a learned judge!"
Four other figures should be mentioned: metonymy, synecdoche,
allusion, and hyperbole.
_Metonymy calls one thing by the name of another which is closely
related to the first._ The most common relations are cause and effect,
container and thing contained, and sign and the thing signified.
"From the cradle to the grave is but a day."
"I did dream of money-bags to-night."
_Synecdoche is that figure of speech in which a part is put for the
whole, or the whole for a part._
"Fifty sail came into harbor."
"The redcoats are marching."
_Allusion is a reference to something in history or literature with
which every one is supposed to be acquainted._
"A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel!"
Men still sigh for the flesh pots of Egypt; still worship
the golden calf.
There is no "Open Sesame" to the treasures of learning; they
must be acquired by hard study.
Milton and Shakespeare are full of allusions to the classic literature
of Greece and Rome.
_Hyperbole is an exaggerated statement made for effect._
"He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders,
long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his
sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and his
whole frame most loosely hung together."
"And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw
Millions of acres on us, till our ground,
Singeing his pate against the burning zone,
Make Ossa like a wart!"
Exercises in Figures.
Name the following figures. Of those that are based upon likeness,
tell in what the similarity consists. In many of the selections more
than one figure will be found.[55]
1. "The long, hard winter of his youth had ended; the
spring-time of his manhood was turning green like the
woods."
2. A pig came up to a horse and said, "Your feet are
crooked, and your hair is worth nothing."
3. "The words of his mouth were smoother than butter, but
war was in his heart; his words were softer than oil, but
they were drawn swords."
4. "The lily maid of Astolat."
5. "O Truth! O Freedom! how are ye still born
In the rude stable, in the manger nursed!"
6. "The birch, most shy and ladylike of trees,
Her poverty, as best she may, retrieves,
And hints at her foregone gentilities
With some saved relics of her wealth of leaves."
7. "O friend, never strike sail to a fear! Come into port
grandly, or sail with God the seas!"
8. "Primroses smile and daisies cannot frown."
9. "How deeply and warmly and spotlessly Earth's nakedness
is clothed!--the 'wool' of the Psalmist nearly two feet
deep. And as far as warmth and protection are concerned,
there is a good deal of the virtue of wool in such a
snow-fall. It is a veritable fleece, beneath which the
shivering earth ('the frozen hills ached with pain,' says
one of our young poets) is restored to warmth."
10. "We can win no laurels in a war for independence.
Earlier and worthier hands have gathered them all. Nor are
there places for us by the side of Solon and Alfred and
other founders of States. Our fathers have filled them."
11. "I put on righteousness, and it clothed me; my
judgment was as a robe and diadem.
"I was eyes to the blind, and feet was I to the lame.
"I was father to the poor; and the cause which I knew not I
searched out.
"And I brake the jaws of the wicked, and plucked the spoil
out of his teeth."
12. "His head and his heart were so well combined that he
could not avoid becoming a power in his community."
Spenser, writing of honor, says:--
13. "In woods, in waves, in wars, she wonts to dwell,
And will be found with peril and with pain;
Nor can the man that moulds an idle cell
Unto her happy mansion attain:
Before her gate high God did Sweat ordain,
And wakeful watches ever to abide;
But easy is the way and passage plain
To pleasure's palace: it may soon be spied,
And day and night her doors to all stand open wide."
14. "Over the vast green sea of the wilderness, the moon
swung her silvery lamp."
15. "The peace of the golden sunshine was supreme. Even a
tiny cloudlet anchored in the limitless sky would not sail
to-day."
16. "A short way further along, I come across a boy
gathering palm. He is a town boy, and has come all the way
from Whitechapel thus early. He has already gathered a great
bundle--worth five shillings to him, he says. This same palm
will to-morrow be distributed over London, and those who buy
sprigs of it by the Bank will know nothing of the blue-eyed
boy who gathered it, and the murmuring river by which it
grew. And the lad, once more lost in some squalid court,
will be a sort of Sir John Mandeville to his companions--a
Sir John Mandeville of the fields, with their water-rats,
their birds' eggs, and many other wonders. And one can
imagine him saying, 'And the sparrows there fly right up
into the sun, and sing like angels.' But he won't get his
comrades to believe _that._"
17. "We wandered to the Pine Forest
That skirts the Ocean's foam;
The lightest wind was in its nest,
The tempest in its home.
The whispering waves were half asleep,
The clouds were gone to play,
And on the bosom of the deep
The smile of heaven lay;
It seemed as if the hour were one
Sent from beyond the skies
Which scattered from above the sun
The light of Paradise.
"We paused amid the pines that stood
The giants of the waste,
Tortured by storms to shapes as rude
As serpents interlaced,--
And soothed by every azure breath
That under heaven is blown,
To harmonies and hues beneath,
As tender as its own:
Now all the tree-tops lay asleep
Like green waves on the sea,
As still as in the silent deep
The ocean woods may be."
18. "When a bee brings pollen into the hive, he advances to
the cell in which it is to be deposited and kicks it off as
one might his overalls or rubber boots, making one foot help
the other; then he walks off without ever looking behind
him; another bee, one of the indoor hands, comes along and
rams it down with his head and packs it in the cell as the
dairy-maid packs butter into a firkin."
19. "For thy desires
Are wolfish, bloody, starved, and ravenous."
20. "What a piece of work is man! how noble in reason! how
infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and
admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how
like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of
animals!"
21. "And in her cheeks the vermeil red did shew
Like roses in a bed of lilies shed."
22. He betrayed his friend with a Judas kiss.
23. "A true poet is not one whom they can hire by money and
flattery to be a minister of their pleasures, their writer
of occasional verses, their purveyor of table wit; he cannot
be their menial, he cannot even be their partisan. At the
peril of both parties let no such union be attempted. Will a
Courser of the Sun work softly in the harness of a
Dray-horse? His hoofs are of fire, and his path is through
the heavens, bringing light to all lands; will he lumber on
mud highways, dragging ale for earthly appetites from door
to door?"
24. "Hath a dog money? is it possible
A cur can lend three thousand ducats?"
25. "Kind hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood."
26. They sleep together,--the gray and the blue.
27. "Have not the Indians been kindly and justly treated?
Have not the temporal things--the vain baubles and filthy
lucre of this world--which were apt to engage their worldly
and selfish thoughts, been benevolently taken from them? And
have they not, instead thereof, been taught to set their
affections on things above?" (Quoted from Meiklejohn's "The
Art of Writing English.")
28. "Poetry is truth in its Sunday clothes."
29. "His words were shed softer than leaves from the pine,
And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the brine,
That mingle their softness and quiet in one
With the shaggy unrest they float down upon."
30. Too much red tape caused a great amount of suffering in
the beginning of the war.
31. "Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain."
32. "The old Mountain has thrown a stone at us for fear we
should forget him. He sometimes nods his head, and threatens
to come down."
33. "But pleasures are like poppies spread:
You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls in the river,
A moment white--then melts for ever;
Or like the borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow's lovely form
Evanishing amid the storm."
* * * * *
CHAPTER XI
VERSE FORMS[56]
Preparer's note: In this chapter, the rhythms of the sample
poetry lines were indicated with musical notes and rests.
In this text version, an eighth note is indicated by e, a
quarter note by q, and an eighth rest by r.
No pupil has passed through the graded schools without being told that
he should not sing verses, though no one is inclined to sing prose.
One can scarcely help singing verse, and one cannot well sing prose.
What is there about the form that leads a person to sing verses of
poetry? For example, when a person reads the first lines of "The Lady
of the Lake," he falls naturally into a sing-song which can be
represented by musical notation as follows:--
| ^ | ^ | ^ | ^ |
| e q | e q | e q | e q |
"The stag at eve had drunk his fill,
| ^ | ^ | ^ | ^ |
| e q | e q | e q | e q |
Where danced the moon on Mon an's rill,
| ^ | ^ | ^ | ^ |
| e q | e q | e q | e q |
And deep his mid night lair had made
| ^ | ^ | ^ | ^ |
| e q | e q | e q | e q |
In lone Glenart ney's ha zel shade."
The second, fourth, sixth, and eighth syllables in each of these lines
are naturally accented in reading, while the other syllables are read
without stress. The eight syllables of each line fall naturally into
groups of two, an unaccented syllable followed by an accented
syllable, just as in the musical notation given, an unaccented eighth
note is followed by an accented quarter.
In "Hiawatha" the accented syllable comes first, and the unaccented
follows it.
| ^ | ^ | ^ | ^ |
| q e | q e | q e | q e |
"By the shores of Gitchee Gumee,
| ^ | ^ | ^ | ^ |
| q e | q e | q e | q e |
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
| ^ | ^ | ^ | ^ |
| q e | q e | q e | q e |
Stood the wigwam of No komis,
| ^ | ^ | ^ | ^ |
| q e | q e | q e | q e |
Daughter of the Moon, No komis."
So, too, there are groups in which there are three syllables. The
accent may fall on any one of the three. In the following stanza from
"The Bridge of Sighs," the accent falls on the first syllable of each
group.
| ^ | ^ |
| e e e | e e e |
"Touch her not scornfully;
| ^ | ^ |
| e e e | e e e |
Think of her mournfully,
| ^ | ^ |
| e e e | e e e |
Gently and humanly,
| ^ | ^ |
| e e e | e e e |
Not of the stains of her;
| ^ | ^ |
| e e e | e e e |
All that re mains of her
| ^ | ^ |
| e e e | e e e |
Now is pure womanly."
The accent may be upon the second syllable of the group. This is not
common. The following is from "The Three Fishers."
| ^ | ^ | ^ | ^ |
| e e e | e e e | e e e | e q |
"Three fishers went sailing out into the West,
| ^ | ^ | ^ | ^ |
| e e e | e e e | e q | e q |
Out into the West as the sun went down;
| ^ | ^ | ^ | ^ |
| e e e | e e e | e e e | e q |
Each thought on the woman that loved him the best;
| ^ | ^ | ^ | ^ |
| [e] e e e | e e e | e e e | e q |
[And] the children stood watching them out of the town."
Or the accent may be upon the last syllable of the group. This form is
very common. It is found in the poem entitled "Annabel Lee."
| ^ | ^ | ^ ^| |
| e e e |e e e |e e e |e q |
"It was man y and man y a year ago,
| ^ | ^ | ^ |
| e e e | e q | e q |
In a king dom by the sea,
| ^ | ^ | ^ | ^ |
| e e e |e e e | e q | e q |
That a maid en there lived whom you may know
| ^ | ^| ^ |
| e e e | e q| e e e |
By the name of An nabel Lee;
| ^ | ^ | ^ | ^ |
| e e e |e e e | e q | e e e |
And this maid en she lived with no other thought
| ^ | ^ | ^ |
| e e e | e e e |e q |
Than to love and be loved by me."
Poetic Feet.
If all these verses be observed carefully, it will be seen that in
each group of syllables there is one accented syllable combined with
one or two unaccented. Such a group of syllables is called a foot. The
foot is the basis of the verse; and from the prevailing kind of foot
that is found in any verse, the verse derives its name.
_A foot is a group of syllables composed of one accented syllable
combined with one or more unaccented._ It will be noticed further that
if musical notation be used, all of these forms are but variations of
the one form, represented by the standard measure 3/8. They are:--
| ^ | | ^ | | ^ | | ^ | | ^ |
| e q |; | q e |; | e e e |; | e e e |; and | e e e |.
Accordingly there are five forms of poetic feet made of this musical
rhythm. Of these, four are in common use.
_An Iambus is a two-syllable foot accented on the last syllable. Verse
made of this kind of feet is called iambic._ It is the most common
form found in English poetry. Example:--
"The stag at eve had drunk his fill."
_A Trochee is a two-syllable foot accented on the first syllable.
Verse made of this kind of feet is called trochaic._ Example:--
"Stood the wigwam of Nokomis."
_A Dactyl is a three-syllable foot accented on the first syllable.
Such verse is called dactylic._ Example:--
"Touch her not scornfully."
_An Amphibrach is a three-syllable foot accented on the middle
syllable._ It is uncommon. Example:--
"Three fishers went sailing out into the West."
_An Anapest is a three-syllable foot accented on the last syllable._
Example:--
"It was many and many a year ago."