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CONTENTS.
P40B

PREFACE ........ ...... ..... .. ..................................................... ...... ... ............
PART I . - Co~1roSITION

BASED ON

ExrERJENCE AND

vii

Oes1rnv.-.-

TION ..... . ........................ ... ................•.........................

CoPVRtGHT, 1 8<) ~,

Bv ALPHONSO G. NEWCeMER.
ALL RIGHTS R ESE RVBD.

INTROD UCTORY: How TO FIND 1\1.-.TF.RIAJ•.. ··· ····•· · ·············

3

I. -NARRATION ······· ··· ············· ·············· ················ ·· ········· ····
Exercise r. Incident .....
. ...... ............................ .. ... ..........
11 .
Simple Incident ...... ........ ............. ............ ...........
111 .
Colored Incident ............. ................. ..................
1",
Embellished Incident ...... ...... ......... ........ ........ ...
v. Incident from School Life ......... ........ ........ .......
v1. Complex Incident........... ................... ... .......... ...
v11. Complex Incident, Revised ............... :..... .........
v111. Games of Skill, etc. .. .. ....... .............. ............. ..
1x. Physical Contests............................ .. ............... ..
x. Intellectual Contests ........ ... .. .......... ... ...... .... ...
x1. Outline Autobiography .......... ............... ....... .....
x11. Detailed Autobiography.. ... .. ....... ......................
xm. Imaginary Aut.obiography .............. ... ........... ....
XIV .
lliogra.phy .... .. .. ................ ..... ........ .. .............. .......
xv. History ... ..................... ........... .......... ..... ... ....... .... ..

16
16
17
19
21
26

SECTION

II. - DESCRIPTION .. .. ...... ....... . ......... .. .................... ... ... .. .....
Exercise xvi. Manufactured Articles .................. ...................
xvn. Mechanical Contrivances, Scientific Instruments, etc. .... ............................ .. ................
xv111. Iluildings, Towns, etc. ....... .......... .... .... .............
xix. Processes of Manufacture and Construction..
xx. Natural Objects. -The l\finero.1 Kingdom....
xxr. Geological Formations .............. ................ .... ...
xxn. The Vegetable World. -Fruits...... ... .... ...... .....

SECTION

Ginn & aompanl2
ttbe :Btbenreum Press
:!Boston

20

31
33
36
30
30
41
42
44
45
47
47
40
61

63
66
68
61

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CONTI<;NTS.

CONTENTS.

IV

rAofJ

Exercise xxur. Flowers ........ ............ ....................... .. ...:..... ......... .
xx1v. Plants ....... ...... ....... ........ ............. ... ..... .... .......... .....
xxv. Plant Growth and Activity .... ..... ....... .... ......... .
xxv1. Animals ........ .... ...... .................. ......... .. .... ... ... ... ....
xxv11. Animal Habits, etc......................... .............. ... ...
xxv111. Nature at !test................ ........................... .... .. ...
xx1x. Natural and Artificial Objects in Conjunction
xxx. Nature in Activity .............. ......... ............ .. .........
xxx1. Works of Art.... ............................. .... ... .......... ....
xxxu. Description of Persons ...................... ............ ....
xxxm. Character Description. - Real ..... .. ..... .. ..... ....
xxx1v. Character Description. - ldeaL ..... .'. .. ............
xxxv. Imaginative Description.......... ........................ ..

63

III. -NAnRATION ANT> DESCRIPTION CoMntNED .......... __
Exercise xxxv1. Social Gathering~, etc ..... ...... .............. .. ..... _... ..
xxxvu. Personal Adventures .... .. .... ..... ..... ..-............ ... ...
xxxv111. Excursions, Travels ... ........ ....... .... ........ .. ............
xxx1x. Scenes from Life. .......... ... ........... ..................... ...
XL. Scenes from History ............. ........... .... ..............

07
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SECTION

p ART II. -

COMPOSITION BASED ON READING AND THOUGHT .. ..

I. -

89

04

08

101
104
105

109

EXPOSITION .. ...... .. ........ .. . ....... ....... . .. .. ........... ... .. .. .... . ...

110

Introductory Practice ... ... .. ......... ............... .. .. ...
Informal Essays .......... ..... .... ............. .... .. .. ..... . ..
Formal Essays ... ... ....... ................ .... ... .. ........ ... ...
Scientific Treatises ......................................... .....
Criticism ..... .... ....................... .... .. .. ... ..... .......... ..

110
122
1211
12!1
132

II. -ARGUJ\IENTATION .... . ... ........ ..... .. ............ . .. ......... .........
Exercise xLvr. Argument from Self-evident Facts .............. ..
XLVll. Argument by Careful Exposition .. .. -- .. ... .......
x1,vm. Inductive Reasoning........ ..... ...... ....... .. ..............
XJ,JX,
Inductive Reasoning, continued ............. .........
L. Dedu,ctive Reasoning ................. .... ...... ........... ..
LI. Deductive Reasoning, continued ... ............. ....
LU. Evidence ..................... ........ .... .. ...... .. .............. .....
Lm. Debate. - Quest.ions of Fact.... ............ ............
1,rv. Debate. -Questions of Opinion .... . ..... .... ... ..
LV, Debate. - Questions of Probability ....... .........

137
137

SECTION

Persuasive Discourse in General.. .................. ..
l'crsuMlon hy Appeal to Pcrsmml Interest .. ..
l'ersuasion by Appeal to Social Duty ... ... ... ...
1,1x.
l'ersuasion by Appeal to Uellgious J>uty .. ....
r.x. Oratory. - Occasional .Forms .............. ...... ......
1,x1. Oratory. -The Stump ......... .... ... ... .......... .. .. .....
r.xu. Oratory. -'fhe Dar ......... .. ................... ....... ......
LXJll. Oratory. -The Legislature ... ..... ......................
Lx1v. Oratory. -The Pulpit ........ ......... .. ..... ... ....... ... .
Lxv. Oratory. -The Platform ..... ..... .................. .... ..

171
173
178

M1SCELJ,ANEOUS FORMS . . .... ... . . ... ... . . . . ..... . .. ... ........ . .... . ..

207

170
183
188
100
106
100
204

93

111

Exercise XLI.
xr,11.
xL111.
XLIV.
xLv.

Exercise 1,v1.
1,v11.
Lvm.

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PRINCIPLES OF COMPOSITION ....... ... .. .. .... ..

INTRODUCTORY:
SECTION

65
68
60
72
75
77
81
85

171

SECTION III. -PERSUASION

mo
143
145
140
154
157
159
162
166

p ART III. -

INTRODUCTORY:

ScorE

AND

Co111r1.t-:TE

M~~TJ100

OF

Co1111·os1T10N .... .. . . . .. . ........... . . . ...... . ... ... . ....... . .......... · · ···-

Exercise 1,xvr.
Lxv11.
Lxvm.
r.xrx.
1,xx.
Lxxr.
r,xxn.
r,xxm.

News ........ .. ....... ..... ..... ......... ..... ............. ..... ....... ....
Editorials .. .. ............. ........... ... ...... ................... .. .
Book Reviews .... .... ..... ........ ...... ........ ........ ...... ....
Letters ..... .............. ........ ................ ......... ... ...... .....
Diaries ...... ......... ........... .. ... ....... ............................
Dialogues .. ........ ... .... ..... ,.... .......... .........................
Humor ........ ... ... .. .·;-- ·..... ........ ... ... .............. ... ........
The Short Story . .. . . ... .... . . ... . . .. .......... .. ..... ... .. . .. . -·

20!)
21 l
216
220
224
229
232
23(}

240

PREFACE.

_ _ _T
___.HIS book is intended primaril! for use in high
schoo
ademies. But, at the same time, it. is
issued in the confidence that it will be found suggestive and useful for the lower classes in colleges and
universities, so long at least rts our preparatory schools
shall continue to send to them students practically untrained, or sadly mistrained, in this important branch of
English.
Grammar is faithfully taught the pupils
through text-books, and they come with their heads
full of theory, and hundreds of rules at their tongues'
end, but they cannot write a single clear, smooth
English sentence. Let them, at least once a week,
devote a little time to putting these rules and theories
into practice. No doubt one reason why this has not
been done, is that so few text-books have been available
which would relieve the teacher of the burden of finding appropriate themes, and of setting the pupils to
work in the right direction. That is what ·this book
aims to do. It is not intended to take the place of a
Rhetoric, much less of a Grammar. There is not a
formal rule in it, though numerous apposite suggestions are made, and certain fundamental principles are
everywhere kept in view. The best results will be
ohtained by using the book to supplement some more
technical grammatical and rhetorical treatise, such as

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PREFACE.

M1·s. S. E. H. Lock,vood's excellent and comprehensive
Lessons in Englisli published by Messrs. Ginn & Co.
The object is to show the student, first of all, how
simple a thing it is to find material ; and, secondly,
how easy and delightful it is to work that material into
good, interesting compositions. Each exercise deals
with some particular kind of composition. Specimen
subject.s and themes are given, followed by observations
and suggestions in regard to the manner of treating
them. · Of course, everything cannot be provided for
at once, and the pupil must be left for a while to keep
out ·of error as best he can. Indeed, even if it were
possible, it is a question ·whether it would be ·best
always to warn the student beforehand, for sad experience is admittedly the most effectual of teachers.
Lastly, models are furnished of the various kinds of
compositiOn,' sometiines taken from writers of recognized
merit, often selected or adapted from work actually
produced by student.s. The latter feature of the plan
has been ventured upon because experience has shown
that it is useless to set as a model before the average
pu~pil a description from Ruskin, for example, or an
essay of De Quincey. There is such a thing as aiming ·too 11igh, as the ludicrously wild flight of many a
young writer's eagle-feathered shaft has proved. If the
models are within his reach, if he ca1i hope to equal or
even excel them, he will obtain from them not only
profit but . an encouragement that is worth more than
any falSe or over-wrought inspiration: The study of
higher models seems desirable only in proportion as the
student is able to appreciate them. References therefore are often made to examples of this class, in tl1e

PJU~FACI~.

IX:

hope that those who have tho taste and the ahility will
resort to them with profit.
Reading up beforehand is by no means advised in
every case. And yet there seems to be little warrant
for the objections to this practice sometimes advanced
of late. The early work of nearly every great writer
showi; clearly tlutt he began by conscious, if not delibel'ate, imitation. Still, it will be apparent from even a
hasty glance into this book that style is not considered
the all-important thing ; it is the subject-matter of
models and references that has in most cases led to
their selection, even translations beirig admitted.
After all else is done, one thing remllins for the
teacher- the criticism of the pnpil's work. Therefore, mechanical fault.g and minor individual vices of
style are not discussed herein. They are as numerous
and as diverse as are the individual writers. Often, too,
they are not matters of absolute right or wrong. J\fany
adventitious com;idcratiom1, which cannot lm form;e c11
here, must go to settle the question.
The exercises, seventy-three in numher, will furnish
material for from one to four years' work, according to
circumstances. They contemplate productions ranging
from the simplest narration to the Jnftiest description,
from clear, straightforward exposition to ingenious
argument and eloquent persuasion. It is readily seen
that exercises of this kind arc not necesi:mrily limitc1l to
pupils of any particular age or grade. In fact, the
same subject which you set a ten-year old boy or girl at
work upon may not be unworthy of the best effort of a
literary master. Each must deal with it according to
his ability.

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PREFACE.

The author's thanks are due to his collaborators in
the English department of the J_,eland Stanford Junior
University, some of whose suggestions have been used
with profit in the lecture-room, and have naturally been
incorporated here. Professor Genung's Rhetoric has
furnished a partial basis for the arrangement and terminology, and not improbably some of the matter, of
Part II.
The work owes its inception to the kindly encouragement of Mr. E. H. Woodruff, librarian of the
above-=named university, and formerly a very successful
instructor in English at Cornell. Unfortunately, however, some of the best portions of his method could not
be embodied in a work which, while aiming at a certain
completeness, is after all confessedly elementary.
PALO ALTO, CAL., April 18, 1893.

PART I.

Composition Based on Experience
and Observation.

Introductory: How to Find Material.
/

shall I write about?" is the immediate
exclamation of every one who is required to write a
composition. . It is an important question and cannot
be answered briefly.
But first let us give a few cautions. In selecting
subjects for compositions avoid in general those which
are too broad and comprehensive for concise treatment;
those which are difficult and abstruse, requiring the
knowledge and accuracy of one long trained in methods
of scientific investigation, or the authority of a matured
and logical thinker; those which have been worn out
by the use and abuse of successive generations of essaywriters; those which can have no living interest for
u WHAT

o your own.
Tnus, avoid aostract- st!l>Jeals, su nh -n;s - Patience,
Perseverance, Idleness, Duty, Cha.meter, True Ma:nhood
and Womanhood, and the old triad, F-aith, Hope, and
Charity. You can scarcely expect to say anything new
upon these topics, or even to say anything old in a new
way ; all the changes have been rung upon them long
ago. Life and the world offer too much that is new and
attractive, for us to be wasting our time on these outworn themes. Do not allow yourself to be discouraged

INTltODUUTORY.

4

5

INT ltODUCTORY.

by the oft-tepeated ~tatement that we can find nothing
new to say. That is the cloak which the dullard and
~he drone use to cover up their own incompetence and
mdolence. We can say something new. In one sense
Nature n~ver repeats herself. Her laws, her methods
of operation, may be unchangeable always, but her
~roducts are infinitely diversified.
Every day brings to
l~ght some new form, some hitherto unbeheld combinat10~.
Th~ . same thing is true in other spheres _ of
social, political, and rnligious institutions. Keep your
eyes and ears open. See and hear ; then think and write.
. A void old m~xims .and adages. Such are, Honesty
is the Best Policy, Time and Tide Wait for No Man
W e~l. Begun is Half Done, A Bird in the Hand, etc:
Wntmg on such themes leads to the habit of making
ran om an sweeping general statements which, because
they are founded upon no scientific demonstration, are
wonre. t1fan worthless. Besides, these old sayings often
contam more poetry than trnth. If you can detect anrl
expose fallacies in them, they may be made to furnish
material f~r argumentative essays. Only be careful
that you nghtly understand the spirit of the sayings
and are competent to grapple with the problem involved.
A void subjects in which the words must be taken in
some figurative or unusual sense. The device is an
old one, still cherished by many good writers. But it
adds no grace to the composition, · while it leads to
misconceptions on the part of the reader and fosters in
the writer habits of loose and aimless thinking. This
form of title .too is o:ten only another way of expressing
the ~?8tract10ns which have been objected to above.
Fam1har examples of this class of subjects are, Crown

Jewels, Sowing the Wind, Stemming the Tide, Sunken
Reefs, Links, Stepping Stones, Growing toward the
Light. If you must preach or moralize, seek more
effective methods. It may be doubted whether these
fancies and pretty conceits, seeking to draw a moral lesson from every curious fact and phenomenon in nature,
ever yet convinced the skeptical or determined the
wavermg.
Then there are whole classes of subjects that have
about them a delightful indefiniteness which seems to
fascinate young writers. A Pyramid of Vanities ;
Yes~rday, To-day, and To-morrow ; Two Builders ;
Magic; Good Soil; A Little While; etc., etc. There
is the wonderfully broad subject, Life: write what you
please, it will fit here ; though no two thoughts may
have a common bearing, though no two sentences
may fit together, they will all seem to harmonize with
the title and the writer is content. But is the reader
content? Read such an essay that has been written
by some one else and judge for yonrsclf.
Do you as
what you shall select? Consider a
moment. First of all, you wan
Your real o JeC may e ug er an
to instruct, or to convince, or to arouse. But whatever
be your object, if you do not interest first you will
meet with small success. To interest keenly it is absolutely indispensable that you be interested yourself.
The slightest weariness or indifference on your part
will be detected at once and beget a corresponding
weariness or indifference on the part of your reader.
\Vhat are you interested in most? What is there all
about you, in your books, in your school, in your home,

6

INT lWDUCTOH. Y.

in the duties and pleasures and sorrows of your daily
experience, that makes life so little or so much worth
living? "\-Vrite about this.
And yet use your judgment even here. You
may be deeply interested in something, and may write
of it most sympathetically and entertainingly and still
fail to enterta,in. You read for the first time the
thrilling story of how Trojan Paris carried off the
beautiful Greek Helen, and how the Greeks went in
revenge and besieged the city of Troy for ten years,
until they razed it to the ground. You are fired at
once with a generous zeal to rewrite this tale for your
friends to enjoy as well as yourself. But they evince
little interest, and you are disappointed. Soon you
learn that they had all heard this story long ago. It
was not that you (lid not write well - you made a
mistake, that is all. You very naturally supposed
that everybody else was as ign.o rant about this as you
had been all along, that what was new to you would
be new to them also. You investigate the matter
further. You find that the story is thousands of years
old, that it has been a stock part of the education of
many generations of imaginative youth, that it has
furnished themes for some of the world's grandest literature. You wonder about this, and try to trace this
vast effect back to so apparently insignificant a cause.
You examine the historical side of the legend, and
you find faith here and douht there arnl contradiction everywhere. One man thinks he has discovered
the tomb of Agamemnon, and claims· with still better
reason that he has unearthed the ruins of Troy itself. You write again. Your readers are interested

INTHODUUTOUY.

7

this time, and you feel that your work has not been
111 vain.
What then is interesting to the reader? That which
is new to him. It may almost be said that we spend
our lives in the search after novelty- new truth, new
power, new beauty. Not always that which is absolutely new-that which is relatively new will suffice.
It may be found in books, in history, in legend, in
speculation. Still better for the young investigator
it may be found elsewhere. "\-Ve have said that the
world is full of new things -very simple many of
them are too - which if we only sharpen our senses
a little we shall _discover. Perhaps it is because they
aro so simple, that we overlook them so often or fail
to appreciate them. "\-Vhcn you were tramping through
the woodr:; l:u;;t Saturday yon fournl growi11g wil<l in
an out-of-the-way spot a great bed of white violet.,.
'\Vhat a discovery! You had seen these beautiful
flowers tenderly cultivated in your aunt's garden, but
you never dreamed that they were to be found growing
wild so near your own home. Why, you can write
a delightful account of this and your schoolmates
will be far more interested in it than they would in
nny essay on plants carefully written up out of botanies
n.nd ellcyclopwllias, or in any sentimental rlmpsodizing
over flowers in general. Leave the first kind of ~riting
to specialists in this field of natural science, and the
scc01ul to the poets. Not that all emotional expression
is to be discouraged. By no means. Only let it be
spontaneous, genuine, and not carried to excess. And
on the other ]1and, if you care more for the scientific
aspect of things, there is no reason why you cannot do

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INTRODUCTOUY.

original investigation, and so find material for original
writing. Instead of copying from others, simply rncorcl
what you have seen yourself.
Late in the eveuing of that same Saturday, as you
were trudging wearily homeward with your hunch of
white violet-3, you stopped by the edge of the marsh
to .listen to the concert of the frogs. You were reminded of the story of the Irishman who was belated
under somewhat similar circumsta,nces. He was anxious
to find the shortest way home, you know, and when a
mischievous little frog down in the slough spoke up
in a high-keyed voice telling him to "cut across, cut
across, cut across," he somewhat hesitatingly ventured.
He was getting deeper and deeper in the mire with
every step however when one old croaker came to his
rescue with the sage advice, delivered in a stately
orotund, to " go round about, go round about, go
round about." Travelers in Greece assert that in
the Thessalian marshes to-clay may be heard the same
strange chorus, Brnkkekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax, brekkekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax, w1hich we know Aristophanes heard
two thousand years ago. Now your frogs doubtless
were neither Greek nor Hibernian, but they spoke
none the less distinctly. What did they say? Could
you catch it exactly? Could you reproduce it, even
appro1imately? It might be worth your while to
try. Aristophanes caught and reproduced so well
the croak of lii::; Hative frogs that that line of outlandish Greek stands to-day as one of the monuments
to his genius.
But you live in the city? and you cannot go on
Saturday tramps fouling woo<l-llowern and listening to

INTHODUCTOlW.

9

frog-concerts? Very well. How many sparrows flew
up from the curbstone this moming when you turned
the corner into Elm Street? You could not count
them, of course, but you could make a rough estimate.
Perhaps some of them cli!l not fly np, they are such
bold creatm·c8 - none of your iimi1l wil1l-hil'1h.1 that
will not let you get within gun-shot of them. Now
find out how widely distributed these English sparrows
are. You will hardly find that in books ; you will
lmvo to Mk some one who has been in Boston and New
Orlc1t11s and San Fm11cisco. Yon will then got a good
general idea of the entire number of these binh; to he
found in the country at present. Next, find out when
they were introclueccl 11ere from Europe, and compute
the mte of increase. Why do they thrive so here?
'Vill this thing continue ? Or is there a natural limit
tJmt prevents any particular form of animal or vegctahlc life from exterminating all other fonm; ? If so,
wlmt is this natt~ml limit and when is it reached?
'"ell, 've are getting into deep water, and we may
not get out. But no matter. It is to be hoped you
do 11ot believe that asking questions is tl1c speci:il prerogative of fools. Thern are many questions that 110
fool was ever capable of n~ki11g-.
Jnrleed there is
N<·arccly a lmtter test of a nmn's intcllig·once than tho
i-1ort of questions he aslrn. A ml so onr questions may
go mmnswered. vVhat then'? We liave at least lia<l
Bo11wt.
hin1r
to t11ink al>o11t and to write aLont.
.
b
~!!~!!!!..!~!!~~
Ui
~·~lg you nolicecl this morning.

The little green-painted Hower-po with its bloomiug
gonminm wa8 not to he S<'en in its customary place
oil the wimlow-sill of a certain house ; aud a carriage

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INTHODUCTORY.

that looked suspiciously like a doctor's was waiting before the door. Every rnoming for several weeks that
pink geranium had greeted you, ma.king a bright spot
in the gloom of the narrow tenement-street. At noon
when the sun beat in there pitilesRly, the flower had
disappeared. A few streets back there arc h011 scs with
great conservatories filled with gorgeous tropical plants.
A gardener works among them constantly. But these
flowel'S you suspect are k ept for show, and you have
been more interested in the little geranium whose
comings and goings gave evidence of loving care.
Why, is it possible that you have ever sat for half an
hour, scratching your head and gnawing the end of
your pen-holder trying to think of "something to write
about"?
If you have difficulty in finding something to write
about, you may be sure it is because you have a wrong
idea as to what constitutes a proper theme. P erhaps
you think it should be something remote in time or
place, some description of Greenland or story of the
South Sea Islands, some event in the past, some theory,
some prophecy of the future - something in short that
you never have seen, that has scarcely ever occupied
your thoughts at all, and that in consequence you know
little or nothing about. If such be your idea it is not
strange that you should have to puzr.le a long time before lighting upon what seems to you a suitable subject.
And then you will have to rack your brains a longer
time to find something to write upon the subject, or
else take refuge in what somebody else has written.
Now " racking the brains " is a thing good enough in
itself, only we do not want to have too much of it to

INTU.ODUCTORY.

11

do at the outset. What we want to do first is to write.
Then after a while we shall find that the expression of
thought has grown comparatively so easy that we can
1lcvotc nearly all our time and energy to the thought
iti;;elf. Therefore do not seek too far for matorial. Be
satisfied for the prcsc11t with Jiomo-topim~ :iJHl 11omcthoughts. You are thinking about soniething perhaps
every waking moment of your life. Yon ~alk fast
enongh too when you are amnng your comparnons, and
without even a thought of its difficulty. It ought to
be almost as easy to write ; and it is. You will find it
80 if you only write as you think and talk, taking the
An.me Fmhjocti::i ancl treating them in rnnch the same way.
And you will find too that writing, far from bei11g a
_..,_..
~
task, is a real plea.sure.
Is it something new that you wa11t? Tl1c clmnccR
nre just as good that you will find it right at home as
elsewhere. A thousand aspiring, or, it may be, driven
and desperate, young essayistq have written upon the
genius of Napoleon and the pleasures of hope and the
blessings of civilization ; but ten to one nobody lrn.s
ever yet written about your grandfather's barn with all
its denizens from the calves in the basement to tl1e
pigeons in the roof, with its pulley-fork and gr:iin
chutes, its harness room and machinery sheds, and the
inexhaustible resources for fnn in iti::i Rpacious carriage
room arnl haymow on a rainy day. The loving arnl
truthful touches which you are sure to give to descriptio11s of this character will he worth more than all
the artificial glamor your fancy may throw over "cloud- v4'
Cfil.!110«1 towers awl gorgeous pa1ace~. ''
. . r,,· You have made a rnistaKe at tunes, perhaps, 111 1111-

12

I
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II

.I

INTRODUCTORY.

agining that what was new to you wonlrl he new to
others. But you make a greater mistake in taking it
for granted that what is old and familiar to you will be
so to everybolly else. Yon walk through the street.<:i of
your native town or city and find it all too commonplace to fnmish yon a fitting theme. But yon travel
to a foreign country alld visit its metropolis for the firnt
time. Here everything is novel, from the pavjng of the
stree~ to the architecture of the public lmilcling8 , from
the signs over the Rl10p-<loors to the drnss and mannern
of the clerk behind the counter. You are inspired to
record your impressions and you fill your journal with
graphic <loscrjptiorn:;, all(l write long letters home. You
would like to toll all the world of what you have seen
and heard. 13nt you fail to realize that there are
thousands who have spent their lives in this city and
who find no more inspiration here than you found in
your native place. They would not be half so much
interested in what you might write about it as in what
you might write about your home. Realize this once
and you go back with a sense of the rarity and importance of what you had all along called commonplace.
Here at home you may not be able to write with quite
th~ same ke.enness of interest, but you can make up for
tlus by fid~hty and sympathy. And once you fuJly fee]
that what is best known to yourself is least known to
nearly everybody else, your interest will be aroused
where it was never aroused before.
Again; are you .quite sure there js not something
new, even for you, m these old familiar scenes? vVe
allow things to grow old to us too soon in this world.
Resolve every morning as you take your accustomed

INTRODUCTORY.

13

route to school that you will see something new-·
something that you have not noticed before though it
may have been there a long time. Rest assured you
can find such things every <lay. Ancl when looking for
them has grown a hahit·.. you will find yourself living as
it were in another and most worulerful world. You
want a subject for an essay; take "The Street I Live
Jn." Make a drawing of it first, what the surveyor
calls a plot or plan. Locate the houses, the fences ..'.."'ml
gates, the walks, the trees. You will soon find it necessary to take a walk through the stre_et in order to verify
yonr plan ; and before you are through you will conclude that you di<l not know ]rn.lf so much ahont yonr
street as you thought you dicl. So it is with everyt.hing.
We shall find hero, to be sure, :t great cliffcronce
in individuals. Some of us are naturally quick and
accurate observers and calculators, others are not. Experiment on yourself. Try to recall U10 pattems of the
carpets or rugs at home, the color of the p:tper on tho
wall of your bed-room. Can you give the dimensions
of the room you are now occupying? the number of
square rodi-; or acres in your play-ground? the mun her
of paces from the gate to the corner? Some of you
will find that you can do these things with ease. Ot.liers
of you will be surprised t.n find that you do not know
positively whether your <learm~t friernl'A oycf:! arc limwn
or hlue, and whether Mr. So-and-So, whom you see every
day, wears a moustache or not. It is truly astonishing
to consider how little we see with our eyes open all the
time.
There is another consideration. N ohody else ever
heard with your ears or saw with your eyes. Might it

14

.~

~:

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INTRODUCTORY.

not be that, if you could look through another's eyes
you would find the color of the grass to be, not green,
but what you have always called blue? In other words
is it not possible that grass makes the same impressio 1~
on another's optic nerves that the sky makes on youts,
ai_1d that the sky makes a yet different impression on
lu~?
Of course we agree in calling the impression received. from the same thing by the sn,me namP., and 80
th?re is no confusion. ·But who slmll say whether these
tlungs _are or are not thus? P erhaps we are living in
very different worlds all the time and have never suspected it. Certain it is that some people are what we
call c~lo~· bli~1d ~ncl have great difficulty in recognizing
and <l.istmgmshmg very pronounceJ and diverse colors.
Certain it is, too, that if we could borrow our neighbor's
eyes and ears we should see tints that we never saw
before and hear sounds and harmonies that we never
heard. If we but had the dog's keen sense of smell a
practically new fielil of knowledge would be opened up
to us. Beyond a donbt these i11di vidual and race differences exist. Therefore take these into account and
write with the conviction that you have something new
to s:iy about the most commonplace objects in the world,
because your senses have told you a different story about
hem from what ours have told each one of us.
. Of com~~ all this is not the art of writing. Merely
an a ·fompt is hex - :made to give you a few: Jun.ts upon
:the secret of finding mate.i·ial, so
a y:ou will never
neeil o heRifaro again for a subject. How to work this
rrnatcrial into literature is another prol>lem.

SECTION I. - NARRATION.

EXElWISE I.
INClDENT.

The most of us fiml it easier to tell what a man does
than to tell how he looks. It may seem strange LlmL
this shoul1l ue SO when WC consider that a JIULll'S actions
arc eonLin11;1.1ly varying wJ 1 i l1~ l1is appe;Lrance remains
practically the same aml gives ple11Ly of opportunity
for study. But it is so, none the less, as your own
experience will soon show. \ Ve can tell i1 story readily
enough as long as we are dealing with a,ctions and
events, but if iL uecmnes necessary to desc ribe the
scenes or d1<tracters, we hesitak ns l1dure n. dil'liculL
problem. · W e slmll not stop now lo i1111llire into Ll1e
reason of Lhis. Suffice it to note flint we arc rnmally
more interes ted in actions and events t}rn,n iu mere
objects or scenes. There is about the former an element of uncertainty and surprise ; we seldom know
just what to expect next and our attention is therefore
kept on the alert. And whatever we are interested m
witnessing we are likewise interested in hearing or
telling about. Here then let us begin.
Select from yonr past experience any incident that
had for the time being an interest of its own, no
matter how trivial. Be assured that anything ·which

. -

- -

~---.~--

-.....1

16

17

NARRATION.

SIMPLE INCIDENT.

survives in your memory and which suggests itself to
you now derives from some source sufficient importance
to make it worth relating. Nor is it necessary for you
to trouble yourself about the source of that importance.
T ell in a simple and straightforward manner j1rnt what
occurred, what you <lid or what you saw done, without
any additions or exaggerations. But first, after you
have selected tl1e occurrence to be related, fix upon an
appropriate title. Our general subject is "An Incident," but this is rather too indefinite to serve any
purpose besides tl1at of a figure-head, and should be
resorted to only when you can find nothing that is at
once short and appropriate n,ml more specific. The
following are given as exn,mples of

boon selected from subjects actually written upon and
will give some hint as to the variety of material that
may be used.

Pa1·t-icular Su1'Jects:
A Severe Lesson.
One vVay to Cross a Muddy
Street.
Catching a Tartar.
Nature's llevenge.
I-low I Missed the Train.
A Meadow Lark's Bravery.
My Predicament.
An Unexpected Meeting.

The Interrupted Sermon.
Trapping a Mouse.
Well Merited.
A Smprised Jap.
A Practical Joke.

Arrival of the Mail.
How I Lost My Breakfast.
Caught by t he Tide.

It is not likely tlrnt any of Lltese subjects will suit
the incident yon have in mind. Indeed some of them
have no meaning except in connection with tho particular incident related. They n,re offered merely as
examples of suitable rmd attmctivc titles. Tl1ey liavo

EXERCISE JI.
STMPLE INCIDENT.

If you have followed implicitly the few directions
given in the preceding exercise and have caught the
spirit of the suggestions, the essay you have written
may be called an example of simple narration.· That
is to say, it deals almost exclusively with actions and
events, with things that take place in succession in a
certain order, and that commme time, no matter how
little or how much, in their occurrence. Further,
in your essay there are, or should be, no embellishments; leave such things for later work. No irrelevant facts should be given, no unnecessary words
should be used. If what you have written shows in
any of these respects a deviation from what was desired, rewrite it, adhering as closely as possible to
facts and making use of the simplest and rnost natural
lrmguage n.t your command. If you feel that you lmve
already clone this as faithfnlly as you can, take tbe
following skeleton instead and write out in full the
incident suggested by it :
Do at - shore - boy cipitated - water.

prow - calculate:_ leap -

recoil - pre-

Tell the story either in the first person or in the
third, from the :::;tandpoint of the chief actor or from

18

COLOHED INCIDEN T.

NARRATION.

I

that of an eye-witness.

As the incide nt is purely
EXERCISE

imaginary you will have great freedom in the choice
. of minor details but will be met by the diffic ulty of

III.

COLORED I NCIDENT .

telling them precisely as they might a c tually happen .
Your object will be to make the inc ident seem entirely
real and lifelike, to arouse ::iml hold the reader'8 interest. The refore picture to yourself the occ urre nce
as vividly as yon can. Then tell it na.turall.)', in th e

~! '
;;;;

.,

Thus far w e have e ndea vored to confine ourselve::;
to

the

plainest kind of narration,

to

the

faithful

and straightforw::ird r elation of real or imag inary occ urre n ces .

II.

R e ad ag<tin th e m ollcl give n in Ex e n .: ise

Notice how e ntirely tle void it is

of

anyLhin g

past t e nse and in(licative mode, and with no hint of
anyLl1i11g ficLitious ::ibout it.

foreig n t o. th e subjec t or of a11yLhi11 g in Lliu irnLure of

Th e following m ::iy ]Jc s tnclie <l as a model of this
kin rl of composition .
Do not ass ume il1 at :ill tlH ~

ever y wonl is

ornam e n t .

E ve r v w o rd is n ec ex8<•ry, aml you frel t lia.L
Tl1t : w riter dcpcnrl:-; s nlcl y i1pon

t.r;w,

uf tl1e c;(rn-,r lo :1 rn uc;t : tl11;

rnocle ls h e r e give n are p e rfec t or e v e n e x celle nt of

LIH-i i11lien.: 11L i1t Le n.:sliHgne:;s

tl1 eil' kind. Many of th e m arc simply g ood sp e cim e ns
work LhaL 11as Leeu lluue liy ::;Lu<l.e11 lo . lL lllcL} m .:ll
lie tfo1.t. you 1'. all )' l'Orln r.n h :t.tr.r.

Jn l w u pla.ccs o nl y - in tl 1e
adve rb wildl,11 a11d t h e a dj eeli v·e ojfenil/1117- is t h ere tl1e
s lig hte:-;(, r•pproac h toward an y Ll1i11g ex. Lrn n euui:; . UuL

oi

;;;

inte r est o f t.l1r. r r.a<1cr.

en·11

! !:

ALJ\lUi:iT A IWN A WAY.

As r W :1 S passing the posL-ollicl' ,}"C'Si•' r da.y lllf> l'lli1 1g· a s11drl(' IJ
g·11 sL <> f wi1 HI c: u1 gl1 L L1 1n co rn nr o[ lll _Y <'.! oak :wd Sl'11L it, ll :ipj1 i11:.;·
011t wildl:v behin<l me. A l1on;e sL;u1di11 g hy Ll1n pav., 111t~ 1it, Lou k
fri l!;ht ai; i;J1 e noise ancl t.h,, hri gltl, color of t he cloak-linin g. I I t~
wl;~eled :irouncl abruptly, overturning tT1e buggy to which he was
harnessed nnd throwin g out its sole occupant, a little boy. I WM
very much alarmed when I saw that i,he hoy helcl on to th e lines
as Ll1e liorse sLarted to run, and that he a nd the vehicle were
being dragged along dn11gerously close to ench other. F ortunately, at this juncture, a man s11rang forward, and seizing the
horse by the bridle before he lrnd fairly started, succeeded in
checking and quieting him. LiLtle damage ha<l been done. The
hoy got 11p, scared hut uuhurt. I dre w rny offen<li11g gar111e11t
closer about me and passed on.

(]H '."'1' 11·n nls, :111arL l' r11111 ! lw ir nn1: 111 wnt:1l rdl 1('e,

e ouv ey i1 ll:<Ls Ll1<t L e;rn nu L 1n.:ll be omilLe cl.
p:1 1 ·< ~ 1~itl 1 ! l1: tl :-;e k d i11 11 t li c f,1l11111i11 .'..;:

N()w c< 1rn -

Jt. wa s al tl w. :-;n utl1 "rn l'a .. ifi c Jl1·p<> I. \\ -, . " "' "' ' sitt i11 g 111 :i
c;i r nf all n11 (ho1u1<] s1J! 1nrl> a11 1.rai1 1, lo11ki11 g Clll L ol' t li r: 11· ind" 11·,
wait-ing fo r 1.he tra.i n's departure. A young fell ow, wliuse drl'ss
proclaimed him a " dude," came saunterin g dowu Ll11: dl'pn t j1laLfor111, 11·atchin;:; U1c pcoplo \1·]10 wen~ .Je;: rpnrJ ing fr ont a tr ain that
h: 11] jn st ;i n ivc<l. Th ree girls, tal1'i1 1g and hn g hi llg llll'r rily together, seemed to absorb his at tcnLion. As lie J>a ssed lJy lie
turned his head to w~tch th em, when he was sml1lenl y lirought
to a sbwrlsLill hy r.nrnin g into collision with 011e of 1.lte pilbrs of
Lhe arcade. A particularly merry laugh from I.he g irl s just then,
who may or may not haYc seen him , made him flu sh l1 0Lly. ll c
glanced up at our car. vVe nt least had seen him, nnd the row
of smiling faces that filled the windows from one end of the car

I:

I ~

J.

20

NARltATION.

to the other was not comforting. He hurried away, doubtless
reflecting that this is an unsympathetic ·world.

H ere again the writer has told his story for the most
part very simply arnl naturally. But, if you will observe carefully, there is something here that has been
inserted not so much for accurate representation as for
effect. The climax i::; heightened and colored ju::;t a
little, and at the end a Lit of gmtuitous speculation
contributes to a more graceful close. The difference
may Le compared to the difference produced Ly the
retouching of a photograph. It is just such touches
as these that make a part of the difference between
the great mass of writing and that portion of it which
usually goes by the name of literature.
Now rewrite your last essay- the inciden t developed
from the skeleton given in Exercise II. - introducing
as easily and skillfully as you can, a few of these touches.
MODEL.

A CRUISE.

The other day ·will, FreLl, 1'0111, and myself, were out for a
rnrnhle in the woods when we came upon a s111:11l pond on tlie
hank of which was a rnft. It did not take us long to decide
that we wanted a ride, and so all four of u s stepped aboard and
shoved off. "\Vill stood in the "how" and directed the cou rse of
the craft, while the rest of 11s poled her along fro111 the stern.
The pond was full of reeds and hi gh grass, and was nowhere
more than four feet deep. H ere and there were old, moss-covered
logs or little mounds protruding above t he smface of the water.
After poling around in the deepest parts for some time, we
decided to go for a cruise entirely around the pond. At one end
we found a place wl1ere it was very difficult to navigate on
account of the shallowness of the water and the great number of

E~IJ3ELLU::iHED

lNCIDENT.

21

logs. Th.is place we named the Northwest Passage. After much
trouhle we succeeded in getting through and were going along at
good speed when suddenly we stru ck a stone which our pilot had
not seen because it did not reach to the surface. The s udde n
shock threw "\Vil! off, and as there were 11ow three of us 0 11 one sitl u
and the balanci ng weight was removed from the other, the raft
tipped and we also fell in.
\Ve waded ashore with all poss ible speed but were afrnitl to go
l1omc in such a plight. ForLuHately we had son1e matches which
were not wet, and, havi ng huilt a fire a nd sat around it for several
hours drying off, we set ouL for home wl 1ere we ;urived just in
time for dinner.

EXERCISE IV.
El\fBELLTSHED INCIDENT.

\Vlten we spoke of faithful rmd acc urate nanation
as disLiugui::;hed from a somewlrnt ornamental style o(
wl'iting, we did not mean to imply that the btter
wanders from fidelity or accuracy. By no m eans. Such
a wandering would, under ordinary circumstances, lx:
quite inexcusable. But there arc alw~tys very many
things ·which, while perfectly true or existent, are yet
not at n.11 cssentia.l Lo t.)1e unc1ers1.arnling of the inciclen t.
For example, in the case of the first incident ciLCll here,
"Almm;t a Rmmway," it may lmvc Leen entirely true
that the horse wa::; Llack, tlmt Lhc Luggy was new, that
Lhe cloak-linillg was scarlet, tlmt the gentleman who
caught the horse W<ts lame. But, while the introduction of these facts would have given us a mol'e accurate
picture of this particular incident, it would not have
helped our understanding of what took place, of the
incident itself. In so far, then, these facts are extra-

22

NARRATION.

.

EMBELLISHED INCIDENT.

23

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'1

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I

neous and unnecessary. Of course we mfty use them
if we like, for they have ftn office of their own. But
even here we must draw a distinction; they are not
equally available. Admiration of the gentleman's deed
would be increased by the know ledge that he performed
it in spite of some physicftl disadvantage. We could
imagine the horse's fright more readily if we knew the
color of the cloak-lining to be scarlet, because this is · a
violent color and more exciting than a tamer one. \Ve
can even conceive how our interest might be slightly
increased if we were told that the lmggy wa.S new,
because the magnitude of the damage would in that
case be increased. But can you imagine any purpose
that would be served by telling us the horse was black?
It is surely not to be supposed that black horses take
fright any more easily than those o.f any other color, or
that they are any more dangerous when they do.
Not every fact then may be introduced simply
because it is a fact. If it <loes not assist to a clearer
understanding of the narrative, it must have some
other justification for its insertion. This justification
we find in a vital, active relation between it and the
main facts of the narrative, ·which contributes to the
interest and effectiveness of the whole.
Consider for a moment again the other selection,
"A Dude's Discomfiture." The information in regard
to the young man's dress is wholly unnecessary; is it
likewise ineffective? No ; for we are less ready to
sympathize with one whose consideration for externals
betrays a lack of depth in his nature. The knowledge
here given us helps us to enjoy more unreservedly the
humor of the situation. And so fully has the writer

appreciated this that he has even ventured to incorporate in his title this unessential fe~ture 0£ the incident.
The matter stands simply thus : That which is essential we must use ; that which is effective only we may
use ; all else we had better omit.
Select another incident-your daily life is so full of
them that you can never exhaust subjects of this class
- and write it out with such fullness of detail and such
unessential touches as yom judgment shall dictate.
The following selection, taken from How Santa Claus
Ganie to Simpson's Bar, by Bret Harte, shows what can
be done in the way of embellishing a narrative by a
mas'ter of the literary art. If any portions seem unnatural or overwrought, it must be remembered that this
is only a fragment 0£ the story; the portion which precedes fully prepares the reader for everything that is
given here. "Dick" takes a wild ride of fifty miles
the night before Christmas to bring some presents to a
sick boy. His object is to reach the "Old Man's"
cabin before dawn.
The storm had cleared away, the air was brisk and cold, the
outlines of adjacent landmarks were distinct, but it was half past
four before Dick reached the meeting-house and the crossing of
the county road. To avoid the rising grade he had taken a longer
and more circuitous road, in whose viscid mud .Jovita sank fetlock
deep at every bound. It was a poor preparation for a sleady
ascent of five miles more ; but .Jovita, gathering her legs under
her, took it with her usual blind, unrea~oning fury, and a half
hour later reached the long level tlrnt led to Rattlesnake Creek.
Another half hour would bring him to the creek. He threw the
reins lightly upon the neck of the mare, chirruped to her, and
began to sing.
Suddenly Jovita shied with a bound that would have unseated
a less practised rider. Hanging to her rein was a figure that had ·

24

NAHRATION.
INCIDENT

;l
i.

leaped from the bank, and at the same time from the road before
her arose a shadowy horse and rider. "Throw up your hands ! "
commanded the second apparition, with an oath.
Dick felt the mare tremble, quiver, and apparently sink under
him. He knew what it meant, and was prepared.
"Stand aside, Jack Simpson. I know you, you thief I Let me
pass, or"He did not finish the sentence. Jovita rose straight iii. the air
with a terrific Lound, throwing the figure from her bit with a
single shake of her vicious head, and charged with deadly malevolence down on the impediment before her. An oath, a pistol-shot,
horse and highwayman rolled over in the road, and the next
moment Jovita was a hundred yards away. nut the good right
arm of her rider, shattered by a bullet, dropped helplessly at his
side.
'Vithout slacking his speed he shifted the reins to his left hand.
nut a few moments later he was oLliged to halt and tighten the
saddle-girths that had slipped in the onset. This i11 his crippled
condition took sorne time. Ue had 110 fear of pursuit, Lut, looking
up, he saw that the eastern stars were already paling, and that the
distant peaks had lost their ghostly whiteness, and now stood out
Llackly agains t a lighter sky. Day was upon him. Then com·
pletely aLsorbed in a single idea, he forgot the pain of his wound,
and, mounting again, d;1shed on towards Rattlesnake Creek. nut
now Jovita's breath came broken by gasps, Dick reeled in the
saddle, and brighter and Lrighter grew the sky.
Ride, Richard ; run, Jovita ; linger, 0 clay I
For the last few rods there was a roaring in his ears. ' Vas it
exhaustion from a loss of Llood, or what? He was dazed and
giddy as he swept down the hill, and did not recognize his surroundings. Had he taken the wroug road, or was this RatUesnake
Creek?
It was. nut the brawling creek he had swum a few hours before had risen, more than doubled its volume, and now rolled a
swift and resistless river bet,veen him and Rattlesnake Hill. For
the first time that night Richard's heart sank within him. The
river, the mountain, the quickening east, swam before his eyes.
He shut them to recover his self-control. In that brief interval,

1m.mr SCHOOL LIFE.

25

by some fantastic mental process, the little room at Simpson's Bar
and the ~gures of .the sleeping father and son rose upon him. He
opened ~is eye~ wildly, cast off his coat, pistol, boots, and saddle,
uound his precious pack tightly to his shoulders, grasped the bare
~auks of Jovita with his bared knees, and with a shout dashed
mto the yellow water. A cry rose from the opposite bank as the
head. of a man and horse struggled for a few moments against the
battlrng current, and then were swept away amidst uprooted trees
and whirling driftwood.
The Old Man started and woke. The fire on the hearth was
dead, the candle in the outer room fli ckering in its socket and
so.mebody was rapping at the door. H e opened it, but fell 'back
witl.1 a cry Lefore tl1e dripping, half-naked figure that reeled
agarnst the doorpost. . . .
"Tell him," said Dick, with a weak little laugh,_" tell him
Sandy Claus has come."
And even so, Ledraggled, ragged, unshaven and unshorn with
one arm hanging helplessly at his side, Santa Claus cai:ie t
Simpson's Bar, and fell fainting on the first threshold. Th:
C~1nstmas d;1wn came slowly after, touching the remoter peaks
with the rosy warmth of ineffable love. Aud it looked so ten.
derly on Simp~on's Bar that the whole mountain, as if caught in
a generous ac tion, blushed to the skies.

EXERCISE V.
INCIDENT FROM SCHOOL LIFE.

Subjects:
A School-room Episode.
A Lesson in Courtesy.
" Choosing Up."
The Ninth Inning.
The Patron of the '"' aste-Basket.

Novel Result of an Old Trick.
1\faster versus Pupil.
Two Ends to a String.
Minnie's Freak.
A Mouse's Surprise.

26

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:·1
1::;
!.I

i!i

iij
ill

11

27

NAHHATlON.

I NCIDENT FROl\I SCHOOL LIFE.

H ere we have simply 1utnowed the choice of ::;ubjects
to a fi eld with which you arc all eqmilly well.acquainted .
It will be notice<l that the first subject given is a rather
general one, only somewlmt narrower than the subj ect
which stand::; at the hea<l of the exercise. But even if
you draw upon occurrences within the school-room for
your incident, it will be well t o devise for it a more
particular title.
The q uestio11 may be ru;ked, vVhy select lL title before
wri ti ng, or wJ1y select one at all'! lt i::; Lrn e brief
articles are sometimes pri11 ted in newspaper::; and elsewhere without ti Ll es. lt is also trne that the title of
many a book has not been fixe<l upon until after the
book was written. But the principle holds none th e
less good, Select your title first. No man can write coherently and effectively without lmving in his mind a
definite idea of wlmt he is writing about. A nd since
language is the hest means for cry::;tallizing our ideas,
for rendering Lh cm clear and definite, the sooner we
put the subject of our thought into some fo rmula of
wor<ls, the better. This holds cspcci;illy trnc in th e
more abstract themes which we sh;ill tak e up later, fo r
in them the temptation to wander from the main line
of thought is peculiarly great. Dut even in the writing
of an ordinary inci<len t, the selection of •t title beforehand, an<l the endeavor to k eep that title clearly in
mind throughout, will give a directness and unity to
the compos ition that could not otherwise be obtained.
It will occasionally be fou nd necessary in the co urse of
writin g, t o introlluce cer tain things that were not contemplated at first, or to extend or n.liridge the treatment
of -a suuject in a,ccon]ance wiLh the requirements of

time and space, and this may necessitate a modification
of the title. But such things should be foreseen as far
as possible in a.cl vance, for if they are not they invariably entail extra labor, or else work seriously to the
detriment of the composi tion as a whole.
V ery often there may be several available titles,
almost or quite equally suitable. Exactness should in
general be the leading co.nsiclcration in deciding b c twcl'll
them, al though at times a Ltrncti vc11ess may l>l! ;ell owed
to outweigh this.
F or the present work selec t anything that has happened to vary the onli1mry routine of school duties, and
proceed as in the last exercise. The following is given
as an example :
JACK'S IGNOMINY.

"Ileen at it again, eh," t hought l\fr. llates, look ing np over his
spectacles. The little, dirty, ragged fi gure of Jack came slow ly
into the office, the great whites of his eyes rolling in marked contrast to his intensely black face, so black indeed that it w~is Yoid
of the r elief of shaclows a.nu co uld easily ha.ve bee n mistaken fo r
t he surface of a great lndi~t rnbbe r ball. Ile came rnuuing a long
the wall, picking the panels with his finger-nail, a nd a.t t he plan ti1 1g
of each foot glanced slyly and in<]uiringly a.t J\Ir. Bates. "·what
have you been doing now ?" said J\fr. Bates, sternl y. J:ick \\":lS
very confident that his co11<luct had bee n reputaule and proceeded,
in his own excited dial ect, to demonstrate his innoce nce; but as
this was a da.ily occnrrence J\Ir. Bates rn1derstood well how to
weigh Jack's words.
J\fr. Bates had anived a.t the co nclusion t hat i L \\'a.s h ope le~s
further to atte mpt to a.rou se ~fack by use of ruler or ap]'eals to hi s
conscience. H e wo11 lrl expe rime nt on other t heori es. Nuw J·ack
had a weak ness. Ile csteemerl his rnu sc ular powern V<1 ry hi g hl y,
and wo 11ltl liazanl a11 yU1i11g l.o prove to t he !Joys his ability to
accomplish a.ny feat given. Tu l1i s mind , failure in :Lil a.Lt.crnpt

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' NARRATION.

meant disgrace. Mr. Bates thought to come at Jack's morals by
way of his pride. He led Jack out to the corner of the main hall
where all the children passed in and out. "Stand in that corner,
si~· I" said Mr. Bates. Jack obeyed. "Heels up close-raise
your arms out this way" (illustrating by raising his own arms on
a level in front). "Now stand there till I tell you to leave," said
Mr. Bates, walking out to the center of the hall where he stopped
and stood regarding .Tack closely. ;rack's eyes were not the 011ly
wl1ite spots on his face at this period; a row of pearly t eeth came
i11to view. He thonght if that was his punishment he didn't
mind so much. But his manner soon changed; he seemed to take
a more serious view of the prospect. His face drew down, his
head was pressed hard pack against the wall , a nd his arms commenced to sink slowly to his sides, but on being reprehended by
Mr. Bates he brought them to a level again.
Mr. Bates looked at his watch: one, -two, -three minutes
passed, the gong struck, the doors flew open, and the children
began to file out. .Tack gave one hurried glance at the coming
columns, then gritted his teeth. He must hold his hands steady
now.
"Keep the m up I " from Mr. Bates.
Beads of perspiration stood out on ,fack's forehead, a11d at each
succeediug renewed struggle to raise his arms his appearance
became more comical. He saw his playmates endeavoring to
suppress their laughter, and made one final effort to steady his
arms, but they fell to his sides paralyzed . Ilis disgrace had
come. One mad lunge and he was out through the lines and
away across the field, the peals of laughter from the children
playing fainter and fainter on his ear. The experiment had
proved successful.
That evening .Tack was not seen with his accustomed associates,
bnt went about alone, noddiug to himself knowiugly, ancl mutteriu g, "Fool 'em one," as he stopped at each convenie11t corner and
stood with his heels close together aml arms ex tended .
C. W. H.

COMPLEX INCIDENT .

29

EXERCISE VI.
COMPLEX INCIDENT.

Subjects:
Fido and l;he llabbit;s.
The" Awkward Squad" on Parade.
The Triple Play That ·won the Game.
A Complicated Affair.

So long as we confine ourselves to recounting the
actions of one person, we mee t with few difficulties.
For ordinarily a person does but one thing at a time,
and to give a faithful account of his actions we have
only to relate them in the order of their doing, our
chief disadvantage here lying in the fact that we cannot
always relate events in as rapid succession as they
occur. But our deeds seldom stand alone. Perhaps
the great majority of our acts derive their interest and
their significance not merely from their relation to
what has preceded and to what shall follow, but al<;o
from their relation to something else, whether distant
or close at hand, that is going on at the same time.
Human life is a wonderfully, even terribly, intricate
:u1cl complex affair. So here the writer is met at once
by an insuperable difficulty. How shall he carry along
together these di verse occurrences? -While one man
runs up the railroad track signaling wildly and another
works desperately to close the broken switch, the train
comes thundering down the grade with its engineer
vainly endeavoring to operate the air-brake and its

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NAltRATION.

COMPLEX INCIDEN T, . HEVISED.

passengers reading and talking unconcernedly inside.
H ere · are half a dozen strands twisted into a single
string. But wonls arc not strands and c:umot be
twisted into strings; they arc more like links, n,n<l can
only be added, one at a time, and one after another, to
form a continuous chain. You see the diffi culty. vVe
talk about the thread of a narrative, and the :figure is
better than we know. For, like most other threads, it
usually consists of several strands. But it is simply
impossible for the writer -the fabricator with words to carry them along together. His material forbi<ls
that. He can only take up one strand at a time, carry
it as far as he deems wise, and then leave it han ging
there while he goes back aftei· another. That is, he
can only show us first a portion of this strand and then
a portion of that, and tell us that they ought to be woven
together, leaving it to our imagination to carry out the
process. The result ftt best will be imperfect. But
that should not discourage ; it should only stimulate to
greater effort.
Where there are no problems, no
difficulties, there is no incentive to work. If one man
were to attain perfection, no man thereafter could hope
to outdo him.
Relate an incident from life in which there were two
or more prominent actors, bearing in mind the clifliculties pointed out above and overcoming them as best you
can. Notice in the following mo<lel the ingenious interwe<tving of the actions of three persons.

what stunned ; the negro lrnd paused in surprise, perl1:1ps in
terror, some half-way bet\\'een me a nd the wreck ; my uncle was
already far away, bounding from rock to rock ; and I thus found
myself torn .for a time betwee n two duties. l3u t I jHdgc<1, am! I
pray H eaven that I jndged rightly, in favor of the poor wretch
upon the sands ; his misfortune was a t least not plainly of his
own creatio n ; it. was one, besides, that I could certa inly reli eve ;
and I had beg un l•y t hat time to regard my uncle as an incurable
and dismal lun a tic. I ad van ced acconlingly towa rd the ul ack,
who now awaited m y appro ach with folded arms, like one prepared
for either des tiny. As I came nearer, he reached forth his hand
with a great gesture, such as I had seen from the pulpit, and spoke
to me in sometl1ing of ;t pnl pit vo ice, out no t a word was comprehensible. I tried him first in English, t hen in Gaelic; both in
vain ; so that it was clear we 111ust rely upon the tongue of looks
and gestures. Th!)reupon I signed to him to follow me, which he
did readily and with a grave obeisance like a fallen king ; all the
while there had co me no shade of alteration in hi s face, neither of
anxiety while he was still waiting, nor of relief now that he was
reassured ; if he were a slave, as I supposed, I could not but judge
he must h ave fallen from some high place in his own country, and
fallen as he was, I could not but ad mire his bearing. As we
passed the grave, I paused and raised my ha nds and eyes to
heaven in token of respect and sorrow for the dead ; and he, as if
in answer, bowed low and spread his hands abroad ; it was a
strange motion, but clone like a thing of common custom ; ancJ I
suppose it was ceremoni ttl in the land from whi ch he came. At
the same time he pointed to my uncle, whom we co uld just see
perched u pon a kn oll, and touched his head to indicate that he
was mad. - From Th e Jlferry Jl fe n, by Robert Louis Stevenson.

With that I tried to force my kinsnrnn toward the bbck ; but
he fell ed me to the ground, burst from my grasp, leaving the
shoulder of his jacket, and fled up the hillside t oward the top of
Aros like a deer. I staggered to my feet again, bruised and some-

CO.M PLEX INCIDENT, REVISED.

30

EXERCISE VII.
vVe used an illustration in the last exercise and the
sentence ran thus: "vVhile one man runs up the mil-

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NAJ:tHATION.

GAMES OF SKILL, ETC.

road track signaling wildly and another works desperately to close the broken switch, the train comes
thundering down the grade with its engineer vainly
endeavoring to operate the air-brake, and its passengers
reading and talking unconcernedly inside." Here is
an attempt to present four or five simultaneous actions.
As a matter of fact they are prcsentetl, not together,
but in succession - the only way possible with words .
nut they are given rapidly, they are crowded into one
sentence, and the very first word of that sentence warns
the reader that the action is cornJ_Jlex and that he must
h~ld the successive portions of the picture in mind
until the whole is completed. This is one device - a
conventional way of overcoming the difficulty. In
narration of this kind we are compelled to use a great
many such words and phrases as these : while, rnea'f/r
while, in the rncantfrne, Just then, simultaneously, a rnornent
before, etc. Participles also may often be used to advantage, but you will need to handle this device with
great care, for perhaps in the use of no other one form
of speech is the young writer so likely to betray his
inexpertness. A void such expressions as, "Let us now
return to the chief actor in this scene;" "We must
now ~k the reader to imagine himself," etc. They
are too formal to suit the taste of the present day.
Every transition from one stage of the action to another,
whether backward or forward, should be made with the
utmost smoothness and naturalness. Your object should
be always to cany the reader with you, to make everything so clear that he cannot possibly fail to follow,
but at the same time to do this so skillfully that he
will scarcely be aware of the transition.

Examine your last essay carefully and critically.
Rewrite it and see if, with the help of the above suggestions, you cannot improve upon it. Form the habit
of criticising your own work dispassionately and unsparingly. And if you care anything for literary finish
or even for mere accumcy, form the habit of rewriting,
again and :igain if need be. It is all very well to talk
about the "first inspired utterances of a full mind."
We do not learn to write, any more than we learn to
talk, by inspiration. It takes long and laborious practice. vV e find our encouragement in the fact that in
time it may become almost as much a mechanical matter
to write in a correct and pleasing style as it is to form
the written characters themselves.

32

EXERCISE VIII.
GAMES OF SKILL, ETC.

A little consideration will show that we are gradually
getting beyond the domain of pure narration. A warcorrespondent who, from some commanding height,
watches the progress of a battle and writes up an
account of it for the newspapers, is said to describe the
battle. This is partly due to the fact that we use the
word describe somewhat loosely-no more loosely however than its derivation wanants -and partly to the
fact that there is here a real distinction. The reporter
writes, not merely what is done, but what he sees done.
He strives to reproduce for others a mental picture of
what he has actually before his eyes. And the action
is very complex. A hundred things are going on at

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GA~LES

NARRATION.

once, so that in a certain sense they occupy space as
well as time. An officer or soldier down in the lines
would be conscious chiefly of a succession of events.
After the battle he could narrate his experience, but it
_would be a very different account from that of the
reporter on the height. Thus it comes tlmt narration
from an outside point of view is frequently termed
description.
Taking this outside point of view write an account
of .some game you have witnessed - baseball, football,
lawn tennis, croquet, anything with which you are
familiar. It will be better, if you have an opportunity,
to go and watch a game with this object in view. You
can then make note of the most interesting points and
be sure too of making an accurate report. You will
of course need to understand the game well, and to
have at your command all the technical terms used in
it. The following account of a game of baseball is
taken from the San Francisco E:caminer, May 19, 1892:
WON IN ONE INNING.

,!!",

CENTRAL LEAGUI, TEAMS PLAY LIVELY BALL AT OAKLAND.

There was a large crowd over at the Oakland groumls yesterday
afternoon at the Central California League game between the
Morans of Oakland and the Haverlys of San Francisco.
The Oakland team started off with a rush, getting two men
around the paths. llut here their share of the run-getting stopped.
The I-Iaverlys made one in the first and then drew blanks until
the sixth, when they tied up the score. In the seventh they commenced hitting the ball hard, and before they quit five earned
runs had been sent over the rubber.
The playing of the old-timers was lively and full of ginger.
"Pop" Swett was sick and his place was filled hy Stevens, who

35

OF SKILL, ETC.

caught Grant in good shape. The tall sycamore of the Mission
pitched like a man driving spikes and had more speed than a
thorough bred colt, retiring eleven men on strikes. His control
was almost perfect, 11ot a man going clown the path on a walk
except " ,Josh" Reilly, who ca.ught one of the big pitcher's inshoots in the side and is sorry for it. Grant also hit hard and
fielded his position finely. Jack Smith, old pioneer Jack, hit
hard and played first base just as well as he ever did. :Fudger,
the ma,n who once pitched for Stockton, made his reappearance
after lmving been reported dead in half a, dozen different sections
of the country, and played a good game in right field.
For the 1\forans Nolan pitched good ball. Drum played a
superb game at second and Stultz handled some. difficult chances
at short. All in all the old-timers made it extremely pleasant
and interes ting for the spectators, and held the large crowd until
t he finish. The score : lfaverlys, 7; i'vlornns, 2.
.

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Naturally reporters vie with one another in their endeavors to make these accounts lively and interesting.
Where the same kind of subject is treated day after
day, variety in style and language must above all be
sought for. The result is that, in addition to the
regular t echnical terms of the game, new ones have
been invented by the score and will continue to be
invented. Fantastic turns of expression, local allusions, ridiculous figures and tropes, and slang, are all
employed freely. Popular taste alone -- not always
the best by any means - is consulted and catered to.
But in our work we shall avoid these extravagances,
since our chief objects just now are clearness of thought.
and purity of language, though of comse novelty and
originality of expression are always to be encouraged.

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NAlUtATlON.

EXERCISE IX.
PHYSICAL CONTESTS.

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Jn the last exercise we dealt with a class of games to
write an account of which required a certain intimate
and technical knowledge. The written accounts too
were intcndc(l only for those wh o pos:;e:;:; a similar
lrnowledge. The average newspaper report of a ball
game is tl1 e merest jargon to an uninitiated reader. To
"write up" these games in a way that shall be interesting to the g·e11eml re;ider is indeed a difficult task,
for after all details are eliminated and all technicalities
suppressed, little remains. There i:;, however, a class of
contests, less complex in their regulations and issu es,
which admit of Leillg described in general terms and
which appeal to the understanding and interes t of all
alike. Such are almost all simple tria1s of streng th,
endurance, spcell, or ag ility. Evcryollc is interested in
tli e description of the clmriot race in B en !fr.tr, thoug h
few have witnessed such a contest. A foot race, horse
race, boat mcc, or any one of the contests of an athletic
club's field day, will furnish goocl material for work of
this kind.
MOD EL.

Louis Doucet and Captain Cortes met face to face and crossed
swords near the middle of the little sLreet. The Spaniard knew
his man. Pauline's cry of r ecognition a while ago had told
him who was the swift-footed aud lmndRome young leader of the
French debclm1c11t. As for Doucet he knew nothing more t lmn
that an enemy worthy of his steel was before him. A voice that
he had heard a Jew moments before liad seemed to him to utter
his name with a sweet tend erness that recalled in some stran ge
way the homesickness of his first year of absence from France.

l'HYSLUAL CONTESTS .

B7

Jt was no time for gentle refl ections 11ow ; the voice co uld not
really have called him, he thoug ht, and Lite mere flash of noslal!Jie
passed as quickly as it came. Ilis sword rang sharp a nd clear 011
that of Cortes. The two men glared at each oLher, the co ncentrated hatred of years of war burning in their faces .
They were well rn akhed in every way. Cortes was a t rifl e tl 1e
taller, but Doucet appeared rather more co mpac tly built than his
adversary. Both were sufli cie ntly heated Ly their previous exertion
Lo make t l1eir Llood S\Yi(t a11tl their 11111 scles ready.
No ti111e was lost; tho fight was desperate fron1 t lte beginning,
11either co n1batant a.t first t hinking of a nythin g Lnl; rushi11 g upon
and Learing clown the other. Both, however, tliscovercd Yery soo n
that it was necessary to have a care for self-defence as well as for
attack. They fe nced furi ously a nd ad roitly, neiLher g ivi ng a n
inch, utte rl y fo rgel;ful of wliat was going on a round them, Lheir
whole so uls foc used, so to speak, in the 011e desire to kill, a nd, Ly
killing, to li ve.
CorLes was aware Lltat Pauline was near hy a nd proLaLly looking on . The thoug ht in so111e way ne rve<] hi111 powerf ull y. Site
should 11ot sec Louis Doucet vanquish him ; he wo11ld show lier
that a Spa ni ard fo r once wits superi or to a Fre ncl1ma11.
.
Doucet l1atl 11 0 such extra stimulus, Lut his was a n iron frame
a nd his courage and cool11ess needed no aid when a Spani a rd dared
cross weapons with him. "\Vith t he dexterity d rawn from long
practice, a nd with the fierc e fury of yo tmg tigers thirsting for
each other's blood, they struggled back and forth a nd round and
round, while t heir compa nions, fi ghting quite as madly, swept on
clown t he street leaving them to occupy the already corpsecumLerecl and blood-stained ground. In those days soldiers of t he
better class knew the use of t he sword a nd were over-proud of t he
knowledge. Under the excitement and exhilaration of a hand-toha.nd combat the accomplished swordsman always feels th:tt his
strength is douLlcd ; hut the pec ulia r circumstances attending the
struggle between Cortes and Dottcet added. immeas urnLly to this
fee ling.
Each found the other an antagonist whose vigor and swiftness
made every moment a crisis and whose steadfast gm:e caught in
adva nce every motion of wrist or body.

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Both men became aware presently that the cannonading had
ceased and that the rattle of musketry was no longer heard. A
great calm had fallen after the storm - the battle was over and
the Spanish, to the number of eighteen hundred, had surrendered
themselves prisoners of war.
One Spaniard, however, was not yet conq11erc1l; one Frenchman
was still l.mttling for victory. -From In Love's ]lands, by 1\Iaurice
Thompson.

For additional examples read the following :
The Chariot Race. Ben ll11r; book v, chapter xiv. -Gen. Lew
"\Vall ace.
The Tournament of: PI"ince ,Jolm. Juan/we ; cliapter vii. - Sir
"\Valter Scott.
The Boat llace. Tom Brown al 01:funl; chapter xiii. - Thomas
llnghcs.
Christian's Fig-lit wit.It Apollyon. l'il!Jrim's l'rn.r;r"ss; Fourth
Stage. - .lohn llnn yan.
The Duel. The T wo Captains; chapter xviii. - Baron de la Motte
Fouque.

OUTLINE AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

39

EXERCISE X.
INTELLECTUAL CONTESTS.

Give an account now of a contest of a somewhat
different kind- one involving the exhibition, not of
physical prowess, but rather of intellectual ability
and attainments. Perhaps spelling and pronouncing
matches, being of common occurrence, will most readily
suggest themselves. Joint meetings of literary societies,
debates, suits and trials at law, and contests in declanrntion and oratory, if you have an 015portunity of
hearing them, will afford yet wider scope for an exercise
of this nature. ltead 'Plw Debate in ·w ill Carleton's
Farm Festivals.

EXERCISE XI.
OUTLINE AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

The example here given and those referred to, dealing
as they do with events so far removed from ordi1rnry
experience, will do little more than help one catch the
spirit of this kind of work. But if they do that much
it will be an ample return for the time spent in reading
them. 0£ course a simple incident attracting only a
mild interest will have to be treated with befitting simplicity. Any attempt to attach to it, by an inflated
style of writing, an importance it does not possess, is
certain to result iii- failure.

The length of the composition to be written must be
determined by vrtrious considerations, chiefly by the
subject itself and the writer's knowledge of it. In
general, write all that seems worthy of being said upon
the subject, neither more nor less. It is sometimes necessary for a writer, as in the preparation of lectures,
magazine articles, and newspaper reports, to fix his
limits exactly beforehand. But that can be done successfully only when by long training one has obLai11cd
perfect control over his pen. In order therefore to
obtain this control it may be well occasionally to practice
writing compositions of a definite length. In every
case the qualities to be sought for are unity, symmetry,

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HlAG INAitY AUTOilIOGRAPHY .

tail, as if you were writing a chapter of a complete
formal autobiography. You will thus have time and
space to make note of minuter incidents, to inquire, if
you choose, into the motives of actions, to indicate
personal tastes and follow the development of }Jarticular
traits of character. Perhaps some of this could be
better done by another than by yourself, still there is no
reason why you shoul1l not attempt it. Try to be fair
to yourself, erring if at all on the side of modesty. So
far as may be, let motiv es shine through your actions
rather than rest on your bare assertion. You will be
more likely thus to win the reader's confidence and
impress him with yot1.r sincerity.
The familiar Autobiographies of Benjamin Franklin,
John B. Gough, Joseph Jefferson, etc., nmy llc referred
to as models.

not only in si111plicity, but :i1so in liveliness and 111terest.
Select such an "antobiography" and write it in
you r best imaginn,tive style. Dy ·ima,1;inativc is no t
meant anything strnincd or artificial. On tl 1c co11 Lrary,
the best imaginative writer in this case will be li e who
Lest succeeds in identify ing 11i111sclf with tl1c oLjcct in
question. Imagine yo urself to lJc that oLject, as vi vidly as you can, and then, with all the feelin g a11 cl
naturalness possible to you, tell your story.
Of course many things rnr~y be suLstitutecl for tlie
word ce nt in the above title - pin, ribbon, pcn-lcnifc,
horse-shoe, postage-stamp. A description of Llic 111an nfactme of Lhe:>c mti clcs will not properly en Lcr i 11 to a
narration; rather dw ell upon tlw wanderings o[ Ll1 e
object, the various uses it has subserved, the vicissitudes of fortune it 11n.s witnessed and suffcreLl - in
short, all its experiences a11cl observations in the world
of men and things. One ~f Ll1e mo:>t successful essays uf
this nature that has come under tl1c writer's.ohscrvation
was entitled "A Voice from the Belfry." The schoolbell did a.ll the talking, and the school-lJell you musL
admit is in n.n admirnLle position to observe ce rtain
interesting phn.scs of lrnma11 life.
There is no need Lo confmc yourself Lo inanimate
objects. Tl1e autobiography of a Hquirrel or a dog or
horse may be made perhaps more interesting than any
of the above. Somewhat in this style is a well written
plea for the horse, entitled Black Beauty, by Anna
Sewell. If you prefer, instead of writing a composition of your own, take A B ell's B?:ography, in Hawthorne's Snow Image, and Othe1· Twice Told Tales, and

EXERCISE XIII.

There is a subject that l1as lon been a favorite with
com >ositio1Fwriters-"
easy subject or severa reasons.
c1ng ~irgely if not entirely fictitious it docs not require any preliminary investigation into facts.
It
affords ample scope for the ima.gination, and yet in a
wholly familiar fiokl-everyday life. The use of the
first person too inslead of the third, seems to lead to
the most natural and easy style of writing. If the title
were changed to "The History of a Cent," and the
third person used, the narrative would be likely tu lose,

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NARRATION.

rewrite it in the form of an autobiography with the
bell as speaker.

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BIOGRAPHY.

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EXERCISE XV.
HISTORY.

EXERCISE XIV.

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HISTORY.

Biography is a_ province of letters to which many
authors of talent mall ages have devoted themselves.
lt differs from autobiography in that it is the lifehistory of one man written hy another. Pliitarclt's
Lives lmve exerted an incalculable influence over
mn,ny generations of enthusiasti c youth and are read
still ·w ith scarcely lliminishecl interest. The Memoirs of
old French writers and their imitators are filled with
biographical material. From England we have, to mention only one striking example out of hundreds, Boswell's monumental Life qf Johnson. ·And the American press of_ the_ presen_t da~r has given us a large
number of bnef b10gmplues of varying degrees of excellence in the "Statcsi11cn" series and "Men of
I~etters" se~'ies. ~hort sketches nmy be found in any
Eucyclopedm or B10graphical Dictionary. Perhaps the
most helpful examples will be found in Hawthorne's
Bi~graph~~al Stoi·ies, a collection of six short. biograplnes of ~ir Isaac Newton, Queen Christina, etc. Anecdotes are liberally interspersed to make the narrative
a.'3 lively as possible.
To write such works as the most of those mentioned
above requires time, talent, earnestnesR, and rt fn ll and
definite knowledge of faet.-;. NevertheleRs such writing may wiLh adv:mtage be pmticetl on a small scale.
After lertming all the facts you can, write a short biography of one of your relatives or friends.

To the historian falls the necessity of practicing the
art of narration in all its branches and in it; utmost
complexity. He should have a lively imagination, a
quick perception, a keen sympathy, and a calm, unerring judgment. He should be the ideal spectator of
human activity, able to look upon the life of an individual as a mere incident in the life of a society or
nation, and the life of a society or nation as a mere
incident in the progress of the world. He may be
likened to the reporter on the height watching the
battle and sifting, judging, recording. From the height
of the present he looks calmly down over the panorama
of the past ; or from the height of impartiality he surveys and chronicles the event.'l of the present. He must
see and distinguish clearly rill the multicolored threads
of the fangled skein n,nd- not unravel them, for above
all else must he pictme to us things as they are ; but
he must be able to by his finger at one point and say,
"Here the thread enters the tangle," and la,y it n.t
another point and say, "Here it emerges again." But
the ends of the thread no man sees.
Still much of the historian's work requires no more
skill than may be obfainecl in the practice of ordinary
narration. He gathers his facts from every n,ccessiLle
source and then selects, arranges, and classifies them
accorcl.ing to whatever seems to him the Lest principle.
It will be easy enough for you to get an insight into
this process and at the same time gain a little practical

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NARRATION.

experience. Read in two or three histories of the
United States the account of some particular event, as
the Landing of the Pilgrims, the Signing of the Declaration of Independence, the Battle of Lookout Mountain; then, from your memory and with only such
recurrence to the sources of information as may be
necessary to assist your memory and verify facts, write
an indepcmlent account of the same event. Let the
lrtnguage, and indeed everything except the bare, indisputable facts, be as far as possible your own.
Or perhaps you can get not unworthy material near
at hand. "Our Class Election," "The Late Rebellion
in the Third ·ward School," "The Diplomn.cy of
Briggs, Arbitrator," are suggestive subjects of this
kind. Treated with all the dignity of actual history
they can Le made extremely interesting and effective.

SECTION IL-DESCRIPTION.

EXEIWlSE XVI.
MANUFACTURED ARTICLES.
A Rcrnlvi11 g Book-case.
A 11 Orn a1ne11tn.l \\' n.ste-basket.
The School Benches of Our <ira111lfath er's Time Co 111pn.rcd wil;li
Those of Our Own.
An Ideal Office Desk.

A lla11 g i11 g Ln.111p.
j\fy Min ernl Cab in e t.
Now l Card RecPiYer.

Au11L's Cuckoo Clock.
A Postn.ge SLa111p Albu111.

vVe enter l1ere upon work of a very different nature
from that which we have Leen doing. vVe must deal
now with objects as they exist in space and present
themselves, complete and unchanging, to our senses.
It may seem at first a very simple matter to represent
in language an object which is presented to us thus
unchanging for an indefinite length of time. But
there are many difficulties, some of which have -already
been hinted at. Our vocabulary with its wonderful
wealth of resources can J>erve only very imperfectly for
the portrayal of the infinite variety of objects with
which we are surrounded, and so the writer is largely
dependent on the knowledge and imagination of the
reader. Consider this, too : All the colors of the rainbow strike the eye at the same moment ; the several

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DESCRIPTION.

l\IECHA NIC AL CONT!UVANC ES, ETC.

notes of a chord combine for the ear into one musical
sound ; the roundness, smoothness, and softness of a
rubber ball give to the touch an insta,ntaneous pleasureable sensation. Dut language must be content to present the separate elements of these complex impressions
one at a time. If memory did not come to th e reader's
assistance and hold for him the separate elements until
he has received them all, he could never get a complete
picture through the medium of words. Langua,ge is
evidently, from its very nature, far better adapted to
narrating events which occur in succession than to
describing objects n.11 of whose parts have a contemporaneous existence. Other difficulties will come to
notice as we proceetl. We shall ::;imply have to rely
on our ingenuity to devise ways of lessening or overcoming them. It is difficulties to be overcome as well
as effects to be sought thn.t make of composition an art
in itself with a full body of principles - laws and
licenses and limitations.
As an example of simple description take the following from Nathaniel Hawthorne:

sin ce th ey conl1l reme mber an ythin g. P erhaps the youn ger ol'
them supposed that he and the clmir had co111e into Lhc worl1l
Loge th er, and that both lrnd always bee n as 011! a.s t.hey 11·err now.
At tl1is tilll e, however, it happened to li e t.he fashi o n for ladi es l.o
adorn their lirawing-roo111s with Lhe olllc!st a nd Olldcs t cliairs thaL
coul<l he found. It see111cd to co usin Clara that, if th ese ladi1·s
co nlJ h:.w e see n Grand[aLher's 1Jl1l cl1 a.ir, Lhey wo uld lw.ve Lhoug l1 L
it worth a.ll the rest together. S he wo nd ered i [ it " ·ere not e1·r n
older than Grn1uHather hirnsdf, and Jo11 gcll Lo know all about its
hi story.

GHAND:FATHEn'S CIIAm.

The chair in which Grandfather sat was made of o:ik, which
had grown d:irk with age, but had been rubbed aw.I polished
till it shone as bright as mahogany. It was very large and heavy
and had a back that rose high above Grandfather's white head.
This back was curiously carved in open work, so as to represent
flowers, and foliage, and other devices, which the cl1ilclren had
often gazed at, but could never understand what they meant.
On the very tip-top of the chair, over the head of Grandfather
himself, was a like11ess of a lion's head, which had such a s:ivage
grin that you would almost expect to hear it growl a11d snarl.
The children had seen Grandfather sitting in this chair ever

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In the above selec tion Lhe fi rst paragrnplt is purely
descripti ve ; the second is onl y indirec tly so, bein g a
fanciful wn,y of dwelling upon Lite age and ant.iq11e
n.ppeamnce of the cl1n.ir. ·

EXERCISE XVII.
Al E CIIANICAL CONT RI VA NCE S, SCIENTIFlC JNSTll UJ\IE NT S, ETC.

In the last exercise we handled description ill a ,-e ry
general way. There was no attempt to mak e it exhaustive. Striking features alone were selected, antl
those perlrn.ps from only one, external point of view.
Here the problem is somewhat different. Have th e
object befo re you, then try to make your description of
it so accurate and complete that any one may get a. reasonably clear conception of it, even though he has
never seen it. This will n ecessitate finding distinctive
names for the various portions of the object . Such
names do not always exist; or if they do, unless we
happen to be very well acquainted with the object aml
its use, th ey do not reatlily suggest themselves to us.
Notice. what frequ ent use an awkward describer nrnkes

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DESCRIPTION.

}3UILDINGS, TOWNS, ETC.

of the words thing, piece, affair, contrivance, etc., words that have no specific meaning aild scarcely help
the description along at all, since their value for conveying definite ideas is virtually nil. Notice too how
such a describer, if he is talking, makes use of any
article that may be at hand to illustrate his meaning.
If he is at the dinner tabl e, knife and fork, cup and
sancer, salt-cellar and tooth-picks, will ltll be pr~ssed
into service to make up for the deficiencies of language.
Indeed in description of the kind here contemplated,
a knowledge of technical terms is almost indispensable.
For instance, if you have to describe an air-pump, it
will simplify the matter very much if you can use,
without further exphmation, such terms as cyl·inder,
piston, valve. To describe one of the more complex
kinds of steam engines or electrical dynamos, requires
great familiarity with the terminology of mechanics.
But whatever your own knowledge may be, you will
still have to take into consideration the ability of your
readers or - hearers to understand. If they have not
your acquaintance with these technical terms, then
both they and you must be content with such imperfect
conceptions as are to be derived from general terms
which ftre more widely intelligible though necessarily
less exact. Even when both writer and reader have an
intimate knowledge of the exact terms, and description
reaches its highest perfection, still dmwings and photographs are almost indispensable adjuncts. vVitness any
book or magazine devoted tu the special sciences.
There are certain terms, once considered technical
perhaps, which to-day should constitute a part of everyone's vocabulary, whether he be specially educated or

not. Lever, cog, pivot, lens, may be instanced. Familiarize yourself with such as early as possible ; it will
make you a more intelligent listener and reader and a
more intelligible talker and writer in every department
of modem life.
The following are suggested as good objects to be
described: A Needle Threader, Carpet Stretcher, Scroll
S;tw, Bicycle, Violin, Steam Engine, Air Pump, Refracting Telescope, Compound Microscope.
Many
others will readily occur to you.

EXERCISE XVIII.

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BUILDINGS, TOWNS, ETC.

Subjects:
My Home.
Gramlfather's Ranch.
My Birthplace.
The Old Schoolhouse.
The City 'N aterworks System.

The Woolen Mills.
The 'Wl1aleback Stca111er.
Tl1e Garden City.
A New England Ila11ilet.

\Ve must recognize two funcfamentally different
classes of descriptive writing. Roug hly speaking we
may call the one Scientific, the other Literary. The
first aims to give an exact picture 0£ things as they are,
the second <tims to g ive <t good picture of Lhings as
they appear to be. The ol>ject of the first is to explain
and inform, the object of the second is to interest and
please. The first may be compared to a photograph,
the second to a more or less idealized painting.

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DESC IUPTION .

PJ:.OCESSES OF MANUFACTUlm.

Tu Exercise XV I. the descriptions were not limited
to either kin<l, though they woulll probably be rather
of the former than of the latter. Naturally many descriptions will partake of the chamcteristics of l>oth
classes. In Exercise XVII. they were strictly of the
scientific class. In the present exercise again they will
not be limite<l to either class, though they will lean
toward the literary.
1\1 uch depends on the sul>ject selected. . If you _choose
:·Lfactory or a new schoolhouse, you can do little more
than give a detailed description of the building. The
suLjcct lends itself only to the plainest kind of treatment. An architect could give it strictly "scientific"
description ; one without his knowledge and experience
wonl<l have to Le content with sometl1ing less exact.
On the other h:ind, if you choose to describe your home
or the ol<l schoolhouse. in which you have spent many
years, a thousand memories and associations will conspire to brighten up the sombre tints and soften the
l1arsh lines and lend beauty and grace to the homeliest
features. You can hardly k eep your personality from
entering iHto and idealizing such a description. Nor
will you Le expected to do so. This is one of the
charncLcristics of our lic::;t gcnnine literature. It is not
meant that you ::;l1:Lll he inaccumtc or untruthful, only
that you sliall not Le over-curious for accuracy, and in
pm-ticular that you shall not strive, to the exclusion of
better things, for absolute completeness of detail.
The descriptions may well be made from memory,
without having the object before you. Read as an example Hawthorne's description of Tlie Old Manse. In
the following model, though the language and con-

strnction are not always tho best that might be chosen,
the expression is sincere and the feeling that inspired
it was evidently genuine.

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A CAilIN.
All day we followed a dark winding path which leads into the
interior of 1¥ ahkiakum County, IVashington, with scarcely a
gleam of sunli ght. At last, while descending one side of a
gulch, there opened to us a striking scene.
I 11 the woods below us was a cleari ng, surrounded by a wall of
dense evergreens. At the bottom of the gulch trickled a stre;tm
of sweet mountain water. In the opening on the opposite side of
the stream was a bed of grass. Here and there were old mosscovered logs and brush piles.
Then, as our eyes followed the path which led up the opposite
bank, we caught sight of a sm all cabin which seemed to be standing out from the side of the hill. It was made of boards which
had been manufactured without a saw rnill, and the eaves came to
to the ground so that it looked like a potato house. Above it
towered some gigantic firs which with swaying branches threatened to fall on the little cabin and bury it.
As we approached we saw tlmt the cabin had been recently
deserted, and we inferred from the axes and saws which were
scattered here and there that the desertion had been a hasty one.
The loneliness told the story. P erhaps the rancher came into the
woods to seek a fortune a nd went out to seek a wife.

EXERCISE XIX.
PROCESSES OF l\lANUFACTURE AND CONSTRUCTION.

Subjects:
How to .Make a Willow Whistle;
a Floral Design ; a Kite ; a
Photograph Receiver.
A Home-Made Aquarium.
A Successful Habbit Trap.
How Pasteboard Boxes are Made.

Through the United States
Mint.
An Improvised Hammock.
I-low to Put Up a Swing.
A Visit to the Watch Factory.

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GEOLOGICAL FORl\lA'l'LONS.

the general opinion of local investigators is that they have been
derived from older rocks below.
The largest known diamond is said to be in Borneo, and to
weight 367 carats or 1284 Troy gra~ns. Th~ ~itt, a ~ut brilliant,
is of 136 carats. The Koh-i-Noor m the ongmal onent~il shape
was 186, but has been reduced to a hrilliant of 124 carats.
Many large crystals h:1Ve been discovered of late years in South
Africa.
Use. _ The chief use of diamond is for ornamental purpose8,
the crystals being reduced by cutting or grindi.ng with diamond
dust upon a lapidary's wheel to a douule pyramidal form, unsymmetrical to the base, being pointed at one end, and with a large flat
surface at the other, as in hemimorphic crystals. The pyramid is
cut with the largest number of faces possible, to obtain a maximum of total r efl ecting surfaces; the stone is mounted with the
flat surface uppermost. These are known as brilliants, and can
only be obtained from well-shaped crystals. Tho~e of less re~u­
lar form are cut as roses, in which the surface is covered with
triangular facets, and the thinnest twins or flat cleavage pieces
are made into tables, having only a narrow band of facets on the
siilcs. Diamonds tlmt, from want of lustre or defects, cannot be
cut, are called Bort. For glass-cutting the apex of a n octahedrnl
crystal is required, so as to have a solid poiu~,. a cleavage ~·ag­
ment or other splinter being only useful for wntrng or scratchmg.

The object here again is to describe wl1at trikes
place. The prohlem is analogous to that of Exercise
XXIV., the difference beillg tlrnt here we deal with
natural instead of artificial processes. Select a S ll hject.,
if possible, upon which you can write partially at least
from first-hand knowledge.
\Vatch the processes of
inorganic natnre ; exn,mi ne i:;now crystals, watch the
formation of ice, the ernsion of rocks by Llie \\'aters of a
creek, th e sedimentary deposits in tl1e creek's bed. Or
material may be obtained from simple experi ment,<;, such
as suspending a string in a solution of sugar, as in the
manufacture of rock-candy, or "crystallizing" grasses
l1y dipping them in a solution of salt or alum. Then
supplement your own knowledge by recourse to books
on chemistry, mineralogy, and geology ; for example,
Bauerman's De.sr:riptive JJfineralogy, Dana's Jlfanual of
Geology, Shaler's First Boole in Geolo!]y, 'W in ch ell's
1Vallc.s and J.'allcs in the Geological Field, Sparlcs from a
Geologigt' s 1-Iammer, Geological E.?:cursion.s, and G eoloyical Studies.
The following extract, from a chapter on the ApplicaLion of the Observational Method in Teaching, in
Alexander \Vinchell's Shall We T each Geology? will
afford many hints for t he gathering of material for this
kind of composition-writing. Professor Winchell supposes the student to be in "a quarry region, as at
Potsdam, N. Y., Portland, Conn., Berea, 0., Joliet, Ill."

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EXERCISE XXL

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GEOLOGICAL FORMATIONS.

Sulijects:

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DESCRIPTION.

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A Fiity Foot V crtical Section
of Our Soil.
Coal Deposits.
Petrifaction.
How Stones Grow.

A Visit to the Stone Quarry.
Washington County Fossils.
Systems of Crystallization.
Stalactites and Stalagmites.

You notice that the rocks which these workmen are quarrying
lie in beds or layei·s. Each of these is a stratum. The separation
between one stratum a11d another is generally a very narrow fissure
or joint. Often, however, yo u find the joint filled with some other
kind of material. This is a seam. Sometimes the seam is of an

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DESClUPTION.

earthy or clayey charncter. Sometimes one stratum is so closely
joined to another that one can scarcely say there exists either seam
or joint. Observe all this for yourself. Generally you find several
strata i11 immediate succession rnnch :tlike. Do you see them so
here? Or do yon frn(l a rleci1led contrast of two adjoi11ing strata?
In what does the co11trnst consist? A1'e they of differe11t color?
Of different fineness? Of different degrees of homogeneity, or
likeness of substance from side to side? Can you detect any lines
rnnning along the broken edges of any of the strata? 'Vhat are
they due to? " TJ1at renders them visible and distinguishable?
These are lines of lamination. If we h;we a sandstone here, perhaps we shall find some laminm running obliquely across the
hroken edges of certain strnt;t. This is oblique lamination. Look
at some of these blocks which have Leen quarried; tell me which
was the upper side. I-low docs tl1e upper differ from the lower
side? Do these strata lie in a horizontal position? Does the upper
surface present any incli.natio11 '/ 'Vhat ai1gle does it make with
a horizonttil plane'/ Is it five degrees? Is it twenty degrees'/
This angle is the dip of the stratum. Here is an angle of ninety
degrees between this horizontal and this perpendicular line. Half
of this is an augle of forty five-degrees ; and half of this is an
angle of twenty-two and one-half degrees. Itepresent such an
augle. Represent an angle of eleven degrees. Toward what direction does this stratum dip'/ It is southwest, perhaps. Then the
strike is northwest and southeitst. Ilow thick is this stratum.?
Measure it with a rule. How thick is the next one? Come to
the wall of the qurtrry and measure its entire height. Sit down
aml make a sketch of this wall. Distinguish each stratum exactly
as it is. Preserve their proportio11al thicknesses. Describe each
stratum separately, beginning at the bottom. Let the strata be
designated A, B, C, n, etc. In describing, give kind of rock,
color, texture, solidity, pllrity or impurity, homogeneity or want
of it, thickness. State wl 1ich stratum is best adapted to the uses
to which the stone is applied. As bearing on the uses, you may
take a fragment home and weigh it in its natural conditionthen weigh it after drying as completely as you have means for.
If you have no balance, go to the apothecary, or omit this experiment. Then also with reference to trne, you may observe whether

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the stone wears away much on surfaces exposed to the weather.
Docs it weather smooth? Does it weather into concave depressions?
no fissur~s appear in it? Does it develop rusty specks or blotches?
I:E so, these are probably caused by iron in it.

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EXERCISE XXII.
TIIE VEGETABLE WORLD.-FHUITS.

Subjects:
The Acorn.
Cocoa nut.

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Orange.
Pine-apple.

Illackberry .

"r atermelon.

Many subjects will readily occur, any one of which
will offer material for a description of considerable
length. Keep in mind what is wanted, and keep in
mind the injunction to rely on your own observation.
A void the style and method that have been so prevalent
in juvenile compositions of this class, in which the
writer begins, "There are a great many kinds of apples,
such as the Snow-apple, the vVinesap, the Bellflower,
etc.," and then wanders off in the second sentence to
some statement about the uses of apples, and in the
third to something entirely different still. Such compositions are mere collections of detached thoughts,
without unity or symmetry, alike uninteresting and
unprofitable. Remember that what we want now is
chiefly description. And if you have chosen to describe
an apple, what you want first is not pen and ink and
paper but an apple, and, if you cannot break it, a knife
to cut it. Then proceed in a methodical way. Note

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FLOWEB.S.

DESCRIPTION.

the size, shape, ancl color ; the smoothness, thickness,
ancl ·toughness of the rind; the firmness, taste, and
color 0£ the pulp ; the size of the core ; the size and
shape of the seed;;, etc. Only by proceeding in this
regular way can you convey a good idea of the thing
descriLecl. Ancl Lesides that it will help you very
much in finding material. It will lessen the chances of
omission, thus insuring a more exhaustive treatment of
the suLject. And as you proceed, one thing will
suggest another: tl1e color and size of the apple, for
instance, will sugg est its marketing value, the firmness
0£ the flesh will suggest its k eeping qualities, the taste
will suggest its uses. An enumeration of varieties will
naturally follow the description 0£ a single variety, for
then differences can be more clearly indicated. Here,
too, method can still be oLserved : apples fall naturally
into summer, autumn, and winter varieties; and it
may be well to limit yourself to kinds fo und in your
immediate neighborhood.
Certain Lotanical t erms will be useful here, such as
porne, be1·ry, p cpo, nut, pod, alcenc, drupe, cone. Some
of these are common enough but are occasionally misapplied through ignorance of their exact meaning.
Learn to distin guish between true fruits, such as those
mention ed above, and those which are popularly called
fruits but are not such in the strict botanical sense, as
the strawberry.
In the directions given above, why were size, shape,
and color mentioned first? · Because they are the most
obvious and striking features. By them we recognize
at once that an apple is an apple and not a plum or a
pear or an orange. By them too we are enabled either

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to determine its specific variety or to limit it to several
cloRely allied varieties. Th e principle is simply thi::; :
Selec t the most salient characteristics first; follow in
description that order wh ich yo u are obliged to follow
in observation.

EXERCISE XXIII.
FLOWERS.
Su~jects:

The Violet.
P each Blossoms.
The Wild Poppy.

The Flowers of I \T esLern New York.
1\ly Favorite Flower.
flowers as National Emblems.

Though in nature's orclor flowers come before fruits,
they a.re placed second here as being more difficult to
describe. The first four of the above subjects will serve
for scientific description, the la.st two for more general,
sympathetic, ancl imaginative treatment. For the fi rst
you can make good use aga.in of botanical terms, calyx,
sepal, corolla, p etal, stamen, antlter, p ist·il, etc. vVith a
microscope a.ml a. specimen before you, you could get at
the facts withou t those names, but in writing a description it will Le of advantage to use the same names
tha.t others use. Even without a.ny knowledge whatever
of botany you will Le no worse off than the first botanists who had to study the plants and flowers themselves
instead of books. vVe of a later da.y cannot affect to
despise books : they are time-savers, short cuts to
knowledge ; they enable us to begin where our a.nces-

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DESCHIPTION.

tors left off. But first-hand knowledge ·will always be
most highly prized. The following is an example of a
popular description of a flower, in which free use is none
the less made of technical terminology :
THE TRAILING ARBUTUS.

The trailing arbutus, known in botanies as Epigcen repens, is the
earliest, sweetest, a11d most charming of our native flowers. It is
an evergreen creeping plant, found mostly in mountainous regions,
in ravines a11d 011 northern slopes. The leaves are deep green,
from one to two inches long and about half as broad as long,
borne on short petioles covered with brownish lrnirs. Each branch
bears several of these leaves near its extremity, and then terminates
in a crowded spike-like cluster of exquisite waxy flowers, varying
in color from white to rich rose, and emitting a delicious, aromatic
fragrance.
The flowers are tubular, the tube being half an inch in length
and the expanded flower about half an inch across. They are
enclosed in a membranous calyx of five pointed sepals, which are
half as long as the tube, and these sepals are in turn embraced by
three hairy, brownish bracts, somewhat broader and shorter tlmn
the sepals. The tube of the flower is wider at the base than
above the sepals, and is densely set inside with long, silky, white
hairs. It encloses entirely the pistil and ten stamens. The
anthers are attached at one end, and borne upright ; the seeds are
small and numerous.
The buds are formed the previous season, and may be distinctly
noticed in autumn. If the plants are lifted at that season and
placed in a fernery kept in a cool room, as a partially heated bedroom, the b11ds will develop in February aml yield their beauty
and fragra11ce as freely as in their native hau11ts in spring. Left
undisturbed where they grow, however, in the rich, sandy leafrnould of a wooded northern slope, the buds are just ready to open
on the approach of pleasant days, and may be found in perfection
from the tenth of April till the first of May in the latitude of
southern Pennsylvania. -Ladies' Home Companion.

65

PLANTS.

EXEHCISE

xxrv.

PLANTS.

Suldects:
Water LilieR.
Vegetable Parasites and Epiphytes.
Gerani mns.
Fern s.
The Cotton Plant.

The Cactus.
Maize.
Evergreens.
The Oak.
The Palm.

The term plants embraces the entire range of vegetable life from the gigantic forest tree to the moss that
clings to its trunk and the toadstool that thrives
beneath its shade. If the plant you select to write
about bears flowers and fruit, some description of these
will be necessary, though it will naturally not be so
minute or exhaustive as if you were writing ;tbont
them alone. Keep in mind your subject and observe
throughout that symmetrical treatment which every
subject demands. It would be manifestly absurd to
devote half of an article on "The Chestnut" to a
description of the leaves and half of it to a history of
the tree, or one-fourth to general features and the
remainder to the nut which the tree bears. Yet such
absurdities are committed. A pupil has been known to
write a six-page composition under the title of "The
Maple," five pages of which were given up to an account of the manufacture of maple sugar. The composition was good enough in itself, but it needed
re-christening. There was a manifest incongruity between the subject and the subject-matter. Keep in

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DESCRIPTION.

PLANTS.

sight the subject always, and then give each feature of
the object described only that prominence which its
importance warrants.
It may be best to begin with a description of the
general appearance of the plant. The reader will be
better satisfied if he has at the outset some sort of outline picture of the whole. Then proceed to details.
Take up in succession, so far as the plant in question
possesses these organs, root, stem, branches, foliage,
flowers, fruit. General considerations will followvarieties, uses, associations. If you are describing the
oak, note its symbolism as illustratecl in the derivation
of our word robnst ; note too its connection with
Dodomeai1 and Drui<lic rites. In like manner the palm
has a symbolism of its own and will call up more than
one scriptural and classical allusion. There is a saying
among the Arabs that "the palm tree has three hundred
and sixty uses."
However, do not get the idea from what has been
said th(l.t one particular order must always be followed.
Such a practice would result in very mechanical, infl exible, monotonous composition. Many subjects will
admit beincr
treated in half a dozen orders, each of
b
which has a defensible claim to the attribute of natural.
vVriters of .genius may even depart from natural order
altogether and still produce a happy effect. When
you have thoroughly trained yourself in the systematic
treatment of subjects so that the most intractable
material will assume under your hands symmetry and
just proportion, then you may more safely venture to
strike out upon whatever lines your fancy suggests.
Cultivated taste will have to be your guide.

MODEL.

67

THE JUDAS-TREE.

Those who h ave trnvcled through the limestone districts of
P ennsylvania during the early part of May, will remember with
pleasure the beauty of the landscape. At that time the large
trees of June-berry are a mass of white bloom, and every brake
and thicket is richly decorated with Lite glowing red of the Juclastree and the snowy flowers of the wild plum in pleasing contrast.
All of these trees are desirable for ornamental planting, blooming
as they do very early in the season, before the foliage has developed, and making a gorgeous display by the profusion of
flowers which t hey never fail to produce. But the most lasti ng
and pleasing of the three is the Judas-tree, or red-bud, botanically lmown as Cercis Canadensis.
This beautiful tree belongs to the great order Lcgiuni11osre,
which includes the black locust, the honey locust, the coffee-tree,
and many other trees prized in ornamental garde11i11g. The
flower buds, which are clustered at the leaf axils along t he stem,
begin to swell at the dawn of spring, and in so uthern Pennsylvania are showing their color by the middle of April. They
continue to develop in size and brill iancy for several weeks, ;md
it is not until the middle of ].\fay that the banner-like petals <tre
·unfolded and the bud assumes a peculiar bird-like form. A
dozen or more of these little flowers are fou nd in each cluster,
and by a little stretch of the imagin ation, they remind one of as
many miniature humming-birds vying with each other for a share
of the ho11ey fro m some nectared flowers.
The trees are often found from twenty to thirty feet in height,
with a branching, semi-globular top almost as many feet in
di ameter, supported by a trunk fifteen to twenty-five inches in
circumference. In full bloom, such trees are a mass of soft
crimson color, and may be seen across the landscape for miles.
As the flowers begin to fade, the rich; broad, green leaves
expand, and clothe the tree with dense verdw·e, which furnishes
a delightful shade the entire season. This is further intensified
by the profusion of long, compressed green seed-pods which turn
to a brownish red during autumn, aud by their number and

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length, as welt' as peculiar color, excite the curiosity and admiration of those who see the tree or enjoy its shade.
Propagation is easily effected by seeds, and the trees are easily
transplanted and do well in the most exposed situations. ·with
all these characteristics, it seems strange that the Judas-tree is
not generally used for ornamental gardeniug. -Ladies' Home
Companion.

There is to be noted in vegetaule life much activity
apart from mere growth, - movements that look toward
self-defense, self-sustenance, self-preservation, - movements that exhibit many of the characteristics of animal
instinct. This is one of the things that forbid us to
draw a sharp line between the two kingdoms. The
observation of these movements will furnish material
for very interesting descriptions.

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DESCRIPTION.

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EXERCISE XXV.

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PLANT GRO"WTH AND ACTIVITY.

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Budding and Grafting.
Endogens and Exogens.
Tree Rings.
Rapid and Rank Growers.

Plant Creepers and Climbers.
How Seeds are Scattered Abroad.
The Sensitive Plant.
Venus's Fly-trap.

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1\tke half a dozen beans or grains of corn or other
seed, and plant them in warm, moist earth. Examine
one each day and from your examination describe as
well as you crm the process of growth. The more
mysterious processes of change in organic structure, of
cellular growth and multiplication, must of course be
left for tl~e microscope of the skilled botanist.
This is very plainly description though it assumes to
den1 with activity. vVe describe the plant as it appears
at different stages of the activity, antl that is a,uout a,ll.
vV c sec it Lefore the eha11gc takes place, WC see it a,gain
afterward, but just what that change consists in deeper
than this external manifestation of it, is extremely difficult if not quite impossible to say.

xxvr.

ANIMALS.

Subjects:
Butterflies.
The King of Beasts : Fabulous Animals.
The Humming Bird.
A Dispute between Intelligence of Brutes.
Robin Redbreast.
the Elephant, the Physical CharacterThe Brook Trout.
Lion, and
the
istics of a Good
l\Iy Pets.
Horse.
Trotting Horse.

Any Natural History will furnish a wealth of information on these subjects. And various works of such
authors as John Burroughs, Olive Thorne Miller,
Maurice Thompson, and John B. Grant, may be consulted both for matter and for good examples of the
way in which the nmtter should be treated. But do
not consult these books first if you wish to get the
maximum of prnfiL from this exercise. H ere, as always,
observe for yourself. Half an hour spent before a cage
of monkeys or a tank of fish, will be more fruitful than
the reading of a chapter from any book. Go to books

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DESCRIPTCON.

AN lllIALS .

to settle points tlmt you have no means of settling for
yourself, and to verify the results of your observation.
Do not be disappointed to find them verified : the
young investigator is sometimes apt to fe el that way.
Be encouraged rather, for while the verification does
not detract in the least from the merit of your own
discovery, it increases your confidence in your. own
powers.
It is not intended here that you shall dissect an
animal and describe it down to the minutest details
of its organism, although that may be clone. But an
abundance of subject-matter rn n,y be found apart from
this. If you are interested in Lircls, note the varieties
tliat are to Le found in your ncighLorhoocl; t.J1e time
of arrival and departure o:f the migratory ones ; the
respective sizes, and lengths of Leaks, wings, legs,
claws; the extremes of color variation in the smne
species ; the notes or calls ; the manner of running
on the ground ; the favorite resort:.-,, food, etc. Speaking of bird-notes calls to mind a very interesting essay
read before a class by a boy who lrn,<l a good ear for
music and a talent for whistling. H e imitated so well
the notes of half a dozen different birds tluit they
were immediately recognized by his hen,rers. The
same thing rimy be conveyed to readers, though in a
more imperfect way, by the use of musical notation.
See S. P. Cheney's Wood Notes Wild.
The numerous points just suggested would furnish
too much matter for an ordinary composition. Either
confine yourself to one species o:f animal, or to the
comparison of different species in respect to some particufar feature. For example, "Bird Beaks " would

of itself be a very comprehensive subject. TJ1e following description of the genus Ursus and the species
Ursiis lwrribilis are taken from Cecil's Bvvlcs vf Natural
H istory, by Selim II. P eabody :

71

All the species of hea rs have great size, large limbs, and heavy
gait. They walk upon t he fl:tt soles of their feet, and are, therefore, with the raccoons, called planli!Jrades . The pri nt of the foot
of a black bear, left in the soft earth, resembles very much the
impress ion of a man's hand - fin gers, thumb, and palm being
distinctly marked. This form 0£ foot takes away much of the
swiftness which beasts of prey usually possess. The dog an d cat
fa milies move upon their toes, or digits, a nd are called digitigrades .
Bears' feet have five toes, armed with la rge, strong claws, fit for
diggi ng and cli1nbing, rath er t han for holding prny or Lc:irin g
flesh. They eat a variety of foo d, and, besides flesh, are fon d of
nuts, acorns, berries, growing corn , and young grain.
They seldom attack man, unless drive n by severe h unger, or
provoked; but when a ngry, are very da ngerous. They are iiot
01dy savage, but solitary ; making their lonely dens in the most
secret and inaccessible places. In winter they sleep in their de ns,
in some cavern of the rocks, or in the hollow of some old tree.
Herc they pass months, without food, in a torpid state, breathin g
so gently and slowly th ~it one would hardly suppose them alive.
As the win ter passes, t heir fa t wastes a way; until, when th ey
crawl forth in the spring, t hey seem to have slept off all their
flesh.. ..
The Griz;ily Bear, Ursus lwrrib ilis, is the most powerful and
dangerous wild beast of America. Ile is from six to nine feet
long, and sometimes weighs as much as eight hundred pounds.
His hair is longer and finer than th:it of t he black bear, a nd the
color varies fro m a grizzly gray to a light brown. The hair on
the legs and feet is darker and shor ter than that on the body ; on
the face it is so short and pale as to make the creature seem bald ;
on the neck it grows to a stiff, coarse mane.
The feet and claws are very large. The forefoot of a specimen
measured by Lewis and Clarke, was nine inches broad, and was

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implements of war and the regulations for pe;tce, are all
strange to you? It is easily done. Visit an ant-hill,
a bee-hive, a bear-pit. Go out into the garden and
overturn a stone, and see if you do not find there a
most cosmopolitan community.
The following is an ex<tmple of a short es::;ay written
from observation of this kind:

-Subjects :

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armed with claws six inches long. These claws are not pointed,
but are thin and wide, fitted to dig in the earth.
Notwithstanding his size, his unwieldy form, and his shambling
gait, he runs with great speed, and his strength overcomes even
that of the bison. The Indians regard him with cuperstitious
awe, and make preparations to hunt him with many ceremonies.
A necklace of bears' claws, which c::in be worn only by the brave
who has himself killed the bear, is a mark of great valor, and
entitles the wearer to peculiar honors. Since the Indian has
learned to use the rifle, the risk is somewh::it less than when he
fought Bruin with arrows and spe::irs; yet, with fire-arms, ::i steady
hand and sure aim are necessary, for ::i wounded, angry bear is
very dangerous. There can be no esc::ipc ; life is staked against
life.

Insect Architecture.
Bees at vV ork.
N est Building.
Bird Migrations.

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ANIMAL HABITS, ETC.

ANIMAL HABITS, ETC.

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DESClUPTION.

EXERCISE XXVII.

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Kittens at Play.
The Provident Squirrel.
How Fish Swim.
Fight between a Dog and a Snake.

Do not feel restricted to the subjects given in these
lists; they are offered merely as examples. If no one
of them suits you, select something else, prnvided only
that it be in the line of the general subject. In the
present exercise it should deal with some phase of
animal habits or animal activity. This is an interesting
and almost inexhaustible field.
Have you sometimes wished to visit a foreign land
where new customs and laws obtain, where the food and
dress of the inhabitants, the art and commerce, the

LILLIPUTIAN ENGINEERS.

" Thile w:-iJking along a trail in f,he mountain one day, my attention was attracted Ly a community of red :u1ts that were busily
engaged about the little mound which arose above their underground dwelling. Evidently they Imel a, diffi cult task before them, to
judge from the way in which some of them kept running about,
while a few others stood surveying a pebble the size of a small marl.Ile which lay dangerously close to the entrance in the top of th e
mouud and which th ey seemed to want removed. Soon the engineers -for such I took those to be that were examining the
pebble - seemed to have solved the problem, since all set busily
to work excavating a ditch :just beyond the pebble. ·when this
was almost completed the las t grains of sand that held the pebble
were carefully removed by two of them, and it gave a partial roll.
The same operation was performed again and again, and they
would surely have completed their task alone, had I not given
them a helping hand.
·
My theory was that the intelligent little creatures feared lest
the pebble might cave in on them when they should tunnel out
their upper compartments.
F. G. K.

Again we extract from Cecil's Books of Natural
History:
HOW THE WASP MAKES HER NEST.

°'¥lien quite a little boy, the writer used to go away alone into
a closet to learn his lesson. The blinds at the only window in
the room were always closed, giving barely light enough to read

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DESCRD'TION.

when sitting on a stool beneath it. One spring d::ty a wasp came
between the blind and the glass, and after much buzzing and
much w::tlking about, began to build. She first laid down, beneath
the under edge of the upper sash, a patch of paper about a third
of an inch in diameter ; then, st::tnding on this, she raised cup-shaped edges all about her, increasing outward and downward,
like the cup of an ::tcorn, and then drawing together a li ttle, until
a little hons~ was maclc just about the size and shape of a whiteoak acorn, except tlmt she left a hole in the bottom where she
might go in and out.
Then she began ::tt the top, and laid another cover of paper over
the first, just as far aw::ty as the length of her legs made it easy
for her to work. Now it was clear th::tt she made the first shell
as a frame or a scaffold on which she might st:111d to make the
second. She would fly away, and after a few minutes come hack,
with nothing that could be seen, either in her feet or in her jaws.
But she at once set to laying her paper-stuff, which came out of
her month, upon the edge of the work she had made before. As
she laid the material she walked b ackward, building and walking,
until she had laid a patch a- little more tha n an eighth of a n ii1ch
wide and h::tlf or three-quarters of an inch long. ·when laid, the
pulp looked like wet brown paper, which soon dried to an ashen
gray, and sti ll resembled coarse p::tper. As she laid the material,
she occasionally went over it ttgain, putting a little mote here and
there, in the thin places ; generally the work was well done the
first time.
So the work went on. The second paper shell was about as
large as a pigeon's egg; then :1 third was made as large as a hen's
egg; then another still larger. After a time the wasp seemed to
go inside to get her material, and it appeared that she was taking
down the first house a nd putting the paper upon the outside. If
so, she did not bring out pieces and patch them together as a
carpenter, saving of work, would do, Lut she chewed the paper
up, and made fresh pulp of it, just as the first was made. Of
course the boy did not open the window, for he was too curious
to see the work go on, and then he was afraid of the sting. How
large the nest grew he never learned, for he soon after left the
school, and saw no more of it.

NATUil.E AT REST.

75

EXERCISE XXVIII.
NATURE AT REST.

Subjects:
View from My 'Vinclow.
High Noo n on the l'lai ns.
Eagle Lake by Moonlight.
Mt. Shasta.

School-Girl's Glen.
Yellowstone Parle
A Winter Scene.

You must already have realized how difficult it is to
arouse and hold the reader's interes t by purely descriptive composition. Interes t centers most naturally
about life, - about the variety and uncertainty that are
found wherever there are continual changes. In the
description of inanimate or quiescent objects these elements are lacking and the sources of interest must be
sought elsewhere. Much can be trusted to the ccs thetic
sense, more or less developed in all of us, whirJ1 finds
pleasure, or it may be, its opposite, in th e mere contemplation of form and color. But this sense will wea.ry
readily and the most exalted description which appeals
to it alone may not safely be carried very far. Therefore brevity is to be sought.
Even the briefest description may be made extremely
monotonous. This inevitably happens when it is a
mere catalogue of details, strung together like beads on
a string, without :my grouping or organic conn ection
between them. "Give eftch feature only that prominence which its importance warrants," was recommended
a few pfLges back. It might be inferred from this that
some features deserve more attention than others. And

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bESCRIPTION.

NATURAL AND ARTIFICIAL OB,JECTS.

so they do. Everything, from a lea.£ to a landscape,
has its ·striking and distinguishing characteristics which
must be seized upon and transmitted, first, last, and
always. That individuality which nothing permanent
loses in nature should not for a moment be lost in art.
S ubordinate, in spite of all temptation to the contrary,
that whi ch is manifestly subordinate. Is the view from
your window charming? Discover, if you can, what
particular elements in it make it so. Is it restful, or
depressing, or inspiring, or sublime? Try above all to
convey t o yo ur reader the impression that it is restful,
or depressing. Beware of telling him blun tly that it is
so ; that were inartistic and ineffective. To assert a.gain
and again that a thin g is beautiful, only Laii.Lalizcs a
reader. H e can get little conception of beauty out of
the word beantifnl, and the little he gets may be entirely
false. Give him the impression as nearly as you can in
the way in which it was given to you. That is to say,
reproduce the picture accurately for him and let it make
its own impression.

at our feet. To the sout h stretches a valley marked here with
broad fi elds of red clay, and there with forest growth clothed in
the first green of spring. At the foo t of the mountain lies the
little village of J\farietta. Hills and gray mountains give a wilder
aspect to the north and east. Just beneath us, circling the mountain's verge, are the rifle pits where death leaping from a thousand
fiery thrmLts had met the Northern soldiers.
Everything remains just as it was left twenty-seven years ago.
Minie-balls and shells still lie about the works, while now and
t hen a cannon-ball is picked up.
Slowly the buzzards wheel overhead.
The sun's last rays linger upon the peak, giving a fond goodnight, and then silently vanish.
The cool of evening begins to settle around. Gentl y the wind
sti rs the trees in the cemetery on t he hill where ten thousand
brave Northern boyR sleep t heir last sleep.
At last, ro used from our reveries by t he evening chill , we begin
slowly to descend the mountain.
M. G. W.

EXERCISE XXIX.

MODEL.

NATURAL AND ARTIFICIAL OBJECTS IN
CONJUNCTION.

MT. KE NESAW.

SubJ'ects :

The sun was slowl y sinking beneath the gray line of mountains
in the west. The ascent had been steep. Leo n,11d l had been
climbing rapid ly, pausing only once or twice on the way up to
breathe. The air of northern Geor gia makes one eq nal to almost
a ny task, however, and we were at last standing upon the summit
which Sherman, twenty-seven years befo1'e, had striven so vainly
to reach.
The only obstacle that Mt. Kenesaw had offered us was its own
steep and rugged sides, and we now rested upon its huge, unguarded embankments, t he silent witnesses once of that bloody
struggle, and looked down at the scene of beauty a nd repose lying

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A Rustic Bridge.
Cent ral Parle
Carmelo J\Iission.
Light-H ouse Rock.

The Old Mill.
A Visit to the Cliff House.
A Deser ted Ranch.
Ruins by J\Ioonlight.

Let us define clearly just what subjects are contemplated in this exercise. On the one hand we h;we already dealt with nature and her products, a.nd on the
other hand we have touched to some ex:Lent upon ccr-

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DESCRIPTION.

NATUH.AL AND AH.TIFICIAL OBJECTS.

tain creations of man, if we may call a creation that
which is merely an adaptation and combination of the
inanimate products of nature. We shall return again
to objects of this latter class as we find them in their
highest form of pure art. Now between these two extremes of nature and art lie all combinations of the
two in which natmc is animate arnl is allowed at least
partial freedom to work out her own ends. Herc we
can distinguish two pretty sharply defined cases, both
of which come under the head of the present exercise.
The one is exemplified wherever man has attempted to
control or direct the active forces of nature to subserve
his own ideals of usefulness or beauty. Thus we find
the hillsides converted into vineyards, t11e prairies into
farms, the waterfall into a mechanical power, the grove
into a park with bkes and fountains and avenues.
The other case is exemplified wherever nature has reclaimed and asserted dominion over the works of man.
Thus a Pompeii is buried beneath ashes and scorim, a
deserted dwelling becomes the lair of wild beasts, a
tower falls stone from stone while flowers bloom in its
crannies and ivy and mosses make beautiful the most
repulsive final stages of decay. Each has its charm,
distinct and unmistakable, for though man's work is
ever imitation, it is imitation that makes no attempt to
deceive.
Some features may in themselves deserve more attention than others, ancl yet the relative prnmincncc given
to various features of the object described may depend
on external considerations. It may safely be asserted
that no two people get exactly the same impression
from the same object. The farmer and the business

man and the artist will look upon a stretch of hill and
vaJley with very different eyes. Now no one of us
can get these Llifferent imprcs::;ions in their entire vividness, a,ml yet it becomes our cluty in describing to
consult as far as possihle tl1e tastes and views of those
whom we are a,clclressing and to emphasize the points
which U1ey wonhl care p:tl'tie11larly to have cmphasizctl.
Jn like ma11.ner, lint 011 ly the class of readers adclresscLl,
but the time and place and circumstances generally,
should have much influence in determining our method
of treatment. All of this is only another way of sayi 11g that in description we should select a dejinite point
of view. The point of view is here taken to mean, in
the description of a hmdscape for instance, not only
the topical position of the describer, but also his mental
attitude, so to speak. \Ve want to know how he is
inclined to look at things. If he clcscrihcs a meadowlark we want to know wheth er he does it :ts a poet or
as a naturalist, so that we shall know from what standpoint wc are to read and criticise. This point of view
::;]10ulcl be clearly indicated somewhere in the beginning, and if it is shifted at any time, as of course it
may be occasionally, the reader should lnwe full
warning.
The following sample description is taken from Oli vti
Schreiner's Story of an African Farrn:
The foll African moon pomctl down its light from the Line
sky into the wi<le, lonely plain. The <lry, sa ndy earth with its
coating of stunted "karroo" bushes a few inches high, the low
hills that skirted the plain, the milk-bushes with their long fingerlike leaves, all were touched by a weird and almost oppressive
beauty as they lay in the white light.

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DESCRIPTION.

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Jn one spot only was the solemn monotony of the plain broken.
Near the centre a small solitary "kopje" rose. Alone it lay
there, a heap of round ironstones piled one upon anothe r, as over
some giant's grave. . Here and there a few tufts of grass or small
snccnlent plants had sprung up among it.s stones, and on the very
summit a clump of prickly pears lifted thei r thorny anus, and
reflected, as from mirrors, the moonlight on their broad fleshy
leaves. At the foot of the "kopje" lay the homestead. First,
the stone-walled sheep kraals and Kaffir huts ; beyond them the
dwelling-house - a square red brick building with thatched roof.
Even on its bare red walls, and the wooden ladder that led up' to
the loft, the moonlight cast a kind of dreamy beauty, and quite
etherealized the low brick wall that ran before the house, and
which enclosed a hare p~ttch of sand and two straggling sunflowers. On the zinc roof of the great open wagon-house, 011 the
roofs of the outbuilllings that jutted from its side, the moonlight
glinted with a quite peculiar brightness, till it seemed that every
rib i11 tho metal was of burnished silver.
Sleep rnlecl everywhere, and the homestead was not less quiet
than the solitary plain . .. .
The farm by d aylight was not as the farm by moonlight. The
plain was a weary flat of loose, reel sand, sparsely covered by dry
"karroo " bushes, that cracked beneath the tread like tinder, and
showed the red earth everywhere. Here and there a milk-bush
lifted its pale-colored rods, and in every direction the ants and
beetles ran about in the blazing sand. The reel walls of the farmhouse, the zinc roofs of the outbuildings, the stone walls of the
kraals, all reflected the fierce sunlight, till the eye ached and
blenched. No tree or shrub '.vas to be seen far or near. The
two sunflowers that stood before the door, outstarecl by the sun,
drooped their brazen faces to the sand, and the little cicada-like
insects cried aloud among the stones of the " kopje."

The punctuation of the above may not al ways be the
most rational, nor are the relative pronouns managed
very skillfully, but as a piece of description it is strong
and vivid. Notice how effectively the moonlight is

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NATURE IN ACTIVITY.

81

used to soften and blend the artificial with the natural
objects, and then how sharply they all stand out in the
sunlight. How is the point of view taken at the beginning?

EXERCISE XXX.
NATURE IN ACTIVITY.
Snldflcts:

A Sunrise at Sea.
Ni<tgara Falls.
A Thundersto rm.
A ·wi11cly Day.

The Johnstown Flood.
Through a Forest Fire.
A Prairie Fire.
The Recent Earthquake.

These subjects may seem to suggest only the most
striking phenomena of nature and the great ravages
which h er forces effect. Such, it is true, make stronger
impressions on the observer and awaken keener interest
in the rea,<ler, so that they are favorite subjects for description. But do not allow familiarity or indifference
to blind you to the striking aspects of nature's changing mood as exhibited about you daily. The sunrise
from your window may be as bea,utiful a,s a,ny a,t sea.
The storm that breaks fiercely over your head may b~
little less sublime than that which hurtles about the
peaks and careers clown the valleys of the Alps.
Descriptions of this class do not often have for their
design the mere imparting of information. That is,
they are not usually of a scientific character, but rather
of a literary or artistic one. The object is to interest
and please the reader, to create in his mind, in all its

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DESC!UPTION.

original vividness, the picture which the writer has
seen, and to arouse in him the same emotions which the
writer has felt . Jo compass this object in any satisfactory degree requires the use of considerably "heightened" language ; for the strongest words are but weak
picture-makers compared with the flying clou<ls and the
everla.--;ting hills. We use this heightened language
whenever we introduce words or expressions that seem
elevated above or in any way removed from the sphere
of sober thought and simple feeling. Among other
things, figures of speech, -simile and metaphor, per- sonification, exclamation, apostrophe, an ti thesis, - are
naturally and freely resorted to. vV e call these ornaments of speech, and say they serve to give the artistic
touches that we desire.
Let us see now, if we can, just in what consist true
artistic or literary touches, these omaments of composition. Are we at liberty to adopt anything that is in
itself ornamental? Can we always depend upon its
giving a happy effect? How is it in art in general?
How is it in life? Why are you not charmed with the
savage's paint and feathers? Why does a costly watch
chain not displease you, while a pair of diamond earrings does, and even a showy finger ring, in these clays
when seals are no more, sets you thinking? YOU say
these things offend a cultivated taste. What is a cultivated taste? Shall we say that, whatever else it may be,
it is a taste that takes delight in things ornamental
only when they at the same time plainly serve some
ulterior end? If this is not the truth it is somewhere
near it. Thus much we may safely say : that in literature, as in art in general, as in all the avenues of life,

NATURE IN ACTIVITY.

83

that which is <Lrtificial and purely ornamental may be
· enjoyed and even tolerated only when it does not so
much shine with its own beauty as lend luster to that
which it is intended to beautify. Every ornament
must fit naturally in or appear to spring from what it
adorns. You may not with impunity force a figure of
speech into a composition ; it must seem to belong
there by natural right. There will be the same difference in effect that there is between the paint on the
society woman's cheek and the color in the school-girl's.
You could not take vVordsworth's ponderous figure,
A hundred hills their dusky backs upheaved,

and insert it in one of Shelley's delicate descriptions.
If your figures help to convey to your readers your
own impressions, if your heightened language actually
arouses in them the emotions you desire to arouse, well
and good. But be chary of ornament for ornament's
sake.
MODELS.

THE TORNADO.

Soon the stars are hidden. A light breeze seems rather to
tremble ;tnd hang poised than to blow. The rolling clouds, the
dark wilderness, and the watery waste shine out every moment
in the wide gleam of lightnings still hidden by the wood, and are
\Vntpped aga.in in ever-thickening darkness over which thunders
roll and jar and answer one another across the sky. Then, like
a charge of ten thousand lancers, come the wind and the rain,
their onset covered by all the artillery of heaven. The lightnings
leap, hiss, and blaze; the thunders crack and roar; the ra.in lashes;
the waters writhe; the wind smites and howls. For five, for ten,
for twenty minutes - for an hour, for two hours - the sky and
the flood are never for an instant wholly dark, or the thunder for
one moment silent ; but while the universal roar sinks and swells,

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WORKS OF ART.

DESCRIPTION.

and the wide, vibrant i!Jumination shows all things in ghostly
half-concealment, fresh floods of lightning every moment rend
the dim curtain and leap forth ; the glare of dn.y falls upon the
swayi11g wood, t he reeling, bowing, tossillg willows, the seething
waters, the whirling rain, and in the midst the small form of the
distressed steamer, her revolving paddle-wheels toili11g behind to
lighten the strain upon her anchor ch:tins ; then all aro dim
ghosts aga.iu, while a iwal, as ii the heave11s were rent, rolls off
around the sky, comes back in shocks and throbs, and sinks in
a long roar that before it can die is S'<vallowed up in the next
flash and peal.- George 'IV. Cable, in Bonaventure (Au Lm·ge,
chapter xviii.).

The following descriptions may be read with profit :
Sunrise in Venice . Poem by Joaquin Miller.
Jliyh Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire. Poem by Jea.n Iugelow.
The Flood. The .11fill on the Floss, book Yii, chapter v, George
Eliot.
Storm off the Coast of Scotland. JJ!facleud uf Dare, la.st
chapter. 'IV"illiam Black.

EXERCISE XXXI.

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CJ,EARING WEATHER.

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It was a warm autumn afternoon, and there had been a heavy
rain. The sun burst sudde11ly from among the clouds ; and the
old lmttle-gronnd, sparkling brilliantly and cheerfully at sight of
it in one green place, flashed a responsive welcome there, which
spread along the country side as if a joyful beacon had been
lighted up, and answere<l from a thousand stations.
How beautiful the landscape kindling in the light, and that
luxuriant influence passing on like a celestial presence, brightening everytl 1i11g ! The wood, a sombre mass before, revealed
its varied tints of yellow, green, brown, red : its different forms
of trees, with rai11~drops glitteri11g on their leaves a nd twinkling
as they fell. The verdant meadow-land, bright and glowing,
seemed as if it l1ad been blind a minute since, and now had
found a sense of light wherewith to look up at the shining sky.
Cornfields, hedge-rows, fences, homesteads, the clustered roofs,
the steeple of the church, the stream, the wateni1ill, all sprang
out of the gloomy darkness, smiling. I3inls sang sweetly, flowers
raised their drooping heads, fresh scents arose from the invigorated ground; the blue expanse above extended and diffused
itself: alr;,ady the sun's slanting rays pierced mortally the sullen
bank of cloud that lingered in its flight; and a rainbow, spirit
of all the colors that adorned the earth and sky, spanned the
whole arch with its triumphant glory. - Charles Dickens, in
Christmas Books (The Battle of Life, part iii.).

85

OF ART.

Suqjects :
A Seaside Villa.
St. Andrew's Church.
The Parthenon.
Indian Beadwork.

An Etruscan Vase.
Michael Angelo's "Last Judgment."
The Laocoon Group.

The difficulties of these descriptions will be greater
of course in proportion as the object represents a
higher stage of development in its own field of art.
There is a vast difference between a Kafir hut and a
Gothic cathedral, between an Indian stone image and
,1 Praxitelean statue.
The Kafir hut may be picturesque enough in its way, but it is not a work of art
and is not intended to be ; it is built for its utility.
On the other hand a cathedral is useful in its way, but
it is preeminently a work of art. In form and color,
in light and shade, in mass and perspective, it is designed throughout to appeal to the rnsthetic sense and
to work on the emotions of the human heart. As a
work of art therefore it must be described. We have

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DESClUPTCON.

DESCH.IPTlON OJ!' PEH.SONS.

already describe<l lmil<lings from another point of view.
But even an ordinary dwelling-house may be constructe<l so as to attract the eye of the passer-by as
well as to contribute to the comfort of those who live.
in it. Thus we luwe two radically different points of
view. In the present exercise the point of view is
that of a person who has an eye for artistic effects.
Note that the point of view is not said to be that
of the student of the beautiful or the connoisseur in
art. The work before you is still description and not
criticism, which latter involves comparisons and the
passing of individual judgment. Try to tell what
you can plainly see, and not all that your imagination
may rnad into the object, nor all that you think should
be there and is not. Have the object before you if
possible. It is not safe to trust to memory. Few
painters or sculptors will venture far without their
models. You are a word-painter now.
Thei:e are other fields of art in which the artist
appeals to other senses than the sight. But descript10n here becomes so extremely difficult that it is
deemed best to omit it. It would in<lecd be rash,
unless orie were exceptionally well equipped, to attempt to describe an orgcm fugue or an orchestral
symphony.

a person who met him for the fast time. This means,
of course, that the description shall be one almost entirely of externals, -of those qualities, essential or
adventitious, which manifest themselves at once to the
senses. Character will not play any part in this except
HO far as it can be inferred from such features as eyes,
complexion, gait, and even manner of dress. lf the
description is of some one who is well knmvn to your
readers or hearers, try to make it so accurate ancl lifelike that t hey will recognize the subject a.t once.
Herc again let us insist upon the necessity of observing a due proportion and relation of parts. Do not
continually leap from one detail to another without any
apparent connection between the tvvo, whether that
connection be expressed or understood. Now and then
it may be necessary to do this. In any composition of
length there must be some gaps in the train of thought
wider than others; and paragraph division is the external sign of this. But such gaps must not occur at
every sentence, and even where they do occur let them
be as narrow as possible.
The following description is taken from Victor Hugo's
Les JWiserab les, Part I, Book II, Chapter I. The point
of view is that of a chance observer. Notice how the
general appearance of wretchedness is heightened by
dwelling on the details of clothing.

EXERCISE XXXII.

One day early in the month of October, . 1815, about an hour
before sunset, a man traveling afoot entered the town of D--.
The few inhabitants who at this moment chanced to be at their
windows or on the doorsteps of their houses, looked at this traveler
with a vague sense of uneasiness. One would not often meet a
wayfarer more wretched in appearance. Ile was a ma n of medium
height, thickset and sturdy, and in the full vigor of life. IIc might

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DESCIUI'TION OF PERSONS.

Take as a subject one of your friends, or perhaps
better some one whom you have seen only once or
twice, and describe him (or her) as he would appear to

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CHARACTER DESCRIPTION. -

DESCRil'TION.

be forty-six or forty-eight years of age. A cap with a leather
tip well pulled down partly concealed his face which was bronzed
by the sun and was dripping with sweat. His shirt, of some
coarse yellow stuff, fastened at the throat by a little silver anchor,
fell open sufficiently to give a glimpse of a shaggy breast. He
wore a twisted cravat, shabby breeches of blue ticking, white at
one knee, worn through at the other, and an old tattered gray
blouse, pieced at one of the elbows with a patch of green cloth
sewed on with pack-thread. On his back he carried a well filled
knapsack, tightly buckled and quite new ; in his hand an enormous knotted stick. His stockiugless feet were encased in shoes
shod with iron. His head was shaved, his beard long. The
perspiration, the heat, the journey on foot, the dust, gave to his
whole person an inexpressible air of misery and squalor.

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Victorine might have held her own among the fairest of her sex
and age. She needed two things, - two things which are the
second birth of women, -the pretty trifles of her sex, and the shy
delight of love-letters.

EXERCISE XXXIII.
CHARACTEU DESCRIPTION. -

REAL.

Subjects:
t'

f.

Compare with the above the following from Balzac's
Pere Goriot, and note that here more essential attributes
are dwelt upon as indicative of the girl's spiritual
environment.

One of My Friends.
A Sixteen Year Old Cynic.
A Ministering Angel.

Jack: Poet and Optimist.
An Eccentric Character.

For this work you should know your subject well.
The description of external and physical features is not
intended to be excluded at all. It was said in the last
exercise that these things may give a clue to the real
character, and when you assume to know that character
it will often be the happiest kind of description merely
to suggest it by these features. The reader, knowing
your purpose in introducing them, will trust to your
more intimate knowledge and so not be afraid of misinterpreting them. The characters described are to be
real, that is, actually existing, with all their natural
virtues and defects, though of course when you are
dealing with a well-knowi1 person, even in a school
essay, nothing can excuse the failure on your part to
exercise both charity and courtesy.
The last subject in the list above has been found an
excellent one, and many interesting essays are recalled
with such titles as "The Village Factotum," "The

Though Mademoiselle Victorine Taillefer was of a sickly paleness
like a girl in feeble health, and though this paleness, joined to an
habitual expression of sadness and self-restraint, linked her with
the general misery which formed the background of the life about
her, yet her face was not an old face, and her movements and
her voice were young and sprightly. She seemed like a sickly
shrub transplanted into uncongenial soil. Her fair complexion,
her aubtun hair, her too-slender figure, gave her the grace that
modern critics find in the art of the Middle Ages. Her eyes,
which were gray with a radiation of dark streaks, expressed the
sweetness an d resignation of a Christian. Her dress was simple
and cheap, but it revealed a youthful form. She was pretty by
juxtaposition. Had she been happy she might have been lovely ;
for happiness lends poet.ic charm to women, and dress adorns them
like a delicate tint of rouge. If the pleasures of a b all had called
out the rose-tints on her pallid face; if the comforts and elegancies of life had filled out n,nd remodeled her cheeks, already, alas,
too hollow ; if love had ever brightened her sad eyes ; - then

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DESCRIPTION.
CHAl'l.ACTEH DESCRIPTION. -

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Philosopher of Pine Hidge," "Uncle Billy," "Old
January," "Ben the Ubiquitous," "Garesche, Ord."
Nearly every community can boast of one or more of
those characters who, for some striking peculiarity or
unusual originality in their natures, are branded as eccentric. The term need not convey reproach-it is by
no means always invidious. It simply means that these
people, in their pcn;o1ml appcaranee or in tl1eir l1abit::;
of life, depttrt unusually far from the standards which
the average man recognizes. The greatest genius may
do that.
Notice in the following how mgemously the point of
view is taken and how impressive the preliminary
description of outward appearance makes the sudden
revelation of the reaJ man. A subject of this kind must
be treated somewhat like those of the preceding exercise, for such a character cannot, from its very nature,
be so intimately known to you as that of your bosom
friend.
THE HERMIT IN THE WILLOWS.

I a m sure I do not kuow ·what there is connected ·with the
science of frog-catching so essentially differe nt from all other
sciences, and so very peculiar that only eccentric charac ters are
aLle to pursue this profession with marked success. Can it be
that frogs are themselves eccentric, and so, si nce "not to sy1npathize is not to understand,' ' only "eccentrics" have the power to
comprehend the laws which govern them so as to be ever master
of their situat,ion? ·whatever it is - and it is almost vn,in to
attempt to solve the mystery - the fact remains that the aforeme ntioned class of individuals does excel in the afo remeutioued
vocation, and furthermore, very few who do not Lelong to that
class ever attempt to Lecome professors of that science.
Happening to live in a country where frogs are as plentiful as
flies are elsewhere, I have often had the opportunity of meeting

REAL.

91

some of the peculiar personages who have made the lucrative profession of frog-catching their calling in life. Nor were the feelings
awakened by these chance meetings altogether those of pleasure,
for, so far as outward appearances were concerned, these oddities
ranged all the way from the idiot to the madman. Oh, there was
a variety of them ; representatives of nearly a.11 nationalities, and,
I am sorry to say, even some of the gentler sex were numbered
among them. Tint, by far the most strikingly cnrious of them all
is "the old hermit in the willows,'' as he is generally called ; for
no one knows his n ~une .
Nobody\vho has ever seen the little log hut situated at the very
bottom of the ravine which opens into the south end of Lake
Merced, and several miles from any other habitation except of
beast or bird, would donbt for a moment that no ordinary person
dwelt within. Perched upon a slightly elevated island, yet crouching so as to avoid coming in contact with the branches of the lowgrowing willows that surround and almost entirely conceal it,
this dingy gray, moss-covered cabin, with its one leng th of rusty
stove-pipe for a chimney, is a picture of utter solitariness.
If you are awestruck by the aspect of th e house, how can yo u
describe the feeling that takes possession of yon when you sec its
sole occupant? A man of medium stature, although bent with
age and labor, he would not present an altogether mean appearance if respectabl y dressed. · But so few people have ever seen
him; and in his customary attire he is a picture at once ludicrous
and pathetic. Coming upon hirn unawares in hi s lonely haunt,
you would mos t likely find his costume to consist o[ a pair o[
rusty-brown panta.loons, \Yith a hu ge p:itch of red flannel 011 one
kn ee and one of blue rlrilling on the other; a red and Llack
checked flannel s hir t, patched with calico of various colors ; :i
gigantic rubber boot on one foot and a low rubLer overshoe 0 11
the other; arnl perlrnps a hat (though he rarely wears such a thing)
which, judging from the nurnLer o[ holes in its crown and liroad
Lrim, might at some time previous to the i1wen tion of modern
targets have been used as a substitute for such. IT is cnLire rnakl'up, so to speak, strikes you as ridiculous, and you laugh :t loucl,
thercLy attraci.ing his :itteution. lle turns his face toward yuu
and you stop so suclrlenly in your laugltLer that you almost choke.

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Perhaps something very different from suppressed la.ughter helps
to produc:e that choking sensation, for there is somethi11g strangely
~atheti~ in the disappointed gaze of the eyes that meet yours.
The grrnzly beard a11d long, matted hair, both of a dirty gray,
cannot co11ceal the fin e i11 tellige nce of the face; the Jiig h, broad
forehead and fin e bh1e-gray eyes are still there to tell their tale,
and now and then yo u may catch a glimpse of a mouth th at is
proud and sensiti ve, yet full of generosity and affection.
Can ~t b:? Can it be that t his hermit is proud, sensitive, generous,. aff:ct10 nate? Everything about his clothing and his mean
hah1tat10n seems to say he is not. You are curious · yo u would
syeak to l.1 im if ~ou dared. Yo u own t o you rself th~t · you are a
httle afraid of h1111. Yet your dog trots quietly to his side and
pokes her nose np into his face. She is 11ot t hrust aside but o-cutly
patted. You are encouraged, and approachi11g, addres~ hi 111~ _Is
he fond of dogs? - Yes, he is. - Why does he not keep one? __ It
costs t?o much. - You drift from one s ubject to another, lmt yo u
fii~d hi1'.1 prepared to discuss all topics. You are beginning to
tl1.111k !nm a scholar, when two boys come crashing t hrough the
willo_w b ranches, and before long t he old man is solving geornet n ct~l problems for them or translating long passages in to Latin.
F eelmg that you are now intruding, you depart a11<l endeavor
to gather some i11formation abo ut t he old hermit. From 110 one
h~wever, can yon learn more than that he is poor, Jives in th~
w1llo,~s alone'. and supports himself by catching frogs and selling
t hem rn the city". Ile never rides either to or from t he city, au<l
never buys anytlnng but sn.lt n.nd flour, and occasionall y g unpowder
and shot. . He never spen.ks unless spoken to, and then rarely or
n ~ ve r of lnmself. Surely this is an " eccentric," yet you respect
lnm, and perhaps even wish he were not. For a long t ime, perhaps for years after, you will never hear of the willows without
h e~rin g of . the old hermit and seeing his great blue eyes with
thell" sad, disappointed gaze.
L. M. R.

CHAB.ACTEB. DESCRIPTION . -

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93

EXERCISE XXXIV.
CH Al1ACTER DESClUrTION. -

IDEAL.

Subjects:
A Dream Incarn ate.
My H ero.
"A Knight of the Ni neteenth Century." T he Character of J es us.
"A Perfect 'l'V omau, Nobly Plannet1."

The painter strives to· put on canvas, the sculptor
strives to fashion out of marble, his ideal. \Vhy should
not the literary artist strive to do th e same thing with
his pen ? No one of them will get nearer to the heart
and soul of another person, real or ideal, than their
outward manifestations.
But note that while the
painter and sculptor are limited to color and form, the
literary artist has both these and other resources at his
command. Words and actions respond more constantly
and quickly to the impulses within, and are thercforn
the more reliable indications of the character behind
them. These words and actions the writer inay use
freely.
Now ideals are not made of nothing. The V enus of
Milo is only a combination of the most perfect features
which the sculptor fo und in a dozen or a hundred
human beings. It is a sort of composite photogr:iph
with all the distinctness of a simple one,-because instead
of all the features of all the models being taken, only
certa,in ones are taken from each. It is evident that
one man's ideal may sometimes be very nearly realized
in a single person, though it is perhaps too much to

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hope from nature, human or otherwise, that it may be
entirely so.
You must have formed an ideal of what a great and
good character should be. If not, it will do no harm
to attempt to form one now. Physical features need
not Le disregarded here any more than in the last
exercise, though naturally they will exact rt minor
share of your attention.
Do not leave the character shadowy merely because
it is ideal. Assume that it exists ; give it a name and
a vocation if you like ; make a living man or woman
of it, and then treat that man or woman as if you knew
him or her intimately. Do not say he would liave such
and such qualities-say explicitly that lie has them.
Nothing detracts from interest so much as distant
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EXERCISE XXXV.
IMAGINATIVE DESCRIPTION.

Sul;jects:
The Man with the Golden Arm.
Santa Claus at Home.
In the Land of the Fairies.
An Earthly Paradise.
A Child's Idea of Heaven.

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The Eighth Voyage of Sinbad
the Sailor.
Through the Gate of Dreams.
A Chateau en Espagne.

In this exercise you will have perfect liberty to make
use of all the descriptive materials at your command.
One suggestion only : Remember still that the imagination can be said to create only in a certain sense-it
can construct and combine. It puts the head and arms

IMAGINATIVE DESCRil'TION.

95

of a man on the body of a horse and we have a centaur;
it makes a similar combination of a woman and a fish
and we have a mermaid. But when these combinations
do such violence to all our preconceived ideas of
congruity as to take on the character of monstrosities,
not every taste will tolerate them. There is ple11 ty of
scope for the imagination without going so far. You
may picture t<1 yourself a spot more purely Arcadian
than any Arcadia on earth and yet have in it nothing
umutturnl. You may conceive of beings more beau tiful, more noble, more lovable, than any you have ever
known, without in the least transcending the Lounds of
possibility.
Imaginative work played a great part in the beginnings
of literature : witness the Song of Solomon, Hesiod's
Theogony, the Nibelungenl£ed. It plays a large part yet
in the literary reading of children : witness the Arabian
Nights, the Fairy Tales of Penault, the Grimm brothers,
and Andersen, and the folk-lore of any people. Read
George l\facdonalcl's At tlw Back of the North Wind,
Elizabeth Stuart Phelps's Gates Afar and Beyond the
Gates. Nathaniel Hawthorne loved to dwell in these
realms of the imagination, as many of his shorter tales
show ; read 'Phe Hall of Fantasy in JJ!Iosses frorn an Old
Manse . And Jules Verne, allowing his imagination to
run riot in the field of modern science, has given us a
score of very readable and even instructive books, of
which A Trip to the Moon il:l a fair sample.
Write a fairy story, or an addition to the Arabian
Nights' Tales. For anyone of a lively imagination this
will prove a real pastime as well as means of literary
culture.

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SECTION IIT. - NARRATION AND
DESCRIFl'ION COM_lHNED.
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EXERClSE XXXVI.
SOCLAL GATIIElUNGS, ETC.

Subjects:
An Old-time Husking Bee. The Bachelor Club's Annual Ball.
A Theatre Party.
Nellie's Birthday Party.
Our Sunday School Picnic.

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We sha.11 no longer attempt to keep narration a.ncl
description apart. As a matter of fact very few productions are purely the one or purely the other; we
have seen in the preceding exercises h ow na.turn1ly and
almost inevitably we mingle them. On the other hn.ncl
very few productions partake of the clmracteristics of
both mirration and description in an equal degree.
T aking adv~mtage of this fact we lrnvc in the two foregoing sections pretty well covered the whole ground.
There renmin however a few classes of subjects into
which both kinds of composition enter with ne;u·ly
equal prominence. But even h ere you will in all probability find, when you have fmished your productions,
that they are still essentially narrative or essentially
descriptive. That result will be due to yomseH -

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PEHSONA L ADVJ<;NTURES.

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to the point of view you have chosen to take, or to
your predilection for a ixirticular style of treatment.
Remember however that the con<lition is not imposed ;
you have entire freedom and should endeavor to make
use of it.
In the present exercise we have scenes to be depicted, with little or no real plot to be unfolded. Yet
they aro sec11e:s .ia wh.ieh Lhere i,; much «eLiuu auJ iu
which 111oretll't'l' vo11 an• " lll'J'O~t·d tn ]1;1\'1~ l1<'t'll fl!tt' llf
the actors . Thi'1 ifl '1omewhat diffrrcnt frnni '1t:1ndinf"
vas:;i vely Ly aml waLchiHg Llie progre:;;,; of c n :uk;.
Here you contribute your share toward the sum of
accomplishment.
The main tendency in treating such subjects as those
given above will probably be toward description.
Therefore restrain it somewhat, or deflect it. Put all
the life and action into the scenes that you can. Make
the characters walk and talk, smile and frown, laugh
and cry for us. If there is comedy let it come out, if
there is tragedy let it be revealed. Read the old fairy
tale of Cinderella; Tlte Gltristnias Dinner in Irving's
Slcetclt-Boolc; The Arc Ii cry Tounrnment in Oupid' s
Arrows, Rudyanl Kipling's Plain 'l~iles from tlte Hills.

EXERCISE XXXVII.
PERSON AL ADVENTURES.

Subjects:
A Narrow Escape.
A Night in a Cemetery.
Our Burglar.
Caught in a Squall.

On a Runaway Car.
The Ghost of Smith's Hollow.
My First Beai· Hunt.
Ascent in a Balloon.

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The tendency here will be to l;iy stress on the mi.rrntive portions. But the scene of the mlvcntme must be
prepared, the circunrntances detailed, the acLor;; portrayed ; and all of t hiR involve;,; description. The two
must be judiciously interwove n. It is most natural to
begin with description, an<l a little observation will
show that the majority of tales do so l>egin. On th e
other hand a bit of narration at the first may sometimes
be of adv<LllLLg'G ; iL wiil Le mure likely Lu catch anrl
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r11ll1111 tl mrn.~·11 tlir 11 rerss:1r:· rlf'srription wl1if'h j,, 1lwn
iuLrnJLteed bLer. LeL iL uuL Le i11Lrnllllccll luu i:tll",
h owever. The in Rertion of even the 1riefesL Lle::>erivLiuu
at a point where the interes t is thoroughly aroused will
be resented by the reader. Let such passages come at
the naturi11 pauses or lulls in the action.
As to the action itself, let it l>e developed with the
utmost naturalness. One eveaL grow;,; out of another
i;1 fact; it should seem to do so likewise in the recibtl,
You have heard people •attempt to tell a story who
appear to lack what we may call a sense for sequence .
They arc constantly getting" ahead of themselves," Lh<tt
is, ahead of their story; and then they have to retrace
their steps and the story loses its charm. The fault is
an inherent one and it ·w ill take close attention and
practi,ee to eradicate it. ~ut in writing there is no
excuse for it, for the writer has time to consider the
sequence of events.
Draw upon your own experience for this adventure,
or, if the uneventfulness of your life absolutely constrains you, upon your imagination. Perhaps one of
the incidents which you have recorded in the early part

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EXCURSIONS; TR.A VELS.

of this work nmy recur to you as an appropriate subject.
If so, expand it to the proportions of a regular story or
tale. It may have consisted of a single paragraph then ;
make eight or ten of it now. Enter into details of
scenes and characters and make them contribute as mu ch
as possible to the realism of the events.
It is scarcely necessary to give references to mollels
of this kind of composition. Papers like the Yo1lth's
Companion contain many such stmic8, and if you ca.re
for examples on a larger scale go to the tales of Sir
vValter Scott, Jane Porter, J. F enimore Cooper, and
others.
In the following sketch the writer was more a witnes8
of the action thm1 a participator in it, and therefore
the language, while dealing unquestionably with good
narrative material, is essentially descriptive, showing
again how inseparable the two characteristics often are .

of teeth would have cut throu gh a line in a moment a11d he would
have dropped in the w;1ter free, but as it was, the only effect was
a horrid sc rntching noise that se nt through m os t of us a shiver of
fe;tr.
13y means of a running loop passed over his head a nd drawn
tight just above the t:ti l, he was pul led up until he was level with
th e gunnel. Then with the aid of a guy rope he was hauled
aboard and landed on deck, thrashing fi ercely with his tail a nd
snapping ferociously. Hi s eyes had to be put out first, for while
he could sec it was i mpossil>le to approach him; whe n he was
blind, however, it was an easy matter for one of the sailors to
creep cautiously up to him and chop off his tail, thus rendering
him powerl ess to do any damage.
Now th at he was comparatively quiet it was no great task to
despatch him. All had a hand in the disemboweling, la ughing
triumpl mntly and joking over the possibility of finding a gold
·watch or other clue to his former life in the capacious stomach.
One sliced the liver a nd threw it into the pig-sty, while another
cut out the still beating heart and threw it to the dog ; and yet,
with eyes out, tail off, disemboweled, with the pigs digesting his
liver and t he dog devouring his heart, he still spluttered and
gasped, refusi ng to die.
Soon however all the flesh was cut away and thrown overboard,
the only things saved being the backbone, which makes a beautiful walking-stick the sailors say, and the rows of teeth, which
passed iu to t he hands of some of t he ladies and which were af terwards seen in a little girl's possession in the shape of a necklace.

l3IUNGING A SHARK ABOARD.

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NAIUtATlON AND DESClUl'TION COMUJNED.

It is only on the days of calm in the doldrums, when passengers
are m oping and sailors are loafi ng, that a landsman gets a cha nce
to learn the seaman's hatred of sharks and to see what pleas ure
the capture of one gives him.
One such a day a monster about eleven feet long was seen
ploughing astern. In a few minutes a stout hook, baited with a
junk of fat pork, was thrown overboard. The fi sh made fo r it
immediately a nd g ulped it down without examination. Then
came a tug of war. The combined strength of half a dozen men
exerted on the tackle whi ch had been made fast to the end of the
line, was jnst enough to bnclge t he shark when in the water ; but
wheu 011ce his head was al>ovc the su rface his power was gone, a11d
very soon we saw him dan gli11g from the stern, his t ail just touching the water. Tl1en the purpose of the short chain fastened to
the hook becarne appare11 t : as he swung there, his grinding rows

R

EXERCISE

L. D.

xxxvrrr.

Snbjeots:
Our Expedition to F:tll Creek.
Camping on the 13luff.
Through Colorado Cafion.
An E xcursion to Niagara Falls.

li'rom Detroit to Chicago on a
Bicycle.
Climbing the Matterhorn.
A n Afternoon Outing.

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NAllHATION AND DESCRlPTLON COl\lBlNED.

Countless books of travel have been written and
published, though few of them have met with large
sales and fewer still lrnve found a phtce among works
of recognized litcml'y merit. The cxphnation lies in
the fact that Ll1is is the most tempting field o[ letters
because apparently the easiest. Every tyro who has
been away from home awhile thinks he has materials
for a book. But matter without rational form and
becoming dress is not literature. Besides, ninety-nine
times out of a hunched the tyro has no materials of
worth. He has seen only what is on the surface, what
everybody else can see for himself, and what therefore
everybody else does not want to read about.
One thing which will warrant the writing of books
of this class is the fact that one has explored a region
of the earth or studied conditions of life little lnmwn
and not accessible to the world at large. vVhen a
Livingstone or a Stanley has penetrated to the heart
of the African continent, when a Kane has made an
expedition into the Arctic seas, when a Kennan has
explored the most hidden horrors of life in Russia and
Siberia, the public read with avidity such books as
Tlirough the IJarlc Conthient, Arctic E;cplorations, :mtl
Siberia and the E :cile S;ijstem. Or when a naturalist
tmvcb over any porLion of the earth wiLh <t keen eye
and a quick car for the marvels and mysteries of
nature, we read with equal delight and profit
Alexander von Humboldt's I(osnws and an
Journey in Brazil. Yet again, when a man can go
among familiar scenes <U1d well-known peoples, <tncl
from the materials always to be found there as well
as anywhere can construct works of genuine li terary

EXCURSlO="S, TB.AVELS.

103

charm and merit, we shall always be ready to welcome
them. Such books are Bayard Taylor's Views Afoot
and Longfellow's Outre-Mer.
Let these facts serve as hints to guide us in our
writing now. For though we are working here on a
smaller scale, the problem before us is practically the
same - to produce work which shall be valuable for
the facts it contains, or interesting for the novelty of
those facts, for the original light in which they are
exhibited, or for the literary charm with which they
are invested. It is certainly well worth while to keep
a record of one's wanderings, however limited they
may be, if he can succeed in producing such worclpastels as the writer of the following has done.
A LEAF FROM MY DIARY.
Malosand, Sweden, July 15, 1886. -The ca ndle flares so that
I can hardly write, yet it is too warm to close the windows. The
stars are twinkling outside in all their glory and the little
Swedish vill age lies asleep at my feet. vVe had such a lovely
walk this evening, my sister and I. It was one of those long beautiful summer evenings t,hat are found only in northern countries.
In our stroll we passed by the village square. It is surrounded
by low wooden buildings, and in it was a circus. This was the
center of a.ttraction for a number of peasant children who were
gaping at it in wonder a nd amazement. The whole scene was
so like an American town and yet so different that it made me
homesick. "\.Ye walked on ,to a little inn and there indulged in
some tea and calm, and were surprised to find the total bill to be
only six cents.
It was dark when we again emerged into the open air, and
nothing broke the perfect stillness of the night save the faint
thump, thump of the bass drum coming over the meadow from
the .distant circus. "\ll{e paused a moment to take in the tranquillity of t he scene and then silently retraced our steps.
J.M. L.

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.NAmiATION AND DESClUPTION COMBINED.

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EXERCISE . XXXIX.
SCENES :FROM LIFE.

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Commencement Day.
A Fire in Fourth ·ward.
Shopping in Jonesville.
A Visit to Chinatown.
An Auction.
A Political Mass Meeting.

Around the Hotel Stove.
In an East Side Tenement House.
An Hour on 'Change.
The F[trm at Five o'Clock in the
Morning.
A Boarding School Scene.
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Here is an inexhaustible field. It is preeminently
the field of the dramatist, but that does not mean that
all who work in it must be what are commonly known
as dramatists. Much is dramatic in essence that is not
so in form. Many of our best poems and perhaps most
of our novels belong in this class. And there are
newspaper pen-sketches innumerable that pretend to
the same distinction ; they are nothing if not dramatic.
What is it to be dmmatic? Broadly, it is to be
exhibitive of the passions and actions that grow out of
any given combination of character and circumstance ;
it is to be a portraiture of some phase of human life.
Balzac has given us a long series of such portraitures
in his colossal work La Comedie Hurnaine, which consists of a limnber of "scenes from private, provincial,
Parisian, political, military, and country life," aiming
to give a more or less complete and accurate picture of
the Fmnce of his day.
What are the requisites of a dramatic writer? First,
that requisite of writers and artists in general, a gift
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SCENES FlWl\1 HISTOHY.

105

- the words are Ruskin's; · secondly, a quick, unerring
perception. of the relations, causal or othenvise, that
bind these facts together into a unified whole; lastly,
the power to reproduce through the medium of language
these facts and relations without diminution of their
original force and vitality.
How shall these requiRites be acquired? So far cis
they are acquirable and not dependent on native talent,
thus: Observe human nature closely; study it, ponder
over it, note and compare; read Shakespeare, Hugo,
Browning, Scott, Balzac, Bret Harte, and wrest from them
if you can something of their secret; write unceasingly.
For the work now in hand read the court scene in
the fourth act of The Merchant of Venice; the opening
scene in Romeo and Juliet; read the tales of Kipling
and of Bret Harte, the novels of Howells, the ballads
of ·will Carleton. Portniy then, in a realistic manner,
ctny scene from life that you have witnessed, from a
street brawl to a presidential inauguration. Let your
characters spe<ik and act for themselves-it is the most
effective kiml of description. Moralize little or not at
all ; depend on your story to point its own moral.

EXERCISE XL.
SCENES FROM HISTORY.

Subjects:
New England in the Early
Colonial Period.
The South before the 'Var.
California in the 'Fiities.

' Vashington's Army at Valley
Forge.
The Greeks befo re Troy.
Rome under the Caesars.
Christ before Pilate.

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NARRATION AND DESCRIPTION COMBINED.
SCENES FROM HISTORY.

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The compositions written in the last exercise were
nothing more or less than chapters from contemporaneous history. They differed from the historical
sketches written in Exercise XV. in that they consisted of something more than a narration of events
- they depicted characters and customs as well. This
may be called pictorial or picturesque history, and we
have begun to realize that a history without these
characteristics is not worthy of the name. Let us try
now to treat chapters from past history in the same way.
It may be objected that past history cannot be
written from observation and experience and therefore does not come within the province of this portion
of our work. But we have reached the transition
point now, and whether this exercise .falls upon one
side or the other makes little difference. This may
be said in favor of placing it here : picturesque history
writing is chiefly a matter of the imagination, and the
imagination is a kind of second sight. Given a few
recorded facts, the imagination reconstructs, from these
and from the material furnished the mind by actual
observation and experience, . scenes that are forever
past the power of man to witness otherwise. When
one reads, for instance, in the chapter on Pindar in
John Addington Symon<ls's Studies of tlte Greek Poets,
a description of the Olympic games, one gets such a
vivid picture of the scene that he can hardly believe
the author never heheld it. And has he not in truth
beheld it? -with that mental vision that looks back
over two thousand years as easily as over twenty.
Precisely how faithful these rnconstructions are we
cannot of course determine. But there is about facts

107

a certain "eternal . fitness," and we shall hardly get a
sense of this fitness from anything that is not a faithful
portrayal of facts. The ability for such portrayal may
be a gift, but we know that some have possessed it.
For example, cerLain portions of Lew vVallace's B en
Hur, vividly and accurately descriptive of oriental
lands and sceneR, are said to have been written before
the author ever visited the particular region.
For models, read the crucifixion scene in the last
chapter of B en 1-Iur, the last chapter of Dickens's
Tale of Two Cit,ies, and almost any chapter of George
Lippard's Legends of tlte American R evolution.

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Composition Based on Reading and
Thought.

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Introductory: Principles of Composition .
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We shall now enter a field of composition in which
writers are too often expected to begin without any
preparation such as we have endeavored to obtain.
New faculties will be taxed and new powers called into
play. Experience and observation are by no means to
be set aside, but they are to be supplemented by wider
reading and particularly by reflection and independent
thought. The material that we have been gathering
all along will not be ignored ; we shall merely make a
tliffcrent use of it.
vVe have been r ecording and chronicling and picturing ; storing facts in places accessible to all ; fixing
permanently the flee ting acts and feel ings of the moment; reproducing beautiful forms and colors for future contemplation. Now we must organize these facts, •
discover the relations they bear to one another, and
draw from them, if may be, broader facts which lie
beyond the range of ordinary observation ; we must
transform the material lines and colors into emblems of
spiritual beauty, and weave the threads of experience
into a philosophy of life. Thus will literature subserve its highest ends.
Of the methods of finding material we spoke in the
introduction to Part I. In the meantime we have
gone ahead and worked that material into compositions

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INTRODUCTORY.

word will lend greater vigor than a ·generic one,
especially in descriptive writing. Occasionaliy a word,
entirely unobjectionable in itself, must be rejected
because it interferes too much with the rhythm and
euphony of the sentence. Within these limitations
choose always the word that seems to convey most
exactly your meaning.
. Sl:ort sentences give clearness. Long sentences give
d1gmty. Short sentences give the sparkle of the faceted
diamond. Long sentences give the luster of the polished
pearl. The long sentence offers many difficulties in
construction and is full of pitfalls for the unskillful.
The best style will exhibit both in ever varying proportions. It is in the constrnction of the individual
sentence,. the arrangement and conformity of its parts,
more than in any other one thing, that th e difficulty
and therefore the test of good writing lies. Take
almost any complex sentence and you will find that it
can be arranged in several ways, some manifestly better
than others. The problem is to find the best way.
Looseness is avoided by seeking the periodic structure,
that is, such a structure as will not yield a complete
meaning until the end of the sentence is reached.
Parts that bear a close grammatical relation to each
other should not be far separated except for emphasis.
Remember that the emphatic positions in a sentence are
the beginning and the end. The arrangement will
often be controlled by the attractive forces of sentences
that precede and that follow.
The paragraph, of comparatively modern invention,
is too useful tb be slighted. It consists of a series of
sentences that have a. common bearing in thought.

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115

But since it is intended for the guidance of the eye,
its length is restricted, and therefore the basis of
division will depend somewhat arbitrarily on the length
of the whole composition. If you are treating a theme
very briefly under a dozen heads, you will probably
make a dozen coHesponding paragraphs; but if you
are writing a whole volume on the same theme with
the same divisions, you will have to confine your
paragraphs to minuter ..subdivisions of the thought.
Frequent paragraph divi~ion will give the page an open
ppearance that is more inviting to the average reader
han a page of matter written or printed "solid." But
ie fundamental office of the paragraph should never
e forgotten, or its value will be annulled.
The whole composition should have unity and coherence. The first is secured by narrowing the subject as
much as possible or desirable and by keeping it steadily
in mind throughout, resisting all temptations to digress.
The second is secured by observing some natural order
in the development of the theme, by remembering the
office of the paragraph, and by indicating clearly the
relation of paragniph to paragraph and sentence to
sentence through proper distribution of emphasis and
the discriminating use of connecting words and unambiguous adverbs and pronouns of reference. Both
are secured by making an outline of the composition
before writing it out in detail.
The standard by which all of these matters are measured is good usage, and the best writers of the present
clay constitute the ultimate court of appeal. This does
not mean that any one shall be a servile follower or
imitator, repressing individuality and perpetuating

116

INTltODUCTORY.

monotony. It only means that by familiarity with the
best literature of the day we come to recognize the
limits within which liberty is not license, and so are
enaLled to conform to the requirements of a somewhat
variable and vaguely defined "cultivated taste." Individual taste must of course take the place of this m
all cases of doubt. When we use the wore
1 what has been so well brought o
on En ISh Composit10n, t la · rn ques 10n iere is always one of Letter or
worse, not of right or wrong. Instead of asking
whether a certain expression is correct or othenvise, we
ask whether it is as clear as it might be, or as vigorous,
or as beautiful. Thus composition is removed from the
exact sciences to a place among the arts.
We have spoken of the importance of clearness. It
is perhaps not too much to say that almost everything
else should be sacrificed to this. Certainly it should
always be made the firnt consideration, for that which
is obscure, however good it may be otherwise, will find
no readers until they are assured of its merit, and e-yen
then is likely to find but few. It is not only a duty
that every writer owes to his readers, to express himself in the plainest terms possible, but it is the only
safeguard against misinterpretation and would therefore
seem to be dictated by the instinct of self-defense.
After clearness seek strength. A vigorous style of
writing is Louml 'to move more effectually than a feeble
one, and to move many readers who would not be
moved at all Ly a weak appeal. Strength usually goes
with rapidity and is therefore obtained by elimination
and condensation. Diffuseness and prolixity are fat[~l

INTRODUCTORY.

117

faults. As a rule, omit everything that is not strictly
pertinent to the subject in hand and then abbreviate in
form what still remains, stopping short always of the
brevity which gives a sense of incompleteness or which
leads to obscurity. Sometimes however force seems to
be best gained by fullness and judicious repetition.
Beauty is not found in every phase of life, nor shall
we expect to find it in every form of literature. Still
its presence is rarely resented, and even among the
practical, plain, aJ!d homely things with which life and
literature alike niust deal, touches of genuine beauty
will not seem obtrusive. But least of all is this
.element to be sought, for least of all will it come for
the seeking. Like loveliness of form and face, grace
of pen and eloquence of speech do not hold themselves
subject to our command. Partly they come, if at all,
as a natural inheritance, and partly as the reward of
long and patient wooing. And if they are not already
ours, we can do no better than pursue our straightforward course, hued by no false glitter, turning aside
for no meretricious ornament, and perhaps in the encl
we too shall find some share of these elusive charms.

SECTION !.-EXPOSITION.

-EXERCISE XLI.
INTRODUCTORY PRACTICE.

Subjects:
Descriptive Composition.

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The Art of Narration.

To expose· or expound is to set forth, to lay open.
Exposition then is the act of setting forth or laying open
to view, the act of unfolding, defining, explaining, interpreting. And whenever this act concerns itself with
terms, which denote objects of thought, or with proposit-ions, which express relations between objects of
thought, we have rltet01-ical or literary exposition.
We shall have to go a step further and say that rhetorical exposition concerns itself, not with singular
terms, which denote single objects only, but with general
terms, wl1ich stand for any one of a number of objects
having certain qualities in common ; and the same is
trne of propositions. For example, you cannot expound
James White. You can describe him. You can say that
he is a tall man with dark eyes and well chiseled
features ; and this is description. But it is not exposition. Now notice that in this description a great deal
is taken for granted. There is the general term man

I - -

120

EXPOSI'l'lON.

INTliODUCTORY PRACTICE.

which is not explained. To an intelligence which
should know nothiug of the meaning of the word man,
the description would be unintelligible until that word
were explained. Such explanation would be technically
called exposition.
How shall we set aLout expounding general terms?
Take the term man. \V c should not say, as we said of
James vVJ1ite, tlmt a man has dark eyes, for that is true
of some men only. But we should say, among other
things, that a man is a creature with two eyes. That
is, we should select only those <pialiLies that arc possessed Ly every normal imlivitlual of the class comprehended by the general term. Description deals with
individuals, pointing out the features tlmt distinguish
one individual from all others; exposition deals with
generals, with classes, pointing out the features tlmt are
common to all individuals of the class. The neetl of
exposition in the above case may not be so obvious Lecause the term is well understood, but if I say" Paradise
Lost is a sublime epic,'' many rnaders will want the
meaning of the term epic expounded.
Of course, from another point of view, these class
features are distinctive. That is, the class is ouly one
among other classes, and to be distinguished from them.
The possession of two eyes marks off men at once from
all creatures possessing more eyes or fewer. Man is
but one tlivision of a more comprehensive class, animal. On the other hand classes ma.y be subdivided,
a.nd fea.tures tlmt a.re not common to the whole class
may be common to the members of one of the subdiv1s10ns. For example, while we cannot say that men
are dark-eyed, we may fairly sa.y that Italians arc so.

121

And the Italian race may well be a subject for exposition. It is when we reach the individual in the last
analysis that we have a proper subject for description.
There are many Italians - the term may be expounded ;
there is only one Dante - he may be described. You
may expound the meaning of tree and meadow a.nd
river, but you descriLe the landscape about you which
has no exact counterpart among all tl 1e landse<tpes of
the ea,rth. ,..
Strictly speaking, a suuject for exposition is neither
a mn,tcrial object nor an actual eve nt. It is merely a
mental concept - a concept formed by putting together
in thought a certain 1rnmuer of common qualities or
actions. Every individual o{ a class has the common
class-qualities, but it has something more than these it has in addition its individual characteristics. If it
were possible to strip it of these latter, we should have
our concept embodied, so to speak. But it is manifestly
impossible to have a rose possessing size without being
of any particular size, or possessing color without being
of any particular color, although that is just what is
contemplated by the concept called up in our mind by
the general term rose.
For the present then rhetorical exposition may be
defined as the process of defining n,nd explaining the
concepts called up in the mintl by general terms or
propositions.
All tha.t has been said thus far in this exercise may
be taken as au example of this process : it is an exposition of the term exposition. Now take one of the two
subjects given at the head of this exercise and write a
brief expository essay upon it. You must have obtained

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122

INFORMAL ESSAYS.

from your practice and from the suggestions in the
previous part of this book a pretty clear idea of what is
comprehended by narrative or by descriptive composition. Expound that idea.

vogue, and their charm is by no means unappreciated
to-clay. One needs only to mention the names of Montaigne and Addison to prove this. We call these essays
informal because they do not follow any rigid classification nor attempt to exhaust the subject or any phase of
it. They are more or less rambling, though a cultivated
literary sense will take care that they do not produce too
disjointed an effect. Their interest is often heightened
by giving them a personal tone, by pitching them in the
colloquial key, as if the writer were conversing with
his reader face to face instead of trying to reach him at
long range.
To write in this style is not difficult, since it involves
no very strenuous thought. But whatever the writing
may lack, for this reason, in positive value, should be
compensated for, if possible, by liveliness and pungency
of style. For models, read the essays of Montaigne, of
Addison, of Charles Lamb. Among the latter's may be
specified The Old and the New Schoolmaster, Grace
Before Meat, A Dissertation on Roast Pig, Poor R elations. The essays of Bacon may be referred to, though
the familiar tone and the personal element are lacking
in them. But they consist for the most part of a series
of such detached observations that they can hardly be
dignified with the name of formal or scientific essays.
The following model is extracted from A Complaint
of the Decay of B e.r;gars, one of the Essays of El-ia.
The long succession of short sentences and the antiquated forms are not commended for imitation.

EXERCISE XLII.
INFORMAL ESSAYS.

Subjects:
Games of Chance.
Popular Superstitions.
The Court J ester.
Modern Chivalry.

A House Divided against Itself.
Penny '\Vise, Pound Foolish.
The Child is Father of the Man.
"Princes and Republics are Ungrateful."

Expository composition is not, as might be inferred
from the last exercise, limited to dry technical or abstruse subjects. There are multitudes of more or less
vague ideas and of imperfectly settled relations in everyday life that open a tempting field to the expositor; the
above list of subjects might be extended indefinitely.
Remember only that you are to select general ideas and
propositions : not, for instance, Triboulet, court jester
to Francis I. of France, but the genus court jester; not
the neglect of the United States Government in allowing Robert Morris to die in a debtor's prison, but the
ungratefulness of republics.
Moreover, while the primary purpose of exposition is
to assist the understanding, this does not forbid presenting it in a popular and interesting shape. Informal
essays on these topics were at one time very much in
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123

EXPOSITION.

Poverty is a comparative thing .. . . Its pretences to property
are almost ludicrous. Its pitiful attempts to save excite a smile.
Every scornful companion can weigh his trifle-bigger purse

-I

FORMAL ESSAYS.

ich woman takes
n drawing-rooms
~claimed Madame
e de Stael to talk
i to give the same
/'Rell, in Jonathan

SulJ.jects:
Our Public School System.
Hypnotism: What It Is.
Elements of Pleasure in Poetry.
American Love of Sport.

Sunday Newspapers.
Child Labor in the U nitcd
States.

Many readers of the present day are not satisfied
merely to be entertained- they demand accurate information, instruction. And writers, inspired with
something of the same spirit, seek to sat.isfy this demand. Thus has grown up the modern essay - a
species of composition rather brief in form, impersonal
in tone, shorn of all unnecessary allusions, addressed
immediately to the intellect, and seeking to treat its
subject exhaustively though not necessarily in minute
detail. The old informal essay may convey much information, but that information is not organized in
such a way as to give it the greatest utility nor does it
pretend to be complete ; it is suggestive rather than
definitive. The writer has not taken the trouble to
make himself thoroughly familiar with his subject, and
the chances are that the reader will not go any farther ;

127

thus the value even of its suggestiveness is minimized.
The more formal, didactic essay imposes a severer task
on the writer. He must endmwor thoroughly to familiarize himself with his subject, to get a comprehensive
view of it in all its bearings, so that he can treat it
from the standpoint of one having authority to speak.
vVe say this kind of essay is one of the demands of
the times. The entire field of legitimate knowledge
has been so immeasurably broadened that each man
must limit his own investigations to a very small portion of it. But he naturally desires to know the results of others' investigations, and therefore he expects
from them, in a readily accessible form, such definite
information as they alone can give. The didactic. essay
is one of the mediums of this interchange.
In most cases perhaps it aims to be exhaustive,
though within its ordinary limits it can be so only
broadly, not minutely. For example, this Tesult may
be reached by setting forth the most apparent divisions
of a subject without entering into the subdivisions.
The method of treatment presupposes a definite plan
in the writer's mind. Too much emphasis camrnt be
laid upon this plan. It is no exaggeration to say that
every such ess:iy will be the gainer if one lmlf of the
time allotted for its preparation is devoted to the construction of the plan. This involves the gathering of
materials and then the fitting them together and the
building them up into a framework of thought ; what
remains thereafter is but a minor task for one who has
any skill in composition.
The plan should follow some fixed principle. This
principle may be logical, historical, chronological, -

l(li(lAA,
v

~~XPOSITION.

SCIENTIFIC TREATISES.

1

little matter what; only it should be rigorously adhered to. Let the plan be ·fully made out before there.
is any attempt toward writing the essay: the work of
composition then will consist merely in an amplification of the plan and will be found comparatively easy.
The essays of Macaulay and De Quincey fall under
this class. Numerous examples may be found too in
the current numbers of such magazines as the Nortli
American R eview, Atlantic Montlily, Popular Science
Montlily, Forum, Arena. Instead of appending here any
model of this kind of composition, the following plans
are presented for study. The first is abstracted from an
essay by Charles F. Thwing in the Ed·ucational Review
for April, 1892. The first main division is of the nature of an introduction and propounds r. question. The
body of the essay is devoted to answering this question.
In the conclusion a lesson is drawn - a way is suggested
of applying to advantage the knowledge which has been
arrived at. This plan may never have been written out
by the writer, but it must have been pretty clearly
defined in his mind.
THE COLLEGE PRESIDENT.

Unusual amount of notice recently attracted to this office.
Frequent resignations, elections, declinations.
Comparative lack of success. )Vhat is the reason'(
The college president represents at least four distinct relations :
Relation to the governing board,
Relation to the facu lty,
Relation to the students,
Relation to the general public.
These manifold and diverse relations demand rare versatility of
talent.

129

As a help toward lightening his difficulties, let the college president's work be made as definite as possible.

The following is an outline of a portion of an article
by Henrietta L. Synnot in the Contemporary Review for
November, 1874:
LITTLE PAUPERS.

c

i

Discussion limited to those children who are adopted by the State
through no fault of their own ; particularly to girls of t he
"Metropolitan District."
Three classes :
Orphans,
Deserted,
Casuals.
Classes defined.
Three methods of dealing with them (the methods not coincident
with the classes) :
Boarding out,
Separate schools,
District schools.
Results of training. Conclusions drawn from officin,J reports.
)V orking system of schools.
Later career of girls:
Appearance and health.
Indifference to praise or blame.
Capabilities.
Examples.
Significance of these results.

EXEIWISE XLIV.
SCIENTIFIC TREATISES.

Subjects:
The Flora of Our County.
Fauna of the Middle States.
Lepidoptera.
The Violet Family.

Evolution of Dress.
Social Orders of America.
Newspapers of To-day.

130

SCIENTIFIC TREATISES.

EXPOSITION.

We shall have to recognize here this class of litera~ure, though itis difficult to select from it suita,ble subJe~ts .for elei~entary ~x"ercise in composition.
The .
scientifi~ treatise depends for its value so almost entirely
on laLonous research and severe thought that it seems
scarcel~ :vorth considering at all from the standpoint of
compos1t10n. It must be of a length, too, even in
~nonographs on the narrowest subjects, that makes it
mconvenient as a form of writing for mere practice.
And yet a little reflection will show that we have
already trenched upon this fiefd. In the section devoted
to Descrip~ion, Exercises XVII. and XX.-XXVII.,
there were mcludetl among the subjects many general
t~~ms which called more properly for scientific expos1t10n than for description. But the intention was
rather that some individual of the class should be selected, in which case the description would not meet
the requisites of an exposition. For exposition demands
tha~ we shall first observe large numbers of individuals
until we shall have formed a general conception from
which we can be reasonably sure all particular qualities
or temporary conditions have been excluded. One must
have seen a great many violets, stemmed and stemless
white and yellow and blue, heart- and arrow- and
palmate-leaved, before he can treat scientifically the
violet family.
We have treated of exposition thus far as if it had
t~ deal only with logical definition, that is, with the
.disco-:ery ?f all the common qualities which the general
term implies. But there is another side to it. It deals
also with. what is called logical division, that is, the
enumerat10n of all the individuals to which the general

-131

term may be applied. The general term is said to co'Tlr
1note the former and to denote the latter. Thus the word
man connotes two eyes, ten fingers, an upright body, a
reasoning faculty, etc. It denotes, according to geographical divisions, Americans, Europeans, Africans·,
etc. ; or, according to one ethnological division, Cauca~
sians, Mongolians, and Ethiopians. Again, men might
be divided into Christians, Jews, Mahometans, etc.
Let us give a scientific exposition of the term triangle :

,,

Triangle connotes
:i circumscribed space,
three lines,
three angles.
It denotes
plane triangles,
spherical triangles,
curvilinear triangles.
Plane triangle connotes
a circumscribed space,
three straight lines,
three angles.
It denotes, according to one division, triangles having
no two sides equal - scalene,
.
{ all sides equal - equilateml,
two sides equa1
.
.
not all sides equal - isosceles.
According to another division, based on the difference in
angles instead of the differences in sides, it denotes
triangles having one right angle - right-angled,
no right angle- 5one obtuse angle - obtuse-angled,
oblique-angled ( no obtuse angle - acute-angled.

And likewise with the denotation of spherical and
curvilinear triangles. Make a similar exposition of the
term quadrangle.
It is evident that logical division may often be made
on a number of different principles ; on so great a

132

EXPOSITION.

number in the case of certain broad subjects, such for
instance as mankind, that uo exposition could ever hope.
to exhaust them. Still, an exposition may be considered
complete which, after defining its subject, makes a careful di vision of it on some one principle. It may be
advisable at times to select several, provided always
that each division be complete in itself and there be no
confusion. It would not do to classify newspapers as
weekly, daily, democratic, and independent; for these
divisions not only fail to cover the whole class but they
overlap_ one another.
It doe_it not come within om scope here to undertake
anything of such magnitude as a genuine scientific
treatise. We arc concerned only with learning how to
proceed when such a work is contempbted. Instead
then of writing a regular essay, select a subject which
admits of some flexibility of treatment (note the last
ones in the above list) and prepare an outline indicating
how it may be treated.

EXERCISE XLV.
CRITICISM.

Sub}ccts:

'V ordsworth and Bryant.
Ibsen's Claim to Greatness.
Light Literature.

Realism in Art.
Standards of Eloquence.
Neutrality as a Political Principle.

The critic should bring to his work the utmost fairness of spirit. He should be ready to praise freely
what he finds good as well as to condemn unreservedly

CHITICISM.

133

what he finds bad in the object of his criticism. He
must of cm~rse have certain standards in his own mind.
Others will realize that these standards are personal
and therefore not absolute. It is the critic's plain duty
then to keep these standards as just as may be, and, for
the rest, to judge unflinchingly by them. Thus while
finality of judgment he may not attain, sincerity at
least he can.
Besides impartiality the critic should have a keen
perception and a lively sympathy. This last quality is
perhaps most essential of all. It is the fundamental
principle of the greatest school of modern critics that
the critic shoulcl emleavor to put himself in the place
of the writer and enter into full sympathy with his
work, to look at it from his standpoint, to take fully
into account his motives and objects, and determine how
well he has performed his task and how nearly he ha.s
attained the ideal set before him.
Criticism is exposition, for it is concerned with defining the province of art, letters, philosophy, etc., and
with determining the place of any particular work in
its own province.
One valuable h elp in exposition is the making of
comparisons of all kinds, bringing out similarities and
dissimilarities. This is one of our most common resorts
in the acquisition of all knowledge and therefore not to
·be overlooked here. Just as the artist puts a man at
the base of the pyramid in his picture, or a tree on the
mountain side, or a boat on the river, in order that we
may have a more accurate idea of the respective sizes
of these objects, so the skillful expositor will set before
us familiar things by which to gin~ge and Letter under-

104

EXPOSITION.

sta,nd the unfamiliar. Such comparison will play a
peculiarly large part in criticism, which involves either
establishing standards or judging by them.
For examples read the critical worlrn of Fmnci::;
.f effrey, Matthew Arnold, Professor Dowden, James
Hussel! Lowell, John Huskin. The following is excerpted from Matt.lrnw Arnold's essay On Trm1..slath1g ·
Homer:
Therefore, I say, the translator of Homer should penetrate himself with a sense of the plainness and directness of Homer's style;
of the simplicity with which Homer's thought is evolved and expressed. lie has Pope's fate before his eyes to show him what a
divorce may be created even between the 1nost gifted tra.nslator
and Homer by an artificial evolution of thought and <~ literary
cast of style.
Chapman's style is not artificial and li terary like Pope's, nor
his movement elaborate and self-retarding like the Miltonic movement of Cowper. Jlo is plain-spoken, fresh, vigorous, and, to a
certain degree, rapid ; and all these are Homeric qualities. I
cannot say that I think the movement of his fourteen-syllable line,
which has been so much commended, Homeric; but on this point
I shall have more to say by and by, when I come to speak of Mr.
Newman's exploits. But it is not distinctly anti-Homeric, like
the moveme nt of 1\fil to n's bbnk verse; and it has a rapidity of its
own. Chapman's diction, too, is generally good, tl1at iR, appropriate to Homer; above all, the sy ntactical character of his style
is appropriate. ·with these merits, what prevents his translation
from being a satisfactory version of H omer? Is it rn erely the
want of literal faithfulness to his original, i111posed upon him" it
is said, by the exigencies of rhyme? Has this celebrated version,·
which has so many advantages, no other and deeper defect than
that? Its author is a poet, and a poet, too, of the Elizabethan
age; the golden age of literature, as it is called, and on the whole
truly called; for, whatever be the defects of Elizabethan literature
(and they are great), we have no development of our literature to
compare with it for vig~:n· and richness. This age, too, showed

Ultl'J:lUlS.M.

'

105

what it could do in Lrnu~latiug by producing a masterpiece - its
vP.rsion of the Bible.
Chapma11 '8 translation has ofLen been vrabed as erni11e11l ly
H omeric. Keats's fine sonnet in its honor every one knows; but
1\Pat.s ('()1i11l 110!. nea.J l.hP. ori g in:ll. and th erefore could noL really
judge t he translation. Coleridge, in prni sing Chn.p11rnn 's versiu11,
says at the .same time, "It will g ive you small idea of H omer."
llut the grave :rnthorit.y of Mr. l l:i.llam pro nounces t.l1 is tra11,htion to lie "often exceedingly Homeric"; and iLs latest editor
l1olcllv declares that by what, with a deplorable style, he cal ls
" his. own in native II~meric gen ius," Chapman " has thoroughl y
identified himself with Homer" ; and that "we pardon him even
for his digressions, for they are such as we feel Homer hirnscli
would have written."
I confess that I can never read twenty lines of Chapma11 ';;
version without recurring to Bentley's cry, "This is nut ll o11ter ! "
and that from a deeper cause than a11y u11faithfulness occasioned
by the fetters of rhyme.
I sri.id that there were four things which eminently disti11g11ished H omer, and with a sense of which Ilo111er's trnnslator
should penetrate hi111self as :fully as possible. One of these four
things was, the plainness and directness of H omer's ideas. I
have just b een speaking of the plainness and directness of
his style ; but the plainness and directness of the co ntents
of his style, of his ideas the mselves, is not less remarkable.
nut as eminc11tly as Horner is plai11, so emi11ently is the
Elizabethan li terature in ge nernl, anu Chapnian in lmrticular,
fanciful. . . .
1\Iy limits " ·ill not allow me to do more than shortly illustrnte,
from Clmp111an's version of the Iliad, what I mea11 when I speak
of this vital difference between Horner and an Elizabethan poet
in the qtrnlity of their thought ; between the plain sirnplicity of
the thought of the one, and t he curious co mplexity of the thought
of the other. As in Pope's case, I carefully abstain from choosing
passages for the ex press purpose of m aking Chapman appear
ridiculous ; Chapman, like Pope, merits in himself all respect,
though he too, like Pope, fails to render Homer.

~\

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"I

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1

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136

EXPOSITION.

In that tonic speech of Sarpedon, of which I have said so
much, Homer, you may remember, has : "if indeed, but once this battle avoided,
We were forever to live without growing old and immortal."
Chapman cannot be satisfied with this, but must add a fancy to
it:" if keeping back
Would keep back ago from us, am! death, and that we might not wrack
In this life's lmman sea at all ";

SECTION II.-ARGUNIENTATION.

EXERCISE XL VI.

and so 011. Again: "For well I know this in my 111ind and in
rny heart, the day will be when sacred Troy shall perish." CJ1 apma11 makes this : -

ARGUJ\lENT FROl\I SELF-EVIDENT FACTS.

"And such a stormy day shall come, in mind and soul I know,
When sacred Troy shall shed her towers, for tears of overthrow."

G roundlcssness of Popular Superstitions.

I might go on forev er, but I could not give you a better illustration than this last, of what I mean by saying that the Elizabethan
poet fails to render Homer because he cannot forbear to interpose
a play of thought between his object and its expression. Chapman translates his object into Elizabethan, as Pope translates it
into the Augustan of Queen Anne; both convey it to us through
a medium. Homer, on the other hand, secs his object and conveys it to us immediately.

St.l bject:

Belief, n,s we commonly understand the term, is not
knowledge. If we could not have the first without the
second, considering how very deficient we 11re in the
second, we should be in a deplorable stn.te. For it
certainly is well for the average man that he should
believe something in order that he may be able to decide rmd a,ct at all. It is even an open question whether:
it is not better for the most of us tlmt we should believe
what is actua,lly false rather than be in continual harassing doubt. But when knowledge and belief shall be
co-extensive, if that time ever comes ; when we shall
positively know to be true all that we believe to Lie
true ; then we shall have reached an ideal sta,te. No
less than this 11re the broad scope and the high purpose
of argumentation.
Exposition, we have seen, is concerned with what
thin as are - that is, with truth embodied in facts and
"'
relations.
Argumentation goes a step farther. It not

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138

AlW UMENTATION.

only seeks to discover truth and impart a knowledge of
it, but it further insists that this truth is truth, and
strives to enforce a knowledge of it and thus inspire an
active belief in it. - Men adopt beliefs on the strength
of prejudices or of insufficient knowledge. They even
come to believe things because they have desired to believe them. These beliefs become second nature and
are clung to with a pertinacity which even the di::-;clmmre
of truth itself sometimes seems unavailing to remove.
If it were not so, if men withheld belief until knowledge
came, and rested it on that alone, there would lie no
need for argumentation as we have defined it. Simple
exposition would suffice. Exposition is addressed to
ignorance which needs enlightenment. Argumentation
is addressed to error which needs correction. Argumentation exposes the false as well as the true. It strives
to overcome prejudice. Its purpose is thus twofold: it
knocks down old error in order to set up new truth.
"To err is human." The obverse of every advance
toward higher wisdom is a deeper sense of the prevalence not only of ignorance but of actual error, until it
may well-nigh seem that error is of indigenous growth ·
among men. For it flourishes even in the pre::-;ence of
the most evident and incontrovertible fact::;. -Where
this is the case, argument may indeed seem of little
avail, for all argument must rest immecli~Ltely or ultimately on facts. If a Brother Jasper declares that the
earth is flat and "the sun do move," how shall you
convince him of the contrary? The gambler may
change his cards a dozen times without succeeding in ·
changing his luck, yet, declaring his belief in the
charm, will change them the thirteenth time. There is

AltGU.MENT BY CAREFUL EXPOSITION.

139

little encouragement for one to try to meet such obstinacy and such utter disregard of reason by any appeal
to facts. Still we make the attempt, and we shoultl
make it too without any resort to rilliculc nntil kindness
and forbearance lmve proved unavailing.
Take some of the superstitions of the <hy rtml Llertl
• with them in the light of facts that are accessible and
evident to all. Much the srtme subject was proposed
in the section clevoterl to exposition. But the intention
there was merely to ferret out and explain these superstitions and treat of them in a desultory but entertaining
style; the object here is to deal with them rigo~·ously
and inquiringly, and to show that they are without
gtouncl in easily observable facts.

EXERCISE XLVII.
ARGUMENT BY CAREFUL EXPOSITION.

SubJect:
Selfishness the Mainspring of Human Action.

Many an error ]ms rtrisen and been perpetuat.ed
merely through a misunderstanding of the terms mvolved, clue either to ignorance of the facts or to a
misinterpretation of them. And mrtny an unpleasant
dispute may be avoided if the disputants will only
take the trouble at first to make sure that they have
a like understanding of the terms in the question, and
that they ·are approaching it from the same point of
view. One person declares that a piece of metal is

..

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140

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ARGUlliENTATION.

warm to the touch and another declares that it is cold.
They only need to have explained to them that warm
and cold are relative terms, and they will understand
how both assertions may be right. There is the old
story of a dispute over a sign-board which one person
declared to be reJ and another, blue. Had some one
suggested that a sign-board has two sides, further t
trouble might have been saved. Is interest on money,
usury? is the taking of interest, extortion'? It was
held so once, but a clear exposition of the nature of
money and of interest has reversed the opinion. Is
money, capital? Well, what do we mean by money,
and what do we mean by capital? A clear definition
of these terms is about all that is needed. The logical
process by which the question will then be answered
is so simple that it scarcely needs elucidation.
When we find people disposed to argue about things
they do not comprehend, or to make declarations of
truths when they do not underntand the things which
the truths concern, it is evident that we shall have to
meet them with simple but forcible exposition. Take
the old question: When a cart is moving forward does
the uppermost portion of the tire of a wheel move
faster than the portion on the ground? Put the
question to your friends and see how they will argue
it. They will never come to an agreement, or at least
will not arrive at a correct conclusion, until they settle
the meaning of the terms motion and velocity. Is the
one absolute or relative? Is the other calculated from
some point absolutely at rest or not? Relatively to
the axle, both points are moving with ·the same
velocity. Relatively to the earth, the motion of the

ARGUJ\1ENT BY CAREFUL EXPOSITION.

141

axle may accelerate the velocity of one portion and
retard that of another, and so on. Similar is the
question Can a man walk around a monkey when the
monkey 'keeps turning so as to face the man? The
only argument necessary is the determination of what
is meant by "going around."
Enough has been said perhaps to impress the n~­
cessity of first of all clearly defining terms. Tlus
necessity is fully apparent in many of the larger
questions of the day. In a current number of the
Educational R eview rtppears an article by Brander
Matthews, entitled Can English Literature Be Taught?
Much of the article is taken up with an exposition of
the term teaching, and we quote from that portion as
follows:
One thing more an American discovers in reading 1\fr. C?llins's
pages, and the discovery thus made is confirmed by readrng the
reviews which the book has h ad in the British journals- and
this is that the custom of examining for honors has obtained so
long in Great Britain, and has Leen carried to such extremes that
a confusion has arisen between the end and the means. In other
words British wTiters on education, like Mr. Collins, and like
Mr. ~ndrew Lang, who reviewed Mr. Collins's book in t he
Illustrated London N e111.< , seem no longer able to distinguish
between teaching and examining. 'Vhen Mr. Collins asks th_e
question which stands at the head of this pap.er. and answer~ it
in the afftrmative, and when Mr. Lang answers 1t m the negative,
both of them interpret the question to mean " Can English literature be exami ned on?"
This insistence on examinations, this substitution of one of
the instruments of teaching for the teaching itself, this exaltation of the me.ans above the end, has apparently the same
result in the universities of England that it h as in the public
schools of New York City. A strict application of the marking
system is little likely to encoUJ·age culture either in a university

I

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142
or in a public school.
breadth . . . .

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ARGUl\IBNTATION.

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INDUCTIVE REASONING.

143

Narrowness is more easily produced than

Having in his mind the confusion between teachin g and examining which has befogged the whole disc ussion of the question in
England, Mr. E. A. Freeman, the historian, declared against any
university teaching of English literature. Mr. Collins qnotes
Mr. Freeman as writing, "there are many things fit for a ma11's
personal stndy which are not fit for university examinations. One
of tl1ese is lit.ernt;11rc." That literature " culti vates the taste,
etlucat;es the syrnpathi r.s, enlarges the rniml," Mr. Freeman makes
no attempt to de ny ; "only we cannot examine in tastes a nd
sympathi es," is his reply. Now, if this proves anything, it proves
too much. It; is an argument, not against teaching English liter--vature only, but against teaching Latin li terature allCl Greek literature. llut Mr. Freeman and those who hold with him have not
yet suggested that the universities of Oxford a11d Cambridge
sl1ou l1l give up the teaching of Greek literature.
There is indeed a difference between t;he teaching of English
li terature and the teaching of Greek li ter ature. The texts of the
great Greek authors, like the texts of the g reat English a11Lhors,
may serve for grammatical instruction and for mere ling nis tic
drill ; or they m ay, t.l1e ancient as well as the modern, he used
to cultivate the t;aste, erluca.te the sympathy, and enlarge the
mind.

Such exposition differs little from exposition pure
and simple. Only, it may be rna<le more forcibl~,
considering that it is the handmaid of argument, that
it is intended to clear away error as well as enlighten
ignorance, that it deals not only with truth as concreted in isolated facts, but also with larger truths as
expressive of complex relation::; between those facw.
It may be well to begin this exercise with the argument of some such simple questions as those alluded
to above. The subject offered at the head of the
exercise will entail a somewhat abstruse discussion of
the term seljisliness.

EXERCISE XL VIII.
INDUCTIVE REASONING.
Suld!Jcts:

Ts the LoYe of l\foney the !loot o[ All EYi l ?- 1 Tim. vi : 11 1.
Sti IJ IV :ttern H.11 n D~ep.
H eat Expa111.ls :t1Hl Cokl Cont.rncf·.R.
Undne Glorificat.io11 of SeH-made Men.
The Virtues of Cold \Yater as a Universal Beverage.
\Vlmtever I s, Js Right.

Allusion has been ma<le to the fact that many· errors
are prevalent which :t simple appeal to fact..;; is sufficient
to expose. J£ people examined facts in t_J1c first place,
or at any rate examined large numbern of facts, before
L11 ey ventured upon Lroad general statcme~1ts, tl:ey
would be saved from many of these errors. fhe chfficulty in the majority of cases is that the process of
inductive reasoning has been too hasty or ebe there
li as been no such reasoning at all. Perhaps the appearance of a comet in the h eavens is accompanied or
followed by some grea.t national or other catastrophe
on earth. The thoughtless man does not stop to conRider that this may be a mere chance coincidence, but
assumes t hat there must be some vital connection between the two events, ancl immediately upon the appearance of anoLhcr comet co nfiLlenLly predicts a sim.ilar disaster. The thoughtful man on the contrary is
not so ready to assume this connection, but waits to
see if the coincidence will be observed a second and a
third and a tenth time before he will express even a

I"

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.

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ARGIDiENTATION.

provisional op1mon. He is the inductive reasoner.
He recognizes that one instance is not sufficient to
prove the existence of a law; that laws are arrived at
only by long observation and careful comparison.
Perhaps on no subject are men so prone to generalize
on the strength of a few insta n ces as on the subject
of weather, and so we have numberless "weather
signs." If the sun shines on a certain day known as
"ground-hog day," spring will not open for six weeks.
If it rains on Easter Sunday it will rain every Sunday
thereafter for seven weeks. "A green Christmas, a
white Easter," etc., etc. But th e majority of such
statements express probabilities only, not laws. Many
of them are even counter to probability. Some one
has observed them to be true once or twi ce and taken
the rest for demonstrated. To prove their unreliability as general statements we have only to extend the
series of observations. A dozen concordant observations
do not definitively prove; one discordant one disproves.
Bearing in mind this last truth, it is usually not
very diffi cult to expose an error which has grown out
of imperfect induction. It requires only the same
appeal to facts upon which we relied in the last exflrcise but one. With this clifference, l1oweve r: the kind
of error alluded to in that exercise was clue to a
thoughtless or willful disregard of facts; the kind of .
error alluded t.o here has a certain show of truth because it seems to be supported by facts, the only difficulty being that it is supported by too few of them.
The refutation of this h :;t may require an acuteness of
perception or lt patience in investigation not possessed
by many, or it mn.y depend on some fortunate discovery

INDUCTIVE REASONING.

145

of one invalidating instance among a host of corroborative ones.
Expose if you can any fallacy expressed or implied
in the subjects for discussion offered at the head of
this exercise.
EXERCISE XLIX.
INDUC TIVE REASONING (CONTINUED) .

Subjects:
All Dream Images Derived Solely fro m ' ·\Taking Sensations.
Son1e Relations between Animals and Plants in the Struggle for
E xistence.

The kind of argument contemplated in the last exercise was destru ctive, not constructive. That is, it was
clevotecl to the overthrow of errors that may lmve arisen
from imperfect induction - a matter, we foulld, often
not difficult. The opposite process, like most constructive processes, is not so simple. But let us, if
possible, get a clear idea of what induction is, before
we attempt to establish any truth by it.
W e expose a pi ece of o:tk wooll to :t l1 a111e ; it catches
fire . 'v\T e try a piece of hickory, with :t similar res ult.
W e try ash, maple, pine, nmli ogany ; in every case the
same phenomenon resul ts- ignition . vVe co nclude that
wood is ignitiLle. vVe :mLjcct golt1, sil vcr, iron, lead,
bismuth, platinum, to heat; all mel t at some temperature or other. vVe say, metals are fusibl e. This is inductive reasoning . Logical imluction tl1en is Lhe process
of Lliscovering general laws - laws which will be found

- ·146

\_

INDUCTIVE REASONING.

ARGUMENTATION.

true throughouL entire classes of particulars. These
laws are reached only by earefully examinino- and com1
paring large numbers of particul~r instances~
How can we be sure that because twenty metals are
fusible, a twenty-first will be? How can we be sure
that the laws anive<l at by this irnluctive process will
hold trne in cases not yet examined? vV e can not be
sure. An<l herein lies the difference between perfect
and imperfect induction. \Vhere all the 8 imibr cases
~hat c~n po~sibly ex ist have been examined, then only
is the mduct10n perfect an<l the truth anived at etemally
secure. It may Le uuassailably true that every state in
the Uni~ed States has a divorce law; it is by no means
so certam that every citizen of the United States advocates a divorce law of some kind. So soon as we resort
to imperfect induction we render ourselves liable to
er~·or.. Not only ignorant weather prophets but great
scientists and philosophers often go astray here. For a
long time astronomers felt practically certain that all the
satellites in our system revolved about their planets in the
same ~irec tion. But satellites of Uranus an<l Neptune
were discovered which revolved in the opposite direction.
And yet we make use of imperfect induction. The
great majority of our so-called general trnths are founded
upon it. Rarely are all the particular instances within
our reach. They lie be)ron<l us, in the future, out in
the universe, we know not where. Nevertheless, we
venture to make general assertions in regard to them
on the strength of the instances within our rcn,ch. vVe
do so because we know we may be right, n,nd because
we want some anchorage, even though a temporary one,
among the shifting sands of doubt. Scientific in<luetion

'

147

including imperfect induction, is both a legitimate and a
valuable means for the extension of knowledge. It is more
than that. According to some philosophers it is the only
process of reasoning that furnishes us with knowledge
at all, n.nd all our knowledge is ultimately clue to it.
When the investigation that precedes inductive inference, whether in the world of matter or in the world of
thought, is given in detail together with the results and
the inferred generalizations, we have one kind of argumentation. Such is our object here : to draw from an
array of particular facts a general law or truth, and to
present the whole in as convincing a form as may be.
The greatest work that has yet been clone in the field
of modern science owes its value to the long and patient
investiga,tion of facts which preceded every theory the
investigator ventured to propound. Note what Darwin
says in the introduction to his Origin of Species:
'Vhen on board H. M. S. "Beagle," as naturalist, I wa.s much
struck with certain facts in the distribution of the organic beings
inhahiting South A mcrica, and in the geological relations of the
present to the past inhal.Jitants of that continent. These facts, as
will be seen in the latter chapters of this volume, seemed to throw
some light on the origin of species - that mystery of mysteries, as
it has been called by one of our greatest philosophers. On my
return home, it occurred to me, in 1837, that something might
perhaps be made out on this question by patiently accumulating
and reflecting on all sorts of facts which could possibly have any
bearing on it. After five years' work I allowed myself to speculate
on the subject, and drew up some short notes ; these I enlarged
in 1844 into a sketch of the conclusions, which then seemed to me
probable : from that period to the present day I have steadily
pursued the same object. I hope that I may be excused for entering on these personal details, as I have given them to show that
I have not been hasty in coming to a decision.

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148

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DEDUCTIVE REASONING.

ARGUMENTATION .

As an example of the investigator's methods, bearing
on one of the subjects given above, read the · following
from the same book :
·
I am tempted to give one more instance showing lww plants
and animals, remote in the scale of nature, are bound .together by
a web of complex relations. I shall hereafter have occasion to
show that t he exotic Lobclia fol gens is never visited in rn y ganlc11
by i11sects, a1ul eo nseq nent!y, from its peenliar sLructure, 11evc r
sets a seed . Nearly all our orchidaceous plan ts absolu tely require
the visits of insects to ren1ove their pollen-masses and thus to fertilize them. I fi11cl from experiment that humble-bees a·re almost
indispensable to the fertilization of the heartsease (Viola tricolor),
for other bees do not visit this flowe r. I have also found that tl1 e
visits of bees are necessary for the ferti lization of some kinds of
clover : for instance, 20 heads of Dutch clover (Trifolium repenR)
yielded 2200 seeds, but 20 other heads protected from bees
produced not one. Again, 100 heads of reel clover (T. pratense)
produced 2700 seeds, but the same number of protected heads prod11cecl not a si11glc seed. Humble-bees alone visit red r.lover, as
other bees cmmot reach the nectar. It has been suggested tlmt
moths may fe rtili;-.e the clovers; but I doubt whether they could
do so in the case of the red clover, from their weight not being
sufficient to de)Jress the wing-petals. H ence we may infer as highly
probable that, if the whole genus of humble-bees became extinct
or very rare in EnglaHLl, Lhe hcartseaRe and red clover would become very rnre, or wholly disappear. The 1mmber oI hum ble-bees
in any rlistrict Lle11e ncls in a great llle<tsure on the numLer of fielclmice, wl1ieh destroy their co111hs a,1111 nrstR; a11d Col. Ncw111a11 ,
who has Jo11g attendefl to the habits of hu111ble-hees, licliev1-'s that
"rnore than two-Lhinls of tlwm :we thus des troyed all over England." Now thn 1111ml>Pr of mice is larg.-~ly d cpe111k11i., :1H every
one knows, on th e 11umher of r.:ttf:; anrl Col. New 1na11 Ray~," Nea r
villages and small towns I have found thr: nes L~ or l11111i11lP-l1P•»<
more 11u111ero us than elsewhere, which I attribute to Lhe 11umher
of ca.Ls that destroy the mice." Hence it is quite credible that the
presence of a foliue animal in large numbers i11 a district might

149

?f

determine, thro ngh the in tervention first
1~ice and then of bees,
the frequency of certain flowers in that d1stnct I

A few lines, further on, will give a hint of work still
to be clone in a direction in which the student may get
interesting results well worth recording :
The difference in the length of the corolla in the two kinds of
clover, which determines the visits of the 11ivc-bec, must be very
trifling; fo r I ] 1:we bee n assured that when reel ~lov~r has. h.ecn
w 11 the flow ers of the second crop are so mewh.1t s111allei, .iml
111 0
'
. .
are v1s1tecl
by many h'ive-b ees.. I do not h' 1ow whether
tlrnt these
this statern ent is accurate ; nor whether another published .sta~
rn ent can be trusted, namely, that the Ligurian bee, which is
generally considered it mere variety of the common l~i v.e-bee, '.11.H:
which freely crosses with it, is able to reach and suck the ned,it
of the red clover.

In the treatment of the first subject given above,
make · a, record of your dreams, tracing everything . in
them as far as possible to some experience or impression
of waking life . Appeal <Liso to the experience of your
friends.

EXERCISE L.
]) Em rCTlVE REASONTNf~.
S11l~j1 ;i:ts:

:)h;1ke~pean ' Lite l'ro<l11 cL of 11 i" A~"·

.
_
An J<::irly Cha.n fiC in th e (;ovcrnme11t, of H.rn" 1:1 111<'\'il.:d•k
I-: cas<JllS.\\·liy JI 11 111 ;i11 Sl:in:ry sl 1onl<l 11 ut. Le T ulcr:1Lcd.
Tl w ::-;11cc..-·~ s f 1 1 l i\I :i.11.
J oh 11 Brown, llern .

There is a proce::>s
· li we
tlmt wit1l vv Iuc

()f

(T
re<LSOlll 11"'

]1,..' ve IJcc 11

.1·1ts·L tl1c reverse o[

lle<Lli11g.
~

Given

t.lH;

~!
i!'

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152

AH.GUM.E NTATlON.

Take the following arguments, supply the missing
premises, and construct complete syllogisms:
Blessed are the merciful : for they shall obLain mercy. Jlfau. v: 7.

Pove rty is a great enemy to huma n h appiness ; it certainly
destroys liberty. - "'Willia m Mathews.
It is true, no doubt, that a man's immediate a ncestors must be
supposed to have moRt influe nce on his characte r, and Lhat
Byro11 's im med iaLe a.11c(~sf;ors were far from being <] uief·,, respectable people. - W. Min Lo.

In writing an essay of this kin<l remember t hat the
conclusion may be reached through a long series of
deductions. A void, in general, the formal syllogism.
F ollow any order. For example, you nrny tell what
John Drown did and then show that such actions, by
whomsoever performed, are esseutia1ly heroic ; or you
may begin by defining heroism and then show that
J olm Brown's actions partook of its characteristics.
The argument for the downfall of monarchy may be
based on the growing love of freedom and the grertter
comage in the assertion of individual rights. The
whole process is simply this: we go back to broad
truths and then make a special application of them.
1
_,,,
Read t he following inquiry into the cause of the
popularity of C%ilde Harold, by William Minto, E11r
cyclopa!dia Britannica :
It has often been asked what was the cause of the instantaneous
and wide-spread popul arity of Childe Harold, which Byron himself
so well expressed in the saying, "I awoke one mornin g and found
m yself famo us." Chief a mong t he second:iry causes was the warm
sympathy between the poet an·d his readers, the direct in terest of
his theme for the tim e. In the spring of 1812 England was in
the very crisis of a struggle for existence. It was just before

DEDU CTlVE

Rl~ASONING.

153

Napoleon set out for Moscow. An English army was standin g
on the defensive in PorL11gal, with difficulty holding il.s own; t he
1iation was tre mbl ing for its safety. The dreaded Bonaparte's
11ext movement was uncerLain; it was feared t l1at it might he
ag;1inst our owu shores. Rumor was Lusy with alanns. All
through the country men were ar ming and drilling fo r self-defence.
T he heart of England was beating hi g h with patriotic resol11tio11.
\ \That were om poets doing in the midst of all (.his? Scot.t-.,
t hen at the head of the t un ef ul lirot.hcrhood in popnlar favor, was
celebrnting the ex pl oits or " TilJia111 of Dcloraine and l\larrnion .
. .. Southey was flouml erin g in the dim sea of Hindu mythology.
lfogers was co nte nt wil.h his Pleasures of 1lfc111.ur!f . . • • l\Ioore
confined hilll sc lf Lo politi cal squibs and wanton little lays fo r t he
boudoir. It was 110 wonder that, when at last a poet did appear
whose i 111p11l ses were not merely literary, who felt in what century
he was living, whose artisLic creations were throbbing with t he
life of his own age, a crowd at once gathered to hear t he new
singer. T here was not rt parish in Great B ri tai n in which t here
was not so me househokl that lrnd a direct perso na l inf;e res t in the
sceue of t he p il gri m's Lravels - " some friend, so me brother there."
The effect was not co11 fined to E ngla nd ; Byron a t once h;1d all
Europe as his a udience, because he spoke to them on a theme in
which they were all deeply concerned. He spoke to them, too, in
language which was not merely a naked expression of their most
intense feelings; the spell by which he held th em was all the
stronger that he lilted them with the irresistible power of his
song above the passing a nxieties of the moment. Loose and
rambling as Childe Harold is, it yet had for the t ime an unconscious art; it entered the absorbing tumult of a hot and feverish
struggle, and opened a way in the dark clouds gathering over th e
combatants t hrough which they could see t he blue vault and the
shining stars .. . . In that terrible time of change, when every
state in Europe was shaken to its foundati on, there was a profound
meaning in placing b efore men's eyes t he departed greatness of
Greece; it rounded off the troubled scene with dramatic propriety.
Even the mournful scepticism of Childe Harold was not resented
a t a time when it lay at the root of every heart to ask, Is there a
God in heaven to see such desolation, and withhold His hand?

154

ARGUlliENTATION.

EXERCISE LI.
DEDUCTIVE REASONING (CONTINUED).

Subjects:
Fallacies of Democracy.

The l\falthusian Doctrine.

Mistakes of Epicurus.

Let us consider some methods of overthrowing
arguments founded on deductive reasoning. We have
already noticed that there are two possibilities of error
because the conclusion must be drawn from two premises
either one of which may be wrong. The premises therefore need close scrutiny first of all. But there is still
a third possibility of error, even granting that the
premises are correct : - an unwarrantable conclusion
may be drawn. We said that the deductive process is
an absolutely correct one. So it is. So are many
mathematical processes - the process for instance by
which we extract the cube root of numbers. But
nevertheless we sometimes make mistakes in following
out the process and so arrive at incorrect results. In
many a deductive argument, if we go over it carefully,
we shall find that there has been a mistake in the process.
Suppose we say
All wood is ignil;ihlo;
llickory is iguitiule;
Therefore hickory is wood.

Are the premises correct? Yes. Is the conclusion
correct? Yes. But is the process, the deduction,

DEDUCTIVE REASONING.

155

correct? No. The conclusion therefore is unwarranted
and not to be depended upon. As a statement it may
chance to be correct (as in this instance), but it is not
a correct conclusion to draw, for by the same process a
very incorrect conclusion may be arrived at, thus:
All wood is ignitible ;
Gas is iguitible ;
Therefore gas is wood.

The difficulty is that we have not denied that other
things besides wood may also be ignitible. We have
said notbirg whatever about all ignitible things and
therefore we are not warranted in saying anything
wlrn.tever about any one of them. We have, however,
s~iid something about all woods, and we can therefore
draw a conclusion about any particular wood, thus :
All wood is ignitible ;
Hickory is wood ;
Therefore hickory is ignitible.

And this will be found correct in every particular.
Examine the following arguments for fallacies, and
if possible make correct syllogisms of them :
Induction is a process of reasoning ;
Induction furnishes us with knowledge ;
Therefore processes of reasoning furni sh us with knowl edge.
Induction is the only process of reasoning that furnishes us with
knowledge ;
Therefore, all our knowledge is due to induction.
All liquids are vaporizable ;
Gold is not a liquid ;
Therefore gold is not vaporizable.

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156

ARGUMENTATION.

Nothing is better than wisdom;
Bread is better than nothing ;
Therefore, bread is better than wisdom.

It is no part of our work here to exmnine the various
fallacies of reasoning and distinguish them and give
them names. Tlmt belongs to logic. It must suffice
for us to recognize the fact that they exist in many disguises, and to be on our guarcl against them, both in
ourselves and in others. After all, they invariably do
violence to the axiomatic tr~ths which lie at the founelation of all reason, anc1 every man ' s ''common sense "
will generally be sufficient to detect them.
In this exercise our object again is rather destructive
-to expose the fallacy of an argument that involves false
deduction. It may be as good practice as any to attempt ·
to overthrow some of the arguments advanced on subjects
in the last exercise, to show that John Brown was not
a hero, or that slavery is an institution to be upheld.
These are questions with two sides, and it may well be
that fallacies can be detected in the arguments advanced
on one side. Or take one of the other subjects. Suppose it has been represented that the era of peace
supervening after the crisis of some great political or
religious strife fosters the development of literary
genius; that the age of Queen Elizabeth was such an
an era in the national history of England ; that Shakespeare lived in that age ; that his genius was of the
highest order ; that the genius of Shakespeare was
therefore the product of his time. If this argument is
closely examined it will be found fallacious m several
points.

.

--· -- - - ----------------~~

EVIDENCE.

157

EXERCISE LIL
EVIDENCE.

Subjects:
The Character o[ Columbus.
'Vas the Assassinator of President Garfield Insane?
Evidence for or a.gai11st a Belief in RlialJllomancy; Spiritualisn1 ;
Conservation of Energy ; Inoculation for Disease.

Evidence is a general name for everything that is
ackluced to corroborate a fact or support a thesis. It
may be material objects, such as are often exhibited in
trials before courts of law. It may be oral or written
testimony of witnesses. It nuiy be a combi11ation of
circumstances that seem to admit of only one explanation. It may be an expression of opinion by some one
who is an expert in the matter under discussion and
whose words therefore carry weight. All of these may
be elaborated into an argument which may be deemed
by the hearer or reader to establish conclusive proof.
But the evidence in itself is not necessarily proof.
Each of these kinds of evidence ·will ha.ve a different force and validity, which must be taken into
account. For instance, what is called in law "circumstantial evidence" may be exceedingly strong and
convincing, and yet many a conclusion drawn from it
has afterward been found wrong. The value of verbal
testin~ony depends very much on the intelligence, moral
character, and disinterestedness of the witness who
offers it. Authority, or the judgment of experts in
matters of opinion, will vary greatly in value.

158

159

AlW UMENTATCON.

DEBATE.

Take the matter of testimony. What can be better
t han the truthful testimony of an unprejudiced eyewitness? And yet our eyes, and all our senses, are
continually deceiving us. A child ridin g on a train
fancies that the fences are flying past him ; a man of
wide experience and matured judgment often finds it
difficult to determine whether or not a train is moving,
past which he is being carried on another train. Clouds
r-;eem to be moving in opposite directions when in reality
one stratum is simply moving foster than another in th e
i:mme direction. An object is blue, green, or even red,
to different people. The same man is described by one
person as tall, by another as of medium stature ; one
says his eyes are black, another that they are brown.
And all of these witnesses may feel confident that they
are telling the truth. Evidence, we repeat, even the'
best of evidence, is not proof. H ence the n ecessity of
bringing to bear every scrap of evidence obtainable.
The weaving of it into a strong mesh of proof exercises
the highest skill of the philosopher, the historian, the
scientific demonstrator, the legal advocate. In short,
it is the utilization of all the resources of argument.
It will be noticed that the subjects offered thus far
have often been put in the form of questions. There
are several good reasons for this. The reader will understand at once that the paper is to be argumentative
and that the question is an unsettled one in the minds
of many people. The interr ogative form, too, seems to
promise greater fairness of treatment on the writer's
part. His answer may be an unqualified . Yes or No,
but he assumes to start at least from a neutra,l standpoint and with a spirit of sincere inquiry. The result

is that the reader's interest is aroused at once, his attention to the arguments is more willingly gi veu, and his
concurrence with the results more ready.
So far as it is possible in these exercises, argue local
questions. Has there bee n a fire in your neighborhood
recently which was suspected to be of incendiary origin?
Is there a suspicion tlrnt the late acts of vandalism on
the school grounds wer.e committed by persons not connected with the school/ F erret out all the evidence
you can and prese nt it in a, convincing form.

EXERCISE LIU.
DEBATE.

Q11cst,ions of Fact:

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ll esolved, That there was a pre-Columbian Discovery of America.
That the Ameri can Indians are Descended from the
]\fo und Builders.
Thtit Lord Bacon 'Vrote the 'Vorks Attributed to
Shakespeare.
That Crim e Increases with Civilization.
That Earthquakes are Caused by the Cooling aud Contraction of the E arth's Crust.

Debate is argumentation on both or all sides of a
question, usually conducted by two or more persons,
each of whom represents one side . It is presumably
the best way of arriving at truth and settling unsettled
questions. It has often been skeptically remarked that
debate convinces nobody. This is true only of those
who will not see, of whom it has been said that there

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ARGUMENTATION.

DEBATE.

are none so blind. Daily does it become more and more
evident that among intelligent, fair-minded men and
women debate is a valuable means for the formation of
opinions. When one argues a question alone; from his
own point of view, he should of course try to concede
everything that may be said from the opposite point of
view. But it is not likely that he will find so much to
say on the other side nor support it so strongly as one
whose convictions lie on that side. Hence the advantage of having several parties to the discussion. They
may not succeed in convincing one another, but they
will certainly help an unprejudiced non-participator to
a conviction.
While debates are commonly oral, as in debating
societies, political, educational, and religious gatherings,
law courts, parliamentary sessions, etc., they are by no
means always so. Many are to be found in our magazines of a certain class, Tlie North American R eview,
Populm· Science Monthly, Forwm, Arena. It natmally
devolves on the one who opens the debate to clear the
ground by stating the question in full, with all necessary
amplification, exposition of terms, proposed limitations,
etc. His arguments, too, will be constructive and positive. Of course he is at liberty to anticipate counter
arguments, objections and refu ta,tions. Such a course
will tend to weaken the force of those arguments when
they are brought forward by an opponent. On the
other hand, there is the risk that it may be only so
much wasted energy, for an opponent may choose not
to advance the argument or objec tion at all, though if he
does this simply because he feels that its force has been
already weakened, the energy can hardly b(;l considered

wasted. The duty of those who follow the first speaker
or writer is, primarily, to refute the n.rguments advanced
by the other side ; and, secondarily, to establish the
contrary. This ln.tter is not always considered essential;
it depends somewhat on the purpose of the discussion
and the form in which the question is stated.
As to the form of the so-called "question," it is
usually a declarative proposition and not an interrogation. Thi:; makes it ea:;ier to distinguish clearly
l>etween the affirmative and negative sides, the one
affinning the tmth of the proposition, the oLher denying it. The lmnlen of proof lies with the affirmative.
Three courses are open to the negn.tive. The simplest
one is merely to attempt to refute all the arguments
offered in support and so leave the statement unproved.
Or one may a.ttack the statement iti::ielf, and, if possible,
show it to 1e false, thus disproving it. The third
course is to maintain the truth of some contrary proposition. This last i:; pmctically opening a new question and arguing on the affirmative side of it, - a
question however which, proved, disproves the first.
All three of these co urses may be adopted in the same
argument, though there is alway:; more or less <ln.nger
in attempting to prove too much.
The question is not only usually declarative in form,
it should be put positively, - that is, it should not
contain a ncgati ve, for this is apt to lead to comparison
Le tween the terms "affirmative side" and "negative
side." Thus, instead of saying Resolved, That Prohibition does not Prohibit, or Resolved, That Prohibition is a Failure, cast it in some such form as tl1is, Resolved, That ProhiLiLory Laws can be and arc Enforced.

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DEBATE.

ARGUMENTATION.

The questions offered for debate in this exercise are
questions of fact. They must be argued by references
to observation and experience, by appeals to historical
records, to statistics, and the like. The writers on the
negative side should be furnished, if not with the entire
paper, at least with an outline of the arguments of the
affirmative side. Merely as practice in dialectics and
as a help toward attaining the philosophical attitude of
fairness and tolerance, it will be found profitable occasionally to defend a side which you do not really believe
in. But the most effective work will al ways be clone
in defense of the cause you cherish.
Here again select questions of local arnl present interest if possible.

EXEHCISE LIV.
DEBATE

(CONTINUF.D).

Questions of Opinion:
R esolved, That Benedi ct Arnold's Action at West Point was Excusable.
That More Restrictive Immigration Laws would be to
the Best Interest of the United States.
That Beauty is Its Own Excuse for Being.
That Vivisection is Justifiable.
That the Pro8perity of Our Government is Th reatened
more by Centralization than by Disintegration.

Vast numbers of q nestions of fact remain unsettled,
- historical, geographical, astronomical, biological. So
long as they are admittedly unsettled they are subjects
for investigation and not for argumentation. It is only

163

when they have been considered settled by some ·while
others dissent, or by all until someth in g is discovered
which reopens the question, that there is occasion for
debating them. For then there will be strong arguments to meet <t1td prejudices to overcome. · The Swiss,
for example, are loth to let the story of William Tell's
heroism be relegated from the authenticity of history
to the obscurity of myth and legend. And Kopernik
and his followers had need to argue, and to argue per~
sistently, before they could hope that the world would
give up the Ptolemaic theory of the universe.
But after all, the great majority of debates center
about matters of opinion, questions not of what things
are but of what they ought to be, questions of good or
bad, of right or wrong, of prudence and expediency.
Shall a college student be allowed to elect his studies?
Shall a public man be judged by his private life? Is
democracy a sound political principle? Is a lie ever
justifiable? Is there any absolute standard of morality?
These are the questions that continually exercise us
and call forth all our resources for attack and defense.
There is nothing so provocative of debate as the knowledge that some one holds an opinion at variance ·with
our own. vV e even dispute about tastes in spite of
the old inhibition, which has a grain of sound sense
back of it.
Let us admit that debate on matters of opinion is all
right. Uniformity, among all individuals, of capabilities, acquirements, and tastes, would be no more desirable than uniformity in facial features and expression.
But harmony of sentiment in such matters as we have
alluded to above is in the main desirable. To bring

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AHGUMENTATION.

DEBATE.

about this harmony should be the praiseworthy object
of all debate.
Debaters must be particularly on their guard here
against a danger which has already been pointed out
(Exercise XL VII.) -that of beginning with a misunderstanding of terms. In questions of fact or of the
relations between facts this danger hardly exists ; but
in questions of the relations that do or should exist
between concepts we have to deal with terms of a much
more indefinite character and therefore much less likely
to be clearly understood. It is of the utmost importance that any obscmitics on this point be first removed.
Besides this danger there is a difficulty often met
with on the very threshold of these discussions - due
to what may be styled the personal equation. It
consists, not in a misunderstanding of the terms involved, but in a difference of understanding or even a
radical disagreement in regard to their meaning. The
same word may mean one thing to you and another to
me, or wlmt you may call by one name I may prefer to
call by a very different name. This is due to many
things,-tlifferent training, different standards, different
beliefs. If such a disagreement exists at the very
starting-point and is not recognized, the discussion is
bound to be unfruitful. It would manifestly be useless
for two persons to debiite upon the question of C::esar's
patriotism unless they had practically the same idea as
to what patriotism consists in. In short, one question
of opinion may depend upon another ; that other then
must be settled first. Suppose we consider the question
as to the morality of Queen Elizabeth's principles.
Now we are told that to Queen Elizabeth a falsehood

was "simply an intellectual means of meeting a difficulty." Our question c<tnnot be settled until we settle
the question whether lying is justifiable or consistent
with morality. And that may depend on our answer
to the still more fundamental question, Is there any
absolute standard of morality? Beware of discussing
any question of opinion until you are sure there is a
unity of sentiment on all questions underlying it.
vVe have said that the real object of discussions of
this class should be to bring about a final harmony of
opm10n. This being the purpose it almost goes without
saying that debates should be conducted with the utmost
candor, courtesy, and liberality. Nothing is to be
gained by any other course, while everything is to be
lost.
We append here the opening of an argument by
Prof. Andrew F. \Vest in the North American Review
for February, 1884 : MUST THE CLASSICS GO ?
Is classical trailling necessary in liberal ed ucation? To appreciate this question we must first know what education ·means.
Every man is born into this world ignorant both of himself and
his surroundings, but to act his part so as to reach success and
happiness needs to understand them both. Therefore, he must
learn ; and, having to learn, must be educated. This will involve
two processes : 1. The development of man's power to master himself and circumstances by training every capacity to its highest energy discipline.
2. Communication of the most valuable knowledge - information.
Both are necessary. Discipline p!ecedes information, because
power precedes acquisition. Information completes discipline by

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AHGUl\fENTATION.

DEBATE.

yielding actual results in the world. In a word , discipline gives
power to acquire information, and the total res ult is culture.
The two great instruments of educational discipline and information have hitherto been mathematics and language, leading to
physical, intellectual, and social sciences, and these again culminating in a philosophy or study of first principles of all things. On
this basis our college education has been built. None propose
excluding mathematics. Few question the need of studying language in some form . lhit when the classical lang uages are
proposed as essential to liberal r.ducation, objections arise and
pronounced attacks are made. I propose merely three things : I. To enumerate the objectors and answer their objections.
II. To state the positive argument for classical training.
III. To state the reasons for retaining Greek as well as Latin.

cause you think it improbable that they will ever pay
dividends. You part from your dearest friend with a
smile because you think it extremely improbable that
anything will prevent your meeting again on the day
appointed. Questions of probability are something more
than a mathematician's pastime.
M:iny questions of fact, past and present, far .:incl
near, have not yet Leen settled, and may never be settled
beyond a certain degree of probability. But there is
another class of questions which we do not hope to
settle beyond a degree of probability. Not because they
do not involve facts, but because we recognize tlmt the
facts are beyond our reach, or because we know tlutt
the future alone will determine them, while our interest
in them is purely a present one. For instance, we are
content for the present to speculate upon the probable
intemal structure of the earth. Perhaps some day a
serious attempt will be made to arrive at the facts.
Again, we are confronted with the question of what the
weather will be to-morrow. Now, it will either rain or
not min, but we cannot wait to learn the fact ; and we
may not be half so much interested in knowing the fact
when it comes as we are now in knowing the probability, for now only can we decide the question whether
we shall go on our journey provided with an umbrella
or not. Governing our present action by the probability
we make up our minds to accept the future fact with as
little concern as possible.
How do we determine the probability, or, as we often
say, the chances, that a thing is thus and thus or that
an event will happen in a certain manner? By observation and experience, by induction and deduction.

EXERCISE L V.
DEBATE (CoNTINU1m).

Questwns of Probab-ility :
Resolved, That a Great European vVar is Inevitable.
That Canada will be Annexed to the United
within Twenty-five Years.
That Mars is Inhabited.
That Electricity was Known to the Ancients.

Sta~s

"Probability is the very guide of life," said Bishop
Butler. You linger a little longer over your Look . because you think it probable that by walking fast you
will still have time to catch the train. You plant a tree
because you think it probable that it will grovy up to
bear fruit and that you will live to reap the benefit.
You refuse to invest your money in certain stocks be-

168

169

ARGUMENTATION.

DEBATE.

Every imperfect induction is merely the expression of a
probability. Every deduction carried beyond the range
of actual experience is likewise only a probability.
There is another phase of this matter. There is ·a
principle of reasoning, how obtained we cannot discuss
here, which declares that "we must treat equals equally,
and what we know of one case may be affirmed of
every case resembling it in the necessary circumstances."
Of course experiment may be necessary to determine
whether things are equal or not, but starting with this
principle we calculate probabilities without experimentation. Indeed in many cases the experiment proves
nothing whatever in regard to future results, - it only
proves the principle. I toss a penny into the air. It
has two sides m1<l so far as I know they are equal. I
know it will fall upon one side or the other. The other
conditions I <lo not know and can not control, and so I
say that there is only an even chance that the head will
fall uppermost. Suppose it falls so. · I conclude nothing whatever from that in regard to the manner in
which it will fall a second time. Suppose I toss it up
ten times and the head comes up five times, the tail
five times, can I reason that it will be so the next
ten times? Not at all. I know, each time I toss it,
that there is au even chance of tho Lca<l coming uppermost. Therefore it is entirely possible that it will
come uppermost ten times in succession. But because
the chances are even I say that such a result, though
possible, is improbable ; that it is most probable that
head and tail will each come uppermost five times ;
that the next greatest probability is that one will come
uppermost six times and the other four; tktt it is most

improbable that either one will come up ten times in
succession. By such laws of mere probability, without
any degree of certainty whatever, are we compelled to
determine a thousa11cl acts of our everyday life.
Though often a matter of nmthe1rnttical computation,
serious errors have been made and there is room for
argument even here.
There is still more room for argument in cases that
are not susceptible of mathematical demonstration.
T:ike a prnphecy, a;; for exmnple that the world will
come to an cml next week or in the year 2000, or let
some member of the cln,ss write a prophecy, and then
<lelmte upon the prnbability of its being fulfilled. Or
take any current newspaper report that is . of a surprising or sensational nature and argue from antecedent
prnbabilities that it is or is not true. Argumentative
exercises of this nature may be made extremely interesting and instructive.

SECTION III.-rERSUASION.

EXERCISE LVT.
PERSUASTVE DTSCOUP.SE TN frnNETtAL.

Suldects:
Have 'IV c a Code of Honor'!
The American Flag.

SecreLs of S ttcce~s.
Complete Living.

" Conduct is three-fourths of life," says l\fatthcw Arnold. Another amends this and says, "Conduct is th e
whole of life." Living means something more than
being ; it means something more than knowing or believing : it means action, conduct, behavior. The man
who knows without n,cting upon that knowlcllge is as cen:mrablc as the man who acts without knowledge. Aml
what does the Apostle James say of faith without
works?
The office of persuasive discourse is to arouse men to
action. Exposition, we said, presupposes some degree
of ignorance on the part of those addressed, and argumentation presupposes error. Persuasion presupposes
indiffernnce, inaction, or misdirected action ; it appeals
to the emotions, the feelings. Strange as it seems, we
nmy know a truth, we may firmly believe it to be truth,
and yet fail to take it home to ourselves, to act upon it,

!

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!~

to live it, to concrete it, as it were, in our daily conduct.
"\Ve know it, we say, 1uL we fail Lo reulize it. Tltw; we
know that the eart.h is an imm ens1-1 splwre whirlingtl1ron g-h spnC'e nt. a hi .~h v1-1l0<~ity. hnt. only sPl<lorn rlo W<'
realize it, anu it may be questioned whether some who
lrnow Lhc fad ever rcn.li'l,e it aL all ill Lilt\ :->e 11,;e ill wl1i(;lt
the astron omer docs. l n li k c manner W(~ Imo"', C'Y('l'j'
one of us, as positively as we know anything, t lmt
srnl1H·r or lait'r 11· l~ ,;]1: t1 l 1lil·, ]; 11( 111 1ly :it 1.111~ i1tl1 ·n:11.~
Llut.:s lhtL facL prL'St.:llL iL"\;1[ {11 11;< i11 its f11ll ·"ig11irlL·:111 <.'t'.
\\' l: <' J'l:a k uf iL ;i1ul 11·1itG ui' iL :L l111111ln·d li111t·c< ill 111 11 "'
LlmL 11·e acL 1q11J11 iL. J\ 111l so 1n: k 11 11\v :t t l11111c<:1.111 I
111i11 g·" 11·i11t :1 " "rL "r 11111' "111pn·l1 1' 1 11 li1 1 .'.~· L 11 "'' l1·1l.c:·1·. :1
knowleuge LhaL leaJs Lu 110Lhiug . :::itrnHge iuJ1;m11uny
ul Ll1 e h11111a11 i111 dkcl :1 1111 11·ill : Sl <1~11 :il i 1111 i." dL:tl l1,
we sn.y; n.Jl(l yet we stagnate unconce rn edly whil e we
sl111dtlv 1· aL :mil sl1r i11k l' n1111 a11d 1·1 ·lw l :1,:..;·:1i1 1"I tl 1·:1 ll1.
l>i solll'<ii c11 cl: ill il l!' laws 1li' lw al tl1 is sl1111· s1 1i.. idl' ; -11·c dn nu t fo r a 11 w n11:nt qu c·.,l in11 !111• !l'lltli ,,r l li :il; :111 <!
yet we go 011 uisoueying t li osc hrn's d;1.y after Lby like
ignoramuses or skeptics. Hut we a.re neither one nor
the other for we know and we believe ; we simply will
not act - we arc fools.
Manifestly there is a field for Persuasion, n.nd rnn.nifestly, too, of all the various forms of literary a.rt tl1is
ma.y be made the most practical a.ml h elpful. It will
lie no mis ta.ken ei1deavor to turn in Lli is direction a ll
the knowlell ge a.nu power we have gained by our previous practice, to concentrate it upon this, the supreme
achievement of literary labor.
No model will be given here. It may be noticed that
what has just been written, though oste nsibly expos i-

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APPJ~AL '1'0 PERSONAL INTEREST.

173

tory. is largely pernuasive in cJrnracter. But iL wa.s
written wiU1ouL any co nsciousness o[ a11 <tLLempL Lu 111ak e
it sn ch . Tf it ]m e; h~ e n read with the s:1m 0 nncnn scin11 sncss so rnn ch 1.lw lld lcr . Tr it l1 :is i11 ll ll' sli g·lit 1•sl
degree inspired you to act, to write, to attempt in pn.rticu lar Lo p crs u;ule uLhcrs Lo acL upon LlH.; i l' k 111 l11·led~1 ·
n.ncl beli ef,; in a Lh om;:i.ml ma tLcrs n f cycry day life, tl1 cn
it has not heen written in vain.

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\\'1 11· 11" I \',•0.J l•'.-.;1'\Ti•«' '!
\\Ti1'11 All Th.\' n 1· tti n .~ ( ;0 1 \T 11 d 0 rsl~ntli11.c: .
:-11·l !'- l 1r1· :-; 1' n ·;11 i!l !l i .. .; 0.' a t ll r 1 ··~ l: ir.-.:1 , J,: i \r .

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Alu Li vcs u[ iiri 1·:tLt.: a11il JH.:rs1l11 :tl int eres t a.rn l'O ll fess eclly determinative in 111ost o[ n nr nrd i11 ary dclilie rations and actions. They arc doulJLlcss strn n g'( ~ l' 11·i (.Ii
some than with others, a.nu it i,; often 1li f'licnlL Lo s:1.y
just how far a man Rh:ill let these cnnsi(lcrn.lirn1s l'any
l1im without laying his action open to the charge of
selfishness. There is n. (lcg rce of cg·oism, a scl li sl111 css
if you will, tJiat few of ns prcsu111e (.n lil:wic. Philosophers have clcch1,re(l that Rclf-prcservat.inn rn nnr lirs l.
duty. And who wuuld fiJHl fanlL wit.Ji n, man for
seeking self-culture a nd scl f-:tll v: mcemcnt '!
,Persuasion that wou lrl accomplish its e nd liy a pp eals
to tliesc motives mnst l)c fo11111le(l npon :1 sLud,r a11(l

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PF.R8U /\RION.

knowledge of human nature. We must know the
people to whom we appeal and we mus t vary our
appeals to suit their various intereRts.
The skillful
politician works on one rnn,n'R feelin gs through his
priue, on another's through his love of independence,
on another's through his avarice. Of course these
appeals are often made with unworthy ends in view.
It is only when the object is a worthy one that they are
justifiable. N or does that mean to say that a worthy
end will justify any means whatsoever, but that the
particular m eans contemplated here can scarcely Le
open to great objection. At the worst it is only taking
advantage of men's faults for their own and others'
good. If a man notoriously fond of ease and inaction
can be rouseu to action by playing upon that very
weakness, wh ere is the harm? And besides that, as
we have said, there are many kinds and llegrees of
egoistic desires that cannot be called faults.
Here is a case in point. A certain student was
injuring his health by too severe mental work supplemented by too little physical exercise. On the score
of health his friends expostulated with him in vain.
But when it was represented to him that if he would
devote one-tenth of his time to exercise he would
accomplish more and Letter work in the remaining
nin e-tenths than he could otherwise accomplish in the
whole time, h e was willing to make the experiment.
Thus his friends effected that in which tltey were chiefly
interested Ly holding forth an inducement of a very
different character - the only one that appealed to the
student's self-interest as h e was pleased to consider
it.

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APPEAT, T O l'l'~J:SONAL I N TEI~ EST.

17.':J

That is one of t ile scerets of cffcc:Li \ ' u pi_;rsll:L::; ion.
Another i::; this . If you vcn ture Lo al_Jpe:Ll Lu :1 mu Li\ i_;
RO con::;picuously selfish as to he unworthy, you mu st
either con ceal the fact that you tl1i11k it 1111worLhy or
else in some way in geniously concca,l Lhc fact Lhat yo11
are appealing to th e motive at all. But there is alw:1ys
the danger that ingenuity even in a good cause mrty
descend to a,l'tifice, n.Jl(l though snch rnctlrnrlR are freely
employed in high places they arc not :1lways Lo he
recommcncle<l. Self-resp ect should be maintained at
any price; and if there is no other w:iy of effecting an
object except by an appeal to ha::;e rn oLi vcs it 111:Ly lJG
better in th e encl to leave the ohjcct; nncffcctcd.
A delicate way of pernnading oth ers is to prnte11rl tn
lJe persurLlling yo urself. The suLj cc t "\Vliy do I Neecl
Exercise? " suggests this mcthocl of prOCGLlure. Jn tmy
cn,se the address n eed not he clinict. A cn.se may lil'
assumed and tl1e person a<ldrcs::;ccl Le trusted to sec the
similarity between his own case and the assumed one.
FaLles aml pamliles are eo 111rnu11ly co n::;LrncLi_;d oil Ll1i::;
plan. Or direct address may Le decmccl the mo::d;
cogei1t . TJ1 c meLhuLl l'ursu ed 11111HL dq1c11il 011 Ch;
time, the person, th e nature of the appeal. The prime
r c<]_nisites arn fact arnl the ability to read character :uHl
to divine motives.
lV(ODF.L.

A I'LEA FOR MOHE GENEHAL JNSTIWCTION JN

l'IIYSIOLOGY.
If a nyonr. rl onhf;s t he impn1'ktnce nf an act]11ai11b"tnce with the
fo11cl amc11t:1,l pri11 ciplcs of phvsiology as a 111rnt11 s Lo c11111pl1d,,..
living, Jet him look aruu11l1 a11Ll ~ee l1uw 111 :t11y rn c n a11<l wo11ic11 he
ca11 fin d in middl e or later li [c who arc Ll1 o ro11 g lil y \\" P. ll. 01'ca-

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PERSUASION.

APPEAL TO PERSONAL INTEREST.

sionally only do we meet with an example of vigorous health
continued to old age ; hourly do we meet w'ith examples of acute
disorder, chronic ailment, general debility, premature decrepitude.
Scarcely is there one to whom you put the question, who has not,
in the course of his life, Lronght upon himself illnesses which :1
little knowledge would have saved him from. Here is a case of
heart disease consequent on a rheumatic fever that followed reckless exposure. There is a case of eyes spoiled for life by overstudy.
Yesterday the account was of one whose long-enduring lameness
was brought on by continuing, spite of the pain, to use a knee
after it had been slightly injlll·ed. And to-day we are told of another who has had to lie by for years, because he did not know
that the palpitation he suffered from resulted fron~ overtaxed
Lrain. Now we hear of an irremediable injury that followed some
silly feat of strength ; and, again, of a constitution that has never
recovered from the effects of excessive work needlessly undertaken.
'Vhile on all sides we see the perpetual minor ailn1ents which accompany feebl eness. Not to dwell on the natllrnl pain, tl1e
weariness, the gloom, the waste of time and money thus entailed,
only consider how greatly ill-hea!Lh hinders the discharge of all
duties - nmkes busi ness often impossible and always more dill'icult ; produces an irritability fatal to the right managemen t of
children ; puts the fun ctions of citizenship out of the question,
and makes amusement a bore. ls it not clear that the physical
sins - partly our forefathers' and partly onr own -which pr?duce
this ill-health, deduct more from complete living than a nythin g
else, and to a great extent make life a burden instead of a benefaction and a pleas nre?
To all of whi ch add t he fact that life, besides Lei11 g thus i111mensely deteriorated, is also cut sl1ort. U is 11ot true, as we
commonly suppose, tlmt a disorder or a disease from which we have
recovered leaves us as before. No disturbance of the normal
course of the functions can pass away and leave things exactly :.ts
they 'vere. Jn all cases a permanent da mage is do11e - nut immediately apprech1ble, it may b e, but still there ; and, along with
other such items which Nature in her strict accoll11t-keeping never
drops, will tell agai nst us to the inevitable shortening of our davs.
Through the acc11mul:1tio11s of small i11jlll'ies it is that c01rntitu-

tions are commonly undermined, and break down, long before
their tim e. And if we call to mind how far the average duration
of life falls below the possible duration, we see how immense is
the loss. 'Yhen, to the numerous partial deductions which bad
health entails, we add this great final deduction, it results tlmt,
ordinarily, more than one-half of life is thrown away.
H ence, knowledge which subserves direct self-preservation by
preventing this loss of health, is of primary importance. 'Ve do
not contend that possession of such knowledge would by any
means wholly remedy the evil. For it is clear that in our present
phase of civilization men's necessities often co mpel them to transgress. And it is clear further that, even in the absence of such
compulsion, their incliuations would frequently lead them, spite
of their knowledge, to sacrifice future good to present grnti fic:1ti on.
Dnt we do contend that the right knowledge impressed i11 Lhe ri ght
way w011ld effect much; and we further contend that as the hlws
of health must Le recognized Lefore they can be full y confonn cd
to, the imparting of snch k11owledge must prece<le rnore r:iti o11:d
li ving- come when that may. 'Ve infor t hat as vigorous he:tlth
a nd its acco111pa11y ing high spirits arc larger clclll ents o[ happin es.'
th a 11 miy otl1er things whatever, the Leaching how to m:tinLain
them is :i teaching that yields in mom ent to 11 0 other whatm·er.
And, therefore, we assert that such a co urse of physiology as is
needful for the comprehensi on of its general l.ruLlrn, :11111 their
bea rings 0 11 daily co nduct, is an all-essential p:trt u[ a rnl.iuna.1
education.
St. ra nge that U1e asse rti on shonltl need ma.ki ng ! St.r:1.11ger :;I.ill
Lha. L it sl1011ld need clde11rli11p; ! Yett.here a rc not a l'c'' 1.y 11 l1 (lt11
snch a proprn<it.ion wil l lie rcc•·~ i ve 1l with so n1<'t11i11g :t]'pru:l<'hi11 g· In
tlerisio11. .i\[c 11 who wo1tld lilush if ca nght say i11g l1·liig~11ia
in sL1'aci ol: lJ1hi gc1 iia.. nr \ff11tld n•s1•11L as a.ti i11 s11l t. :tll,Y illlj•ttl:ili1i11
of ignorance res pec ting tl1c faliletl laliors nf :t falil"d de11 1i-g·"d ,
show 1101; tl1e sJ ig!tLesL slmme in co11fes:;ing Ll1al. they du nut. I; ll(m
wl1ere tl1c E11.sktchi:t11 t11l1es :tl'I', \\ktL are tl11· :tl'.Li111i:; "f 1111•. s1•inal
corLl, what is t.he 11orn1:tl r:iLc n[ J'lll,;aLilllt, nr liow ilt<' 11111.gs are
inlbtct.l . \\'ltil c :111 x i1J11 s l.l1a.L U1.,ir su ns sh"1tld lie m·ll 111• i11 lit<'
s11perst it.ions nf two l.l1 011 sa.111l .1 ·eo :1rs :l~·o, 1.11''.\' 1·.an• 11111. Lltat I l1<•y
shnt1ld be t:111g-ltl, :t11yLl1i1H" :tb1>n t t,l1l' ,;trnct.mc :rnd [1111 d i1111 ,; ul'

178

PERSUASION.

their own bodies - nay, would even disapprove such instruction.
So overwhelmi ng is the i11f111c11ce of established rcmtin e ! So terribly in onr education docs the ornamental override the uscfol ! J
I~

Her!J erl Spencer.

'1

I:

EXEHCISE L VIII.
PERSUASION llY APPEAL TO SOCIAL DUTY.

Subjects:

j'I·

A So Ct A11swcr Tumeth Away \V rnth. - l'rov. xv : 1.
Cultivate Courtesy.
The Exercise of Intelligence in Voting.
Shall W e Foster the Spirit of Patriotism?

Few if any of us live entirely to ourselves; we may
not therefore live entirely for ourselves. As long as
we continue to be the sociable creatures we are and take
pleasure in human companionship, so long shall we
recognize th:it there arc certain duties which we owe to
others in addition to the duties which we owe to ourselves. And just in proportion as any man conceives
of this altruistic duty as paramount to the egoistic
one is he hailed as philanthropist, public benefactor,
patriot, hero, martyr. To say that the selfish ambition
to shine in these roles is in all cases the leading motive
is to malign human nature, to make men out more
·selfish than some of the lower animals. These social
duties are as a rule cheerfully performed · and quite as
often from instinct as from tl'aining and habit. They
range from the unwritten laws of courtesy that are
observed in our everycfay intercourse to the codes whi ch

Al'PEAL TO HELIGIOUS DUTY.

17 !)

bind together into one political and social organization
entire communities and nations.
We recognize these duties and are in the mam willing to fulfill them. And yet, as with so many other
things, we sometimes fail to realize them fully ; or
we have a wrong conception of them ; or we neglect
and forget them. H ence the necessity of frequent and
and strong reminders, and hence the need of reformers
and reforms.
\Vheu an appe:il is made to social duty there is no
need of concealing the fact, for if one kind of action
is more generally looked upou as praiseworthy than
another it is the one in which no shadow of self-interest
is discemible. The nature of the appeal will differ
somewhat according to circumstances and object. It
may be that we have unconsciously lapsed from a strict
observance of a plain duty and simply need a timely
reminder. It may be tha t we are insensible to the
exigencies or the merits of the case and need to be
enlightened and aroused. It may be that tlu·ough a
rnisumlerst..'tmlin g of our duty we arc wasting good
intentions in the wrong direction and n eed to be set
right. It may be that ne-w conditions bring with them
new obligations which we need to have presented to us
clearly and cogently.

EXEHCISE LIX.
PERSUASION DY APPEAL TO RELIGIOUS DUTY.

Subjects :
Virtue I ts Own Reward.
The Spirit of Intolerance.
Cruelty to Animals.

The Sacredness of Life.
Lack of Reverence i.n American
Youth.

180

·r
1
.I

,,

I1·
·I

1i:"

PEB.SUASION.

The most of us will not rest content with the performance of om· duties toward ourselves and toward
our fellowmen. We feel that if there is such a thing
as duty at all it extends further than this. The satisfying of our selfish and social instincts leaves one
instinct yet unsatisfied, - the religious. We recognize
on the one hand the limitation of our powers and the
finiteness of our i11tcllect, and on the other hand the
inscrutaLle mystery of things. W c know the hopelessness of knowing everything ; know that the fo,rther we
· extend our research the more thickly do the my:;teries
crowd upon us and the deeper do they grow, that each
discovery instead of 1mrrowing the realm of the unknown is but a further revelation of its vastness ; and
we bow Lefore an Intelligence that so info1itely tmnscemls our own. We realize that we are but insignificant
parts of the great Whole, aHd this bring:; with it a
realization of a lluty not only to ourselves tL11d othern
like us, but al:;o to the bird in the tree, the flower .in
the field, the shell on the shore, and to the Power that
works in and tl1rough them all.
This duty takes many forms, - non-interference,
kindness, service, submission, love, reverence, praise.
vVhy do we pity the caged bird, and step aside to let
the flower grow u11lianned, and treasure and study the
curious shell? vVhy do we stand in silent awe or burst
into spontaneous tributes of admiration Lefore the terrors
and glories of the natural world? It is the gmtification of a religious i1rntinct, the performance of a religious <luty.
An appeal to this duty is the loftiest appeal that can
"be made to man, since it is farthest removed from any

APPEAL TO liELIGIOUS DUTY.

181

possible charge of sordid selfishness. Therefore to
comport with this character, the language and style of
composition should be reverent, dignified, lofty, and
thoroughly sincere.· The following, taken from an
argument by Herbert Spencer on the relative value of
various kinds of knowledge, is practically a plea for
the study of science addressed to all whose scns'e of i
religious duty ha:; a controlling influence over their
action.
Lastly we have to assert- and the assertion will, we douLt not,
cause extreme surprise-that the discipline of science is superior
to that of our ordinary education, because of the religiotts culture
that it gives. Of course we do not here use the words scientific
and religious in their ordinary limited acceptations ; but in their
widest and highest acceptations. DouLtless, to the superstitions
thiit pass under the name of religion, science is antagonistic ; but
not to the essential religion which these superstitions merely hide.
Doubtless, too, in much of the science that is current, there is a
pervading spirit of irreligion ; but not in that true science which
has passed beyon<l the superficial into the profound.
So far from science being irreligious, as many think, it is the
neglect of science that is irreligious - it is the refusal to study the
surrounding creation that is irreligious. Take a humble sim ile.
Suppose a writer were daily saluted with praises couched in
superlative language. Suppose the wisdom, the grandeur, the
beauty of his works, were the constant topics of the eulogies
addrnssecl to him. Suppose those who unceasi11gly uttered these
eulogies on his works were content with looking at the outsides of
them ; and had never opened them, much less tried to understand
them. '\•\That value should we put upon their praises ? '\•Vhat
should we t hink of their sincerity? Yet, comparing small things
to great, such is the conduct of mankind in general, in reference
to the Universe and its Cause. Nay, it is worse. Not only do
they pass by without study, these things which they daily proclaim
to be so wonderful; but very frequently they condemn as mere

...•.,..._•.•-.-......•-.-....
•...,..--...,...,....i•i...~_.•a...~~·a...~~"""'I,,-~--~~ - L

~"91..........................

-

!T

l
i

182

PErtSUASION.

ORATORY.

triflers those wh o give time to the observation of Nature-they
actually scorn those who show any active interest in t!}ese marvels.
We repeat, then, that not science, but t he neglect of science, is
irreligio us. Devotion t o science is a ta,cit worsliip-a tacit
recog nition of worth in the things studied ; and by i 111plication in
their Cause. lt is not a mere lip-honrnge, but a homage expressed rn a,ctions - not a mere professed resl'ect, lmt a respect
proved by t.he sacrifice of tiinc, thought, and labor.
Nor is it tl111 i; only that true science is esse ntially rcligio11 s. Jt
ii; reli gious, t oo, inasnlllch a,s it gc11cmtcs a profo und respect for,
and an i1uplicit faith i11, t hose uniform laws whic h u11derli e all
things. By a,ccun1ulated experiences the man of science a,cqnires
a thorough belief in the unchanging relations of phenomena-in
the invariable co nn ection of cause aucl consequence - in the
necessity of good or evil res ults. Instead of the rewards a nd
punishments of traditional 1 elief, wh ich men vaguely hope they
may gain, or escape, spite of their disobedience ; he finds t hat
there are r<:!\vards :tnd punishme1its in t he ordained constittttion
of t hin gs, a nd that the evil results of <lisobedie11ce are i11cvitable.
He sees that the laws to wh ich we must submit ;ire not only
inexorable but beneficent. Ile sees that in virtue of t hese laws,
the process of t hings is ever toward a greater perfection and a
higher happiness. Hence he is led co nstantly to insist on these
laws, and is indig na11t when men disreganl them. And thus does
he, by asserting t he etern <Ll principles of things and t he necessity
of conforming to them, prove himseli intri11sically religious.
T o all which, ad1l the furth er religious aspect of science, that it
alone can give us true conceptions of ourselves and o ur rehttion to
the mysteries of existence. At the same time that it shows us all
which can be known, it shows us the limi ts beyullll whicl1 we C.: iLn
know nothin g. Not by dog matic asserti on does it teach the
impossibility of comprehenui11 g t he ultimate cause of things; but
it leaus us clearly to recog11izc this impossibility l>y bri11 gi 11g us
in every direction to bound aries we can not cross. Tt realizes Lo
us in a way which nothing else can, the littleness of human
intelligence in t l1e face of that which transcern1s lnunan in telligence. Wl1ilc towarus the trnu itions a11d <Luthoriti cs of men its
attitude may be proud, before the imp•rnetra1le veil whic h hides

the Absolute its attitude is humble ·-a true pride and a true
hum ility. Only the sincere man of science (and by this title we
do not mean t he mere calculator of distances, or analyzer of compo unds, or labeller of species; but him who through lower truLhs
seeks hi gher, and eve11 tually the highest) - only the genuine man
of science, we say, can truly know how utte rly beyond, not onl y
hun ian kn owledge, but huma n co ncepLion, is the U niversal Power
of which N<Lture, a11cl Life, and Thought are ma11ifcstations.

183

EXERCISE LX.
ORATORY.-OCCASIONAL FORMS.

Subjects:
Speech in Comrn emorntion of \Vasl1in gto11's Birtl11hy.
Longfellow's Birthday.
Declaration of Inclepc11clence.
Address. for Arbor Day.
l\fomorial Day.
Commencem.ent.
Thanksgiving.
On the Unveiling of a Mon1u11ent t o Ge11eral Grant.
Dedication of the Public Library.
President's Inaugural Address.
Speech in Response to the Toast, " 0 ur G uest."
"The Prize-wi1111ers."
"On ce Upon a Ti111e."
" Our Future."

vYl1ile Expm;ition, A rgumentation, and Persuasion
are clea.rly distinct, it is just as impossible to k eep t}1cm
always separate as it is to keep Narration and Descrip- tion epal':lte. All three are often empluy e<l in Ll1c
-- same Lli::;cour::;e a11cl Lherc i ::; Hu rca::;o11 wliy tlic.r ::;] 1u1dd

I

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! iT'

186

'\

PERSUASION.

mentary to Da,niel Webster, in whose honor the dinner
was given:- I rise to propose a toast, expressive of t he great
esteem and h onor in which we hold the illustrious guest whom we
are assembled to welcome. It is cause for felicitation to have tlus
opportunity to receive him, and to m eet him :it our festive board.
In Philadelphia we have long been accustomed to follow him,
with earnest attention, in his high vocations in the legislative hall
and in the Cabinet ; and have a.lways seen him there exerci sing
hi s great talents for the true iHterests of our wide-spread Republic.
Aud we, in common with the Ameri can people, h ave felt t he influence of hi s wisdom a.ud pa.triotism. In seasons of danger, he lia.s
Leen to us a. living comforter; and more tl1au once ha.s restored
J this nation to sere uity, securit~, and prosperity.. .
. .
In a. ca.reer of more than tlnrty yea.rs of poht1cal ag1tat1011, he,
with courageous constancy, unwavering integrity, a.nd emineHt
ability, ha.s carried out, a.s far as his agency could prevail, the true
principles of the American system of government.
For his numerous puulic services we owe him much, and we
open our grateful hearts to him in thanks ; we Sfl.Y to him, with
feelings of profound r espect and warm [tffection, that we are rejoiced at his prese nce here, amid his Phila.delphia friends - l1is
faithful Philadelphia friends and rid 111ircrs.
GENTI,EMEN:

Thirteen yea,1·s la,ter, and seven years after the deaU1
of Daniel vVeL::iter, the seveaLy-::ieveuLlt anHi versary of
the great statesman's birthday was commemontled by a
Lanquet at which the orator, Rufus Choate, made an
aclclress. The openi11g words of tlmt arldrr.ss worn :i.s
follow: l would not ha.ve it supposed for a moment that I de8ig11 Lo
make a11y eulogy, or ally speech, coJ1ccrni11g the grc:it man whose
birthday we have rnet to observe. I h asten to assure yo u that I
shall attempt to do no su ch thing. There is no longer need of it,
or fitness for it, for any purpose. Times have been when such a.
thing might have been done with propriety. ·while he was ye t

ORATORY.

187

personally a mong us, while he was yet walkin g in his stre ngt h in
t he priths or riscending the h eights of Mtivc public life, or 8tnmlin g upo n them, - a.nd so many of the good a.nd \\·isc, so mriny of
the wi ses t and b est of our country, from a.I! parts of it, thought
he had title to tl1 e grerit office of our system, allll wonk! hrive had
him formally presented for it, - it was fit that those who Joyed
~11 d honored him should publicly-with effort, with passion, with
arg ument, with co ntention -recall tl1e series o[ hi s sen·i ces, his
!Uc of clevate1! Irthors, fini shed a nt! 1111fi 11ishctl, di splay his large
qualiti es of character rind mind, and co111pare hi111 , soniew l1al;, in
a ll these th in gs, with the great men, hi s co111petitors fur U1e great
prize. Then 'Jtl,as there a. ua.Ule to be foug ht, rind it \\'a s needf ul
to figl1t it.
.
Aud so, again, in a la.ter day, while ottr hearts were yet bleeclmg
with the se nse of rece nt loss, a.ml he lay nell'ly clerid in hi s chamber, and the b ell s were tolling, and his grnve wris ope n, a nti the
sunlight of a.n autumn day was falling 011 tkit long fnn ernl t.rai~1 ,
I do not sriv it was fit 011ly, it 'ms una\·oidal,Je, t.l1aL \\'1~ :ill, 1n
some cho.ked utter ance aud so 111e i111pcrfoct, sincere ex pn•s.-> io11,
sho11ld. if ·\\'c conltl not pntise 1.111· p:it.riol., lrt111c11t i.111• m;1.11.
nnl; ,Llicse ti11 1cs have go ne hy. The l'a('I) u[ lillll<tr a11d dill y is
[o r J1i111 nil r11 11 . The hig h e11 dra\·o r is lllalk, :u1d iL i,; fi11i slied.
The monument is unildcd. Ile is e11Lcred into hi s glory. The
day of h ope, 0 [ pride, of g ri ef, h:is h ec n l'nlloll'ell l•y Llie 1 on .~· rcsL ;
and the sentiments of grief, priLle, and l1 opc, rirc all nwrgPil i 11 I.li e
RPntinwnl·. of ral111 a.11<! i111pli cit veneration. \Ve lwve li11rit'il lii111
in our hearts. That is enough L" s<ty. Our csti 111:tLiun o[ him is
parf·, of 011r creed. 1'',-, lin.ve 110 arg11rnent to make or hear 11pon
it.. \\' ,, l'11L1> r i11ln no di s1111f.e n.1111111. lii111 . "\\'e j">(')'111it no 11.J11gt'. r
nn\· 111; 111 to q11P;Jin11 11s ;1 s lo \1·!1aL Ii" \\:1 s, \1·k1L 111• li:id dll111•. 1111 1\·
lnt~ch "'C lovl'>d him , 11ow i1111 cli 1li c co111tf.ry lm·1·d l1i111 , :11Hl linw
" ·cll he d•'sc rv<'cl it.. \\'e ad111ire, we Jov1:, :111<1 \H'. a re sli ll . Be
this enough .fur t1 oi to ;.ay.
Is it not enough tlmt we just stand silent on the deck of the
bark fast flyi ng from the shore, and tmn and sec, ris t.hc line of
co:ist dis:tppenrs, and the hea.dlands and hills and rill the land go
down, a.nd the islands are swallowed up, the g reat m o untain
standing t her e in its strength ant.I m:ijesty, s upreme ri1u] still - Lo

.,
Ol1.ATOltY.

188

189

PERSUASlON.

see how it swclJs away up from the subject and fading vale? to
see that, though clouds and tempests, and the noise of waves, and
the yelping of curs, may be at its feet, etc riml su nshine has settled
upon its head?

EXERCISE LXI.
ORATORY. - TIIE STUMP.

The Need of Civil Service Reform.
I11ish Home Rule.
Freedom of the Press.
Pw·ification of the Ballot.
State Rights and Individual R.iglits.
Uphold the Constitution.

Down with Monopolies.
Dignity of Labor.
l'olitical Rings and Bosses.
F emale Suffrage.
Municipal Misrule.

In this country every Presidential campaign and
indeed every local electio n involving important issues
gives occasion to the politician to endeavor by public
speeches to influence votes and increase his constitu~ncy
or that of his favorite candidate. Owing to an early<lay frontier practice of speaking from the stmnps of
trees, such speakers are still commonly said to " take
the stump." In E11glancl and Irela1lll they "mount
the hustings."
Doubtless this method of electioneering is much
abused; but we may not decry it on that account.
The addresses are made directly to the voters and often
to a class of voters who do not read much and who
nee<l enlightenment on the issues of the clay. The
difficulty lies in the fact that nearly all of these great
questions have two sides, each with its sincere advocates,

and a speaker is apt to be misled by his enthusiasm to
make out a good case and unduly influence votes by
representing his side in a too favorable light. But nevertheless we indulge such championship even to the extent
of partisanship, feeling that full cliscm;sion is better than
none at all aml trustin g that in the long run "ever the
right comes uppermost, and ever is justice clone."
\Vith purely extcmpomncous speakin g ~ve have 1:~ U1ino- to do except in so far as the pnict1cc of wntmg
b
•
l
speech es may assist in the development of an omtonca
style. For speeches- even after-dinner speeches, eve n
stump speech es- are wriLten or prepared l1e[orelrn,rnl,
the great majority of them. A really good extemporaneous speech is rare, for it requ ires. the h~pp.r
combination of a rare man ancl a rare occasion. G1vcn
this combination, you lmve an ide::tl address .
Riaht h ere we get a cle w to the secret of writing a
succc~sful or::ttion: we must nmkc it conform as ne:irly
as possible to our ideal of an cxte111pnrnneo us _nll(~ .
Tlmt there sh oulcl be ccrLai n difference::; between wnLLcn
discourse and spoken discourse, that is, between tl1at
which is intenclecl to be reacl and that which i::; inLemlcd
t o be heard, few will deny. In delivering an :tLldress
you will have to face an audience, l~ok p~ople in the
eye, hold their attention, pby on their fccllllgs, cmlurc
their disple:t8urc or receive their appla.nsc. In prcp~ r­
i 11 o- the adclress beforelrnn cl all th i8 Rh 011 l<l be borne m
111 ~1 cl. Inrn.gine as vivicliy as you can tlHtt you have
your audience before you ; clo not lo::;e sight of ~t for a
moment; write to it ns you will have to talk Lo it ; use
terms of direct address - gen Ll emen, friend s, followciti7.ens -wherever t11ey seem natural and not over-

I

190

.

PEH.SUASION.

formal; be genial, frank, gracious yet earnest, familiar
ye t dignified. The ad vantages of personal directness
of address, of getting so close to your audience that
th ey will n.lmost feel n.s if you held them by the lmm1,
cannot Le over-estimated. One of the most telling
stump-speeches the present writer ever heard was
n,tlLlres::;eJ <tlmo::;(; LhrouglwuL Lu a varLiuular person in
the audience who was a good type of the class whom the
speaker wished to reach. He proceeded in ahou t thfrrntylc:
You know how it is, sir-you, sir, sitting there in the fourth
row of sea.ts on tl 1e rigl1t of the riislc. You will remember that
j11Ht fo ur years ago this fall I was driving through t he cou ntry
/ here and staid over nig ht with you. You remember l1ow you
we re di:spu:;ed Lu co mplain Lhcn Lecrinse you had not realized
enough on your abuncla.nt wheat lrnrvcs t to pay for the machinery
yo11 had bought t hat year and because yon couldn't see how the
corn-crop was goi ng to clothe your fa mil y throug h the winte r. T
asked yon l1ow yo u were voting and yo n said f;liat liad nothin g to
do with the m atter. And then I said that if you thought that
had noth ing to do with the 111 attcr you surely could not see a ny
harm in making the experiment of voting the other wn.y arnl of
geLting a hundred other farmers to make the experim ent wit!!
you. Ditl you make the expcri ment? I am afra id not. Ccrtai 11
it is that the hmul rc(l others <lid not, for when returnR from the
district came in yo u lrn(l roll c(l np the sarn e olcl majority. And
·what is the result? Your receipts are just aR far from covering
your expenditures to-day as they were four years ago to-day.
Deny it if yon can.

EXERCISE LXII.
ORATORY. -Tirn BAR.

Eloquence is oratory at its best ; it is difficult to
define it more accurately than that. True eloquence

-

OHATOI~Y.

191

does not lie in won1s ;~lo 11 e ; nor in the speaker alone ;
nor yet in the hearer or Llte occasion. Rather it seem::;
to lie in all of these. F or Lhe same words utteretl hy
the same man will seem :rnl>limc rLt one Li me am1 ritliculous at another, or will ring eloq uen t in Lhe car::; of oHu
· man, l>oml>asLic in the en.r,.; 0£ another. \Vl1cn a m:m 's
words move and stir us to Lite very tleptlis of our Le i11g,
when they nrnke us forget ourselves completel)', so tliat
we arc rcal1,Y to hugh and weep, even to ri se arn1 follow,
at his command, we say that man is cloq11cn t. But we
do not analyze t]1c spell he cas ts over us nor :ittcmpt to
WrCSt fro m Jlilll tite whole SCCre(; Ot his jlOWCl'.
But if we do not know just what clocF1 ence is, we
know some things that it is not. \V c know for one
t11ing that it is not gmm1ilo(1 ue11 cc. Lrn1g, ::;011umus
wonl:-; a11rl lo£ty, l1igh-sountli11g pl1rascs rLrc no necessary
part of it; th ey are mthcr apt to Le fatal to it. There
may Le more eloquence in one fitly spoken won1, n:ty in
silence itself, thn.n in the mos(; ingenious rhetoric. l{eac1
the twentieth chapter of tho Gospel n.cconling to St.
John :iml feel Lho effect 0£ 011 0 word which ,Jesus utters :
J esns sa,i lh unto lwr, i1Iary. And can rLnyLhing Le more
simple and more suLlime than the pmyer from the same
lips as the rahhle reviled him gathered about the cross,
Father, forg·ive them; for the,'} know not what they do.
Strained figures are as fata.l to eloquence as fantastic
wmds. It may he questioned whether a deliberate
figure of speech is ever found in passages where eloquence takes its highest flight. Indeed, violence of any
kind, in words as well as in utterance and gesture, is to
be sedulously avoided; ranting and spread-eagleism find
favor only with the indiscri111inati1ig fe\v. This does

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not mean that there is to be no exhibition of life or
energy. On the contrary, this is usually a most essential
thing in oratory. The precaution refers only to that
affected energy or that excess of energy which overshoots its mark.
If we may draw any principle from these observations, it would seem to be that fundamental principle of
all litern.ry effort, De 1mtnml ; be true to yourself, to
yonr n.udiencc, aml to your theme. Fine language is
well enough if it flo,vs from lips familiar with its utterance. Sentiment is well enough if it springs from the
heart. F ervor and enthusin,sm are all right so long as
they are sincere. Indeed, it is wholly useless to attempt
to feign these things. Eloquence is not like a glove,
to be put on and off at pleasure. Few men can be imposed upo.n by a display of false sentiment. Assume
an emotion you do not feel and the chances are ten to
one that the deception will be detected at once and
resented. B etray an emotion that the occasion does not
warrant and the result will be equally disastrous.
In the particular kind of oratory had in view in the
present exercise, namely, the pleading of an advocate at
the bar of justice, argument will naturally constitute
the st.:'tple of the material. But, as the ultimate object
is not merely to demonstrate truths, but to persuade
juries to act according to those truths, other than purely
argumentative elements can not be cxcl ucled : the plea
is bound to take on more or less of the 1mtnre of an
appeal. It is llif-'ficult to suggest subjects for this work.
The best method of getting material is to conduct a
mock trial. Another method is to try some historicnl
character before an imaginn.ry tribunal for certain alleged
acts of his or hers.

ORATOitY.

193

W c give below an extract from a speech made by
D;inicl W ebster before a jury in 1830. J. F. Kn;i,pp
and J. J. Kirnpp were charged with the murder of
C;iptain Joseph White. J. J. Kmpp confessed that
one Richard Crowninshickl had been hired by them to
commit the murder, whereupon Crowninshield co mmitted su icide. The confession was th en withdrawn
and the l\.napps were indi cted, with the result ilmt
they were convicted and executed. W custer spoke for
the prose cu ti on.
J\gn.insl; the priso ner at the bar, as an individual, I cannot lmve
the slightest prejudice. I would not do l1im the smallest injury
or injustice. Bnt·, l do not affec t to b e indifferent to the di scovery
and the pLtnishme nt o[ thi s deep guilt. I cheerfully Rharc in the
opprobrium, how much soever it may be, which is cast on t hose
who feel ;tncl m a ni fest an anxi ous collcern tl1at all who Imel a part
in planning or a l1and in exec ntin g this rl eed of midnight assnssination may he lirought to a nswer for their enormous crime at
the liar of public j ustice.
This is a most extrnordinary case. In so me respects it has
hardly a precedent an ywh ere, certainl y none in our New Englnml
history.
Tl1is bloody (lrnrna exhi\Jits no sudde nl y excited,
un governable rage. . . .
An aged man, without an enemy in the worlrl, in l1is own house,
anrl in hi ~ ow11 h e1l, is made the victi m of a butcherly nrnnl cr for
mere pay. Truly, here is a new lesson for painters and poets.
\Vh oever shall hereafter draw the portrait of murder, if he will
show it as it has been exhibitecl in an exa1nple, wl1 ere such exnmpl" '1';1 f: l:i f't. f·n li a\'f' l H'<'l\ ] nnkNl fnr, in tlw yrry l1 n<01n 0[ mir
New En glan!l societ.y, Jct him not give it the grim visage of
Moloch, the brow lrnit.terl by revenge, th e face l>bck with settled
hate, and t he bl ood-shot eye emi ttin g livid fires of mali ce. Let
him <lrnw, rnther, a decorous, s mooth-faced, bloodless demon ; a
pi cture in repose, rath er than i n action; not so much an exa mple
of l111nmn n;1ture in its <le11ravity, n,11<l in its l'aroxy" '" u[ cri111c,

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as an i 11Iernal nature, a fiend in the ordinary display and development of his character.
The deed was exec uted with a degree of self-possession and
steadiness equal to the wickedness with whi ch it was pln1me<I.
The circ11rnstanccs, 11ow clP.arly in evide11ce, sprn:ul out t.hl~ wl1olc
scene before us. Deep sleep h:u.l fallen on t he dei; t.i 11cd viet.i111 ,
and on all beneath his roof. A healthful old man , to whom sleep
was sweet, the first sound slumbers of the ni ght l1eld l1im in
th eir soft but strong embrace. The assass in enters through the
window, alreally prepared, into an unocc upi ed apartme nt. '\Vith
11oiseless foot he paces the lonely h:lll, half-li ghted by the moon ;
he winds up the ascent of the stairs, and reaches the door of the
chamber. Of this, he moves the lock by soft and co ntinued
!' pressure till it turns on its hin ges without noise ; and he enters,
and be holds his vidi m before him . The room was un co rnm only
open to the a<lmission o.f light. The face of t he innocent sleeper
was turned from the murderer, :~nd the beams of t he moon, res ting
on the grny locks o.f his aged temple, showed him where to strike.
The fatal blow is given ! and the victim passes, without a struggle
or a motion, from the repose of sleep to t he repose of death ! . . .
l\foa ntime the guilty soul cannot keep its own secret. It is
false to itself, or rather it feels an irres istible impulse of co nscience to be true to itself. It labors under its guilty possession
and kn ows not what to do with it. The human heart was not
made for the residence of such a,n inhabita nt. It finds itself
preyed on by a torment, which it dares not acknowledge to God
or man. A vultu re is devouring it, and it can ask no symp:tthy
or assiRtance c.i thcr from heaven or earth. The Recret wl1ich th e
murderer posResses soo n comes to possess him ; aml, like the evi l
spirits of which we read, it overcomes him, and leads him whithersoever it will. H e feels it beating at his heart, rising to his
tlu-oat, and demanding disclosm·e. Ile thinks the whole world
sees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and almost hears its workings in the very silence oi his thoughts. It has become his master.
It betrays his discretion, it breaks down h.is courage, it conquers
his prudence. '\Vhen suspicions from without begin to embarrass
him, and the net of circumstance to entan?;le him, th e fatal secret
struggles with still greater violence to bn rst forth. lt must be

195

coniesse<l, it will b e co nfessed: tliere is no refuge fro m co 11Iessio11
but suicide, a nd suicide is confession.

EXERCISE LXTH.
Ul:.ATURY. -- TILE LEGJ::iLATURE.

Subjects:
Plea for Internation:tl Copyright.
Restriction of Foreig n J111migration.
Distribution of Public Lands.

Needed Postal LegisbLiou .
Shall t he State License Lott eries?

Sroken tlisconrsc r:i,nges from the pbincst t;ilk to the
mo::;t clabomLc :-ttlthcss. At the one extreme will Le
found the easy, famili:-tr, colloquial style of convers:-ttion ; at the other the lofty diction tlrnt :iccompanics
formal, dignified oratory. But there are certain characteristics that run tl1 rough all varieties arnl gr;tdes
and serve to distinguish them from written di::;course.
From a mere grammatical and rhetoric:-tl stamlpoi11t
gre:i,ter loose ness of structure is atlmi::;siblc and gre;Lter
license gei'iemlly. OecasionnJl.Y constrneLion::; wl1i eh
would not prtss in writing may be ventured upon here
bceau::;c the intonaLion of Llie voice and t.11 0 whole rn:wner of Lhe spe<iker c:m redeem them from :my pos::;ilile
eha.rge of obscurity, weakness, or in eleg:w ce. .Just ;is
our everyday convers:-ttion is full of broken and unflnished sentences, so we may expect to find them in a
speech where the spea.ker is &upposed to adopt the sugg e::;tions of th e occasion and to follow th e impulses of
his own emotions. Short scnLencc::; arc Lo be chosen

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rather than long, and all long ones should be simple
and straightforward in construction. This is for clearness' sake, for It speaker oan take no chances on that
score. A reader can go back and read a sentence a second or third time if he does not understand it the fil'St,
but an auditor must understand it at once or not at all.
For the same reason frequent repetition, which is objectionable in a book, is tolerable and even desirable in
a speech. · By this is meant a repetition of thought in
a new form, though at times the repetition may extend
to the words themselves and still be effective. And
; above all this we slmll exped in spoken discomsc a
greater warmth of utterance, a freer display of emotion,
and a fuller infusion of the speaker's pel'Sonality.
In the last exercise we <l.calt with oratory as an instrument for protecting society by pel'Suading men to
fulfill the intent of the law. In the prm;ent exercise
we deal with oratory of a broader scope - that. which
has for its aim the persu;Ldiug uf a recognized 1Judy of
legi::>laLors Lu i11<Lke, amend, mudif.y, ur rc1_.1ettl the lam;
by which civil institutions must starnl or fall. This
means in our country the oratory of Llie Sell<LLe ;mcl
House of Representatives, of the Stttte Ass'emblies tmJ
Legislatures, and various local Councils anJ Boards..
There are numberless questions continually pressing
upon the states and the nation that will afford a rich
variety of material for orations. Nen,rly every city,
village, and school-district, too, has under deliberation
questions tlrnt n,re just as vital to its prosperity as these
larger, natio1rnl ones - qµestions of sewemge systems,
railway franchises, street-p<wing contracts, improvement
of highwn,ys, etc., etc. Or, if yon are drawing up a

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constitution for a debating society, or Lelieve tlmt the
rules of· any organization with which you are connected
need modification or n,menJment, write a speech urging
the measmes you would like to have adopted. The
language in all of these cases will Le largely argumentative, of course, and the appeal will Le to both
personal and social duty.
The following sentence from an editorial in tl1 0
Christian Union will suggest one way of lrnmlling tho
third subject in the list given above:
A clever ]<'rencl1111an once saill Lhat the old ar.isLocrnLs disLrilinLell
public weaJth upon tl1e principle," Tu each accunling tu hi s breed " ;
the plutocrnts on the principle," To e<tch accordi1 1g to his greed";
the communists on the principle," To each according to his need••;
the socialists on the prin ciple, " To each according to his Llced."
In Oklahoma the principle iti, "To each acco rdin g tu l1i8 speed,"
and it is certainly the most irrational of all.

The following outline of the second suLjcet is offered
a:; a 111()(ld :
FOltEIGN 1MIVllUltA'l'lON TO Till•; UNLTEll 8' 1'A'n;s 8llOULI>
m ;; CHECKED .

J. J 11t·.rodnct.io11 .
n. When in1111igrnt.io11 is henc ficinl
b. " ' hen should it be checked in the Unite<] St.a.Les?
II. Immigrants in general.
a. Past conditions u11der which they began life in our
country.
b. Present condit,ions UJl(ler which they begin lifo here.
c. Their disappointment and its effec t.
III. Paupers.
a. Their character and condition.
b. Their effect upon our labori11g cbss.
c. Co11crete examples from Pennsylvania, Ohio, New
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IV. Anarchist.5.
a. Their i<leas of govern mellt all(l religion.
/J. Their power.
c. Their ig11onince,· and sta11d regardi11g education.
d. Their moral condition.
e. ·why especially dangerous in the United States.

V. Chinese.
a. l>ifTer fro111 A111erica11s in race, reli g.ion, anti civiliz:1r
Lion.
b. OLjcct in coming to America.
c. Results :
1. They carry away our goid.
2. Lower standards of life .
3. Hi11der the deveJoprne11t of the country.
1. Help monopolies.
5. Corrupt the youth.

VI. Immigrants in general.
a.. Their great nurnbers.
b. Tende11cy to colonize.
c. TmpossiLility of Americ:rnizing suc h V<b5t 1111mbers.
d. Influence of clergy over certai n classes.
e. Their opposition to puLlic sc hools.
J. Their abrmingly bad moral influence in our cities.

VII. Cu11d1ttiiutt.
a. I111n1igrntion should Le checked in the United States
because the conditio11s for such a co urse are now
realized.
/,. Self-preservation the first law o.f 11aL11re.
c. llow to protect our nation a nd ~cc1U"e it.s perma.11ency.

The following paragraphs arc fro111 a :-;11rn~cl1 1i~rore
the House of Rcpre:;enta,tivm; u_
y Lhc Hn11. IL lL Hi Lt,
on the hill to :-imcrnl certain :;ct:Lioa:; uf Lhc ltcviscu
Statute::; relating to lotteries:
.l\I n. SPEA trnH : The lottery is t.he 111ost pennc10L1s and \1·iclcspread form of gambling vice, b ecause it uses fo r its i11strum ent
the PoslrOHice Department; thl1t is, the Govermnent.
The

ORATOB,Y.

199

ordinary gambling-hell is confined to one house and its frequenters. A lottery spreads thro ugh Lhe whole 11ation; it reaches
ever ywhere, and it does iL Ly the aid of tho Govern111ent. JL was
not for this that we bum up onr magnificent postal system, which
is supported at snch vast expense anntmlly. Yet that postal
system is the in strnrn ent to-day rind might almost be called the
part11er or accesso ry of Lltis great swindling scheme. . . .
lVi tl 1ont the a.it! of the Govemmc11t t hrough Lhe l'ust-O fll ce
Depart ment, tlte whole business would Le cut rlown to a 111ere local
gambling estaLJ ishm ent a nswe rable to the police powers of the
local government. That is what I trust this Lill will do. It
broadens the present law so that a lottery letter can be followe d
after it is mail ed :it New Orl eans or \\'n.~hi n g f .o n, whi ch arP t.lw
centers of the lottery business, and the offenders puni shed wherever
the lette r goes, - not alo11e in Louisiana, where juries can Le
readily affected by th e treme ndous power of the lottery company.
It will close the m ail s to newspapers advertising lotteries, whi ch
will be a long step toward destroying their means of reaching- :mil
deluding- the victim by a lluring advertiseme11ts a nd pronlises which
appeal to the cupidity of the ignora11t and unthinki1ig who haste n
to he rich without la.hor. Nnr cloes it in 1.hP ]Past int.e rfcre with
the inviolability of the seal upon letters, which will Le as sacred
hereafter as they have been and always should be. .It authorizes
Lite P ost111aster-G e11ernl, upu n saLisfadury e\· id<.: 11c<.:, \\'liiclt "·ill
soon b e obtained by Lite ;tgc11Ls u[ Ll1<.: Dep;trLme 11 L, in reg<1rll Lu
the character of lottery fotters, to stop the ir tra11s111issio11 Llm111;.J1
the mails and institute proceedings to punish those sendi11g. '\\'e
k11ow that the Pos tmaster-Ge neral "·ill faithfully and zea.lonsly
perform his part if we do ours and pass this Lill. Let us do il,
and do it now.

OlU.TOllY. -

It is .l\fore Bl essed lo Uiv" tl1;rn
to Receive.
Tit<.: D11 Ly o[ Self-,\l>negaLio1i.

TIIE l'ULPIT.

Christian Conduct.
:Man shall Not Live Ly Dread
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PERSUASION.

ORATORY.

The orator's success depends in no small degree upon
his skill in adapting his style to his audience. A stump
speaker in the hickwoocls will naturally adopt a very
di:ff erent tone from that of a legislator on the floor of
Congress, even though he may be speakl.ng on·the same
subject. An ignorant demagogue will hardly succeed
in moving a cultivated audience, while, on the other
hand, an address that is "over the heads " of the hearers
is equally futile. Either extreme is to be avoideclf;hat of descending below or of rising too far above the
intellectual level of those addressed. It may be occasionally that an orator's end is best subservecl by
assuming to place his auditors on a higher plane, thus
flattering their self-esteem. Dut if they are allowed to
suspect that this is clone purposely they will naturally
feel insulted and withhold their sympathy. Again, it
may seem best to endeavor to strike their own level, to
talk to them just as they might ·be expected to talk
themselves. The clanger here is that they may realize
they are being " talked clown to " and feel that their
intelligence is being underrated. The story is told of
Patrick Henry that in certain of his speeches in Virginia
he went so far as to imitate the very dialect of the
backwoodsmen. But the effect was not what he calci.1latecl upon. His hearers knew that this was only an
imitation and therefore an artifice. They would have
listened more respectfully and more willingly had he
k ept to his natural style.
Taking all these things into consideration it would
seem that in general the best tone to adopt is one somewhat above the level of the audience, provided, of
course, that this is natural to the speaker and not beyond

his own powers. An audience naturally assumes that
a speaker has more knowledge or power than they of
the kind he purposes to exhibit or they would not come
to hear him. A llll even if he does go beyolHl their intelligence now and t hen t hey will hanlly resen t it, for
it is rather gratifying than otherwise to the ~tverage man
to have it assumed that he knows somewhat more t han
he actually does. Only, the speaker must guard aga.inst
excur::;ions and fli ghts in which his audience will wholly
fail to follow him. The intricacies of politics and theology, the technicalities of science, and the abstractions
of philosophy, would clearly be out of place Lefore a
mixed assemblage.
This may lJe said fur ther : In general, Llic higher lhc
intelligence of the aUllitors the morn averse will they
be to rant and bombast, the more qn ickly will they resent any attempt to influence their judgment 1iy emotional appeals, the more will they care for simple facts
and clisprtssiona.te reason. Not Lhat they arc necessarily
less emotional, or take less ]Jlcasurc in g iving pl<ty to
t heir emotional natnrcs, only Lhcy realize llmt action
should be governed by wisdom and judgment mLltcr
than by mere impulse. H they wish to satisfy the
cravin gs of this emotional Haturc they know they li;wc
other resources, tlic dmnm, fur inst<tncc, <twl poetry,
where there is little or no persuasion to vos iti ve all(l
immedia.te action.
Pulpit oratory is peculiarly apt to be of the emotio nal
type. If religion is a matter of se ntim ent, of the feelings purely, there certainly can be no objection to this.
But people are beginning to denrnnd a reason for everything they do, and to suspect auy religious mo ve meu t,

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ORAT011,Y.

as they would suspect any political movement, which
does not invite full intellectual investigation ; and so
simple exhortation in the pulpit is more and more giving
place to exposition and argument.
A good example of the first kind of preaching may
be found in the second chapter of George Eliot's
Adam B ede. The following example of pulpit oratory
is taken fro1m the opening aud close of n, sermon by
the Rev. Dr. T;ilmage :

round the rnecl1a11ic's ha1nmer, :1ncl blossom from the e n<l of th e
mercha nt's y:1rclstick, a nd sit in the doors of churches. So me call
them "fiction." Some style t hem "fabrications." YoLL might
say that they were subterfuge, disguise, illusion, romance, ev:1sion,
pretence, fab le, deception, misrepreseJ1tation ; but, as I am ign orant of anything to be gained by the hidin g of a God-defying outrnge under :1 lexicographer's blanket, I shall chiefly call them in
phtinest vernacular-li es. . . .
Let us all strive to l>e what we appear to be, :wd ba nish from
onr lives everyth ing th:1t looks like deception, rc111c111beri ng tl1 ;1t
God will yet reve:1l to the univerne what we re:1lly are.
To rn any, alas, this li fo is a masquerade l 1:1ll . As at such
e ntertainments ge ntle men an d bdies :1ppear in the dress of kings
a nd queens, m ou11 b1in bandits or clow ns, a11 d ;1t t he close of th e
dauce t hrow off t heir disguises, so many :111 t hroug h Ii fe morn i 11
m ask. Across the fl oo r they trip merrily. T he lights sparkl e
along the wall or drop from the ceiling, n, ve ry cohort of fire.
The feet bou nd, gem med ha nds stretched out clasp ge mmed
k111rls, dancing feet respond to dancing feet, gleaming brow
bends low to glea,ming brow. On with the dance ! Flash and
rn stle a,nd laughter :1nd in11 ne:1sm·able merrym:1king ! But the
la ng uor of de:1th comes over t he limbs :1nd blurs t he sight.
Lights lower ; floors hollow with selp11lchral echo ; music saddens
in to a, wail. Lights lower; t he maskers can l1 ;1nll y now b e see n;
flowers exchan ge their fragrance for n, sickening orlor, such as
comes from garbnds t lmt h:1ve bin in V:1ults of ce meteries.
Lights lower; mists fill the room; glasses rattle as though shake n
by sullen t hunder ; sighs seem caught among the curtains ; scarf
falls from the shoulder of beauty - a shroud. Lights lower ;
over the slippery bo:1rds in dance 0£ death glide je:1lousies, clisa,ppointmeuts, lust, desp:1ir ; torn leaves a nd withered g:1rlan ds
only lrnU hide the ulcered feet ; the stenc h of the smoking lampwicks almost q nenched, choki ng d:1mps, chilliness, feet still, hands
fo lded, eyes shut, voices hushe11. Lights o ut!

There n,re ten th ous::wd ways oE telling n, lie. A nmn's
entire life may b e n, falsehood, while with his lips he may not once
directly falsif:y. There are those who state what is positively u ntrue, but afterward say "m:1y be" softly. These departures from
the truth a re ctilled white lies, but there is really no such thing as
a white lie. The whitest lie that was ever told was as black as
perdition. There :1re men high in church a nd state, acbrnlly useful, seU-de11ying, and honest in rrrnny things, who, upo n certain
subjects and in certain spheres, are not at all to be depended upon
for veracity. Imleed, there :1re multitudes of men who have their
notion of t ruthfolness so thoroug hly perverted t hat they do not
]mow when they are lying. ·with mnn y it is n, cLtltivated sin ;
with some it seems n, 11:1tural infirmity. I have known people who
seemed to l1 ;we bee n born lia rs. T he falsehoods of their lives extended fro 111 cradle to grave. Prcvnrication, misrep resentation,
and dishonesty of speech, appeared in t heir first uttera11ces a,n d
were as natu ral to them n,s any oE their infant ile disea-ses, and
we re n, so rt of moral croup or spiritual sca,rlatina. But 1rni.'ny
h:1ve been placed in circumstances wh ere t his tendency has clay
uy clay and hour by hour been called to larger development.
They have go ne from attainment to :1ttainment, and from cbss to
cbss, u11 til they hn,ve become regufarly graduated liars.
The air oE the city is filled with falsehoods. They hang
pendent from the chandeliers of our fin est residences. T hey
crowd the shelves oE so me of our merchant pri nccs. They fill
the sidewalk from curb-stone ~brown-stone facing. They cluster

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PERSUASION.

EXERCISE LXV.
ORATORY.-THE PLATFORM.
Sn~ject.\

The Greatest · Need of the Age.
The Passion Phy :tt Obcram111erga11.
Stories of the Stars.
The Faculty of Appreciation.
The Puritans.

:
"Sweetness and Light."
Tlie Stability of American
lnstit11 tions.
The Coming Race.

On the public lecture platform oratory finds perhaps
its broadest scope. Here subjects are drawn from every
possible field, appeals are made to every conceivable
motive, and the style ranges from the humorous to the
pathetic and the sublime. Here then the orator has
full play of his powern and may be expected to use
every resource at his comnmnd.
The object of a public lecture is not in general to
arouse people to any particular or hasty action ; oftener
this would seem to be very far from its purpose. Aud
no doubt the people are inclined to look upon it solely
as a means for their instruction or entertainment. But
it is more than that. The lecture platform is a means
for bringing the great leadern of the world's thought
and action into closer touch wiLh the ma.<;sm; whom they
lead. The true public orator realizes this. He knows
that while he may instruct and amuse he does it to
better purpose than that. He knows that his responsibility is great because his opportunity is great and his
influence incalculable. He knows that the fitly and
fervently spoken word shall fall as a seed into the

ORATORY.

205

hearts of his hearers to germinate in due season and
blossom into lovely or unlovely characters and bear
fruit in deeds that shall be a curse or a blessing to all
humanity. With this realization full upon him he may
well feel that there is no dignity or sincerity or wisdom
or strength that he should not strive to attain.

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III.

:Miscellaneous :For111s.

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Introductory: Scope and Complete Method of
Composition.
In the foregoing Parts, following the commonly
accepted division of the subject of Composition, we
have made a survey of the whole field, so far as seemed
practicable. It has frequently been seen how the
several divisions overlap and intermingle, making anything like a sharply defin ed and therefore exhaustive
division impossible. It will be seen further that prominence of any element or attribute not made the basis
of our clivision-peculirtr qualities of style, specific
practical or literary pmposes, etc., - gives rise to forms
not sufficiently provided for in our method. They
could be fitted into our scheme of classification doubtless, but the process would involve embarrassing distortion. All the old principles must hold good, too, but
there will lmve to be modifications and adaptations to
accord with the peculiar form or specific purpose.
Because of this a few exercises are added here dealing with the more prominent forms of composition that
thus arise. The list cannot be complete, and may not
be very helpful, but it will at least serve to show how
varied and interesting, practice in writing can be made.
Special subjects are not given, but the student will
readily find or make them. A character self-developed
and self-portmyed Ly speech or action ; a dialect sketch,
Yankee, Hoosier, Creole, Negro, Chinese ; a critical
review of a favorite book, of the last lecture, opera,
play ; a fashion note, a bit of gossip ; a story from

210

MISCl~LLANEOUS

FUl{MS.

country, village, or city life; a romance, a ghost story;
a reminiscence, a dream, rt meditation; - the variety of
themes is endless.
One thing will bear emphasis here. It lms already
been dwelt upon in Exercises IV. awl XXVIII.XXX. It i::; th~ art of selection. It rests simply
upon tl1e fact that nothing is equally important at all
times, nor all things at the same time. Trne generally, this is particularly true in letters. The mere fact
that a thing exists is not sufficient excuse for thrnsting it upon our attention. Vv e hold some things of
n~ore account than others and cannot ltffor<l to speml
tune ov0r those that neither harm nor help nor interest
ns. Aud truth itself may ofLcn do none of these.
Besides we have a higher conception of tlic province of
ar.t than the mere reprnLluction of things :is they are
without even a change of comLination. A ctual facts,
truth-science is concerned with that. But there i::;
another kind of truth, with which art is concernedtruth to what might be, ought to be, ought not to be.
Fidelity, not only to what is, but to what is prnl.>able or
possible - grant this to be within the scope of art an<l
you have a conception worthy of a creative mind. The
art of selection therefore means much. It looks forward to combination, construction -such crerition as
we ai·e capable of. It means that this feature must be
taken intact, that feature must be mo<lified, the othe~·
must be rej ected. It means that each part must be
good and appropriate and that all parts must fit together so that the whole shall be good. For practical
suggestions relative to this process the student is
referred to the Exercises cited above. More can be

NJ<:WS.

211

learned in the attempt to apply the principles and in
the study of successful work. And the mere keepi1~g
in mind the necessity of cultivating this art of selection
and rejection will help towanl its better attainm ent.
If now we take Mr. Ruskin's canon - "Remember
always, you have two characters in whit.:11 a.11 greatness
of art consists : - First, the earnest and intense seizing
of natural facts ; then the ordering those facts by
strength of human in tellect, so as to nrn.k e th em, for all
wh o look upon them, to t he utmost serviceable, memorrible, and beau ti Eul " - if we take this and consider it
as applicable to the art of composition, it will be seen
that we have snpplmmmtecl it with two oth0r " r.k1.rn.r.tcrs " possibly comprehended by Mr. Ruskin in the
above - sck cLion and expression. After the " se izing
of natural fact::;," which was the burden of the first part
of our work, comes the discrimination among them anrl
selection, spoken of there and repeated with emphas is
here. Then follows th e ordering of th ose facl::; arrangemei1t - so eloquently in::;isted upon Ly l\[r. Ru::;kin. L as tly comes adequate expression, which logether
with arrangemen t has been specially discussed in th e
intrncluction to Part II. Snch is the complete method
of composition ; follow it in every endeavor, no matter
how imperfectly, through the several stages, and the
result cannot be wholly bad.

EXERCISE LXVI.
NEWS.

Of the many departm ents of journalism, we slmll
consider two or three only, which especi;illy demand Lhe

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MISCELLANEOUS FORMS.

NEWS.

exercise of the pen. One of these is the preparation
of news for the daily and weekly press. News-gathering and reporting constitute a profession in themselves
and cannot be treated of at any length here. A few
hints, however, cannot come amiss. For there is at least
one kind of news-reporting common in this country
which must be undertaken by non-professionals. This
is the news-letter which is sent at regular i11tervals to a
city or county paper by correspondents in adjacent
towns or country districl-:5_ too thinly populated to support local p[l,pers of their own. Virtua,1ly t11c smnc
principles hold good here as in the higher forms of
journalistic work ; and the lack of a knowledge of them
is painfully evident in almost all the country newspapers in the land.
In the first place, what is legitimate news? All ha,ppenings, we say, of general interest and presunmbly not
yet generally known, which it will do no harm, or at
any rate, more good than harm, to communicate to the
public. It is at once manifest that occurrences which
are of interest only to those who are actual witnesses of
them or participants in them, cannot properl.Y be designated news. On the other hand, when we say that
they should be of general interest, we do not mean by
that, universal interest. Such interest will attach to
very few events, indeed. But the importance of the
news will be measmed by the degree and extent of the
interest which it excites, and the news-gatherer, remembering this fact, and taking account of his public, will
be able to discriminate accordingly. It should be considered, too, t1rnt a piece of news may bear a very differ~
cnt imporhmce, accor<ling as the public interest is

absorbed or not by events of greater moment. Does
any one want to know that a certain citizen of m1
Alpine to>vn has sucldenl.Y fallen ill, when the whole
town is threatened b.Y an avalanche? In public crises,
at times of local or national elections, celebrations,
calamities, newspapers are fully warmnted in rejecting
items of n ews that at other times would be freely admitted.
Let everything of the nature of gossip be sedulously
avoided. Do not descend to small talk, idle tales, vague
rumors, innuendoes, matters that appeal to an unworthy
curiosity rather than to a healthy interest. Let pmely
private affairs remain private. It may be that people
are no more prone to-day than they ever were to pry
into their neighbors' secrets - it is extremely probable
that they are even less so - but the increased facilities
for the dissemination of news have undoubtedly contributed much to the violation of the sanctity of private
life. It is safest and best to become no party to such
violation.
Remember, too, the incalculable power of the press
for good as well as for evil. Search for that which is
beneficial and ennobling as studiously as you avoid that
which is injurious and degrading. Seek to stimulate
general interest in measures that are for the general
good. You must deal with comparatively trivial matters it may be, but none the less form a higher conception of the office of newsmonger than the mere name
implies. Parties and visits, accidents, crimes, sickness,
births, marriages, and deaths, need not form the staple
of news. The good or bad condition of the roads, the
cleanliness of kick dooryards or the tidiness of front

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1\ilSCELLANIWUS FOR1\IS .

ones, the activity of trade, the organization of clubs,
the progress of reforms,- in short, all matters affecting
the health or prosperity of the community should not
go .unnoticed. It is surely as well worth reporting that
Mr. Brown has imported a fine pa.inting or a rare book
from London as that Mr. Green has driven all his hogs
to ma.rket. Not that the la.tter may not be worth reporting, only do not let it crowd out the former .
After clue discrimination is made in regard to the
nature of the items reported, there remains the question
of how much or how little is to be included in ea.ch
i~em . Of course all the Lrevity and condensation possible are demanded here. But there must be completene_ss _too. Consider what·- qucstions would naturally
anse m your own miml on first hearing of the occurrence to be reported. . Has there been a fire ? Then
where was .it? . ·when was it? How did it originate?
How was it discovere<l.? What measures were taken
to extinguish it? What were the nature and extent
of the damage? ·will it be repaired? On whom falls
tl:e loss? vVhat is the amount of insurance? Many a
piece of news is unsatisfactory because it fa.ils to answer
these questi?ns. And many a piece is unsatisfactory
too because it makes unexplained allusions or takes for
granted a knowlec~ge of certain events which many
readers ca1mot possibly have. The following item from
a current newspaper seems to sin in this last regard: ·
NE:w YoHK, November 10.
II. l\fateland Jersey, the American represe ntative of Lord
Dunraven, received a cablegram to-day saying that Dunraven's
challenge for the America cup in 1893 is coming through the mai ls
by the steamer Germanic, which is due here a week from to-morrow.

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0£ course the news in a g1;eat daily newspaper must be
in many respects like the consecutive chapters of a
serial story, and those who are not consta.nt readers cannot expect to understand all that is printed. But it is
nevertheless the duty of news-writers to make every separate aiticle as self-explanatory and l.ntelligible as possible.
News-letters and news "specials" should of course
Le purely objective in character. They offer no occasion for the obtrusion of personal opinions ; there are
other departments of a newspaper through which these
may find expression. Stick to facts : the temptation to
depart from them is strongly felt ~nd not always
resisted by one who is constantly pandering to people's
desire for the novel and curious. But the truth, more
often than is suspected, is both new and strange. And
the truth is ever best. Even the whole truth may not
always be written and published either with safety to
the writer or with benefit to the public. That you
know a man to be a coward does not make it incumbent
upon you to proclaim him one from the housetops.
Give facts , so many and such facts as are well to give,
and give them without comment. Even praise for the
public spirit of a citizen or for any virtuous act is more
delicate and acceptable if left to be gathered from
tlie straightforward account of deeds and not added
explicitly and bluntly at the end of the account. Shun
such old formulas as, " Our best wishes for success go
with him," and, "vVe tak e pleasure in no ting his commendable zeal."
Lastly, give some heed to the composition, the style.
News is necessarily the most hastily written of all
matter intended for print. But clearness and simplic-

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MISCELLANEOUS FORM:S.

ity are the great essentials and these ought to attend
rapid writing more naturally than their opposites.
There is i10 time to think so long that both thought
and expression become involved, and there is no need
to search for ornament. Vivacity of tone, whei1ever it
can be imparted, will contribute much toward giving
any article the character known as "newsy." News
writing may not be the place for a display of personality, but some degree of it will be acceptable ev6n
here. For example, it would be a great relief to a
long-suffering public to be able to read an account of a
birth in which there is no mention of a "smiling"
father, of a wedding in which the bride is not said to
be "beautiful and accomplished," of a death without
allusion to any who are "left to mourn the loss." A
railroad wreck is not a "- holocaust," nor a panic a
"pandemonium." But it has long since been found
almost useless to attempt to stem the tide of newspaper
improprieties and barbarisms.
No examples of articles of news .need be given here,
- they can be found in papers everywhere. For
practice write out an account, as if for publication, of
any rece1it occurrence with the particulars of which
you are familiar. Or make up in the form of a newsletter from "A Correspondent" a budget of news items
gathered from your immediate neighborhood.

EDITORIALS .

217

supplement the news columns by furnishing this comment. No fact, however isolated in a,pperirance, stands
really alone in the economy of the universe. And so
every event bears a more or less 'intimate relation to
other events, and has an influence and a significance
that are not always immediately apparent. It is the
eclitor's work to trace out this relation and to detect
and explain this significance. Sometimes a moral may
be pointed or a lesson needs to be drawn. One clay
comes the news that a man has been robbed of a large
amount of money which he h ad hoarded in his house
and the nex t clay appears the following brief editorial :
People who, in these days of banks and safe deposit companies,
keep $85,000 in money in a bureau drawer deserve to be robbed.
The New J ersey shirrowner who suffered from thieves will probably never see his money again, but it is to be hopel'I that his
misfortune will serve as a warni ng to others who hoard treasure.
The old-time notion that money is safest in one's personal charge
·is exploded, and any one who secretes coin and so makes it useless
for the purposes of trade deserves· to have it stolen.

Sometimes the comment takes a humorous or satirical
turn and serves scarcely any other purpose than that of
lending spice to the column, as in the following:

EDITORIALS.

The folio;~' from the State of vV ashin g ton who devised the
ingenious corset for carrying sixty-eight valuaLle Swiss watches
ought to have dressed before a mirror. The fac t that one concealed watch made a slight protuberance under his overcoat led to
his undoing. It takes a very clever smuggler to run the gauntlet
of the experts in New York who h ave had their detective abilities
sharpened by months of daily observation.

News, we have said, should generally be written
without comment. The editorial columm; of a paper

But it is in dealing with the great questions of the
Jay, social, political, or religious, municipal, national,

EXERCISE LXVII.

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MISCELLANEOUS FORJ\IS.

or intenmtiona1, that the editor's ability and resources
are taxed to the utmost. He must keep abreast of all
the news in order that he may gntsp at once the significance of any particular item of it; he must watch
every cloud on the social or political horizoit and calculate the electric force which charges it; he must be
a student of medicine, law, theology, history, philosopl1y, literatlll'e, for he is :1 teacher of ~tll of these in
tum. Versatility of lrnowle<lge and talents is still
in demand in the etlitor's chair, though the modem
t endency toward specialization and division of labor
is not unfelt even here. But how does one acquire
·this versatility? So far as it is rtn acquisition, by
culti.vatin ~ active liahib~ of both hocly and mind; by
seeki ng w1cl e acqnaint.a.nce with men ol' the world.
"men c1! affairs"; by studying, in the spirit of th e
historian, the life of t heAJ;imes. 0£ co urse even wiLh
the widest experience Lhe e(litor is not omniscient.
But he ]mows how to avai l l1i111:-:;clf uI reso urces not
guessed at l>v manv who accept. hiR wonl fnr infollihk
doctrine. Is a measure proposed in Cong ress whicl1
is deemed unconstitutional'? H e goes at once to the
constitution and the expositions of it. Does a war
ureak out unexpec tedly in one of the unimportant
South Am erican republics? He turns to hiF>tori eR,
atlases, eyclope<l ias, and political alrn:1nacR, and in
several Luurs writBs a colu11111 ex1_1lc>i11ing the whole
sitn:iLion . Jfo s!lt(lil's an!l wri it's f(lr ll1c (]1n11s:111!1s 1r li n
have no time to study for tltcmRch·cR, an cl thus l1is po::; iliv11
l>ecomes one of al mo::;L inualeulable power an<l intluence.
The difficulty of t he editor's ta.sk will be apparent at
once to the inexperienceJ stuJcnt who tries to perform

219

EDITORIALS.

it. B ut several hints upon method have already been
given. The news of a current newspaper should be
ciuefully studied and some item selected which affortls
plenty of matter for comment. If the news is intimately related to past events, the history and litera,ture
of the subject should be studied thoroughly. The
Statesman's Y c:tr-Hook, lfo1,ell's Annu;1l, PoliLical Almanacs, Co ngressional record ·, ce nsus aml fin ~wc i al repor ts ,
etc., will often be found vn,luable where onlin:iry books
of reference fai l because not late enou gh in date.
A complete file of a good newspaper is likewise almost
indispensable. Then, when Lhc material is gathered,
let the comment which is inte nded to tuk e Lhe form of
an editorial be condensed, vigorous, and po in tecl.
Following are a few titles of editorials appearing at
the time of this writin g : U ntle velopecl Wea.ltlt, The
Fanner :wd the Cornrnrn er, Ta.xing Lu x1nics, En gli sli
A g ri c11 ltnrc, M:i.ki ng Plu sh i 11 1\ mcri(•.a.. N cw York in
Gala Dress, Cleveland's P rospects, Cres p_o_ i_n_,__...........,;....__
A 11 Ellm:aL iun< ~l C:1.rnp<Lig 11, Ld11·i 11 J\t)u th
Uttr.

rn great newspapers Llrn.t are- pnhlishecl in our
larger cities for examples of etlitori:ils of tl 1is cb ss .
S tthjoinccl is one from tli e New York E11eni11y l'usl,
which may be en LiLlecl

l<'rce cyc 11ing sc li nols were cst<Llilis l1 cd i11 i\L:11· J la.1·c 11 ;dJ<1L1L
U1irLv yea rs ag·o, and li ;LVI' ht'.en 111 a i11t.ai1wd cv•·r s i11 cc. \i11L l'nr
seve ral winters l'ast Lhc atLemb11 cc 11po11 those co udL1cLed for
En glish-,peaking pnpils hn s he<' n st.e aclil y cl iminishin.c;. H mi .~ht
be supposed that this incli c;iteJ less desire to overeornP. thP. rfof;ets
of e;i,rly ed11 c;i,tion n.mong the in1111igrants, \\·ho kL1·e always co m-

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MISC8LLANEOIJS F Ol:tlllS.

B OOK REVIEWS .

prised the larger part of tfie pupils, than was the case in the
:;ixties; but the Palladium, which appear~ to have investigate<l the
matter, says that the truth is that there is u1uch less occasion for
such schools now than there was a score of years ago. It says
that yo ung Irish immigrants now are us ually ab le to read wi th
ease and to write fairly well, and have a fair kn owledge of the
rudirn en ts of ari th me tic, and it see ms doub tful whether it will
long be necessary to nmintain free eve ning schools fo r E nglishspeaking pupils. There has been a good attendan ce the past
winter at the eve uing schools maintained •for Jtalians, Scandinavians, a nd Hussi:in Jews, but the principal object of t he pupils
11a8 uee n to learn the English la ng uage. Our Swedish and
Norwegian im111igrnnts are usually well educated when they
a rrive here, a nd th e Pailadiwn says that, so far as New H ave n's
experience goes, "the Italians are fairly well educated, and the
llussians and Poles, while giving evidence of having had few or
almost no advantages in this direction, show a brightness a nd
industry . which make their progress rapid." This is a very
encourng111g re11orl;, and deserves attention a t a time when there
is so much anxiety about the. ignorance of our immigrants.

_made, there can be little doubt that it has much
influence in determining the immediate, though not the
final, demand for the book. The reviewer's position is
therefore one of . some responsibility, too seldom felt
and too often lightly assumed.
One way of reviewing a book is merely to give an
abstract of its contents-of an elaborate scientifi c
treatise, for example, to give the divisions and generalizations, of an argumentative work the positions attacked and those defended, of a novel an outline of the
plot. Tl1is method lms much Lo recowmencl it. It
giv'es the reader a better idea of the nature of the hook
than the mere title can afford, while it does not thrust
upon him personal opinions nor mislerttl him by wlmt
may possibly be an entirely wrong estimate: it is not
likely either to prejudice the public or to injure the
author.
But perhaps the public wants to know more. How
does the book compare with other works by the same
author? How does it compare with books by other
authors in the same fiekl? D oes it couLrilmte anyLhi11 g
new or valuable to learning or literature? D oes it show
that the author was competent to undertake his task?
Is it well written? Iu short, what are ils merils and
defects ? To ans>ver these questions requires considerable
critical acumen co upled with a wide knowledge of men,
books, and subjects. As the questions indicate, the
method to be followed is largely that of comparison.
vVe cannot properly estimate Carlyle's work apart from
Richter's, nor Emerson's apart from Carlyle's. A new
text-book on chemistry must be judged according as it
represents the latest stages in the development of the

220

EXERCISE LXVIIi.
BOOK REVIEWS.

Criticism in general, as one form of exposition, is
discussed in Exercise XL V. Book reviewing is only a
department of criticism, and in scope a rather narrow
one too, but an age of many books has made it so common that it seems worth while to give it special notice.
The object of a book review is found in the desire of
readers who cannot haunt the book stalls to know not
only what new books are published but also what are
their character and comparative worth. And whatever
may be the value of the judgment thus, often hastily,

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MISCELLANEOUS FORMS.

BOOK HEVIEWS .

science, mid is well acfapted or not to the present
methods of teachiflg it. Few reviewers however are
able to deal in this way with all the books that come
into their hn,nds. The result is that the criticn,l method
of book reviewing is often looked upon with chsfavor.
Certain rnagn,zines have tried to find n, way out of the
difficulty by lmving every important book reviewed hy
n, specialist in the clcpartrnc11t to whieh it helollgs.
Tho chief objection to this is thn,t those most competent
to judge of the subject-matter of a book do not n,lways
possess other important qualifications of a literary critic.
There is another ques tion tlmt a book review may
very properly n,nswer: \~T hat have the publishers clone
for the book? Where n,ncl by whom is it publishe<l?
vVhn,t are its size, style, n,nd price? Is it well printed,
tastefully bound ? These indeed become the important
questions in all cases of reprints, art books, souveni r
books, editions de luxe, etc. Some familiarity with the
printer's, engraver's, and bookbinder's arts is necessary
in order to answer th~se questions well. And a little
study of these arts, even from an outside point of
view, will amply repay any student in the increased
pleasure he will find in well selected type, restful proportions, clean press work, and appropriate bindings ..
Let us take now, almost at random, a few exn,rnples
of reviews. Here is a very brief notice of the latest
number of a periodical:

A compilation, issued n,pparen Lly in the illterests
both of religion and of art, is described thus :

222

Slt01·t Stories appears as a special Christmas 11umber, with ma11y
pretty half-tone cuts and clever outline drawings by well-known
artists. The tales are of exceptional interest, and among the
authors are Frank Stockton, J ohn Strange 1'Vinter, Alphonse
Daudet, H enry H arland, and F. Anstey.

A dainty little book is "Selec tions from Tsaac Pennington."
The selections ~t re extracts from letters of Pen11i11gton, who was
a leader among the English Quakers. Ile 'rns imprisoned fhe
times because of his faith, but he uore all his su!Terings " -ith rare
fortitude . His eldest cla.nghtcr ma.rriCLl \Vilkim Penn, an•l t he
co mpiler of 1.his book has n.dd cd Penn's trib11t.c t.o hi s friPnd .
The little volnn1c is full of wise counsel and trnc religion. It is
bound in vellum cloth with gilt edges and is put up in a box.
[Boston : Roberts Brothers. Price, 75 ce nts. ]

A new edition of all old L(Jok requ ires differe 11 (,
treatment-:
F ew books lend themselves m ore gracefully to ill11strntio11 than
Longfellow's "Hyperion," whi ch is broug ht out i11 fin e dress wit.h
a large number of lmlf-tone reproductions of photographs of the
sce nery of the Rhine and of Switzerland. This early prose
romance, in which the poet emualmed his own low, has always
been a favo rite, fo r it breaths pure sentiment a11d it embodies the
reverence of a student of German li te rature for the masters that
he loved. The illustrations have been well selected, and many of
them are from photographs which arc 11 ot co mmon. 011e of the
most effective is the picture of t he old watch tower at A ndernach.
The h ook is bonnd in noYel fashion ancl is put up in a pretty box.
[Philadelphia: Porter & Coates. Price, $3.50.J

As a,n example of the more serious ·work that may be
clone in this line by those who are at once scholars and
critics, take the following by Mr. Brander Matt.hews in
the September, 1 882, number of 'l'he Cosmopolitan:
l\fr. Bierce in Talcs of Soldiers and Ch·ilians has chose n
to abjure love altogether and to deal wholly with the other
emotions -chiefl y, indeed, with _o ne of them, " -ith the emotion
of fear. Almost every one of the scant score of these tales is a
study in the psychology of terror - the terror of men for the

224
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225

LBTTEHS.

MISCELLANEOUS FOHMS.

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'

most part brave, Lut here taken at a disadvantage and reduced to
abject, craven, crawling, animal fear.
The book abounds in
ghostly and ghoulish adventures ; it has a graveyard flavor to
delight a resurrection man ; itnd at last the reitder revolts against
the unredeemed monotony of insistent horror. There is only a
tint of humor now itnd then, grim always and g rewsome. But
the power of these tales is indisputable ; their Lrute-force is
beyond question. Mr. Bierce has n,n astonishi11 g fac ulty for the
selection of the dramatic s ituation, plucked at the very climax
and catastrophe of the drama and presented briefly a11d boldly and
left to speak for itself. The strange sketch called Chickamauga,
with its vision of a regiment of wounded men crawling silently
through the dark woods, befo re the eyes of a little child, brings
home the horror of war, the bloody ghastliness of it, as uothing
else in literature except Tolstoi's Sebastopol, as nothin g in art
except Verestchagin's pictures. This, indeed, is what :Mr. Bierce
is, a literary Verestchagin, quite willing to declare the secrets of
the ch arnel house. One of the Missing is a mas terpi ece of growing horror in the face of impe nding and inevitable death. Here
t.lu~ a11t-.hnr if.: nnt. f'rt1TiP tl l H'yflnrl thr 11nn1Hl~ nf ~i· t ) :i.~ lw t ) y,·L.c·n
he sets before us The Coup de Grace, unsavory and unpardonable.
It is to be i;aid also that, Mr. Biercn ahnR<'R the trick of surpri~e :
as Mr. Aldrich showed us in Marjory Daw, it is a legitimate
device, Lut it is easily *oru out. The sheer streng th of these
tales, rank as it is and unpleasant, is so marked that I -..vish Mr.
Bierce would enlarge his formulas and fi g ure for us so me of the
facts of life other than fear.

'
EXERCISE LXIX.
LETTERS.

1£ it be assumed that the student is familiar with the
conventional forms used in letter writing, there remains
only to indicate and illustrate some of the qualities
which it is desirable that letters should possess.

-

- - -· -

I·

;.·:-· -;-;~··:·-·---· --•- w• ........ ,.,..,.,. , .. ;.;:..,,.,. ... -

-

-

• fi,;i.IA"?;;. .. ::-: ; : ,;.. ;,.,,.•....;.: •;.:£• ::::=:: "=. ... .. · - - ._ -

form of letters, so that the elements of this art have
been acquired through actual practice. But since it is
an art, something can still be learned from study and
from practice based upon that study.
There is scarcely an occupation or condition of life
that does n ot call this art into play. And so we have
letters of every variety, from brief notes of invitation
to long state documents, from letters of business to
letters of friendship and love. One who ]ms learned
how to express himself clearly, correctly, and concisely,
and hn.s lem·ned, furthermore, that written communications do not differ rnaterirLlly from oral ones, may be
trusted to write business letters a11d all orrlinary letters
of courtesy in a satisfactory manner. But ·whatever
t he form or contents of the epistle, one thing must be
l.;orne in mind, and tln1L rn ilmL a leLLer i::; ul <Lil ju1n.lli
of composition the mo8t personal, an d therefore subj ec t
to all the restrictions as weli as open to all t he liberties
of our daily in tercourse with one another. Thi 8 means,
for one thing, th at it must be nrnrkeLl through out by
courtesy and kindly co1rnideration for every just claim
of the person addressed. Violn,tion of tl1 ese vrinciples
in conversation may find some little excuse in pleas of
impulse, thoughtlessness, or provocation, but such pleas
can h ardly be advanced in extenuation of that whi ch is
written. Besides, if it is t rue tlmt a worcl once spoken
can never 1.Je recalled, a written word is atte rnled with
the additional danger that it may survive the forg etfulness of all who first beheld it.
Out of this same fact, that a letter is peculi arly personal in character, grows this injunction : L et it be

-

lllISCELLANEOlJS FORMS.

the more delicious. Perhaps you can't imagi11e how wistfully I
have looked for i t : how, after a walk, my eyes hav'c turned to the
t able, on coming into the room, to see ,it. Sometimes I h<we been
te mpt~d to be angry with you : but then I thought that I was
sure you would come a lrnndred miles to se rve me, though you
were too la;i;y to sit down t o a lett.er. I suppose that people who
a re engaged i 11 serious ways of life, and are of well-filled minds,
don't think much about the interchange of letters with any
n,nxiety : but I a m an idle fellow, of a very ladylike turn of sentiment : and my friendships are more like loves, I think. Your
letter found me rending the "Merry " Tives of "\Vindsor" too : I
had b een laughing aloud to myself: think of what another coat
o[ h:i,ppiness cn,me over my former good mood. You are a dear
good fellow, and I love you with all my henrt n,nd soul. The
t\·uth is I was anxious ab out thi s letter, as l really didn't know
whether you were married or uot - or ill - I fanci ed you might
b e an ything, or anywhere . . . .
As to reading I h ave not don e mu ch. l am going through the
Spectator: which people nowail:tys think a poor book: Lut I

, 1

I
11

above all things natural. Naturalness, qualified ouly
by a properly discreet reserve, constitutes the chief
charm of an epistolary style. You write only because
under the circumstances you cannot talk. If you are
writing to a friend and your object is not purely a business one, then you want to convey to that friencl something of yourself, you want to enable him to enjoy for
a few moments your society. You can only do this by
being in every word. and in .every thought your frue
self. There must be no posing and no insincerity .
That self-consciousness which stands in th e way of true
self-expression is less p[trdonable here, perhaps, than in
any other form of writing.
The intrinsic value and interest of the w1itte~1 letter
will naturally depend on the personality that shines
t.hrnn g h it-.

227

LETTJ~R S.

226

~rh n;:;ri

rl r:11g11 tf111 p 1-· Ci t 1l ~ · \\ l1ut 1L l' \-c r r 1HH _h_

T ll"!I_' j ~

calls "interesting" arc pr.::; LLy sure Lu wriLe inter~sting'
letters. and there r.:u1 hn.rrlly foil t(\ hp "nrn e reflediou
of a great mind in the letters of a great man. Thus
letters that were never intended to be any thing more
than mere epistles n1ay n se to the rank of literature.
For fm.nk [l.!ld spmitaneous expression of fee ling take
the following letter of Eclwarcl FitzGerald's to his
friend John Allen. The punctuation, it ought to be
said, is FitzGeralcl's own :
DEAH ALLEN,

GELDESTONE

HALL,

cert<tinly a good deal of what may be ca li.eci 'pili.,' i>nt there is a
g!'" ;d - ,l ,:' :d 11f -.. v i -.: 1l11~H , T liPJ!P V P : c11tl y if. i .. . : l' l t!H•l11•1l " 11 --<iH 1 ) 1l~. · l li ;d
p eople can't believe it to be real aLsolute wisdom. The little
b ook you speak of I will order a nd buy. I heard from Thackeray,
who is just upon the point of going to Frnnce; indeed he may Le
tl1erc by this t.im e. I shall miss him much. . . .
Farewell my dearest feil ow : yo u have m ade rn e very h~ppy to
hear from you : a,11d to know thaL all is so well with you . IlclieYe
me to be your ever affectionate fri end,
E. FnzGE1tALD.

It would be vain to contend that the <tbove letter is
interesting only because it w <.LS written by a man who
made some valuable contributions to the sum of English

Sept. 9, [1834].

I have really nothing to say, and I am ashamed
to be sen J i ng Llii ci tliinl ldkr -.11 "lie ""'.! frurn here Lu I'e11 11rokeshire for no earthly purpose : Lut I have just received yours : and
you will know how very welcome all your letters are to me when
you see how the perusal of this one has exci ted me to snch an instant reply. lt has indeecl bnen a long tim<' M in in g : hnt. it io flll

.. . '

r4

,

• ,

,

'

'

•

•

.:-i11n'.1y t11L: Jc t u :r . .':'·1v1n g

11 ~

l.

('

:l g u111ps c 01

the true self of a fellow-being and bringing us for
a moment into his immediate presence, is interes ting in
it.sel£, aml wuukl lie scarcely k ;:;s ::>u iI 11 G cliLl ll u L ka u w
I

I
---~;\{.-~--

.

1n+~ ra n1rc .

·I

-228

DIAHIES.

MISCELLANEOUS FORMS.

that it cam.e from the same hand which has given us,
in its English form, the priceless Riibdiydt.
Let us look at one example too from Horace Walpole,
remembering that he had studied letter-writing as an
art and wrote hoping for the appreciation of future
generations. That there should be some "posing " in
his case seems inevitable. The letter announces to
a friend vValpole's return from France.
S'rnAwu..:1rnY

H1q,,

EXERCISE LXX.
DIARIES.

Oct. lG, 17GO.

I arrived at my own Louvre last vVednesday night, and am
11ow at my Vers<'.illes. Your last letter reached me but two clays
before I left Pans, for I have been an age at Calais and upon the
sea. I could execute no commission for you, and, in truth, you
gave me no explicit one; but I have brought_ yo u a bit of china,
and beg you will be content with a little present, instead of
a bargain. Said china is, or will be soon, in the Ctistom-House;
li11L 1 shall l1:L'" it , T f..ar, ]n11 g \,,.f,,,.,. yo 11 c1J1111· tu Luuclun . . . .
l foel wy~dI l1ere like a swan, that, after living six weeks in
a nasty pool upon a common, is ~ot back into H8 own Thanw 8 .
1 do noti1ing but piume and clean myself, and enjoy the verdure
an~ _silent waves. Neatness and greenth are so essential in my
opm10n to the country, that in France, where I see nothing but
?!ml~ and dirty peasants, I seem in a terrestrial purgatory that
IS neither town nor co}1'ntry. The face of England is so beautiful
that I do not believe Tempe or Arcadia were half so rural ;
both lying in hot climates, must have wanted the tnrf of our
lawns. It is unfortunate to have so pastoral a taste, when I want
a cane more than a crook. \Ve are absurd creatures· at twenty
I loved nothing but London.
'
'

fo:.

Consult Knight's Half-Hours with the B est L etterWrite1·s. Head, for all varieties of epi:;tolary style,
the published letters of Cowper, Gray, Pope, Lamb,
Thackeray, Madame de Sevig-ne, Goethe, Thomas
J effersou, Washington Irving, Carlyle, and Emerson.

229

I

Akin to letter writing in some respects is dairy
writing. It consists in recordingi;he events that come
within one person's daily experience, physical, intellectual, or spiritual, with or without comment. The
result will be, even more markeclly than in the case of
letter writing, a reflection of the mind and life of the
writer. If a letter exhibits that portion of one's inner
'1.ature which he is willing to disclose to others, a diary
or journal presumably goes further and betrays phases
of one's individuality that find expression only in
moments of self-communion. For the truest diary is
that which is int.enrforl for no e:res save those of the
\\·ritcr, U1(l11gl1 s11<·ii is nol Jik1·l:· \() liG <'r1111·lwd ill the
best literary form.
lL may Lie :mill iuJ.eetl LlmL, a::; i11 leLLer::;, 1,;vlierem;e,
symmetry, pmpose, polish, the qualities by which we
test composition in general, will not be demanded in
the same degree here. And greater liberty may perhaps be ~•llowecl in the minor details of punctuation,
sentence structurn, etc. Still it would seem that if
a journal is worth keeping at all, little would be lost
ancl a great deal would be gainecl by giving clue consideration even to these minor details. It can hardly be
argued tha.t this will interfere with naturalness or
sincerity. There is no reason why one's real nature
may not find just expression in correct as well as in
incorrect form. And certainly it is no check upon
spontaneity to cultivate the habit of putting a period

230

MISCELLANEOUS 1"0RMS .

<tL Lli e eud of a :-;e 11 Le 11ee. l>iarv
·' 11·1·1' l 1'11 .•"... ( '1111 :-; l 'ra e ['.1:-;< ~ ' l
may serve the very rn;efol end of affo rLlin g goo d
training in composition.
As in letter writing again, we shall expect here no
aLtiLwliniz;ing or ]JUoi11g for effect. TJ 1i::; may not lie
avoidable in the case of journal::; written with the pos::iiLility of publication in mind, a,>; Lli e .Journal of tlw
late Marie Bashkirtseff. And some have maintain ed
iml ecd thn t n o on r wl t(l <1 1,l il wra lel.r si ls 11" 11· 11 to i ee<l rd
his thought<; and feelings can entirely avoi<l posing
even before himself. But this looks suspieiouslv like a.
contradiction of terms. However that be, it is ~vell to
remember that a journal loses its value in direct proportion as it i::; insincere.
The character of a diary will depend U]JOll the
purpose for which it is kept as well as upon the individuality of the keeper. It may have no other object
than to preserve a consecutive and dated record of
event<; and experiences. Or it may be treated as a
companion and a confidant fitted to occupy th e leisure of
the dreamer or solace the hours of the soli tary thinker.
The first may become valuable in the future to the biographer or his tor~an, and the second to the student of psychology or the lover of literature. Let 118 take as an example of the first an entry from the celel>rated Diary of
Samuel P epys, English Secretary to the Admiralty.
Apr. 8th, 1661. - Up early, my L ady Batten knockin g at her
door that comes into one of my chambers. I did give directi ons
to my ~eopl e an.d wo~·k.men, , and so about 8 o'clock we took barge
a't the Tower, Sir Wilham Batten and his lady, Mrs. Turner, Mr.
1' owler an~ I. A very pleasant passage and so to Gravesend,
wh ere we dmed, and from thence a coach took t he m a nd me, and
Mr. Fowler with some others came from H,ochester to meet us, on

-DIAlUES

231

horse !Ja.c k. At ltoc hcst.c r, "·here :-il ighf. at i\lr. A !cock's :u1d th ere
drn11k <tll<l h:td good spor t, \vi th hi s h ri11 gi11g oa L so 11 i: u1y so rt s of
cheese. Then to the llill-house at Chatl1:-irn, where I never was
before, and I [oun cl a pretty pleasant house n.nd a.111 ple:tsP<l with
th e anncs th<tt kw g up there. H ere we supped very ltlc rry, a-n<l
l:Lte to bed; Sir 'Willialll tellin g Ill e that old Eclgeborrow, his
1•rcck ccsso r, d id d ie a ml \Valk i n my cli:t111Lcr, cl i<l 111ak<· 111(' su111cw hat nJeard, l1ut not so much as for mirth's sake I <lid see m. So
to bed in the trensurer's chamber.

P epys's Diary, it will be seen, is fill c1l with the
minute::;t details, faithful, goss ipy. untirin g . Tl1 erc i:;
•little depth of thought or Lrill iancy of style. Tl w
co mposition i::; ofte n slovenly, gaug ed eYe n Ly tl w
standards of the time, - a fault however tlmt nrny find
some extenuation when we co nsider what an immcn:;c
amount of time and labor this record clcnrnnclecl daily
of one whose official position was it.,elf no sin ecure.
But though the interest sometimes flag~, t he valHe of
the work is inestimable. vV c can read it and almost
live for ourselves the life of an English oflieial of the
seventeenth century.
In ::;trong contrast to this diary of a l>u::;y m:t11 of tl1 e
world in the Jo iirnal Intimc of 1-Iemi-FreLleriu Amiel,
the Gen evesc professor, philosopher, poet, and dreamer.
Heacl lL clmmcteristic passage :
2d April, 1864. -To-day April has bee n displaying her showery
caprices. '.Ve have had floods of sunshine foll owed by de\ uges of
rain, alternate tears a nd s miles fr om the petulant sky, g usts of
wind and storms. The weather is like [~ spoilt chihl whose wishes
and expression change tw enty times in an hour. It is a Llessing
for the plants, and means an influx of life through :Lil the veins of
the spring. The circle of mountains whi ch bounds the v:illey is
covered with white from top to toe, but two ho urs of sun shine
would melt the snow away. The snow itself is but a new caprice,

'.

232

MISCELLANEOUS FORMS.

a simple stage decoration ready to disappear at the signal of the
scene-shifter.
How sensible I am to the restless change which rules the world.
To appear, :ind to vanish, - there is the biography of all individuals, whatever may be the length of the cycle of existence
which they describe, and the drama of the universe is nothing
more. All life is the shadow of a smoke-wreath, a gesture in the
empty air, a hieroglyph traced for an instant in the sand, ai1d
effaced a moment afterwards by a breath of wind, an air-bubble
expanding and vanishing on the surface of the great river of
being- an appearance, a vanity, a nothing. But this notl~ing is,
however, the symbol of the universal being, and this passing
bubble is the epitome of the history of the world.
The man who has, however imperceptibly, helped in the work
of the universe, has lived; the man who has been conscious, in
however small a degree, of the cosmical movement, has lived also.
The plain man serves the world by his action and as a wheel in
the machine ; the thinker serves it by his intellect, and as a light
upon its path. The man of meditiitive soul, who raises and comforts and sustains his travelling companions, mortal and fugitive
like himself, plays a nobler part still, for he unites the other two
utilities. Action, thought, speech, are the three modes of human
life. The artisan, the savant, and the orator, are all three God's
workmen. - (Mrs. Humphrey Ward's Translation.)

Published Oorifessions, such as those of Rousseau and
De Quincey, arc similar to journals in some respects.
And 'Vilkie Collins has more than once turned the
cfotry form to account in the field of fiction by using
it to work out the characters and plots of his novels.

EXERCISE LXXI.
DIALOGUES.

To invent a conversation is not easy; even for a good
converser. To report one that has actually taken place

DIALOGUES.

233

may not be difficult but can scarcely serve any worthy
literary purpose. If an ordinary conversation were
registered in a phonograph and repeated to. us by this
means, ·we should find it, divested of the charm lent to
it by the presence of the speakers, decidedly barren and
uninteresting. flo·w much more banen and uninteresting then must it be if still fmther divested of the very
inflections and intonations of the voice. This inevit[tble
loss, in written dialogue, must be compensated for if
possible. To this end the principles of selection must
be studiously observed. The tentative beginnings of a
conversation, the unfortunate sliµ s of the tongue, the
janing discords, the painful pauses, the dreary stretches
of unpro:fitaLle small talk, must all be banished to give
place to the fl.ashes of wit and flow of wisdom. Conversation thus constructed may bc~ome entertaining
even on the printed page.
It may be said that the reader is to supply m imagination the vocal and facial accompaniments. But if he
is to do this spontaneously, without study or conscious
effort, then the words and phrases must carry with them
the certain signs of these accompaniments. That is to
sa,y, they must be spontaneous themselves and indicative
of feelings as well as of thoughts. And this indeed is
the principal secret of successful dialogue writing.
There is another feature to be preserved. A great
source of interest in the interchange of talk is the constant uncertainty of the nature of the rejoinders, and
the resulting surprises. The difficulty of preserving
this will be apparent when one reflects that in the
invented conversation the same person must supply all
the speeches and rejoinders. He cannot bring to the

234

:MISCELLANEOUS FORMS.

product all the versatility of talents, the breadth n,nd
diversity of experience, and co nsequent varying points
of view that a mixed company of people bring. The
best that he can do is to conceive en,ch speaker n,s distinctly n,nd vividly as possible and to make him speak
always "in chamcter." This is the essential thing in
dmmatic rlialogue n,ml nmy lie::;t he ::;tudie<l in the
play:; of Slmke:;pcare. Hrow11i11 g l1a,.<; bee n e riLici:;c<l for
making his child characters speak like grown people,
like Browning himself.
Another kind of dialogue known to literature and
almost as old n,s the dramatic is the philosophical, represented by the dialectics of Plato. It may be studied
in Professor J owett's excellent translation of Pb to .
Walter Sav[tge Landor's delig htful Imaginary Conversations may be mentio11ed here as another variety of successful literature that is purely tlialogistic in chamcter.
"When dialogue is mingled with ordinary description
and n[tITation the prolilem is somewhat different. Some ·
difficulties are removed. The clrnrn,c ters of the different
speakers may be described, as may also their actions
and situations . . On the other hand t he personality of
the [1,Uthor is t 11rust between us and the characters ltml
;ind there is d:rngcr that it may liecome so plainly visible
as to olilitenitc the outlines of the clmrncters themselves. A technical dilTiculty i::; found too in the manageme11 t of the parenthetical liut neces:;ary and freq ucntly recurring "said he " or its cq uivalent. The
V[l,rious device:; for overcoming this dilliculty nmy lie
studied with profit. Let it be remembered h owever
that the va1fations on this formu la are not equally
appropri[l,te in all places : something besides the neces-

DIALOGUES

23G

sity for var iety must cnlcr into Ll1c co nsi clcmtion. Tl1e
Les t employment of them will Le that wl1ich leaves Ll1 e
reacler entirely u11 com;cious that irnch words li:we lieen
u:;ed :it all. Study and criticise a pn.ge 0£ co nvers:Llion
in a ny novel th:it come:; Lo l1 aml. As in clramas U1 e
conversatio n is the whole work, so in novels it i:; merely
tlie accid ent, one of the mcrirn:, Ll1ough rarely a s11liordi1mte n11 c, for <levelnpi11g Ll1e ploL a.ml eli aradl' 1':-;,
.Uetwcen Ll1e two lie :;uch works :t8 Dr. IJul111 es'::; .Autocrat of the Brealcf1ist Table, in which the co11vcr:=;ation of
th e charactcrn is tl1 c principal thin g, though relieved by
renmrlrn <ind co nfi dences of tl 1e au Lhur which really eonstit nte only a more delightfnl convcrs:tLion lJeL\\·een him
and us.
l\Iuclt might lie said here of a practice Ll1aL lm:; grU\rn
up of laLe among story writers and even poets, but a:-; it
has [1,lreauy been canied to extremes perlmps it is best
mentioned on ly to convey this warning. Tl1e practice
referreJ. to is the use of tli:ilect. \ Vl1cn used accurately
it has a ::;cientific and hi sLoric value, no Lloulit, LuL a
good ear .and long familiarity with the spoken dial ect
are necessary to insure this accuracy. On the ot.l1er
lmnd, when it is used as a literary vehicle, it may be
question ed whetl1 er more is not lost by the impediments
it throws . before the reader than is gained liy Lhe flavor
of novelty and fidelity to character wl1ich it imparts.
The Scotch dialect of Bums':; poems and the more recent
Hoosier di:ilect of Jame:; vVhitcomb Riley':; n.re familiar
to all.
In lJOVels, vValLer Scott, Geo. 1\focD011n.Jd,
\Vm. Black, and J11[1,ny others h[tve [1,lso availed themselves of Scotch dial ects. The n egro p[l,tois of our own
country is best exhibited by Joel Clmnr1l cr Harris. The

236

237

MISCELLANEOUS FORMS.

HUMOR.

peculiarities of speech of the creoles of the South have
served Geo. W. Cable more than once, as the dialect of
the western miners has served Bret Harte.

Were this all that could be said of humor, it would
not claim special attention here. It would have to
pass with simplicity, pathos, imagination, sublimity,
and all those qualities of subject-matter or style which
fl writer will em 110
accordin
h"
and

EXERCISE LXXII.
HUMOR.

Humor has long held a legitimate place in literature,
and has had its representatives in many times and lands,
from Aristophanes to Cervantes and from Cervantes to
Washington Irving. Naturally it has changed much
in charaCter with the times and lands, as n,11 literature
must change, perhaps even more than most literature
changes, but this fact has not prevented it, when of
the highest order, from preserving an abiding place.
It would be folly to contend that Moliere's fame rests
solely on his truthful delineation of character and
manners for the purpose of satirizing them, or that
Chaucer lives in spite of his jests. Humor has unquestionably /been one of the saving elements of their work.
On the other hand it may be doubted whether humor
alone could save any work to fame. If this quality
endures, it endures along with poetry, history, satire,
pathos, morality, wisdom. If Aristophanes and Moliere,
Chaucer and Cervantes, Lamb and Irving, are read
to-day, it is for something besides their mere wit and
humor. They did not disdain to provoke a smile .or
even raise a loud laugh, but they knew that there are
purposes in literature higher than these. Wit and
humor are the incidentals, not the essentials, the form,
it may be, not the substance.

Thus there has arisen a form of writing
almost as distinctive as history or fiction. It may be
evanescent, though there is little evidence yet of
a falling off in the demand. PilCk, Judge, Life, number
their readers by the thousand; Bill Nye still finds
lcctming remunerative ; and Mark Twain's books in
our public libraries arc worn out faster than they can
be replaced. Certainly, whatever may be true of the
form, the separate productions are evanescent enough;
this is attested by the fact that the "funny paper"
is far more conspicuous on the railway car and in
public waiting-rooms than on the drawing-room table,
and that we have to seek the humorous book in the
circulating library rather than on our pri vn,tc sh cl vcs.
The humorous wTiters are themselves well n,ware of
this, though they have combined with their public to
elevate humorous writing to the dignity of a profession, and follow it, content if they can win tltc
fle eting popularity of a day. Who shall say Llmt they
are wrong, or that we are wrong to encourage them'?
Life would be serious indeed without its pnsLimes n,nd
recreations. And humor is the natural recreation of
the' intellect. Every man is the Letter for keeping
a private jester in the court of his fancy .

---238

239

MiSOELLANEOUS FORMS.

liUMOR.

· But he who would make a life profession of amusing
the public must be a "fellow of infinite jest," and
there are comparativdy few such. Considering there- .
fore the limitations of the utmost success which even
the naturally gifted humorist can hope to attain, it
would cert:a inly seem very foolish for one without the
gift . to aspire to the attainment. Still, every newspaper must have its paragrapher, and the meetings of
the students' literary societies would.lose interest if the
more serious . orations and essays were not interspersed
wit!~ some pieces in ~hf l~ghtcr vein.
Fust of . all bear m .irimd . that forced humor is . not
humor at all. It must be spontaneous. Do not imagine
that because some of our best humorists have been men
of mft.ny sorrows, their funny sayings have therefore
been uttered against their will. Or if possibly against
their will, certainly not against their propensity. There
ai·e minds so constructed that they will fashion of the
very tints of sorrow pictures to provoke mirth. They
dwell at some mysterious point of view from which
they ca~- see the funny side of everything. Men with
such minds may sometimes weary of this visual gift,
and .then they may have to exercise their will-power ·to
keep from shutting their eyes~ that is all. Not necessarily he who tries to be funny, but he who has to try
in order to be funny at all is the one who fails. vV e
may laugh at the latter if we do not pity him too
rimch: we shall certainly not laugh with him.
Nor is · that humor of a commendable kind which
makes us laugh at any one. . This is no less true than
trite. It belongs to the ethics of fun-making. It merely
means that the laws of courtesy are never held in

abeyance. Coarseness and vulgarity too are quite as
far removed as incivility or cruelty from the sphere of
genuine humor. Add irreverence.
Exaggeration, hyperbole, is a common resort of one
who aims to make another laugh. It is legitimate if
only it be violent enough that its intent shall not
be mistaken. Besides, the ludicrousness of the effect
seems to be in direct proportion to the violence of the
hyperbole. But there is a better humor than this. If
we were to. express our preference between " a .falsehood plausilily pretending to be true"· "and a truism
pretending to lie a novelty," .for intensity and certainty
of ludicrous effect we should unhesitatingly choose the
latter. Exaggeration grows wearisome but the truth
seldom palls. And we do not need to invent absurdities : human life is full of them, if we can only see
them. Still it is not these that Professor Nichol has in
mind when he speaks of the humorous effects due to
"truisms pretending to be a novelty." He is thinking
rather of those truths that are so self-evident that we
are surprised into a .smile when we hear them stated
gravely as if they were the result of some lfite discovery
or some mature judgment. Thus it is that we cannot
help laughi1ig at Abraham Lincoln's deliberate opinion
that a man's legs ''ought to be long enough to reach
the ground." So we laugh too, when asked why the
Northerners shak.e a salt-box w!1i~e the Southerners . tap
t on the bottom, to learn that it is for the very obv10us
rnrpose of getting the salt ~ut},~)f one will analyze a
e
arge number of witty sayings he will find tha
principles underlying them are very few. The element
of surprise is perhaps always most conspicuous, and it

~

240

MISCELLANEOUS FORMS.

is generally effected in one of the ways indicated
above.
Without going outside of the field of American literature, one can cite as examples of the finest humor
Irving's IJ:nickerbocker and Holmes's Autocrat of the
Breakfast Table. For what is known as "American
humor," though it is of too many types to be distinguished thus, we naturally tui:n to the works of those
writers who have confined themselves to this field
Artemus Ward, Josh Billings, Mark Twain:. Much of'
Mr. Burdette's work is not unworthy of standing by
the side of these masters in t~ris department. And new
writers are constantly developing new veins.
A deliberate attempt at writing a humorous sketch
is an undertaking of doubtful expediency, and the
student who makes it must not have too much confidence. The result may be laughable in a way very
different from .that in which it was intended. One's
success at, least can be easily estimated for one's readern
will see at once whether he has any gift of humor or
not. We may have very diverse ideas as to the best
kind of humor but we are all pretty well agreed as to
what is distinctly not humor. And at the worst, failure
in this line is not very much to be deplored, unless one
aims at success in some higher field of literature where
humor is a requisite.
EXERCISE LXXIII.
THE SHORT STORY.

In our survey of the field of composition (Parts I.
and II.), which aimed to be systematic and at least

THE SHORT STORY.

241

approximately complete, we were brought to the threshold of literature proper, of creative literature. No exact
definition of this term needs to be attempted here ;
suffice it to say that it is literature which deals not with
external facts and events as such merely, but either
creates fresh material in the likeness of these or presents
these to us idealized and glorified by the selection,
organization, and interpretation of a master intellect.
In this department anything like an attempt at instruction must prove peculiarly barren of results. But art
has its part to play even here, and where art is demanded
it would be idle to assume that nothing helpful can be
said. What little can be said in this place must of
c~urse be confined to the broadest principles.
Creative literature in prose drnss commonly takes the
form of fiction, by whatever name - tales, romances,
novels - it may be known. Prose fiction is nothing
new, but its wonderful growth in the present century
has marked an era in the history of literature. And
even within this period there have been great changes.
The voluminous novel of a former generation has largely
given way to the short story, very different in character
from the old tales which led up to the elaborate novel.
In this form, even novel-'.vriting ~an afford valu able and
delightful exercise in composition. To this, then, be
our efforts directed.
One is reminded here of the "story" written by a
pupil in response to a request from the teacher for an
impromptu ten-minute sketch. The pupil sat thoughtfully until the last minute and then rapidly wrote,
"I am a worn-out shoe. My coffin is the ash-barrel, my
grave the dump." Homely as this is, it illustrates the

.242

-

2-±3

MISCELLANEOUS FORMS.

THE SHO l ~T STOW{.

possibility of telling a complete arnl symmetrical story
within the compass of a few words. That is what th e
short story aims to do. And th erein cl1icHy it differs
from th e ohltim e tale. The latter rnlates an ep isode
in the life of one or more persons, and it is felt to
be only an episode. The sh ort story Lri es to combine
with brevity of expression many of the ·eleme11ts of the
long novel. It seizes upon what is cl1aracteristic or
typical. If it is a single incident, it may be Lhe grmit
shaping power of a life , or it may be the crisis of one,
the inevitable outcome of habit and character. l t will be
seen at once that success in this field will depend, more
than upon anything else, upon th e writer's mastery of
the art of selection. The questions kept constant.ly
Lefore him will Le, vVlrnt more can I exclude and yet
tell my story? How can I give a history in a chap ter,
a chapter in a sentence? make a word serve for a sce ne,
"a deed
for a character? To gmsp a situati on at the
climax and reproduce it for the reader without further
explanation or circumlocution - that is the task.
The following are very good exa.mples of what ca.n
Le clone in this line even Ly inexpert wri ters:

do yo n work the last'!" The answer w:is given . '~he boy
opposite brightell ecl up :ind lean ed forw:ud to co mplete lns wor~.
Then he hcsit:ited, Llnshcd, laid clow n his pen, alld folded Ins
J. A. L.
paper.
IN THE CEMETERY.

TIIE HIVALS.

There were two rivals i11 our class. H was 11ear Lhe close of
t he year and they had mai n tained nearl y equa l sta11di11g. "\Ye
were taking t he final examination in al'iLlunet ic. The last
example was particularly ha rd. One ot the rivals s:Lt in fro11t of
me, the other ju st across the aisle.
The hour was drawin g t o a close and the Lo.v in fro11t of me
had completed his paper. The Loy opposite had worked rapidly
till he came to the last example; then Ile hesit:i ted, a nd stopped.
The hour was neal'l y up wh en th e teacher left the roo m fol' a
moment. From a few seats L:ick c:ime :i lout.l wl1isper : "IIow

A few Sund:iys since I strolled out to the ce metery .. Herc ~ml
Lhere upon the n10n11ds were smited gro ups of youn g g irl s talkrng
and laughin g loudl y. A man, leading a smiling child, a little
girl perhaps fo ur years ol1l, passed l.Jy with Lowed head and
al'lwoached :i 1011 g newly made grave. The fa thc'.· knelt. ~111cove recl at its side. The little one gla nced up \\'Ith sm11I11g
\\"Ollllennent, t.hen k llelt beside hi n1. I looke1l agai n; the father
h :td ri~en a ml Lefore leaving was i·everently rcplacillg the dirt of
the rnou1 111, where a careless foot h ad marred its sy mm etry. The
child stopped, 11rncle :t few. simibr gestures with <t tiny hallll, then
t urned ·with a satisfi ed smile to the father :tml th ey passed on.
The laughin g of the heedless groups jarred upon me a1Hl I \1·alked
;iway.

A.
I

The above are single situations ·merely, <tnd nmy not
be pure fiction. But the short story m<ty Le much
wider of scope, 1rn1y be indeed a novel in miniature.
The resources of this literary form have as yet been
only partially developed by English a.nd American
writers. The reader who is in terested in the subject
is rcfcned to the many short stories of Fr:rncis l3rct
H:trte, Frnnk H,. Stockton, Richard I-fording D:wis,
Mary E . ·Wilkins.
It ·will be seen furth er that in the writin g of fiction
in it<; broadest sense there is scarcely a device or
principle of composition which we have alluded to
that will not come into play. Indeed what form of
discourse is useless here? Ceifainly not narmtion or
description ; nor exposition. Is it a.rgurnent or persuasion? You will find actuctl sermons in the novels

ii

.,
-244

MISCELLANEOUS FORMS.

of George Eliot; and public speeches, trials at law,
philosophical dialogues and disquisitions, abound in
works of pure fiction. Mastery therefore of the whole
art of composition is a requisite to the novelist's highest
success.
To be sure, something more is needed - the power
of genius, the creative touch, which alone can make
a work of fiction live, whether that work aim to portray
life as it is or life as it ought to be. But this something is incommunicable save by inspiration. Here
then we stop, full in the front too of the highest form
of creative literature - poetry - which, like fiction,
would require a special treatise even for its technical
side.

INDEX.
[Titles of exercises are in

sntA L t~ CAl'lTALS;

Accuracy, 33, 52.
Addison, Joseph, 123.
Agassiz, Louis, 102.
Almost a Runaway, 18, 21.
Arnie!, H.-1!'., 231.
Andersen, I-I. C. , 95.
ANIMAL HADITS, 72.
ANIMALS, 69.
Argumentation defined, 137-139.
AnGOMENT
FACTS,

fil0'1

137° j BY
139.

SELF- IWIDENT
CAUEFOI,

EX-

POSITION,

Aristocracy in America, 124.
Aristophanes, 8, 236.
Arnold, Matthew, 134, 151, 171.
AuT, Womrn OF, 85.
AuTomoanAPHY, OUTLINE, 39;
DETAILED, 41; hIAGINARY 1 42.
Bacon, Lord, 123.
Balzac, 88, 104, 105.
BAu, Tim, 190.
Baseball, 35.
Bashkirtseff, Marie, 230.
B eauty, 54, 112, 117.
"Billings, Josh," 240.
BIOGUAPHY, 44.
Birds, 70.
Illack, 'IVm., 85, 235.
BooK REvrnws, 220.
Books., use of, 56, 59, u3, 69.
Boswell, 44.
Breck, Hon. Samuel, 185.
Brevity, 75, 214.

titles of models are in ilarics.]

Bringing a Shark Aboard, 100.
Browning, l\obt., 105.
BUILDINGS, TOWNS, ETC. , 51.
Bunyan, John, 38.
Burdette, Robt., 240.
Burns, Robt., 235.
Burroughs, John, GO.
Cabin, A, 53.
Cable, Geo. W., 84, 235.
Can English Literature be Tctught?
141.
Capitalization, 112.
Carleton, ·wm, 39, 105.
Cemetery, In the, 243.
Cervantes, 236.
CHARACTER DESCUIPTION, IlEAJ,,

89 ; IDEAL, 93.
Chaucer, 236.
Cheney, S. P., 70.
Childe Harold, 152.
Choate, Rufus, 186.
Circumlocution, 40.
Clearing Weather, 84.
Clearness, 35, 54, 112, 116, lfl6,
215.
College President, The, 128.
Collins, Wilkie, 232.
Composition, emotional, 7 ; scientific, 7 ; originality in, 8 ; length
of, 39 ; an art, 48, 116 ; principles of, 111-117, 192; scope of,
209, 210; complete method of,
211.

246

Concepts, 112.
Condensation, 40, 116, 214 , 219.
Conduct, 171.
Connotation, 131.
CONTJlSTS 1 PHTSICAL, 30 ; lNTEJ.LECl'UAL, 30.
Conversation. See Dialogues.
Cooper, J . 1''., 100.
CnrncisM, 132.
Criticism, 80; of written work,
33.
Cruise, A, 20.
Darwiu, 113, H7.
Davis , Richard H., 243.
DEnA
150, 102, mu.

1·"·

140 1'4
Definition, logica l, 130.'
' " ·
De 1''oe, Daniel, 41.
Denotation, 131.
De Quincey, Thos., 128, 232.
Description, defined 1 33 1 34 47
54,
118; scientific, 51 '. Jite;ar·y'
r.:.
(.
,
ol, 81 ; m ethodical 1 01- 03 ,.,,
87.
' Jv ,
DEDUCTIV!l REA SON ING

r

I
I

·1

I

D1;scn n»r10N,

o 1··

P1ms0Ns,

hrA G I NATIH' 04
.
Dialect, 200, 235. .
Dialngu es, 232.
DIAMOND, 57.
D1ARIEs, 220.
See also 103.
Dickeus, Cha.s., 84, 107 .
Diffnseuess, 40, llU.
Direct Adtlrcss, 175, 180, l!JO.
nivision, logical, Ui0-132.
Dowden , Prof., 134.
DUDE'S D1scOMFITU!tll A 10 22

.

' '

EDITOlllA LS, 210.
Eliot, George, 85, 202, 244.
Eloquence, 190-102.

' .

Humboldt, Alex. yon, 102.
Hu~ion, 236.
llyperbole, 230.

Empha.sis, 114, l15.
Essay, the mod ern, 126.
Essays of Elia, 123.
..E.u phony, lH .
EVIOENCll 1 157.
ExcunswNs, 101.
Expansion, 40.
Exposition defined, 110-1 2 1.
Extemporaneous speakiug, Hi!I.

klea lism , 52, 03, 210, 241.
Jllus ions of sense, 158.
Imitation, 78.
Immigmnts, Intelligence of Onr,
2l!J.
lN C ll>ENT, 15 ; SIMl'LE, 17; COI.OlUm, l!J; EMBE1.1.1s111w, 21;
Co m •LflX, 20, 31 .
Indian ]]read 11falcing, 55.
Inducti on definell, 145- 147.
houCTffll REASOl"ING, 143, 145.
lNFORMAL E SSA YS, 122.
In gelow,- Jean , 85.
Interest, 5.
Irving, 'Na.5hin gton, 41, 08, 11:1,
236, 240.

Fallacies of reasoniiw 155 15u.
Fiction, 241.
'"
'

~~gures of speech, 35 1 82, lnl.
1'itzGerald, J~clwanl, 22U.
FLOWE!tS 1 03.
1"orce, 54, 112, llO.
Foreign Iinmigratiqn, 11)7.
1''oHMAJ. EssAYR, 120.
.Fouquc, 38.
Frank lin, lleuj., 42, 11:1.
.F1< uns, Ul. ·
GAMES

247

INDEX.

INDEX.

Ol•'

J. ll., 42.
Gran t, ,fohn ll., uo.
Grimm llrothers, 05.
Gough,

58.
'

Harris, Joel C., 235.
Harte, llret, 2:J, 105, 235, 243 .
Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 43, 41, 48,
52, 05.
I h:nnit in the Willows, The, !JO.
II 1sT01t Y, 4!l.
Jiitt, H on . H. H., 108.
Ilolmes, Dr. O. W., 235, 240.
Howell s, \:V. D., 105.
How the Wasp Makes Her Nest

n.

M:tcaulay, L ord, 128.
llfacDonald, Geo., 05, 235.

5:·).
Margins, 112.
Material, how to find, 5- 14, liO,
50, 200, 218, 2J!J.
Mathews, \Vm., 152.
J\fatthews, llrander, 141 , 223.
Maxims, 4.
MECHANICAL CoNTll I VANCEs, 40.
Memoirs, 4•1.
Miller, .Joaquin, 85.
Miller, Olive Thorne, Gfl .
MANUFACTllltE, l'llO CESSES OF,

l\1INEHAL l\:t NGDOM, T11E,

.Jae/e's Ignominy, 27.
Jefferson, Joseph , 42.
,Jeffrey, 1''rancis, 134.
Journalism, 211.
Journals. See Diaries.
Judas 'Tree, 'The, 07.

81<11.1., 33.

G!lOLOGICAJ. 1''0llMATIONS

Literature, 20; creative, 241, 244.
Little Paupfffs, 120.
Livingstone, David, 102.
Longfellow, H . W., 103 .
Lotteries, 198.
Lowell, J . H., 134.

Kane, E lisha Kent, 102.
Kennan, Geo., 102.
J(iplin g, Rudya rd, 08, 105.
Lamb, Chas., 123, 236.
Landor, W. S,, 234.
L eaf from J1fy Diary, A, 103.
Lt:c:1s LATUnE, Tim, 105.
LETTEHS, 224.
L illip1itian Engineers, 73.
Lippard, Geo., 107 .
Literary finish, 33, 40.

'

I [ugh es, Thos., 38.

Hugo, Victor, 87, 105.
•.

'•.

UG.

Minto, \Vm., 152.
Moliere, 2::ifl.
:Montaigne, 123.
Mt. ](enesmv, 7G.
Must the Classics Go? lG5.
Narrat ion , 15, 54; co lllbin cd with
description, 07 ; order of, !J!l.
NA T IJH AI, OnJECTS , 56; 1" Co".JIJ NCTION " ' I TH AHTIF I C I AL ,

77.

Naturalness, 200, 221\ 2:rn.
NATI' HF, :\T H 1-:~T~ 7G; I N AcT1v1TY, 81.
NEW S, 211.
New York Evening I'u.•t, 2l!J.
Nichol, Prof., 23!J.
Novels, 2'11.
Novelty, 3, 7, 11- 14 , %, n, 102.
"Nye, nm," 2:i1.

