Rhetoric and the study of literature

LI 1 & 1 KJTki U i-1 i H U IOC

^TUM OF LITERAJUli

ILFREt) : M : HITCHCOCK

RHETORIC

AND

THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

BY

ALFRED M. HITCHCOCK

HARTFORD PUBLIC HIGH SCHOOL

NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY

COPYRIOHT, 1913,
BT

HENRY HOLT ANX' COMPANY

PREFACE

Views in regard to what the course in English should be
are changing year by year, an encouraging sign of growth.
Three fundamental ideas seem to be winning wide ac-
ceptance. They are as follows: First, emphasis during
the earlier years of the secondary school course should fall
on practice in expression through the medium of simple,
interesting, carefully graded exercises, with rhetorical
theory well in the background; during the later years this
practice should be continued, the tasks in composition less
frequent but calling for longer, maturer effort, and some-
thing of rhetorical theory should be placed before the
pupils. Second, the course in hterature during the earlier
years should be exceedingly simple, designed to break up
careless reading habits and lead gradually to an apprecia-
tion of better things; during the junior and senior years
the study of literature should become more and more
systematic, not only acquainting the pupil with a few
choice masterpieces but fixing in his mind methods of
study, supplying him with the vocabulary necessary for
intelligent discussion of books, and familiarizing him with
the greatest names in English literature, so that after
school days are over he may be equipped to continue his
reading along profitable lines and in an intelligent way.
Third, as the course progresses, practice in composition
and practice in literary criticism should, within reasonable
bounds, be correlated, this to be managed in part through
the study of rhetoric.

iii

ivi69904

iv PREFACE

This volume, designed for use in the last two years of
the secondary school course, contains such textbook matter
as I think is needed to carry out these three ideas in an
economical way: a brief review of rhetoric, including a
little vocabulary of terms commonly employed in talking
about books; a general classification and discussion of the
various literary forms — fiction, drama, essay, etc. — to-
gether with suggestions both general and specific concern-
ing how these forms may be studied; a summary by periods
of English literature, containing what I think is the
minimum that the pupil should know upon graduation —
such information as an intelligent man or woman surely
ought to possess. I have not hesitated to include, in
revised form, some matter that has already appeared in
an earlier manual; but the exercises and questions, which
form a considerable part of the whole, are new — new and
yet old, for little has gone into this book that has not been
tried out repeatedly in class room. Indeed I have neither
the courage nor the inclination to put forth in textbook
form anything experimental.

This volume should not go forth without some acknowl-
edgment of indebtedness. Many authorities were con-
sulted during the preparation of the summary of English
literature; yet the nature of the summary is such — merely
a statement of established facts and accepted estimates —
that seldom has it seemed necessary to refer specifically
to sources of information familiar to most students. I
owe much to fellow teachers who, as critics, have made
many helpful suggestions; and I am especially indebted
to Miss Elizabeth Peck, who has shared with me the bur-
den of correcting proof.

A. M. H.

CONTENTS

PART I

RHETORIC

CHAPTER

I The study of rhetoric

II Purity

III Clearness

IV Force
V Beauty .

VI Style

VII Narration

VIII Description

IX Exposition

X Argument

page

3

6

16

37

60

69

75

83

92

105

PART II

THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

XI

Reading

127

XII

Literature defined ....

136

XIII

Kinds of literature: poetry and prose

141

XIV

Varieties of prose ....

144

XV

Varieties of poetry

150

XVI

The study of prose fiction

157

XVII

The study of drama ....

169

XVIII

The study of essays ....

186

XIX

The study of poetry ....

V

194

VI

CONTENTS

PART III

A BRIEF SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

chapter page

Introductory 237

XX Old English or anglo-saxon period (650-1066) 239

XXI NORMAN-ENGLISH PERIOD (1066-1340) . . 245

XXII Chaucer's period (1340-1400) . . .251

XXIII Caxton's period (1400-1500) . . . .257

XXIV Pre-Elizabethan period (1500-1564) . . 261
XXV The Elizabethan period (1564-1625) . . 266

XXVI The Puritan and Cavalier period (1625-1660) 276

XXVII Restoration period (1660-1700) . . .282

XXVIII Queen Anne period (1700-1744) . . .285

XXIX The age of Johnson (1744-1789) . . . 290

XXX Wordsworth-Scott era (1789-1832) . .299

XXXI Victorian era (1832-1900) . ... .308

APPENDIX

A Rules op punctuation

B Figures of speech

C Versification ....

D Themes for essays and orations

E A SPECIMEN BRIEF

F Questions on typical masterpieces
♦ George Eliot's Silas Marner .

The De Coverley Papers
Macaulay's Samuel Johnson
Scott's Lady of the Lake
Goldsmith's Deserted Village
Milton's L' Allegro
Milton's II Penseroso .
Shakespeare's Macbeth

Index

PART I
RHETORIC

CHAPTER I
THE STUDY OF HHETORIC

What is rhetoric? Briefly, it is the oldest and greatest

of all arts, the art of communicating by means of language.

A manual which points out the qualities to
, , . , . 1 J 'xi. • Rhetoric de-

be desired m oral and written expression o^ ,

and offers suggestions in regard to how
these qualities may be gained is called a rhetoric. Hun-
dreds of such manuals have been written. The earliest
take us back to the days of the ancient Greeks; indeed
the term rhetoric is derived from rhetor, a name which
the Greeks applied to the professional orator and likewise
to one who wrote speeches for others to deliver.

In a very elementary way we study rhetoric from our
cradle days, through consciously or unconsciously ob-
serving how those about us make their words
effective and patterning our own speech , Joi'^ ^
accordingly. As we become readers, we
note, for the most part unwittingly, the ways of written
expression and adopt such of them as appeal to us. By
this natural, direct, but haphazard method many have
achieved no mean degree of skill. Shakespeare, in all
probability, never studied rhetoric in any other way; he
simply observed and practiced till he had mastered the
art. But to the average person there comes a time when
he feels the need of a friendly guide to advise him what to
observe, what to strive after and what to avoid when
speaking or writing. He feels the need of a little theory to
steady and direct him in his efforts to improve his powers
of expression.

3

4 RHETORIC

Rhetorics are designed to furnish such guidance. Their

service is a Umited one, however, for of course no amount

of faithful textbook study ever in itself

. g J ' resulted in a brilliant conversationalist, or a

novelist like Thackeray, or a fascinating

essayist like Lamb. It cannot supply natural ability or

personal charm, nor is it a substitute for independent

study of models and faithful practice long continued. It

is but a staff, or at best a walking companion, not a coach-

and-four.

Though but a staff, it is one not to be thought of
lightly. There are those, it is true, who regard rhetor-
Rhetorical ical study as harmful, feeling that it checks
study and spontaneity. But we need not share their

spontaneity fears. Undoubtedly it does in some cases
produce temporarily an element of uncomfortable self-
consciousness, an awkwardness such as children experi-
ence when their parents try to break them of unfor-
tunate ways of holding knife and fork; or such as older
people feel when, after a year or two of self-instruction in
golf, they at last are sensible enough to take a few lessons
from a competent teacher. While ridding themselves of
bad habits and acquiring correct form, they appear to be
losing the little skill that they once fancied they possessed.
"No great author," states Alfred Hennequin in his useful
little book The Art of Play writing, "was ever hurt by the
study of the principles of rhetoric, and no small author
ever achieved success without such study."

The study of any art calls into use a number of technical

terms. The art of communication by means of language

is so very complex that its technical vocab-

t-n 4.T ulary is of necessitv large; and since rhetoric

pose of Part I ; ^ . ^ ,. n ^ ^ r

has been an object of careful study for cen-
turies, during which few authorities have employed pre-

THE STUDY OF RHETORIC 5

cisely the same set of terms, not a little confusion has
arisen. Out of this chaos of conflicting terminology have
been selected five important words, more or less technical,
for careful explanation: purity, clearness, force, beauty,
style. These terms will serve as focus points for a very
simple survey of the rhetorical field, undertaken with a
two-fold purpose in mind: first, the ordinary one of gaining
better powers of expression; second, the less commonly
recognized purpose of opening the way for a more intel-
ligent enjoyment of great masterpieces of rhetorical art.

CHAPTER II

PURITY

What is meant by Purity? It is but another name for
good usage or correctness. First of all, it has to do with

words considered singly. It sends us to the
The dictionary ■■. , . , , i j. j i.

. , dictionary, where we learn what words be-

long to the language, what each word means,
and how it is spelled and pronounced. Employing words
not in the language, using words incorrectly as to their
meaning, misspelling and mispronouncing words, all are
violations of purity. So too is the use of terms which,
though found in the dictionary, are coarse, or for any good
reason are not employed by those whom we look up to as
masters of English.

Purity is concerned not only with words considered
singly but with word groups. It sends us to our text-
book in grammar. All grammatical errors,

^ whether mistakes in forms (the changes,

a guide . T r

for example, made to indicate number,

gender, case, and tense) or violations of what are known

as the rules of syntax (such as that the verb agrees with

its subject in person and number), are opposed to purity.

Ability to use pure English cannot be acquired, however,

through studying a textbook in grammar and through

Spoken English faithfully consulting a dictionary. For

an untrust- every language has its idioms — words,

worthy guide phrases, and even entire sentences, employed

in peculiar ways — which foreigners master with great

difficulty. In a country like ours, where many national-

6

PURITY 7

ities are represented, sentences often may be heard which,
considered individually, are good English and correctly
used so far as grammar and dictionary are concerned, yet
the things said are not said in the English way; the lan-
guage is unidiomatic. Faulty speech of this character
falls not alone from the lips of foreigners imperfectly ac-
quainted with our language; unfortunately the ignorant
and the careless even of American birth adopt wrong
expressions frequently heard, and fall into un-English
ways of speech. Moreover in so large a country it is
inevitable that localities widely separated should differ
somewhat in speech. Certain words and phrases com-
monly heard in the South are not used elsewhere. New
England has her provincialisms; so, too, has the West.
Thus it happens that many even of the better educated
offend against purity without being conscious of it, through
imitating that which they hear and suppose to be correct.
The use of idioms common to the whole language is to
be desired, for they impart a distinct flavor or individ-
uality. But the use of expressions which belong merely
to a section of country leads to confusion.

Everyone, then, should own a good dictionary and use it.
Everyone, popular opinion to the contrary notwithstand-
ing, should own a good textbook in grammar Masterpieces
and master it from cover to cover. But trustworthy
there is no third corresponding book of glides
idioms, no authoritative volume adequately calling atten-
tion to the scores upon scores of unidiomatic or provin-
cial blemishes; and even though such a volume were
issued, it would have to be rewritten yearly, for new
blights appear day by day. Fortunately, however, every-
one has access to good books, and in good books the purest
English is found. If we would learn to speak and write
correctly, if we wish to weed from our speech that which

8 RHETORIC

is undesirable, we shall do well to read at least a few
masterpieces over and over again. In this way we absorb,
gradually and almost unconsciously, not only the thought
but the phrasing of thought, and learn to distinguish
between English that is pure and English that is cor-
rupt.

But unfortunately the main trouble lies in the fact that,

to many, purity seems of little consequence. They employ

aint, he donH, there was three, etc., and

of self-resoect ^P^^^^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^^ wi^^ slang, as if it were
prudish and un-American to do otherwise.
Careful speech is, it must be admitted with shame, becom-
ing more and more un-American, as one soon realizes if he
visits other English-speaking countries, where language
is used with far greater care. Yet there still remain a
commendable number who respect and guard the national
tongue as they guard national institutions. They are not
prudes but a self-respecting aristocracy who look upon
purity as the first essential in oral and written composi-
tion. Even those who are most careless must admit that
purity is the foundation upon which the art of expres-
sion rests.

Here is a little vocabulary of terms which cluster about
the idea of correctness and good use:

I Pure, chaste, correct, idiomatic,
grammatical.
II Barbarous, provincial, colloquial,
slangy, archaic, obsolete, cor-
rupt, vulgar.

Most of these words are familiar. Barbarism is a
general term, seldom employed, applied to all errors in
the use of words, but more particularly to the use of

PURITY

9

foreign words and idioms. A provincialism is a peculiarity
of speech found in some one locality. Colloquialisms are
forms employed in daily conversation as opposed to purer
language found in good books. A word is archaic if it
belongs to a former period and is now seldom used, obso-
lete if it has passed entirely out of use. If the meaning
of any other term is not apparent, a dictionary should
be consulted.!

EXERCISES*

1 The words below are taken mainly from a booklet
entitled Better Say, issued by the publishers of the Standard
Dictionary, and from lists found in The Enlarged Practice-
Book. Study their pronunciation, consulting a dictionary
when necessary.

acclimate

amenable

athletic

chasm

address

American

audience

clique

adult

applicable

auxiliary

column

adverse

Arab

bicycle

condolence

aeronaut

architect

biography

creek

aeroplane

arraign

bouquet

cruel

aged

aspirant

brethren

culinary

alias

asthn:<i

brusque

daunt

alternative

athlete

calf

deficit

despair

elm

finance

hearth

despicable

eloquent

foreigner

height

desultory

envelop

gape

heinous

dew

explicable

genuine

helm

discourse

exquisite

gondola

herculean

drama

extol

government

history

due

fianc4

grievous

hoist

duty

figure

grimace

homage

eleven

finale

harass

hundred

* Some of the exercises, it will be noted, are too long for single assign-
ments.

10

RHETORIC

hygiene

Italian

mischievous

precedent

hypotenuse

joust

mountainous

predicament

idea

just

nape

presentiment

incomparable

lamentable

national

pretty

inexplicable

launch

often

produce

inquiry

laundress

pageant

professor

interested

literature

poem

rather

intrigue

maintenance

poignant

realization

irreparable

memory

potato

really

recess

sacrilege

tedious

vagary

recluse

salmon

Tuesday

vaudeville

recognize

salve

tiny

vehement

resource

status

tremendous

villain

retail

strength

truth

viscount

rhythm

student

truths

waft

roily

stupid

tune

wary

route

suave

tutor

yacht

ruse

swallow

usually

zoology

2 Since poor spelling is frequently due to faulty pro-
nunciation, make a spelling test of the words found in
exercise 1.

3 Incredible as it may appear, the following words are
commonly misspelled by high school pupils. Why not
master them once for all? It will profit little to memorize
blindly; study each word carefully to see why it is trouble-
some. Note prefixes and suffixes.

accidentally

agreeable

article

balance

account

all right

artistically

barbarous

acknowledge

already

ascertain

believe

acquaint

among

audience

benefit

across

anonymous

author

Britain

adjacent

apparatus

autos,

business

affairs

around

awful

chauffeur

chestnutting

creak

dilapidated

♦ ,

equipped

clothes

cries

disappear

etc.

college

definitely

dreamt

exaggeration

coming

description

dries

extraordinary

comparatively

despise

drowned

familiar

condemning

develop

emerge

fascinate

control

difference

enemies

fiery

finally

humorous

interrupt

led

following

imitate

irritable

lightning

forehead

immediately

its

lose

gas

immense

judgment

lovable

goddess

impel

kindergarten

magazine

grease

incidentally

laboratory

majestic

height

intelligible

leaves

meant

miscellaneous

obliging

parliament

probably

mischievous

obstacle

pennant

professor

misspell

occasionally

planned

salary

mysterious

occurred

possess

screech

myth

odor

precedent

secretary

neither

oneself

preceding

seems

ninetieth

opportunity

privilege

seize

separate

stationery

tendency

visible

sergeant

studying

together

waive

siege

successful

tragedy

wherever

similar

sulphur

tries

wholly

slippery

superb

twelfth

whose

somersault

surprise

imtil

wondrous

speech

syllable

vertical

writer

4 Open your dictionary at random and explain every
mark and abbreviation used on the page before you.

5 Prepare talks on any four or five words in the follow-
ing list, getting all your information from an unabridged
dictionary. Make the talks as exhaustive as possible,
touching upon spelling, syllabification, pronunciation,

12

RHETORIC

classification as parts of speech, meanings, derivation,
synonyms and antonyms if given.

precocious

bicycle

school

aeroplane

kodak

lace

curfew

vacation

courage

disaster

delinquent

crafty

naughty

maudlin

tennis

pester

anarchy

base-ball

monologue

trout

phaeton

miniature

insult

ballot

cinch

abandon

labyrinth

herald

minstrel

yacht

ponder

primrose

tantalize

roly-poly

remorse

belfry

bed1a,m

umbrella

brace

carriage

6 Write a composition, perhaps four hundred words
long, to which you can give one of the following titles :

What the dictionary tells How to use a dictionary

Half an hour with the dictionary

7 Here are a few specimens of bad English such as is
shamefully common even among high school graduates.
If you find among them expressions you sometimes employ,
determine to eliminate them absolutely from your speech.
You can ill afford to go through life bearing the marks of
illiteracy.

1. John cannot find his cap; I presume he's left it some place.

2. Let's go somewheres else.

3. He said he was to a party the night before and so neglected
his lessons.

4. I want you to stay right to home.

5. The fence was that high you could not vault it.

6. Some one must of told.

7. Let's leave the dog go.

8. He relates about how he went fishing.

9. One of the girls suggested to cut the line.

10. The people look smaller than what they really are.

11. No sooner had he spoke when the audience began to ap-
plaud. *

12. The following have been elected into the Glee Club.

PURITY 13

13. The three of them set out for Boston.

14. Ten miles, did you say? Is that all the farther it is?

15. She was determined on having her own way.

16. Everything I tried to do seemed hke it was my hardest
task.

17. I took the car, as I thought I would enjoy the ride.

18. I just started to run when the gong sounded.

19. I worked all morning and played all afternoon.

20. '^f him I will write at the best of my ability.

21. He did pretty good for a new beginner.

22. He went to the woods in search for a pole.

23. Henry said he wished he brought a stove.

24. He eludes from the pohceman's grasp and shpped away.

25. I know a remedy equally as good.

26. She attended a business college, but she did not take a
position from there.

27. When one is at the theatre, he or she will note many things
of interest.

28. How do I feel? Pretty good, thank you.

29. He walks like he was tired.

30. I think probably it might have been father.

31. The cause of much evil is due to the abandoned writings
of men of wit.

32. I am fond of sports and football.

33. Soon we saw three boys who we recognized as them.

34. I do not know who the picture was painted by.

35. Soon we reached a place where there was fewer trees.

36. Here comes four or five girls.

37. It was all one could do to keep themselves on the seat.

38. I could not mal^e head or tail of it.

39. I left undone many things I would Uke to have done.

40. If it wasn't for hurting his feelings, I'd do it gladly.

41. She was one of those dreamy sort of children.

42. Don't the red light look pretty?

43. In the rear of the house is barns.

44. There was from ten to fifteen courses.

45. This accounts for Banquo being up late.

46. If one has ability, they should use their talents.

47. Looking off to the west is the ocean, now red with the
sinking sun.

14 RHETORIC

48. She was well built, medium height, blue eyes, and beauti-
ful hair.

49. The rest of the ride was uneventful, reaching New Orleans
at ten.

50. It is painful to hear his talk, being not unlike a dry sermon.

51. The building was too small, so a right and left wing were
added.

52. There was a crowd of ragged people who, whenever they
picked up a book, it turned into a garment.

53. On entering the hall, everything was decorated with
yellow and black.

54. The last, but by no means not the least, was Peter.

55. Macaulay's style of writing is graphic.

56. As a general rule he is punctual.

57. If I had have known, I should have been prepared.

58. I'd as leave go as stay.

59. You might of guessed.

60. He said you was absent.

61. I would of thought he would of telephoned.

62. We hadn't ought to of left him alone.

63. If he had have cared to, he could have gone.

64. You had ought to of seen him!

65. Will I need an overcoat?

66. Let's you and I stay behind.

67. He learned me how to skate.

68. Have either of the boats returned?

69. Each of the men were told what to do.

70. Everyone must look out for hisself .

71. Whom shall I say called?

72. I did not think he would go that far.

73. What hotel does he stop at?

74. I can't go no farther.

75. It is as large, if not larger, than the others.

76. I don't care which boat you take, for they are both alike.

77. I reckon he's going fishing.

78. John, mother, and myself made up the party.

79. A foul, he said, is when the ball goes to the right of the
first base line or to the left of the third base line.

80. This is good, but I like the other equally as well.

81. Wave your arms like I do.

PURITY 15

82. The life here is very different than I expected.

83. It was on the third of June when the boat was launched.

84. I got the book off Tom.

85. I did not notice him, as my eyes were turned aside.

86. We had no wood or coal with which to build a fire.

87. He took the glove from Henry and hid it on him.

88. Aint it cold!

89. When the conjunctions are omitted, a comma should be
placed between each word.

90. The furnace fire went out on me.

CHAPTER III

CLEARNESS

Clearness is a term so familiar that it does not need
defining; nor should it be necessary to dwell on the impor-
tance of making whatever one has to say
easy to imderstand. The reminder cannot
come too often, however, that to convey even a simple
message with absolute accuracy is such a difficult matter
that seldom do we succeed in saying precisely what we
mean.

Clearness depends on four things : first, mastery of sub-
ject; second, ability to plan; third, skill in the selection
of words and the construction of sentences
and paragraphs; fourth, skill in the employ-
ment of a few simple devices.

That mastery of subject is essential is quite evident;

for of course one cannot give what he does not possess,

cannot impart to others that which he him-

f ! ct^ ° s^^^ ^^^^ ^o^ know perfectly. We may have

found through unpleasant experience that a

half-mastered proposition in geometry leads to a hazy

demonstration; or that it is safer to trust to compass,

when traversing a strange country, than to follow the

directions of a guide who is not quite sure of the trail. On

the other hand, one would be right in concluding that the

remarkable clearness of Macaulay's essay on Samuel

Johnson is due in large measure to the fact that Macaulay

was at home in the London of Johnson's day almost as

truly as in the London of his own century. He knew his

16

CLEARNESS 17

field. With equal certainty we may attribute the obscurity
in the typical school composition to the fact that the
young, too commonly unwilling to write on simple, homely
topics growing out of their familiar experience, select
subjects lying beyond the range of their intimate knowl-
edge. Moreover it is difficult to realize that one may be
deeply interested in certain things and have a grasp of
them sufficient for most purposes, without knowing them
well enough to impart his knowledge to others.

Mastery of subject, though of first importance, does not
bring us quite to the threshold of expression; for before the
message is entrusted to words, whether it be
through song or story or plain statement of ^^^^.^
fact, there must be careful planning. The
writer when about to compose is like a traveler preparing
for a journey. The traveler must decide where to go and
how to make the journey, how long to stay in this place,
how long in that, and what he would best try to see and do,
that the purpose for which the journey is taken may be ac-
complished. Or we may compare the writer to a builder
who, before setting his laborers at work, decides what man-
ner of structure he will erect, how large it shall be, how con-
structed, how divided into rooms and what shall be the
plan of each room, that all may serve the purpose for which
the structure is intended. That is to say, the trained
writer, before penning a sentence, w^ill have his entire
message pretty well mapped out in his mind, its ending
as well as its beginning, and the intervening parts all in
their proper sequence and proportion — mapped out so
clearly that when he has written, the reader will readily
see that the composition follows a definite route or plan
or pattern. If the character of the subject is such that
the plan followed is necessarily complicated, the writer
may find it necessary to outline it in an introductory sen-

18 RHETORIC

tence or two, and perhaps refer to it now and then as the
composition proceeds. It even may be necessary, when
the composition proper is completed, to summarize all
that has been said, in this way again presenting an outline
of the whole.

A more technical way of stating the substance of the
preceding paragraph would be to say that every composi-
tion should be planned with the principles
Unity, mass, r -j. j i, • • j

, "^ 01 unity, mass, and coherence m mmd.

coherence . ,

Coherence is but another name for proper

arrangement or sequence. Mass is but another name for
emphasis properly placed. Unity, a term difficult to
define, demands that the composition conform to some
design or pattern or plan. The idea of unity really includes
the idea of mass and coherence; for a composition the
parts of which are out of their proper places, or out of
proportion through careless massing, cannot be the product
of a perfectly conceived, unified plan.

Ability to conceive plans — to inventory the material
available, select what is needed for the purpose at hand,
and hit upon the most effective way of
, J presenting the material selected, is exceed-

ingly rare; and rarer still is the ability, a
plan having been decided on, to hold this plan in mind
while composing. It is so likely to slip away at an un-
guarded moment, other plans intruding. We forget
momentarily the goal towards which we are striving; we
hurry over important matters or dwell too long on the
unimportant, with the result that the finished product
is incoherent, poorly proportioned, un-uni-

cult' ated ^^^* ^^^^^^^ ^^ invent plans and to hold

them in mind, though rare, can be cultivated

through constant practice in making topical outlines on

paper, the same matter being outlined in several different

CLEARNESS 19

ways with a view to discovering which is best, and through
brief oral compositions given without notes. The making
of topical analyses of well constructed masterpieces is also
helpful, especially if it be done carefully and with a view
to discovering how closely the principles of unity, mass,
and coherence are followed by skilled writers.

This brings us to the third source of clearness: care in
selecting words and in constructing sentences and par-
agraphs.

First of all, clearness calls for purity. A word mis-
pronounced or misspelled may be understood, yet there
is always the possibility that it may not be; Clearness
a word misused as to its meaning is like a through
guideboard so askew that the traveler may verbal purity
miss his way. Second, clearness calls for familiar words.
Peregrinations is a good term, found in the Through
dictionary; but travels is a safer one to em- familiar
ploy, since everyone knows its meaning, words
Third, clearness calls for precise words — terms which
neatly fit the meaning intended. The care-
less too often employ whatever comes first ° ^ ,

. . . , . precise words

to mind; skilled writers weigh words, reject-
ing many, it may be, before hitting upon the ones precisely
serving their purpose. They take advantage of the fact
that our language, above all others, is rich in synonyms —
word-groups the members of which convey nearly, and
yet not quite, the same meaning, the shades of difference
making it possible to express with nicety the meaning
intended.

If we pass now from single words to sentences, it may be

said again that clearness calls for purity. An

,. , , • Ti -1 Grammatical

ungrammatical sentence is like a window ^^-^^

the panes of which are so far from clean or

so marred by imperfections that they obscure the view

20 RHETORIC

and at the same time distract attention. Not only should

each sentence be strictly grammatical,

. but so carefully constructed that phrase
arrangement *^. • i ,

follows phrase m easily perceived order,

with no gaps to bridge, no unnecessary words obstructing

the way. Modifiers should be so placed that it will be

easy to see what they modify; pronouns should have

clearly defined antecedents. Punctuation

marks should be employed with great care,

for they are the most useful of all guides, except perhaps

that little group of introductory and transitional words

which make the neat, smooth joints between ideas — joints

that characterize skilled sentence carpentry.

A sentence is but a little composition, and as such obeys

the principles of unitj^, coherence, and mass; and so too

does the paragraph, which is but a collection

^\ ^' , of sentences bound together coherently

and coherence ° . . *^

through unity of purpose. It is in the para-
graph that we see most clearly the effectiveness of intro-
ductory words and phrases which lead from sentence to
sentence. In the paragraph, perhaps more clearly than in
whole compositions, do we note the advantage of careful
structure. There are many moulds in which paragraphs
may be cast; but for clearness the best plan, perhaps, is
that which calls for a first sentence that is topical, plainly
announcing what the paragraph is about and suggesting
the sequence to be followed.

Of the many special devices to which one may resort
in an effort to gain clearness, the four we shall consider
Special de- are so simple that they are employed almost
vices: restate- instinctively even by children. The first
^^^i is mere restatement, or expressing the same

idea in slightly different words. Those who employ this
device recognize that what is perfectly clear to the writer

CLEARNESS 21

may not prove clear to the reader; and since the reader is
not present to say / do not understand, it is safer to employ
restatement freely, assuming that some one of several
ways of putting a thing will be understood. This device
is especially helpful where the message is intended not
for any one reader but for many, and where, accordingly,
the chances of being misunderstood are greater.

Quite as simple is a second device, the multiplying of
particulars. Young writers are given to making state-
ments that are broad and too general to
convey clear impressions. We are having a .. ,
fi7ie time, the boy writes home from his camp
in the woods; but unless this general statement is followed
by many particulars, his letter fails to convey what he
intends. For a fine time may mean one thing to the boy
and quite a different thing to his mother. In other words,
we sometimes fail to furnish the reader's imagination suffi-
cient material out of which to build; consequently there
arises in the reader's mind something quite unlike that
which was intended, or it may be that the reader's
mind will refuse altogether to build, and the words are
wasted.

A third way of gaining clearness is by means of ex-
amples, a device particularly helpful in exposition and
argument. Here, for instance, is a praise-
worthy essay in which a school girl considers
what studies have proved most helpful to her. In an
early paragraph the general statement is made that Latin
has proved a great aid to her in getting all her other lessons.
But this general statement is not left unsupported; it is
followed by example after example showing how Latin
has helped her in the study of French and English and the
sciences. The illustrations were needed for perfect clear-
ness.

22 RHETORIC

The devices mentioned in the two preceding paragraphs

are essentially the same, and very closely akin is the fourth

^ . and last that we shall consider — the employ-

Comparisons , r • i • i i

ment of comparisons which reveal now

points of similarity, now points of dissimilarity or

contrast. This unfamiliar thing which I am trying to

make clear to you, the writer says in substance, is in

at least one respect like this other thing with vjhich you

are perfectly familiar. Or, employing contrast, he may

say. This with which you are unfamiliar is the opposite of

this other thing with which you are so familiar. Thus by

comparing the unknown to the known, correct images

are made to rise in the reader's mind.

The substance of the preceding paragraphs may be
summarized as follows: Clearness is gained in four ways:
first, through complete mastery of the sub-
ject at hand; second, through planning the
message so carefully that the reader will readily see
it as a whole made up of parts, will readily perceive
the relation of part to part, and will notice the impor-
tant features standing out in high relief; third, through
choosing words that are pure, familiar, precise, and
through care in constructing sentences and paragraphs in
accordance with the principles of unity, mass, and coher-
ence; fourth, through the familiar devices of restatement,
of multiplying details, of illustrating by means of exam-
ples, and of employing comparisons which establish points
of similarity or contrast.

The adjective clear is the center of a large group of re-
lated words commonly employed in criticism. The more
familiar of these are found in the following groups:
I Clear, lucid, plain, photographic.
II Simple, precise, exact, explicit,
detailed.

CLEARNESS 23

III Orderly, methodical, systematic,

connected, coherent, complete.

IV Vague, ambiguous, turbid, misty,

muddy.
V Incoherent, disjointed, confused.
VI Abstruse, intricate, compUcated.

EXERCISES

1 * Punctuate the following, supplying capitals where
they are needed:

1. The white people have no right to take the land from the
Indians because they had it first it is theirs.

2. I had three chairs in my house one for soHtude two for
friendship three for society.

3. The old word roly-poly has acquired in the course of its
history the following meanings a rascal a game a dance a
pudding and finally a plump infant.

4. Every time a new word is added to the language either by
borrowing composition or derivation it is due of course to the
action conscious or unconscious of some one person.

5. In later years my mother looking at me almost reproach-
fully would sometimes say oh you were such a pretty boy whence
I had no difficulty in concluding that I had not fulfilled my early
promise in the matter of looks.

6. What do you want sir said the old gentleman crossly I want
fire and shelter and theres your great fire blazing crackling and
dancing on the walls with nobody to feel it let me in I say I only
want to warm myself.

7. I did not read books the first summer I hoed beans.

8. Justice as exhibited by the course of things in general arose
out of the fact that I the victor had a black eye while he the van-
quished had none so that I got into disgrace and he did not.

9. To speak critically I never received more than one or two
letters in my Hfe I wrote this some years ago that were worth
the postage.

10. In Shakespeares plays partly owing to their immense

* Kules for punctuation will be found in the Appendix.

24 RHETORIC

popularity but quite as much to his unequalled sense for language
more new words are found than in almost all the rest of the Eng-
lish poets put together for not only is our speech full of phrases
from his plays but a very large number of our most expressive
words are first found in them.

11. When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous
occasions declares Webster when great interests are at stake and
strong passions excited nothing is valuable in speech further than
it is connected with high intelligence and moral endowment
clearness force and earnestness are the qualities which produce
conviction true eloquence indeed does not consist in speech it
cannot be brought from afar labor and learning may toil for it
but they will toil in vain words and phrases may be marshalled
in every way, but they cannot compass it it must exist in the
man in the subject in the occasion.

12. This means of word making through onomatq)oeia is
illustrated by the old story of the foreigner in China who sitting
down to a covered dish inquired quack-quack and was promptly
answered bow-bow from his Chinese attendant.

13. I came to this city said the speaker to see him and laying
his hand upon Irvings shoulder here he sits.

14. In an old house dismal dark and dusty lived a miser
meager old chairs and tables of spare and bony make were ar-
ranged in grim array against the gloomy walls presses grown
lank in guarding the treasures they enclose and tottering as
though from constant fear and dread of thieves shrunk up in
dark corners a tall grim clock with long lean hands and famished
face ticked in cautious whispers and when it struck the time it
rattled as if it were pinched with hunger.

15. There is in this city a gentleman who at the reception of
one of my books I well remember it was Old Curiosity Shop
wrote to me in England a letter so generous so affectionate and
so manly that if I had written the book under every circumstance
of disappointment of discouragement and difficulty instead of
the reverse I should have found in the receipt of that letter my
best and most happy reward.

16. Two things preoccupied him as he went the aspect of the
gallows at Mont Faucon in the bright windy phase of the night's
existence for one and for another the look of the dead man with
his bald head and garland of red curls.

CLEARNESS 25

17. The congregation was composed of the neighboring people
of rank who sat in pews sumptuously lined and cushioned fur-
nished with richly gilded prayer books and decorated with their
arms upon the pew doors of the villagers and peasantry who
filled the back seats and a small gallery beside the organ and
of the poor of the parish who were ranged on benches in the
aisles.

2 To test further your understanding of the rules, jus-
tify the punctuation in the specimen paragraphs found
in the fourteenth exercise. No doubt you will in some
cases think, and with good reason, that the punctuation
is incorrect.

3 Crabb's English Synonyms or some similar compila-
tion is a great aid to one who wishes to express himself
with clearness and precision. If, for example, we think of
employing the word sarcasm but are not sure that the term
conveys the desired meaning, we may turn to Crabb, who
tells us first that the word is associated with three others —
ridicule, satire, irony. Ridicule, he explains, has simple
laughter in it and is employed in matters of a trifling
nature; satire has a mixture of ill-nature or severity and is
employed either in personal or grave matters; irony is
disguised satire, the ironist seeming to praise that which
he really means to condemn; sarcasm is biting or. nipping
satire. All save the last, he says by way of final definition,
may be successfully and properly employed to expose
folly and vice; but sarcasm, which is the indulgence of
personal resentment, is never justifiable. Even without
such a helpful guide, one may do much toward training
himself to distinguish between nice shades of meaning.
By way of practice, explain how each sjmonym in the
groups which follow should be used. Consult the dic^
tionary when necessary, but not until you have thought
independently.

26

RHETORIC

Good-nature, good-humor

Idle, lazy, indolent

Stagger, reel, totter

Gape, stare, gaze

Noise, cry, outcry, clamor

Step, stride, glide, stalk

Daring, bold, brave, fearless

Drag, draw, haul, pull, pluck,
tug

Hollow, empty

Prelude, preface, introduction

Custom, habit

Excel, surpass, exceed, trans-
cend, outdo

Endeavor, aim, strive, struggle

Turn, bend, twist, distort,
wring, wrest, wrench

Overflow, inundate, deluge

Hint, suggest, intimate, insinu-
ate, allude, imply

Flat, level, even, smooth, plain

Hesitate, falter, stammer, stut-
ter

Jealous, envious, suspicious

Babble, chatter, chat, prattle,
prate

Game, sport, play

Excursion, tour, trip, expedi-
tion, ramble, jaunt

Error, mistake, blunder

Bent, curved, crooked, awry

Shine, ghtter, glare, sparkle,
radiate

Task, work, toil, drudgery,
labor

Border, edge, rim, brink, mar-
gin, verge

Verbal, vocal, oral

Suffocate, stifle, smother, choke

Demolish, raze, dismantle, de-
stroy, consume, waste

Band, company, crew, gang,
crowd

Breeze, gale, blast, gust, storm,
tempest, hurricane, tornado

Distress, anxiety, anguish,
agony

Feast, banquet, carousal, en-
tertainment, treat

Show, play, performance

Beg, beseech, sohcit, entreat,
supphcate, implore, crave

Address, speech, harangue,
oration

Commonly, generally, fre-
quently, usually

Rare, scarce, singular

4 The above groups contain merely such sjrnonyms
as are often confused; they are not complete. Add syn-
onyms to each.

5 Find synonyms, as many as you can, for each of the
following adjectives:

strong youthful clever sad

big fragile bad old

saucy little careless happy

mj^sterious rustic pleasant queer

CLEARNESS 27

6 Find synonyms for the following verbs:

push tease retard hate

irritate answer ask help

throw blame hit lift

sing shake tip get

7 Explain the shades of meaning represented by the
synonyms found in performing the fifth and sixth
tasks.

8 An antonym is the opposite of a synonym ; • that
is, a word directly opposed to another in meaning. In
Fernald's English Synonyms and Antonyms we find im-
mediately under generous^ for example, the synonyms
hountiful, chivalrous, disinterested, free, free-handed, free-
hearted, liberal, magnanimous, munificent, noble, open-
handed, open-hearted. Following an explanation of these
terms comes a list of antonyms: avaricious, close, covetous,
greedy, ignoble, illiberal, mean, miserly, niggardly, parsi-
monious, penurious, petty, rapacious, stingy. Find as many
antonyms as you can for each of the following :

honest

justice

large

misfortur

neat

perfect

plentiful

polite

rest

tasteful

veracity

hide

grief

fierce

eager

beautiful

9 Since one way of gaining clearness in writing compo-
sitions is through adhering closely to some one main pur-
pose, allied wdth which may be two or three subordinate
purposes, write a few sentences in which you state clearly
what you would wish to accomplish if you were dealing
with one of the following topics :

High school athletics. The play of fashion in our school.
Courtesy at home and abroad. The school building. Why go
West? School spirit. The Spanish Arm.ada.

28 RHETORIC

10 Let the members of the class unite in an attempt
to discover the best plan for building an essay on some
appropriate topic— perhaps one from the list above, the
main thing to be kept in mind being the desirability of so
planning that the completed essay will have a sequence
easy for the reader to follow. Each member having made
an outline independently, let a few of the better outlines
be placed on the blackboard, that the class as a whole may
determine which plan is best and how it may be improved.
Whatever topic is selected, let the main purpose of the
essay be decided before the outlines are made.

11 Write a concluding paragraph summarizing a com-
position which you may imagine you have written on one
of the following topics:

The uses to which coal is put. Advice to one training for
track athletics. Why one should take an active part in politics.
How to get strong. Hints for the amateur photographer. How

not to become popular. The ideal senior. Why I prefer as

a place of residence. Common sense in wearing apparel. The
advantages and the disadvantages of the telephone. Why I

intend to be an . Why I admire . Advice to a young

debater.

12 Write an introductory paragraph designed to sketch
in advance the plan you would adopt in dealing with one
of the following propositions:

Suffrage should be extended to women. United States sen-
ators should be elected by popular vote. The maximum speed
of ocean liners should be fixed by law. Every state should main-
tain a university. All railways should be owned by the govern-
ment. There should be a United States law forbidding tips.
The South offers the young man greater opportunities than New
England. The Tropics will become the vacation ground of the
future. Every secondary school should maintain a dramatic
club. Conversational ability is more to be desired than orator-

CLEARNESS 29

ical skill. A literary club offers more to the average girl than a
debating club. Slang is justifiable.

13 Make a topical outline of one of the selections the
titles of which are found in the list given below. Here
are a few suggestions: 1. Not every essay is built on the
conventional plan of Introduction, Body or Discussion,
Conclusion. 2. Do not employ too many main topics or
headings. By taking a bird's-eye view, it may be that you
will find that the facts or ideas cluster about two or three
points only. 3. Distinguish carefully between main and
subordinate topics, placing the latter below and a httle
to the right of the former. 4. Do not be influenced too
much by paragraphing. 5. Use phrases or clauses, rather
than complete sentences, for topic headings.

The Country Church {Sketch Book), Washington Irving.

The Stage Coach (Sketch Book), Washington Irving.

Christmas Day {Sketch Book), Washington Irving.

Moll White (No. 117 of the Spectator), Joseph Addison.

Labor and Exercise (No. 115 of the Spectator), Joseph Addison.

The Club (No. 2 of the Spectator), Richard Steele.

The Portrait Gallery (No. 109 of the Spectator), Richard
Steele.

Will Wimble (No. 108 of the Spectator), Joseph Addison.

Sir Roger and the Gipsies (No. 130 of the Spectator), Joseph
Addison.

A Visit to Westminster Abbey (No. 329 of the Spectator),
Joseph Addison.

The Tragedies of the Nests, John Burroughs.

Bird Enemies, John Burroughs.

Modern Gallantry, Charles Lamb.

On a Piece of Chalk, Thomas Huxley.

The Threefold Destiny, Nathaniel Hawthorne.

David Swan, Nathaniel Hawthorne.

Chapter I of The Oregon Trail, Francis Parkman.

Self -Cultivation in English, George Herbert Palmer.

An editorial of some length from the daily newspaper.

30 RHETORIC

A recent magazine article.

A chapter from a high school textbook.

A sermon or an address recently heard.

14 Here are paragraphs which will repay careful study.
Each, in one or more ways, illustrates means by which
clearness is gained.

Find (a) a directive paragraph designed to let the reader
know in advance the general plan of what is to follow;
(b) a transitional paragraph, informing the reader that
one part of the essay is finished and another part is now
to be begun; (c) a summarizing paragraph calling to mind
what has gone before; (d) a paragraph beginning with
a topical sentence which clearly indicates what the
paragraph is to be about; (e) a paragraph in which phrases
are introduced to help the reader keep track of passing
time; (f) a paragraph in which phrases are introduced
to help the reader keep track of changing position; (g)
a paragraph in which vividness is gained through con-
trast; (h) a paragraph in which clearness is flashed through
apt comparison; (i) several paragraphs in which clearness
is gained through including many details enabling the
imagination to form a picture; (j) a paragraph designed
to indicate at the outset the limits beyond which the writer
does not mean to stray; (k) a paragraph both clear and
forceful because a sequence that leads from the less to
the more important is followed; (1) a paragraph the open-
ing sentence of which contains a question designed to
fix the reader's attention on the one thing the paragraph
is intended to accomplish; (m) a paragraph beginning
with a general statement that is followed by specific
items; (n) a paragraph in which clearness is gained by
stating several times nearly the same idea; (o) para-
graphs in which vividness is gained through the careful
use of adjectives.

CLEARNESS 31

This exercise should furnish material for at least three
assignments.

1. Thus far naturalists have gone in the description of this
animal; what follows is the result of my own observation upon
that species of the insect called a house spider. I perceived about
four years ago a large spider in one corner of my room, making its
web; and though the maid frequently leveled her fatal broom
against the labors of the httle animal, I had the good fortune
then to prevent its destruction; and I may say it more than paid
me by the entertainment it afforded. — Goldsmith

2. I shall speak to the question strictly as a matter of right,
for it is a proposition in its nature so perfectly distinct from the
expediency of the tax, that it must necessarily be taken separate,
if there is any true logic in the world; but of the expediency or
inexpediency I will say nothing. It will be time enough to speak
upon that subject when it comes to be a question. — Mansfield

3. At any rate "make people learn to read, write, and cipher,"
say a good many; and the advice is undoubtedly sensible as far
as it goes. But, as it happened to me in former days, those who,
in despair of getting anything better, advocate this measure,
are met with an objection that it is very like making a child
practice the use of a knife, fork, and spoon, without giving it a
particle of meat. I really don't know what reply is to be made
to such an objection. — Huxley

4. House Wren {Troglodytes aedon): Upper parts brown,
mottled with darker; underparts brownish or grayish, mottled
with darker; breast usually darker than either throat or belly.
Beak slender, pale; feet pale; tail about as long as the out-
stretched legs. Bird less than two-thirds the length of a sparrow.
Sexes similar. — Willcox

5. Sprightly, fearless, and impudent little creatures [house
wrens], apt to show bad temper when they fancy themselves
aggrieved by cats or people, or anything else that is big or un-
pleasant to them; they quarrel a good deal, and are particularly
spiteful towards martins and swallows, whose homes they often
invade and occupy. — Cones

6. Then, Sir, from these six capital sources — of descent, of
form of government, of religion in the northern provinces, of
manners in the southern, of education, of the remoteness of

32 RHETORIC

situation from the first mover of government — from all these
causes a fierce spirit of liberty has sprung up. It has grown with
the growth of the people in your colonies, and increased with the
increase of their wealth; a spirit that unhappily meeting with an
exercise of power in England, which, however lawful, is not
reconcilable to any ideas of Bberty, much less with theirs, has
kindled this flame that is ready to consume us. — Burke

7. The wave that came upon me again buried me at once
twenty or thirty feet deep in its own body; and I could feel my-
self carried with a mighty force and swiftness toward the shore,
a very great way; but I held my breath, and assisted myself to
swim still forward with all my might. I was ready to burst
with holding my breath, when, as I felt myself rising up, so to
my immediate relief I found my head and hands shoot out above
the surface of the water; and tho it was not two seconds of the
time that I could keep myseK so, yet it relieved me greatly,
gave me breath and new courage. I was covered again with
water a good while, but not so long but I held it out; and finding
the water had spent itself, and began to return, I struck forward
against the return of the waves, and felt ground again with my
feet. I stood still a few moments to recover breath, and till the
water went from me, and then took to my heels and ran with
what strength I had farther towards the shore. But neither
would this deliver me from the fury of the sea, which came pour-
ing in after me again; and twice more I was lifted up by the waves
and carried forward as before, the shore being very flat. — Defoe

8. After a dihgent inquiry, I can discern four principal causes
of the ruin of Rome, which continued to operate in a period of
more than a thousand years. I. The injuries of time and nature.
II. The hostile attacks of the Barbarians and Christians. III. The
use and abuse of the materials. And IV. The domestic quarrels
of the Romans. [The following paragraphs deal with these
four causes.] — Gibbon

9. He planted himself full in the middle of the apartment,
opposite to the table at which Lucy was seated, on whom, as if
she had been alone in the chamber, he bent his eyes with a
mingled expression of deep grief and deliberate indignation.
His dark-colored riding cloak, displaced from one shoulder, hung
around one side of his person in the ample folds of the Spanish
mantle. The rest of his rich dress was travel-soiled, and deranged

CLEARNESS 33

by hard riding. He had a sword by his side, and pistols in his
belt. His slouched hat, which he had not yet removed, at en-
trance, gave an additional gloom to his dark features, which,
wasted by sorrow and marked by the ghastly look communicated
by long illness, added to a countenance naturally somewhat
stern and wild a fierce and even savage expression. The matted
and disheveled locks of hair which escaped from under his hat,
together with his fixt and immovable posture, made his head
more resemble that of a marble bust than that of a living man.
He said not a single word, and there was a deep silence in the
company for more than two minutes. — Scott

10. The death of a king in those days came near to a break-up
of all civil society. Till a new king was chosen and crowned,
there was no longer a power in the land to protect or to chastise.
All bonds were loosed; all pubhc authority was in abeyance;
each man had to look to his own as he best might. No sooner
was the breath out of William's body than the great company
w^hich had watched around him during the night was scattered
hither and thither. The great men mounted their horses and
rqde with all speed to their o^vn homes, to guard their houses
and goods against the outburst of lawlessness which was sure to
break forth now that the land had no longer a ruler. Their
servants and followers, seeing their lords gone and deeming that
there was no longer any fear of punishment, began to make
spoil of the royal chamber. Weapons, clothes, vessels, the royal
bed and its furniture, were carried off, and for a whole day the
body of the Conqueror lay well-nigh bare on the floor of the
room in which he died. — Freeman

11. No persons could at first glance have seemed less evenly
matched than the two antagonists. Tetraides, tho no taller
than Lydon, weighed considerably more; the natural size of his
muscles was increased, to the eyes of the vulgar, by masses of
solid flesh; for, as it was a notion that the contest of the cestus
fared easiest with him who was plumpest, Tetraides had en-
couraged to the utmost his hereditary predisposition to the
portly. His shoulders were vast, and his lower limbs thick-set,
double-jointed, and slightly curved outward, in that formation
which takes so much from beauty to give so largely to strength.
But Lydon, except that he was slender even almost to meager-
ness, was beautifully and delicately proportioned; and the skilful

34 RHETORIC

might have perceived that with much less compass of muscle
than his foe, that which he had was more seasoned — iron and
compact. In proportion, too, as he wanted flesh, he was likely
to possess activity; and a haughty smile on his resolute face,
which strongly contrasted with the solid heaviness of his enemy's,
gave assurance to those who beheld it and united their hope to
their pity; so that despite the disparity of their seeming strength,
the cry of the multitude was nearly as loud for Lydon as for
Tetraides. — Bulwer Lytton

12. The proposition is peace. Not peace through the medium
of war; not peace to be hunted through the lab3T:'inth of intricate
and endless negotiations; not peace to arise out of universal
discord, fomented, from principle, in all parts of the empire; not
peace to depend on the juridical determination of perplexing
questions, or the precise marking the shadowy boundaries of a
complex government. It is simple peace, sought in its natural
course and in its ordinary haunts. It is peace sought in the
spirit of peace, and laid in principles purely pacific. I propose,
by removing the ground of the difference, and by restoring the
former unsuspecting confidence of the colonies in the mother
country, to give permanent satisfaction to your people; and (far
from a scheme of ruling by discord) to reconcile them to each
other in the same act, and by the bond of the very same interest,
which reconciles them to British government. — Burke

13. Refined policy ever has been the parent of confusion, and
ever will be so, as long as the world endures. Plain good inten-
tion, which is as easily discovered at the first view as fraud is
surely detected at last, is, let me say, of no mean force in the
government of mankind. Genuine simplicity of heart is a heal-
ing and cementing principle. — Burke

14. After the long procession of sheep and goats and dogs and
men and women and children, come horses loaded with cloths
and poles for tents, kitchen utensils, and the rest of the young-
lings of the flock. A little after sunrise I see well-fed donkeys, in
coverings of red cloth, driven over the bridge to be milked for
invalids. Maid-servants, bareheaded, with huge, high-carved
combs in their hair, waiters of coffee-houses carrying the morning
cup of coffee or chocolate to their customers, bakers' boys with
a dozen loaves on a board balanced on their heads, milkmen
with rush baskets filled with flasks of milk are crossing the

CLEARNESS 35

streets in all directions. A little later the bell of the small chapel
opposite to my window rings furiously for a quarter of an hour,
and then I hear mass chanted in a deep strong nasal tone. As
the day advances, the English, in white hats and white panta-
loons, come out of their lodgings, accompanied sometimes by
their hale and square-built spouses, and saunter stiffly along the
Arno, or take their way to the public galleries and museums.
Their massive, clean, and brightly pohshed carriages also begin
to rattle through the streets, setting out on excursions to some
part of the environs of Florence — to Fiesole, to the Pratolino,
to the Bello Sguardo, to the Poggio Imperiale. — Bryant

15. And what effect has this splendor on those who pass
beneath it? You may walk from sunrise to sunset, to and fro,
before the gateway of St. Mark's, and you will not see an eye
lifted to it, nor a countenance brightened by it. Priest and lay-
man, soldier and civilian, rich and poor, pass by it regardlessly.
Up to the very recesses of the porches, the meanest tradesmen
of the city push their counters; nay, the foundations of its
pillars are themselves the seats, not ''of them that sell doves"
for sacrifice, but of the venders of toys and caricatures. Round
the whole square in front of the church there is almost a con-
tinuous line of caf^s, where the idle Venetians of the middle
classes lounge and read empty journals; in its center the Austrian
bands play during the time of vespers, their martial music jarring
with the organ notes — the march drowning the miserere and the
sullen crowd thickening round them — a crowd which if it had
its will would stiletto every soldier that pipes to it. And in the
recesses of the porches, all day long, knots of men of the lowest
classes, unemployed and listless, lie basking in the sun like
lizards; and unregarded children — every heavy glance of their
young eyes full of desperation and stony depravity and their
throats hoarse with cursing — gamble and fight and snarl and
sleep, hour after hour, clashing their bruised centesimi upon the
marble ledges of the church porch. And the images of Christ
and his angels look down upon it continually. — Ruskin

16. After dinner we adjourned to the drawing-room, which
served also for study and library. Against the wall on one side
was a long writing-table, with drawers, surmounted by a small
cabinet of pohshed wood, with folding drawers richly studded
with brass ornaments, within which Scott kept his most valuable

36 RHETORIC

papers. Above the cabinet, in a kind of niche, was a complete
corselet of ghttering steel, with a closed helmet, and flanked by
gauntlets and battle-axes. Around were hung trophies and
relics of various kinds: a scimitar of Tipu Sahib; a Highland
broadsword from Flodden field; a pair of Rippon spurs from
Bannockburn; and above all, a gun which had belonged to Rob
Roy, and bore his initials, R. M. C, an object of peculiar interest
to me at the time, as it was understood Scott was actually
engaged in printing a novel founded on the story of that famous
outlaw. — Irving

17. That man, I think, has had a liberal education, who has
been so trained in youth that his body is the ever ready servant
of his will, and does with ease and pleasure all the work that, as
a mechanism, it is capable of; whose intellect is a clear, cold,
logic engine, with all its parts of equal strength, and in smooth
working order, ready, like a steam engine, to be turned to any
kind of work, and spin the gossamers as well as forge the anchors
of the mind; whose mind is stored with a knowledge of the great
and fundamental truths of Nature and of the laws of her opera-
tions; one who, no stunted ascetic, is full of life and fire, but
whose passions are trained to come to heel by a vigorous will,
the servant of a tender conscience; who has learned to love all
beauty, whether of Nature or of art, to hate all vileness, and to
respect others as himself. — Huxley

CHAPTER IV
FORCE

By force or forcefulness is meant that quality which
impels attention and makes what is said take hold. /
understand, we say if all is clear; I am in-
terested, or / am moved, if all is forceful.
Clearness satisfies what is loosely called the intellect or
the understanding; force stirs the emotions. In one
respect the name selected for this quality is some-
what misleading; for it commonly suggests Gentleness
only that which is vigorous and virile, as well as
whereas its broad range includes the idea "^^sor
of gentleness, reserve, calm dignity, in short whatever
appeals to the emotions. For force is as varied in the
realm of expression as in the world of nature, where the
tornado which uproots trees and levels buildings is no
better example than the gentle rains and the warmth of
the sun which turn the brown fields green in springtime.

What is the secret of force? Since emotions are of many
kinds and since the ways in which they may be quickened
are many, it is evident that a complete
answer to this question cannot be given.
We know, it is true, that force depends in
a measure on wise choice of subject matter, some things
being naturally more interesting than others and therefore
more likely to stir the emotions. It is equally apparent
that vigor and richness of character are essential, the
words of great writers and great orators moving us because
these writers and orators are keen thinkers, forceful people

37

38 RHETORIC

who are by nature deeply emotional or gifted with imagi-
native powers. And quite as obvious is a third truth;
namely, that forcefulness depends not alone on wise
choice of subject matter and on vigor and richness of
character but on skill in the use of language, or ability to
*'put things" effectively. In some, this ability seems
heaven-sent, a natural gift not to be hoped for by every-
body; in others, it is a comfort to believe, such ability
is solely the result of painstaking effort and long practice.
Perhaps the most helpful thing that can be said on the
subject is that force comes mainly through attention to

clearness — is indeed but clearness of a
main source l^^g^^, higher kind. All that is contained

in the preceding chapter might appro-
priately be repeated at this point, especially what is said
of the advantage of supplying an abundance of particulars
and of substituting specific words for those which are
vague and general. For emotions can be stirred only
through the imagination, and the imagination must be
given sufficient material out of which to construct mind-
pictures.

So important is this point that it will bear still further
illustration. Building is a general term, applicable to many

different kinds of structures; it calls to mind
d^^^il ^ ^^ ^^^^ definite picture. Dwelling is more

specific; the imagination can do something
with it. But there are many buildings, widely different
in appearance, which properly may be called dwellings;
the picture is therefore still vague. If for dwelling we
substitute cottagCj the impression becomes somewhat
clearer. Add but an adjective or two — thatched, rose*
embowered — and from the words a thatched cottage, rose-
embowered, the imagination can construct a fairly complete
picture. We camped under some trees is a hazy statement

FORCE 39

compared with We camped under three tall pines. The
little word yellow is not wasted when Stevenson writes

In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.

Irving might have written, of the attendant who conducted
him about the birthplace of Shakespeare, The house is
shown hy an old lady. This is what he did write : The house
is shown hy a garrulous old lady with a frosty red face lighted
up hy a cold hlue, anxious eye, and garnished with artificial
locks of flaxen hair curling from under an exceedingly dirty
cap.

"The mind of man,'' it has been truly said, "is peopled,
like some silent city, with a sleeping company of reminis-
cences, associations, impressions, attitudes, Connotative
emotions, to be awakened into fierce activity or suggestive
at the touch of words." Words differ widely words
in their power to waken the "silent city" of the mind;
some are very feeble, others truly enchanting. The secret
of the enchanting word frequently lies in its power to point
out somewhat specifically that which is at hand and at the
same time subtly suggest much that may be more or less
remote in time or space. Highly suggestive words of such
double power are called, technically, connotative. Pro-
fessor Wendell cites as examples dayhreak and cockcrow,
which primarily denote early morning, and secondarily
suggest the sights and sounds of coming day.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves
He rode between the barley-sheaves,

run the lines in The Lady of Shalott, bow-shot suggesting
far more than a given number of yards. Shakespeare
makes Hamlet swear By these pickers and stealers. We
assume that he means By these fingers of mine; but the

40 RHETORIC

words also suggest that fingers sometimes do petty thiev-
ery. Macaulay writes, Of about a hundred and sixty nobles
who walked in the ^procession on the first day [of the trial of
Hastings] sixty had been laid in their family vaults. He
might have written merely that sixty had died; but he
desired not only to state the bare fact that so many had
died, we may believe, but to suggest the ceremonious
funeral pageant.

Clearness through supplying an abundance of partic-
ulars, specific details, subtle suggestions, out of which the

imagination may easily construct mind-
Brevity ^ ^ 1 • • i-

pictures: this, surely, is necessary in force-
ful expression. Writers and speakers must be most
lavish in bestowing material, counting no cost in the
number of words used, furnishing freely the strongest,
most suggestive words at their command. Large returns
call for large investments. And yet a second source of
forcefulness is, beyond question, brevity, which calls not
for prodigality but for reasonable economy. Elaborate
introductions, the rehearsal of needless details, painstaking
explanation of that which needs no explanation, the flat
proclaiming of old truths, digressions, saying practically
the same thing over and over, going round and round about
instead of taking an obviously shorter route, going on
and on though the end of the narrative has been reached,
employing ten feeble words where one or two would suffice
— how common such failings are and how tiresome, exas-
perating! Here is the poet Dry den's familiar rule:

Gently make haste, of labor not afraid;

A hundred times consider what you've said;

Polish, repolish, every color lay,

And sometimes add, but oftener take away.

Though parts of this rule may be of questionable value,

FORCE 41

the last line contains sound advice. Force comes through
eliminating useless statements, useless words; through
substituting hints and suggestions for wordy details;
through taking short cuts across the fields instead of
following the long, dusty highway. It comes through
confining attention to that which is essential.

Adherence to the two principles of clearness and
brevity,' the one calling for an almost prodigal profusion
of material, the other as loudly calling for rigid economy
in confining and directing attention, will go
a long way towards producing force. Of the
many special devices which we use instinctively without
counsel from textbooks, the simplest, and perhaps the
most effective, is plain repetition. How natural it is, in
time of disappointment, to say not merely Too had, but
Too had, too had, too had! We read that when David heard
of his son's death he was much moved, and went up to the
chamher over the gate, and wept; and as he went, thus he said:

0 my son Ahsalom! my son, my son Ahsalom! would God

1 had died for thee. 0 Ahsalom, my son, my son! Repeti-
tion skilfully disguised is seen in the following lines :

Where the love-lorn nightingale

Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well.

Love4orn, sad, mourneth, all suggest grief, and the repeti-
tion of the syllable night in nightingale and nightly faintly
conveys the idea of unremitting sorrow. In prose and in
poetry, we find that the vigorous writer batters away at
the door of our emotions, delivering blow after blow at
nearly the same spot, till admission is gained.
He repeats his thought in this form and ^ ,
that, now expanding it into a simile or alle-
gory, now condensing it into a metaphor; he flashes it
forth in epigram, or exalts it by means of hyperbole, or

42 RHETORIC

even echoes the sense in onomatopoeia as in the fine

Hnes

Unknown, and like esteemed, and the dull swain
Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon,

where we seem to hear the heavy, careless tread of the
rude swain crushing flowers the worth of which is to him
all unknown. * Simile, metaphor, allegory, epigram,
hyperbole, onomatopoeia, all are frequently but subtle
repetition devices, ways of emphasizing, driving home,
impressions. They are almost as common in daily, un-
guarded speech as in the works of the great writers.

Nearly as simple as repetition is the device known as
contrast. Black is placed against white that the black-
ness may receive emphasis. Beauty and
Contrast ,. *^ a -a u -a ^ - ^

uglmess are ranged side by side; virtue

and vice are brought together, the one setting off the
other. Contrast often calls for what is termed a balanced
sentence; that is, a sentence in which one part is set over
against — balances — another part, as in

To err is human; to forgive, divine,

where to err balances to forgive, and human balances divine.
We see it in the following sentence from Macaulay's Life
of Johnson: In the child the physical, intellec-
tual, and moral peculiarities which afterwards
distinguished the man were plainly discernible:
great muscular strength accompanied by much awkwardness
and many infirmities; great quickness of parts, with a morbid
propensity to sloth and procrastination; a khid and generous
heart, with a gloomy and irritable temper. In the first illus-
tration the balance runs through the entire sentence; in the
second, it is found in the phrases separated by the semico-

* For the meaning of these terms see the section in the Appendix which
deals with Figures.

FORCE 4a

Ions. It may extend through an entire paragraph, the
first half balancing the rest. Whole compositions, even,
may be planned with this device in mind, the full contrast
remaining incomplete, it may be, till the last word is
written.

A third device is known as climax, an arrangement
by which interest is made to increase step by step^
the more important or the more interesting
following the less important or less interest-
ing, till an impressive close is reached. Curiosity first
having been aroused, that which is needed to gratify the
curiosity is withheld, and still withheld, till at last a
revelation, often somewhat unexpected in character, is-
granted. Plays and novels, as we all know, are commonly
but a series of climaxes, each satisfying the curiosity in
part, only to arouse it again and in still greater degree,
the intensity of interest rising, and rising, and still rising,
till the end is reached. Paragraphs are sometimes built
on the chmax plan. Notice the following from Macaulay's
essa}^ on Milton:

The advocates of Charles, like the advocates of other male-
factors against whom overwhelming evidence is produced, gen-
erally decline all controversy about facts, and content them-
selves with calling testimony to character. He had so many
private virtues! And had James the Second no private virtues?
Was Oliver Cromwell, his bitterest enemies themselves being
judges, destitute of private virtues? And what, after all, are the
virtues ascribed to Charles? A religious zeal, not more sincere
than that of his son, and fully as weak and narrow-minded, and
a few of the ordinary household decencies, which half the tomb-
stones in England claim for those who lie beneath them. A good
father! A good husband! Ample apologies indeed for fifteen
years of persecution, tyranny, and falsehood!

Notice too the strong climax effect in the following
words which Macbeth addresses to the witches :

44 RHETORIC

I conjure you, by that which you profess

Howe'er you come to know it, answer me.

Though you untie the winds and let them fight

Against the churches; though the yesty waves

Confound and swallow navigation up;

Though bladed corn be lodged and trees blown down;

Though palaces and pyramids do slope

Their heads to their foundation; though the treasure

Of nature's germins tumble all together,

Even till destruction sicken, answer me

To what I ask you.

Sentences constructed on the climax plan, the meaning

held in suspense till the end, are called periodic. The

sentence just written is an example in that

there is an element of suspense which is not

S6Ilt6tlC6S

removed till the last word, periodic, appears.
So too is the following:

Had he not resembled
My father as he slept, I had done't.

In a well-constructed climax there is not only suspense

but an element of surprise. Surprise is often produced by

means of contrast, the bringing together of
Suspense and . , . ,

. opposites. Even m a loose sentence, as one

surprise ^^

is called which is neither periodic nor bal-
anced, there is frequently a mild element of surprise, and
a consequent focusing of attention, through the unusual
position of words or phrases; for whatever is out of its
natural position attracts notice. In the sentence For his
Unusual f^ci^^ empires had risen, and flourished, and (Re-

sentence caijed, the phrase For his sake is more con-

arrangement spicuous than it would be if placed, where
grammatically it belongs, after decaijed. Right hitter was
the agony is more forceful than The agony was right hitter;
at least we may say that through inverting the sentence

FORCE 45

the poet makes Right hitter leap out at the reader — much
as does the first word in the Une

Yelled on the view the opening pack.

Sentences periodic or balanced in construction, sen-
tences in which some unusual order is followed, are
effective not only in that they focus atten- .
tion on whatever demands emphasis, but
in that they contribute variety. Monotony in sentence
structure is as tiresome as monotony in voice, or the ab-
sence of facial expression. Long sentences, short ; interrog-
ative, declarative, exclamatory; periodic, loose, balanced —
all appear in animated conversation and in vigorous writing,
though seldom are all these forms to be found in a single para-
graph, as is the case in the passage quoted from Macaulay.

But the devices by which force is gained are too nu-
merous and too subtle to permit of complete enumeration.
Instinctively, when deeply moved and

anxious to share our emotions with others, i^P^ciyan
. . „ . . earnestness

we substitute direct discourse for indirect,

the historical present for the past; we personify the inan-
imate, we resort to exaggeration. We move others through
humor, through pathos, through ridicule and irony. We
resort to a score of petty devices in our attempt to arouse
that "sleeping company" with which the mind of man is
peopled. Yet how frequently we find that far more effect-
ive than all dramatic devices is plain simplicity! Theat-
rical ways may fascinate at times; yet a quiet earnestness,
born of sincerity, is far more effective in the long run.

The substance of the preceding paragraphs may be
summarized as follows: Force, or forcefulness, is that
quality which impels attention through
stirring the emotions. In general, it may
be said, force depends on wise choice of subject matter,

46 RHETORIC

natural vigor and richness of character, and skill in
presentation of subject matter. In particular, it is the
product of (1) clearness through profusion of details,
through the employment of specific words rather than
general, and through the employment of connotative or
suggestive words; (2) brevity; (3) a wise employment of
repetition, contrast, climax, and unusual order; (4) vari-
ety in sentence structure;' (5) plain simplicity, earnestness.
Or the substance of the paragraphs may be represented
by the following outline :

FORCE

I Definition: That quality which impels attention

through stirring the emotions
II Sources

A In general

A wise choice of subject matter
Vigor and richness of character
Skill in presentation of subject matter
B In particular
Clearness

Through profusion of particulars
Through specific words
Through suggestive or connotative words
Brevity
Special devices
Repetition
Contrast
Climax

Unusual order
Variety
Plain simplicity and earnestness

Below is given a vocabulary, loosely grouped, more or
less intimately associated with force. Some terms are but

FORCE 47

synonyms; others name forceful moods and temperaments;
still others, skill in the craft of expression ; and a few, the
effect of forceful expression upon listener and reader. If
any should prove unfamiliar, consult a good dictionary.

I Forceful, strong, vigorous, robust, virile.
II Judicial, thoughtful, sane, critical, medita-
tive, keen, shrewd.

III Earnest, fervid, impulsive, impetuous.

IV Animated, lively, vivacious, spirited.

V Clever, witty, humorous, felicitous, happy,
droll, brilliant.
VI Brief, concise, compressed, condensed, terse,

pithy, epigrammatical.
VII Detailed, minute, particular, concrete.
VIII Easy, fluent, rapid, swift, tripping, sprightly,
brisk, surging.
IX Lifelike, truthful, graphic, vivid, pictorial.
X Moving, affecting, pathetic, touching, thrill-
ing, tragic, dramatic.
XI Amusing, ludicrous, comical, farcical, bur-
lesque.
XII Weak, languid, puerile, effeminate.

XIII Tame, flat, tiresome, dull, dry, tedious, mo-

notonous, commonplace, hackneyed, trite.

XIV Clumsy, crude, awkward, careless, bungling,

lumbering, slovenly, stiff.
XV Verbose, redundant, diffuse, rambling, strag-
gling, circuitous, discursive, digressive,
long-winded.
XVI Trashy, flippant, frivolous, petty, trivial,

sensational, extravagant, silly, absurd.
XVII Declamatory, ranting, rhetorical, pompous,
high-flown, gushing.

48 RHETORIC

EXERCISES

1 Macaulay, having written that Samuel Johnson
sometimes "regaled a friend with a plain dinner," adds,
characteristically, " — veal pie, or a leg of lamb and spin-
ach, and a rice pudding." One secret of his power as an
essayist lies in the great pains he takes to supply the reader
with graphic details. Develop one of the following sen-
tences into a paragraph of some length, with a view to
supplying the details necessary before the reader can form
in his mind a satisfactory picture. Be careful not to go
beyond the bounds prescribed by the topical sentence;
that is, be careful to preserve unity.

1. With this remark he suddenly threw back the desk-lid, and
what a sight met his eyes!

2. Before putting away the suit for the winter, she thought
it best to examine the pockets.

3. Mary now opened the lunch basket. (Tell graphically
of the contents as they appeared to the hungry picnickers.)

4. It was an extremely busy thoroughfare.

5. In the back yard were three trees.

6. At that instant Pete knocked out what proved to be a
three-bagger. (Describe the excitement.)

7. The boy was, unquestionably, very nervous. (How did
he show it?)

8. He had been told to keep himself tidy; but by the time the
guests had arrived, you should have seen him!

9. Johnny decided to crawl under. (Under the circus tent, a
fence enclosing ball-grounds, or what you please; but describe
his facial expression, his actions, and perhaps his emotions.)

10. Reposing under the shed was an old wagon.

11. His table manners were exasperating.

12. He knew he had been a naughty dog, and he showed it.

13. He looked every inch a captain.

14. It was a pleasure to see with what skill the carpenter used
his tools.

15. With the ball barely a foot from the goal line, the whistle
blew and the game was over.

FORCE 49

16. He knew automobiles from tire to the most obscure part
in the intricate engine.

2 Beginning abruptly, describe in a single paragraph
one of the following :

1. The actions of a cat on seeing a bird.

2. The facial expression, actions, and possibly the disgruntled
remarks, of a small boy on viewing the breakfast table.

3. The appearance of one who has been caught in a shower.

4. The actions of an urchin steahng an apple.

5. A pair of old shoes.

6. Emotions on hearing the rising bell.

7. The appearance of a defeated football captain.

8. The facial expression of a boy perplexed by a problem.

9. The facial expression or actions of a carpenter upon dis-
covering that he has sawed his board in the wrong place.

10. The facial expression and actions of a housekeeper upon
remembering that she put a cake into a hot oven over an hour
before.

3 Write a paragraph meriting one of the titles found
below. Exert yourself to the utmost to convey vivid im-
pressions. You may imagine the emotions your own or
another's; you may imagine whatever circumstances you
please; you may employ narration, description, — whatever
form you please. The one thing needful is that you cause
the reader to experience through your words the emotions
lying behind the title. Begin abruptly; use the present
tense.

Cold. Hot. Dry. Dusty. Windy. Damp. Twihght.
Gloom. Darkness. Silence. Turmoil. Clamor. Slow motion.
Rapid Motion. Monotony. Alone. Deserted. Idleness.
Sleepy. Midnight. Struggle. DazzHng Hght. Exhaustion.
Grief. Despair. Hunger. Fear. Horror. Remorse. Toil.
Intense joy. Bewilderment. Suspense. Creeping time. Vast
space.

4 Describe, in not more than sixty words each, any three
of the following, selecting your adjectives with great care:

50 RHETORIC

a building, a person, a piece of furniture, a lower animal
(cow, dog, rabbit), a bit of landscape, a hat, a hand, a
countenance, a tree, a garden, a room, the song of a bird.

5 Determine what is the strongest argument that can
be advanced on either side of any proposition found in the
twelfth exercise under Clearness; then support this argu-
ment in as vigorous a manner as you can.

6 Not only clearness but force often depends on ability
to select appropriate adjectives. Here are the synonyms
for brave found in Marsh's Thesaurus. Study them, then
make a list of all the words you can think of which express
the opposite idea.

Adventurous, audacious, aweless, bold, chivalrous, confident,
courageous, daring, dashing, dauntless, determined, dogged,
doughty, dreadless, enterprising, fearless, fierce, firm, gallant,
hardy, heroic, indomitable, intrepid, lion-hearted, lion-like,
manful, mettlesome, plucky, pugnacious, reassured, resolute,
savage, self-reliant, soldierly, spirited, spiritful, stout, unabashed,
unalarmed, unappalled, unapprehensive, unawed, unblenched,
undaunted, undismayed, undreadful, unfeared, unshrinking,
valiant, valorous, venturesome, venturous.

7 Think of more graphic substitutes, single words or
phrases, for the following expressions:

Went slowly, replied, struck, laughed, departed, showed as-
tonishment, assented, advanced, disappeared.

8 Think of an appropriate verb, with or without an
accompanying phrase, to express the sound made by each
of the following:

A galloping horse, the wind among trees, boiling water, the
hinges of a door, a heavy wagon on stony pavement, a train of
cars, a locomotive whistle, a distant cannon, a locust, a fly caught
in a web, bees in a tulip tree, waves on a beach, a chain dragged
along a road, a boy who does not lift his feet, a lawn-mower.

FORCE 51

9 * Here are brief selections illustrating a few of the
many forms of forcefulness. Examine each with great
care, reading it many times to see if you can discover why
it appeals to you. Work independently, at first; then let
the members of the class cooperate, comparing the results
of individual investigation; finally, perhaps the instructor
will add his estimate. The outline on page 46 may sug-
gest a way of systematizing the work, and the following
questions may prove suggestive :

Is the nature of the subject matter such as to appeal
strongly to our interest? Is forcefulness traceable to the
vigor and richness of the writer's character — the depth of
his thought, the vividness of his imagination, his sincerity,
his sense of humor, his wit, his sensitiveness to pathos, his
winsome personality? What do you note in regard to the
diction? Are the words precise, specific, picturesque,
€onnotative, sonorous? What of the sentences — unusually
long, unusually short, varied in length, frequently periodic
or balanced, unusual in their structure, compact, broken,
frequently interrogative or exclamatory? Is the para-
graph structure noticeable? What figures and dramatic
devices are common — simile, metaphor, personification,
metonymy; suspense, surprise, antithesis, repetition? Is
there a profusion of specific detail? Finally, try to con-
dense into one or two sentences the leading characteristics
of the paragraph.

1. If I were an American, ag I am an Englishman, while a
foreign troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down
my arms — never — never — never! — William Pitt

2. For my part, although the h.OTiorable gentlemen who made
this motion, and some other gentlemen, have been, more than
once, in the course of the debate, severely reprehended for calling
it a wicked and accursed war, I am persuaded, and would affirm,

* This exercise, it is needless to say, should furnish material for a num-
ber of recitations.

52 RHETORIC

that it was a most accursed, wicked, barbarous, cniel^^uimatural,
unjust, and diabolical war. — ^William Pitt

3. They tell us, sir, that we are weak — unable to cope with so
formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will
it be next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally
disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every
house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction?
Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying
supinely .on our backs and hugging -the delusive phantom of
hope, until our enemies slmU_lmvQj30imd u^^^^^^ and foot? —
Patrick Henry

4. "Heads, heads, take care of your heads," cried the lo^
quacious stranger, as they came out under the low archway
which in those days formed the entrance to the coach-yard.
** Terrible place — dangerous work — other day — five children —
mother — tall lady, eating sandwiches — forgot the arch — crash —
knock — children look round — mother's head off — sandwich in
her hand — no mouth to put it in — ^head of a family off — shock-
ing, shocking." — Dickens

5. Life is a narrow vale between the cold and barren peaks of
two. eternities. We strive in vain to look beyond the heights.
We cry aloud, and the only answer is the echo of our wailing cry.
From the voiceless lips of the unreplying dead there comes no.
word; but in the night of death hope sees a star, and hstening
love can hear the rustle of a wing. — Ingersoll

6. It is therefore death alone that can suddenly make man to
know himself. He tells the proud and insolent that they are but
abjects, and humbles them at the instant, makes them cry,
complain, and repent, yea, even to hate their fore-passed happi-
ness. He takes the account of the rich, and proves him a beggar,
a naked beggar, which hath interest in nothing but in the gravel
that fills his mouth. He holds a glass before the eyes of the most
beautiful, and makes them see therein their deformity and
rottenness, and they acknowledge it. — Raleigh

7. Of a sudden the guns on the slope roared out a message of
warning. A sphttering sound had begun in the woods. It
swelled with amazing speed to a profound clamor that involved
the earth in noises. The splitting crashes swept along the lines
until an interminable roar was developed. To those in the midst
of it, it became a din fitted to the universe. It was the whirring

FORCE 53

and thumping of gigantic machinery, complications among the
smaller stars. They were incapable of hearing more. — Stephen
Crane

8. ''But, Mr. Speaker, we have a right to tax America. O in-
estimable right! 0 wonderful, transcendent right! the assertion
of which has cost this country thirteen provinces, six islands,
one hundred thousand lives, and seventy miUions of money.
O invaluable right! for the sake of which we have sacrificed our
rank among nations, our importance abroad, and our happiness
at home. 0 right more dear to us than existence, which has
already cost us so much, and which seems likely to cost us our
all. Infatuated man! miserable and undone country! not to
know that the claim of right, without the power of enforcing it,
is nugatory and idle. We have a right to tax America, the noble
lord tells us, therefore we ought to tax America. This is the pro-
found logic which comprises the whole chain of his reasoning. —
Burke

9. Laugh and mock if you will at the worship of stone idols;
but mark ye this, ye breakers of images, that in one regard the
stone idol bears awful semblance of Deity — unchangefulness in
the midst of changes — the same seeming will and intent for ever
and ever inexorable! Upon ancient dynasties of Ethiopian and
Egyptian kings — upon Greek and Roman, upon Arab and Otto-
man conquerors — upon Napoleon dreaming of an Eastern
empire — upon battle and pestilence — upon the ceaseless misery
of the Egyptian race — upon keen-eyed travelers — Herodotus
yesterday, and Warburton today — upon all and more this un-
worldly Sphinx has watched, and watched like a Providence
with the same earnest eyes, and the same sad, tranquil mien.
And we, we shall die, and Islam will wither away, and the Eng-
lishman straining far over to hold his loved India, will plant a
firm foot on the banks of the Nile, and sit in the seats of the
Faithful, and still that sleepless rock will lie watching and watch-
ing the works of the new busy race, with those same sad earnest
eyes, and the same tranquil mien everlasting. You dare not
mock at the Sphinx! — Kinglake

10. A great chapter of the history of the world is written in
the chalk. Few passages in the history of man can be supported
by such an overwhelming mass of direct and indirect evidence
as that which testifies to the truth of the fragment of the history

54 RHETORIC

of the globe which I hope to enable you to read with your own
eyes tonight. Let me add that few chapters of human history
have a more profoimd significance for ourselves. I weigh my
words well when I assert that the man who should know the
true history of the bit of chalk which every carpenter carries
about in his breeches pocket, tho ignorant of all other history, is
likely, if he will think his knowledge out to its ultimate results,
to have a truer and therefore a better conception of this wonder-
ful universe, and of man's relation to it, than the most learned
student who is deep-read in the records of humanity and ignorant
of those of Nature. — Huxley

11. I know one who, when she is happy, reads Nicholas
Nickleby; when she is unhappy, reads Nicholas Nickleby; when
she is tired, reads Nicholas Nickleby; when she is in bed, reads
Nicholas Nickleby; when she has nothing to do, reads Nicholas
Nickleby; and when she has finished the book, reads Nicholas
Nickleby over again. — Thackeray

12. One could bear a little with Oliver Cromwell, tho, con-
trary to his oath of fidelity to the Parliament, contrary to his
duty to the public, contrary to the respect he owed that venerable
body from whom he received his authority, he usurped the
government. His merit was so extraordinary that our judgments,
our passions, might be blinded by it. He made his way to em-
pire by the most illustrious actions; he had under his command
an army that had made him conqueror, and a people that had
made him their general. But as for Richard Cromwell, his son,
who is he? What are his titles? We have seen that he had a sword
by his side; but did he ever draw it? And what is of more im-
portance in this case, is he fit to get obedience from a mighty
nation, who could never make a footman obey him? Yet we
must recognize this man as our king, under the stjde of pro-
tector!— a man without birth, without courage, without con-
duct! For my part, I declare, sir, it shall never be said that I
made such a man my master! — Vane

13. For the pure clean wit of a sweet young babe is like the
newest wax, most able to receive the best and fairest printing;
and like a new bright silver dish never occupied, to receive and
keep clean any good thing that is put into it. — Ascham

14. Sir, this alarming discontent is not the growth of a day,
or of a year. If there be any symptoms by which it is possible

FORCE ^ 55

to distinguish the chronic disease of the body politic from its
passing inflammations, all those symptoms exist in the present
case. The taint has been gradually becoming more extensive
and more malignant, through the whole hfetime of two genera-
tions. We have tried anodynes. We have tried cruel operations.
What are we now trying? Who flatters himself that he can turn
this feeling back? Does there remain any argument which
escaped the comprehensive inteUect of Mr. Burke, or the subtlety
of Mr. Windham? Does there remain any species of coercion
which was not tried by Mr. Pitt and by Lord Londonderry?
We have had laws. We have had blood. New treasons have
been created. The Press has been shackled. The Habeas
Corpus Act has been suspended. Pubhc meetings have been
prohibited. The event has proved that these expedients were
mere palliatives. The evil remains. It is more formidable than
ever. What is to be done? — Macaulay

15. Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability.
Their chief use for delight is in privateness and retiring; for
ornament is in discourse; and for ability is in the judgment and
disposition of business. For expert men can execute, and per-
haps judge of particulars, one by one; but the general counsels,
and the plots and marshalling of affairs, come best from those
that are learned. To spend too much time in studies is sloth^ to
use them too much for ornament is affectation, to make judg-
ment only by their rules is the humor of a scholar. They
perfect nature, and are perfected by experience. For natural
abilities are like natural plants, that need pruning by study; and
studies themselves do give forth directions too much at large,
except they be bounded in by experience. Crafty men contemn
studies, simple men admire them, and wise men use them; for
they teach not their own use, but that is wisdom without them
and above them, won by observation. — Lord Bacon

16. A Poor Relation — is the most irrelevant thing in nature, —
a piece of impertinent correspondency,— an odious approxima-
tion,— a haunting conscience, — a preposterous shadow, length-
ening in the noontide of our prosperity, an unwelcome remem-
brancer,— a perpetually recurring mortification, — a drain on
your purse, — a more intolerable dun upon your pride, — a draw-
back upon success, — a rebuke to your rising, — a stain in your
blood, — a blot on your 'scutcheon, — a rent in your garment, —

56 RHETORIC

a death's head at your banquet, — Agathocles' pot, — a Mordecai
in your gate, — a Lazarus at your door, — a lion in your path, —
a frog in your chamber, — a fly in your ointment, — a mote in
your eye, — a triumph to your enemy, an apology to your friends,
— the one thing not needful, — the hail in harvest, — the ounce of
sour in a pound of sweet. — Lamb

17. But, I think, the noblest sea that Turner has ever painted,
and, if so, the noblest certainly ever painted by man, is that of
the Slave Ship, the chief Academy picture of the exhibition of
1840. It is a sunset on the Atlantic after prolonged storm; but
the storm is partially lulled, and the torn and streaming rain-
clouds are moving in scarlet lines to lose themselves in the
hollow of night. The whole surface of the sea included in the
picture is divided into two ridges of enormous swell, not high,
nor local, but a low, broad heaving of the whole ocean, like the
lifting of its bosom by deep-drawn breath after the torture of the
storm. Between these two ridges, the fire of the sunset falls
along the trough of the sea, dyeing it with an awful but glorious
light, the intense and lurid splendor which burns like gold and
bathes like blood. Along this fiery path and valley, the tossing
waves by which the swell of the sea is restlessly divided, lift
themselves in dark, indefinite, fantastic forms, each casting a
faint and ghostly shadow behind it along the illumined foam.
They do not rise everywhere, but three or four together in wild
groups, fitfully and furiously, as the under strength of the swell
compels or permits them; leaving between them treacherous
spaces of level and whirling water, now lighted with green and
lamp-like fire, now flashing back the gold of the declining sun,
now fearfully dyed from above with the indistinguishable images
of the burning clouds, which fall upon them in flakes of crimson
and scarlet, and give to the reckless waves the added motion of
their own fiery flying. Purple and blue, the lurid shadows of the
hollow breakers are cast upon the mist of the night, which
gathers cold and low, advancing like the shadow of death upon
the guilty* ship as it labors amidst the lightning of the sea, its
thin masts written upon the sky in lines of blood, girded with
condemnation in that fearful hue which signs the sky with
horror, and mixes its flaming flood with the sunlight, — and cast

♦She is a slaver, throwing her slaves overboard. The near sea is
encumbered with corpses. — (Ruskin's Note)

FORCE 57

far along the desolate heave of the sepulchral waves, incarnadines
the multitudinous sea. — Ruskin

18. Two powerful nations have been vitally affected by natural
calamities. The former of these calamities was inevitable by
human prudence, and uncontrollable by human skill; the latter
was to be foreseen at any distance by the most ignorant, and to
be avoided by the most wary. I mean in the first the Plague of
the Athenians; in the second the starvation of the French. The
first happened under the administration of a man transcen-
dently brave; a man cautious, temperate, eloquent, prompt,
sagacious, above all that ever guided the councils and animated
the energies of a state; the second under a soldier of fortune,
expert and enthusiastic; but often deficient in moral courage,
not seldom in personal; rude, insolent, rash, rapacious; valuing
but one human life among the myriads at his disposal, and that
one far from the worthiest, in the estimation of an honester and
a saner mind. — Landor

19. The work of the Lombard was to give hardihood and sys-
tem to the enervated body and enfeebled mind of Christendom;
that of the Arab was to punish idolatry, and to proclaim the
spirituality of worship. The Lombard covered every church
which he built with the sculptured representations of bodily
exercises — hunting and war. The Arab banished all imagination
of creature form from his temples, and proclaimed from their
minarets, '' There is no god but God." Opposite in their character
and mission, alike in their magnificence of energy, they came
from the North and from the South, the glacier torrent and the
lava stream; they met and contended over the wreck of the
Roman empire; and the very center of the struggle, the point of
pause of both, the dead water of the opposite eddies charged with
emba3^ed fragments of the Roman wreck, is Venice.

20. Beyond those troops of ordered arches there rises a vision
out of the earth, and all the great square seems to have opened
from it in a kind of awe, that we may see it far away; a multitude
of pillars and white domes, clustering into a long low pyramid of
colored light; a treasure heap, it seems, partly of gold and partly
of opal and mother-of-pearl, hollowed beneath into five great
vaulted porches, ceiled with fair mosaic and beset with sculpture
of alabaster, clear as amber and delicate as ivory — sculpture
fantastic and involved, of palm-leaves and lilies, and grapes and

58 RHETORIC

pomegranates, and birds clinging and fluttering among the
branches, all twined together into an endless network of buds,
and plumes; and in the midst of it the solemn forms of angels,
sceptered, and robed to the feet, and leaning to each other across
the gates, their figures indistinct among the gleaming of the
golden ground through the leaves beside them — interrupted
and dim, like the morning Hght as it faded back among the
branches of Eden when first its gates were angel-guarded long
ago. — RusKiN

21. Two men I honor, and no third. First, the toil worn
Craftsman that with earth-made implement laboriously con-
quers the Earth, and makes her man's. Venerable to me is the
hard Hand; crooked, coarse; wherein notwithstanding lies a
cunning virtue, indefeasibly royal, as cf the Scepter of this
Planet. Venerable too is the rugged face, all weather-tanned,
besoiled, with its rude intelligence; if it is the face of a man living
manlike. 0, but the more venerable for thy rudeness, and even
because we must pity as well as love thee! Hardly-entreated
Brother! For us was thy back so bent, for us were thy straight
limbs and fingers so deformed; thou wert our Conscript, on whom
the lot fell, and fighting our battle wert so marred. For in thee
too lay a god-created Form, but it was not to be unfolded; en-
crusted must it stand with the thick adhesions and defacements
of labor; and thy body, like thy soul, was not to know freedom.
Yet toil on, toil on: thou art in thy duty, be out of it who majy;
thou toilest for the altogether indispensable, for daily bread.

22. A second man I honor, and still more highly: Him who is
seen toiling for the spiritually indispensable; not dailj^ bread, but
bread of Life. Is not he too in his duty, endeavoring towards
inward Harmony; revealing this, by act or by word? Through
all his outward endeavors, be they high or low? Highest of all,
when his outward and his inward endeavor are one: when we can
call hi-m Artist; not earthly Craftsman onl}^, but inspired Thinker,
who with heaven-made Implement conquers Heaven for us! If
the poor and humble toil that we have Food, must not the high
and glorious toil for him in return, that he have Light, have
Guidance, Freedom, Immortality? — These two, in all their
degree, I honor: all else is chaff and dust, which let the wind
blow whither it listeth. — Carlyle

23. The splendid naves of St. Albans, Westminster, Canter-

FORCE 59

bury, Winchester, York, Salisbury, rise heavenward; the towers
of Ely reach the skies; the west front of Lincoln, adorned with
marvellous carvings, rears itself on the hill above the town;
Petersborbugh opens its wide bays, deep as the portals of French
churches; Durham, a heavy and massive pile built by knight-
bishops, overlooks the valley of the Wear, and seems a divine
fortress, a castle erected for God. — Jusserand

10 With one or two possible exceptions, the illustrative
paragraphs found in exercise 14 under Clearness are not
only clear but forceful. Study them as you have studied
the selections above.

11 Come to class prepared to read and talk about brief
selections, taken from whatever source you please, which
have appealed to you strongly.

Note. — For the study of figures of speech and dramatic devices in
general, see Appendix.

CHAPTER V

BEAUTY

A word employed loosely in daily speech sometimes

gains a more precise meaning when set apart for technical

use; but this is hardly true of beauty, the

.. . name chosen for the finest and rarest of all

the term

literary qualities. It is vague in that it has,
like force, an unusually broad range of application.
Tennyson's Tears, idle tears is called beautiful; but so too
are many poems differing from this little song as widely as
a Greek temple differs from the field flower. It is vague,
too, in that what seems beautiful to one may please
another but mildly or Hot at all. Hardly, then, shall we
succeed in defining with exactness this subtle quality;
we can but say that it is pleasure-giving, that its appeal
is preeminently through the emotions, that it is forcefulness
refined and elevated. Better than any set definition will
be a searching of our own natures with a view to discover-
ing what, in the few masterpieces of literature that cultured
minds have pretty generally agreed in calling beautiful,
brings us a pleasure so fine and rare that we are not sat-
isfied with applying to it the term force.

No mistake will be made in affirming first of all that
there can be no beauty without sincerity. We do not

like pretence. There are those who weep
. ^ when they are not sad and laugh when they

are not gay — tricksters who manufacture
sentiment; there are. cowards who employ words to conceal
feeling, or to cover poverty of thought or emotion by what

60

BEAUTY 61

is called fine writing. Their compositions may possess a
degree of force, but they can not rise to the high level of
beauty. Preferable are the plain words of plain people,
if they but reflect honest natures. A friendly letter which
rings true, even though from an illiterate woodsman,
claims higher rank than the shams of brilliant writers.

A second essential is refinement, or a high degree of
aesthetic and moral excellence. Speech may be forceful
though it reflect coarseness and ill-breeding,
a dull sense of propriety, lack of deference,
lack of self-restraint, and much else that offends the
sensitive nature. Beauty implies good taste and native
refinement. And speech may be forceful yet immoral.
Playwrights, novelists, poets even, may use their genius
unworthily to stir the lower passions. They sometimes
pander to our sensual natures. So clever, so witty, so fas-
cinating are they, oftentimes, that we are for the moment
blind to the fact that no amount of cleverness can sweeten
into beauty whatever lures to lower levels. Beauty is
pleasure-giving, but pleasure should be unreprovable,
free from taint. The truly great poets, to whom we turn
instinctively for examples of beauty, are moral. We value
them, in part at least, because they lift us out of the petty
and commonplace, out of that which is unworthily low.

A third element contributing to beauty is truth, the
product of keen perception aided by sj^mpathy. ''This
author," we sometimes say, *'is evidently
sincere, refined, moral, and he expresses
himself with commendable force; but I cannot be-
lieve that he has found the truth." Perhaps his fail-
ure is due to immaturity. ''A young man will be wiser
by and by." Or it may be attributed to narrow expe-
rience; he has wrongly concluded that all the wide world
is like the little valley where he dwells. Prejudice, from

62 RHETORIC

which no one is wholly free, may have distorted his vision.
There are many, many reasons why those who are sincere
and who have high motives fail to interpret correctly the
varied emotions — love, joy, hate, grief, indignation, etc. —
which make up the round of human experience. We may
be able to say of their words How forceful; we cannot say
How true! ^'No pleasure," declares a Latin poet, "is
comparable to standing upon the vantage ground of truth
and viewing the errors, the wanderings, the mists and
tempests below." Few pleasures are greater, it may be
added, than that derived from the words of one who has
gained this vantage ground, has penetrated the mists amid
which we dwell, and with sympathetically keen perception
reveals us to ourselves.

But sincerity, refinement, and truth, though characteris-
tic of beauty, are not peculiarly literary qualities. They
are found in the poems of Wordsworth, and

yet they may be as truly characteristic of

expression -^ \ ^ • i u i_ r

our next door neighbor, whose powers of

communication through language are little better than
commonplace. Beauty in literature becomes beauty
through artistic expression.

We read with the eye, yet the main approach to our
emotions is through the ear. One essential of fine ex-
pression is melody. Words must be made
to sing. The poet is called singer. If his
lines lack melody, they are not poetry. Shakespeare's
Macbeth has been called "a tempest set to music." But
prose writers too must be musicians. Strong, beauti-
ful prose is not metrical, yet it is rhythmical. The sensi-
tive ear detects in it a cadence by no means accidental.
We may feel sure that much effort has been expended in
avoiding unpleasant monotony of sounds, irritating
repetition, harsh combinations of consonants, and what-

BEAUTY 63

ever else may offend the ear. One reason why the King
James version of the Bible is preferred by many to all
other versions is that it is beautifully melodious. Yet
it is in poetry, we need not say, that the charm of melody
is greatest. It is a dull ear which is not captivated by
Coleridge's

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure dome decree,

and fails to catch the melody in Tennyson's little poem
the first stanza of which runs as follows:

Where Claribel low-lieth
The breezes pause and die.
Letting the rose-leaves fall;
But the solemn oak-tree sigheth,
Thick-leaved, ambrosial,
With ancient melody
Of an inward agony,
Where Claribel low-lieth.

We can imagine that one unacquainted with the English
tongue might derive pleasure from the mere sound of such
lines, — indeed from any masterpiece, prose or poetry,
characterized by easy, varied, sustained melody.

Closely akin to this first essential is harmony. By har-
mony is meant an appropriate correspondence between
cadence and rhythm on the one hand and
the character and spirit of what is ex-
pressed on the other hand. The happy swing of wedding
song ill fits the funeral march. Indignation cannot be
expressed trippingly. "Avenge O Lord thy slaughtered
saints," sings Milton in one poem; " Grate on their scrannel
pipes of wretched straw" in a second; "Come, and trip
it as ye go" in a third. In each line sound is wedded to
sense. But the term harmony may be employed in still
another way. Just as colors or sounds may be combined

64 RHETORIC

inharmoniously, so thoughts may be intermingled incon-
gruously. Some little item, it may be but an inappropriate
figure of speech, or a coarse word where all else is refined,
is enough to jar our sensibilities, which demand that every-
thing shall be "in keeping." An illustration of such a
discord is found in one of Wordsworth's poems, otherwise
beautiful. She was a phantom of delight. Note the second
line in this concluding stanza:

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine :
A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveller between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will.
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect Woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright
With something of angelic light.

To compare perfect womanhood to a machine is to sin
against harmonj^

A third essential is symmetry, the result of a fine sense
of proportion and proper arrangement. When nothing
foreign intrudes, when nothing needed is
wanting, when part is nicely proportioned
to part and all combines to make up a unified whole,
then symmetry is perfect. But how rarely do we find
it! For true sense of proportion, artistic intuition, is
possessed by but few. When the ungifted attempt to
express themselves, that which is in mind fails to crystalize
symmetrically; it comes forth misshapen, un-unified, in-
coherent, and with emphasis unskilfully placed. Beauty,
that is to say, calls for design or pattern. The design of
story or play or essay or lyric may be very simple; but
pattern or scheme of some kind is highly essential.

BEAUTY 65

Sincerity, refinement, truth; melody, harmony, sym-
metry; what more can we think of which contributes to
our pleasure when reading acknowledged .

masterpieces? The very heart of the mat-
ter is reached in the word imagination. Through
sympathetic imagination the writer puts himself in the
place of others, sharing understandingly the emotions of
his fellow men, and is able to picture humanity truthfully.
Through constructive imagination the story-teller builds
up his plot out of incidents which may never have hap-
pened, yet so real, so true to life are they, that all seems
natural. Through creative imagination characters are
called into being so like to real people that we follow their
acts and words, and enter into their fancied emotions,
with the keenest interest — laugh with them, weep with
them, rejoice over their successes and share sympathet-
ically their reverses. It is through imagination too, of
the inventive kind, that new similes and metaphors are
discovered, new ways of stating familiar truths, new
melodies and harmonies. All writers of note are explorers
in the wide realm of words, successful whenever they
discover what is new. Their gifts are denied to most of us,
3^et we take the keenest pleasure in their triumph, whether
it be a great story like that of Hamlet, or the effective
use of a connotative word.

But beauty, after all, is too subtle for analysis. No

enumeration of contributing elements, such as we have

attempted, can satisfy. There are nameless

qualities, nameless combinations of qual- ^^^ ess
.'. , . T ., , qualities

ities, which escape us, until we are almost

ready to adopt the old belief that beauty is but another

name for "divine fire."

Perhaps the following diagram will serve to fix in mind

the substance of this chapter:

66

RHETORIC

' The lists found below of terms related to beautj^ are by
no means complete, and some, perhaps, belong quite as
properly to clearness or force; for purity,
clearness, and force contribute to beaut}^
and all four qualities shade into each other. There are
no well defined dividing lines.

Terminology

I Sincere, natural, genuine, artless,

spontaneous, naive.
II Grave, serious, candid, conscien-
tious, frank, sjonpathetic.

III Temperate, dignified, noble, stately,

magnificent, grand, heroic, ex-
alted, imposing, impassioned, sus-
tained, eloquent, sublime.

IV Musical, melodious, harmonious,

rhythmical, smooth, sonorous,
sweet, tuneful, hlting.

BEAUTY 67

V Airy, dainty, delicate, graceful, ele-
gant, finished, refined, courtly,
polished, chaste.
VI Inharmonious, discordant, clashing,

jingling.
VII Coarse, blunt, low, vulgar, sensual,

voluptuous.
VIII Elaborate, flowery, embroidered,
flashy, gaudy, showy, tawdry.
IX Biting, cynical, fawning, waspish.

EXERCISES

1 Many of the selections found in the exercises accom-
panying the chapters on Clearness and Force are, wholly
or in part, examples of the beautiful. Find them, and try
to discover, in regard to each passage, wherein its beauty
hes.

2 Bring to class brief selections, preferably prose, which
seem to you to be unusually beautiful. Defend your
choice.

3 Find passages of great beauty in the Old Testament.

4 Do you think it possible for one to write prose deserv-
ing the epithet beautiful, by conscious imitation of the
works of great writers? Is it a good plan, when writing,
to interlard brief passages from the poets? Is there danger
in trying to write beautiful prose — that is, should we leave
beauty for the poets to express? Is it correct to say that
nothing which is untrue can be beautiful? In your estima-
tion, which is the most important element contributing to
beauty: the outward dress of thought (what is commonly
called style); the thought, fancy, or feeling expressed; the
character and personality of the writer?

68 RHETORIC

5 Study the following quotations, each of which casts a
ray of light on beauty. Which of them, if any, do you fail
to understand?

Loveliness
Needs not the foreign aid of ornament,
But is, when unadorn'd, adorn'd the most. — Thomson

Thoughtless of beauty, she was beauty's self. — Thomson

The beautiful rests on the foundations of the necessary.

— Emerson

Plain truth needs no flowers of speech. — Horace

The perfection of art is to conceal art. — Quintilian

True beauty is never divorced from utihty. — Quintilian

Beauty is truth, truth beauty. — Keats

Note. — Beauty is best studied, perhaps, in connection with poetry.
For additional exercises, see Chapter xix.

CHAPTER VI
STYLE

The steel pen in common use today was unknown to the
ancients, the nearest approach to it being a bone or metal
instrument, in shape resembhng a sharpened
pencil, with which the scribe wrote on tab- ^ ,

lets thinly coated with wax. This instrument
was called a stylus, and from stylus is derived the modern
word style. It is well to keep this derivation in mind,
together with the pleasing fiction suggested by it; namely,
that authors differ one from another because no two em-
ploy the same pen.

The meaning of the word as applied to articles of wearing
apparel, or furniture, or architecture is not at all difficult
to comprehend; we employ the expression
freely and in its proper sense. When em- .

ployed as a rhetorical term, its meaning is
not so clear-cut; it may convey a number of different im-
pressions, owing to certain misconceptions. Perhaps the
most common misconception is that only authors of note
possess style. But since style means almost the same
thing as manner or individuality, it follows that everyone
possesses it, the school-boy as truly as the great Shakes-
peare. It is discernible in conversation, in familiar let-
ters, in school compositions, as well, as in the prose and
poetry of the masters; for everyone possesses something
of individuality and this individuality is manifest when-
ever he speaks or writes. One may not have a good style,
and through imitation of others, or through suppression

70 RHETORIC

due to shame or reserve, may for a time conceal his real
nature — disguise himself; yet style of some sort, genuine
or artificial, he continues to have.

A second misconception is that style is something exter-
nal, to be put on as one puts on a garment, and to be
changed at will much as we slip from a blue

misconception ^^^^ ^^ ^ ^^^^' ^^^^ ^^ ^^^ *^ ^^ merely with
the manner of expression, or the skill with

which words are employed. This idea of style as the gar-
ment of thought is directly opposed to a famous and gen-
erally accepted definition which states that style is the man
himself. By this is meant that all of the man — his mind,
his heart, his spirit, no less than his literary skill — goes
toward the making of his style.

From this conception come two very wholesome truths.
Milton expresses one of these when he asserts that a man

must be a poem before he can write one, a
some truths thought also conveyed in the familiar adage,

The stream cannot rise higher than the
fountain source. Words, whether written or spoken, re-
veal but what we are; sooner or later the good and the bad
in us, the strength and the weakness, come to the light.
The second truth, closely allied to the one just stated, is
that one cannot become a great writer through '^ catching
the trick" from others — through imitating the externals
of style. Studjdng the art of others is doubtless profitable
in some measure, since it enables us to correct faults and
discover effective ways of expression. Intimate acquaint-
ance with the works of the masters is helpful in so far as it
supplies the mind with noble thoughts and stimulates the
emotions, just as character is formed through association
with those who are refined. But servile imitation of the
manners of others is as artificial in composition as in
society. Putting on a soldier's uniform and spicing one's

STYLE ' 71

speech with a few military terms will not make one a brave
warrior.

Nationality is one of the larger factors contributing
to style. For each nation has its peculiar conceptions
of right and wrong, conceptions of what is

beautiful and what is ugly, ideals traceable to . ^ l°f ^ ^ ^

. in style

its history and its environment. If all Ger-
man literature could be condensed into a single volume,
all French literature into a second, all English into a third,
and so on throughout the realm of letters, it would be
found that though these volumes contained much in com-
mon, yet each would differ from the others not alone in
language but in subject matter, in thought and temper-
ament and art. Racial traits, that is to say, and national
ideals, are reflected in literature. One reason why English
literature is at once difficult and exceedingly interesting
to study is that the English are not only a mixed people,
the combined product of several races, but from time
to time they have been strongly influenced by other
nations.

Style is also a matter of time influence. Nations grow,
and as they develop from age to age, their literatures
change. The literature of King Alfred's
day differs from that of Chaucer's genera- . "^® ® ®"^®°
tion, and the works of Chaucer differ from
those of Shakespeare and Milton. The Queen Anne
writers are in a class by themselves, possessing marked
characteristics; and so too are the writers of Queen Vic-
toria's day. No author, not even one so great as Shakes-
peare, is wholly uninfluenced by the times in which he
lives. Each individual is in part the product of the race
to which he belongs and in part the product of his day
and generation. From these influences he cannot wholly
escape; they are betrayed in his words, oral and written.

72 RHETORIC

Style is the product not only of race or nationality and

of time, but of strong personal influence. We know how

^ , , it is in school life — how a sinde strone;

Schools ,., 1 u r •

personality, a popular boy oi vigorous

character, will sway his mates till they, through con-
scious or unconscious imitation, become in some ways
like him. So in literature a writer often becomes the center
of a ''school" of authors, all influenced strongly by their
leader. Just as English and French and Italian are used
to describe national styles, and such terms as Queen Anne,
Elizabethan, and Victorian to describe the style common
to a given age in a nation's life, so the adjectives Words-
worthian and Byronic and Hawthornesque are employed
to describe works written by Wordsworth or Byron or
Hawthorne or their followers.

And yet, powerful though these larger influences are,
and for the most part unescapable, we all retain a con-
Individuality siderable degree of individuality. Ancestry,
strongest home life, natural surroundings, associates,

factor education, occupation — how different are the

forces, some of our own choosing, some far beyond our con-
trol, that shape us. No two individuals can be alike. The
surest evidence of strong character is ability to retain
individuality regardless of conditions which tend to destroy
it. The great secret of good stjde rests in a willingness to
express ourselves, to be ourselves whenever we speak or
write. This does not mean that we should neglect op-
portunities for improvement lest through much study or
through taking great pains in composition we lose our
individuality; for even genius needs cultivation or it grows
rank and ungainly. It means, rather, that timidity and
servile imitation are fatal to effective expression.

Purity, clearness, force, and beauty are the fundamental
qualities of good style. Attention has been called to the

STYLE 73

fact that these four terms, especially the last two, are so

broad in their application that they are not convenient

to use in characterizing masterpieces. More

, , .n J. I, X Fundamental

convenient, because specinc, are the terms ...

which in earlier chapters are grouped about

clearness, force, and beauty. They form, however, but

a small fraction of the vocabulary of criticism, which

contains literally thousands of terms. For the most part

they are not purely technical, but such as are employed

commonly in talking about men and women. Not a few

focus attention upon the effect produced upon reader or

listener. Fascinating, bewildering, inspiring, and thrilling

are examples of this sort. Others are concerned with the

art of composition, such as graphic, dramatic, melodious.

A very large number are devoted to the author's individ-

uahty, as keen, dignified, eccentric, cheerful.

It is not advisable to memorize lists of critical terms;

as a rule the difficulty lies in discovering what, in a given

masterpiece, produces its charm and what

, J. , XI, j-u • Non-technical

perchance may displease us, rather than m , ,

finding terms to express our likes and dis-
likes. There is a certain advantage, however, in having a
few lists of terms convenient for ready reference, partly be-
cause precisely the right adjective will not always come to
mind when desired, and partly because the young student
needs to be impressed, as he is likely to be if he examines
the lists with care, with the thought that since books are
but men and women revealed through their words, we
require, when talking about masterpieces, few terms not
found in the vocabulary of common, daily life. Literature
at its best is not technical and complex but very simple,
and such should be the terms we Qmploy when talking
about it.

The diagram below is designed not only to fix in memory

74

RHETORIC

the fundamental qualities of style, but to show the inter-
dependence of these qualities. Purity is represented as
the broad foundation of the higher qualities. Clearness
and Force are placed side by side because usually found
together. One hesitates to declare that either is more
important than the other. But Beauty, though depend-
ent on all the lower qualities — based upon them, surely
deserves to stand highest.

BEAUTY

CLEARNESS

FORCE

PURITY

CHAPTER VII
NARRATION

The technical name for all connected communication
of thought by means of words — all composition, that is,
whether oral or written — is discourse. There ■-.-..
are four forms of discourse: narration, de-
scription, exposition, and argument. The first of these
is the story-telling form. It includes all compositions
which give, in orderly fashion, the particulars of an
event or a series of events. The brief accounts we give
one another of our happenings from day to day are
narratives; so too are the news items furnished by the
daily papers. Biographies, histories, and books of travel
are made up largely of narration; and anecdotes, short
stories, novels, and plays are conspicuous examples.

In the chapters on purity, clearness, force, and beauty
we have considered a number of ways in w^hich composi-
tions may be made effective, with but little
regard to whether these compositions are ^. ^°^® °
narration or some other form of discourse.
Later chapters have something to say about the art of
composition as found in such important literary forms of
narration as prose fiction and drama. The purpose of this
chapter is to bring together a few practical suggestions
in regard to the more common, simpler forms of narrations
such as all of us employ day by day.

First suggestion: Do not waste time in unnecessary prelim-
inaries. Notice the word unnecessary. Usually some ac-
count of when and where the incidents occur is desirable,

75

76 RHETORIC

some explanation of attending circumstances; but such

preliminaries should be brief. For example, if the purpose

of a narrative is to tell how you caught a

XJllI16C6SS3,rv

Dreliminaries ^^^^^' ^^ ^^ unquestionably unwise to devote
merely the last of six paragraphs to the
actual struggle between you and the fish. What happens
is the important thing to be told, and the most interesting
thing; therefore get through with preliminary explanation
as quickly as possible.

Second suggestion: Follow a chronological sequence; that
is, tell of the incidents in the order of their occurrence. This
Following is sometimes a difficult matter, especially

chronological when many things have happened in quick
o^^^^ succession, or apparentl}^ "all at once."

Moreover the memory is treacherous and the mind does
not always keep things arranged in their proper sequence.
Finally, through excitement, or embarrassment, or haste ^
the narrator becomes ''all mixed up," or incoherent. It
is hardly necessary to add that a good way to avoid in-
coherency when writing a narrative is first to make out
a topical plan and then study it carefully to see if each
item is in its proper place.

Third suggestion: Make the narrative complete, omitting
no essential detail. This refers not only to incidents but
Making to explanations. What happened may have

narrative made a deep impression on the narrator's

complete mind; he was present, it may be, and saw it

all — perhaps was one of the actors. Yet he may not re-
alize how much must be explained in order that others may
have sufficient material out of which to construct mind-
pictures, or images. He does not realize that he must be
eyes, ears, and all the other senses for those to whom he
tells his story. That this third suggestion is needed is well
proved by the fact that often when told of an accident,

NARRATION 77

for example, we repeatedly interrupt the informant with
questions — questions asked because our minds, busily em-
ployed trying to form correct pictures of what happened,
find that they lack sufficient material. It is an excellent
plan, therefore, when writing a narrative, to pause fre-
quently and ask. Am I giving a sufficient number of par-
ticulars? Will my readers real-ize this series of incidents
and see plainly what occurred?

Fourth suggestion: Do not bring in irrelevant matter. In
other words, preserve unity. How long it takes the un-
skilled yet loquacious narrator to tell of Excluding
some simple occurrence! He digresses; he irrelevant
imparts unnecessary information; he com- matter
bines two or three stories, it may be, unable to keep in
mind the one important task before him. A narrative
should move with reasonable rapidity and directness,
whether it be a simple item of news or a long romance.

Fifth suggestion: Try to keep up the suspense. Keep

something back, if possible, that the reader or listener may

be led on and on, ever expecting something

new, till a climax, with its attendant moment , , ,

» . . -n ' c • • preferable

of surprise and its gratification of curiosity,

has been reached. At first thought, this precept may seem
more appropriate for writers of fiction than for those whose
main purpose is to picture events faithfully; yet a little
practice will show that even in reporting the common
incidents of every-day life it is possible to give our nar-
ratives something of dramatic structure.

Sixth suggestion: For vividness, introduce dialogue when
possible. We like to hear others talk. What did he say?
is a question we are all fond of asking.
We prefer novels in which there are many
pages of dialogue; for dialogue makes the narrative seem
real, brings us nearer to the characters. And since what

78 RHETORIC

is said receives coloring from the manner in which it
is said, the skilled narrator does not neglect to slip in
here and there little phrases indicating tone of voice,
facial expression, gestures — whatever reveals the emotions
and the character of those whose conversation he is report-
ing. After all, our interest in most narratives lies ciuite
as much in what they reveal of human emotion as in the
things that happen — the plot, as it is called in story-
telling.

Seventh suggestion: Stop when the end of the narrative

proper is reached. Do not go on retelling; when the last

important particular has been made clear,

the task is done, and nothing is to be gained

by tarrying.

EXERCISES

1 Relate orally some incident or series of incidents from
history, limiting the account to five or ten minutes. Lead
up to the narrative proper through clear, brief explanation
of attending circumstances. Here are a few suggestive
titles:

The battle at Thermopylae. The sack of Rome by Alaric.
The Children's Crusade. The defeat of the Spanish Armada.
The first voyage of Columbus. Wat Tyler's Rebellion. The
battle of Bannockburn. The battle of Bunker Hill. The
winter at Valley Forge. The capture of Ticonderoga. An
incident of the Civil war. An incident in the war with Spain.
An incident in the Russo-Japanese war.

2 Relate orally some incident or series of incidents from
the history of your state; or better still, give a brief chapter
from the early history of your town; or best of all, give
some interesting bit of unrecorded history having to do
with your neighborhood. Try to make the narrative com-
plete, well proportioned, clear. Limit the account to five
or ten minutes.

NARRATION 79

3 Relate, orally or in writing, an incident or series of
incidents from your family history — an oft told true tale
concerning your early ancestors, or concerning your father
or mother, or concerning yourself. Enliven the narrative,
if you can, by introducing dialogue.

4 In the same manner relate, orally or in writing, an
incident from your school life — some event, perhaps, which
at the time seemed of great moment and stirred you
deeply, though now you can smile at it or at least view it
calmly. Try to be graphic; tell not only what happened,
but what emotions the actors experienced. Here are a few
suggestive titles:

Because I lost my temper. How one thing led to another.
A triumph. Shielding a culprit. All due to a misunderstanding.
An undeserved punishment. Pulling a victory out of defeat.
Pride had a fall. A bitter disappointment. The fire drill. Why
I was unprepared. A fair catch.

5 Find and bring to class a good piece of newspaper
reporting. Be prepared to read it and point out its com-
mendable qualities.

6 Find and bring to class a poor piece of newspaper re-
porting. Be prepared to read it and point out its de-
ficiencies.

7 Prepare carefully a criticism of the news department
of the school journal. Bear in mind that a critic should
point out the good as well as the bad, and to be helpful
should make specific suggestions leading to betterment.

8 Write, as if for publication in a newspaper or a school
journal, an account of some athletic contest, or a meeting
of a school club, or an incident of still wider interest.
Consider carefully what the public will care to be told and

80 RHETORIC

in what order the items should be presented. Limit the
account to one-third of a newspaper column.

9 Condense the foregoing account to about one hundred
words, trying to retain all essentials.'

10 Come to class prepared to retell one of the best short
stories you have read during the past three months, and to
point out what are to you the attractive features. Try to
select a narrative that is appropriate for classroom.

11 Give, orally, a condensed account of a play that you
have witnessed recently, confining yourself somewhat
closely to the bare plot.

12 Write a summary by scenes of one act of a play read
in school. Employ the present tense.

13 Come to class prepared to read two or three pages of
spirited narrative from a standard novel. Preface the
reading with such explanation of circumstances as may be
necessary.

14 Write a letter to a classmate who, you may imagine,
is recovering from an illness, telling all that happened in
school yesterday, making the account as complete as you
can without including such matters as the classmate's
imagination can picture well enough withouft the aid of
your letter. That is, tell him all that you think he will care
to know.

15 Write a letter, this time to a studious classmate,
telling minutely all that was done in some one of yester-
day's recitations.

16 Write a letter to your parents, who you may imagine
are away from home, telling of some important happening,
real or imaginary. Here are suggestive titles:

NARRATION 81

Unexpected company. Trouble with the plumbing. Losing
and finding the dog. Trouble with the neighbor's children. A
scare. A book agent. A church entertainment. A stroke of
business. An agreeable surprise. The maid has left; no notice
given.

17 Imagining that something of great importance has
happened during the absence of your parents, (a) compose
a telegram reporting it, (b) write a letter giving details,
(c) repeat the conversation (imaginary) which grew out of
it on your parents' return.

18 Imagining that a boy has got into trouble at school,
give (a) the boy's account of it as reported to his mother,

(b) the teacher's account of it as given to her principal,

(c) the mother's account as given to a neighbor. '

19 Write a long paragraph beginning Last Saturday was
one of my busiest days. Take particular pains to make
skilful transitions, introducing phrases and clauses to help
the reader in keeping track of passing time.

20 Make a topical plan of an account of a vacation trip,
indicating in some way the approximate number of words
to be devoted to each topic.

21 Write an account of some party or entertainment,
introducing here and there bits of rapid description and
snatches of conversation.

22 Report in writing a dialogue — a real one — repeating
as accurately as you can the words spoken.

23 Report in writing either the same dialogue or an-
other, introducing little phrases devoted to facial expres-
sion, gestures, tone of voice, etc.

24 Invent a dialogue which shall reveal indirectly the
character of each speaker.

82 RHETORIC

25 Invent a dialogue which imparts, indirectly, in-
formation concerning place, time, the weather, the ap-
pearance of each speaker, etc.

26 Write a short story to which you can give the title
A scrap of brown paper. Show that the innocent scrap
caused one happening, this a second, the second a third,
and so on till a climax, pathetic or humorous, was reached.
For the scrap of paper you may substitute any other little
object, or a chance word, or a little error in judgment, or
a moment of forgetfulness.

27 Invent a story giving the mind-workings of a small
boy, a thief, a pupil, or a tramp. Try to show how one
thought led to another and finally to action which culmin-
ated in comedy or tragedy.

28 Describe as vividly as you can a purely imaginary
-contest. Let it be between two swimmers, between a
trout and a fisherman, two golfers, an even temper and a
ruffled temper, or what you please. The one thing essen-
tial is that you make the reader feel the struggle, expe-
rience the sensations of the contestants.

29 Give an absolutely accurate account of some in-
cident, preferably an accident that you have witnessed,
using the care that you would feel necessary were you fac-
ing a jury, with the fate of a human being hanging on your
words.

CHAPTER VIII
DESCRIPTION

Description is commonly defined as the picture-giving,
image-making form of discourse, and is often likened to
painting and sculpture. A little thought, j. ^ ...
however, will serve to show that the writer
of description has a wider range than either painter
or sculptor, for he may record impressions made by
all five of the senses. Of the four forms of discourse,
description is perhaps the least independent; commonly
it is but the handmaiden of other forms. That it is of
great assistance in narration is attested by the fact that
we speak, quite properly, of describing a ball game or a
yacht race, so necessary are word-pictures to any satisfac-
tory account. In later chapters we shall see that it is of
value in composition and argument.

Description is an exceedingly difficult form of discourse
to write. In the first place, careful observers are rare; the
senses are not trained to do accurate work.
Because the five sense-messengers bring to fiojHs difficult
us but vague, inaccurate impressions, it is
impossible for us to impart clear-cut information to others.
Even those who are skilled observers experience difficulty
in finding terms to express their impressions. What words,
for example, can be found to describe the taste of a straw-
berry, or the perfume of a rose, or the roar of breakers, or
the disposition of our next door neighbor? Moreover, it
requires rare judgment to determine, oftentimes, what a
description should include and in what order the various

83

84 RHETORIC

items should be presented. But more profitable than a

long enumeration of attending difficulties will be a few

practical suggestions such as common experience shows

are of service to young writers.

First suggestion: Rememher that you have not one, nor

two, hut five senses. Train them — all of them. Train the

memory to retain sense-impressions of all

- ^ ^ ^ kinds. When you write, do not tell merely
five senses i i i

what the eye has seen.

Second suggestion: Exercise economy. Readers are in-
clined to slight descriptive passages, frequently omitting
them altogether. Be brief, then. What can
xercising j ^^^^^ -^ ^^ pertinent a question as How much
economy ^ ^

have I to tell. Of all the ways of economizing,

two stand out conspicuousl3\

First, determine with great care what is distinctive in
that which is to be described, the few points which make
Picking out it different from others of its kind. This
what is matter once decided, all else may be with

distinctive safety excluded from consideration and
energy directed toward bringing out clearly the salient
characteristics. In picturing a building, for example, one
need not tell everything about it; a few items may suffice
to distinguish it from other buildings.

Second, choose words that convey, quickly, vivid im-
pressions— picture-words.

Wee, sleekit, cowr'in, tim'rous beastie,

runs the first line of Burns's To a Mouse — five words only,
yet how satisfactory the picture. Macaulay describes
Choosing Mrs. Thrale as "one of those clever, kind-

descriptive hearted, engaging, vain, pert young women,
words who are perpetually doing or saying what

is not exactly right, but who, do or say what they

DESCRIPTION 85

may, are always agreeable." This characterization is
clear and brief, and the brevity is due in large meas-
ure to Macaulay's skill in selecting words. Adjectives
and adverbs are, by reputation, particularly useful in
description; yet such words as toddle, whimper, and
drawl suggest that verbs too may be graphic, certainly
more effective than lovely, nice, fine, and grand, adjectives
so broad that they convey no very definite meaning.

Third suggestion: Follow some plan. Description is so
varied in kind that an attempt to enumerate all the plans
by following which unity, coherence, and
proper emphasis may be sought would be
vain. Here, however, are a few hints:

First, unity is often to be gained — and brevity too —
by keeping in mind a definite purpose and making each
item contribute to it. Thus the items be-
come centered like the spokes in a wheel.

purpose
Dickens follows this method in describing

St. Antoine, a section of Paris near the old Bastille. As
we read paragraph after paragraph, we realize that des-
perate poverty is the hub to the descriptive wheel; nothing
is introduced save that which points to this one thing.

Second, confusion is avoided and order gained, often-
times, through relating all to one point of view — a plan

suggesting not a wheel so much as an opened

r A 11 • i. r • • One point of

I an. A valley gives one set of impressions .

to the observer who stands on the bank of a
stream winding through it, a very different set of im-
pressions to the observer who looks down from the brow
of a hill. Mix these two sets of impressions and the result
is a confused picture. This the inexperienced writer some-
times forgets, especially when describing from memory.
But if, in picturing a landscape, for example, the writer
adopts a single point of view and makes it known, the

86 RHETORIC

picture becomes unified. At times, it is true, the nature

of the task is such as to call for a succession of viewpoints;

but in such case clearness tnay still be maintained through

notifying the reader of each change in the position of the

observer.

Third, it is well to begin a description with a general

outline sketch, or a brief picture of the whole, follow-

^ .,. ^ . ing this with details; just as in drawing a

Outline first ^ , . -.i V j t ^

map we begm with boundary Imes and

afterwards put in mountains, rivers, and lakes. In de-
scribing a room, for example, it is well to begin with a
sentence or two giving a general idea of its appearance,
or that which one notices at first glance as the door opens,
and then proceed with details. What order to follow in pre-
senting details is not a matter for hard and fast rules, yet
order of some kind is in every case desirable. Sometimes
the chronological order seems best, the items being re-
corded in the order in which they have been noted. Some-
times it is best to proceed from left to right, or from that
which is low to that which is higher, or from that which
is near to that which is more remote. Not infrequently
it is well to begin with the most prominent feature and
relate all else to it. Whatever the plan adopted, the
skilled writer marks his transitions with care, guiding
the reader by means of such index expressions as close at
hand, a little beyond this, and turning now to the right.
He is careful, moreover, to give prominence to that which
deserves emphasis, subordinating less important features,
and omitting altogether whatever is irrelevant to his
purpose.

Fourth suggestion: Unless scientific accuracy is called for,
let personality color your descriptions; inake them better than
mere photographs. A post-card picture of the ruins of Mel-
rose Abbey may be less satisfying than a letter from t

DESCRIPTION 87

friend who has recently visited the ruins and tries to tell
you how they impressed him. Stevenson's eyes were no
better than many another person's; yet Giving
we read his descriptive passages with great sway to
pleasure because there is so much of Steven- personality
son in them. It is personality, individuality, that fur-
nishes charm to most discourse save such as is employed
for purely practical ends. Do not, then, when writing de-
scription, hold the emotions in check. Give the picture,
and with it give something of yourself.

Fifth suggestion: Stop skipping descriptive passages when
reading. Study them with great care. Try to discriminate
between the good and the bad. Try to dis-
cover for yourself why it is that Ruskin a^i^^
succeeds so well in all his descriptions,
whether his subject be a bird's feather or a great cathedral.
A little independent investigation of this sort will bring
greater returns than memorizing the pages of a textbook.
And having studied, practice.

EXERCISES

It would not be a difficult matter to invent hundreds
of tasks in description, each differing from the others in
some sUght respect. The following, selected mainly be-
cause they have been tried in classroom, are not grouped
strictly in the order of their difficulty; it has seemed best
to let the individual instructor determine what shall be
experimented with first.

1 Examine closely some article now in your possession
to see what are its distinguishing marks; then write such
an advertisement'as you would publish were the article lost.

2 Write a brief description of some person whom you
know very well, imagining that he is a fugitive from justice.

88 RHETORIC

Remember that to casual observers many people look alike
and that false arrest is disagreeable.

3 Imagining that you are an agent in whose hands a
piece of property has been placed, write a letter to a
prospective customer picturing the property. Let the
description be systematic, conveying a general impression
first.

4 Describe some machine or contrivance in such a way
as to impart a clear impression. Employ comparisons if
necessary.

5 Describe in a general way the plan of some park or
village or locality, in bird's-eye view fashion mapping it
out. Employ comparison; make careful transitions.

6 Imagining that you have lost a ring or a knife while
on a ramble, write a note to a friend asking him to find it
for you. Describe minutely the place where you think
the article may be found.

7 Describe the course of a stream, or of a trail through
the woods, or of a country road with which you are very
familiar.

8 Describe in not more than sixty words the exterior of
some familiar building as seen from one viewpoint, con-
veying as correct an impression as you can. Watch your
sentence structure.

9 Describe the same building in as many words as you
please and from as many viewpoints as may be necessary,
emphasizing only such things as are characteristic. Try
beginning with the more obvious matters, creating in the
reader's mind a general picture; then fill in details. Close
with the impression made by the building as a whole.

DESCRIPTION 89

10 Invent a plan for some interior — a hunting camp for
instance, or the cabin of a sloop, or a boy's workshop, or a
store — setting forth your plan so clearly that the listener
or reader will see what you picture.

11 Describe an interior, real or imaginary, striving not
only to give a clear picture but to convey vividly some
one impression, as vast space, splendor, shabbiness,
quaintness, perfect order, disorder, weirdness, gloom,
poverty, or snugness.

12 Describe one of the following interiors, conveying
not only a correct impression of size, but the arrange-
ment of objects within the room: a workshop, a gymna-
sium, a parlor car, a waiting room, a church, a store.

13 Write a brief nature sketch, not over two hundred
words, emphasizing what the eyes see, especially color.

14 Write a brief nature sketch giving the impressions
registered by at least two of the senses.

15 Write a description of an extended view such as may
be had from a hilltop or a tower.

16 Write a description of some view as it appears at
different times of day or at different seasons of the year.

17 Sit before a window for ten minutes, recording
accurately all that the eye sees.

18 Write a moving-picture description, the result of
observations from a car window, or from a canoe drifting
downstream, or from the deck of a ferryboat.

19 Write a description giving the setting for some scene
remembered from a novel or a play.

CO RHETORIC

20 Invent a setting appropriate for some action of your
own imagining — a contest, a disaster, a festival, a crime.

21 Make a list of all the things you would wish to
mention were you describing one of the following, and
tell what you would wish particularly to emphasize:

A campaign parade, a room in a factory, a department store, a
public library, a prairie, a fruit orchard, a country lane, a city
wharf, a harbor, a circus tent just before the performance begins,
a lunch room at recess, a booth at a fair, a mining camp, a kitchen
the day before Thanksgiving, the stage of a theater, an athletic
field, a city street, a plantation. Make a brief topical plan for
such a description, indicating in some way the proportionate
space to be given each topic.

22 Describe a tableau such as a snap shot might reveal
at a critical moment in some comedy or tragedy that you
have witnessed or in which you have had a part. Do not
use over two hundred words.

23 Give a clear picture of a store window, emphasizing
the impression made by the display.

24 Give a series of descriptions of the same store window
as it appears to several pairs of eyes.

25 Playing the spectator, watch a group of children,
noting not only what they do and say, but facial ex-
pression, tone of voice, gestures, etc. Record your ob-
servations.

26 Watch carefully for ten minutes any animal — a dog,
an alit, a butterfly; then record your observations.

27 Study carefully for ten minutes some small object —
a leaf, a flower, a bird's feather, a tuft of moss; then record
your sense impressions.

DESCRIPTION 91

28 Try to describe in single sentences four or five of
your intimate friends.

29 Describe in detail a countenance.

30 Describe a person in the act of doing something
characteristic — a cobbler at his bench, a fisherman mend-
ing his net, an auctioneer selling his goods, a blacksmith
at his forge.

31 Remembering that character is revealed in many
ways — through countenance, voice, gait, conversation,
employment, etc., give as clear an impression as you can
of any individual, real or imagined. Use as many forms
of discourse as you please, the one thing essential being
that the portrait shall be true to life.

32 Bring out the characteristics of a group of people
through their conversation, introducing here and there
little phrases revealing facial expression and gestures and
tone of voice.

33 Describe accurately the weather of the past two
or three days.

34 Describe a *' spell" of weather, emphasizing cold,
wet, windiness, sultriness, heat, continual change, or
drought.

35 Give from accurate observation a description of
daybreak or nightfall.

36 Bring to class good specimens of description found
in books or magazines, and be prepared to tell what you
see in them to admire.

CHAPTER IX

EXPOSITION

Exposition is another name for explanation. In some
of its forms it differs little from narration, the distinction
lying in the fact that, as a rule, the subject
matter of narration is particular. For ex-
ample, a composition telling how a certain guide, on a cer-
tain occasion, built a camp fire would be classed as narra-
tion; a composition giving general directions for building
camp fires would be classed as exposition. Fortunately
this nice distinction is not one that the writer must keep
constantly in mind.

Exposition is perhaps the most practical of all forms of

discourse and the form most often employed from day to

day. It plays an important part in educa-

^. * \ tion. Most textbooks are mainly expos-

practical . T^ . . 11*^,

itory. Recitations are largely but explana-
tions. In the English class the pupil employs exposition
when giving the meaning of words, phrases, and sentences,
or pointing out the leading characteristics of an author's
style, or telling why he thinks a certain passage beautiful.
In the history recitation when a pupil explains some great
event by showing the causes that led up to it, and in the
science recitation when he classifies the leading varieties
of plant life, or tells how coal is formed, the account is ex-
pository. Exposition is employed almost as freely after
school-days are over, by the overseer instructing his men,
the merchant setting forth the merits of his wares,
the minister expounding his text, the lawyer interpreting

92

EXPOSITION 93

statutes. It is safe to say that by far the greater part of
daily conversation is but one kind or another of this form
of discourse.

Since exposition is in such common use and of such
practical value, it is well to consider with unusual care the
processes employed in imparting information
and explaining meanings. Entire textbooks ^p. ^.
are devoted to this important matter, so
much is there to be said; the purpose of this manual is
such that the subject must be dealt with very briefly and
simply.

First, we explain through defining. This is the method
employed when a single word or phrase blocks the way
to a clear understanding. Frequently it ^ ^ .
calls but for the substitution of a synonym
better known. The term agile is explained through sub-
stituting for it the synonym nimble or brisk. Sometimes
we define by naming two or three distinguishing char-
acteristics, a method which might be used in conveying
one's ideas in regard to the meaning of the term gentleman.
This calls for greater skill than merely substituting a
synonym, since it is not always a simple matter to deter-
mine what characteristic marks are most essential and
what ones are of minor importance. Two ways of defining
often found together are known as the methods of exclu-
sion and inclusion. Burke begins one of his paragraphs
with the statement The proposition is peace. Fearing that
peace may mean one thing to some and another thing to
others, he proceeds to enumerate a number of kinds of
peace that are not included in his idea. I do not mean this
kind, he says in substance, nor this, nor this, thus excluding
all that does not belong to his conception of peace. De-
fining by inclusion is the reverse of this; it consists in
enumerating, item by item, all that the term under con-

94 RHETORIC

sideration includes, till the entire field is covered, nothing
omitted. Thus defining by exclusion and inclusion is but
a method of determining boundaries. It is like drawing
a circle and saying (by way of exclusion) This and this and
this, which lie beyond the circumference, are not mine; then
(by way of inclusion) This and this and this, in fact all
things lying within the circle, belong to me.

Second, we explain by means of comparison. Some com-
parisons call attention to similarities. It works like a lawn-
mower, the inventor may say in explaining
his new machine. Other comparisons estab-
lish marked contrasts. If, for example, it is desired to
make clear what is meant by school spirit, one might pro-
ceed to picture the opposite of school spirit, dwelling upon
this opposite idea till every feature is distinct, then say
that the exact contrary of this which has been pictured rep-
resents the true idea. But frequently comparison takes
the form of drawing nice distinctions between two things
likely to be thought of as equivalent or identical. If we
are discussing courage, we may place beside this term the
nearly identical term daring and show wherein the two
terms are similar in meaning and wherein they differ.
Whatever form comparison takes, whether that of simil-
itude, contrast, or nice discrimination, it will be noted
that it is but a form of definition.

Third, we explain by means of illustration. The dic-
tionary employs this method when, following the definition

of a word, it gives a sentence in which the
Illustration ■, . i j x i v

. J word IS so employed as to reveal its proper

use. An expository composition on auto-
mobile accidents might well contain specific instances
illustrating various kinds of accidents. It is hardly nec-
essary to add that illustrations of a somewhat different
kind, namely pen drawings, play an important part in the

EXPOSITION 95

explanatory matter of many textbooks. Illustration, like
comparison, is really a form of definition.

Fourth, we explain through restatement. Determined
that nothing shall be misunderstood, the careful writer

repeats his statements over and over again, ^ ^ ,

, ,. . ,, 1 1 Restatement

each time varymg the language or approach-
ing the point of difficulty from a slightly different angle.
He recognizes that what is simple to him may be very per-
plexing to others, and that he may not succeed, the first time
he tries, in making himself understood; so by restatement
after restatement, ever keeping in mind the barrier of
difficulty, he gradually clears the way to comprehension.
Fifth, we explain through analyzing wholes into their
parts and showing the relationship of these parts. This is
the method pursued in displaying information in all fields
of human knowledge. It is the plan fol- Analysis,
lowed in textbooks, the plan followed, classification,
though imperfectly, by the school-boy and synthesis
in writing his first expository composition. In exposition
we expose — display, spread out — before the reader all
that the subject at hand includes. We analyze it, or
separate it, into component parts, as a machinist takes
to pieces a machine. We classify the parts, grouping
those that are naturally associated. We show the relation-
ship of part to part — ^just as the machinist, having taken
to pieces a machine and shown each part separately,
proceeds to reassemble wheels, axles, pins, etc., to show
how all goes together to make up the whole. Taking to
pieces, examining parts separately and pointing out the
relationship of part to part, and finally reassembling the
parts : this is the main business of most expository writing.

Keeping these five methods in mind, let

. , i? 1 • -x General

us now consider ways of making expository suggestions

writing effective.

96 RHETORIC

First suggestion: Before heginning to write, acquire ac-
curate information. Thi» point has received attention

in an earlier chapter, but it is so important
• f to ^^^^ ^^ ^^^^^ hQwc repeating. Superficial,

second-hand information, perhaps acquired
through hastily reading a single magazine article, will not
suffice; the subject must be known through and through
before there can be clear, effective exposition.

Second suggestion: Before heginning to write, set hound-
aries heyond which you will not go. Limit the field to a

mere corner of the whole, if need be. Keep
th fi Id ^^^^ within the boundaries of what you know

with reasonable completeness. Indeed it is
often expedient to tell but a small part of all that one
knows, for one must consider the time at his disposal.
He must also consider those to whom he is writing and
gauge his exposition to meet their interest and mental
capacity. How much will my readers care to be told?
What will interest them? What are they capable of under-
standing? These are questions one should ask before be-
ginning any composition; they are especially pertinent
when the composition is to be expository.

Third suggestion: Determine the possible divisions of the
subject within the prescribed boundaries. A business-like

way often recommended for doing this is to
th^^^ secure slips of paper and record on each a

topic as it occurs to the mind, continuing
the process till the field appears to be well covered. With
these slips spread out before one, a little study will serve
to show whether all are necessary, whether some do not so
overlap that they may be to advantage combined, and —
this is important — whether some essential topic has not
been overlooked. It is a good plan to arrange the slips by
grouping those which bear upon the same idea.

EXPOSITION 97

Fourth suggestion: Determine with care which of the three
or four topics finally selected call for special emphasis. Fix
in mind, roughly, the space to be allotted
each division of the subject, being generous gjuphasize
towards whatever is of exceptional impor-
tance or calls for unusual care because of its difficulty.
Save not only time and space but energy for whatever is
likely to confuse the reader.

Fifth suggestion: Determine what will he the best order of

presentation. Theme-organization is important in all

forms of discourse, but especially so in ex-

.^. , , . . ... Order of

position where clearness is a prime requisite, «j.ocentaf on

and where it is not always possible to dis-
cover a time sequence or a place sequence as in narration
and description, There are scores of plans, no doubt, but
the following are the most common :

1. Proceed from that which is simple, easily understood,
to that which is more difficult to comprehend. All ex-
position is but going from the known to the unknown;
hence this plan is surely logical.

2. Begin with an outline, a general survey, or a broad
classification, then fill in the details, approaching the heart
of the matter by degrees. Such a plan resembles a series of
circles one within the other.

3. Begin with details, making each as clear as possible,
at length assembling the parts into a unified whole — just
as a guide, having shown the ruins of a castle from this
point of view and that, finally leads the tourist to some
commanding eminence from which the ruins as a whole
may be seen.

5 Begin with that which must be understood at the out-
set before that which lies beyond can be made comprehensi-
ble. Many an expository stronghold has at its entrance a
door which must be unlocked or battered down before the

98 RHETORIC

investigator can explore the interior room by room. The
door may be but a term that needs defining; it may be a
matter of far greater difficulty, perchance a theory that
needs expounding.

6. Go from cause to effect or from effect to cause. An
expository theme on school compositions, for example,
might begin by explaining ways in which compositions
are prepared for, then proceed to show the results, good
and bad, of various kinds of preparation. Or it might be-
gin with an account of various grades of composition, then
show how merit and lack of merit are easily accounted
for by different methods of preparation.

Whatever scheme of organizing material is adopted,

it is hardly necessary to suggest that it is well to write with

a topical outline at hand — such an outline,

j! for example, as is found summarizing the

chapter on Force — lest in the close attention
required in giving adequate expression to thought, the
main course of the exposition be lost sight of.

Sixth suggestion: Provided it can he done without loss in
clearness^ use freely whatever devices seem likely to aid in
Capturing capturing and holding attention. Purely

and holding scientific exposition, it is true, is addressed
attention solely to the understanding, not to the emo-

tions; theoretically, therefore, it demands clearness and
nothing more. But exposition, as it is employed day by
day, seldom is purely scientific; commonly it is merely
what may be termed popular, addressed to those not over-
eager to receive information. Their interest must be
aroused, and held; otherwise, words are wasted. If
you feel inclined to do so, begin with an anecdote, provided
the anecdote throws light directly on the matter to be ex-
plained. Introduce description, if it will be of definite serv-
ice. Follow a climax sequence, if it can be done without

EXPOSITION 99

sacrificing clearness. Resort to extended comparison, if by
so doing an aid to the memory is provided without twisting
the truth.

Seventh suggestion: Use simple language. Avoid tech-
nical terms. If an unusual word is called for, explain its
meaning. Write and rewrite, with each Necessity
revision trying to simplify. Put yourself of simple
in the place of your dullest reader; think language
what in your explanation might prove puzzling to him,
then endeavor to make the way a little easier for him to
follow. Writing exposition is like a game in which the
one thing sought is to make what is clear to you equally
clear to others. No game calls for greater patience and
painstaking. /

EXERCISES

A number of the exercises found in the chapters on Purity,
Clearness, and Force provide drill in exposition. The same
is true of many of the exercises in Part II; and the ques-
tions on masterpieces, found in the Appendix, in most
instances call for expository answers. The tasks here
given are but a few out of a large number that are familiar
to most instructors.

1 Give full directions for making some article brought
to your mind by the list found below. At the outset,
decide upon some simple plan like the following : Materials
and tools necessary — first step — second step — last step.
Consider, too, what cautions you should give, what
possible mistakes you should warn against. That is,
try to make your explanation practical, that others may
profit by your experience. Employ pen drawings or black-
board illustrations, if by so doing you can gain clearness.

A work box. A bead chain. A waterwheel. A surface gauge.
A toy ghder. A workbench. A book bag. A bird house. A

100 RHETORIC

megaphone. A clothes hanger. A toy. A stand for plants. A
shanty. A canoe. A garment. A useful Christmas gift. A camp
bed. An omelet. An attractive calendar. Ribbon flowers.
Any article you have made in the domestic science or manual
training department.

2 Give directions for doing one of the following things:

Finding a small town in a large atlas. Finding what a pubhc
library contains on a given subject. Putting on a collar and
necktie. Determining the number of yards of carpeting required
to cover a given floor space. Fitting up a boy's workshop.
Erecting a telephone pole. Taking down a condemned church
spire. Marking out a tennis court or a base ball diamond.
Pruning a grape vine. Training a dog. Decorating place-cards.
Framing pictures in passe-partout. Mending a ripped glove.
Decorating china. Washing delicate fabrics. Using a check-
book. Packing a trunk. Caring for a canary.

3 After visiting a mill or factory, explain how some
article is manufactured. If the process of manufacture
is long and intricate, confine your account to two or
three important steps. Be as graphic as possible, trying
hard to make others see what you have seen. Remember
that one way of gaining clearness is through comparison,
things unfamiliar being likened to those which everyone
knows about. Avoid technical terms.

4 Give an expository talk from three to ten minutes
long on a topic suggested by the list below, following some
such plan as this: What purpose the device serves — how it
looks — how it is constructed — how it works. In preparing
for the talk, consider carefully what in your explanation
is likely to prove difficult to understand, then try to think
of ways in which the explanation may be made simple.

A thermometer. A vacuum cleaner. A chafing dish equip-
ment. A blacksmith's forge. A percolator coffee pot. A fire
extinguisher. A storage battery. An egg beater. A grindstone.

EXPOSITION 10)

A derrick. A telephone receiver. A fireless cooker. A cream
separator. A storage battery. A suction pump. A turbine
waterwheel. A bread-mixer.

5 Write a composition on good manners under condi-
tions suggested by some one of the phrases found below.
Bear in mind that in impressing on others the beauty
of courtesy it is well to be courteous.

At the table. During recitation. While shopping. On the
athletic field. While attending church. In letter-writing. When
telephoning. At the theater. In the school lunch room. On
the street. In camp. While reading to one's self. In a pubhc
conveyance. While visiting. Toward children.

6 Explain, in writing, the difference between any two
things found coupled below. This task, apparently simple,
is really very difficult. We all know a door when we see
one, and we know what a gate is; yet when asked to
define the difference between the two we are Hkely to
make ludicrous mistakes. Be careful to frame sensible
answers. Do not consult the dictionary.

A door and a gate. Walking and running. Baggage and
freight. Fame and reputation. Opponent and competitor. A
plant and an animal. A real and a virtual image. Snow and
hail. Fog and clouds. A slipper and a shoe. A brad and a tack.
A fly and a beetle. A hammer and a mallet. A check and a
draft. A bolt and a screw. Poetry and prose. A show and an
entertainment.

7 Tell orally what you consider the best way of doing
one of the following:

Preparing for a recitation in . Writing a composi-
tion. Preparing for an athletic contest. Financing an athletic
association. Getting pupils to write for the school paper. Arous-
ing school spirit. Preparing for examination. Keeping one's
temper. Winning popularity.

103 RHETORIC

8 Write a composition setting forth what you consider
the essential characteristics — the ideal qualities, that is — ■
of one of the following :

A base ball captain. An editor-in-chief of a school paper.
The president of a debating club. The business manager of an
athletic association. The captain of a crew. A leader among
girls. A leader among boys. A successful business man. A
policeman. A machinist. A fisherman. A president. A book-
keeper. An Arctic explorer. A leader of a gymnasium class.
A farmer. A hostess. A physician. A teacher. A chum. A
travelling companion.

9 In a carefully thought-out composition, employing
any form of discourse that will serve your purpose, picture
your ideals as suggested by one of the topics found below.
Take particular pains to organize what you have to say,
and employ whatever devices may occur to you for making
your ideals seem attractive to others.

A luncheon. A novel. A play. A kitchen. A good position.
A water craft. An athletic field. A place of residence. A vaca-
tion retreat. A street gown. A banquet. A good time.

10 Give a full account of some experiment that you
have performed or witnessed in the physics or chemistry
laboratory. Follow such a plan as this: Purpose of the
experiment — the apparatus — what was done with the ap-
paratus— the phenomena observed.

11 Make a topical plan for a fifteen minute informal
talk, which you may imagine that you are to give to your
classmates, on one of the topics found below. Keep in
mind the audience for whom the talk is designed, and
also the time limit.

Plains, plateaus, and deserts. Caves. Ocean currents. Life
at the ocean bottom. Glaciers. The human head. The lungs.
The spinal column. The usefulness of birds. The life of a bee.

EXPOSITION ■ 103

Tree enemies. Fish and their ways. A central power station.
A blast furnace. The manufacture of steel. How our building
is ventilated. Mirrors and lenses. Levers and pulleys. A
modern steamship. A boys' camp. Juvenile courts. Whistler.

Helen Keller. Nature as seen in the works of . The

characteristics of 's style. Figures of speech. Versi-
fication.

12 Explain in whatever way seems most forceful what
is meant by one of the following, considering with great
care what devices will be most serviceable in driving
home the essential ideas. Resort to narration or descrip-
tion, if by so doing you can gain clearness and force.
Give illustrations, real or fancied.

Homesickness. Thrift. Good-heartedness. An amiable dis-
position. Winsomeness. Jealousy. Pluck. Conceit. Ex-
travagance. Envy. An easy-going fellow. A grind. A tease.
A cheeky fellow. A blunt fellow. Spunk. Honor.

13 Explain as clearly and as briefly as you can what
each of the following proverbs means:

The best mirror is an old friend. Vice makes virtue shine.
The greater the man, the greater the crime. The crutch of Time
does more than the club of Hercules. Learning makes a man fit
company for himself. A cat may look at a king. The worst
wheel of the cart creaks loudest. The gods bring thread for a
web begun. Stretch not your arm farther than your sleeve will
go. Mock not a cobbler for his black thumbs.

14 Show the meaning of each of the following by ex-
panding it into a simile. The first, for example, may be
expanded thus: Just as still water runs deep, so men who
do but little talking may be deep thinkers.

Still water runs deep. A roUing stone gathers no moss. Thick
grass is easier mowed than thin. Beauty is a blossom. A good
name keeps its luster in the dark. Straight trees have crooked
roots. The empty vessel makes the loudest sound. A fine dia-
mond may be ill set.

104 RHETORIC

15 Make clear one of the following proverbs by means
of an anecdote, a short story, or a personal experience:

It never rains but it pours. A stout heart breaks ill luck. He
who scatters thorns, let him never go barefoot. Forecast is
better than hard work. The wine always tastes of the cask.

16 Selecting one of the following adages, show its
force through varied illustration of its application:

In a calm sea, every man is a pilot. Honor and ease are
seldom bedfellows. Much wants more and loses all. A good
name is better than riches. The hand that gives, gathers. Black
will take no other color. A word spoken is an arrow let fly. All
are not thieves that the dogs bark at.

17 Use one of the adages already given, as a text for a
moral essay of some length. Try not only to make clear
the meaning of the adage but to make the force of the
proverb deeply felt. Plan carefully.

18 Write a review of some book recently read. Since
this is an extremely difficult task, it may be well to lead
up to it through class discussion. Here are questions
to consider : What is the purpose of a book review? What
are the main things to be told about any book? What
should be told first? What should be told last? What
are some of the evils to guard against? These and kindred
questions having been considered, it will be well for the
class, working together, to make a topical plan.

19 Write a brief summary of a lecture or a sermon
that you have listened to recently.

20 Write a character sketch, selecting for a subject
a person whom you know very well. First consider what
traits are prominent in this person^ then try to think how
these traits are revealed.

21 Try again exercises 9, 10, and 11 in the chapter on
Clearness.

CHAPTER X
ARGUMENT

Discourse employed to establish the truth or falsity of
propositions is called argument. Because argument and
exposition are commonly found together, j. o ...
the two terms are often confused; yet the
difference between them is easily defined. The purpose
of exposition is simply to explain; the purpose of argument
is not only to explain but to prove. An essay setting forth
various methods of learning to sing is expository; an essay
designed to show convincingly that some one method of
learning to sing is best is argumentative.

How do we prove things? What are the methods com-
monly employed in establishing truth and falsity? Turn-
ing to the better known rhetorics, the av-
erage reader is not a little bewildered by the

=• . . "^ proving

answers given to this simple question. He
gains the impression that argumentation is an exceedingly
perplexing topic. And so it is; yet the elementary pro-
cesses of reasoning, employed by everyone many times
a day, are so simple that there is no extreme difficulty
in comprehending them.

First, we seek to prove things hy means of direct evidence or
testimony. " I saw him do it; therefore I know it was done,"
we say, using our own eyes as witnesses. Direct
Or, "Mr. Brown and Mr. Smith, whom I evidence
trust, declare that they saw him do it; there- ^^ testimony
fore I am confident that it was done," we explain, calling
to aid the testimony of others. Frequently the fact in
question can be established only through expert testimony,

105

106 EHETORIC

**The builder assures me that the house can be erected for
ten thousand dollars; therefore I believe that it can.'^
And sometimes we appeal to a recognized authority, as is
seen in the statements ''I know that the word is correctly
spelled, for I have looked it up in the dictionary;" ''I know
that the date of the Norman Conquest is 1066, for here
is the statement in a reliable history;" '^I am sure that I
am right, for the government statistics fully support my
contention." In all the cases cited, facts are established
through direct testimony, expert or otherwise, the testi-
mony in several instances being found in books that are
considered authoritative.

Second, we seek to prove, indirectly, through the method
of comparison and example. That is, the case at hand is

compared with similar cases all the facts
Comparison . i • i ^.^ n x t

, , concernmg which are, apparently, well estab-

lished; then an inference is drawn. A young
man, for instance, may reason that since two or three of
his friends have succeeded in working their way through
college, he too should be able to work his way through.
In his Speech on Conciliation Burke supports the conten-
tion that the American Colonies should be treated by the
home government in a certain way by showing that this
method of treatment has already been found beneficial in
four other nearly parallel cases. Many times it is possible
so to multiply examples that general laws are established.
It having been observed a great many times that plants
die when deprived of moisture, the law is established that
moisture is necessary to all plant life. And hence it follows
that a particular plant, for example a geranium, will die if
deprived of moisture. Less certainly we reason that since
every child we have ever known was fond of sweets,
all children are fond of them, and therefore little Mary
must be fond of them too.

ARGUMENT 107

Third, we seek to prove through establishing antecedent
probability. Will the grocer deliver his parcels before
twelve? The order was telephoned at the
usual hour. The grocer promised to deliver , , y.
the goods before noon. Heretofore he has
kept his promises. It would be to his disadvantage to
disappoint a good customer. It is not a busy season of
the year; the clerk has plenty of time. The streets are
not blocked. Everything seems to point to the conclu-
sion that the parcels will arrive at the proper hour; there
is a strong antecedent probability that they will.

This method of reasoning is employed not only in de-
termining what is likely to happen, but in determining
what in the past caused a given effect. That is, it is em-
ployed not only in reasoning from cause to effect but from
effect back to cause. Thus a teacher, finding his class.
poorly prepared to recite, and recalling that, the evening
before, there was a celebration of a football victory, may
conclude that the poor recitation was due — probably due —
to the fact that the boys took part in the fun and did not
study. There is an antecedent probability in favor of his
assumption.

Fourth, we seek to prove by means of what is called argument
from sign. " It is raining — I can hear it," one may say; or
" Henry has hurt his ankle, for he is hmping."
It is this form that plays an important part * ^^^^^^
in court trials. No one may have seen a
certain crime committed; yet it may be possible, through
pointing to this sign and that, to establish beyond reason-
able doubt that there has been a criminal act.

Thus it is seen that, in their simpler forms, the four ways
of proving things are not difficult to understand; each
represents a trail very familiar to all minds. Perplexity
arises only when two or more of these simple methpds of

108 RHETORIC

reasoning are combined, and when several interdependent
propositions call for a chain of reasoning. Then the mind
may become confused indeed. Yet it is important that
we should train ourselves, if not to construct intricate
arguments, at least to follow them, and to detect courses
of reasoning that are weak or worthless. Let us consider
with unusual care some of the pitfalls of argument, begin-
ning with direct evidence, which, a little thought will show,
must be employed to some extent no matter what form of
proof is used.

Direct evidence. First, the fact or facts in question may

not be vouched for by a sufficient number of witnesses.

In matters of importance, we do not always

. , care to accept the testimony of merely one

or two. Second, the witnesses, though
numerous, may be incompetent — self-deceived, blinded
by prejudice, dishonest, or for some other reason untrust-
worthy. Third, the facts testified to may be in themselves
preposterous, contrary to common sense, and therefore
not to be accepted no matter how well they are apparently
substantiated by evidence. Fourth, even if most of the
facts in a given case are well established, some one fact
of vital importance, though at first thought to be trivial,
may be entirely without proof.

Thus in weighing evidence it is necessary to ask the
following questions: (1) Are the facts vouched for by a
sufficient number of witnesses? (2) Are the witnesses
trustworthy? (3) Are the facts testified to believable?
(4) Have all the facts been established by proof?

Argument through comparison and example. First, the

cases cited as parallel may, upon close ex-

p nson amination, prove to be alike in unimportant,

irrelevant particulars only; the relevant

points of similarity may be outweighed by points of dis-

ARGUMENT 109

similarity, and the analogy therefore imperfect. Second,
where examples are cited to prove a general law or rule,
the examples may be too few in number. Third, examples
may have been intentionally or unintentionally omitted
which point to the contrary of the rule in question.

It is well then to ask, when weighing this form of argu-
ment, (1) Are the cases cited as parallel really and per-
tinently so? (2) Are the examples cited in proof that a
rule or law exists sufficiently numerous? (3) Might not
other examples be cited pointing to the contrary of the
rule in question?

Argument through antecedent probability. First, some
of the contributing causes may have been overlooked.
Second, even though all the contributing
causes have been considered, careful thought ^robabil't
may show that they are insufficient to war-
rant the inference that they will produce the effect an-
ticipated. Third, it may be that the contributing causes
might produce a different effect from that in question.
Fourth, in reasoning from effect back to cause, the cause
inferred may be found upon examination not to exist,
or if existent, to be insufficient, or even such as to lead
to an effect different from the one under consideration.
This last is a confusing statement, no doubt, yet it becomes
clear when we revert to an earlier illustration — that of the
poor recitation accounted for by a football jubilee. The
instructor may have been mistaken; there was no celebra-
tion the night before, it was postponed. Even had there
been one, it might have proved insufficient to interfere with
study. Finally, though perhaps this is possible rather
than probable, the fun might have so cleared the brains
that they worked better when at last the lessons were
studied.

These, then, are some of the questions worth asking

110 RHETORIC

concerning antecedent probability: (1) Have any contrib-
uting causes been overlooked? (2) Are the assumed contrib-
uting causes sufficient to produce the effect anticipated?

(3) Might not these causes produce some different effect?

(4) In reasoning from effect back to cause, is it indisputable
that the assumed cause existed? (5) Is the assumed cause
sufficient, or might it not contribute to some other effect?
(6) Is there not some other explanation that is more plau-
sible?

Argument from sign. First, it may be that not all the

signs have been considered; evidence may have been,

intentionally or unintentionally, withheld.

rgumen Second, the signs may have been wrongly

irom sigQ • n

mterpreted; other inferences are possible.

Third, the signs reported may be too few to warrant
any inference. Thus in challenging this form of argu-
ment we ask, (1) Have all the signs been reported?
(2) Have the signs been interpreted rightly — is there no
other inference possible? (3) Are there signs enough to
warrant any inference?

In general. Careful scrutiny may show that though the

reasoning, so far as it goes, is sound, some one little link

necessary to the chain is missing, some asser-

Infill flcift^

, tion has been made for which no proof has
been advanced. Finally, and this is often
the case, it may be discovered that the entire argument is
wide of the mark; it does not establish quite the proposi-
tion in question but one easily mistaken for it. For ex-
ample, instead of proving that a small college offers better
advantages to the average student than a large college,
a line of argument may but prove that the small college is
better for a particular type of student.

The foregoing exposition of the forms of proof and the
fallacies commonly found in connection with them is ex-

ARGUMENT 111

ceedingly brief and elementary; fuller treatment of the

subject may be found in such manuals as Baker's Principles

of Argumentation, Alden's Art of Debate, and Foster's

Essentials of Exposition and Argument. Equally brief and

elementary must be the advice offered in regard to writing

argumentative compositions.

First, study the proposition to see precisely what task it

imposes. Without such study, one is likely to fall into

the error of attempting to prove more than

is necessary. Matters which at first seem " ^^?

, c. . proposition

relevant and of greatest importance may,

after all, lie beyond the province of this particular dis-
cussion. Other matters, though relevant, may belong to
that neutral ground found in every controversy — ground
over which flies the flag of truce. It is a waste of time
to construct elaborate argument to prove points which
those whom we wish to convince are willing to grant with-
out argument. In short, narrow the task to its strictest
limits. ''This, and this only, must be proved," the writer
should be able to say, before setting about his task.

Second, think out a plan — a provisional or temporary
plan. Here are some of the questions arising in this second
step. What lines of proof are possible? What Adopting a
evidence might be offered that would carry provisional
conviction? Where must attack be guarded P^^°
against? What points must be supported with greatest
care and earnestness? What, in brief, is the best way of
accomplishing the task at hand? Eventually this provi-
sional plan may be discarded for a better one, but for
many reasons it is well to do this preliminary thinking and
to do it independently.

Third, study the subject out of which the proposition grows.
Usually there are facts to be ascertained, authorities to
be consulted. Others have discussed the same problem;

112 RHETORIC

what views have they expressed and what lines of proof
have they considered effective? Study both sides of the

question. And during this period of in-
the suTkct vestigation, keep clearly in mind the two

steps previously mentioned. Confine re-
search to the one task at hand; test the provisional plan
at every step, holding to it somewhat stubbornly, yet
yielding when fully convinced that a better has been dis-
covered.

Fourth, construct a final plan. Presumably the study of
the subject will have imparted light. New lines of proof

may have been discovered, old lines shown
a &ial Dlan ^^ ^^ weak. Probably, too, ideas have come

concerning what will be the most effective
order in which to present arguments, a matter of great
importance.

Generally speaking, we convince others that our views

are right by leading their minds along practically the same

f path we ourselves have followed, stopping

now and then to warn against alluring side-
paths which lead to false conclusions, or to show that what
seems an obstacle is but a shadow. First, then, the ques-
tion should be explained with a view to pointing out pre-
cisely what is to be proved. Next it is well to indicate in a
general way the lines of proof to be employed, that the
argument may be followed the more readily. Yet it is not
always wise to reveal everything at the outset, especially
when addressing those who are prejudiced; there are even
times when it is best to omit entirely this preliminary
outlining of the intended course.

The question clearly explained and the general plan of
proof to be followed briefly outlined, time should be taken
to present the pertinent facts. That is, such information
should be given as the reader must possess before he can

ARGUMENT 113

be expected to see the force of the argument to be ad-
vanced. Presenting pertinent facts — all of them — and ex-
plaining their significance in a systematic,
,...,. i.t- u 1 Statement

discrimmatmg manner, though commonly ^^ ^^^^

considered a preliminary step, is not seldom
the most vital part of an argumentative speech or essay.
That this is true, any one may see by .studying such a mas-
terpiece as Burke's Speech on Conciliation. Moreover
common experience teaches that it is true — true since
people disagree mainly because all are not equally well
informed, and are not equally gifted in their powers of
interpreting facts and seeing their significance. Hence a
careful statement of facts is almost always necessary.

Finally, the various lines of proof should be presented,
in whatever order seems best for the occasion. It may be
necessary to begin with a proof that is .
reasonably strong, for attention must be
captured at once if at all; but when it is possible to
do so and hold attention from the outset, it is best to use
the climax order, the most telling argument being reserved
till the last. As to when possible objections should be
met, there can be no hard and fast rule save this general
one: meet them as soon as it is suspected that they are
interfering with the reception of the proof, sometimes even
anticipating them, giving them no chance to become
deeply rooted. That is, at all times keep the way clear
to a right conclusion. If the argument is long and intri-
cate, review the steps from time to time, and close with
a careful summary.

Fifth, pay careful attention to verbal expression. A well
planned argument may prove ineffectual because im-
properly phrased. Weak or awkward sen-
tences, rambling or ambiguous statements,
feeble repetition, — whatever detracts because crude or

114 RHETORIC

delays because difficult to understand, mars the ef-
fect of even the most carefully thought-out argu-
ment.

Here are a number of final cautions: 1. Remembering
that he who affirms must prove, accept the burden of

^. , ^. proof if your task requires it. If your task
Final cautions ^ / • •. i . ^u u

does not require it, do not assume the bur-
den. 2. Remember that saying a thing twenty times
over does not make it true. An assertion remains an
assertion and nothing more till its truth or falsity has been
proved. 3. Do not rest content with a single line of proof
if several lines are available. On the other hand, remember
that one point driven home through forceful illustration
or through varied restatement is far better than many
points weakly enforced. 4. Remember that bare statistics
seldom take hold; to be effective they must be interpreted,
translated into pictures that appeal to the emotions.
5. Study not only the question but those for whom the
argument is intended. How can they be reached? What
arguments will appeal to them? What must be avoided
lest offense be given needlessly? How can the emotions be
stirred? Think of yourself as a commander, not one who
is planning a campaign on paper against an imaginary foe,
but one who is actually attacking a stronghold, that can
be taken only through the strictest economy of ammuni-
tion and through shrewdly directing fire against weak
points here and there in the defense. 6. Remember that
dignity, earnestness, courtesy, and plain honesty are far
better weapons than ridicule, cheap jocularity, indeed
than all attempts to be facetious. Shrewd one must
be, not only thinking clearly but adapting the argu-
ment to the occasion and to those addressed, appeal-
ing not only to reason but to the emotions; yet it
should never be forgotten that an unmistakable desire

ARGUMENT 115

to be fair is, in the long run, worth twenty "tricks of
the trade."

NoTK. — In the Appendix may be found a specimen brief.

EXERCISES

1 Much of this world's misery is due to the fact that the
average person is so untrained in logic that he is swept
along day after day by cleverly disguised fallacies — falla-
cies which, when stripped of their disguise, seem but
laughable. Probably there is not a chain of reasoning
to be found in the list below that has not figured hundreds
of times even in matters where much was at stake. Point
out in each instance why the proof is unsatisfactory.
Make this a task in careful, logical exposition.

1. It must be true, for every one says so.

2. My friend's friend's friend says it is so; therefore it must
be so.

3. It must be true, for I read it in a book.

4. You should hear my grandfather tell of the cold weather of
his boyhood days. Our winters must be growing milder.

5. "Pooh! pooh!" repeated the goldfish as he gently bumped
his nose here and there against his little glass jar; "say what
they will, the world is a very small world, — some three times my
length at most!"

6. It is a wonderfully rich mine; the broker who sold me stock
in it says so.

7. The first witness says the prisoner was with him in Boston ;-
the second witness says he saw the prisoner that day in Los
Angeles. Therefore either the prisoner was in two places at
the same time, or else there are two of him.

8. As the mercury fell, the air grew colder; therefore the colder
temperature was caused by the falling mercury.

9. The night I occupied room thirteen, war broke out in China;
therefore thirteen is an unlucky number.

10. As the dervish added one more straw to the load, the
camel crumpled up; therefore a single straw broke the camel's
back,

116 RHETORIC

11. After taking one bottle of your remedy, I feel as well as
ever; therefore I recommend it most confidently to all.

12. Great oaks from little acorns grow; therefore if I plant
an acorn, it will grow into a great oak.

13. All boys torment cats; therefore the new neighbor's boy
will torment my cat.

14. "A bad beginning makes a good ending," remarked the
man as he viewed the wreck of his new machine; "therefore
a good ending to my journey is assured."

15. It is a stupid book; I have been unable to get beyond the
first chapter.

16. How ignorant Chaucer must have been; just see how he
spells the commonest words!

17. All the lobsters I have ever seen were red; therefore all
lobsters are red.

18. Never again shall I trust a blue-eyed man; this is the
third one to deceive me.

19. Father does it, so it is all right for me to do.

20. Johnson, when a boy, read what he pleased; if I read what
I please, I shall be great Uke Johnson.

21. Ever so many have made money through buying stocks
on margin; therefore if I buy stocks I shall become wealthy.

22. There goes the doctor; someone is ill.

23. Mother advised me not to wear my thin dress, lest I take
cold. I wore it, but took no cold. Therefore I know best.

24. If he were innocent, he would willingly tell all that he
knows about the crime.

25. His hat and coat were found on the river bank; therefore
the insurance company should pay his wife the face of the poUcy.

26. I feel just as well as I did ten years ago — better, in fact;
I shall live forever.

2 If one would be fair-minded, he must learn to look
at both sides of every question. Good statesmanship
as well as good business management is in large measure
simply a matter of weighing carefully all advantages and
disadvantages — the ins and outs — of each proposed move.
Write down and number all the advantages and dis-
advantages associated with one of the items found below,
arranging them in the order of their importance to you.

ARGUMENT 117

Compare the two lists and reach a conclusion. Prepare
to present the entire matter orally to the class. Employ
concrete illustrations if you can.

1. Owning a dog. 13. Having an emotional tem-

2. Being the youngest in the perament.

family. 14. Giving prizes for scholar-

3. Being a millionaire. ship.

4. Being popular. 15. Employing the card sys-

5. Being fond of reading. 'tem in keeping accounts.

6. Living in the city. 16. Having Saturday as a

7. Living in the country. school holiday.

8. Being good natured. 17. Fireplaces.

9. Owning an automobile. 18. Wireless telegraphy.
10. Attending a small college. 19. Owning a telephone.
IL Attending a private school. 20. Free textbooks.

12. Paying by check. 21. Saving one's allowance.

3 Come to class prepared to discuss informally any
three of the following questions, in each case defending
your views by argument. Lest some of your thoughts
slip away, it will be well to bring with you brief notes.

1. When writing a composition, is it best to imagine that you
are addressing some particular person or group of persons?

2. When writing a composition, is it well to keep in mind a
model?

3. To what extent is it wise to make use of quotations?

4. What are the advantages and the disadvantages of illustra-
tions in story books?

5. What are the advantages and what are the disadvantages
of writing in the first person when telling a story?

6. In telling a story, is it well to begin with a description of
the scene of the action and a brief account of the actors?

7. In drama, the dramatist never appears. When telling a
story in the third person, should the novehst ever speak directly
to his readers?

8. Which is the strongest force in story-telling — pathos, humor,
adventure, or love?

9. What are the essentials of a good story?

10. What are the essentials of a good play?

118 RHETORIC

4 Bring to class a brief but carefully considered answer
to one of the following questions. Be prepared to defend
your answer by argument and to refute all objections
that may be raised.

1. Is it right to buy a paper from a newsgirl under twelve
years of age?

2. Should high school students twenty-one years or more old
be permitted to take part in interscholastic contests?

3. Ought one pupil to report another whom he has seen cheat-
ing in examination?

4. In a club debate is it right for one to defend a proposition
against his convictions?

5. Is it right to "study together"?

6. Is it right for a runner to "cut" second base if he can do
so without being observed by the umpire?

7. An article submitted for publication in the school paper
is discovered to be copied from an old magazine. What should
the editors do ^bout it? If the imposture is not discovered till
after the article is pubhshed, what should be done?

8. After a series of defeats due in part to a number of accidents,
the school football team cancels its engagement to play with

the team in X . It does so remembering that under similar

circumstances the team from X once canceled a game at

the last moment. The manager in X writes that the game

has been advertised; to cancel it will disappoint many, leave
the team crippled financially, and will be considered highly dis-
courteous. Probably because irritated, he is far from polite.
What ought the manager of the crippled team to do?

9. Is it right to get help when doing an original problem in
geometry?

10. Is it right to pick fruit from branches overhanging the
highway?

11. Is it right to play ball on Sunday?

12. John, while cruising, finds a rowboat adrift. It will soon
be dashed against the rocks and destroyed. He secures it and
proceeds on his cruise without turning back to find the owner.
Later on, he loses the boat. Has John done right?

13. Did Portia do right in rescuing Antonio from the clutches
of Shylock by means of a mere quibble?

ARGUMENT 119

14. A collector of old china asks a housekeeper to set a price
on a certain pitcher. Upon her saying that she does not care
to sell it, he offers five dollars for it. She bought it at the country-
store for thirty-five cents. Is it right for her to accept his offer?

5 Come to class prepared to discuss two or three of
the following, these to be selected by the instructor:

1. To what extent, if any, is slang permissible?

2. Should girls study chemistry and physics?

3. Should football be played in secondary schools?

4. Is sarcasm ever permissible?

5. Are interscholastic debates a good thing?

6. Should gentlemen invariably give up their seats to ladies,
when public conveyances are crowded?

7. To what extent is it wise to buy books when one has access
to a good hbrary?

8. Why is it wise to own one's books, even though the town
furnishes free textbooks?

4. What should be done with the money earned by a school
paper?

10. Which of our athletic games will remain popular during
the next ten years?

11. Who are looked up to in the high school world?

12. Which exerts greater power, editor or orator?

13. Does poetry decline as civilization advances?

14. A, for sufficient consideration, agrees to convey to B a
lot of land with house, but before the contract can be carried
out the house burns down. What are the rights of the parties?

6 Outline briefly the course you would take in proving,
by direct evidence or an appeal to authority, each of the
following :

1. Plymouth was settled in 1620.

2. Our city needs (or does not need) a new high school building.

3. The Titanic disaster was due to neghgence.

4. The South is rapidly regaining her old-time prosperity.

5. Our school building is adequately protected against fire.

6. In our school, athletics do not interfere with good scholar-
ship.

7. The trend of migration is ever westward.

120 RHETORIC

8. Our city improves year by year.

9. Electric lines tend to develop rural districts.

10. The high cost of Hving is due to .

7 Select one of the following propositions and defend
it by argument from analogy or example:

1. Appearances are often deceptive.

2. Uneasy rests the head that wears a crown.

3. A country's strength hes in its peasantry.

4. Sleeping in the open air will improve my health.

5. A skilled coach is necessary for success in athletics.

6. A soft answer turneth away wrath.

7. It pays to advertise.

8. The extravagance of the rich adds to the suffering of the
poor.

9. The honor system would succeed in our school.

10. It is possible for one of humble origin to rise to high po-
sition.

8 Select one of the following propositions and try to
establish it by means of argument from antecedent proba-
bility. Be careful to leave no assertion unsupported.

1. Our school will be fifty percent larger ten years hence.

2. Our team will win in the coming contest.

3. Flying-machines will in time be commonly used as a means
of public conveyance.

4. The parcel post will prove a success.

5. All colleges will eventually admit by certificate.

6. Camping out will grow in popularity.

7. Woman's suffrage will soon be adopted by every state.

8. England will never again go to war against the United
States.

9. The present good times are due to .

10. The reason so many fail to complete their high school
course is .

11. Disastrous spring freshets are due to improper protection
of watersheds.

12. The tone of public morals is being lowered by the
stage.

ARGUMENT 121

13. American travelers are responsible for the unfavorable
impression of America held by foreign nations.

14. Country property will continue to increase in value.

9 Describe a room — if possible, one you have actually
seen; then let your classmates determine the character
of the person who occupies the room.

10 Describe a person — his build, his gait, his dress,
his facial expression; then let your classmates determine
his profession and character.

11 Examine a picture, one suggesting a story; then guess
out, from the hints furnished, the entire story.

12 Make up a chain of circumstantial evidence pointing
to a crime, purposely leaving out one link; then let your
classmates discover the link.

13 Make up a case for a mock trial depending wholly
on circumstantial evidence; then let the class decide
whether the case gives approximately even chances for
conviction and acquittal.

14 Write down three arguments supporting the affirma-
tive and three supporting the negative of any one of the
following propositions, arranging the arguments in climax
order. In stating an argument, use this form: Vivisection
should he prohibited hy law, for [Here should follow the
reason advanced].

1. Vivisection should be prohibited by law.

2. Children should not be taught to believe in the Santa Claus
myth.

3. Except for the purpose of destroying harmful animals or
for the piu'pose of obtaining necessary food, hunting is morally
wrong.

15 Selecting some one of the points recorded in exer-
cise 14, give it such verbal expression as will make it

122 RHETORIC

appeal strongly to the emotions. Employ narration or
description if it seems best, forget all about formal argu-
ment addressed solely to the intellect; direct your energy
to the one purpose of making the argument stir the
feelings.

16 Come to class prepared to discuss informally some
proposition previously agreed upon, perhaps one from the
list found below. Whenever an argument has been stated
clearly, the instructor may think best to write it in con-
densed form on the blackboard, afterwards drawing a
line through it, should it be fairly refuted. At the close
of the period the class will decide whether the affirmative
or the negative has received the better support.

1. For the average person, tennis is a better game than golf.

2. Managing a school paper furnishes a more valuable training
than managing an athletic association.

3. Military tactics should be taught in public high schools.

4. Two half-holidays in the school week would be better than
one whole holiday.

5. The public should have free access to the book shelves in
our public library.

6. For the average young man, a small college like Amherst
or Williams is better than a large institution like Harvard or
Chicago University.

7. The country is a better place for a college than is a city.

8. An editorship of a school paper affords more valuable train-
ing than does membership in a school debating club.

9. Silas Marner is a greater piece of fiction than The Vicar of
Wakefield,

17 Let some one be appointed to prepare a fifteen
minute defense of a proposition agreed upon by the
class. Let the remaining members prepare to overthrow
this defense. The first speaker should be given five
minutes at the close of the hour for rebuttal; that is,
for answering the arguments brought up against him.

ARGUMENT 123

18 The instructor may see fit to appoint four speakers,
two to support the affirmative and two the negative of
one of the following propositions, the assignments being
made at least a week in advance of the debate.

1. Each state should support a college free to all residents of
the state.

2. All young men should be taught the use of firearms.

3. Works of art should be admitted to this country free of duty.

4. Capital punishment should be abohshed.

5. United States senators should be elected by direct vote of
the people.

6. The use of all kinds of explosives on July Fourth should be
prohibited.

7. Laws should be passed prohibiting the carrying of freight
by electric cars through public highways.

19 Let each member of the class prepare a written,
eight hundred word defense of a proposition selected from
the following list:

1. Permanent copyright should be granted by the United
States.

2. Political cartoons should be prohibited by law.

3. Comic illustrations now found in our daily papers are a
menace to pubhc morals.

4. Our school should have an athletic field.

5. Our school should support a crew.

6. Public libraries and art galleries should be open on Sundays.

7. Monday would be better than Saturday for a school holiday.

8. Prose fiction exerts a greater influence today than drama.

9. Dogs possess intelligence.

10. A sailing craft affords greater pleasure than a power boat.

11. The EngUsh conception of what constitutes true sport
is nobler than the American conception.

12. The recently proposed spelling reform is worthy of support.

13. The girls of our school should give financial support to
the athletic association.

14. The dramatist performs a more difficult task than the
actor.

124 RHETORIC

15. Football is a brutal sport.

16. School journalism is not worth while.

17. Honesty is still the best poHcy.

18. Our school should take part in interscholastic debates.

19. Commercial prosperity tends to lower moral standards.

20. Public libraries should contain none but standard works.

PART II
THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

CHAPTER XI
READING

There was a time, long centuries ago, when it was no
uncommon thing for a person to go through life without
ever learning to read. Books there were, Before tlie
some of them very beautiful, skilfully penned days of
and " illuminated " in the scriptoria (writing- printing
rooms) of monasteries; but the choicest of these were for
kings and queens and nobles, and a very few volumes
sufficed for even a royal library. Among the common
people, the place of books was supplied, though imper-
fectly, by fireside tales, spirited ballads, the romantic
songs of the minstrel, and the miscellaneous chat of friars,
peddlers, and other wayfarers.

That was before the days of Caxton, England^s earliest

printer. Since then the world has seen many marvels, but

nothing more truly wonderful than the rapid

u £ ,-, 1 J What orinting

increase m number oi those who can read, t, j "

the amazing quantity of matter that comes

daily from the press, and the ease with which even the

poorest may provide himself with the best that is

printed. A few pennies will buy almost any classic, and

there are free libraries everywhere. Thousands of new

books every year, a multitude of magazines good and bad,

newspapers without number, — what a vast quantity of

print it all makes, and how mighty its influence! It is

true beyond question, though how seldom we give it a

thought, that the happiness and usefulness of the average

person depend quite as much on the attitude he takes

towards this great influence as upon any other single

127

128 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

factor. The purpose of this chapter is to review some of
the benefits to be derived from reading and some of the
attendant dangers, and to make a few suggestions in regard
to forming safe reading habits.

The most obvious of all benefits is pleasure — pure pleas-
ure entirely free from any idea of improvement. We turn

to books and magazines for much the same
Benefits: xu ^ • • j

, reason that we join a merry crowd, or engage

m sports, or tramp through the woods. It is
a common way of having a good time. Amusement, enter-
tainment, recreation — these form one of the many missions
of literature. It seeks out those who are bound by hard
circumstances and makes them forget their misfortunes.
The poor forget their poverty and roam through palaces
of luxury; the physically weak follow giants up mountain
sides; the timid feel at home in the presence of kings and
queens. It seeks out the vigorous and fortunate too,
bringing pleasure to all. Viewed in this light alone, what
a world-wide calamity it would be should all books,
through wicked magic, be destroyed.

But there are higher benefits. How dependent we are
upon books for facts and ideas. Little should we know

were we forced to rely solely on our own
. . senses and the reports of the comparatively

few people one can meet in a single lifetime.
How little thinking, of a truly independent kind, is done by
the average individual. We all have ideas which we call
our own, but for the most part they are merely ours by
adoption; they come, directly or indirectly, from books.
And this leads naturally to a sober reflection : he who reads
little is apt to live a little life. His range of information
is so narrow, his stock of ideas so meager, that he is poorly
equipped to do great things. He can hardly hope to keep
pace with those who are ''well read."

READING 129

Above facts and ideas are universal truths and lofty
ideals, which form the essence of all good literature.
Silas Marner is more than an entertaining
story; shining through the narrative are ., ,
certain great life-truths. As we read the
tragic story of Macbeth's downfall, or of Lancelot's guilty
love for the faithless Queen, or of how Sidney Carton gave
up his life to save Charles Darnay, we are conscious of a
moral influence. Heroes and heroines are but conceptions
of ideal manhood and womanhood. Consciously or un-
consciously we imitate them and try to live up to their
standards of courage and unselfishness. Reading a good
book has been the turning-point in many a life.

Through reading comes power of many kinds, but no-
tably the power to think. Following a line of thought
through page after page calls for mental
effort, and by exercise of this nature the ^^^^
mind grows alert. Each book mastered
makes the next one easier to master; and ability to think
books through leads to ability to think where books are not
concerned. Moreover thought arouses thought. Reading
"sets us thinking," not uncommonly about many things
only remotely suggested by the printed page; and we learn
to apply to our own special problems the methods of
thought that we have observed in books. For there are
effectual ways of thinking just as there are effectual ways
of doing everything else, and these ways must be learned.

With power to think is developed power to appreciate.
Literature is a form of art; it deals with ** beautiful thought
and beautiful feeling beautifully expressed."
But taste is largely a matter of training. ^^^^ ^
There are childhood years when nothing
sounds quite so sweet as the street piano; and many in-
dividuals, through lack of training, never learn to prefer

130 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

anything better. It is the same with reading. Childhood
preferences follow some through life; the higher forms of
literature bring no pleasure, for their beauty is not per-
ceived. Such individuals are inclined to scoff at those
who profess to gain pleasure from poetry; but it is merely a
case of the blind deriding those whose vision is clear.
Nothing is more real than the enjoyment which comes to
the few who through years of faithful reading have devel-
oped their sense of appreciation. Nor is this enjoyment
confined to the reading of books. Literature is but a
mirror. When we turn from the printed page to the real
world, we are better able to perceive truth and beauty
which to many lie forever hidden.

Finally, there comes power of expression. Each good
book mastered adds to the vocabulary a few terms. Un-
consciously we acquire a phraseology the
Power to 1. r . . r . ^- ^u

result 01 centuries of experimentmg on the

cXJix cSS

part of masters striving after effective ex-
pression. Our crudities slowly disappear. We learn
through example how to hold to logical or dramatic se-
quence, how to approach a subject from different angles,
how to win attention and keep it.

Pure, temporary pleasure; an abundant store of facts
and ideas; the broadening and refining influence of lofty

ideals and universal truths; power to think,
riz d PC>wer to appreciate, power to express: these

are benefits to be derived from reading. But
there are attendant dangers so serious that they deserve
careful consideration.

First, it is possible to waste, through reading, time and
Dangers: energy which might better be spent in other

waste of ways. Life is short. Intemperate indul-

time gence in reading is as deplorable as other

forms of gluttony.

READING 131

Second,— and very important, — intemperate reading, if
long continued, impairs the memory. It cannot be other-
wise. This is particularly true of omniv-
orous fiction reading where vast quantities jj^^^ired
of nearly valueless matter are taken into -
the mind only to be quickly dismissed and forgotten. A
memory thus trained to let go soon loses its retaining
powers, and things really worth while slip away with the
unimportant. There are few more serious handicaps, no
matter what one's life work may be, than an untrust-
worthy memory.

Third, superficial reading, the eye hurrying from page
to page and skipping whatever promises to be the least
bit uninteresting, impairs the power to Thinking
think. The mind forms the habit of twisting power
and dodging and delaying instead of meeting impaired
problems squarely and clinging to them until they are
mastered. The intellect becomes flabby; it shirks and
evades. It loses stamina.

Fourth, and most pathetic, certain varieties of reading
degrade the character. There are all kinds of books as
there are all kinds of people. The average
modern novel is fairly clean, but many are . . ,
degrading in their influence. It is possible
so to feed the passions on trashy fiction as to gain an
entirely wrong idea of what is best worth while in life.
Reading then becomes the worst form of intemperance.

Here are a few final suggestions, growing
out of the discussion in the preceding para-
graphs on the benefits and dangers of reading :

1. Keep good company. Choose your books as you
choose your friends, and treat them as courteously.

2. Form the habit of reading a book a month— one that
is really worth while.

132 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

3. Vary your reading. Do not become a slave to prose
fiction; try history, biography, science. Whether at first
you Uke it or not, read poetry — a few fines every day.

4. Read aloud whenever you can. This is beneficial
for at least three reasons. First, it tends to break up the
habit of reading carelessly. Second, the charm of poetry,
and the same is true of the best prose, lies partly in the
melody. This may be lost in silent reading. Third, words
pronounced cling in the memory; if merely glanced at,
they make little impression. We should be familiar not
only with the meanings of words but with their sounds.

5. Keep a record of what you read. A book finished,
jot down briefly in your journal what it is about, what you
have found commendable in it and what you have found
to dislike.

6. Own a few books, the very best editions you can
afford to buy. ,They make good companions.

Volumes might be filled with the wise things that have

been said about books and reading. Here are a few well-

. . ^. known passages which may serve to enforce

Appreciations f , , , ^ . , ,

or supplement the few ideas that have been

presented in this meager chapter:

Books are the best things, well used; abused, among the
worst. — Emerson

No book can be so good as to be profitable when negUgently
read. — Seneca

No good book, or good thing of any sort, shows its best face
at once. — Carlyle

Books are the great legacies that a great genius leaves to man-
kind, which are delivered down from generation to generation as
presents to the posterity of those who are yet unborn. — ^Addison

I have even gained the most profit, and the most pleasure also,
from the books which have made me think the most; and when
the difficulties have once been overcome, these are the books
which have struck the deepest root, not only in my memory and
understanding, but in my affections. — J. C. and A. W. Hare

READING

133

If time is precious, no book that will not improve by repeated
readings deserves to be read at all.^CARLYLE

God be thanked for books. They are the voices of the distant
and the dead, and make us heirs of the spiritual life of past ages.
Books are the true levelers. They give to all, who will faith-
fully use them, the society, the spiritual presence, of the best and
the greatest of our race. No matter how poor I am, no matter
though the prosperous of my own time will not enter my obscure
dwelling. If the sacred writers will enter and take up their
abode under my roof, if Milton will cross my threshhold to sing
to me of Paradise, and Shakespeare to open to me the worlds
of imagination and the workings of the human heart, and Frank-
lin to enrich me with his practical wisdom, I shall not pine for
want of intellectual companionship, and I may become a culti-
vated man though excluded from what is called the best society,
in the place where I Hvc^^Channing

if you read ten pages of a good book, letter by letter, — ■

that is to say with real accuracy, — ^you are for evermore in
some measure an educated person. The entire difference between
education and non-education (as regards the merely intellectual
part of it) consists in this accuracy. — Ruskin

Reading

I Benefits

Pleasure

A store of facts and ideas

An equipment of truths and

ideals
Gain in abihty to think
Gain in ability to appreciate
Gain in abihty to express

Loss of time and energy
Impairment of memory
Impairment of ability to think
Impairment of character

' Keep good company.
Read a book a month.
A Few Sug- Vary your reading,
gestions Read aloud.

Keep a record.
. Own a few books.

II Dangers

III

134 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

QUESTIONS

1 What is your favorite kind of literature? What is the
most interesting book you have ever read? What book
have you been reading recently? Can you name a book
from which you have surely received permanent benefit?
Can you think of a book from which one might receive
injury?

2 If you were about to be cast away on an island from
which there was no prospect of return for ten years, what
live books would you wish to take with you? If a bene-
factor were to offer to supply to each pupil in school five
books, what would be your choice? Can you name two
or three good books that would prove interesting to a boy
of fifteen interested in manual training?

3 What are your favorite magazines and newspapers?
In reading periodicals, what do you omit and what do you
select? Should newspapers be read thoroughly? Will you
suggest five or six periodicals appropriate for a school
reading room? If the benefactor mentioned above should
decide to send two periodicals to each pupil, which two
would you recommend?

4 If a girl intends to be a musician, should she stop
reading altogether, read widely, or specialize? Should
a boy who intends to be a civil engineer read poetry?
Of what value are histories to those who intend to take
part in public affairs? What kind of literature should
one read who intends to be a clerk or a factory laborer?
What rule can you suggest in regard to how much time
should be devoted to contemporary literature and how
much to masterpieces of earlier times?

5 How many books do you own? Do you take books
from the public library? Do you think public libraries

READING 135

should contain, in the department of pure Hterature, ac-
knowledged masterpieces only? What percentage of
the fund for new books should a public library spend
for fiction? Are reading circles a good thing, or are they a.
bore? Would it be better if books were not so cheap and
libraries were not free? Are free textbooks an unmixed
blessing?

6 What benefits not mentioned in this chapter can you
think of? What injuries? What suggestions in regard
to reading habits? Bring to class tributes to books,
obtained from a dictionary of familiar quotations or from,
some other source.

CHAPTER XII
LITERATURE DEFINED

Let it be supposed that a building is to be erected in
which shall be brought together all English literature —
not everything written in English, but the choicer pro-
ductions to which the term literature is applied in its
narrower, higher sense. What should such a collection
include?

No question could arise over the plays of Shakespeare,
or Milton's poems, or the novels of Dickens and Thackeray.
Scores of writers would be accepted without
rt tu ? hesitation. On the other hand, tons upon
tons of printed matter — books, pamphlets,
newspapers, and what not — all excellent in a way, would
be promptly rejected. Manifestly a textbook in algebra
deserves no place in such a collection, nor an almanac, nor
a treatise on the manufacture of steel. Most works in
science and history belong elsewhere. Sooner or later, how-
ever, vexing questions would arise; for the dividing line
between mere books and pure literature is a vague one.
Very convenient would be a serviceable definition of lit-
erature which might be applied in doubtful cases as the
carpenter applies his foot rule to a stick of timber to see
if it will answer his purpose.

Of the scores of definitions that have been penned, none

is quite satisfactory; the thing to be defined is far too

. . . varied in character and too subtle in its

eeneral°^^ "^ nature to be bounded by a single sentence.

To define literature is like trying to define

beauty, or pleasure, or sorrow. Let us examine a few def-

136

LITERATURE DEFINED 137

initions, however, for each may suggest hnes of profitable
thought.

Emerson calls literature *'a record of the best thought.'^
Much that enters the mind, these six short words suggest,
is necessarily commonplace, petty, not worth
preserving. The mission of literature is to . ^...
sift and winnow and garner. Men die,
cities become ruins, nations fade into obscurity; thought —
the best thought — endures, preserved in the written or
printed page, for the poetry and the prose of a nation
form the truest and most lasting record of the best that
its men and women have achieved. The durability of
literature and its high character are, perhaps, the leading
ideas suggested by Emerson's definition. It reminds us
that a good library is like a chest containing priceless
heirlooms, fortunately not the hoarded possession of some
proud family, but a legacy to all who appreciate their
value.

So brief a definition cannot well be complete; it suggests
much that is true, but does not include the entire truth.
Let. us examine a definition of slightly
greater length, by Stopford Brooke. In , ^^. .
the estimation of this eminent scholar, lit-
erature is made up of "the written thoughts and feelings of
intellectual men and women, arranged in a way that gives
pleasure to the reader J* Here are at last two new ideas,
suggested by the words feelings and pleasure. Thought,
as used by Emerson and Brooke, suggests
the mind of man, which considers and judges
intellectually. Feelings is a warmer word suggesting the
heart, seat of the emotions — love, hate, fear, ambition,
reverence, etc. Most of us are far less willing to share with
others our heart emotions than we are to share the judg-
ments of the intellect. Our feelings are so personal, so

138 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

private, that instinctively we veil them. Yet the great
writer, far from concealing his emotions, puts his very
heart into his work, thus exposing to all readers that which
makes up the most precious element of his individuality.
Hence it follows that anyone who will but learn to read
may become intimately acquainted with the intellectual
men and women of all times. Let his station in life be
what it will, the door stands wide open for him; he may
become an aristocrat, associating intimately with great
souls and sharing their finest emotions.

Passing now to the word pleasure, we are reminded that
thought and feeling to endure must be properly expressed.

Literature worthy of the name is a fine art,

not the product of bunglers. Our pleasure
in reading is due but in part to the thoughts and feelings
revealed; it is in no small degree due to the artistic skill
displayed in expressing these thoughts and feelings. A
very simple idea, or an emotion which all have felt, becomes
beautiful when beautifully phrased. This pleasure derived
from the skill with which authors clothe their thought
increases with maturing years, if we are wise enough to
make companions of great writers. In time we grow im-
patient of what is termed cheap literature, where little or
no skill is displayed, and impatient of our own ways of
crude expression.

Here is a third definition, by Henry Morley. Literature
comprises "all hooks — and they are hut few — where moral

truth and human passion are touched with a
d fi^ T ^ certain largeness, sanity, and attractiveness

of form.^' This is less clear than the others
and calls for careful study. Reading it over and over and
thinking it through and through as one must where much is
condensed into a few words, we at length discover two
important ideas. The first is that it is the mission of lit-

LITERATURE DEFINED 139

erature to elevate and inspire through bringing the reader
face to face with the great moral truths of life. The mas-
ters reveal not only their own emotions «. . . .
but the emotions — the passions — of all hu-
manity; they unveil not alone their own hearts but the
heart of the world — yours, mine, every man's. They help
us to understand ourselves and to look with truer, more
sympathetic eyes upon the various complex emotions
which make up the real history of the world.

The second idea, a simpler one, emphasizes the limited
field of pure literature. Much that is written has little to
do with moral truth or with human passions.
It is not concerned with joys and sorrows.
Many books serve merely to impart knowledge. They
interest but a limited number and for a limited time.
Moral truth and human passion, the same thousands of
years ago as they are today, are of permanent interest
to all because they concern all. These only are the raw
materials out of which poems and plays and romances are
made.

Finally, here is a long, detailed, scientific definition
from the Standard Dictionary, less attractive than the ones
already considered, yet not without merit.
No explanation follows it, that the student (jeg^i^ioT^^
may have the pleasure of accepting the chal-
lenge offered by its difficulty, and may master it step by
step, seeking for ideas which are not emphasized in the
briefer definitions. *' Belonging to the sphere of high art and
embodying thought that is power-giving, or inspiring and
elevating, rather than knowledge-giving (excluding thus all
purely scientific writings); catholic, or of interest to man as
man (excluding writings that are merely technical, or for a
class, trade, or profession, or the like, only); esthetic in its
tone and style (excluding writings violating the principles

140 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

of good taste); and shaped by the creative imagination, or
power of artistic construction {excluding all writings that are
shapeless and without organic unity).''

With these four definitions well in mind, perhaps some
will think the library building, as imagination may have

pictured it at the beginning of this chapter,
ew concep- unnecessarily large, but none too stately.

Better still, it may be that through following
the lines of thought suggested by these definitions, our
respect for the great masters whose works are far more
than mere books has been increased, and we shall be less
likely to grow vain over our own feeble compositions.

CHAPTER XIII

KINDS OF LITERATURE: POETRY AND PROSE

There are four kinds of composition: narration, descrip-
tion, exposition, and argument. Since literature is but
composition, it may be said that there are
four kinds of literature. But should we wish ^^^
to arrange the books for which, in the pre-
ceding chapter, our imagination provided a building, it
would, manifestly, be impossible to group them under
these heads, since the four forms of discourse are seldom
found separate but rather in combination, all of them
sometimes appearing in a single paragraph. Of the many
possible systems, the simplest classification would be one
dividing the books into two broad groups, poetry and prose ;
yet even this simple scheme might present some difficulties.
What is poetry? How does it differ from prose?

Perhaps rhyme is the first word to arise in the mind of
one attempting to answer these questions. Prose does not
rhyme; most poetry does, though much that
Shakespeare and Milton and the lesser poets
have written is rhymeless. On the other hand mere rhyme
cannot make poetry, for there are the senseless jingles
which every child makes — ^jingles and nothing more.

Next to suggest itself is, it may be, rhythm. Each line
beats out a little tune produced by the recurrence of
stressed syllables separated by syllables un-
stressed. Good prose, it is true, contains
something of rhythmical swing, but the swing is not met-
rical; that is, it does not conform to established rules.

141

142 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

That there are such rules, hard and fast, we see as we turn
the leaves of such a collection as the Oxford Book of English
Verse. The poet neatly fits his words to a mould, as it
were. His stanzas are made to pattern, each line contain-
ing a definite number of stressed syllables and all the
rhymes coming in their proper places according to a pre-
conceived plan.

In the third place we note, if the ear be sensitive, a
sound-harmony. The words are so chosen and arranged

that succeeding sounds harmonize, hke
, " colors skilfully blended. This too is found

in prose; at least the skilled writer of prose
is careful to avoid disagreeable sound combinations. But
poetry is preeminently harmonious. Carlyle calls it
"musical thought." It is song. In earlier times it was
intended to be sung, the voice, often accom'panied by
some instrument, interpreting the feeling and bringing out
the melody. Since the invention of printing and the rapid
growth of the reading habit, poetry enters the mind not
through the ear alone but through the eye. Nevertheless
it sings its way in; for as the eye runs from word to word on
the printed page, imagination, or memory, helps us to
catch the intended harmonies. We cannot think the words
without, in imagination, hearing them.

Since poetry is melody, it follows that the vocabulary
of poetry cannot be quite the vocabulary of prose. There

are words too harsh for the poet, and words

of so many syllables that they defy all met-
rical arrangement. Melody aside, how many words there
are which are too coarse and commonplace in what they
suggest to be of service. They are not beautiful. Yet we
shall try in vain to say which words are poetical and which
are not; we can but wonder at the great masters' skill in
selecting that which in sound and suggestion is appro-

KINDS OF LITERATURE 143

priate for their purposes. We know merely that some
words, as the poets employ them, are magical — pleasing
the ear, exciting the imagination, and stirring the emotions.

But language, in verse or prose, is merely a vehicle.
Great as may be the pleasure derived from beautiful,
melodious words, and from the nicety with ,^
which the poet shapes his message to fit ^f p^^^y
approved metrical patterns, the message thus
beautifully expressed is, after all, the essential thing.
Instinctively we look upon the poet not merely as one who
has discovered the hidden charm of language, but as one
preeminently a lover of the beautiful and possessing the
power to see it where common eyes perceive it not. He is
emotionally sensitive, looking deep into the heart of man
with a sympathy and an understanding which enables him
to discover the great truths of life.

But volumes have been written in a vain attempt to

define the essentials of poetry. The preceding paragraphs

are designed merely to lead up to a def- ^ ^ . .
' '.' !-• u XI, I, x-^ X Definition

mition which, though unsatistactory, as ^^ poetry

most definitions must be, is simple and sug-
gestive: Poetry is beautiful thought, feeling, or action,
beautifully expressed in melodious, usually metrical, lan-
guage. Of all the rooms in the stately building imagined
in the preceding chapter, surely the best should be reserved
for poetry, "the most delightful and perfect form of utter-
ance that human words can reach.''

CHAPTER XIV

VARIETIES OF PROSE

''The most influential books, and the truest in their in-
fluence/' Stevenson once declared, "are works of fiction.''
He might have added that story-telling is
the oldest of all forms of literature, and that
it out-bulks all others. Indeed so abundant is the supply
of late years that, to keep up with it, one would have to
read several volumes every day.

By fiction, as the term is commonly employed, is meant
all forms of prose story-telling (save drama) in which there

is an element of make-believe, the incidents
Classification , , , , . . , . .

and characters bemg m some degree imagi-
nary. The simplest classification would mention but two
varieties, the short story and what is conveniently termed
the novel. Such a simple classification is all, perhaps, that
the general reader requires; yet it does not meet with the
approval of scholars, who insist that among the so-called
novels are many which should be termed romances. Since
romance is a term frequently used in talking about books,
it is well to understand its meaning.

Properly speaking, the novel is a prose story of some

length in which the incidents, though they may never have

happened, are at least within the range of

probability — might have happened. The

characters, though imagined, are not unlike

the real people whom we meet every day, not necessarily

more remarkable or interesting. In short, the novelist

strives to mirror or picture, realistically, life as it is in the

VARIETIES OF PROSE 145

world of his day. The romance, on the other hand, may
contain an element of improbability if not of actual im-
possibility, though the reader may be so charmed that
he fails to observe the unreality. The world as the ro-
mancer pictures it is ideal rather than real; it is as we
should like to have it, perhaps, not as experience teaches
us that it actually is. In most romances marvels abound.
Adventure, unusual occurrences, and love-making are
given unnatural prominence. The virtues of heroes and
the vices of villains are extraordinary. David Copperfield
is a novel, Ivanhoe a romance; for the former strives to
picture ordinary life as it was at the time when Dickens
wrote, while the latter not only leads the reader to times
remote and therefore misty, but presents marvellous in-
cidents and idealized personages.

Although this distinction between the idealistic and
romantic on the one hand and the realistic on the other
hand is readily seen in extreme types, the
dividing line is after all a shadowy one, hard u a
to establish. Many novels contain romantic
elements, and romancers employ realism, greatly to the
confusion of scholars bent upon establishing hard and fast
systems of classification. It is probable that readers will
continue to speak of all longer fictitious narratives as
novels, and that they will seldom be misunderstood.

Closely related to fiction is the second great story-telling
form of literature, the drama. Since few plays are printed,
we are apt to underestimate the quantity of
dramatic literature produced since Shake-
speare's day, and its importance as well. Could its in-
fluence for good or bad be measured, we might find that
drama approaches in power the novel.

The simplest classification of plays is the familiar one
which groups them under the two heads comedy and trag-

146 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

edy. By comedy is meant a play that is light, amusing,

and has a happy ending. In its purest form it mirrors

life truly, as does the novel. Tragedy is

^j less easily defined. The dictionary defini-

tragedy

tion runs somewhat as follows: a play de-
picting a serious action in which ordinarily the leading
character is by some passion or limitation brought to a
catastrophe. Shakespeare's Macbeth furnishes a familiar
example. The story of Macbeth's rise and fall provides
action that is serious. His one great passion, ambition,
forces him inevitably on through crime after crime to a
fatal catastrophe.

These two terms are so broad that still others are needed
in talking about plays. We speak of light comedy, meaning

a drama in which the humor is refined and
in so ^^^ language natural; of low comedy when

the humor is broad and farcical. A farce
is a play the sole purpose of which is merriment. The
characters are exaggerated, and the situations as funny
as can be conceived, the main idea being to supply occasion
for laughter. After witnessing a farce, one is more apt
to remember comic situations than characters. Musical
comedy is, as the name suggests, comedy in which music
is an important feature. A play in which comedy and
tragedy are combined, the ending normally a happy one,
is sometimes termed tragi-comedy. Many of our modern
plays are melodramas. Melodrama bears somewhat the
same relationship to tragedy that the romance does to
the novel. At its worst, it is a cheap, sensational play,
full of hair-breadth escapes and harrowing scenes de-
signed to thrill audiences of low intelligence. As is the
case with the farce, one is apt to remember situations
rather than characters. Of late there seems to be a
growing tendency to class as melodrama many of the

VARIETIES OF PROSE 147

better serious plays which fail to reach the high level of
pure tragedy. Still other terms might be mentioned, for
there are at least a score which are employed, or have at
some time been employed, in classifying plays; but they
are not of present importance.

A third division of prose literature, very large indeed
and with boundaries not so clearly defined as those of
fiction and drama, is made up of essays.
What is an essay? First, it is, normally, , ^ essay
a variety of prose literature. Second, it is a
short composition, designed to be read in half an hour, an
hour, or at most an evening. We speak of a volume of
essays, not of a volume containing an essay. Third, the
essay is comparatively simple, and direct; it is somewhat
of the nature of a lecture or an informal talk, the writer
meeting his readers informally, not addressing them
through the medium of a drama or a novel. Fiction and
drama are, after all, artificial forms, governed by rules of
construction; the essayist, addressing his readers directly,
is hampered by no rules save those of common sense which
bid one first have something worth saying and then say it
clearly and in an agreeable manner. Finally, the word
essay contains the idea of trial or incompleteness as op-
posed to that which is final and exhaustive. For example,
an essay on trees would not contain all that could be said
on the subject; it might contain merely a little of what
the essayist knew about trees, and this little put forth
experimentally, afterwards perhaps to be given deeper
thought and possibly expanded into a book of many pages.
Most magazine articles, other than fiction, are essays.
Editorials are short essays.

To speak in detail of all the kinds of essays would take
many pages. One familiar type is found in Irving's Sketch
Book, in which the author tells with delightful informality

148 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

of his travels abroad, and pictures different phases of Eng-
lish life, weaving into his narrative not a little of reflec-
tion and sentiment. Another variety is
essavs ^^^^ ^^ ^^® Spectator Papers of Addison and

Steele. Many of these papers are satirical;
that is, they point out the petty follies of the day and
through showing the evils to which these follies may lead,
gently reprove those at fault and recommend wholesome
reforms. Bacon, the philosopher, wrote very brief essays,
closely compacted, each sentence containing a thought
strikingly expressed, as if he had jotted down ideas from
time to time and at last assembled them. He writes on
such topics as truth, riches, death. Most delightful of all
essayists is Charles Lamb, who wrote informally on whist,
roast pig, old china, old plays, and his sister Mary. Read-
ing one of his Essays of Elia is like listening to delightful
after-dinner talk. Longer, more formal, and logically con-
structed are the essays of Macaulay on literary and his-
torical subjects. His essay on Milton contains over one
hundred pages of average size, quite a book in itself;
whereas a typical essay by Lamb is about ten pages
long, and a number of Bacon's essays do not exceed two
or three pages each.

Fiction, drama, and essay are the three higher forms of
prose, but there are many provinces which border the

realms of pure literature. First, perhaps,
Minor forms 7 • t . 7 • t j j.u

, come biography, autobiography, and the re-

lated fields of letters and diaries. Second
comes history, associated with which are travel and explora-
tion. Third may be mentioned works of science and philos-
ophy, a few of which are truly masterpieces. Finally, ora-
tory should be included; for though sermons and speeches
are designed but for an occasion, not for all time, and when
printed they lose something of their force because com-

VARIETIES OF PROSE

149

posed to be listened to, not to be read, our literature is
so rich in powerful oratory that it would be wrong to
neglect it. Yet works belonging to any one of these
outlying provinces we should need to examine closely
before giving them a place in our library of pure litera^
ture.

(The short story
The novel *

The romance

Varieties

OF

Prose

Drama

Essay

Minor
Forms

' Comedy
Farce

Tragi-comedy
Melodrama
Tragedy

Biography, Autobiography, Diaries,

Letters
History, Travel, Exploration
Science, Philosophy
. Oratory

CHAPTER XV
VARIETIES OF POETRY

Most poems fall readily into one of four classes: Nar-
rative (including dramatic and non-dramatic forms),
Lyrical, Descriptive, and Didactic or Reflective.

In poetic drama, as in prose, are found comedy and trag-
edy, and such allied forms as farce, tragi-comedy , and mel-

, . . odrama. These call for no further explana-

Vfl.rictics

of drama tion; but a word is necessary, perhaps, in

regard to masks (sometimes spelled masques)

and closet drama. The mask, Italian in origin, made its

appearance in England during the reign of

Elizabeth and was for a time exceedingly

popular with the cultured rich. Songs, intricate dances,

and elaborate scenic effects were essential features, in

many cases the dramatic element being of comparatively

slight importance. The masks were not given at public

playhouses, but at court and in castle halls, no expense

being spared to make the spectacle gorgeous. The parts

were taken by amateurs from among the nobility, who

impersonated mythical or allegorical characters, which

were as essential to mask as were the musical numbers,

the dancing, and the scenic display. The most prolific

of mask-producers was Ben Jonson; but Milton's Comus,

presented at Ludlow castle before the Earl of Bridgewater,

then President of Wales, is the best of all the dramas cast

^, , in this highlv artificial form. Closet drama

Closet drama . i. , , i j- •

IS a name applied to poems dramatic in

form, but unfit for successful stage presentation. To this

class belong dramas in verse which were intended to be

150

VARIETIES OF POETRY 151

read, not witnessed, as Shelley's Prometheus Unbound and
Byron's Manfred. But the term is also applied to dramas
which, though written for stage presentation, have proved
less effective when acted than when read as we read other
forms of story-telling verse. Hence we may include in
this small class the dramas of Tennyson, Browning, and
even some of the plays of Shakespeare.

Non-dramatic narrative poetry is as varied in kind as
prose j&ction, but we shall consider merely the tale, the
ballad, the romance, and the epic. The tale
corresponds in a general way to the short
story, though commonly much simpler and briefer. Long-
fellow's Tales of a Wayside Inn and Chaucer's Canterbury
Tales are familiar examples. An interesting variety is the
monologue, closely related to the drama. The words all
come from the lips of one person, yet the narrative is so
given that the reader readily imagines the presence and
replies of other characters to whom the words are spoken.
Something of the effect of monologue may be gained by
listening to one who is using the telephone, and trying
to imagine what the person at the other end of the wire
is saying. Many of what Browning has called his dramatic
lyrics are monologue tales.

Some of the most fascinating tales in all English lit-
erature are found in the form of ballads, which, as the name
suggests, were originally short tales intended h w d

to be sung. In the eighteenth century when
there was a revival of interest in earlier times, the ballads
which had been composed and sung throughout England
during the Middle Ages were collected and excited great
interest because of their simplicity and wonderful dramatic
power. They have received loving study ever since. Not
a few of our modern poets have imitated these ancient
models; but Coleridge's Rime cf the Ancient Mariner, best

152 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

of these modern attempts, though a great poem, is inferior

as a ballad to such originals as Sir Patrick Spens, or A

Geste of Rohyn Hode.

The term romance, or metrical romance, also carries the

scholar back to the Middle Ages, to a very large group of

_,^ extremely long poems recounting the deeds

The romance u u ir A^- i i t^ r^i i

01 such half-mythical heroes as Kmg Charle-
magne and King Arthur, poems many of which were
brought to England by Norman minstrels and sung by
them in castle halls. But to the average reader the term
suggests long poems of more modern times, notably those
of Scott and Byron. The characteristics of this modern
type, as found in such admirable examples as Marmion
and Lady of the Lake, are similar to those mentioned in
connection with prose romance: abundance of adventure
and love and sentiment, the incidents taking place in
regions of romantic beauty.

The term epic is used in two senses. First, it is employed

as a general name to cover all forms of narrative poetry

. except drama. But it is used more commonly

to name that kind of narrative poetry of
which Homer's Iliad is the noblest example. Of the many
definitions, the following is among the simplest: ''A poem
celebrating in stately verse the real or mythical achievements
of great personages, heroes, or demigods.^' It is always long
and dignified. In English literature we find but one poem
truly deserving the name epic, Milton's Paradise Lost.

In direct contrast to the story-telling forms of poetry
thus far considered is the lyriG, the nature of which it is
_, . . quite necessary that the student understand

clearly. We may read all of Shakespeare's
plays without becoming a whit the wiser concerning the
dramatist's personal joys and sorrows. Scott's Lady of
the Lake acquaints the reader with Ellen Douglas, Rod-

VARIETIES OF POETRY 153

erick Dhu, James FitzJames, and other personages real
or imaginary, but not, save through inference, with Sir
Walter. The story-teller, whether dramatist or romancer,
stands apart from, or back of, his narrative, as may be
represented by these three circles:

*'Do not think of me," he seems to request; ** watch the
characters in the little fiction world that I have imagined,
and listen to what they have to say." The lyric poet, on
the other hand, aims to reveal the very depths of his
heart, sharing without restraint his innermost emotions
— an attitude which may be represented thus:

The purest form of lyric is song; indeed the word is
derived from lyre, the name of an instrument used for
musical accompaniment. Normally, song is an outburst
of feeling of joy or grief, of patriotism, or reverence, or

154 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

mere conviviality. But the term lyric is applied to any
short poem which ''turns on some single thought, feeling,
or situation." For example, the poet hears
a nightingale sing. The song fills him with
emotion which he records in a lyric. Or he opens by chance
Chapman's translation of Homer's epic and reads for the
first time the grand story of the Iliad. Later he records
in a few lines his emotions upon discovering this new-old
world of beauty. Milton, brooding over his blindness,
yielding to a mood of despair at his helplessness, is suddenly
struck with a great truth which brings him comfort, and
he writes a little lyric of fourteen lines setting forth this
truth, that all who are afflicted in like manner may share
the consolation that has come to him.

One of the best collections of English lyrics is Palgrave's
Golden Treasury of Songs and Lyrics, a copy of which every-
one should own. In this wonderful treasury
are found many varieties. There is the
ballad, which though properly classed with narrative po-
etry, is sometimes so touched with the tender emotion of
the narrator that it becomes truly lyrical.
The elegy, commonly defined as a "medita-
tive poem of sorrowful theme, usually lamenting the dead,"
is well represented by Milton's Lycidas and Gray's Elegy
Written in a Country Churchyard. The ode,
also meditative, differs from other forms in
that its structure is complicated or irregular, and the feel-
ing expressed more exalted. Wordsworth's Ode to Duty
serves as an example. Many of the best
lyrics are written in sonnet form — fourteen
iambic pentameter lines with a definite rhyming scheme.
This was a favorite form with Spenser, Shakespeare,
Milton, and Wordsworth.

The varieties of poetry considered thus far are the prin-

VARIETIES OF POETRY 155

cipal ones. Descriptive and didactic or reflective verse
are considered minor varieties, partly, no doubt, because
they are most commonly found in connec- Descriptive
tion with other forms. And yet English lit- and didactic
erature is exceptionally rich in poems which Poetry
paint the beauties of nature in all her moods, and picture
in ideal colors the simple joys and the virtues of rural life —
poetry quiet and reflective in character. Fine bits of nature
description are found in Thomson's Seasons and Cowper's
Task, eighteenth century poems now little read. More
familiar to modern readers is Burns's The Cotter's Saturday
Night, which pictures the simple life of the Scottish peas-
antry, and Whittier's Snow-Bound. Byron and Scott paint
scenes of romantic beauty. Our greatest nature poet,
however, is Wordsworth, to whom nature in her quieter
moods made a strong appeal; but it is not so much the
pictures in his poems as it is the thoughts or reflections
prompted by his love for nature that have made him great.
Were we to make a collection of the very best descriptions
to be found in all English literature, we should find it
necessary to take lines from nearly every poet of prom-
inence, beginning with that unknown singer who composed
Beowulf far back in Anglo-Saxon days, and ending with
Tennyson and Browning.

Two terms related to description are pastoral and idyl.
Pastoral (from the Latin pastor, meaning shepherd) is a
name applied to any poem picturing the life
of shepherds, or indeed any phase of rural dth^^-d^^
life. The finest of all pastorals are Milton's
U Allegro and II Penseroso. An idyl (also spelled idyll)
is defined in Webster's dictionary as "a little picture in
verse, or kind of short descriptive poem, as one dealing
with pastoral or rural life." But it is also appHed to longer
poems, narrative as well as descriptive, in which the picture

156

THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

Didactic
poetry

element is prominent, as in Tennyson's Idylls of the
King.

Didactic poetry, as its name implies, has for its main
purpose instruction. We feel at once, when the poet turns
teacher or preacher, that he encroaches upon
the province of the prose writer; yet we do
not mind the short didactic passages found
nearly everywhere in English poetry — a line or two only,
pointing a moral or giving terse expression to some notable
thought. There have even been a few poets, notably Dry den
and Pope, who have succeeded through wit and cleverness
in making attractive purely didactic poems of some length.
Pope's Essmj on Criticism, a sort of rhymed treatise on
rhetoric, is a good example. Sometimes didactic poetry
takes the form of satire, the purpose of which is to reform
through ridicule. Yet brilliant as are a number of the long,
satirical poems of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries,
we can but say of them that though they are excellent of
their kind, it is a kind which lies remote from the center of
true poetry.

' Comedy

Tragedy

Tragi-comedy

Mask

Closet Drama

Tale

Monologue or Dramatic Lyric

Ballad

Metrical Romance
. Epic

Song

Ballad

Sonnet

Elegy

Ode

(Including pastorals and idyls)

(Including reflective and exposi-
tory verse, and satire)

Varieties

OF

Poetry

Dramatic

Non-dramatic

or

Epic

Lyric

Descriptive
Didactic

CHAPTER XVI
THE STUDY OF PROSE FICTION

For purposes of study, the novel, or indeed any piece of
prose fiction, may be thought of as made up of certain
necessary elements. First, there must be a
plot; something must happen, otherwise no , .
story. Second, there must be one or more
characters. Third, there must be what is called the setting;
that is to say, what happens must happen somewhere,
sometime, somehow. Fourth, no matter how simple the
tale, there is pretty sure to be a discoverable central
thought, or ideal, or purpose, which serves in a way to
unify the whole. Fifth, the story must be told by some-
body, in language of his own choosing, in a way peculiarly
his own. That is, there must be an author whose skill as a
craftsman and whose personality are revealed in the narra-
tive. Plot, characters, setting, central truth, the author's
skill and personality: these are the five elements to be
considered in the study of any piece of fiction.

By plot is meant, loosely speaking, the skeleton of the
complete narrative, or the important incidents without
which there would be no story. Usually it
can be stated in a few sentences. There are
not many absolutely different plots — perhaps fifteen or
twenty in all literature; yet there are so many thousands
of ways of varying these fifteen or twenty that no two
stories are alike. The essential characteristics of story-
plots can be made clear through a number of simple illus-
trations.

157

158 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

First, one is reminded of a chain. Link follows link,
each of no value save as all combine to make up a whole,

designed to serve some preconceived purpose,
similitudes ^ ^^^^ ^^ sometimes defined simply as a chain

of incidents. Second, the plot may be likened
to a series of blocks so placed in line, as we have often seen
children arrange them, that when the first is pushed over,
down go the second, the third, and all the rest. Thousands
of stories are but variations of the old adage : For lack of a
nail the shoe was lost; for lack of a shoe the steed was lost;
for lack of a steed the rider was lost; for lack of a rider the
kingdom was lost. Story-telling of this sort is but play-
ing the game of consequences. Third, we may liken
many a plot to a number of threads of different color
which cross and recross in ever increasing perplexity till
finally they become so entangled that the eye which en-
deavors to follow some one bright thread becomes more
and more bewildered, till at length all is in a twinkling
cunningly and quickly disentangled.

Fourth, there is the familiar comparison of a stream,
inevitably flowing downward, though not with uniform

speed. At times, its current flows swiftly;
s'm'litud s ^^ times, perhaps in some quiet woodland,

it loiters as if attracted by beautiful sur-
roundings and forgetful of the great sea towards which it
is journeying. At times it meanders through green mead-
ows, or industriously turns the wheel of some useful
mill ; but the banks grow wider and wider, the waters ever
deeper, till at last the broad river is reached. Finally we
may illustrate the nature of a typical plot by means of the
following diagram. The reader is like a traveler who
stands at the foot of the mountain A B, mildly interested
to know what lies beyond it. As he climbs the first gentle
slope, curiosity gradually increases (indicated by the small

THE STUDY OF PROSE FICTION 159

question marks) till he reaches a lowly summit the onward
view from which brings a degree' of pleasurable surprise

(indicated by the small exclamation point) and gratifies
his curiosity in some measure, though not entirely; for
straightway new questions in regard to what lies beyond
are awakened and he climbs with growing interest to a
higher point and still a higher, each new vantage ground
revealing a little, but not enough. At last, his interest
now at an intense pitch, he gains the topmost pinnacle
whence all lies revealed.

The characteristics suggested by the five foregoing illus-
trations, and still others to be mentioned, are reflected in
the terminology employed in talking about
plots. First in this little vocabulary come tenninoloev
climax and certain related terms. Climax
is defined in many ways. It is another name for turning-
point, say some, thus calling attention to the fact that
every story pictures a struggle — a good man contending
with a bad man; inherited weakness, moral or physical,
contending with the desire to accomplish some great and
good thing; love contending with various almost insur-
mountable obstacles, etc. The moment at which the
battle turns and the contest is decided, that is the climax.
Others define it as the moment when, the threads of narra-
tive having reached a point of supreme entanglement, the
denouement (from a French word meaning to untie) sets in
and we have the final unraveling of the mystery. One

160 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

writer cleverly characterizes it as the point where the
''beginning begins to end and the end begins to begin,"
and also as "the place where the consequences set in."
Popularly it is known as the point of greatest interest,
where all mystery is cleared away, no element of curiosity
remaining ungratified. It should be borne in mind, how-
ever, that most stories have a number of climaxes, that
is, a number of dramatic moments or situations, as they are
called, when the reader's interest is greatly quickened. A
lively story, indeed, is a series of such minor chmaxes
leading with ever increasing interest up to the grand
climax near or at the end — a crisis which in case of tragedy
becomes a catastrophe (from a Greek verb meaning to
overturn.)

Although every incident in a story plays its part in
building the complete narrative, not all incidents serve
• -H f directly to advance the action of the story.
This is suggested in the illustration which
likens the plot to a stream. Many are introduced
mainly with a view to simply getting the reader and
the characters better acquainted. These are sometimes
called character incidents to distinguish them from plot
incidents which actually drive the story onward. Others
serve but to acquaint the reader with conditions which
should be known that later action may be understood.
In all of Scott's historical romances there are incidents of
this kind which acquaint the reader with the customs of
the times with which the romances deal. They add vivid-
ness, help the reader to understand and appreciate the
main incidents, and commonly furnish relief from the more
exciting crises. An incident or group of incidents of this
sort, growing out of a story yet separable from it, is some-
times called an episode. The bursting of the wine cask in
A Tale of Two Cities is an episode. To distinguish between

THE STUDY OF PROSE FICTION 161

a plot incident and an episode or character incident often
calls for nice discrimination.

The term sub-plot or minor plot is self-explanatory. In-
tertwined with the main narrative, where hero and heroine
principally are concerned, often will be
found minor narratives, perhaps having to
do with butler and maid. A novel by Dickens sometimes
suggests a community of stories nicely interlaced or in-
terrelated, brought into unity by some one series of in-
cidents more commanding than all the rest. Life itself,
which the novelist tries to mirror, is thus complex, each
individual at one time, it may be, playing the role of hero
in one chain of incidents, the role of villain in a second,
and subordinate roles in many others.

Without a plot there can be no story; without characters
there can be no plot. A slight acquaintance with fiction
suffices to show that novels differ widely in
respect to the number of characters intro-
duced. Eight or ten is perhaps the average, though in a
novel by Dickens or Thackeray one may meet with five
times as many, usually belonging to two more or less dis-
tinctly defined groups, a principal and a subordinate.
The characters in the principal group are as necessary as
the plot itself; the subordinates serve a variety of purposes.
Some contribute humor, reminding us of Shakespeare's
jesters. Uncle Venner, a minor character in House of the
Seven Gables, serves as Hawthorne's mouthpiece for bits
of homely philosophy — as if the author, knowing full well
that to talk directly to his readers over the heads of his
characters would be as great a blunder as for the dramatist
to appear on the stage, had disguised himself as a ragged
philosopher and thus become a legitimate part of the story
he is telling. Characters are brought in to convey nec-
essary information, to supply parts of the story which

162 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

lie back of the beginning, and other parts which, though
essential, are of too little dramatic interest to be handled
in detail. They give reminiscences, they gossip about their
superiors, and the eavesdropping reader gathers the drift
of events from their conversation. Sometimes they are
introduced for no other apparent reason than to convey
the impression of numbers so necessary to make the nar-
rative lifelike, as is the case with the characters in Silas
Marner who are seen at the Rainbow Inn.

But it would take many pages to enumerate all the pur-
poses served by minor characters. Enough has been said

to suggest that fiction-reading becomes more
e s y 0 intelligent and pleasurable as we learn to

detect these hidden purposes; learn to ob-
serve the economy of some authors, the lavish generosity
of others who delight in bringing character after character
into being; and to estimate in some measure an author's
power by the range of his creations, the number of different
types he has the ability to handle. There is keen pleasure
too in watching an author's method of handling his char-
acters. What is his way of bringing them into the story?
How does he reveal their personality — through their
words, through their deeds, through reports from other
characters, or directly by peering into their minds and
hearts and informing the reader what thoughts and mo-
tives lie hidden there? Does he describe their outward
appearance? Does he make them develop morally, under-
going change as the story progresses, or do they remain
the same throughout? Does he succeed in making them
always act ''in character" — that is, are the kings always
kingly, boys always boyish, etc.? How, finally, does he
dismiss his characters? These points and many others
command the attention and the pleasurable interest of
the trained reader.

THE STUDY OF PROSE FICTION 163

That the invention of character is a far more difficult

matter than mere plot invention is attested by the fact

that in all literature there are but few really

noble and immortal characters drawn so • „^„+- «" ,^

invention rare

true to life that they seem real men and
women whom, should they appear at our door, we should
readily recognize. Cheap fiction swarms with ''stock"
or conventionalized creatures, mere dummies, not crea-
tions at all.

Under setting is sometimes included not only descriptive
passages but all explanatory matter introduced to make
the action clearer. Explanation is less
pleasing than exciting incident, and readers
have a way of skipping descriptive paragraphs; therefore
many writers confine themselves very closely to incidents
and deftly weave into the narrative the little description
and explanation absolutely necessary, leaving much to the
imagination. But let us consider a few of the many pur-
poses served by descriptive passages.

First, it need not be said, some sort of picture of the
place where the action occurs is almost always desirable,
merely as an aid to the imagination; and if
the action depends in any way on the nature description
of the place, or on weather conditions, it
becomes actually necessary. For example, the storm
which in the thrilling sea-tale calls forth the hero's quick
wit and daring must be painted in all its fury. Second,
a quiet descriptive passage forms a pleasing relief, often-
times, after pages of exciting incident. It is poor art to
keep the reader's nerves too long at high tension. Third,
description may be made to intensify dramatic effect,
either through contrast or harmony. For example, the
author may first paint an early morning village scene, the
sun just peeping above the hills, smoke rising calmly from

164 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

chimneys here and there, the milkman going his rounds.

Then, the reader's mind filled with this peaceful quiet,

the author throws open the door of the cottage from whose

chimney no smoke arises and reveals evidence of an awful

crime. As for nature in harmony with action, everyone

knows that in fiction-land wedding days are invariably

free from tempests. It would be a mean author who should

create a pair of newly plighted lovers and not give them a

flowery lane down which to wander. All through House

of the Seven Gables there are little descriptive passages

which so reflect the changing mood of the story that even

were the plot incidents removed, one might easily guess

the dramatic variations of the narrative. Perhaps such

use of description is more poetic than natural, yet in the

hands of a master it becomes very effective. Finally,

there are novelists who dare halt their narrative from time

to time and give extended passages of detailed description

not absolutely essential to the story. They do so, it may

be, because their purpose is not solely to tell a story but

to acquaint the reader with the rare beauties of some

region, much as the writer of historical fiction includes in

his narrative incidents which picture long-ago times

though they serve but indirectly to advance the story.

That every piece of fiction contains a clearly definable

central truth serving as a pivotal point is hardly demon-

^ ^ 1 x_ xt- strable. Many narratives are thus unified;
C6iitr&l trutn

some are not, though most if not all are

somewhat unified by a controlling idea or motive.

Hawthorne's stories are little sermons in fiction form,

each driving home with wonderful force some great

moral truth, easily discoverable. Dickens fashioned

stories designed to picture great abuses so glaringly that

reforms would follow; that is to say, he wrote with a

definite purpose in mind. No small part of modern fiction

THE STUDY OF PROSE FICTION 165

is made up of problem novels, each of which has, as a cen-
tral motive, the desire to suggest an answer to some vexing
social question. Perhaps the strongest statement that
should be made is that every novelist writes with a motive.
Frequently it is but the praiseworthy desire to entertain;
sometimes it is a desire to impart information in pleasing
manner or to point the way to reform, or to emphasize a
great moral truth.

As we grow older and more familiar with plots, familiar
too with the thousand and one well-worn devices by which
authors strive to make their stories salable,
our pleasure in current fiction by little known pej-gonalitv
authors grows less keen, and we find our-
selves returning inevitably to such masterpieces as those
produced by Scott, Dickens, Thackeray, and George Eliot.
These half -forgotten stories we read and reread, not alone
because the narratives are so great that they never lose
their attraction, but because we are homesick for the
authors themselves. No one can write for many years,
inventing scenes, inventing incidents, without putting
very nearly his entire self into his books. There lie ex-
posed his ideas, his fondest fancies and dreams, his con-
ceptions of what is noble and of what is low and mean.
Peculiar ways of looking at things, even little tricks of
expression which are distinctly his own, all are there.
In a word, it is the charm of the author's fully revealed
personality that draws us like a magnet, and we find such
pleasures as old friends experience when they meet after
years of separation.

This element of personality which enters into every great
novel is, we grow to think, a very essential thing after all,
not to be neglected in any masterpiece. Study the plot,
the characters, the setting. Try to determine what is
the central truth or underlying motive which vitalizes

166 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

the story. But above all, try to find the author; seek for
him ''between the lines/' If he is noble, make him your
friend and treat him as such. A good book once read, do
not put it aside for all time; take it from the shelf now and
then, not perhaps for a complete reading, but for the pur-
pose of spending an hour or two with an old acquaintance
who is something more and better than a mere story-teller.
Here, finally, are a few questions which may prove

helpful to those who are fond of fiction and
Questions would like to add to their enjoyment by

learning how to read with a somewhat more
critical eye:

Plot

Plot made up of many incidents, or few? One plot only,
or a main plot plus one or more subordinate ones? Incidents
arranged in natural, chronological sequence, or arranged in
inverted order for dramatic effect? Incidents taken from real
life, invented but probable, barely possible, or impossible? In-
cidents involving physical action, or inner (moral) struggle?
Plot stereotyped — that is, following well-beaten trails, or orig-
inal? Quiet or thrilling? All the incidents necessary? Any used
to reveal character? Any used to supply information or to
afford relief from the strain accompanying tragic scenes? In-
cidents mainly comic, or pathetic? Is the climax strong? What
incident forms the climax? Does accident play an important
part in the disentanglement? Is the plot the most essential
element in the story? Which of the following adjectives best
describe the plot: simple, commonplace, trivial, quiet, stereo-
typed, feeble, amateurish, interesting, clever, dramatic, thrilling,
melodramatic, romantic, highly imaginative, ingenious, long-
drawn-out?

Characters

Many or few? Different types, or only two or three? One
group only, or a principal group plus one or more subordi-
nate groups? Natural, idealized, caricatured, or conventional?
Commonplace, or interesting? How brought into the story,

I

THE STUDY OF PROSE FICTION 167

how dismissed? What purpose do the subordinate charac-
ters serve? How does the reader become acquainted with
the characters — by what they do, what they say, what others
say about them, the effect they produce on others, or by what
the author says about them directly — peeping into their minds
and letting the reader know what motives he hidden there?
Are any of them tagged — that is, recognizable by some pecu-
liarity of speech, etc.? Do they always act in character? Do
they show wide acquaintance, on the author's part, with men
and women? Do they show that the author understands human
nature? Does the author regard them with affection? Is there
an out-and-out hero or heroine and a pronounced villain? Are
the characters more interesting than the plot? Where is the
author at his best, in plot construction or in character delinea-
tion? Which of the characters do you see most clearly?

Setting

Does the story begin immediately with action, or with pre-
liminary pages explaining the time, place, and attending cir-
cumstances? Does the author, upon introducing a character,
give a detailed portrait, or is the portrait given in bits adroitly
inserted? Are nature descriptions frequent and lengthy? Do
they seem unnecessary — not closely related to the plot? Are
the descriptions natural or idealized? Real or imagined? Is
description introduced for its own artistic beauty, to help the
reader to visualize, to intensify some dramatic effect, or to re-
lieve tension? Is there much weather in the story? Are the
descriptions in contrast to the mood of the story or in harmony
with it? Do the nature descriptions ever hint at the trend the
story is to take? Do the descriptions form an important element
in the story? Is the author as good at description as at character
delineation or at plot construction? What in externals impresses
him most deeply? •

The Central Truth or Controlling Purpose

What is the theme of the story? The most important truth?
Is the story told to enforce some truth? Does the truth appear
to grow naturally out of the narrative? Does the story contain
too much teaching or moraUzing? If the story has a moral, is

168 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

it self-evident, or baldly stated at the close? Do you agree with
the author in all his views?

The Author

Is he sincere? thoughtful? emotional? of artistic tempera-
ment? Is his range of experience wide or narrow? Does he
understand human nature? Is he sympathetic? Are his ideals
high? What seems to you the most attractive elements in his
personality? What in his art as a novelist do you most admire?

Note. — See Appendix for questions on Silas Marner.

CHAPTER XVII
W/ THE STUDY OF DRAMA

A recent theatre program not only names the playwright
and gives the cast (the assignment of parts to the actors)
but tells by whom the production is staged,
who directs the music, who painted the f^j. gt^^y^
scenery, who should receive credit for the
mechanical and electrical effects, who provided the
properties (stage requisites other than costumes and
scenery), who is technical supervisor, and even who de-
signed the gowns and costumes and who made the shoes.
This long list of items serves well to illustrate that plays
are not meant to be read but to be witnessed, and that
the proper place for the study of the drama is the theatre.

But serious difficulties lie in the way. Comparatively
few of us live in large towns or cities where there are good
theatres; and those who are city-dwellers _
find that really good plays are presented . ^
none too often, and that certain dramas well
worth studying are never staged. The great majority,
therefore, must content themselves with reading at home;
and since relatively little of modern drama is available
in book form, in many cases this must mean reading
Shakespeare only. The purpose of this chapter is to offer
simple suggestions in regard to how plays, Shakespeare's
in particular, may be read to advantage. _
These suggestions focus in the three words
playgoer, play-actor, and playwright. Briefly, they
amount to but this: First, imagine yourself a playgoer;

169

170 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

second, imagine yourself an actor; third, imagine yourself
a playwright. They form a climax of increasing difficulty.
The average playgoer is no close student of dramatic
art. He is an enviable pleasure-seeker, most fortunate
if, as the orchestra ceases, the lights in the
auditorium fade away, and the great curtain
slowly rises, he can forget absolutely that he
is in a theatre, forget footlights, forget paint and powder
and canvas trees, forget all the conventions of the stage —
such as that every room has but three sides and a slanting
floor — and become, as it were, an eavesdropping spirit
privileged to witness scene after scene, apparently real,
though picturing a life somewhat fuller of laughter and
tears than that in which he actually lives, and moving at a
swifter rate, with all the humdrum strangely eliminated.
In a word, he yields himself completely to the magic and
is swept away in imagination, sharing the emotions repre-
sented by those on the stage, much as the little child shares
the emotions of Little Red Ridinghood, though safely
held in a mother's lap. The play over, he continues to
think of the action as something real and of the actors
as people whom he might meet were his lot a different one.
The first duty of the student who is not privileged to
attend the theatre is the pleasurable one of gaining, so far
as he can, the kind of impressions received
isuaizmg ^y average theatre-goers. Before him lies
the printed page, and as he reads, slowly
yet not too critically, he tries to get the story, through
imagination visualizing, or making real, each scene and
character. Although pleasurable, this is nevertheless
something of a task, involving a mental effort uncalled for
on the part of those who witness plays. It is necessary to
shut the eyes, now and then, and try to imagine the natural
setting of this scene and that — the courtroom where Portia

THE STUDY OF DRAMA 171

makes her plea, the banquet hall, scene of Macbeth's first
royal banquet, the forest of Arden where Rosalind and
lovesick Orlando meet. One must imagine, too, how each
character is dressed, and with what voice and bodily action
the words are spoken. What is Macbeth's appearance
as he cries

Lay on, Macduff,
And damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough!'

and what is the manner of fighting which follows? How
are the weird sisters attired in the first scene of Macbeth,
and what witch-like actions accompany their uncanny
words? With questions such as these, the imagination is
ever kept on the alert; without imagination, play-reading
is a dull performance, like listening to conversation too
intricate to follow, or gazing at a scene partly obscured by
fog. Doubtless one reason why plays are so seldom printed
is that comparatively few readers are willing to exercise
their imagination sufficiently to gain real pleasure merely
from the dramatist's words. -

The second step in drama study is far more difficult. It
calls for a much closer reading than the first, somewhat
superficial survey; for now the reader must
look upon the play through the eyes of actor
and stage manager, whose duty it is to in-
terpret the dramatist's words, supply suitable action, and
provide for this action appropriate stage arrangement, so
that, without conscious effort, playgoers may get all that
the playwright's imagination has invented. Of the thou-
sands who throng our theatres, how few ever stop to think
of the weeks of labor — the close study of lines, the mem-
orizing of parts, the planning of stage effects, the rehears-
als— which lie between the composing and the final pro-
duction of even a light comedy. What we see in a modern

172 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

presentation of one of Shakespeare's plays is the composite
result of careful, loving study on the part of many genera-
tions of great actors. Without some degree of study of the
kind bestowed by actor and stage manager, one cannot
hope to fully understand and appreciate any play.

It is excellent practice, therefore, to make a plan of
the stage as it should be arranged for each scene of the play
that is being studied, accompanying it with
ment ^^tes explaining in detail what properties
are needed, what scenery, where the char-
acters should enter and where depart, and how they should
be grouped at critical moments. Macbeth presents many
interesting problems in stage arrangement. In the ban-
quet scene, for example, where shall the table be placed
and where the Queen's throne? Where shall Banquo's
stool be placed? Where should the Murderer appear,
and where Banquo's ghost?

Costuming, too, offers an attractive line of study.
How many costumes will Lady Macbeth need, and
what should they be? Macbeth is a Scotch-
man; should he be dressed as a Highland
chief? What would be an appropriate costume for the
Murderer? for the Porter? Dress oftentimes betrays
character, it must be remembered. Yet it should not be
overlooked that what is true of stage-settings in general
is true of costumes; they can be made to attract too much
attention, thus weakening the effect of words and actions.
Words and actions, after all, call for the closest study;
and so much of our reading is done hurriedly, with a view

to gaining general impressions rather than
Interpretation ^^ '^ r xi, x n. • j-^ ix x r

exact meamngs, that it is dimcult to lorce

ourselves to be thorough, as we must be in study-
ing Shakespeare. ''Shakespeare is no primer"; the
thought does not always lie on the surface. Many a line

THE STUDY OF DRAMA 173

challenges our best powers. And Shakespeare's language
is not quite modern. He employs not a few words now
obsolete, and others which, though still in common use,
have lost their original force or meaning. Moreover he
lived at a time when people took delight in language feats,
in startling effects obtainable through nice skill in tossing
words about and through clever sentence-twists. His
English is not, therefore, straightforward; many a sentence
needs disentangling. Moreover, he wrote not for publica-
tion but for the stage — for oral reproduction to be helped
out by facial expression and action; hence, as has been
pointed out more than once, his sentences are often a
series of cross-cuts, sometimes even ungrammatical, such
as we use in rapid conversation. Coming from the mouth
of an actor, they are clear enough; when received from
the printed page, they are frequently troublesome. Fi-
nally, he wrote not for posterity but for Londoners of his
own day, and therefore made allusions to passing events
long since forgotten. Only by studying the comments of
scholars who have devoted years to patient investigation
can we hope to understand certain passages which pre-
sented no difficulty whatever to the apprentices who
crowded the Globe theatre in Shakespeare's day.

Even when every passage is reasonably clear, there re-
mains the difficult yet delightful task of determining how
each sentence should be spoken, w4th what
volume and tone and modulation of voice,
attended by what facial expression and what action, all
of which calls for a close study of each character. For
example, consider a single passage in the second scene of
the second act of Macbeth. The King has been murdered.
Macbeth, dazed and remorseful, his imagination still
picturing the dreadful deed he has done, stands before his
wife. After a few scraps of hurried conversation, she no-

174 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

tices that he bears in his hands the bloody daggers which
should have been left by the side of the grooms whom she
has drugged and upon whom the guilt is to be placed. In
alarm she bids him return them and smear the sleepers
with blood. Then follows —

Macbeth. I'll go no more.

I am afraid to think what I have done;

Look on't again I dare not.

Lady Macbeth. Infirm of purpose!

Give me the daggers : the sleeping and the dead

Are but as pictures; 'tis the eye of childhood

That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed,

I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal;

For it must seem their guilt. (Exit)

How should the words Give me the daggers be spoken?
Should the stress be upon Give or mef Are they words of
anger, scorn, or determination? Does she snatch the
daggers, or take them calmly, or as if it required all the
strength of will she can muster? Would you have her
leave the stage hurriedly, or with faltering step? And how
should Macbeth act at this critical moment? Is he shamed,
relieved, or too dazed to know what is happening?

Few are the scenes in any great play which do not con-
tain little problems like the above, and the thought is
inevitable that one cannot study the drama successfully
without constant experiment in oral reading; and that
most effective of all is the memorizing of parts and the
presenting, before a small audience, of a few simple scenes.
A single trial of this sort will do far more towards training
the appreciation than will many weeks of silent study.

Playgoer, actor, playwright — we must in some measure
identify ourselves with all three, if we wish to thoroughly
understand and appreciate any drama. The first two steps
in this three-fold scheme we have considered; the third,

THE STUDY OF DRAMA 175

most fundamental of all and to many the most interesting,
remains. It consists in trying to think out, or imagine,
how this or that play was made — where the
plot came from; how the raw materials were -.j^^^i.
worked over, the available sorted out from
much that was unsuitable, and reshaped to fit the dram-
atist's purpose; what laws of construction were followed
in the writing of scenes and acts. In short it consists in
an attempt to learn something of the art of playwriting
through following, so far as it is discoverable, the trail of
the dramatist.

Study of this kind very soon reveals how different is the
task of the dramatist from that which confronts the writer
of novels. For plays must be acted on a The play-
stage commonly not over seventy feet wide wright's
by forty deep, the parts taken by a limited limitations
number of actors, before an audience which will remain
but little over two hours. Such a story as Stevenson tells
in The Wreckers, for example, or Scott in Ivanhoe, or Hugo
in Les Miserahles cannot well be limited to a space seventy
by forty, nor told satisfactorily in two hours. Modern
ingenuity recognizes few things as impossible, yet sea-
fights, earthquakes, floods, forest fires, and much else
that the novelist handles readily, lie beyond the range of
satisfactory stage presentation. The novelist may trans-
port his readers from continent to continent, from pole to
pole; the dramatist must content himself with but few
scenes. The novelist deals with individuals who may
take their time in reading his pages, skipping at will dull
passages, or putting the book aside when interest wanes.
The dramatist deals with large companies of individuals,
differing widely in their tastes, the attention of all of whom
must be captured at the outset and held through the per-
formance by means of a series of incidents that keep curi-

176 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

osity ever alert to observe what will happen next. Finally,
we are too'apt to forget that the story of the play must be
one in which deep emotions can be expressed mainly by
words, facial expression, and gesture; and that nearly
all the action must take place before the eyes of the
spectators.

The dramatist, then, is hampered by troublesome limit-
ations. Although he no longer observes the old '^ unities"
of time, place, and action, which prescribed
that the time represented as elapsing should
not exceed a period of twenty-four hours, the scene remain
unchanged, and the action be single rather than a number
of stories interlaced, still he is far less free than other
story-tellers. As, through study, we become familiar with
the restrictions to which his art is subject, the diflficulties
of play-writing become more evident and our appreciation
of good plays increases accordingly.

From what has been said it is obvious that the success
of the dramatist lies in no small degree in his abiUty to
. recognize appropriate matter. Shakespeare
left no record of his method of play-making;
yet his works have received so much study that the
sources of most of his plots are now known, and it is
very interesting to observe how this great master selected
his raw materials and changed them magically into great
plays. School editions of his Macbeth include the pages
from Holinshed's Chronicle with which he must have been
familiar, enabling us to trace the changes the bald narrative
underwent as he adapted it to stage requirements. A
few passages in the play follow Holinshed almost word for
word. But we note that he has selected incidents rather
than appropriated the entire narrative, that he has brought
together events which in reality were remote in time, has
shifted action from this place to that, brought into promi-

THE STUDY OF DRAMA 177

nence individuals belonging historically to the background,
transferred or bestowed traits of character at will, indeed
taken the many liberties necessary in order to make of the
historical record a dramatic unity. In Merchant of Venice
we find him intertwining three stories so cunningly that
they seem but one. As You Like It is but an adaptation
of a popular Elizabethan romance. Rarely, if ever, did
he invent an entire plot outright; his genius found exercise
in selecting, reshaping, rearranging material at hand and
expressing all in noble verse.

But studying sources and comparing raw materials with
finished products, though interesting and profitable, is
merely preliminary to studying plot con-
struction in detail. Much that has been ^ ^.

construction
said m the chapter on the novel applies here

as well. A play, like most novels, is made up of incidents
arising because of a struggle of some kind — a struggle
which becomes more and more tense, climax following
climax, till a turning-point or grand climax is reached;
then the action drives on, still a series of dramatic moments,
to its close, which in tragedy is called a catastrophe. Plays
differ in structure-plan, as do novels, but the following
diagram is often used to illustrate the common features :

A B, called the introduction, covers the earlier scenes which
serve principally to acquaint us with the preliminaries —
what happened prior to the beginning of the main action of
the play, or the attending circumstances. Somewhere near
the beginning is a point B, not always easily discoverable,

178 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

where we find what is called the inciting force, which defi-
nitely begins the conflict between the opposing forces.
C represents the grand climax. A C is called
terminoloev ^^^ rising action, the entanglement, or the
complication; C D is called the falling action
or the resolution. D, in tragedy, represents the catastrophe.
The diagram would convey a better impression, perhaps,
if the lines B C and C D were jagged, suggesting a series of
dramatic moments rather than a smooth running story.

Here are seven of the more important points to note in
studying a given plot: 1. The manner in which introductory
Plot study: matter is handled. The novelist may devote
introductory an entire chapter to preliminaries, for he has
matter plenty of time in which to tell his story; or

he may plunge into the midst of his narrative, win atten-
tion through some exciting incident, then '^ double back''
to the real beginning and explain whatever is necessary.
But in drama every minute is precious; the story cannot,
ordinarily, be made to double on itself; and the restless
audience must be captured at the outset. Getting a play
well started, therefore, calls for great skill. The explana-
tion of the circumstances out of which the action of the
play grows must be as brief as possible, much being left
to be inferred, and that which cannot be inferred introduced
not all at once, but inserted here and there throughout
the first act as it is needed. It is excellent practice to run
through a first act and pick out all that is purely explana-
tory.

2. Method of introducing characters and of getting them

off the stage. Usually, before an important character ap-

pears, he is talked about by the minor char-

and exits acters, that interest in him may be aroused

and that he may be recognized when he

makes his entrance. The witches, in the first scene of

THE STUDY OF DRAMA 179

Macbeth, announce that they are planning to meet Mac-
beth very soon, and the audience wonders who he can be.
In the second scene we are told more about him — of his
valor in the battle which is still raging, and the King
announces new honors to be conferred upon him. When
therefore he at last appears, it is not as a stranger but as a
hero whom the spectators are anxious to see. Moreover,
seldom is it artistic to introduce all the leading characters at
once, lest confusion result and lest the interest be divided.
It is more effective to scatter the thrills which should be
caused at first sight of important personages. And great
care too is shown by the skilled playwright in clearing
the stage of characters when they are no longer needed.
The actor who has spoken his lines cannot simply walk
off; the audience must be told why he is going, and the
reason must be plausible.

3. The ingenuity of the playwright in inventing a com-
plication. It is not an easy task to invent circumstance
after circumstance leading to situations more

and more complex, introducing force after ,. .
force pulling the hero this way and that till
the entanglement seems beyond all straightening out.
Plays have been written for so many centuries that the
more obvious ways of complication are well known. It is
therefore a difficult matter to avoid old trails, or so to re-
dress old schemes of entanglement that they have an
appearance of novelty. It is an interesting problem,
though frequently difficult, especially when several stories
are intertwined, to pick out all the complicating elements
and determine whether they are old or new.

4. The skilful employment of scenes for contrast, for re-
lief, or to foreshadow coming events. A tragic moment seems
the more tragic if it follows one in lighter mood; wicked-
ness stands out more vividly against a background of in-

180 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

nocence. There must be breathing spells too; for an un-
interrupted series of thrills may become exhausting. These
are recognized principles in all forms of
forellTad^ing s^ory-telling; and so is a third which pro-
hibits violent surprise. A degree of surprise
there must be, it is true, and without suspense interest
cannot be held; yet it is a common practice to foreshadow
dramatic moments, thereby preparing for what is coming.

5. Ingenuity in constructing the grand climax. Every
scene has its element of suspense and surprise; every act

^^ ,. is in structure a little play by itself, with

The climax ^ . ,...:.

tragic moments rismg m mterest to a su-
preme moment near or at the end. But one of the most
trying tests of a plajrwright's power is his ability to
invent a supreme situation, novel, inevitable because of
what has gone before, in a way combining or focusing all
the dramatic crises of earlier scenes — a trying situation
where for an instant the fate of the hero hangs in balance.
It is the final 'Hying of the knot/' without which a play
fails to be a play.

6. Skill in handling the resolution or falling action. It is
not always an easy matter to sustain interest as a play

nears its close. The skilled playwright
*' unravels his knot" rapidly, climax follow-
ing climax in quick succession, the suspense strongly
maintained till the final revelation is made — a conclusion
growing naturally out of all that had gone before, satisfy-
ing ''poetic justice," and gratifying fully the curiosity
first aroused in the opening scenes.

7. Skill in adapting the play to stage requirements. Al-

though a matter of great practical impor-
tance, this topic cannot be treated in detail,
requirements

It will suffice, perhaps, to observe that there
are many incidents inappropriate for stage representa-

THE STUDY OF DRAMA 181

tion, that time is required for shifting scenery and for
changing costumes — matters too often overlooked by in-
experienced writers.

Difficult as it is to invent a good plot, it requires greater
genius to create people to do and say the things that the
plot calls for. A considerable part of the
time bestowed by the student upon Shake- characters
speare's plays is devoted, very properly, to
his characters. Here are a few points to observe:

1. Whether the play calls for careful delineation of char-
acter. In some cases, notably in light comedy and farce,
characters may be of secondary importance.

The real interest centers in clever situations ^jej^jjeation
sure to be remembered long after characters
are forgotten. Other plays present quite the reverse: a
series of incidents of little moment in themselves and
quickly forgotten, yet serving to throw a strong light upon
some central figure, a character never to be forgotten.
In great plays, both these elements are present.

2. Number and range of characters. There are dramatists
who, though authors of many plays, have created few
characters. Of two or three types they may Number and
be masters; beyond this limited field their range of

art fails them. In marked contrast is Shake- characters
speare, whose creations range from kings to beggars and
knaves, from decrepit age to youth, no two characters
alike, a vast compauy most of whom seem as real to us
as the people we meet daily, so strongly are they individ-
ualized. And among them are many heroic minds, and
strong, attractive personalities. At the conclusion of a
modern play, we sometimes feel that though the hours have
passed pleasantly, the characters whose words we have
listened to are, after all, rather ordinary and weak. There
are weak and commonplace figures in Shakespeare's

182 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

stage world, but most of them are strongly imagined, and
every play contains a few characters whom we recognize
as being of no common mould. They are notable speci-
mens of humanity.

3. Whether the characters are true to life, always acting
consistently, or mere puppets — stock, conventional figures.

A very little play-going is sufficient to con-
characters vince one that perhaps the majority of

characters in modern drama are but stock
figures — conventional heroes and heroines and villains,
conventional butlers and maids, conventional dowagers,
conventional uncles from India, whom we quickly recog-
nize as each makes his entrance and proceeds with time-
worn ''business,'' for all the world like similar characters
in story-books. And there are inconsistent characters
whose words and actions, as the play proceeds, do not ring
true to their individualities as set forth in the earlier part
of the play. They lead us to suppose that the dramatist
has not imaged them clearly in his mind, or that he is
not sufficiently observant of human nature to know how a
given disposition acts under this condition and that. Or
perhaps all is due to indolence; for truthful portrayals call
for hard thinking.

4. Whether the characters develop as a result of the complex
influences set forth in the play. The Shylock whom Portia

outwits is a different man from the cunning
f ^ f money-lender who furnished Antonio with

three thousand ducats. How wonderful,
yet how consistent, is the change in Macbeth as he is
pushed from crime to crime after killing Duncan! But
there are plays where no change in character is noticeable,
and others in which the changes are so sudden or inex-
plicable that they run counter to truth. They fail to
convince.

k

THE STUDY OF DRAMA 183

5. Whether the dialogue is natural. In modern drama an
attempt is made to make characters talk naturally, as
people do off the stage. Even soliloquy and
'^asides'' are in disfavor because unnatural.
On the other hand it is true, as someone has remarked,
that ''No person in real life would talk as Shakespeare or
any other great dramatist makes them [characters] talk.'^
It is well to think of these two opposing views when study-
ing plays, noting whether each dramatist considered holds
strictly to realism or allows himself some degree of latitude.

Here are a few questions such as are commonly used
in classroom. They are given with the
thought that they may prove convenient to
those who wish to test in a general way the
thoroughness with which a drama has been read.

Plot

Where did the dramatist find it? Is it made up of one story
or of several? If of several, are all neatly intertwined, or
does each story stand out so independently that interest is
divided? Is the story quiet, or full of thrilling incidents? Does
it stir the emotions deeply? If you were preparing an illustrated
edition of the play, what scenes would you select for pictorial
representation? Does the play picture real life or ideal life?
Is everything in it probable or merely possible? Does the play
represent a conflict between two characters, one good and the
other bad? Is it the story of a downfall due to moral weakness?
Does the action grow out of a misunderstanding? Are the
characters represented as driven inevitably to disaster through
the workings of a fate or destiny beyond their control? Does
accident or chance play an important part?

Is there much to be explained concerning what happened
previous to the moment at which the story opens? Is the ex-
planatory matter introduced all at once, or a little at a time as
needed? Is anything left to be implied? Can you determine the
moment at which the ''inciting force" becomes active? Locate
the climax. Does the play move rapidly? Is the entanglement

184 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

preceding the climax extremely complicated? Is the disentangle-
ment following the climax rapid? Were you able to guess in
advance any parts of the story? Is the ending satisfactory from
the standpoint of justice? Find, if j^ou can, (a) a scene mainly
explanatorj'-, (b) an incident which does not occur on the stage
but is reported by a character, (c) an apparently unnecessary
scene, (d) two scenes which might be united or transposed, (e) a
scene introduced for relief between tragic moments, (f) a quiet
scene serving as background to a tragic moment, (g) a scene
serving mainly to bring out traits of character, (h) a scene fore-
shadowing an event which otherwise would cause too great sur-
prise. Justify the division of the play into acts, showing that
each act possesses unity and accomplishes a definite purpose.
Try to condense each scene into a sentence or two; afterwards,
try to condense each act in a similar way; then attempt to state
the entire plot in not more than two hundred words.

Characters

Many or few? Noble or commonplace? Many different
types or few? Conventional, real, or ideal? An out-and-out
villain? hero? heroine? Any character serving mainly as fun-
maker? as foil to some other character? Any belonging merely
to the background? Any unnecessary? Which ones should be
classed as principal and which as subordinate? How many call
for great acting?

How are the characters introduced? Are they recognizable
by their dress, by tricks of speech or manner, or by strongly
marked individuality? Is character revealed by what the
individual does, by what he says, or by the impression he makes
on others? Do the characters always act consistently and from
sufficient motives? Do they change as the action proceeds, or
are they the same when the curtain falls as when the action of
the play begins? Are there many long speeches, or is the dia-
logue rapid? Are "asides" common? Is there much soliloquy?
Do all the characters speak in a natural way, or do all talk alike
and have a ''splendid manner of saying things"? What is the
dramatist's method of getting his characters off the stage?

Make a special study of some one character, picking out all the
passages in the play where he is in any way concerned. Try to
put yourself in his place and imagine his emotions at each crisis,

THE STUDY OF DRAMA 185

his facial expression, and his actions. Determine, if you can, the
following: (a) his age, (b) his personal appearance, including
dress, (c) his leading qualities, (d) his prevaihng motive, (e) the
purpose he serves in the dramatist's plan.

Setting

How many different scenes or stage-settings does the play re-
quire? Does the play call for elaborate scenery? Pick out all
passages from which the natural background may be inferred?
Is a mood of nature, either harmonious or discordant, any-
where used to heighten the dramatic effect? Give careful
directions for the preparation of the stage for some important
scene. Find one or more passages determining the time of the
play. Find passages which establish the duration of the play.
Find instances of time deception; that is, instances where the
dramatist disguises the fact that there are long intervals be-
tween the incidents represented.

Central Truth, etc.

Has the play a clearly defined central truth which can be
stated in a single sentence? If so, do you think the dramatist
began with this truth and built his play around it? Or did
he begin with an attractive plot, and as he developed it, did
the moral assert itself inevitably? Do you find noble utter-
ances throughout the play — notable passages which the mem-
ory cherishes because of their deep meaning? Do you finish
the play with the feeling that you have been entertained
merely, or that you have had new light thrown on some vexing
social problem, or have been given higher ideals, or have been
brought face to face with some solemn truth?

Must the play be witnessed to be appreciated, or is its literary
charm such that the play may be read as one reads a novel? Is
the language simple? vigorous? imaginative? Are there many
noble passages? Where is the dramatist greatest, in plot inven-
tion, character creation, in his command of language, or in his
realizing sense of the great truths of life?

Note. — See Appendix for questions on Macbeth.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE STUDY OF ESSAYS

The charm of the essay lies in its simpUcity, directness,

and informaUty. The playwright and the novelist are

forbidden by the stern rules of their art to

fharSJtks ^^^^^ ^^^ ^'^^^^ ^^"^^^ ''^^^^^^ '^^^^^^ ^^^y
create; we become acquainted with them,

if at all, indirectly and through inference. Poetry is, in a
sense, artificial; for the poet must follow the rules of rhyme
and meter, both foreign to natural speech. Moreover the
poet at times becomes so wrapt in his subject, so absorbed
in the single desire to give perfect expression to his thought,
that he seems almost indifferent to readers, a characteris-
tic which has led one able critic to observe that though we
hear an oration, we seem merely to overhear the words of
the poet. But the essayist, employing approximately the
informal language of every-day speech, his free expression
unhampered by any story-telling requirement or by any
rules of versification, addresses his readers directly and
often intimately, meeting them face to face, as it were.
The voice, the facial expression, and the occasional ges-
ture alone are lacking to make his words as real as those
of fireside conversation or table chat.

It is because the essay is thus simple and direct that it
is a most profitable form to study. Through such study is
Profit in acquired the ability to get quickly and

studying thoroughly the substance of such prose as

essays makes up the larger part of all that we read

from day to day in newspapers, magazines, and books;

186

THE STUDY OF ESSAYS 187

and through observing models more practical than those
furnished by poetry and fiction we catch something of the
essayist's power of clear and forceful expression. ^'Who-
ever," once declared Johnson, "wishes to attain an English
style familiar but not coarse, and elegant but not osten-
tatious, must give his days and nights to the volumes of
Addison." And Edward Everett, obviously with this coun-
sel in mind, has said, "If anyone wishes to study a style
which possesses the characteristic beauties of Addison,
its ease, simplicity, and elegance, with greater accuracy,
point, and spirit, let him give his days and nights to the
volumes of Irving." This is sound advice, though Addison
and Irving are but two among many whose works may be
read with profit.

Essays differ so widely in their character that there can
be no one scheme of study that is better than

all others ; but experience has shown that w o s u y

, . &X1 essay

the following is a reasonably good working

plan applicable in most cases:

First read the essay somewhat rapidly, with a view to gain-
ing a general idea of what the essay is about and discovering
the author's purpose. Rapid reading of any

sort has its value in that it trains the mind to

purpose
gather information quickly and make sweep-
ing surveys calculated to discover the general plan or drift
of a work. But its greatest value, in the present instance,
is the training it affords in discovering underlying purpose,
a necessary step to take at the threshold of all literary
study; for surely the worth of a thing cannot be properly
estimated before its purpose is apparent. But the essayist's
purpose is sometimes hidden. Titles may be vague or
misleading. There is very little crockery, for example, in
Lamb's Old China. Nor can one feel sure even after read-
ing an essay hurriedly from beginning to end that he sees

190 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

will. At least we may say that its subject matter cannot
be estimated and appraised as we inventory an essay by
Bacon or Macaulay.

Third, study the essay from the art standpoint, making
yourself familiar with the loritefs craft. First there is the
matter of structure or organization, which
is best studied through making topical out-
lines and trying to determine why this particular arrange-
ment or that is so effective. Some essays, it is true, cannot
be thus outlined. Bacon's idea of an essay, for example,
was that it should be merely a collection of thoughts on
some one topic, not necessarily arranged in logical sequence
but clustered like grapes. Many of Addison's essays are
so constructed that ingenuity is wasted in an attempt
to force them into any conventional introduction-body-
conclusion mould. The charm of Lamb's essays lies in
part in their conversational inconsequentiality. There are
essays, however, that can be analyzed structurally, and
all essays of note, even Lamb's, have a discoverable design
of some sort, a method of growth which can be described,
even though it cannot be represented in outline.

Having studied the structure of the essay as a whole,

noting particularly the beginning, the ending, the order in

which items are presented, and the manner

^ ^ f in which transitions are made, turn to the

structure

paragraphs and study them in the same way.

There must be at least a score of paragraph designs in

common use, and each author has a few favorite patterns.

Finally study the sentences, noticing the kinds employed,

with a view to discovering what is characteristic.

A second line of investigation leads to a study of

^^ , words. Is the language simple? Are the

The language . . r fu • • t ^\. •

words chosen for their vigor, or for their

suggestive quality? Do the words flow smoothly, or

THE STUDY OF ESSAYS 191

does the author seem to hurl them at the reader? How
does the author's use of words differ from your own?

A third line of study concerns all the many devices by
which authors make their work attractive — devices for
gaining clearness, force, and beauty, in short .

everything not already mentioned which
comes under the head of literary craftsmanship. The use
of the more common figures, such as simile, metaphor,
and personification, contrast, suspense, and climax, and
many other devices, to point out which would rob the
student of the joy of discovery, should be noted.

Fourth, study the author's personality as revealed in his
work. No matter how clever a craftsman he may be, it is,
after all, the writer's individuality which
gives life to his words and makes them worth ,.,

reading. The kind of subject that he selects,
his attitude toward it, his way of treating it, all reveal his
character. The essay, as has been stated, is a very intimate
form of expression; we can, if we will, approach very close
to the mind and the heart of Addison and Irving and Lamb
and Ruskin and others of their class. We should be able,
upon completing an essay, to say, '*! am better acquainted
with the author, not only with his workmanship as a
literary artist, but with his temperament and character
as an individual. I know a little better what he likes and
what he dislikes, what appeals to his fancy, and how his
mind works. I have learned to note his manner of express-
ing himself, characteristic ways of which he may have
been wholly or in part imconscious, yet sufficient to distin-
guish him from all other writers."

The purpose the essay is intended to serve, . .

what the author has to say, his craftsman-
ship as displayed in his manner of expression, and his
personality as revealed through purpose, subject matter,

192 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

and craftsmanship : these are what we seek when reading
an essay in scholarly fashion. Such study involves find-
ing answers to questions like those which follow:

Purpose

What is the author's purpose in writing — to teach, preach,
reform, entertain, or what? Has he a hidden purpose other than
the apparent one? Has he a definite goal toward which he would
lead the reader by the most direct route, or is he but a saunterer,
a gypsy rambler?

Subject Matter

Is the subject matter heavy with thought? Is it made up of
many facts? Is it full of fancies? Is it mere chatter? Whatever
it may be, is it worthy of ink and paper? Does some one
thought or fact or fancy stand out conspicuously, perhaps giving
the essay unity? Can you give, in condensed form, the substance
of the essay, preserving the sequence adopted by the author?
Can you state, in two or three sentences, what gives the essay
value, so far as subject matter is concerned? Do you agree with
the author in all his views?

Craftsmanship

Has the essay a well defined plan, or is it merely a ram-
bling affair, inconsequential? If the former, can you display
it by means of a topical outline; if the latter, can you define
it in two or three terse sentences? Does the logical struc-
ture, or the lack of it, contribute to the ease and pleasure of
reading? What have you noted in regard to the author's manner
of building and joining paragraphs? Is he given to making long
sentences? short? simple? involved? dramatic? periodic? bal-
anced? Is he careful to employ transitional phrases, or inclined
to omit connectives? Are his sentences smooth-flowing? clear
cut and precise? What have you noted in regard to the words
employed? Does the vocabulary cover a wide range? Does it
seem bookish? Is he fond of unusual words? words suggesting
color and sound? Is he attracted by the melody of words?
Does he prefer terms conveying precise meanings? Are adjec-
tives plentiful or few? Does he enjoy playing with language, or
does he look upon it merely as a practical tool?

THE STUDY OF ESSAYS 193

Has the author many dramatic devices for gaining or holding
attention? Does he employ many figures? Is he fond of climax
and contrast? Does he indulge in humor, irony, paradox? Has
he epigrammatic power? Does he try to surprise the reader?
tantalize him? dazzle him? Is he too fond of displaying his craft,
or does he prefer plain statement? Is he most intent on convey-
ing his thought without loss, or upon giving his thought artistic
expression? Have you learned anything, through studying the
essay, in regard to literary craft — anything that you can employ
in your own writing?

The Author's Personality

Judging solely by what the essay reveals, what kind of man
is the author? Is he a deep thinker? Is he a castle builder?
Has he strong likes and dislikes? What are his prevailing moods?
"Would he make a good neighbor? an agreeable companion? Do
you envy him? Has he traits which you do not admire? Is he
a reading man? a man of affairs? Is the charm of the essay in
the thought it contains, in the manner in which the thought is
expressed, in the author's personality, or in all three?

Note. — See Appendix for questions on the De Caoerley papers and
Macaulay's Life of Samuel Johnson.

CHAPTER XIX

THE STUDY OF POETRY

Poetry, which Coleridge has called ''the blossom and
fragrance of all human knowledge, human thought, human

passions, emotions, language,'' is, notwith-
^ ^ standing the high place it holds in the realm

of letters, least read today of all forms of
literature. For proof of this statement we need not turn
to the testimony of booksellers and librarians; it is suffi-
cient to note that popular magazines, which survive only
through furnishing what the public is willing to buy, print
almost no verse. Had we living poets of such rare ex-
cellence as Scott, Byron, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Shelley,
and Keats, w^hose works appeared in the earlier half of the
nineteenth century, no doubt they would command
readers. But these are lacking. We have no Tennyson,
no Browning. None have arisen to fill the places left
vacant by Br5^ant, Poe, Longfellow, Whittier, Emerson,
Lowell, and Holmes. Our successful authors are writers
of fiction, or busy in the fields of history, science, and
allied subjects. More and more the demand is for books
that may be read for practical purposes, or for mere enter-
tainment and recreation such as are provided by novels
and short stories.

The present dearth of great poets explains but in part,
however, why poetry-reading is so generally neglected. In
Poetry some measure, no doubt, the neglect is

difficult traceable to the fact that to read poetry as

to read j^ should be read takes more time and a

greater mental effort than most are willing to bestow.

194

THE STUDY OF POETRY 195

How easily, by way of contrast, does the playgoer receive
his pleasure! The actors who interpret with voice and
gesture the dramatist's every word do nearly all the real
w^ork required, and much of the little that remains is
attended to by the scene-painter. Playgoing is, or can
be made, as lazy a form of recreation as attending a ball
game. Novel reading is almost as easy, so clever have our
story writers become in the questionable art of so construct-
ing narratives that they cause the reader no fatigue and
next to no intellectual exertion.

Very different is the case with poetry-reading. It takes
two to make a poem — a poet and a trained, appreciative
reader. Or, expressing the idea in another

way, the poet's words do not become a poem ^^"^"^S

necessary
to me until I have made them mine, and

they do not become mine until I have done that which
they invite me to do: the thinking, the imagining, the
feeling. Even masters like Shakespeare and Milton,
whose genius seems heaven-sent, passed through an
apprenticeship stage. In much the same manner is
it necessary that those who would learn to read poetry
with full appreciation submit patiently to disciplinary
training.

The best way, perhaps, to gain a clear notion of how
poetry should be read will be to review cer-
tain of its characteristics, taking them up ^. ^^^ ®^^f '
, , T , , tics of poetry

m somewhat the same order that the young

reader is likely to be impressed by them.

1. The poet often employs unusual sentence-structure,
A predicate sometimes precedes its subject, Unusual
modifiers appear out of their natural places, sentence-
and relatives are widely separated from their structure
antecedents. Note, for example, the opening lines of one
of Drummond's sonnets:

CHAPTER XIX

THE STUDY OF POETRY

Poetry, which Coleridge has called ''the blossom and
fragrance of all human knowledge, human thought, human

passions, emotions, language," is, notwith-
read ^ ^ ^ standing the high place it holds in the realm

of letters, least read today of all forms of
literature. For proof of this statement we need not turn
to the testimony of booksellers and librarians; it is suffi-
cient to note that popular magazines, which survive only
through furnishing what the public is willing to buy, print
almost no verse. Had we living poets of such rare ex-
cellence as Scott, Byron, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Shelley,
and Keats, whose works appeared in the earlier half of the
nineteenth century, no doubt they would command
readers. But these are lacking. We have no Tennyson,
no Browning. None have arisen to fill the places left
vacant by Bvyaiit, Poe, Longfellow, Whittier, Emerson,
Lowell, and Holmes. Our successful authors are writers
of fiction, or busy in the fields of history, science, and
allied subjects. More and more the demand is for books
that may be read for practical purposes, or for mere enter-
tainment and recreation such as are provided by novels
and short stories.

The present dearth of great poets explains but in part,
however, why poetry-reading is so generally neglected. In
Poetry some measure, no doubt, the neglect is

difficult traceable to the fact that to read poetry as

to read j^ should be read takes more time and a

greater mental effort than most are willing to bestow.

194

THE STUDY OF POETRY 195

How easily, by way of contrast, does the playgoer receive
his pleasure! The actors who interpret with voice and
gesture the dramatist's every word do nearly all the real
work required, and much of the little that remains is
attended to by the scene-painter. Playgoing is, or can
be made, as lazy a form of recreation as attending a ball
game. Novel reading is almost as easy, so clever have our
story writers become in the questionable art of so construct-
ing narratives that they cause the reader no fatigue and
next to no intellectual exertion.

Very different is the case with poetry-reading. It takes
two to make a poem — a poet and a trained, appreciative
reader. Or, expressing the idea in another
way, the poet's words do not become a poem
to me until I have made them mine, and
they do not become mine until I have done that which
they invite me to do: the thinking, the imagining, the
feeling. Even masters like Shakespeare and Milton,
whose genius seems heaven-sent, passed through an
apprenticeship stage. In much the same manner is
it necessary that those who would learn to read poetry
with full appreciation submit patiently to disciplinary
training.

The best way, perhaps, to gain a clear notion of how
poetry should be read will be to review cer-
tain of its characteristics, taking them up .. , "
in somewhat the same order that the young
reader is likely to be impressed by them.

1. The poet often employs unusual sentence-structure.
A predicate sometimes precedes its subject, Unusual
modifiers appear out of their natural places, sentence-
and relatives are widely separated from their structure
antecedents. Note, for example, the opening lines of one
of Drummond's sonnets:

196 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

Of this fair volume which we World do name
If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care,
Of Him who it corrects, and did it frame,
We clear might read the art and wisdom rare

Although this is not extremely difficult to understand, yet
the meaning is somewhat clearer when the sentence is
changed to a natural prose sequence thus : If we could turn
with care the sheets and leaves of this fair volume which we do
call World, we might read clear the rare art and wisdom of
Him who corrects it and did frame it. But frequently the
poet's practice of twisting sentences about is a source of
no little trouble. The words do not surrender their mean-
ing without a siege on the part of the reader, who prefers
to hurry on as he may when reading ordinary prose. In
his impatience he may feel that the poet is purposely
obscure, not reahzing that unusual sentence arrangement
is oftentimes necessary for rhyme and meter, for melody,
variety, and emphasis. With practice, however, the dif-
ficulty of transposing grows less and less, and increasing
pleasure is gained through noting how, by this slight
change and that, a passage has been given strength and
beauty.

2. The poeVs vocabulary contains unusual words, and also
familiar words employed in unusual senses. This is not
_ strange. Through constant effort to find

terms that express nice shades of thought or
feeling and at the same time provide a desired melody,
poets not only acquire large vocabularies but become
acquainted with the less familiar meanings of common
words. It is estimated that Wordsworth, though he be-
lieved that the language of poetry should be that of every-
day life, employed about 20,000 distinct meanings, a very
large number compared with the vocabulary of the average
individual. Illustrations of a characteristic so common are

THE STUDY OF POETRY 197

hardly necessary, yet let us note a few examples. Milton
speaks of 'Hhe rathe primrose," where the prose writer
would say the early primrose; and of "Meadows trim
with daisies pied," employing pied rather than the more
familiar variegated, which contained too many syllables and
did not supply the melody that his line needed. A pathetic
little lullaby of long ago begins ''Come, little babe, come
silly soul." Silly seems a highly inappropriate term till we
learn that one of its earlier meanings is innocent. The poet
chose it, we may imagine, not alone because it contained
the desired number of syllables, but because his ear told
him that the soft sound of I was appropriate for lullaby
music. In the Rime of the Ancient Mariner, occurs the ex-
pression ''silly buckets." Here, plainly, there is no thought
of innocence but rather of uselessness. The entire crew,
save one poor soul, are dead; how useless are the buckets!
Although as a rule it requires but a moment's thought to
see what each word means, yet there are cases not a few
where it is necessary to linger and still linger, considering
with great care the appropriateness of all possible mean-
ings, lest the right significance of a term be lost.

3. The poet exercises great economy, expressing much in
a feiu words. A simple illustration of this is the elliptical
sentence, or one that is shortened by the
omission of words. The pronoun he is needed
to make clear the line Who steals my purse steals trash, and
like must be supplied twice in She moves a goddess, and
she looks a queen. Economy is strikingly shown in the
wisdom with which, oftentimes, all save bare essentials are
excluded. Note the abrupt beginning of Coleridge's Rime:

It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
" By thy long gray beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

198 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

" The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set;
May'st hear the merry din."

Stoppeth one of three? Who are they? A novelist might
explain in detail, but the poet's instinct bids him let the
reader gather, from the dialogue that follows, the little it
is necessary to know. And how brief is his description of
the central figure : ancient Mariner, long gray heard, glitter-
ing eye; a little later, skinny hand; and finally, long, lank,
brown. These twelve words are all that the poem provides
and ten of these come indirectly, through the Hps of the
Wedding Guest. Yet they suffice; the portrait is essen-
tially complete. The Rime, it is true, is an imitation of the
mediseval ballad, a form of story-telling poetry in which
little save bare narrative is given; yet this same power to
select merely the essentials is quite as marked in the follow-
ing bit of description from another of Coleridge's poems:

Beneath yon birch with silver bark
And boughs so pendulous and fair,

The brook falls scattered down the rock,
And all is mossy there.

Would twenty additional items make the picture clearer?

And since it is characteristic of the poet to furnish only

that which is needed, does it not follow that poetry must be

read with a slowness and an attentiveness not often called

for by prose, lest something essential be overlooked?

Frequently economy is exercised through a wise use

of descriptive adjectives, or image-making

•th t epithets, as in the following lines from

Goldsmith's Deserted Village:

How often have I paused on every charm,
The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm,

THE STUDY OF POETRY 199

The never-failing brook, the busy mill,
The decent church that topt the neighboring hill.
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made!

The magical suggestive or connotative power in words

like the seven italicized cannot be fully appreciated till

one has tried to replace each with another that will bring

to mind a picture equally complete and appropriate.

Many a poem is but a ''collection of hints." ''Take

these," the poet seems to say; "let your imagination play

about them. They are sufficient to transmit

all that I would have them, if you will but ,. ^ ^ ^ ,
, „ , , , , „ reading slowly

dwell upon them and not hurry along."

But the young reader too often hurries along none the

less, so powerful is the habit of making haste, acquired

through years of fiction-skimming. Consequently he

loses, often unconsciously, much that the poet has offered.

4. Poetry abounds in pictures. It arouses thought and

emotion by appealing, through imagination, to the senses.

" Listen, feel, taste, smell, but above all, open

your eyes and see," the words seem to say to °^ ^^
, , sensuous

the imagmation. There are pictures every-
where, some half-hidden in a single cunning word, others
given with minute detail. They flash upon us, or they slowly
dawn. The poet loves them; they are the language of his
thought. He will not say about seven-forty-five, but

Nigh upon that hour
When the lone hern forgets his melancholy.
Lets down his other leg, and stretching dreams
Of goodly supper in the distant pool.

He will not say "Along toward night they came to a woods
with a pond in the midst of it," but —

So till the dusk that followed evensong
Rode on the two, reviler and reviled;

200 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

Then after one long slope was mounted, saw,

Bowl-shaped, thro' tops of many thousand pines

A gloomy-gladed hollow slowly sink

To westward — in the depths whereof a mere,

Round as the red eye of an eagle-owl,

Under the half-dead sunset glared.

Ability to read poetry is in large measure merely ability to
look at the words which blacken the white page and see
rise through them the pictures born in the poet's brain.

5. Poetry abounds in figures of speech. It is a mistake
to think of simile, metaphor, personification, hyperbole,
and the other figures as mere ornaments
^^ - and frills. They impart beauty and richness,

it is true, beyond what we expect in common
prose. But they serve very practical ends, marvellously
aiding the poet to convey quickly and perfectly, usually
through the medium of pictures, his sensations and emo-
tions. What a wonderfully vivid picture is that which
Shakespeare gives us of the murdered king, and how much
of its vividness is due to figurative language :

Here lay Duncan,
His silver skin laced with his golden blood;
And his gash'd stabs look'd Uke a breach in nature
For ruin's wasteful entrance.

This is far more than a vivid scene; the lines convey — and
how swiftly — the awfulness of the crime. Later in the
play, Macbeth's first great crime having led to a second,
a third, and many more, till the entire kingdom has turned
against its lord, occurs this brief yet wonderfully expres-
sive metaphor:

Now does he feel
His secret murders siicking on his hands.

All of Shakespeare's plays are crowded with such figures,
adding beauty and clearness, furnishing thousands of
supplementary pictures, yet contributing an element of

THE STUDY OF POETRY 201

magical swiftness. Sometimes we find in poetry a sugges-
tion of what everyone has experienced, the great difficulty
of conveying an impression of our joys and sorrows, which
prompts us to exclaim, "I cannot express it; the words
will not come!" Shelley, struggling to make us feel the
beauty of the skylark's song, finally abandons direct
statement and resorts to simile after simile.

What thou art we know not;

What is most like thee?
From rainbow clouds there flow not

Drops so bright to see
As from thy presence showers a rain of melody; —

Like a poet hidden

In the hght of thought,
Singing hymns unbidden.
Till the world is wrought
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:

Like a high-born maiden

In a palace tower,
Soothing her love-laden

Soul in secret hour
With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower:

Like a glow-worm golden

In a dell of dew,
Scattering unbeholden

Its aerial hue
Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view:

Like a rose embower'd

In its own green leaves.
By warm winds deflower'd.

Till the scent it gives
Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves:

Sound of vernal showers

On the twinkling grass,
Rain-awaken'd flowers,
All that ever was
Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass.

202 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

But figurative language, though its mission is to con-
tribute clearness, force, and beauty, enabling the poet to
Figures express much in little and move swiftly

sometimes along, sometimes mystifies young readers,
mystifying Their minds are not quick enough to see in-
stantly the force of a swift metaphor, nor sensitive enough
to catch the beauty of appropriate simile. They endeavor
to read verse as rapidly as they read prose — try to keep up
with the poet, and let so much slip by that often they miss
the very best that a poem contains. They have not formed
the habit of lingering over beauty-haunted lines, of trying
to visualize or real-ize each simile picture, of yielding to the
invitation presented by many a word to let the imagination
wander down this attractive by-path and that.

6. In poetry the thought is sometimes hidden. It is veiled,
revealed but in dim twilight as if too solemnly beautiful

for midday brightness. Or the poet may
, , feel that a little obscurity, a little blinding

of the reader, a bit of bewildering labyrinth,
heightens the final joy of discovery. ''I contain a great
truth," one poem seems to say; ''look closely, if you would
find me.'' ^'I too contain a great and beautiful thought,"
says a second; ''but it is veiled, not to be boldly expressed.
Read me — let my lines haunt you for a day, a week, a year,
and little by little the beauty of the thought will reveal it-
self." Note this little poem by Tennyson:

THE FLOWER

Once in a golden hour

I cast to earth a seed.
Up there came a flower,

The people said a weed.

To and fro they went

Thro' my garden-bower.
And muttered discontent,

Cursed me and my flower.

THE STUDY OF POETRY 203

Then it grew so tall

It wore a crown of light,
But thieves from o'er the wall

Stole the seed bj^ night;

Sow'd it far and wide

By every town and tower,
Till all the people cried,

'Splendid is the flower/

Read my Httle fable;

He that runs may read.
Most can raise the flowers now,

For all have got the seed.

And some are pretty enough,

And some are poor indeed;
And now again the people

Call it but a weed.

The truth which lies hidden in this little fable is not diflfi-
cult to discover, though its applications are many. But
how much more keenly it is felt when given this concrete,
storified setting than it would be were it baldly stated in
abstract prose. Not so easily discoverable is the thought
in the following sonnet by Wordsworth :

Methought I saw the footsteps of a throne

Which mists and vapours from mine eyes did shroud—

Nor view of who might sit thereon allowed;

But all the steps and ground about were strown

With sights the ruefullest that flesh and bone

Ever put on; a miserable crowd.

Sick, hale, old, young, who cried before that cloud,

"Thou art our king, 0 Death! to thee we groan."

Those steps I clomb; the mists before me gave

Smooth way; and I beheld the face of one

Sleeping alone within a mossy cave.

With her face up to heaven; that seemed to have

Pleasing remembrance of a thought foregone;

A lovely Beauty in a summer grave!

k

204 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

7. Poetry is song. Poe calls it 'Hhe rhythmical creation
of beauty." ''Sing us," the poet's words seem to say. "I

cannot sing," the gentle reader may reply.

''Then you can never fully possess us," the

words rejoin; "for our beauty is hidden in
melody, and those who cannot sing may never reach it!"
It is indeed a misfortune that the poet cannot go with his
verses, singing them as tradition asserts that the blind
Homer sang of Helen of Troy and the wanderings of
Ulysses, and as the minstrels of mediseval Europe sang of
Beowulf and Roland and King Arthur. The time may
come when phonographs will be furnished with records
enabhng us to listen to the voices of poets, or of readers so
skilled that they can reveal the rhythmical beauty of our
noblest poems. But even though lacking these aids, the
earnest student, no matter how deficient in ear and voice
he may judge himself, need not despair; for a measure of
success will come through patient endeavor. It is simply a
matter of reading, reading, and rereading, aloud when
possible, each time striving to bring out a little more of the
melody — experimenting as you would were you learning
to play an instrumental selection containing none of the
customary marks which show where pedals should be used,
where the time should be quickened, where retarded, the
crescendos and diminuendos without which the rarest
music becomes expressionless.

In view of these characteristics, the study

of almost any poem may proceed along the
following lines:

1. Read the entire poem slowly, but not critically.
Gaining a The purpose of this first reading is merely

general to gain a general impression of what

impression the poem is about. It is like ascend-
ing an eminence to discover the general course of a

THE STUDY OF POETRY 205

stream and learn toward what larger body its waters
are hastening.

2. Read a second timej more slowly, with a view to making
clear whatever was not fully understood in the first superficial
reading. This may call for the reconstruction

of a few twisted sentences; the supplying of . .^ ,
words omitted from elliptical sentences; a
close study of individual words that are strange or appear
to hold meanings other than the ordinary ones; the con-
sulting of various handbooks to discover the meaning of
allusions not understood. Some poems call for very little
study of this kind; the reader can say, as soon as he has run
through them for the first time, ''AH is clear; I understand
each word, each sentence." But much of our best poetry,
particularly that which takes us back a few centuries, is
exceedingly difficult, so difficult that we can hardly do
without the notes found in connection with editions spe-
cially prepared for use in school.

3. Read a third time, still more slowly and with all the
senses alert, trying to visualize and make real all that the
poem pictures. This calls into play the im-
agination, and for those whose imagination

is not strong, or who have had little training in this partic-
ular kind of exercise, it is difficult work. It involves
closing the eyes and asking such questions as these: Am I
seeing in clear detail, as if I were an eye witness, what is
happening — this tournament, this trial scene, this merry
frolic? The hero, central figure in the action, — were I an
artist, could I paint him to the author's satisfaction?
Do I see the lonely forest, the village green, the crowded
city street, or whatever it may be that the lines before me
strive to picture?

Such sjTxipathetic exercise of the imagination means far
more than merely drifting down the main broad stream of

206 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

a poem; it involves -tarrying by this little island and that,
pointing into quiet coves, and exploring whatever tribu-
taries challenge our fancy. By islands and
Imagination j ^ u x • j.

coves and tributaries are meant memory-
ncccssairy , i.. .-,

haunted, picture-bringing epithets; meta-
phors at first glance hard and practical yet revealing, when
dwelt upon, wonderful beauty; similes that startle and
charm through suggesting unsuspected similarities between
things remote from one another; — all figurative expressions
which for the moment bear us far away as we are some-
times transported by the glimpse of a face in the crowd,
the sound of a voice, or even by a half-forgotten fragrance.
And since the senses are but five pathways leading to the
emotions, this third reading should be an emotional one
in which we strive to share with the poet his feelings as he
laj'^s them bare directly or through the men and women his
art has created. We must lose, for the time being, our own
identity and become now Marmion, now Queen Guinevere,
now Shylock, now the poet himself, sympathetically
identifying ourselves with each, even to a greater degree
than the actor identifies himself with the character whom
he impersonates.

4. Ponder the thought. The purpose of many a short
poem is solely to set forth in attractive form some great
truth. It is the nucleus, the one thing essen-
th^^th ^ ht ^^^^' often clearly expressed in an unforgetta-
ble line, more often veiled or but hinted at.
Sometimes w^e find not one, but a community of related
truths; and in a long poem there may be, in addition to
some one central truth, many others not closely related —
lines of wisdom standing boldly forth, kernels of thought
hidden away in pregnant words, such as we should expect
of the poet no matter what his theme may be, for poets are
truth-reveal ers. It is the mission of poetry to make men

THE STUDY OF POETRY 207

think. To find the thought, then, and having found, to
ponder it, is an important step in the study of all poetry.

5. Study the poet^s art. We may not believe, with Pro-
fessor Scott, that an essential difference between prose
and poetry is that the former is "expres-
sion for communication's sake," the lat- ^P^^^

. poet s art

ter "communication for expression s sake,"
yet we cannot but feel that the charm of poetry is
largely due to skilful expression; and there is pleas-
ure and profit in studying a poem with a view to dis-
covering by what art-devices this passage and that is
made attractive. This is a line of study more appro-
priate for older readers, it is true, yet there are many
little things which young readers may train themselves
to observe. They can master the mechanics of the simpler
forms of versification and accustom themselves to note
the skill with which poets abide by set rules, and how by
departing now and then from these rules they enhance
the beauty of their lines. They can study poem-structure,
often an element of charm, just as they study essay-
structure. They can note the use of contrast, suspense,
and other devices common in all forms of literature. They
can study the poet's use of figurative language. They
can train themselves to pick out and admire well chosen
words and phrases happily turned. Yet it is an endless
quest, this search for secret sources of the poet's power,
to be pursued year after year as one journeys deeper and
deeper into the realm of poesy, and because endless, most
attractive. Before the reader always lies the possible joy
of some fresh discovery.

6. Finally, read the poem aloud, many times, earnestly en-
deavoring to give each line its intended melody, p ,. , .
at the same time striving to bring out the

shades of thought and feeling. This exercise is very sure to

208 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

have a double effect. In the first place, it lays bare un-
expected beauties — the fine adjustment of rhythm to
thought and feeling, the subtlety of suggestion oftentimes
conveyed by the mere sound of words, and many a grace
all unperceived till brought out by the voice. In the second
place, it would be strange if this attempt to interpret orally
did not convince the reader that, notwithstanding faithful
study, many things have been overlooked; there are still
parts imperfectly understood, parts not clearly visualized
and emotionally felt.

Poetry assumes so many forms that it is difficult, if

not impossible, to invent a set of questions universally

appropriate. Many of the questions found

at the close of the chapters on fiction, drama,
questions i i , n

and the essay apply reasonably well to poems

that are cast in story-telling, dramatic, or essay form.

Here are a few additional ones:

First Impressions, etc.

What kind of poetry — dramatic, lyric, etc. — is this? Is the
structure simple? What, in general, is the purpose of the poem?
Did you gain, from your first reading, a favorable impression?
What new impressions did you get from more careful study?

Language, Allusions, etc.

What have you noticed in regard to the language employed?
Is it simple, like that of every-day speech? Are there many book-
ish words? archaic or obsolete expressions? words employed in un-
usual senses? Is ellipsis common? Are many of the sentences
twisted out of their natural grammatical order? Are there many
connotative (subtly suggestive) words? Can you find words
evidently chosen because their sound suggests the sense? Does
the poet express much in few words — is he epigrammatic, or are
his lines thin? Is the language highly figurative? Does any one
kind of figure predominate? Are the figures hackneyed, conven-
tional, or fresh? Are many of them derived from nature? from
reading? For what purpose, in the main, are they employed?

THE STUDY OF POETRY 209

Are there many allusions to history or to literature? Compare
this poem with some other, as regards language, etc.

The Appeal to the Senses

What have you noticed in regard to the appeal that the poem
makes to the senses? Are the poet's pictures given in detail, or
merely ''flashed"? Pick out, if you can find them, a few words
or phrases suggesting color and a few suggesting sound. Com-
pare with some other poem in regard to sense appeal.

The Thought

Is it a thoughtful poem, appealing mainly to the intellect, or
is its appeal to the emotions? If thoughtful, does some one
thought dominate all? Is the thought difficult to grasp? Is it
clearly expressed, or veiled? Does some one line contain the
central idea? Do you recall any other poem in which the same
thought appears?

The Poet's Art

Is the poem melodious? Pick out a few of the more musical
lines. Have you noticed any devices by which the poet imparts
melody? What is the scheme of versification? Is the poet a
skilled versifier? What dramatic devices have you noted?
Finally, what in the author's skill as a craftsman do you admire
most?

The Author's Personality

Does the poem reveal personality? Is the poet optimistic?
pessimistic? thoughtful? religious? sentimental? emotional? sym-
pathetic? playful? If none of these adjectives apply, what others
can you suggest? Is he a close student of human nature? a
reader? a scholar? fond of nature? What in his personality is
most attractive? What other poet do you like better, and why?

Note. — See Appendix for questions on The Lady of the Lake, U Allegro
and II Penseroso, and Elegy in a Country Churchyard.

EXERCISES: VERSIFICATION*

1 Mark the scansion of the following lines, separating
the feet by means of dividing lines and placing the accent

* In the Appendix will be found a section devoted to versification.

210 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

mark over the stressed syllables. Give each line its
proper metrical name.

1. The lone and level sands stretch far away.

2. She walks in beauty, like the night.

3. Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!

4. I die, I faint, I fail!

5. The City's voice itself is soft like Solitude's.

6. I must finish my journey alone.

7. 'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreathe.

8. Where the heart is, let the brain lie also.

9. Take her up tenderly.

10. With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail.

11. Purple gauzes, golden hazes, liquid mazes.

2 Mark the scansion of the following lines. Place a
caret ( A ) wherever a foot seems defective because lacking
an unaccented syllable, and indicate by means of an ^
where you think syllables should be run together. In de-
scribing a line, remember that the prevailing foot — the foot
occurring most frequently — determines the name of the
line.

1. Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,

Old Time is still a-flying.

2. The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan.

3. When shall we three meet again

In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

4. Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes;
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise.

5. Down, down, down!

Down to the depths of the sea!

6. To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore.

7. Glamis thou art, and Cawdor, and shalt be

What thou art promised. Yet do I fear thy nature;
It is too full o' the milk of human kindness
To catch the nearest way.

THE STUDY OF POETRY 211

S. Break, break, break

On thy cold gray stones, 0 Sea.

9. This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that
beneath it
Leaped like a roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice
of the huntsman?

10. till a rout of saucy boys

Brake on us at our books, and marred our peace.
Masked like our maids, blustering I know not what
Of insolence and love.

3 Which of the following rhymes are good, which im-
perfect yet allowable, and which unquestionably bad?

Shade, glade; blood, wood; appearance, year hence; stept,
wept; death, illumineth; story, hoary; rude, wood; rock thee,
mock thee; fled, dread; untwistable, Christabel; figure, bigger;
wild, child; dizziness, business; ranunculus, Tommy-make-room-
for-your-Uncle us; seeming, dreaming; shower, dower; tune,
moon; dumb, lyceum; knight, night; gusht, dust; daughter,
slaughter; wishes, kisses; come, sung; rafter, laughter; ladies,
babies; rehgion, pigeon; river, ever; philosopher, loss of her;
luely, cry; Lucifer, news of her; thine, entwine; wind, find; robin,
sobbing; heaven, given.

4 Make a list of all the rhymes to be found in five con-
secutive pages of Byron's poetry; then study these rhymes
with a view to discovering characteristics. Do the same
with Coleridge, Scott, or Browning.

5 Let the members of the class compete to see who can
in five minutes think of the greatest number of words
rhyming with a word to be announced by the instructor.

6 Note the questionable rhymes in the following pass-
ages. Then, lest the impression be gained that technically
perfect rhyme alone is found in poetry admitted good,
study five pages from some great poet, with this one thing
in mind.

212 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

(a) A charming place beneath the grates,
For roasting chestnuts and potates.

(b) Some ask'd me where the rubies grew;

And nothing did I say,
' But with my fingers pointed to
The Ups of Juha.

(c) Everywhere, be it dry or wet,

And market-night in the Haymarket.

(d) Here Hes our sovereign lord the king,

Whose word no man relied on;
Who never said a foolish thing.
And never did a wise one.

7 Mark the scansion of the following, and describe
each stanza :

1. So nigh is grandeur to our dust,

So near is God to man.
When Duty whispers low. Thou must,
The Youth replies, I can. — Emerson

2. In the spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's

breast;
In the spring the wanton lapwing gets himseK another

crest;
In the spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove;
In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts

of love. — Tennyson

3. Like the swell of some sweet tune,
Morning rises into noon.

May glides onward into June. — Longfellow

4. Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall,
Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all.
Stood up in the stirrups, leaned, patted his ear.
Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer;
Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or

good
Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

— Browning

THE STUDY OF POETRY 213

5. What heroes from the woodland sprung,

When, through the fresh-awakened land,
The thrilling cry of freedom rung,
And to the work of warfare strung

The yeoman's iron hand! — Bryant

6. She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes :
Thus mellow'd to that tender hght

Which heaven to gaudy day denies. — Byron

7. In a far country that I cannot name
And on a year long ages past away,

A King there dwelt, in rest and ease and fame,
And richer than the Emperor is today:
The very thought of what this man might say
From dusk to dawn kept many a lord awake;
For fear of him did many a great man quake.

— William Morris

8. A casement high and triple-arch'd there was
All garlanded with carven imageries

Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass,
And diamonded with panes of quaint device.
Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes.
As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd wings;
And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries,
And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings,
A shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood of queens and kings.

— Keats

9. What is a sonnet? 'Tis a pearly shell
That murmurs of the far-off murmuring sea,
A precious jewel carved most curiously;

It is a little picture painted well.

What is a sonnet? 'Tis the tear that fell

From a great poet's hidden ecstasy;

A two-edged sword, a star, a song — ah me!

Sometimes a heavy tolling funeral bell.

214 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

This was the flame that shook with Dante's breath,

The solemn organ whereon Milton played,

And the clear glass where Shakespeare's shadow falls:

A sea that is — beware who ventureth!

For like a fiord the narrow floor is laid

Deep as mid-ocean to sheer mountain walls.*

— R. W. Gilder

10. Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind

As man's ingratitude;

Thy tooth is not so keen

Because thou art not seen.

Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly.
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly;

Then, heigh ho! the holly!

This life is most jolly. — Shakespeare

11. Fair Daffodils, we weep to see

You haste away so soon;
As yet the early risen Sun
Has not attained his noon.

Stay, stay,
XJntil the hasting day

, Has run
But to the even-song;
And having pray'd together, we

Will go with you along. — ^Herrick

8 Find, in any volume by a standard poet — Longfellow,
Tennyson, Brovniing, or Wordsworth for example — five
different stanza forms.

9 Find, wherever you can, examples of five different
kinds of four line stanzas.

10 Opening any volume of poetry, try to discover
why some lines are indented, others not.

11 Here are passages to study. Point out examples
of onomatopoeia, and determine where it is employed most

* Reprinted by permission of Houghton MiflBin Company, publishers
of Gilder's poems.

THE STUDY OF POETRY 215

successfully. Point out lines in which the poet appears
to be seeking melody by repetition of some letter or sound;
that is, point out examples of alliteration. Find lines in
which the vowels form harmonious sequence. Find
passages in which the swing of the lines suggests the sense.

1. The sound must seem an echo of the sense:
Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows,

And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows;
But when loud surges lash the sounding shore.
When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw,
The line too labors, and the words move slow.
Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain.
Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the main.

— Pope

2. A woman weeping for her murdered mate
Was cared as much for as a summer shower.

— Tennyson

3. And ever, against eating cares,
Lap me in soft Lydian airs

Married to immortal verse. — Milton

4. And on the tawny sands and shelves

Trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves. — Milton

5. While the great organ almost burst his pipes.
Groaning for power, and rolling thro' the court

A long melodious thunder. — Tennyson

6. There is a gentle nymph not far from hence,

That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream.

— Milton

7. Hear the sledges with the bells.

Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,

In the icy air of night!
While the stars, that over sprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle

With a crystalline delight

216 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

Keeping time, time, time.
In a sort of Runic rhyme.
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells —
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,

Bells, bells, bells —
From the jingling and the tingling of the bells.

— POE

8. Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly,

' Most musical, most melancholy ! — Milton

9. She was pinched and pulled, she said.
And he, by Friar's lantern led.
Tells how the drudging goblin sweat
To earn his cream bowl duly set.
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,
His shadowy flail hath threshed the com
That ten day-laborers could not end;
Then lies him down, the lubber fiend,
And, stretched out all the chimney's length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength.

And crop-full out of door he flings

Ere the first cock his matin rings.

Thus done the tales, to bed they creep.

By whispering winds soon lulled asleep. — Milton

10. The long low dune and lazy plunging sea.

— Tennyson

11. Her low firm voice and tender government.

— Tennyson

12. The broad ambrosial aisles of lofty lime

Made noise with bees and breeze from end to end.

— Tennyson

13. Now, while they spake, I saw my father's face
Grow long and troubled, like a rising moon.
Inflamed with wrath; he started on his feet,
Tore the king's letter, snowed it down, and rent
The wonder of the loom thro' warp and woof
From skirt to skirt; and at the last he sware

THE STUDY OF POETRY 217

That he would send a hundred thousand men,

And bring her in a whirlwind; then he chewed

The thrice-turned cud of wrath, and cooked his spleen,

Communing with his captains of the war.

— Tennyson

14. All day within the dreamy house,

The doors upon their hinges creak'd ;
The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouse

Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek'd
Or from the crevice peer'd a'bout.

15. There comes across the waves' tumultuous roar
The wolf's long howl from Oonalaska's shore.

— Campbell

16. Blow, blow, blow, set the wild echoes flying —
Answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.

— Tennyson

17. Clang battle axe, and flash brand! Let the King reign.

— Tennyson

18. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,

And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight.
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds. — Gray

19. Sonorous metal breathing martial sound. — Milton

20. 0 Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South,
Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves.

And tell her, tell her what I tell to thee. — Tennyson

21. 0 Tite tute Tati tibi tanta tyranne tulisti.

22. Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands!

Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green Pine!
0, that the rosebud that graces yon islands
Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine!

0 that some seedling gem,

Worthy such noble stem,

218 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

Honor'd and bless'd in their shadow might grow!

Loud should Clan-Alpine then

Ring from her deepmost glen,
"Roderigh, Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ierroe!" — Scott

EXERCISES: FIGURES OF SPEECH*

1 Here are similes to study. In each case name the
two things compared, the point of resemblance, and the
word used to denote likeness. Which similes present
pictures? Which, if any, suggest stories? Which take
you to nature? to books? Which, if any, seem common-
place? Consider in each case whether the comparison is
appropriate. One of the quotations has been called 'Hhe
most majestic simile in modern poetry"; can you find
it? What figures other than simile do you discover?

1. Burns Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire. — Scott

2. I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills. — Wordsworth

3. Words are like leaves; and where they most abound
Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found. — Pope

4. I fear thee, ancient Mariner!

I fear thy skinny hand!
And thou art long, and lank, and brown,
As is the ribbed sea-sand. — Coleridge

5. It [the Nile] flows through old, hush Egypt and its sands
Like some grave mighty thought, threading a stream.

— Hunt

6. Between two worlds fife hovers like a star,
Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.

— Byron
* In the Appendix will be found a section devoted to figures of speech.

THE STUDY OF POETRY 219

7. In broad daylight, and at noon,
Yesterday I saw the moon
Saihng high, but faint and white,

As a schoolboy's paper kite. — Longfellow

8. and the women sung
Between the rougher voices of the men.

Like linnets in the pauses of the wind. — Tennyson

9. if I but wave this wand.
Your nerves are all chain'd up in alabaster,
And you a statue, or as Daphne was,

Root-bound, that fled Apollo. — Milton

10. And fast through the midnight dark and drear.
Through the whistling sleet and snow.
Like a sheeted ghost the vessel swept
Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe. — Longfellow

IL Life, like a dome of many-colored glass.

Stains the white radiance of eternity. — Shelley

12. Thus Satan, talking to his nearest mate.
With head uplift above the wave, and eyes
That sparkling blazed; his other parts besides
Prone on the flood, extended long and large,
Lay floating many a rood, in bulk as huge
As whom the fables name of monstrous size,
Titanian or Earth-born, that warred on Jove,
Briareos or Typhon, whom the den
By ancient Tarsus held, or that sea-beast
Leviathan, which God of all his works
Created hugest that swim the ocean-stream.
Him, haply slumbering on the Norway foam.
The pilot of some small, night-foundered skiff.
Deeming some island, oft, as seamen tell.
With fixed anchor in his scaly rind.
Moors by his side under the lea, while night
Invests the sea, and wished morn delays. — Milton

220 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

13. But Beauty, like the fair Hesperian tree
Laden with blooming gold, had need the guard
Of dragon watch with unenchanted eye.

To save her blossoms and defend her fruit

From the rash hand of bold Incontinence. — Milton

14. The princes applaud with a furious joy;

And the King seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy.

Thais led the way

To light him to his prey,
And like another Helen, fired another Troy! — Dryden

2 Study the following examples of metaphor and per-
sonification, in each case naming the two things compared.
Expand each metaphor, if possible, into a simile. Which
suggest pictures? Do any suggest stories? Which do you
like best? What figures other than metaphor and personi-
fication do you discover?

1. We fail!

But screw your courage to the sticking-place,

And we'll not fail. ■ — Shakespeare

2. Give me three days to melt her fancy. — Tennyson

3. The panting City cried to the Sea,

"I am faint with heat, — oh breathe on me!"

— Longfellow

4. and betwixt them blossomed up
From out a common vein of memory

Sweet household talk. — ^Tennyson

5. Fear at my heart, as at a cup,
My life-blood seemed to sip!

— Coleridge

6. I heard the trailing garments of the Night

Sweep through her marble halls!
I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light
From the celestial walls. — Longfellow

THE STUDY OF POETRY 221

7. Their hands and faces were all badged with blood.

— Shakespeare

8. Sir, I was courteous, every phrase well-oiled.

— Tennyson

9. those Hnen cheeks of thine

Are counsellors to fear. — Shakespeare

10. St. Agnes' Eve — Ah, bitter chill it was! — Keats

11. Red Battle stamped his foot, and nations felt the shock.

— Byron

12. And peace went with them one and all,

And each calm pillow spread;
But guilt was my grim chamberlain,

That lighted me to bed;
And drew my midnight curtains round

With fingers bloody red! — Hood

13. Day hath put on his jacket, and around
His burning bosom buttoned it with stars.
Here will I lay me on the velvet grass,
That is like a padding to earth's meagre ribs.
And hold communion with the things about me.
Ah me! how lovely is the golden braid

That binds the skirt of night's descending robe!
The thin leaves, quivering on their silken threads.
Do make a music like to rustling satin.
As the Mght breezes smooth their downy nap.

— Holmes

3 Here are examples of many kinds of figures and
rhetorical devices employed to gain clearness, force, and
beauty. Name each figure or device, and consider care-
fully whether it is effective.

1. Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep.
Where the winds are all asleep; . . .
Where great whales come sailing by,
Sail and sail, with unshut eye.
Round the world for ever and aye. — ^Arnold

222 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

2. Methought I heard a voice cry ''Sleep no more!
Macbeth does murder sleep, — the imiocent sleep,
Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care.
The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course.
Chief nourisher in life's feast. " — Shakespeare

3. Oh, thou art fairer than the evening air.
Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.

— Marlowe

4. I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways.

— Shakespeare

5. Full fifty thousand muskets bright

Led by old warriors trained in fight. — Croker

6. 0 for a beaker full of the warm South. — Keats

7. God made the country, and man made the town.

— COWPER

8. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green.
That host with their banners at sunset were seen;
Ijike the leaves of the forest when autumn has blown.
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

— Byron

9. Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain-top with sovereign eye.

— Shakespeare

10. Thus march'd the chief, tremendous as a god;

Grimly he smiled; earth trembled as he strode. — Pope

IL A thousand years their cloudy wings expand

Around me. — Byron

12. Was this the face that launched a thousand ships
And burnt the topless towers of Ilium? —
Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss.

— Marlowe

13. Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r,
Thou's met me in an evil hour;

THE STUDY OF POETRY

223

For I maun crush amang the stoure
Thy slender stem.

To spare thee now is past my pow'r,
Thou bonnie gem.

14. Hark! a shout — a crash — a groan.

— Burns
— Arnolp

15. Stand! the ground's your own, my braves!
Will you give it up to slaves?
Will you look for greener graves?

Hope ye mercy still?
What's the mercy despots feel?
Hear it in that battle-peal!
Read it in yon bristling steel!
Ask it — ye who will.

— PlERPONT

16. Some He before the churchyard stone,
And some before the speaker.

— Praed

17. The king amidst the mournful circle rose;

Down his wan cheek a briny torrent flows. — Pope

18. Half a league, half a league.
Half a league onward,

All in the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred. — Tennyson

19. Fair laughs the moon, and soft the zephyr blows,

While proudly riding o'er the azure realm.
In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes,

Youth at the prow, and Pleasure at the helm;
Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway,
That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey.

— Gray

20. Here while the courtier glitters in brocade.
There the pale artist plies the sickly trade;

Here where the proud their long-drawn pomp display,
There the black gibbet glooms beside the way.

— Goldsmith

224 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

21. What has the gray-hair'd prisoner done?

Has murder stained his hands with gore?
Not so. His crime's a fouler one —
God made the old man poor. — Whittier

22. Her little feet beneath her petticoat
Like Httle mice stole in and out,

As if they feared the light. — Suckling

23. Nay, could their numbers countervail the stars,
Or ever-drizzling drops of April showers,

Or wither'd leaves that autumn shaketh down.
Yet would the Soldan by his conquering power
So scatter and consume them in his rage
That not a man should live to rue their fall.

— Marlowe

24. And Earl Doorm

Struck with a knife's haft hard against the board.
And call'd for flesh and wine to feed his spears.

— Tennyson

25. It will have blood; they say blood will have blood.

— Shakespeare

26. There was a sound of revelry by night.
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then
Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;

A thousand hearts beat happily; and when

Music arose with its voluptuous swell.

Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again,

And all went merry as a wedding bell;

But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

Did ye not hear it? — No; 'twas but the wind,

Or the car rattling o'er the stony street;

On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;

No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet

To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet —

But hark! — ^that heavy sound breaks in once more,

THE STUDY OF POETRY 225

As if the clouds its echo would repeat;
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!
Arm! Arm! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar.

— Byron
27. As some rich woman, on a winter's morn,

Eyes through her silken curtains the poor drudge

Who with numb blacken'd fingers makes her fire —

At cock-crow, on a starlit winter's morn,

When the frost flowers the whiten'd window-panes —

And wonders how she lives, and what the thoughts

Of that poor drudge may be; so Rustum eyed

The unknown adventurous Youth, who from afar

Came seeking Rustum, and defying forth

All the most valiant chiefs; long he perused

His spirited air, and wonder'd who he was. — Arnold

4 Study the prose passages found in the chapter on
Clearness, picking out and naming the figures.

5 Do the same with the passages found in the chapter
on Force.

6 Read an editorial column in the morning paper and
pick out the figures. Do the same with a column from
the sporting page.

7 Study two or three pages in some textbook — a his-
tory or an astronomy, for example — searching carefully
for figures.

8 Burns is preeminently a song-writer. Search through
four pages of his poetry for figures. The songs found in
Tennyson's The Princess are very beautiful; search them
too for figures.

9 Find, wherever you can, examples of at least four
kinds of figures.

10 Here are two examples of hyperbole. Which is
better, and why?

226 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

(a) Oh maid! thou art so beauteous

That yon bright moon is riding, all in haste,
To gaze on thee.

(b) I found her on the floor
In all the storm of grief, yet beautiful,
Pouring out tears at such a lavish rate

That were the world on fire, they might have drown'd
The wrath of heaven, and quenched the mighty rain.

11 If you were writing poetry, which of the following
would you employ: ocean or briny deep; fish or finny
tribe; blood or life's purple tide; birds or feathered race;
moon or refulgent lamp of night; sun or glowing orb of
day; snow or fleecy winter; sweat or briny drops; sleep
or balmy blessings of the night? What other time-worn
conventional equivalents for simple words can you think
of?

EXERCISES: APPRECIATION OF POETRY

1 The beauty of a line of poetry sometimes lies hidden in
an adjective or adjective phrase aptly chosen. Study
the italicized expressions in the following passages, first
making sure of their meaning, then trying to discover
their appropriateness. Which of the epithets appeal most
strongly to the imagination, bringing pictures to mind,
or inviting the fancy to roam?

1. Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way
With blossom'd furze unprofitabhj gay,
There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule,
The village master taught his little school.

— Goldsmith

2. And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. — Shakespeare

3. a harmless, necessary cat. — Shakespeare

THE STUDY OF POETRY 227

4. The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide. — ICeats

5. Mountains on whose barren breast

The laboring clouds do often rest. — Milton

6. 0 for a soft and gentle wind!

I heard a fair one cry;
But give to me a snoring breeze
And white waves heaving high. — Cunningham

7. Much can they praise the trees so straight and hy,
The sayling pine, the cedar proud and tall,

The vine-propp elme, the poplar never dry,
The builder oake, sole king of forrests all,
The aspine good for staves, the cypress funeral.

— ^Spenser

8. And gladly banish squint suspicion. — Milton

9. Was this the face that launch'd a thousand ships

And burnt the topless towers of Ilium? ^-Marlowe

10. 0, welcome, pure-eyed Faith, whitehanded Hope,

Thou hovering Angel girt with golden wings. — Milton

1. Sport that wrinkled Care derides,

And Laughter holding both his sides. — Milton

12. And more, to luUe him in his slumber soft,

A trickling streame from high rock tumbhng downe,

And ever drizzling raine upon the loft,

Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like to sowne

Of swarming bees, did cast him in a swowne;

No other noyse, nor peoples troublous cryes.

As still are wont t'annoy the walled towne,

Might there be heard; but carelesse Quiet lyes,

Wrapt in eternall silence far from enemys. — Spenser

13. Thyrsis! whose artful strains have oft delayed

The huddling brook to hear his madrigal. — Milton

228 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

14. And when my name and honor shall be spread

As far as Boreas [the north wind] claps his brazen wings
Or fair Bootes [a constellation] sends his cheerful light,
Then shalt thou be competitor witV» me,
And sit with Tamburlaine in all his majesty.

— Marlowe

15. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,

Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight.

And drowsy tinklings lull the distant fold. — Gray

16. But let my due feet never fail

To walk the studious cloister's pale,

And love the high-embowhd roof,

With antique pillars massy proof,

And storied windows richly dighty

Casting a dim religious light. — Milton

17. Rough wind, that mournest loud

Grief, too sad for song,
Wild wind, when sullen cloud

Knells all the night long;
Sad storm whose tears are vain,
Bare woods whose branches stain.
Deep caves and dreary main —

Wail for the world's wrong! — Shelley

2 Study, as directed in the preceding exercise, the quota-
tions found in the exercises beginning on page 209.

3 Study also the quotations in the exercises beginning
on page 218.

4 Rewrite the first seventeen lines in Goldsmith's De-
serted Village, endeavoring to substitute for each adjective,
participles included, another equally appropriate.

5 In one of his poems Wordsworth tells how a little
blind boy, filled with desire for adventure, launches a
turtle-shell and goes

hurrying down,
Down to the mighty sea.

THE STUDY OF POETRY 229

In an early version of the poem, the frail craft is not a
turtle-shell, but

A household tub, like one of those
Which women use to wash their clothes.

Why did Wordsworth make this change? In another
poem, a child's grave is thus described:

I've measured it from side to side,
'Tis three feet long, and two feet wide.

In a later version we find this substitution :

Though but of compass small, and bare
To thirsty suns and parching air.

Which is better, and why? Consider also the following,
determining in each case which is the better rendering:

(a) Home they brought her warrior dead.

(b) Home they brought him, slain with spears.

(a) Ay me, ay me, the woods decay and fall.

(b) The woods decay, the woods decay, and fall.

(a) Willows whiten, aspens quiver,

The sunbeam showers break and quiver
In the stream that runneth ever.

(b) Willows whiten, aspens quiver;
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Thro' the wave that runs forever.

(a) Now, from the rock Tarpeian,

Could the wan burghers spy
The line of blazing villages

Red in the midnight sky!
The Fathers of the City

They sat all night and day,
For every hour some horseman came

With tidings of dismay.

230 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

(b) Now from the rock Tarpeian

Did paling terror spy-
Long blazing lines of Roman homes

Made torches in the sky.
The Fathers of the City

Sat with the night and day,
As horsemen of the fearful hours

Told tidings of dismay.

(a) Even the potter is jealous of potter, and craftsman of

craftsman.

(b) Even the potter of potter is jealous, and craftsman of

craftsman.

(a) There she stood.
About a yoimg bird's flutter from a wood.

(b) There she stood,
About twelve feet or twenty from a wood.

(a) Now about twilight of that evening dim. ,

(b) Now on the moth-time of that evening dim.

6 Determine in each case which is the more melodious
passage :

(a) "We two," she said, "will seek the groves

Where Lady Mary is.
With her five handmaidens, whose names

Are five sweet symphonies, —
Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen,

Margaret, and Rosalys. " — Rossetti

(b) Bulkeley, Hunt, Willard, Hosmer, Merriam, Flint,
Possessed the land which rendered to their toil
Hay, corn, roots, hemp, flax, apples, wool, and wood.

— Emerson
(a) In distant countries I have been.
And yet I have not often seen
A healthy man, a man full grown,
Weep in the public roads alone.

THE STUDY OF POETRY 231

But such a one on English ground,

And in the broad highway I met;

Along the broad highway he came,

His cheeks with tears were wet.

Sturdy he seemed, though he was sad.

And in his arms a lamb he had. — Wordsworth

(b) Behold her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland lass!
Reaping and singing by herself.
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain ;
0 hsten! for the vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound. — Wordsworth

7 A group of fifty or more high school seniors, invited
to select the most melodious lines in Milton's Minor Poems,
found it quite impossible to agree. Some ears were charmed
by alliteration, others by liquids (1, m, n, r), and still
others by a vowel sound often repeated. A few showed a
fondness for sibilants (s, z, sh, etc.). Among the favorites
were these two passages :

Lap me in soft Lydian airs
Married to immortal verse.

Dingle or bushy dell of this wild wood,
And every bosky bourn from side to side.
My daily walk and ancient neighborhood.

Try the experiment, limiting the investigation to one of
the Milton poems. Or substitute Shakespeare, Tennyson,
or Coleridge for Milton.

8 The same group of seniors having been asked to
select phrases from Milton that were magical in their
suggestive power, flashing upon the mind a picture, or
inviting the fancy to build, the results showed a surpris-
ingly wide range of preference, among the selected phrases

232 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE

being the following: ''the unsunned heaps of miser's treas-
ure," ''the huddling brook," "twilight meadows," "hoary
Nereus," "tapestry halls," "snaky-headed Gorgon,"
"black usurping mists," "slumbering morn." Try the
same experiment, limiting the field, however, to some one
poem.

9 A third experiment consisted in selecting lines in
which the sound and the movement echo the sense.
Among the lines chosen were the following :

'Mongst horrid shapes and shrieks, and sights unholy!
Basks at the fire his hairy strength.
His orient liquor in a crystal glass.

Try the experiment, either with one of Milton's poems
or with ten pages from Tennyson or Shakespeare.

10 Poetry is sensuous; that is, it moves us by appealing,
through the imagination, to the sense of hearing, the
sense of sight, of touch, of taste, of smell. There are those
who do not like poetry, largely because they read so
hastily, or with so sluggish imagination, that they get
but imperfectly the fancies that fill the poet's mind.
To how many senses does each of the following passages
appeal?

(a) Hark, hark!

Bow-wow.
The watch-dogs bark:

Bow-wow.
Hark, hark! I hear
The strain of strutting chanticleer

Cry Cock-a-diddle-dow! — Shakespeare

(b) I find thee apt;

And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed
That roots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,
Wouldst thou not stir in this. — Shakespeare

THE STUDY OF POETRY 233

(c) St. Agnes' Eve — Ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;

The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass,
And silent was the flock in woolly fold:
Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told
His rosary, and while his frosted breath,
Like pious incense from a censer old,
Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death,
Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith.

— Keats

(d) And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep.
In blanched linen, smooth, and lavender'd.
While he from forth the closet brought a heap
Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd;
With jelUes soother than the creamy curd.
And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon;
Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd

From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one,
From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon. — Keats

Cen.
tury

FOURTEENTI

40 1400

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FIFTEENTH

1500

Per-
iod

40

CHAUCER

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CAXTON I PRI

1500

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MALORY -*■

MORE-

■Tynda

PART m

A BRIEF SUMMARY OF EXGLBH
LTTERATCBE

INTRODUCTORY

The study of literature follows several lines. Attention
may be centered, for example, on a single masterpiece
considered separately, with a view to under- Ways of
standing it thoroughly and training the mind studying
in literary appreciation. A little more literature
difficult is the study of a group of masterpieces as types
of various forms — the essay, the novel, the drama. A
third line of study confines itself to the works of a single
author, with a view to becoming familiar with his art and
his personality in all the stages of development. This too
is difficult, but delightful. Finally, it is profitable to study
all the works, prose and poetry, of a certain group of
authors — the Elizabethan, for example, or the Victorian,
noting common characteristics and getting gfimpses of
the times as reflected in literature.

Eventually, however, need is felt of a wide survey of the
entire field. The student becomes interested in literature
as a growth, from the first faint beginnings Need of
down to the present day. He wishes to a general
know when this Uterary form appeared, when survey
that, and what changes they have undergone; why we find
in one century mountain peaks, in another only dull table-
lands of mediocrity. Even in the earlier stages of study,
at least a brief historical sketch is convenient, indeed
almost necessary, for intelligent study, that each master-
piece may be given its proper setting. The following
summary is presented for this purpose — for those who
lack the time necessary to master a complete manual. It
contains the little that a high school pupil ought to know,

237

238 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

before graduation, about the history of Enghsh literature.
The tables of authors and masterpieces are so brief that
they may with profit be memorized, save for the dates,
just as the student of history memorizes lists of kings. It
is assumed that, besides learning the tables, the pupil will
study in detail the lives of the few authors read in class-
room, finding his material either in the introductory page&
of school editions or in such works of reference as are
provided in the school library.

CHAPTER XX

OLD ENGLISH OR ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD:
650-1066

Author Unknown fBeowulf

Caedmon and others fParaphrases of Genesis, Exodus, and

Daniel

Bede Many works in Latin, including a

church history of the English
People

Cynewulf fThe Christ; legends of saints; riddles

King Alfred and others The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle; transla-
tions from Latin of several standard
works, including Bede's History

Various writers Sermons and other works religious in

character

Note. — Poetry is indicated by a dagger and prose fiction by a circle.
The names of the greatest authors appear in heavy type.

A single shelf of no great length would hold all that has

come down to us from this early period : a few manuscript

books and a few loose leaves, which rare good

fortune has preserved for a thousand years ^^^7

. *^ remains

and more. Could these priceless relics be

brought together and were we privileged to examine them,
our first surprise, perhaps, would come at
finding the manuscripts written in a language
which, though English, is as strange as German, which it
resembles. Had we the ability to read Anglo-
Saxon, as early Enghsh is called, we should ^ ^g^^us
again be surprised to find how much of this
early literature, poetry and prose, is of a religious character.
But this is easily explained.

239

240 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

When, in the fourth and fifth centuries, the English left
their homes on the south shores of the Baltic and North

seas and invaded England, pillaging, plunder-
C^stia^ty ^^^' killing great numbers of the Britons

whose lands they were seizing, and driving
the remainder westward, they were a pagan people and
such they remained till the sixth century when mission-
aries from Italy and Ireland wrought a great change. In a
remarkably short time Christianity drove out the pagan
beliefs. Monasteries rose here and there throughout the
land, each monastery not only a religious but an educa-
tional center, for connected with each was a school. Some
of these schools grew into what might be called colleges,
whose truly great teachers attracted large numbers. In
less than a century after the coming of the missionaries,
the English monasteries were famous throughout western
Europe, so great a zeal did the English show for religion
and learning.

It is not strange, therefore, that the literature of this
period, for the most part written by monks or at least by
Earliest those who had received their training in the

English monasteries, should be religious. It is a

poetry mistake, however, to think that English

literature was cradled in the monastery. The English had
always been a song-loving people. They sang as they
rushed into battle. Song cheered their feasts when petty
tribal kings gathered their warriors about them in the
mead halls. There were professional poets among them —
scops they were called — who composed and chanted hero-
songs. Little of this earlier ' ' heathen ' * poetry has been pre-
served, however; for it was oral Hterature, passed down from
singer to singer by memory alone. Yet the most interest-
ing poem in all this period of four centuries takes us back
to these pre-Christian days, though the version that we

ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD 241

have was made by a monk of perhaps the eighth century,
who, happily for us, felt in this song of earlier times that
which stirred his blood and prompted him to record it on
parchment. It is a poem of over 3000 lines, unrhymed
like all Anglo-Saxon poetry, called Beowulf.
It tells a wonderful story of how Beowulf,
when a young man, killed in dreadful encounters two
half -human monsters of the fens; and how, in his old age,
he slew a huge, fire-spitting, winged dragon. The poem is
well worth reading, because it is a good story well told,
because it gives invaluable pictures of early EngUsh life,
and because its ideals of manhood are noble.

Of the literature which was produced later, when the
monasteries were so powerful in their good work, the
greater part is poetry, associated with two Caedmon,
names, Caedmon and Cynewulf, between Cynewulf,
whom, in point of time, came Bede, a great ^®^®
teacher and writer of Latin prose, whose history of the
church in England, credulous yet honest and painstaking,
is a valuable document. Caedmon, Bede tells us in his
history, was an uneducated menial connected with a
Northumbrian monastery, a mere servant who suddenly
became inspired to compose and sing, not of encounters
with the dark fenland demons but the wonderful stories
told in the Old Testament. Scholars say that none of the
three paraphrases of Genesis, Exodus, and Daniel which
we have should be attributed to him; yet we know that he,
and probably many another, composed such songs, long nar-
ratives which must have possessed great interest to those
to whom the Bible was a new book. Cynewulf, living per-
haps half a century later, was a Christian scop, educated
at a monastery. Not all of his poems are religious, for
attributed to him are many riddles in verse, a form of
literature of which the early English were very fond; but

242 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

his best poems are saintly legends or deal with New
Testament themes. The poems of the Cynewulf group
are more polished than those of the Caedmon group,
more artistic; they are farther removed irom the heathen
poetry of earlier times — the times when ^Beowulf and
similar poems were popular.

The next name on the roll of English writers is that of
King Alfred the Great, one of the noblest figures of all
times, who lived in the latter half of the
Great eighth century. Between the days of Caed-

mon and Cynewulf and the days of Alfred
lies a dark interval of civil war among the petty kingdoms
which had gradually formed out of the English tribes
possessing the island, and of cruel invasions by the Danes,
fierce "sea-wolves," once neighbors of the EngUsh in their
old home on the continent, who destroyed monasteries,
burned villages, and killed great numbers. Learning, and
piety too, all but disappeared. Conditions were not
greatly different from those of a few centuries before when
the fierce EngHsh tribes poured in upon the more highly
civilized Britons. We are concerned but indirectly with
all that King Alfred did to deliver his country from this
peril, restore order, and build up the nation anew; our
immediate interest is with his efforts to bring back piety
and learning — a great task which he accompHshed but in
part. In earlier times, before the Danish invasions, the
monastery libraries had contained few save Latin books.
Not Bede alone, but all scholars, on the Continent as well
as in England, wrote and spoke Latin. The Bible was a
Latin Bible. Book knowledge was locked up in a foreign
tongue. It was Alfred's idea to change all this; his people
should be taught in their native tongue. Gathering what
scholars he could about him, he translated with their aid
whatever Latin books he thought of value to his coimtry —

ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD 243

several religious works, a standard history of the world,

Bede's church history, and certain other manuals of

information. Perhaps the most important composition

of his reign, and one in which no doubt he had a part,

was a compilation, from scant monastery

, J ,, 1 , Anglo-Saxon

records and other sources, known to us _,, . .

as the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. This is a
brief history of England by years, beginning with 60 B. C.
For some years there are no entries; other years are rep-
resented by but a few lines, the account naturall}^ growing
fuller as it advances through the reign of Alfred. As lit-
erature it is not remarkable, though some of its prose is
fairly good and occasionally one finds in it a spirited ac-
count of some notable event, the chronicler at times even
abandoning prose for poetrj^; but this earliest of histories
in the Enghsh tongue is of great value none the less.

The literature of Alfred's day was mainly prose, as that
of the earher times was mainly poetry. Little but prose
do we find from his day on through the
century and a half preceding the Norman ,
Conquest in 1066: the Chronicle continued,
many sermons, and other works for the most part religious
in character.

What should be our final estimate of this period? When
we consider how recently the English had been but rough,

plundering adventurers, without books, with- _. ,

,,.,,, , Final estimate

out schools, without even a common lan-
guage,— for until long after the Norman Conquest the
various sections of England had their separate dialects, —
we can but feel that the literary output was most credit-
able. The poetry is better than the prose, but neither
prose nor poetry is of high artistic merit compared with
the masterpieces of later times. Of the poetry, Beowulf,
possessing the same strong spiritual qualities that char-

244 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

acterize the best in all English verse, is easily most interest-
ing; of the prose, certain passages in the Chronicle. All
this early literature is clean, serious, full of vigor; lacking,
it is true, in grace and humor, indeed rather somber, it
seems to us, yet revealing a people by nature brave, fair-
minded, religious, lovers of song, lovers of battle, a splen-
didly endowed people who improved rapidly under the
sway of Christianity and Roman culture. In after cen-
turies England came under many influences. Other races
blended with the English. The language changed, customs
changed; yet the essential traits of character which have
made the English a great people and their literature a
great literature are easily discernible in the literature of
this earliest period. That is why the few time-worn
manuscripts which have come down to us through a thou-
sand years and more, constitute a priceless treasure, —
priceless not because of their literary merit but because of
what they tell us of the English as they were originally in
their new island home.

CHAPTER XXI

NORMAN-ENGLISH PERIOD: 1066-1340

(From the Conquest to the birth of Chaucer)

The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (Cont. to
1154)

Layamon (Circ. 1200) fBrut (a legendary history of England)

Various writers Religious works, poetry and prose:

homilies, lives of saints, Bible para-
phrases, etc.

Various writers Romances loosely translated from the

French

Unknown Songs and ballads

England, during the Anglo-Saxon period, was the home
of three peoples: the Britons, the English, and the Danes.
The Danes, however, soon blended with the
EngUsh and we lose sight of them. The , ,
Britons, driven westward, remained a sep-
arate people, though toward the end of the period, the
barriers between them and the English weakened con-
siderably. During the Norman-Enghsh period, the island
was the home of three peoples: the Britons, found prin-
cipally in Wales, the Norman-French, and the EngHsh.
The Welsh Britons remained pretty much in the back-
ground. We could disregard them altogether, were it not
that they contributed not a little, indirectly, to English
literature. We are mainly concerned, however, with the
conquered English and the conquering Normans.

These Normans were a wonderful people, keen, ener-
getic, progressive, with a great genius for organizing and

245

246 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

systematizing, yet fond of gaiety and splendor, and by na-
ture cheerful and humor-loving. Their barons soon appro-
priated nearly all of the land and built
massive castles to hold it. Grand cathe-
drals were built too; and hundreds of new monasteries
sprang up, for the Normans were Christians. During all
this period the church possessed, through its able Norman
bishops and abbots, great political power. As in the ear-
lier days of the preceding period, each monastery was
in some measure a school, and towards the close of the
period schools not immediately connected with the church
were taking shape at Cambridge and Oxford.

When contrasted with this brilliant people, the stolid,
mentally slow EngHsh seem at first glance decidedly in-
ferior, and so they were regarded by their
conquerors, who for a long time kept them
in a pitiable state; yet their sterling, if not brilliant, qual-
ities which were prominent in Beowulf of old and in wise
King Alfred, gradually wrought a wonder. Little by little
the abler among them climbed upward and took rank with
the best in church and state. Gradually, through causes
which we cannot mention here, the two peoples came
closer and closer together and finally fused into one, a
stronger people than England had ever before known, yet
with the fine, manly traits of the Anglo-Saxons still domi-
nating.

England, during this period, was the home of several
languages. The earlier kings and their barons spoke
French, and French became the accepted
language of the realm. All classes save the
lowest employed it — were forced to if they would get on
and up in the world. It was the language of business.
Children spoke it in the schools. The minstrels who went
from castle to castle sang it. Those w^ho wrote for the

NORMAN-ENGLISH PERIOD 247

pleasure of their fellow men, both Norman writers and
English, employed it. But Latin was prominent too. It
w^as the language of the Church and of learning, the book
language employed by monks and scholars when they
wrote, and not uncommonly when they conversed. The
Englishman who would become educated must have a
knowledge of it. Beneath French and Latin lay English,
long despised and ridiculed by the upper classes and bidding
fair to disappear altogether; yet behold a second wonder.
About the time this period closes, EngUsh is again the
accepted language of the realm. Some Anglo-Saxon words
have disappeared, many have changed slightly, but the
great bulk of old words remains. This new English is
permeated, it is true, with French words, and Latin words
have crept in too; yet the native speech is supremely
triumphant. French disappeared. Latin as a book lan-
guage lingered for a century or two, was employed some-
what by learned men even as late as Shakespeare's day,
yet eventually it also slipped away.

The Hterature of this period falls into three groups: the
Latin, the French, and the English. Latin, it should be
remembered, was the book language of The three
monks, scholars, and statesmen, English as groups of
well as Norman. It is, someone has said, literature
the language Macaulay would have used had he lived at
the court of Henry II. In this Latin group are many
religious works, most of them in prose; but more con-
spicuous are histories or chronicles, some recording the
doings of this monastery or that, others dealing with all
England and going back to legendary days. These chron-
icles are of great interest to the historian, but they are not
English, not in the native tongue; so they, and all other
works in Latin, may be disregarded.

Norman-French literature is of greater importance, for

248 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

during this period France gained a literary prominence in
Western Europe similar to that which England enjoyed in
Norman- the eighth century. Her greatest works were

French in verse. Among them were scores upon

literature scores of extremely long poems recounting

the deeds of such long-ago heroes as the French King
Charlemagne, the Welsh King Arthur, and Alexander the
Great. Of the hundred and more such romances which
have come down to us, the best is the earliest, the Song of
Roland, though the most popular throughout the Middle
Ages were those which dealt with the half-mythical King
Arthur and his Round Table knights. Besides these hero
romances there were long, metrical chronicles, some of
them based on the Latin chronicles. A third important
group is made up of songs and ballads of love and adven-
ture such as the minstrels sang everywhere throughout
Europe. But this great volume of French literature is not
English, though some of it was written in England and
by men of English birth. It deserves mention solely be-
cause a considerable part of it was absorbed by English
hterature, much as the French language was absorbed,
especially such of it as dealt with English heroes and Eng-
lish history. It provided models and furnished subject
matter for contemporary and later writers. For centuries
it was the literature which English men and women read
and listened to; it not only furnished entertainment but
supplied new ideas and ideals, changing the minds of
Englishmen as the Norman castles and monasteries and
cathedrals changed the appearance of the English country.
The literature of the period which was written in Eng-
lish is but a tiny stream compared with the

ngis broad rivers of Latin and French. Foracen-
tong^e

tury and a half following the Conquest it is

hardly discernible. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle was con-

NORMAN-ENGLISH PERIOD 249

tinued till 1154, then gave way to chronicles and histories in
Latin and French. About the year 1200, appeared what is
known as Layamon's Brut or history. Layamon was a
priest living near the border of Wales, who conceived the
idea of writing a long poem telling the history of England.
Borrowing freely from works in Latin and French, and
adding many tales and legends of the Britons, tales which
doubtless he had heard over and over again in his boyhood
days, he produced a poem of over 30,000 lines. He has
been called the first minstrel to celebrate King Arthur
in English song, the same Arthur of whom we read in
Tennyson's Idylls of the King.

Aside from Layamon's Brut, there is not much to delay
us in our survey of the EngUsh writings of this period.
There is, to be sure, quite a supply of reli-
gious works, but with one or two exceptions g
they are of no great interest; and we find,
as time goes on, many romantic poems paraphrasing the
French hero-romances, showing how French romance is
being absorbed just as in the Brut we find old Briton tales
absorbed. Guy of Warunck and Havelok the Dane, English
romances with English heroes, though wrought in the
French manner, were great favorites, and were long
cherished. Finally we can mention with pleasure a few
genuinely English songs, which appear among others of
less value imitated from the French. As we read these
simple, heartfelt lyrics, we easily yield to a belief that, in
all probability, even in darkest days of oppression, the
English, as in earlier times, were singers and song-makers,
and that they loved their own songs better than the more
polished products of foreign minstrels.

The period may be summarized as follows : For a century
and a half following the Conquest, little was written in the
native tongue; from then on, much was written by Eng-

250 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

lishmen in Latin and French, but comparatively little in

English and that little was largely imitative of French

models. No great writers appeared. The
Summary . - . . ^ r

period IS an important one, however, for

during it the language changed greatly through absorbing

many French and Latin words. The long French romances

brought into our literature a vast treasure of stories for

future writers to retell with greater art, the choicest of

these tales centering about the half-mythical Briton hero.

King Arthur. Finally, through fusing with the Normans,

the Enghsh became a stronger people, happily without the

loss of the original sterhng qualities of the Anglo-Saxons.

CHAPTER XXII
CHAUCER'S PERIOD: 1340-1400

John Wyclif 1324 (?)-1384 (?) First complete transla-

tion of the Bible

AVilliam Langland 1332 (?)-1400 (?) fVision concerning Piers

Plowman

Geoffrey Chaucer 1340-1400 The Canterbury Tales

Unknown jSongs and ballads of the

common people

Sixty years, a single lifetime, measures the extent of this
period. It is therefore in marked contrast to the preceding
periods, which, taken together, cover 690
years, over one-half of the span of all English . ,

hterature. It may be thought of as an oasis
amid the long reaches between the days when Saxon
warriors were thrilled by the story of Beowulf and the days
when men crowded the Globe theatre to see Shakespeare's
plays.

Wyclif was not a minstrel nor a monk but an Oxford
teacher and preacher whose life was one long attack against
the Church. He has been called ''the first „^ ,.^

^T vclif

champion of the Reformation," that great
movement which, in later years, wrought a mighty change
in England and led to the establishment of a national
church independent of Rome. To his behef that the
scriptures should no longer remain locked up in Latin we
owe the first complete translation of the Bible into Eng-
Hsh, a translation which, in a revised version made soon?
after his death, found its way among all classes. Better
translations, as we shall see, were made in later periods,

251

252 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

for Wyclif was not a great literary artist, yet in his Bible
we find the best prose thus far produced in England —
prose which aided greatly in establishing a national lan-
guage; nor can we easily estimate the great service Wyclif
rendered to literature when he made it possible, for the
first time, for men and women of all classes to read or hear
all of the Bible in their native tongue.

Side by side with this great reformer whose sermons
and pamphlets stirred all England, posterity has placed
a poverty-stricken dreamer-poet, William
Langland, so obscure an individual that
little is known about him except that his boyhood days
were passed near the Welsh borders where probably he
received some monastery training, and that after roaming
the country for a time after the manner of a begging friar
he drifted to London and there for many years earned a
miserable living by chanting for the release from purgatory
of the souls of dead men. His days, therefore, were spent
among the poor, and from among them he looked out upon
a world which seemed to him sadly out of joint: church
and state corrupt; the rich tyrannizing over the poor;
purity, justice, and industry rarely met with. His way of
righting the world was to picture the world as he saw it,
in all its corruption, and to cry out fearlessly for much
needed reforms. His picture-sermon we find in a long
poem, frequently added to and reshaped during thirty
years, known as the Vision Concerning Piers Plowman.
It is an allegory in the form of a dream, and to the modem
reader it is in some respects as confusing and inconsistent
as dreams are apt to be. But the poor people of his day
understood it, recognized the truthfulness of the thinly
veiled pictures of society and the sincere earnestness of the
gifted poet. It moved them as the fiery pamphlets of
Wyclif stirred the better educated classes.

CHAUCER'S PERIOD 253

We may think of Wyclif and Langland as the greatest of
all that long, unbroken line of writers on religious themes,
the earliest of whom are Caedmon, Bede,
and Cynewulf . Chaucer, who towers high
above them in hterary skill, belongs to an entirely different
class. This son of a prosperous London merchant began
life as a page in the royal household, a bright, good na-
tured lad with a sense of humor which made him, we may
believe, a general favorite. All his days were spent close
to that brilliant aristocracy for which Langland had Httle
sympathy. He became an exceedingly able man, was sent
abroad on embassies, held positions of trust at home, and
cHmbed high for one not of noble birth. He was always a
busy man, a tireless worker. His great passion was for
books and the green fields, though it should be quickly
added that he was a lover of mankind as well and looked
out upon the world with keen yet friendly eyes. He seemed
to know all classes from the nobility down to the poor
parish priests. Much of the greed and misery that came
before Langland's eyes must have been known to him, but
it reached him softened somewhat by the glamor of that
courtly aristocracy with which he was associated. To
him, England was merry England.

Chaucer was a life-long poet. In his younger days he
was under the spell of Norman minstrelsy, which is not
strange: for French minstrels were still to be
found at the royal court and in the homes ,
of the nobility. The old French romances
formed the popular literature of the day. Nearly all of
them, during the thirteenth and fourteenth century, were
turned into EngHsh verse; but Chaucer doubtless preferred
them in their original form. Later he was more deeply
influenced by ItaUan literature, which about this time
reached its highest level in three world-great writers.

254 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

Chaucer's best work, however, written toward the close
of his Hfe, is thoroughly English. The Canterbury Tales
is a collection of stories which Chaucer makes fall from
the lips of a merry company of EngHsh folk journeying
to Canterbury to pray at the shrine of Thomas a Becket.
Chance brings them together at the Tabard Inn at South-
wark, on the outskirts of London. The jolly landlord
offers to accompany them as guide, and proposes that, to
make the journey the pleasanter, each of the nine-and-
twenty tell four tales, two on the way to Canterbury and
two returning, the best story-teller to be given a supper,
paid for by the rest. Chaucer lived to complete less than
one-fourth the number of stories called for by this scheme,
but the uncompleted work is one of our rarest master-
pieces. The tales are not of equal merit; some are too
broadly humorous, too coarse, to meet the approval of
modern taste. But the best of them are very, very good.
The poet's art is seen to greatest advantage, perhaps, in
the Prologue to the Tales, where each pilgrim is introduced
by a description so vivid that he seems Hke a real person;
and since the company represents all classes of society,
from knight, monk, and prioress down to merchant, mil-
ler, and seaman, the Prologue is like a mirror in which we
see reflected the hfe of the times. Collections of tales were
common throughout Europe, during the Middle Ages, but
there are none which we would less wiUingly part with than
that made by gentle Geoffrey Chaucer, lover of books and
green fields and human nature, a born story-teller, the mel-
ody of whose verse, once caught, can never be forgotten.
A more detailed survey of this period would mention

other writers — Gower, for example, a popu-
wr't rs ^^^ P^^^ whose works are of interest because

the first was written in French, the second
in Latin, the third in English, showing the drift of Ian-

CHAUCER'S PERIOD 255

guage development; and the unknown author of Sir Ga~
waine and the Green Knight, an Arthurian tale from Nor-
man minstrelsy, yet so retold that it is thoroughly English.
It is the best of all tales taken from the French. One of
the most popular books of the day, of Continental origin
but soon translated into English, was The Voyages and
Travels of Sir John Mandeville, sl most entertaining volume
purporting to be designed for the enlightenment of pilgrims
journeying to Holy Land, yet so full of preposterous infor-
mation as 'Ho stamp the author as a fraud or a humorist."
Nor should we forget that songs and ballads continue to
be made and sung by the common people.

Perhaps the most essential thing to bear in mind con-
cerning this period is that its best literature is unmistak-
ably English in tone. Chaucer borrowed
material from Continental sources, partic- ch^acteristic
ularly from Italy, but the setting for his
Canterbury Tales is English, his pilgrims are English folk.
Dream literature was common throughout Europe, but
Langland's dream-satire is directed against English soci-
ety. The Bible, in Latin, had long been in the hands of
monks throughout Christendom; but Wyclif made it a
part of English literature. Moreover his fearless contro-
versial tracts and sermons suggest the grim valor of the
Anglo-Saxon warrior. Norman romances in English dress
were popular, but the author of Sir Gawaine was no servile
imitator. In short the traits of character which marked
the English of Beowulf's day still show strong and unim-
paired after the long period of foreign rule.

As for the language in which this best literature is writ-
ten, it too is EngHsh, not quite fixed, for it is still in a state
of flux, but with nearly all the old words showing strong
among the new. It is much easier to read than Anglo-
Saxon, though still sufficiently strange to necessitate the

256 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

use of a glossary. Could we listen to Wyclif or Langland
or Chaucer, we should understand but little that was said.

Yet Chaucer's English is substantially mod-
changes ^^^' though thousands of new words have

come into our language since his day and
not a few have dropped out because no longer needed,
or because supplanted by other and better ones.

CHAPTER XXIII

CAXTON'S PERIOD: 1400-1500

Sir Thomas Malory °Morte d'Arthur (printed 1485)
Unknown fPop^l^r songs and ballads

(Caxton, England's first printer, sets up his press in 1476.)

A detailed account of this period would mention a num-
ber of poets who reached some degree of eminence in the

eyes of their contemporaries; our briefer

., , 1 u £ J.U ' 1 Followers of

survey omits them all, tor their works are ^.

seldom read today. We can but note, in
passing, that the best of these poets were Scotchmen, and
that all were imitators of Chaucer, whom they recognized
as towering above them, the one great poet that England
had produced. More genuine than the works of any
of these are the simple ballads sung by the
common people — Robin Hood, Chevy Chase,
etc., such as have been noted in earlier periods. They will
not be mentioned again, yet it should be borne in mind
that they are found even as late as the eighteenth century,
though diminishing in number and in favor as printed
books become more common. They form'a distinct lit-
erature by themselves, anonymous, undated, but worthy
of the loving study bestowed upon them of late years.

Much prose was written during this period, most of it
religious or theological, of slight literary value. We could
easily spare it all save one priceless volume, ^
a collection of stories gleaned from the long
poem-romances of earlier periods, concerning King Arthur
and his Round Table knights, written in simple, artless,

257

258 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

smooth-flowing prose quite easy to understand. It is the
most permanent contribution of Norman minstrelsy to
Enghsh hterature, and a very great one; for it is a collec-
tion of tales unsurpassed, preserving for all time the best
group of stories in nlediseval romance. It has been called a
prose epic, since its central figure is a national hero from
the half-mythical days of the early Britons.

One reason for the unproductiveness of this century may
be found in the rapid decline of that feudal system which
. reached its highest development under the

feudaUystem Norman-French kings— a system which
placed great power in the hands of the nobles
and made them an aristocracy far above the common
people. They had been patrons of learning and literature,
the class w^hom poets sought to please with their verses
and from whom they hoped to receive reward. Even in
Chaucer's day feudalism was tottering, though knightly
deeds on the field of battle, and the gaiety of court life,
furnished an outward splendor which has been compared
most aptly to an Indian summer. During the fifteenth
century the long war with France, and the War of the Roses
which followed it, still further weakened this once powerful
aristocracy, not a few noble families being practically
obliterated. Meanwhile the more numerous middle class
was rapidly gaining prominence, but its members could
not in a day, nor in a century, give the support to literature
that had once been furnished by knighthood, nor could
poets at once adapt themselves to new ideals.

A second reason is found in the continued decline of the
mediaeval church system, highly organized and extremely
Decline of powerful in earlier times, but growing weaker
mediaeval and weaker. Since the days of Caedmon

church r^nd Bede, a large proportion of the writers,

and practically all scholars, had been monks or in some way

CAXTON'S PERIOD 259

connected with the church system. The monasteries had
been centers of learning and culture. In their scriptoria
(writing rooms) skilled penmen had multiplied such works
as were in demand by the limited class of readers. But
during the latter half of this period scholarship seems to
be leaving the protecting shadow of the church, where per-
haps it has lingered too long, for the rapidly developing
colleges at Oxford and Cambridge. Eventually the trans-
ference will prove advantageous, resulting in broader
scholarship and better Hterature; but the harvest is not yet.
In connection with the increasing popularity of the uni-
versities and the establishing of a number of what we
should call preparatory schools, it should be
noted that during the second half of this j.
century many studious young Englishmen
from good families were finding their way to Italy and
there coming under the influence of what is known as the
New Learning, which was to become a great power in Eng-
land. Italy, during this century, was the intellectual cen-
ter of western Europe, as France had been in the twelfth
century, and England, for a brief time, in Anglo-Saxon
days. The Italians had become greatly interested in Latin
literature. Latin manuscripts which had long lain neg-
lected in monastery libraries were eagerly collected and
copied by zealous scholars, fascinated by the vigor and the
beauty of the old Roman writers. They became deeply
interested in Greek literature too, and great numbers
of manuscripts were imported from Greece, Asia Minor,
and elsewhere. Greek scholars, especially after the fall of
Constantinople in 1453, flocked to Italy and became
teachers. Thus the ancient world of Greece and Rome
was brought back to Italy; the hterature of Greece and of
Rome was studied and greatly admired; mediaeval lit-
erature slipped out of mind. It is, then, to an Italy

260 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

carried away by its interest in Greek and Roman classics,
that young Englishmen went. They too were fired with
enthusiasm for this New Learning, and returning to Eng-
land with copies of precious manuscripts, communicated
their enthusiasm to others. The old learning of the monas-
tic schools, so powerful throughout the Middle Ages, soon
became a thing of the past.

We have named this period after England's first printer,
William Caxton, who set up his press probably in 1476
and during the remaining fifteen years of
his life printed over seventy books, among
them Chaucer's Canterbury Tales and Malory's Morte
d' Arthur. He was not a great author, though the pref-
aces which accompany some of his publications show
that he wrote unusually good Enghsh; but he deserves a
prominent place in the history of English literature. For
eight long centuries all books had been penned by hand;
they had been a luxury for the rich. Now, at a time when
schools and colleges were springing up and there was prom-
ise of a great increase in the number of readers, at a time
too when the New Learning was intensely interesting
scholars, from among whom there were sure to come
writers, this cheaper method of book-making appears.
Some authorities name 1453, the date of the fall of Con-
stantinople, as the concluding year of the Middle Ages;
others prefer 1492, the date of the discovery of America.
So far as the history of English literature is concerned,
we might well set aside both these dates and select 1477,
the year in which the Dictes and Sayings of the Philosophers,
the first book printed in England, came from the press of
William Caxton.

CHAPTER XXIV

PRE-ELIZABETHAN PERIOD: 1500-1564

Sir Thomas More 1480-1535 °Utopia (first written in Latin)
William Tyndale 1485 (?)-1536 New Testament (translated

from the Greek)
Sir Thomas Wyatt 1503-1542 fPoems some of which are in
Eari of Surrey 1517 (?)-1547 (?) blank verse and sonnet

form, later published in
TotteVs Miscellany
Nicholas Udall 1504 (?)-1556 Ralph Roister Bolster (first

regular comedy, acted
about 1535)
Thomas Sackville 1536-1608 Gorboduc, or Ferrex and

Thomas Norton 1532-1584 Porrex (first regular trag-

edy, 1561)

The fifteenth century produced but one book that is read
nowadays, the Morte d^ Arthur; up to the birth of Shake-
speare in 1564, the sixteenth century pro- ^
duced but one, the Utopia. Sir Thomas ^. .
More was one of the young men who were
fortunate enough to study imder the greatest of that re-
markable group of scholars who, in the closing years of the
fifteenth century, made Oxford famous by their teaching of
Latin and Greek. He too became a great scholar, early
gained prominence as a lawyer, and was eventually made
Lord Chancellor; finally, because he adhered courageously
to high moral principles, he gave up his life at the execu-
tioner's block, a very conmion ending to a life-story
in those days. The Utopia, a small volume compared to
the bulky Morte d^ Arthur , is a great statesman-philosopher's
dream of what he thought England should be. It tells

261

262 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

of an ideal commonwealth on an imaginary island vaguely
located somewhere between the coasts of South America
and Africa. The account is supposed to come from
a traveler who has been there and who tells in detail
how the country is governed and what are the customs
of the inhabitants. Some of More's ideas are so impracti-
cable that Utopian has come to mean visionary; yet not a
few of his reforms have long. since been carried out, and
others of them begin to look less strange.

The Utopia, we may believe, would not have been
written had the New Learning never reached England.

Wyatt and Surrey appear in our table not
y^ ^^ because they are great poets whose works

we read today but because they too came
under the spell of Italy. The poems of these two courtiers
were not printed till after both were dead; we find them
in a little collection of poems (such collections were be-
coming common) published by a Mr. Tottel. They de-
serve attention for two reasons. First, they show that the
study of Italian poetry and the writing of verses in imita-
tion of Italian models is becoming popular with the court
aristocracy. Wyatt has been called the first patrician to
make his mark in Enghsh poetry. Second, in this little
Miscellany of Tottel's we find for the first time specimens
of blank verse and of the sonnet, both of Italian origin, —
forms which from this time on play an important part in
English poetry.

Tyndale's New Testament was but one of many versions
of the Bible in part or in whole that appeared during this

period. It is the best of them all, though

the most popular was the Great Bible, so
called because of its size and sumptuous appearance.
Copies of it were placed in every church ; and at times, we
are told, men neglected the service to read it, so great was

PRE-ELIZABETHAN PERIOD 263

the interest it aroused. But the version of the Bible with
which we are famiHar, and which made such a lasting im-
pression on English literature, belongs not to this period
but to the next. These earlier versions are important,
however, in that they prepared the way for a better trans-
lation later on.

Perhaps the most significant of all the works mentioned
in the table are Ralph Roister Doister and Gorboduc, the
first regular comedy and the first regular First regular
tragedy. They are crude affairs, partic- comedy and
ularly the latter, yet entitled to consider- tragedy
ation because they are the forerunners of the comedies and
tragedies of Shakespeare's day — the feeble beginning of
regular English drama. It is not right, however, to think
that English drama began at this time, for plays of a sort,
highly satisfactory to those who witnessed them, were
given at least five hundred years earlier.

We have noted several times how much English lit-
erature owes to the church of the Middle Ages. It should
not surprise us therefore to learn that the
earliest Enghsh plays were religious, were
composed and acted by priests, and were given in the
churches. The church service, it should be remembered,
was conducted in Latin, the Bible was a Latin Bible, and
few of those who attended service understood any language
save their own. How natural, therefore, that in a desire
to acquaint their congregations with the Scriptures, the
priests should resort to acting out Bible narratives in simple
fashion, and that sooner or later all the Bible stories should
be presented in dramatic form, at first in Latin and finally
in English.

Although the Miracle plays, as they are called, were
given at first in the churches, as they increased in popular-
ity and larger crowds were attracted to them they were

264 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

given in churchyards, and finally on village greens and at
street corners. By this time, however, the Miracle plays
had passed out of the hands of priests and into the hands
of the labor guilds or unions. Thus not only the church
but the rapidly rising merchant class have a share in the
development of the drama. Each guild made a specialty
of one play, and great was the rivalry among guilds.

Out of the Miracle play grew what is called the Moral-
ity. The Morality does not tell a Bible story; yet, as the
name suggests, its purpose is to teach a
moral lesson. Vice, Gluttony, Mercy, Jus-
tice, Death, Mankind are among the characters found,
each play being a little allegory picturing the struggle of
the soul in the great conflict between right and wrong.

A third early variety, the Interlude, takes us not to the
great churches, nor to the guilds of the prospering middle
- . , classes, but to the homes of the nobles, the

feudal aristocracy. The Interlude was hardly
more than a dialogue, sometimes accompanied by music,
coming between the courses at a banquet. Its purpose
was simply to make folks merry.

Thus early EngUsh drama is principally of native origin ;
it owes not a little, however, to the New Learning. When,
Drama and in the fifteenth century, the classics were
New being studied with such enthusiasm, what

Learning more natural than that schoolmasters should

have their boys learn and present, in the schoolroom,
Latin comedies, first in the original, and later in English.
Latin tragedies were given too. And from presenting
Latin plays how natural the step to the writing of plays
patterned after Latin models. Gorhoduc, the first regular
tragedy, though its plot is based upon a British legend, is
patterned after a Latin model; so too is Ralph Roister
Doister,

PRE-ELIZABETHAN PERIOD 265

Although this brief period produced so httle that is of
permanent value, we can see how it was preparatory in
many ways to the brilliant Elizabethan
period. Drama is passing through its ex- ^ ..

perimental stages. Blank verse, the ve-
hicle of Shakespeare's comedies and tragedies, and the
sonnet, a form in which much of the best Elizabethan
poetry is cast, are being acclimatized. The many trans-
lations of the Scripture are preparing the way for the noble
King James version. We note, moreover, that scholars
from the universities are entering the arena of letters, and
that courtiers are winning laurels by writing verses. Lit-
erature is becoming popular at court.

CHAPTER XXV
THE ELIZABETHAN PERIOD: 1564-1625

John Lyly 1553-1606 °Euphues

Sir Philip Sidney 1554-1586 °Arcadia, Sonnets

Lord Bacon 1561-1626 Essays

Scholarly divines King James version of the

Bible (1611)
Edmund Spenser 1552-1599 fThe Fserie Queene, Sonnets

George Chapman 1559 (?)-1634 {Translation of the Iliad,

plays
Many courtly writers thongs and sonnets

Christopher Marlowe 1564-1593 Edward Second, Tambur-

laine
William Shakespeare 1564-1616 Thirty-five plays, sonnets
Ben Jonson 1573-1637 The Alchemist, many court

masques

But few times in all the world's history has any country-
experienced such a golden age as that which England en-
joyed during the reigns of Elizabeth and
James the First, commonly termed the
Elizabethan Age. It is all the more wonderful because it
came practically unheralded. Previous to Spenser and
Shakespeare, England had produced but one great poet,
Chaucer, and but two prose writers whose works are still
read, Malory and More. Crude and elementary, giving
little promise of better things, are the religious plays of the
Middle Ages and even the early examples of regular com-
edy and tragedy. As for songs, the best that we have
found are the ballads of the common people, simple, un-
literary products. We have found no trace of the novel or
the essay. Yet during the Elizabethan period England
teemed" with writers, and practically every form of lit-

266

THE ELIZABETHAN PERIOD 267

erature that we have today was ably represented. This
was the age that produced Spenser, Bacon, Shakespeare.
They are the giants; yet one authority mentions over two
hundred others associated with this great literary trio,
and a second authority estimates that it would take from
forty to fifty volumes of some size to accommodate what-
ever of Ehzabethan drama alone has survived and is
worthy of study. Practically one-fourth of the poems
found in Palgrave's Golden Treasury of Songs and Lyrics,
selected from all English literature, are songs and lyrics
from Elizabethan writers.

Manifestly, where so much invites attention, a brief
summary can but pick out here and there a representative
name. Prose will be considered first, no attempt being
made to preserve a chronological sequence.

Of all the prose written during this period, two volumes
only are in common circulation today and are admittedly
classics of the first order. By far the greater
is what we know as the Authorized, or King
James, version of the Bible, made at royal request, by
forty or more scholarly divines who based their transla-
tions largely on the many versions, beginning with Tyn-
dale's, which had appeared during the preceding century.
Setting aside one or two revisions of quite recent times, it
is the last of that long line of scriptural translations which
began far back in Anglo-Saxon days when Bede, on his
death bed, dictated to his fellow monks the last words of
a translation from the Latin of the Gospel according to
St. John. It marks the final triumphal entrance into
our literature of essentially all the literature of the an-
cient Jewish people, produced during a period not greatly
different in extent from that of our own literary history.
Wonderful in its original form, admirably translated into
clear, simple, melodious English at a time when our Ian-

268 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

guage was most vigorous, it has become our greatest classic,
the one book which more than any other has moulded na-
tional character. Its strong, beautiful prose has been a
model consciously or unconsciously followed by all writ-
ers from Shakespeare's time down to the present.

The second book is a small volume containing fifty or
sixty essays varying in length from two pages to ten or
twelve, by a prominent lawyer of Elizabeth's
day, who in King James's reign climbed high
and rapidly, reached the summit of his great-
ness as Lord Chancellor, and then, when living in great
state, the foremost judge in all England, was accused of
accepting bribes, was speedily convicted, heavily fined, and
driven from public life. Bacon considered his essays of
slight value beside his ten or more other works, in the
fields of law, history, and science, most of which he trans-
lated into Latin that they might endure through all time
in what he believed to be the only permanent language;
yet the volume left to its fate in English has survived all
the rest. These essays deal with such topics as truth,
friendship, revenge, cunning, death. Each is a compact
assembly of thoughts and opinions tersely expressed in
smooth, brilliant sentences, many of them so to the point
that, once read, they cling to the memory. The King
James Bible marks the close of a long life of scriptural
translations; Bacon's Httle book stands at the beginning
of a long line of essays reaching to the present day.

Below these two books range many other prose works in
various fields. We have not ventured to include in our
table Sir Walter Raleigh's History of the
works Worlds written during his fourteen years

of imprisonment in the Tower. It begins
bravely with the Creation; one hundred and fifty pages
or so barely take the reader beyond the Garden of Eden;

THE ELIZABETHAN PERIOD 269

and Raleigh lived to bring his colossal undertaking down
only to 168 B. C. EHzabethans were fond of great under-
takings. Another work of perhaps deeper interest to
modern readers is what is loosely termed Hakluyt's Voy-
ages. Hakluyt made it his life work to collect and edit
unpubhshed accounts of voyages of exploration and dis-
covery. His books were popular in EHzabethan days;
we are beginning to think them interesting reading.
Hooker's Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity is hardly a work to
attract the young; yet it is, in a sense, still a standard
treatise, its grave, stately style almost inexpHcable when
we learn that Hooker was but an obscure, diffident clergy-
man, almost a failure as a preacher.

The prose most widely read in Elizabeth's day, though
it has long since been ecHpsed, almost forgotten save by
scholars, comes under the head of fiction.
Great numbers of short stories and novel-
ettes, some in the original French and Italian, and many
translated from these languages, found a ready sale at
London bookstalls. We might mention quite a number of
EngUsh writers, most of them dramatists as well, who
dabbled in prose story-telling. Most eminent in this little
crowd are Lyly and Sidney, the former an Oxford graduate
who, when a young man, took England by storm with his
Euphues; the second the most popular, scholarly courtier
of his day, pattern of chivalric good breeding, whose
Arcadia, written during banishment from court by Eliza-
beth whom he had offended, was almost equally popular
when published soon after the entire nation mourned his
early death.

As we turn the pages of Lyly's slender volume, we are at
a loss to understand why it should have become the most
popular book of the hour. The love story which furnishes
the semblance of a plot is of little interest. Most of the

270 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

book, and this is equally true of its sequel published a year
later, is given up to dissertations on love, rehgion, educa-
tion, etc. That which gives it distinction is
X<vlv's

Euohues ^^^ ^^ much the subject matter as the lan-

guage— alliterative, each sentence neatly bal-
anced, simile following simile in rapid succession, a sort of
poetic prose which so took the fancy that courtiers quickly
adopted it, and it became a fad to talk in this same arti-
ficial, sugared EngUsh. Just as from Utopia came
Utopian, so from Euphues came euphuistic.
/ ,. The Arcadia is a thick volume — equivalent

to not far from 1,000 pages of the size popu-
lar today — a stupendous, loosely constructed romance in
which knights and ladies, kings and queens, and shepherds
and shepherdesses figure, a confusing number of them made
still more confusing because so many characters go about
disguised. It is full of romantic adventure, with incidents
enough to supply a score of modern romances, all mirroring
Sir Philip's ideals of chivalric knighthood, and written in
poetic, though not euphuistic, prose, with many poems
interspersed. Few have the patience to read it through;
yet it is, like the Morte d^ Arthur, a rich treasure house from
which later writers have borrowed.

The greatest glory of Ehzabethan literature is not its
prose, however, over which we have lingered too long.
Turning now to its poetry, we may note
. °?^ first of all the variety and richness of its

songs and sonnets. Everybody seems to be
singing. It is the fashion at court to compose lyrics. We
find beautiful songs scattered through the dramas. Tottel's
Miscellany was the first of a number of similar collec-
tions in which fugitive lyrics are preserved. Scarcely an
author of note in all this period but wrote songs, a large
number of them beautiful gems such as we do not meet

THE ELIZABETHAN PERIOD 271

with today. By far the greater number of these short
pieces have love as their theme. It was quite the custom-
ary thing to sing the praise of one's ladylove in a series of
sonnets. Shakespeare wrote 154, some of which were ad-
dressed to a dark-haired beauty to us unknown. Sidney
wrote sonnets. One of the most beautiful series is the
Amoretti of Edmund Spenser, in which we trace the court-
ship which terminated in his marriage, which he celebrated
in the most beautiful nuptial poem in the language.

Spenser, already mentioned as one of the three supremely
great writers of the day, is the earliest of Elizabethan poets.
When, a young man, just out of college, he
published his Shepherd's Calendar (twelve
pastoral poems, one for each month in the year) it was
recognized at once that a great poet, the first since Chau-
cer, had appeared. He longed to be associated intimately
with court Ufe, but he never quite succeeded in winning
the Queen's favor. His hfe was spent for the most part
in wild, rebellious Ireland, where eventually his services
won for him the forfeited manor and castle of Kilcolman.
Here he began his masterpiece. The Fcerie Queene, but
half of which was finished when, years later, he died, poor
and heartbroken, probably in a London tavern. This half,
however, is twice as long as Paradise Lost. The plan of the
work is as follows: Twelve knights, each personifying a
manly virtue — holiness, temperance^ chastity, etc., — sent
out by the Queen of Fairyland, in whom are combined all
womanly virtues, during twelve months and a day meet
with many adventures as they contend with knights,
dragons, wizards, enchantresses, etc., typifying the tempta-
tions which try the soul. They are aided from time to
time by Arthur, not yet king, in whom all manly virtues
are combined. It is therefore an elaborate allegory. Like
the Arcadia, it represents the afterglow of mediaeval ro-

272 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

mance; in it, as in the Arcadia, the ideals of knighthood
are glorified. Spenser is called the poet's poet, because
of the wonderful melody and grace of his lines, and the
supreme skill with which sensuous beauty and high moral
purpose are blended.

Other narrative poems were produced by Elizabethans —
by Shakespeare, by Marlowe — but Spenser's is the one
supreme effort. Our table includes Chap-
man's translation of the Iliad, partly because
it still is considered one of the few notable renderings of
Homer, and partly because it is the most noteworthy of
an amazingly large number of translations in prose and
verse, of French, Italian, Spanish, Latin, and Greek
masterpieces, made by Englishmen during the sixteenth
century. These renderings speak well for the ability of
English scholarship and show how great an interest was
taken by Enghsh readers in foreign and ancient literature.

It is hardly necessary to say that the supreme glory of
the EHzabethan age is its drama, reaching in the best plays
of Shakespeare a pinnacle equaled, if at all,
only by the drama of the ancient Greeks.
Literally thousands of books have been written about
Elizabethan plays and playwriters; it is safe to say that
as many more will be written, clear evidence of the im-
portance, universally conceded, of this fascinating field.

The scholars tell us that even in the fifteenth century

players were beginning to take the place of minstrels in the

homes of noblemen, and that early in the
The early • , ,^ .

^u ^ sixteenth century roammg companies were

found not only in England but throughout

western Europe. They gave their rude plays where they

could, in castle halls, inn yards, barns, or on village greens.

Shakespeare was twelve years old before London saw her

first playhouse. Yet by the end of the century, so popular

THE ELIZABETHAN PERIOD 273

had play-going become, we can count some ten or twelve
theatres, which is all the more wonderful in that the popu-
lation of London could not have been over 150,000. Prac-
tically all classes attended, except the Puritans; but then as
now the majority of patrons were from the middle class.
Unlike the Norman minstrels, who catered to knights and
ladies, Elizabethan dramatists wrote for the multitude.
Each playhouse had what we should call a stock company.
It is surprising to learn that two of the most popular of
these companies were made up of boys. This grew out of
the practice of having the boy choristers of the Chapel
Royal give entertainments for court amusement.

Since of all Elizabethan dramatists Shakespeare alone is
represented on the stage today, it is easy to forget that he
was but one of a very large number, his
genius faintly recognized by his contem-
poraries, though he remained comparatively inconspicuous.
Among the half a dozen or so who immediately preceded
him, towers Christopher Marlowe, son of a Canterbury
shoemaker, educated at Cambridge, whence he drifted to
London, was caught by the glare of the theatre, went the
primrose way of many another college wit of his day, and
died miserably at twenty-nine. Had he lived to complete
his narrative poem Hero and LeandeVj and to perfect his
skill as a playwright, his fame might have approached that
of Shakespeare. The best of his six plays is, perhaps,
Edward II, called ^Hhe first well conceived and solidly
built English tragedy.'^

Of Shakespeare, little need be said, for an account of
his wonderful career is found in every school edition of his
plays. We recall how, the son of a none too ^
successful tanner m an otherwise unimpor-
tant town, marrying early and unfortunately, he went
to London, possibly to escape trouble growing out of

274 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

a poaching prank. Perhaps, as one tradition states,
he began his London life as horse-boy at the door of a
theatre. Soon he became an actor, then part owner of a
theatre, and wrote, besides minor poems, at least thirty-five
plays, retiring eventually to Stratford where he died at
fifty-two. Of his plays, fourteen have been classed as
comedies, eleven as tragedies, and ten as histories.

Among the crowd who followed Shakespeare, the ac-
knowledged leader is ''learned" Ben Jonson, whose rule
among his associates was not unlike that of
Samuel Johnson in the eighteenth century.
He was a physically and mentally ponderous figure, whom
his contemporaries thought far more likely to gain endur-
ing fame than Shakespeare, "Fancy's child,'' unlearned
in Latin and Greek. Jonson patterned his dramas after
Latin models which Shakespeare utterly disregarded. Of
the scores of plays that he wrote, some are comedies, not
like Shakespeare's airy creations, but realistic, satirical
pictures of contemporary hfe; a few are tragedies, coldly
intellectual; and some twenty or thirty are masques. The
masque is an artificial form of drama, of Italian origin, for
many years exceedingly popular at court and among the
aristocratic rich. Music, singing, dancing, elaborate stage
settings and costumes were characteristic features, the
slight plot being as a rule some fable or myth. The parts
were taken not by professionals but by members of the
nobility, who delighted in this artificial form of amateur
theatricals.

How can the depth, range, and brilliancy of Elizabethan
literature be explained? The popular word to conjure with
Accounting for in answering this unanswerable question is
Elizabethan Renaissance, the term applied to that won-
literature derful awakening which came first to Italy

and gradually spread to other countries. The new interest

THE ELIZABETHAN PERIOD 275

in Latin and Greek, the invention of printing, the discovery
of America, the equally startling discoveries in the field of
science, all had a stimulating effect throughout Europe.
It was a period of great prosperity and peace for England,
which had suddenly become a nation second to none and
felt her glory. But after all the customary explanations
have been made, it should be remembered that genius
comes when it will, now to the home of a shoemaker, or a
tanner, or to an obscure country parsonage, and now to the
royal court. Sometimes those whom she touches appear
in solitary splendor, like Chaucer, sometimes in groups as
in Ehzabeth's day. She does not always make poets, but
sometimes warriors, statesmen, artists, inventors, ex-
plorers. Had we but the wisdom to see, we might pos-
sibly find that her gifts from age to age are more evenly
distributed than we are apt to fancy.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE PURITAN AND CAVALIER PERIOD:
1625-1660

The later dramatists 1625-1642 Many plays

Robert Herrick 1591-1674 fCorinna's Going A-Maying

Izaak Walton 1593-1683 The Complete Angler

John MUton 1608-1674 fParadise Lost (1667)

Jeremy Taylor 1613-1667 Holy Living

John Bunyan 1628-1688 °The Pilgrim's Progress (1678-

1684)

Queen Elizabeth died in 1603, thirteen years before
Shakespeare, twenty-three years before Bacon, thirty-
Elizabethan a seven years before Jonson, and seven years
misleading before the appearance of the authorized
*®^^ version of the Bible. The term Elizabethan,

therefore, is misleading in that it is applied not only to
those who wrote while the Queen was on the throne but to
Jacobean writers as well; that is, to writers of the reign of
James I. The literatures of the two reigns are thus grouped
together because they have many characteristics in common.

Viewing broadly the output of the brief period now to be
considered and comparing it with the Elizabethan, we note
Reformation that a gradual change is taking place. The
and Elizabethans were swept along by the

Renaissance Renaissance, that intellectual awakening
which came first to Italy upon the rediscovery of Greek
and Latin literature, followed by discoveries in the
realm of science which swept away many of the crude
ideas which had prevailed during the Middle Ages, and
a vast widening of the world through the voyages of
Columbus and the later explorers. They lived moreover

276

PURITAN AND CAVALIER PERIOD 277

in an England possessed of new glory through rapid rise
to great prosperity and political prominence in which all
felt that they had a part. It was a time of peace. But
along with the intellectual awakening came the Reforma-
tion, a breaking away from the powerful church system
which for so many centuries had bound together all west-
ern Europe with Rome as its head, and the development
of the idea that there should be more freedom of thought
in regard to moral and religious questions, with the Bible
as a supreme guide. This moral awakening, felt strongly
even in the days of Wyclif , was a great force in Elizabeth's
day, though so far as literature is concerned it was sub-
ordinate to the intellectual; but in the seventeenth century
it reached its climax, influencing not literature alone but
the entire national life. For it is but a step from religious
liberty to political freedom. England ceased to be a glo-
rious country in which all were knit together by common
sympathies. There was a great rebellion, a civil war;
Charles I was beheaded; for eleven years England was a
Commonwealth with the Puritans, the extremists among
Protestants, in power.

This great change is reflected in the writings of the
period, many of which are rehgious or political in character,
and not seldom bitterly controversial. Yet
one should guard against the impression ^Y^Ay.Q\
that literature ever undergoes complete
revolution in a decade or even a generation; the old is ever
mingling with the new. Drama, for example, the most
prominent form of expression in the preceding period,
remained popular, though declining in merit, tragedy be-
coming more artificial and sensational, and
comedy ever lighter and coarser, till 1642 ^^jj^^
when all theatres throughout the realm were
closed by order of the Puritan parliament. The playhouse

278 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

remained idle till the Puritans lost their political suprem-
acy at the Restoration in 1660. Thus ended the most
wonderful series of plays the world has ever seen, rapid
in its rise and in its decline, but reaching lofty heights of
excellence.

With one prominent exception, the best poetry of this
period is but a continuation of that remarkable chorus of
songs and lyrics which began in EHzabethan
days, a chorus which dies away during the
civil strife of the middle decades of the century. In Pal-
grave's Golden Treasury we find this period quite as well
represented as the preceding, whether the number of songs
or the number of writers be considered. It is a rare collec-
tion gleaned from plays, from popular songbooks, and
from slender volumes by individual writers. Not a few
of the pieces are anonymous, and most of the authors
are represented by but two or three songs each. As we
read the names of composers, we note that many are of
brilliant Cavaliers, gentlemen followers of the Stuarts,
who looked upon verse making not as a profession but as a
polite accompHshment. Others are of clergymen. Cath-
olic and Protestant, whose rehgious and devotional pieces
form a considerable part of the whole. It is not an easy
matter to characterize this body of lyrics collectively, for
they are of uneven merit. It is safe to say, however, that
on the whole they are less spontaneous than the Eliz-
abethan songs, many of them showing a more conscious
art, a cleverness and ingenuity, a fondness for extravagant
conceits rather than deep, sincere emotion.

Herrick, who appears in the table as sole representative

of this large number of song writers, was the son of a

^ . London goldsmith. Soon after leaving

Cambridge he took orders, and failing to

receive an appointment that would keep him near the

PURITAN AND CAVALIER PERIOD 279

royal court, the ambition of nearly every writer of his
day, he accepted a small charge in the country where for a
score of years he lived a simple bachelor life, taking reli-
gious duties none too seriously, apparently, and finding
during his long exile his greatest solace in recording in
verse the simple pleasures of rustic life. He is best known
today, perhaps, of all the Cavalier poets.

Belonging more strictly to Puritan and Cavalier times
than either the songs or the dramas, which are but sur-
vivals from Elizabethan days, is a consid- _

, , . » , . Prose works

erable quantity of prose — sermons, his-
tories, political and scientific tracts, etc., for the most part
without the pale of pure literature, though it would be
easy to select half a dozen prose writers whose works are
still rated as classics. Bishop Taylor's
Holy Living and its companion piece Holy ^r.
Dying are perhaps the best representatives
of devotional literature; but of all the prose writers of the
period save one, the securest place has been gained by
Izaak Walton, a man of little education, but a book-lover,
who was for many years a London shopkeeper, though the
last twenty years of his long life were spent in the palace of
his friend the Bishop of Winchester. He was the first to
write short, informal biographical sketches; but he is
better known by his Complete Angler, published in his
sixtieth year, which remains not only the best but the
only manual on the art and pleasure of fishing that is
recognized as belonging unmistakably to pure literature.
It is a dehghtful volume.

Needless to say, the greatest writer of the century is
John Milton, who with Shakespeare constitutes the su-
preme glory of our literature. It is well to -_.,,

, , - - , , 1 Milton

remember now closely related these two

men are in point of time; Milton was eight years old wheu

>

280 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

Shakespeare died. He is often termed the last of the
Ehzabethans, so unmistakably do his writings reflect the
influence of the Renaissance. This is true of his earlier
poems, written during his seven years at Cambridge and
the succeeding five years passed at Horton, his father's
country seat, in a continuation of his study of Greek,
Latin, Italian, and English literature. The very best of
the lyric poetry mentioned in an earlier paragraph is
Milton's, composed in his young manhood days. It is
truly Elizabethan in spirit. Following this early period
came twenty years during which Milton wrote little save
prose, much of it controversial, for he became the literary
champion of the Puritan cause. It was in his later years
that he returned to poetry. Then it was that, bhnd, poor,
his life for a time in danger because of the prominent part
he had played during the Commonwealth, he composed
his great epic Paradise Lost, soon followed by Paradise
Regained and Samson Agonistes. In these as in his earUer
works we see the influence of his close study of Greek and
Latin classics, yet even more marked is the influence of the
Bible. Paradise Lost is itself the story of Adam's fall,
based upon Old Testament narrative. It marl^ the con-
clusion of that long line of sacred poetry which began with
the Caedmon paraphrases. Thus it is right to say that
in Milton are combined the best that the Renaissance and
the Reformation brought to England.

Milton was the son of a wealthy, cultured London
scrivener, a Puritan who loved music and was himself a
musician of ability. He received every
advantage that could come from a good
Puritan home, from college education, and from travel
abroad. In marked contrast is John Bunyan, the second
great Puritan of the century. He was the son of a poor
kettle-maker, received but little schooling, read few books,

PURITAN AND CAVALIER PERIOD 281

and never looked upon literature save as a means for
converting sinners. He became what we should call an
evangelist, and in time a famous preacher of great
influence throughout England. Many years of his life
were spent in jail, for in those days dissenting preachers
were considered law-breakers, and while in jail he com-
posed many of his works. His masterpiece, The Pilgrim's
Progress, stands alone, the greatest allegory in all English
literature and, next to the Bible, the one book that has
most greatly influenced the moral life of the English people.
It should be noted that Paradise Lost and Pilgrim's
Progress, the only great Puritan masterpieces, belong
chronologically to the next period, for they .

were not published till after the Restoration
in 1660. As a class, the Puritans were not art-loving; to
many of them music and poetry and art were vanities,
or worse. Literature, save that of great genius which no
unfavorable conditions can ever suppress, could not be
expected from people holding such views. Yet to think
that these two masterpieces are the only products of
Puritanism would be as great an error as to think that
Puritanism came to an abrupt end when the banished
Stuarts returned to England. The political supremacy
of the Puritans was brief, but their influence upon na-
tional character was lasting; and the character of a nation
is sure to be reflected in its literature.

CHAPTER XXVII
RESTORATION PERIOD: 1660-1700

John Dryden 1631-1700 Plays, satires, translations, critical

essays; jAlexander's Feast

When Charles II and his followers returned to England
after their long banishment, there was a notable rebound
from the straight-laced Puritan rule of
Puritanism Commonwealth days. The theatres, closed
since 1642, were reopened, and for the first
time the French custom of permitting women to act was
followed. Few of the older dramatists remained, but new
playwrights straightway appeared whose clever, witty
pomedies picturing the follies of polite society delighted
the town. We should like to believe these pictures over-
drawn, so shamelessly dissolute are they; but we have only
to read the diary of Samuel Pepys, a London tailor's son
who rose to be secretary to the admiralty, to be convinced
that fashionable London was as immoral as it was gay.
This gossipy diary in which Pepys recorded, in cipher, the
minutest details of his life, was. intended for his eye alone.
Its testimony is therefore reliable.

Many have attributed this state of affairs to the King's
long stay in France. Certain it is that writers of tragedy
were influenced by French models in which
. fl„gj,j,o rhyme took the place of blank verse, and

the classical unities of time, place, and action
were observed. How inferior Restoration tragedy is to
Elizabethan may be seen by comparing Dryden's All for
Love with Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra, two plays

282

RESTORATION PERIOD 283

based upon the same historic events. Although the dram-
atists constructed their plays after French rules, they
recognized Shakespeare's genius. He was considered
somewhat barbarous and antiquated, however, and a
number of his plays were rewritten, the plot construction
changed, the language modernized, and rhyme substituted
for blank verse!

Of the non-dramatic literature of this period, it is no-
ticeable that a large part is satirical poetry. One of the
most popular books of the day was Samuel
Butler's Hudihras, a burlesque romance ,
ridiculing the Puritans. It was an age of
criticism and satire, and poetry was made to do much of
the mean work of political warfare now carried on by our
newspapers. But the political wrangles of those early
times when the Whig and Tory parties were newly
formed are so far away from us that the long, clever,
biting satires of the day are no longer read save by
students.

As for prose, the Restoration period was preeminently
one of prose, most of which lies without the pale of pure
literature, if we except the comedies already a period of
mentioned. Sermons, histories, scientific prose pre-
works, and the like, we may disregard, eminently
though pieces of much less excellence have received notice
in earlier periods. When in 1662 the Royal Society (for
the cultivation of the natural sciences) was founded, one of
its regulations urged the members to strive after clearness,
directness, and conversational ease in their writings rather
than after cleverness and ornamentation. Purity, clear-
ness, combined with ease and polish, formed the ideal
which chastened Restoration prose generally. No attempt
was made to render it poetical, after the maimer of the
EUzabethans.

284 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

Although it was a time of unusual intellectual brilliancy,
the period produced but one great writer, John Dryden, a
lifelong man of letters, lacking in the crea-
tive imagination which Hfts Shakespeare and
Milton above their times, lacking too in moral and emo-
tional qualities, but a man of great intellect and a master
craftsman able to use his pen along many lines of com-
position. Twenty or more plays stand to his credit. His
non-dramatic poetry fills eight hundred pages or more,
closely packed, and his critical essays, most of which are
found as prefaces to his plays, are models of clear, vigor-
ous, rapid English. His best tragedies out4op all con-
temporary drama. He is the first great English satirist.
His translation of the Mneid remains a standard today.
His songs are perhaps the best — ^which is poor praise —
among the inferior ones of his time. He wrote heroic
verse (rhyming pentameter couplets) with greater skill
than any of his contemporaries. That his works are now
but seldom read is due to the fact that he was, after all,
merely a craftsman, not a genius, no greater than the
times for which he wrote. The whim of fortune is well
illustrated by the fact that to the great body of readers he
is best known today not by any of his more ambitious
pieces but by Alexander's Feast, a song written to order
for a musical society, in honor of St. Cecilia.

CHAPTER XXVIII
QUEEN ANNE PERIOD: 1700-1744

Daniel Defoe 1661 (?)-1731 °Robinson Crusoe
Jonathan Swift 1667-1745 ^Gulliver's Travels
Richard Steele 1671-1729 The Spectator

Joseph Addison 1672-1719 The Spectator

Alexander Pope 1688-1744 fRape of the Lock, fTransl. of

the Iliad

This period extends from the death of Dryden to the
death of his successor, Pope, yet it most commonly bears
the name of the queen during whose brief
reign (1702-1714) the important writers came ch^acteristics
into prominence. It is also called the Class-
ical or Augustan Age, for Latin models were followed as in
Dryden's day, and the authors who flourished under the
Roman emperor Augustus were reverenced as masters.
Another of its names is the Age of Prose. Of the five
writers whose names appear in the table, the first four are
prose writers, and not a little of Queen Anne poetry is of
the satirical or didactic order, which in spirit most nearly
approaches prose. Finally, it might well be called the Age
of Political Controversy. Party feeling ran high, and the
weapon used in political warfare was the pamphlet. Party
leaders were glad to secure the services of bright young
university graduates of literary ability. At no other time
in England's history have men of letters been so closely
connected with public affairs and never so richly rewarded
for party service.

Of the four prose writers whom we are to consider, three
w^ere among the most prominent of political partisans;

285

286 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

Defoe, the fourth, though a most energetic and influen-
tial pamphleteer, occupied a middle position between
, this prominent trio and that small army of

cheap hack-writers who have made Grub
Street famous. The details of his life are none too cer-
tainly known. His father was a butcher. At one time
Defoe was a wholesale hosier, at another time the pro-
prietor of a brick factory. Twice he was bankrupt for
large sums. For offending the Government through his
political pamphlets, he was pilloried and imprisoned. Al-
though his later years were marked by a degree of pros-
perity which enabled him to build a ''handsome house ^'
where he might have lived in moderate luxury, he died
in lodgings, presumably hiding from persecutors who may
have been the creation of a diseased mind. Defoe's ability
as a pamphleteer is attested by the sale of one of his sat-
ires, which reached 80,000 copies. Because of his Review^
a newspaper issued while he was in Newgate prison, and
written entirely without assistance, he has been called the
founder of English journalism. His reputation rests
mainly, however, on Robinson Crusoe, one of seven prose
fictions written towards the close of his life. It is un-
necessary to say that this is a world classic, the model after
which hundreds of stories of adventures have been pat-
terned, though no one has succeeded in doing half so well
as the none too scrupulous Queen Anne pamphleteer and
journalist, concerning whom a contemporary writes, ''The
little art that he is truly master of is forging a story and
imposing it on the world for truth. ''

The most original thinker of all the Queen Anne "wits,"
and the most savagely vigorous satirist in all English lit-
erature, is Jonathan Swift, who rose rapidly
from comparative obscurity and poverty to
commanding position among the literary politicians of his

QUEEN ANNE PERIOD 287

day. Soon after leaving college he took orders. It was
his ambition to win, through serving the Tory party, a
bishopric; but when the coveted prize was almost within
his grasp, promises were broken, and Swift received merely
the deanery of St. Patrick's in Ireland. In Ireland the
last thirty years of his life were, for the most part, spent.
He was a bitterly disappointed man; to leave England
was like going into exile. Madness finally overtook him,
and this was followed by imbecility. During the last three
years of his life he scarcely ever spoke a word. Able critics
declare that Swift's greatest work is practically his earliest
satire. The Tale of a Tub; but the world at large knows
merely his Gulliver^ s Travels, which is, like Robinson
Crusoe, surely a world classic. Readers fascinated by the
imaginary Gulliver's account of his voyages to Lilliput,
Brobdingnag, and Laputa seldom realize that the entire
book is the most scathing satire on humanity ever penned.
It was written some years after Swift's retirement to
Ireland, his brilliant career among the coffee house wits of
London a thing of the past.

Addison and Steele we associate with the rise of period-
ical literature. Newspapers of a sort there had been well
back in the seventeenth century, but these
two men were the first to popularize the , ^. .
periodical essay. Their Taller and Spectator
are the first and best of a series of similar short-lived
periodicals which reaches through the first three-quarters
of the eighteenth century. Each number of the Spectator,
as every school boy knows, contained a single essay, con-
versational in style, addressed mainly to that polite circle
of men who gathered daily at the coffee houses so numerous
and popular in Queen Anne days, and to the card-playing,
tea-drinking, frivolous ladies of gay London's drawing-
rooms. Some of the essays are reviews of books and plays,

288 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

some are on religious themes, but most of them are light,
impersonal satires aimed at the follies of the hour. They
exerted a quiet influence on morals, and doubtless pop-
ularized good literature at a time when trashy French
romances of interminable length were in vogue. Today
they are valued partly for the accurate pictures furnished
of London society as it was in the early years of the
eighteenth century, partly because they are models of easy,
graceful style, touched with humor. Addison and Steele
were public men, deep in politics. The writing of essays
occupied but little of their time. Steele became a prom-
inent member of parliament, Addison rose from office to
office till he was made Secretary of State. Aside from
victories and defeats through shifting politics, their lives
were not eventful. Their characters are best studied in
their essays and in the unrivaled delineations found in
Thackeray's English Humorists.

Queen Anne drama offers little of interest to the modern

reader. Comedy had been shamed into a moderate degree

of decency by a pamphlet written by Jeremy

Collier in 1688, entitled A Short View of the Im-

morality and Prof oneness of the Stage. It continued clever,

polished, light, and of little merit. Tragedy still followed

classical rules, was stiff and conventional, never reaching the

level of Dryden's best pieces. Perhaps the most attractive

dramatic work of the period is the Beggars' Opera by Gay,

the only poet of the period who possessed the gift of song.

That Fortune makes many a strange choice when

bestowing fame is often illustrated in the history of Eng-

p lish letters, but nowhere more strikingly than

in the case of Alexander Pope, the son of a

London linen merchant of slender means. He received

little education; indeed the poor health which followed

him through life prohibited hard study. His frail body

QUEEN ANNE PERIOD 289

was deformed; it is said that his condition was such that
''he required to be Hfted out of bed, and could not stand
until he was laced into a sort of harness.'^ Even had his
health been normal, the fact that he was a Catholic would
have barred him from most schools and universities, and
from most of the professions. And yet, though so pitifully
handicapped, at twenty-one Pope had gained his reputa-
tion and for thirty years was the recognized leader in the
field of poetry. His success was due in large measure to his
complete mastery of that form of verse which Dryden had
popularized, the heroic couplet; it was due also to his
ability to study a model and then better it. French models
are to be found for most of his poems, yet it is but fair to
add that his poems in turn served as patterns for many
writers, European as well as EngUsh. He was not a man
of original ideas, was not gifted with imagination or deep
emotion; but it has been truly said that there is scarcely a
belief, tradition, or ideal of his age which is not discovered
lucidly set down in his poems.

One of Pope's earliest successes is a mock heroic. The
Rape of the Lock, which tells, in the grand style of the
Iliad or the Mneid, how a mischievous lord Rape of the
snipped a curl from the head of a court Lock and the
beauty while at a card party, and of the ^^^
"tempest in a teapot " which followed. It is the best thing
of its little kind in the language. Pope's greatest work,
w^iich finally estabUshed his fame and enabled him to
live in comparative luxury the remainder of his Hfe, is his
translation of the Iliad, which, though ''it is not Homer,"
has held its place ever since among similar attempts. Al-
though by far the best of the period. Pope is not a poet of
the first rank, nor is his character altogether lovely. Per-
haps a liberal estimate is that which calls him "a very
great man imprisoned in a little rickety body which
warped and pinched certain members of his mind."

CHAPTER XXIX

THE AGE OF JOHNSON: 1744-1789

Samuel Johnson 1709-1784

David Hume 1711-1776
Edward Gibbon 1737-1794

Edmund Burke 1729-1797

James Boswell 1740-1795
Samuel Richardson 1689-1761
Henry Fielding 1707-1754
Laurence Sterne 1713-1768
Tobias Smollett 1721-1771

Thomas Gray 1716-1771

OUver Goldsmith 1728-1774

William Cowper 1731-1800
William Blake 1757-1827
Richard Sheridan 1751-1816

Dictionary, Lives of the

Poets
History of England
Decline and Fall of the

Roman Empire
Speech on Conciliation with

America
Life of Dr. Johnson
° Clarissa Harlowe
°Amelia

°Tristram Shandy
^The Expedition of Hum-
phrey Clinker
fElegy in a Country Church-
yard
fDeserted Village,
^Vicar of Wakefield, She

Stoops to Conquer
fThe Task
fSongs of Innocence
The Rivals

This period, which includes the years between the death
of Pope and the outbreak of the French Revolution, is,
A period of like the preceding era, conspicuously one of
prose pre- prose, and much of this prose is of a very
eminently substantial kind in which the emotions are

less conspicuous than the intellect. Were we tracing the
history of English thought rather than of literature in the
narrower, higher sense, our table would include perhaps a
score of additional names, important because they repre-

290

THE AGE OF JOHNSON 291

sent the best of the very solid thinking of the age. Much,
for example, was written in the field of theology. Philos-
ophy was as fashionable a study with the educated classes
as the writing of sonnets had been with Elizabethan court-
iers. Many great minds were busy in the field of political
science and political economy. A little nearer the realm
of polite letters are a number of massive histories, the first
of permanent importance in English literature. Two of
these are given place in the table. Finally, it may be said
with confidence that at no other time, in any country,
were there so many brilliant orators as are found in the
remarkable group to which Chatham, Burke, Fox, and
Pitt belonged. It was an age of fiery eloquence; and it
might well be added, an age of rare conversational skill.

A glance at the table, however, will show at once that
not all the hterature was of the solid prose order. There
is a good variety. What is more, as we
study the lives of the principal writers, we , ,
learn that though London is still the great
magnet by which all are irresistibly drawn, her monopoly
is not complete. Genius is beginning to scatter. Two or
three of the authors whom we have selected are Scotch,
two or three are Irish. Country w^ill soon be competing
with town. A partial explanation of the change that is
coming over literature is found in the remarkable changes
that are taking place in England herself. Population is
increasing rapidly. Manufacturing interests are develop-
ing with wonderful rapidity, bringing into prominence the
towns of the north and west. A network of good roads is
bringing town and country nearer each other. Along the
main roads speed mail coaches; newspapers are circulating
throughout the realm the intelligence which in former days
was confined pretty much to the metropolis. Moreover
England's colonies, particularly America, have grown into

292 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

tremendous importance, not only furnishing markets for
English goods but presenting serious problems in colonial
management. Wider interests, a greater degree of intel-
ligence, more readers and more classes of readers, — these
naturally lead to a greater and more complex literary
output.

Passing by the weighty prose mentioned in the first
paragraph, we may say that the most important, certainly
- the most interesting, form that literature

took was the novel. Prose fiction of a kind
we have found in earher periods — in such works as More's
Utopiaf Lyly's Euphues, Sidney's Arcadia, Bunyan's
Pilgrim's Progress, and Swift's Gulliver's Travels. Robinson
Crusoe brings us a step nearer, for the in-
cidents in this delightful story might have
happened. Strictly speaking, however, our first real
novelist is Samuel Richardson, a prosperous, portly,
affable London printer. How Richardson, at the age of
fifty, began writing novels is interesting. Some publishers
engaged him to compose a series of letters designed to
form a ^better-writer" or "polite correspondence" book.
It occurred to the printer in accepting this commission
that he might weave into these letters a moral tale, and
the result was a four volume novel in letter form telling
how Pamela, a virtuous serving maid, resisted the temp-
tations placed in her way by her wild young master, and
was at length rewarded for her purity and strength of
character by becoming his bride — a bride who reforms
her husband. This first novel, appealing very little to the
intellect and very much to the emotions, was an immediate
success not only in England but throughout Europe.
To us of today, accustomed to shorter, livelier, more
dramatic stories, Pamela seems tediously long drawn out,
its narrative commonplace, its morals petty and obvious.

THE AGE OF JOHNSON 293

We are surprised to learn that it was read aloud and wept
over in many families, and that the author received scores
of letters from tearfully sentimental readers, men as well
as women. Yet Richardson's three novels are commonly
acknowledged by critics to be among the greatest in Brit-
ish fiction. Some of his characters are drawn with such
minute fidelity that they seem very real, Hke Sir Roger de
Coverley in the Spectator Papers.

Among those to whom Richardson's puritanically moral
Pamela seemed but wishy-washy twaddle was Henry
Fielding. Fielding, belonging to the younger „. , ,.
branch of a noble house, was no Puritan but
a careless, big-hearted spendthrift, leading a merry life
among London wits, frequently in debt, who had drifted
into play writing. He was a humorist. Straightway the
idea seized him of burlesquing Richardson's novel by
writing a companion piece in which Pamela's brother
Joseph, a serving man, should virtuously resist all temp-
tations. For a time this wicked jest pleased him; but as he
proceeded with the story, carrying his hero through a
series of lively adventures in high life and low, the humor-
ist became so interested in his characters that he abandoned
his original purpose. The result was a somewhat rough,
hearty, humorous production, with ideals of manhood and
womanhood which, though not the loftiest, are free from
namby-pamby. He lived to do better work; critics do not
agree whether the palm belongs to him or to Richardson.

This form of literature once estabhshed, many writers
adopted it, and with varying success. If we except Gold-
smith, whose delightful Vicar of Wakefield
is too well known and loved to call for com- . sterne
ment, the best of these novelists are Smollett
and Sterne, the former a warm-hearted, irritable Scotch-
man, for many years a ship-surgeon and later a struggling

294 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

writer who barely made a living; the latter a none too
saintly minister, writer of witty sermons as well as of
prose fiction. Smollett's novels are coarse but humorous.
In them we meet for the first time the British tar. His
best novel, written during the illness which terminated
in his death, is highly praised by Thackeray. Sterne's
two novels, inferior to Richardson's and Fielding's, are
formless, sentimental things, immoral, yet fascinating.
At least one of his characters is among the best drawn in
all literature.

Viewing the fiction of this period collectively, we can-
not but note one thing: it is not romantic. It pictures,
or strives to picture, not ideal life in an ideal country,
but English contemporary life and manners as seen
through the eyes not of courtiers but of people belong-
ing to the middle class. With the exception of The Vicar
of Wakefield, it does not furnish desirable reading for the
young; for ideas concerning what scenes should be rep-
resented and what matters discussed in novels have
changed since the somewhat too free and outspoken days
of the eighteenth century.

Prose fiction and drama, it has often been remarked,
seldom flourish side by side. Drama during the middle

third of the century, and indeed later, was

very weak, particularly tragedy. Among
the writers of comedy, however, were two who are often
called the best since Shakespeare. These are Goldsmith
and Sheridan, whose She Stoops to Conquer and The Rivals
are still popular and mirth producing. Like the novels,
they picture contemporary manners.

The story of Goldsmith's life, too long to tell in this

summary, is as interesting as most novels.

He did more foolish things, was a failure at
more things, than any other man we have considered.

THE AGE OF JOHNSON 295

He was very vain, and very improvident; but his biogra-
phers also use the words candor, generosity, simpHcity, and
sweetness in teUing of his character. Notwithstanding his
many failures, it was his lot to produce a play, a novel, and
two poems which are classics. His essays are among the
best of his day. Sheridan, like Goldsmith,
was of Irish parentage, his father an actor, his
mother a playwright and novelist. Although early pro-
nounced an impenetrable dunce by his mother, at twenty-
eight he had written six successful comedies and estab-
lished his fame. At twenty-eight his literary career closed
abruptly. He became a member of parHament and en-
gaged in bitter political controversy. For a time he was
manager of Drury Lane theatre. His fortune varied
from great prosperity to poverty. He died deeply in
debt.

Although the larger histories credit this period with
perhaps a score of poets, with the exception of Goldsmith,
Gray, and Blake they are not generally

known to modern readers. It is a transitional . .

in poetry

period, in which the old is dying out slowly
and the new as slowly gaining ground. By the old is
meant poetry patterned after that of Dryden and Pope,
coldly intellectual, following classical models, and written
in heroic couplets, the favorite measure till near the close
of the century. By the new is meant poetry of a mellower
type, in which nature, seldom treated by Queen Anne poets
save in an artificial way, is increasingly prominent. Very,
very gradually the new poetry is gaining in simphcity, in
emotional quahties, and in melody.

The earliest poet to show this new vein is Thomson, the
son of a Scotch clergyman, who came to _.
London when Pope was at the height of
his power, succeeded in winning patrons, and somehow

296 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

managed to lead an easy life. His four poems, Winter,
Spring, Summer, and Autumn, now little read, heralded
the faint beginnings of nature poetry. This
same love for nature, and a turning away
from the satirical vein of the town poets, is seen in the
slender volume which contains the poems of Gray, espe-
cially in his well known Elegy, and in Goldsmith's The
Traveller and the Deserted Village. Towards the close of
the century the transition from the old manner to the new
is even more marked in Cowper and Blake. Many who
have laughed over Cowper's John Gilpin
do not dream that its author was a moody
man, now gay, now suffering from the blackest melancholy
deepening at times into insanity, and that finally he lost
his mind altogether. He is remembered today by his
John Gilpin, by his tender lines entitled On the Receipt of
my Mother^s Picture out of Norfolk, and by wonderful
little descriptive passages scattered through an otherwise
tedious poem of great length. The Task, in which he de-
scribes the scenes, occupations, and characters of rural
life. An even more remarkable man was Blake, by pro-
fession an engraver, whose life was one of
obscurity and poverty. From early child-
hood days he saw visions — of God, of '' armies of angels
that soar, legions of devils that lurk." His poetry is
strange and mystical, some of it too obscure for compre-
hension, but in his Songs of Innocence and Songs of
Experience (how different the field suggested by these
titles from that wherein Dryden and Pope worked!) are
found some of the ''simplest and sweetest, as well as
some of the most powerful, short poems in the lan-
guage.'' Blake, it will be noted, lived well into the
nineteenth century.

Three prose writers remain to be considered, Burke,

THE AGE OF JOHNSON 297

Johnson, and Boswell. The first of these DeQuincey has
termed the "supreme writer of the century." Others have
declared that his was the greatest mind since
Shakespeare's, though Carlyle maintains that
he was "a, resplendent, far-sighted rhetorician, rather than
a deep and earnest thinker." In a way he lies without
our province, for his field was oratory; yet because his
speeches have been carefully preserved and are models of
forceful eloquence, it would be a blunder to omit all men-
tion of this brilliant, earnest Irishman who came to London
entirely without influence and became in a few years one
of the foremost figures in Enghsh politics.

This period appropriately bears the name of Samuel
Johnson, son of a bookseller in the little cathedral town of
Lichfield. When a young man he came to
London at a time when the literary pro-
fession was very poorly paid, for years endured bitter
poverty as a hack-writer for booksellers, but gradually won
his way to prominence, and for many years was the leading
figure in English letters, looked up to by all contemporary
writers. Most of these writers were his personal friends,
and many of them, such as Burke, Goldsmith, Sheridan,
and Gibbon, were members of the Club, of which Johnson
was a charter member. At the meetings of this Club,
Johnson was ever the leader in conversation, delivering
opinions on a vast variety of subjects, some trivial, some
most weighty; for he loved to talk, and his great philo-
sophical mind found easy expression. Johnson's works
include two satirical poems, an unsuccessful tragedy, a di-
dactic novel, a dictionary of the English language, essays,
and biographical sketches, nearly all of which are now
forgotten. That Johnson is today the best known writer of
the century is due to James Boswell, a young Scotch law-
yer, member of the Club, who attached himself to the

298 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

philosopher as a dog to his master, recorded his conversa-
tion with painstaking minuteness, and finally wrote what
is admitted to be the best biography of its kind ever pro-
duced. As we read this stupendous work we cannot but
agree with Macaulay that Johnson was a great and good'
man.

CHAPTER XXX

WORDSWORTH-SCOTT ERA: 1789-1832

Robert Burns 1759-1796

Sir Walter Scott 1771-1832

WilUam Wordsworth 1770-1850

Samuel T. Coleridge 1772-1834
Lord Byron 1788-1824
Percy B. Shelley 1792-1822

John Keats 1795-1821

Jane Austen 1775-1817
Charles Lamb 1775-1834
Thomas DeQuincey 1785-1859

fSongs, fThe Cotter's Sat-
urday Night

fLady of the Lake, °The
Waverley Novels

fThe Daffodils, fOde on
Immortality

fAncient Mariner

fChilde Harold

JTo a Skylark, fProme-
theus Unbound

fTo a Nightingale,

fHyperion

°Pride and Prejudice
Essays of Elia
Confessions of an English
Opium Eater

A period rich
in poetry

This period extends from the beginning of the French
Revolution to the death of Scott. It is fittingly named
after two great writers, who best represent
the new tendencies in literature: Words-
worth the poet of nature, who stands but
little lower than Milton; and Scott, the most prominent
figure in the field of historical romance in verse and prose.
This period produced no great actable drama, no epics, yet
with the exception of the Elizabethan it is the most remark-
able in all English literature, particularly rich in lyrical
poetry, though prose fiction and the essay are prominent.
It is represented by many names, far more than appear
in our necessarily limited table.

299

300 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

That the Hterature of this period is not only better than
that of the two preceding ones but very different in char-
acter is seen at every turn, especially in
poetry, and nowhere more conspicuously
than in the works of Robert Burns. A poor, uneducated
peasant boy, composing songs in the vernacular to fit old
Scottish airs as his plow turned the furrow; but a few years
later, for a brief time the lion of brilhant Edinburgh
society; at thirty-seven, poor, neglected, deeply remorseful
concerning his dissipated life, dying miserably in pitiful
obscurity: such is the familiar story of our greatest song-
writer. His simple melodies, full of tenderness and sym-
pathy touched with humor, full of love for nature, his
fellow men, his rugged country, full of hatred of sham and
bigotry, have endeared him to the entire world. A greater
contrast can hardly be imagined than that between the
artificial, coldly intellectual lines which brought fame and
riches to Pope, the commanding poet at the beginning of
the century, and the tender, spontaneous songs of the
unlettered peasant with which the century closes.

Burns, the lyric poet and painter of familiar scenes from
country life, found his subject matter at his door. Scott's
passion was for the long ago when the harp
was heard in hall and bower. He lamented
the disappearance of the minstrel, so prominent a figure
in earlier times. His hobby during his young manhood
days had been the collecting of ancient legends and ballads.
At length he tried his own hand at minstrel poetry. The
Lay of the Last Minstrel, Marmion, and The Lady of the
Lake, first of some seven or eight long poems which came
from his pen in rapid succession, gained an immediate
popularity, so different were they from anything else that
had ever appeared. The reading world was tired of satir-
ical and philosophical poetry, and quickly cast it aside

WORDSWORTH-SCOTT ERA 301

for these new romances with their scenes of love and war
and adventure in which historical personages figure as
heroes and heroines. The sales were unprecedented, and
Scott, the none too successful lawyer, became famous.

Although these poems still have hundreds of thousands
of readers, for the world seldom wearies of gallant knights
and ladies fair and all the trappings that go
with chivalry, this new Scottish minstrel
slipped into the background when the young and beautiful
Lord Byron awoke one morning to find himself famous
through his romance of travel, Childe Harold. Childe
Harold is but Lord Byron, his long poem but a record of
European travels in lands recently brought into prom-
inence through the stirring events following the French
Revolution. Its descriptive passages, its stanzas in which
the moody, pessimistic, yet freedom-loving poet describes
his emotions upon contemplating this scene and that, so
appealed to the great masses that Byron became the idol
of all Europe. A man of '' careless yet great poetical
gifts" undoubtedly he was; his subject matter was new
and his personality fascinating; but his fame has slowly
declined. Scott, posterity has decided, is the sweeter,
more wholesome poet. His works are not tainted with
voluptuousness and scorn for accepted codes of morals as
are Byron's; nor does Scott ever parade his own sorrows.

Byron's life ended nobly, for he died of fever while
fighting for Greek freedom; but his young manhood days
were wild and passionate, and his later life ^ , .,
on the continent, where much of his time was
spent, was far from faultless. Very different was the career
of William Wordsworth, who lived a quiet, blameless life
of plain living and high thinking. A small legacy from
a friend, afterwards supplemented by other sums gained
through inheritance, relieved him of all care concerning

302 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

money matters. We associate him with the beautiful
lake and mountain region of northwestern England,
where most of his days were passed in ideal companion-
ship with his wife and his sister Dorothy. He was a
life-long poet, for years the object of ridicule on the part
of the critics, but living to be recognized as one whose
works were in a way revolutionary.

The Queen Anne writers had believed that correctness
and polish should be sought even at the expense of individ-
Wordsworth's uality. They subjected themselves to rules,
theory of The heroic couplet was adopted as the one

poetry perfect measure, and poets employed a select

vocabulary of choice words, as if the phrases of common
speech were too inelegant for verse. The favorite themes
were philosophical and satirical. Against all this Words-
worth rebelled. He believed no vocabulary more poetical
than that of common speech, no matter more fit for the
poet's use than his daily experiences and the simple objects
contemplated day by day. He employed a variety of
meters, including the sonnet form, which had been neg-
lected for a century and more.

Wordsworth is our greatest nature poet. He lived with
Nature, communed with her as if she were a spirit, drew

from her his philosophy, if not his religion.
Wordsworth a ^^ , , , ., , \tt ^

Volumes have been written on Words-
nature poet , . 1

worth s nature-worship, but we do not need

to read them to enjoy, and in a measure understand, the
simpler of his poems in which he records his companionship
with mountains, brooks, trees, flowers, birds, the peaceful
lake, and the starlit skies.

Notwithstanding the fact that Wordsworth's poetry

deals largely with nature and the simple life

of the peasants who lived about him, he

should be credited with imagination and deep thought. His

WORDSWORTH-SCOTT ERA 303

imagination is of a very different kind, however, from that
which we find in Coleridge's weird poem of the supernat-
ural. Rime of the Ancient Mariner j which first appeared in a
httle volume made up of verses written by these brother
poets. Coleridge was a life-long dreamer, his career most
exasperating to those who believe that even poets should
support themselves and their famiUes. Apparently he was
absolutely helpless in business affairs, unable to follow a
venture for any length of time. His will, never very
strong, was weakened by the use of opium, first taken as
a medicine. Much of his life he was dependent on others
for support. And yet this indolent man, most of whose
poems are but fragments of uncompleted works, was one
of the greatest thinkers of his day. As a conversationahst
he ranks with Johnson. His lectures on Shakespeare,
saved to us through notes taken by those who listened, are
among the best in that field. What poet can be named
whose verses have the melody pecuhar to Coleridge's
best lines? The Ancient Mariner stands alone, the only
great poem of the weirdly supernatural in the language.

Shelley and Keats, the last two poets to be considered,
present a number of striking contrasts. Keats was of
lowly parentage, his father a groom in a
London livery stable. He was physically
frail, destined to die of consumption at twenty-six. He
had little education, and was practically without in-
fluential friends. What he would have produced had his
life been spared can be conjectured only; yet even amid
adverse circumstances he produced a few poems which
clearly entitle him to rank among the great. Keats was
not a thinker; his poetry is not a vehicle for ideas, but a
record of acutely felt sensations. It is sometimes affirmed
that his one message is contained in his well known, though
enigmatic, lines

304 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

Beauty is truth, truth beauty; that is all
We know on earth and all we need to know.

Like Wordsworth, he was a nature poet; yet his inspiration
came largely from books. He was fascinated by the music
and imagery of the Foerie Queene. Chapman's Homer, as
he has told us in one of his most perfect poems, opened to
him a whole world of unsuspected beauty, and he reveled
in the romance of the Middle Ages. His longer poems re-
tell with wonderful beauty tales from classical mythology
and mediaeval legend.

Shelley was of aristocratic birth, the son of a substantial
gentleman as matter of fact as his son was visionary and
wilful. His entire life was a series of striking
incidents, from the time he was expelled
from college for printing a pamphlet advocating atheism
till his death by drowning at thirty. Keats did not meddle
with the great problems perplexing the world in the years
following the Revolution; he lived in his little w^orld of
sensuous beauty. Shelley was a violent revolutionist, in
rebellion against all restraint, social, political, and reli-
gious. He saw the misery and the tyranny of the world,
and threw himself into attempt after attempt to make the
world better and happier, obedient to no rule save that of
love. We cannot follow in detail the career of this im-
practical reformer, though it is one of dramatic inter-
est. Of poetry he wrote an amazing amount, in which
imagination of the highest kind is most prominent. He
is perhaps the most ethereal of all our singers, his flights
many of them too lofty for any save poets to follow. To
common readers he is best known by his shorter pieces,
such as his matchless Ode to the West Wind and To a
Skylark.

These seven poets. Bums, Scott, Byron, Wordsworth,
Coleridge, Keats, and Shelley, make this a remarkable era

WORDSWORTH-SCOTT ERA 305

of poetry. Prose fiction too shows a perceptible advance,
reaching new heights in the works of Jane Austen and
Walter Scott. While these two are the great
names, it should not be forgotten that be-
tween the days of Sterne, last of the five great eighteenth
century novehsts, and Jane Austen, first of the five or
six great novelists of the nineteenth century, there were in
this comparatively new field scores of writers who had
their hour of popularity, and that during the lifetime of
Scott still other scores appeared. Not a few of these were
women. Frances Burney's Evelina, a so-
ciety novel popular in the days of Johnson, „
Burke, and Goldsmith, who were her in-
timate friends, still finds occasional readers. Mrs. Edge-
worth's tales of Irish life and Jane Porter's Thaddeus of
Warsaw and The Scottish Chiefs are not wholly forgotten ;
indeed the last named book is still quite popular with
young readers.

"Quiet, homely, wholesome Jane Austen:" thus has
been characterized by one critic the author of Pride and
Prejudice, concerning whom Scott once de-
clared, "That young lady has a talent for
describing the involvements of feelings and characters of
ordinary life which is to me the most wonderful I ever met
with." Publishers were very slow in accepting her manu-
scripts; they doubted if her quiet, domestic tales, as free
from the sensational as was her own life in a village rectory,
would find many readers. But today Jane Austen is
ranked with the greatest of novelists.

Of Scott, it is hardly necessary to say anything, so well
known are the twenty-nine historical romances which
came from his pen after he realized that the
popularity once his as a poet had passed to
Lord Byron. This brilliant series marks the climax of

306 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

romantic historical fiction, so different in kind from eight-
eenth century fiction in which contemporary fife is pic-
tured.

Lamb and DeQuincey are undoubtedly the best known
essayists of the period. The former was the son of a law-
yer's confidential servant. He went to
jy Q - , school with Coleridge and was his life-long
friend. Very pathetic is the story of ''gentle-
hearted Charles," as Coleridge called him, but it cannot be
told in this brief summary. He was known to many
merely as a clerk in the India House; the few choice spirits
who enjoyed the hospitality of the modest lodgings where
he and his sister Mary lived knew him as an inveterate
play-goer, a lover of old books, old furniture, and whist,
nervous, emotional, generous, lovable. No author in all
the realm of letters, it is safe to say, is better loved than
Elia, as he signed himself when writing short essays for the
London Magazine — essays which differ from Addison's in
that they reveal the writer's personality; for he shares
with the reader his likes and dislikes. He polished and re-
wrote, yet his essays convey the impression of unstudied
conversation. Lamb's essays fill but a single volume;
DeQuincey was a life-long magazine writer, whose many
works cover a wide range, though he is best known by his
dream Hterature, particularly as found in his Confessions
of an English Opium Eater. He was a shy, eccentric,
scholarly recluse, by nature affectionate, like Coleridge a
marvelous talker, like Coleridge too a slave to opium.
He is one of the recognized masters of English style.

As we view collectively the works of this wonderful
period we readily see how different they are from those of
the two preceding eras. First we note that classical models
have been cast aside, and the somewhat artificial diction
of eighteenth century poetry has been supplanted. Bums

WORDSWORTH-SCOTT ERA 307

uses the vernacular of Scottish peasants and Wordsworth
dehberately selects the simple language of the middle
classes. Second, though Queen Anne writers Character-
were more deeply interested in their own istics of the
times and looked upon earher days as Period
somewhat barbarous, less than a century later the ro-
mantic past is fascinating poet and novelist. The ancient
ballads are collected by Bishop Percy; Scott and Keats
find much of their subject matter in the romance of the
Middle Ages, and Lamb lives with the minor dramatists
of Shakespeare's day. Third, a new prominence is given
to nature. Wordsworth writes of mountains and brooks,
of clouds and daffodils. The roar of the ocean rolls through
Byron's poetry. Shelley sings of the skylark and Keats
of the nightingale. The charm of The Lady of the Lake is
in no small measure attributable to Scott's vivid descrip-
tion of romantic scenery. The town has lost its fascina-
tion. Fourth, we cannot but note a marked increase in
human sympathy, tender and democratic. The artificial
barriers of society and rank are being torn down; the
aristocracy of letters is a thing of the past. Burns ideal-
izes the hfe of the peasant; Wordsworth writes of Peter
Bell and Lucy Gray. Shelley devoted his young life to the
betterment of the world, and Byron, by birth an aristocrat,
died for the cause of liberty. Finally, few are the writers
of this period who were not deeply moved by the French
Revolution; and the influence of German literature, then
at its highest excellence, is seen in the trend of English
thought.

CHAPTER XXXI

VICTORIAN ERA: 1832-1900

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 1809-1892
Robert Browning 1812-1889

William Makepeace Thackeray

1811-1863
Charles Dickens 1812-1870

George EUot 1819-1880

Robert Louis Stevenson 1845-
1894

Thomas Carlyle 1795-1881

Thomas B. Macaulay 1800-1859

John Ruskin 1819-1900

tidylls of the King, fin
Memoriam

fThe Ring and the Book,
fDramatic Lyrics

°Henry Esmond, The Eng-
lish Humorists

°David Copperfield, °A Tale
of Two Cities

°Silas Marner, °The Mill on
the Floss

^Treasure Island, °The
Merrymen and other
Tales
Sartor Resartus, History of

the French Revolution
Biographical Essays, His-
tory of England
Stones of Venice

Difficulty in
summarizing

This period is difficult to summarize for two reasons.
First, we are bewildered by a multitude of names. The
century was one of great and rapidly increas-
ing literary activity in all fields, especially
in fiction and history and in miscellaneous
prose of the periodical type; for quarterlies, monthlies,
weeklies, and dailies played an important part in the
intellectual life of the times. Second, the period is so
adjacent to the present, we are so near to it, that it is
difficult to select from the crowd of leading figures and
determine with certainty the prevailing characteristics.
All critics agree, however, that it was a remarkable era,

308

VICTORIAN ERA 309

nearly the equal of the preceding one. Two great poets
and a number of others of unusual power; three great
novelists and half a score more whose works bid fair to
live; three great essayists and a number of others nearly as
great, besides many historians and scientists whose works
possess a literary charm almost admitting them to the
realm of belles-lettres, — this is the proud record of the
Victorian era.

The most popular poet of this period was Tennyson,
whose life-story is exceedingly simple: born in a Lincoln-
shire rectory; educated at Cambridge; from
boyhood days a poet, winning recognition
slowly but surely; at thirty-four, the recipient of a pension;
laureate at forty-one, a peer at seventy-five. The last half
of his life was spent at Farringford on the Isle of Wight and
at Aldworth in Sussex, quiet retreats made possible by the
success of his verse. His earliest venture was a little
volume in which his two brothers had a share, published
when he was but eighteen. Among his latest works were
a number of historical dramas. Between these two ex-
tremes came, among many other poems, The Princess, The
Idylls of the King, and In Memoriam. The first of these
is ^'a novel in verse" telHng how the Princess Ida founds a
college for women, but finally abandons her enterprise and
marries one of the princes who, heedless of the warning
over the gateway promising death to any man who should
enter the college town, disguise themselves as maidens and
are accepted as students. It is a combination of earnest-
ness and banter dealing with ''the emancipation of women,"
illustrating perhaps better than any of his other poems how
Tennyson's works reflect the thought and spirit of his
times. It also reveals his almost perfect art as a lyrist, for
scattered through the narrative are some of the best songs
in the language. The Idylls carry us back to Sir Thomas

310 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

Malory; for they are tales retold from Morte d' Arthur in
an attempt to form an epic on the fall of the Round Table.
The composition of the Idylls was scattered through many
years; and the same is true of In Memoriam, sl long series
of poems in which the poet records the various moods of
his grief caused by the death of a college friend.

Critics do not agree in their estimate of Tennyson,
though all recognize him as a great artist, a master of
melody, a close and sjnnpathetic observer of nature, with
wonderful pictorial powers. We could ill spare the works
of one who sang so well in so many "different keys. There
is strength and exquisite beauty in the best of the IdyllSy
and many of his shorter pieces are faultless gems.

Browning, like Tennyson, was exclusively a poet, de-
voting his entire life to literature. Unhke Tennyson, he
. waited long for recognition. Up to the time

when, at the age of thirty-four, he married
Elizabeth Barrett, the leading poetess of the century, he
had gained but a slender reputation, although he had writ-
ten much the worth of which is now fully appreciated; and
for years afterward, while these two poets were living
happily in Florence, the home of their married life, he was
best known as the husband of Elizabeth Barrett. Not
until he published, at fifty-six. The Ring and the Book, did
he receive a wide reading. Since then his popularity has
steadily increased, many critics placing him above Tenny-
son.

Browning is not the finished artist that we find in Tenny-
son; much of his verse is exceedingly rugged and unmu-
sical. Moreover he is unnecessarily obscure, especially in
his earlier poems. The meaning of many a passage has to
be puzzled out — an enjoyable process to those who admire
the poet, but exasperating to those who prefer the perfect
clearness of Tennyson. But Browning is a deeper thinker

VICTORIAN ERA 311

than Tennyson, and his manly optimism is better than
dream-Hke beauty. A few of his works are dramas; many
of them are dramatic in character — monologues in which
personages from history or old stories, or merely creatures
of his own imagining, are made to talk in such a manner
as to reveal their souls and incidentally tell in wonderfully
condensed form a dramatic story. Browning may be said
to have invented this mode of story-telling. In The Ring
and the Book, we are given the story of a murder, first as it
impresses the poet, who found in a chance-discovered book ,
an account of the court trial it occasioned, then as it im-
presses ten others immediately concerned. This telling
and retelling of the same story fills more than 20,000 lines,
yet the narrative gains steadily in interest, for each version
throws new light on the sordid action. All Browning's
poetry is stamped with vigorous personality. He was by
nature brave and manly, optimistic, believing in hard work,
welcoming troubles and hardships as necessary for the de-
velopment of character. He hated nothing more than in-
activity and indecision due to lack of energy and courage.

Of the other poets of the period, not so great as Tenny-
son and Browning yet worthy of mention, two were women,
Mrs. Browning and Christina Rosetti. The
latter belongs to a little group, among them
Dante Rossetti, William Morris, and Algernon Swinburne,
known as the Pre-Raphaelites, who found their inspiration,
as did earlier poets who shared in the Romantic Move-
ment, in the Middle Ages.

Tennyson and Browning are great story-tellers. It was
a great story-telling era, the golden age of prose fiction.
By the middle of the century the yearly Dickens,
output was nearly one hundred novels. Thackeray,
Earliest to appear of the three world-great George Eliot
novelists who followed Scott was Charles Dickens, whose

312 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

Pickwick Papers (1836-7) lifted an obscure shorthand re-
porter of rather lowly origin — his boyhood daj^s were days
of London poverty — into a world-wide popularity which
he retained through the remainder of his life. A decade
later (1847-8) appeared Vanity Fair, opening the gate to
fame for Thackeray, a little higher in the social scale than
Dickens, a little better educated, who had served appren-
ticeship for years as a writer of sketches for Punch and
other magazines. Ten years later still (1858) appeared
the first of George Eliot's fictions, a volume of short
stories entitled Scenes from Clerical Life. Dickens and
Thackeray were of the city; their novels teem with char-
acters as do the streets of the London they knew so well.
George Eliot — her real name before marriage was Mary
Ann Evans — ^was the daughter of a Warwickshire land
agent and surveyor. She is at her best when picturing
life in the rural districts of Middle England where her
earlier years were spent.

These three writers differ from Scott, the out-and-out
romancer who lived in the past with kings and queens and
knights and ladies. His fiction world is more romantic
than real. Dickens, Thackeray, and George Eliot are
realistic painters of English life and manners, mainly of
their own times or the adjacent past; though Thackeray's
Henry Esmond, by most critics called the best historical
novel ever written, is a vivid picture of Queen Anne days,
Dickens's A Tale of Two Cities a graphic account of the
beginning of the French Revolution, and George Eliot's
Romola a story of Italy in Savonarola's day. We cannot
tarry to note how these three great artists differed one
from another in temperament and humor, in their ways
of looking upon life, and their theories of what a novel
should be; it would be useless to attempt to determine
which is the greatest. All three are very great, far above

VICTORIAN ERA 313

any of their contemporaries, and above the novelists of
the present day.

Among their contemporaries in the field of fiction many
are of more than ordinary abihty : Bulwer Lytton, the best
known of whose historical novels is The Last
Days of Pompeii; Captain Marryat, writer of , . ,

sea tales; Anthony Trollope, whose realistic
novels of clerical and political life still retain their pop-
ularity; Charles Kingsley, author of Westward Ho! and
Hypatia; Charlotte Bronte, whose melodramatic Jane
Eyre shows wonderful vitality. With all its faults, Charles
Reade's The Cloister and the Hearth is among the best of
romances aiming to acquaint the reader with Continental
life in the Middle Ages; and Tom Brown^s School Days and
Tom Brown at Oxford, by Hughes, are among the most
wholesome books ever written for boys. MacDonald,
Meredith, Blackmore, and Hardy are other names which
would receive marked attention in a wider survey. At
present, critics are inclined to give to Stevenson a rank
second only to the greatest; certainly no writer of recent
years has employed language with greater charm. His
Treasure Island bids fair to become a classic in the field
of romantic adventure, and certain of his shorter tales
approach in genius the masterpieces of Poe and Hawthorne.
We appreciate his works the more as we become better
acquainted with his biography. He was a life-long in-
valid, and fought his way to fame through obstacles that
would have daunted a spirit less persistently brave and
cheerful.

Stevenson ranks high as an essayist too, though not in
the same class with Carlyle, Macaulay, and Ruskin. The
first of these three sprang, like Burns, from
the Scotch peasantry. His is the familiar
story of the poor country boy for whom ''bitter thrift"

312 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

Pickwick Payers (1836-7) lifted an obscure shorthand re-
porter of rather lowly origin — his boyhood days were days
of London poverty — into a world-wide popularity which
he retained through the remainder of his life. A decade
later (1847-8) appeared Vanity Fair, opening the gate to
fame for Thackeray, a little higher in the social scale than
Dickens, a little better educated, who had served appren-
ticeship for years as a writer of sketches for Punch and
other magazines. Ten years later still (1858) appeared
the first of George Eliot's fictions, a volume of short
stories entitled Scenes from Clerical Life. Dickens and
Thackeray were of the city; their novels teem with char-
acters as do the streets of the London they knew so well.
George Eliot — her real name before marriage was Mary
Ann Evans — ^was the daughter of a Warwickshire land
agent and surveyor. She is at her best when picturing
life in the rural districts of Middle England where her
earlier years were spent.

These three writers differ from Scott, the out-and-out
romancer who lived in the past with kings and queens and
knights and ladies. His fiction world is more romantic
than real. Dickens, Thackeray, and George Eliot are
realistic painters of English life and manners, mainly of
their own times or the adjacent past; though Thackeray's
Henry Esmond, by most critics called the best historical
novel ever written, is a vivid picture of Queen Anne days,
Dickens's A Tale of Two Cities a graphic account of the
beginning of the French Revolution, and George Eliot's
Romola sl story of Italy in Savonarola's day. We cannot
tarry to note how these three great artists differed one
from another in temperament and humor, in their ways
of looking upon life, and their theories of what a novel
should be; it would be useless to attempt to determine
which is the greatest. All three are very great, far above

VICTORIAN ERA 313

any of their contemporaries, and above the novelists of
the present day.

Among their contemporaries in the field of fiction many
are of more than ordinary ability : Bulwer Lytton, the best
known of whose historical novels is The Last
Days of Pompeii; Captain Marryat, writer of , . ,

sea tales; Anthony TroUope, whose realistic
novels of clerical and political life still retain their pop-
ularity; Charles Kingsley, author of Westward Ho! and
Hypatia; Charlotte Bronte, whose melodramatic Jane
Eyre shows wonderful vitality. With all its faults, Charles
Reade's The Cloister and the Hearth is among the best of
romances aiming to acquaint the reader with Continental
life in the Middle Ages; and Tom Brown's School Days and
Tom Brown at Oxford, by Hughes, are among the most
wholesome books ever written for boys. MacDonald,
Meredith, Blackmore, and Hardy are other names which
would receive marked attention in a wider survey. At
present, critics are inclined to give to Stevenson a rank
second only to the greatest; certainly no writer of recent
years has employed language with greater charm. His
Treasure Island bids fair to become a classic in the field
of romantic adventure, and certain of his shorter tales
approach in genius the masterpieces of Poe and Hawthorne.
We appreciate his works the more as we become better
acquainted with his biography. He was a life-long in-
valid, and fought his way to fame through obstacles that
would have daunted a spirit less persistently brave and
cheerful.

Stevenson ranks high as an essayist too, though not in
the same class with Carlyle, Macaulay, and Ruskin. The
first of these three sprang, like Burns, from
the Scotch peasantry. His is the familiar
story of the poor country boy for whom ''bitter thrift"

314 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

won a college education, and to whom came many years
of toil and disappointment before wide recognition. Not
until, in his early forties, he published his French Revolu-
tion, admittedly the jBnest history since Gibbon's, did he
become widely known. His works fill many volumes. For
the most part, they are not attractive to young readers,
though it is safe to say that many a youth has gained
inspiration from his Heroes and Hero Worship, which was
first given to the world in the form of lectures delivered
before fashionable audiences in London, the essayist's
home for nearly half a century. Carlyle was a severe
critic of his times, railing against the mechanical spirit,
and crying out against all forms of sham in religion, gov-
ernment, and society. He wrote in what has been called
Carlylese, so different is it from anything else in the entire
range of literature, a style at times wonderfully rhyth-
mical and eloquent, at all times suggesting intense, sincere
emotion, but always rugged, vigorous, 'Volcanic." He
throws lawlessly constructed sentences at the reader as a
blindly enraged giant might hurl trees and boulders.

In marked contrast to this ''seer and prophet" who
looked beneath the surface of things is Macaulay, essayist,
historian, poet, orator, aside from the nov-
elists the most popular writer of his day.
To him success came easily; he had no early struggle with
poverty. Before leaving the university he had written
for minor periodicals, and at twenty-five the Edinburgh
Review published his long essay on Milton, the first of
many similar productions which this versatile man found
time to write during a busy public career; for at thirty he
was a member of parliament and continued to be a prom-
inent Whig orator nearly all his life. His Lays of Ancient
Rome, written in his early forties, was immediately pop-
ular, and his History of England, published some years

VICTORIAN ERA 315

later, sold like a novel. We may think of him as a typical
prosperous Englishman, upright, self-confident, well sat-
isfied with the world against which Carlyle raved. He was
an omnivorous reader, with a phenomenal memory. He
did not think deeply, but what he saw he saw clearly, and
he found no difficulty in expressing himself with clearness
and vigor. His essays form a type as distinct as that
exemplified in Bacon or Addison or Lamb. Many of them
are book reviews, expanded beyond the length of the
present day magazine article to include a biographical
sketch and a critical estimate of some literary or political
character. They are nearly perfect in construction, and
written in a brilliant, rapid, frequently showy style which
makes them agreeable reading. He deliberately planned
to make his history as interesting as a novel; and so
great were his graphic powers, his ability to paint scenes,
that he achieved a brilliant success, though his narrative
is not always trustworthy.

No doubt Macaulay did much for his times; his writings
imparted information in an agreeable form, and his style,
admirable for practical purposes, furnished
the great masses with much needed models.
But he was not a great moral force; he did not inspire.
This cannot be said of John Ruskin, the gifted son of a
wealthy London wine merchant, who became when but a
young man the leading English art critic, and later exerted
wide influence as a social reformer, preaching the gospel
of '' useful work and faithful love and stintless charity."
Through such voluminous treatises as Modern Painters,
Seven Lamps of Architecture, and Stones of Venice, he
popularized art, leading many to find beauty and inspir-
ation in great masterpieces and in the natural world. As
a social reformer he not only wrote and lectured but gave
time and vast sums of money in unselfish, if not always

316 A SUMMARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

practical, attempts to better the lives of working people
through various industrial schemes. Like Carlyle, he
hated sham and selfishness and money-greed. Unlike
Carlyle, he did not simply condemn existing circumstances
but suggested ways, industrial, social, educational, for
bettering circumstances. He was often ridiculed; but his
reforms are beginning to look less preposterous. Ruskin's
wide influence was due in part to his great earnestness and
unquestioned sincerity, and to the fact that he had a mes-
sage of real importance to give. In the field of pure de-
scription he is without an equal, and all that he wrote is
characterized by a musical quality and richness in color
which suggest the poet and the painter. He is one of the
masters of English style.

Arnold the scholar, Newman the preacher, and Trev-

elyan the biographer are other Avriters of this rich period of

prose. Among the historians are such well

.. known names as Hallam, Morley, Froude,

Freeman, Green, and Grote; among phil-
osophers and scientists, Spencer, Huxley, Darwin, and
Tyndall. But in the field of pure literature, Carlyle,
Macaulay, and Ruskin easily hold first place.

APPENDIX

A

RULES OF PUNCTUATION

THE PERIOD

1 Use the period after a complete declarative or impera-
tive sentence.

Be careful not to treat a phrase or a clause as if it were a
coniplete sentence. The following, for example, is in-
correctly punctuated. We made Charles our captain. He
being by far the best player. This should read We made
Charles our captain, he being by far the best player. Be
equally careful not to run sentences together. The temp-
tation to make this error is especially great when the second
of two sentences begins with a pronoun referring to a sub-
stantive in the first. It is incorrect to write Charles makes
a good captain, he is our best player and the fellows respect
him. A period or a semicolon should take the place of the
comma after captain.

2 Use the period after an abbreviation.

/■

THE INTERROGATION POINT

3 Use the interrogation point (a) at the close of a direct
question, (b) in parenthesis to indicate doubt.

THE EXCLAMATION POINT

4 Use the exclamation point after interjections, exclam-
atory words and phrases, and sentences expressing strong
emotion.

This is not a rule to be followed blindly; judgment is
necessary in determining where an exclamation point will
add needed force.

319

320 APPENDIX

THE COMMA

5 If the terms of a series are all in the same construction
and are not joined by conjunctions, the comma should be
used to separate them. If only the last two terms are joined
by a conjunction, the comma should be used regardless of
the connective.

The series may consist of a number of nouns all subjects
of the same verb, a number of verbs having a common
subject, a number of modifiers (adjectives, adverbs,
phrases, or clauses) modifying the same word. It may
consist of the clauses of a compound sentence, and occa-
sionally of a number of short, closely related independent
statements. The important thing to remember is that
the terms separated must be in what may be called par-
allel construction. Here are illustrations:

Morning, afternoon, and evening slipped away.

I rose softly, slipped on my clothes, and opened the door suddenly.

I came, I saw, I conquered.

6 Use the comma, if necessary for clearness, to set off a
dependent clause when it precedes a principal clause.

Notice that the rule has to do with clauses, not with
phrases. Seldom is it necessary to set off a phrase even
when it stands first in a sentence, unless the phrase is
participial. Occasionally it becomes necessary to set off
an introductory adverb. No rule can be framed to cover
all cases, but the underlying principle is clear. When the
comma is really needed to show at a glance where the
dependent element leaves off and the principal element
begins, it should be used. Here are illustrations:

As he was passing by, the door opened suddenly.

Being admonished, let us follow better things.

To be sure, there are exceptions to most rules.

Thus done the tales, to bed they creep.

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.

APPENDIX 321

7 Use the comma, if necessary for clearness, to set off non-
restrictive phrases and clauses.

A phrase or clause is restrictive when it narrows or
closely defines what it modifies; or when it picks out one
thing from among several, as do the words this and that.
Removing a restrictive word-group changes the meaning
of the sentence in which it occurs. A non-restrictive word-
group contains an additional statement, explanatory or
incidental. The sentence does not change materially
when a non-restrictive phrase or clause is removed. For
example, in the statement The greatest man is he who does
not lose his child^s heart, the relative clause is restrictive.
Remove the clause, and the sentence becomes meaningless.
In the statement Affliction, like an iron-smith, shapes as it
strikes, the phrase like an iron-smith is non-restrictive;
the meaning is reasonably clear even when the phrase is
removed. Here are further illustrations:

He who strives should win. (restrictive)

Bruce, who had failed many times, finally succeeded, (non-
restrictive)

The station which Nelson had chosen was some fifty miles to the
west of Cadiz, (restrictive)

The storm, which by noon had spent its fury, entirely disap-
peared before dusk, (non-restrictive)

8 Use the comma to set off words or word-groups when
they interrupt the thought or the grammatical order.

This rule, necessarily vague and covering many cases,
should not be followed blindly; the writer must use judg-
ment. Some interruptions are so slight that they do not
call for punctuation; others need careful attention. The
interruption may be caused by words coming between
subject and predicate, or between a verb and its comple-
ment. It may consist of words independent by address,
a word or phrase in apposition, an absolute phrase, or an

322 APPENDIX

explanatory phrase interrupting a clause. Among brief
expressions often, though not always, used parenthetically
are too, also, moreover, indeed, namely, again, no doubt, in
fact, in short, of course, consequently, for instance, so to
speak, in truth. Here are illustrations:

Most rules, to be sure, have their exceptions.
In thee, 0 Lord, do I put my trust.

The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,

Sat by the fire and talked the night away.

9 Avoid placing the comma before when, where, whether,
if, or that, when the word introduces an object clause. But
place the comma before and, but, for, or, nor, as, or because,
if by so doing you can make the meaning clearer.

Placing a punctuation mark of any kind between such
parts of a sentence as are closely related and are in their
natural order should always be avoided; hence the first
section of this rule, which cautions against separating the
verb from its object. The reason underlying the second
section rests in the fact that some words are used now as
prepositions, now as conjunctions; and in the fact that
coordinate conjunctions sometimes join single words,
sometimes phrases or clauses. It is therefore necessary,
at times, to place a comma before a conjunction in order
to show that it is not a preposition, or to show that the
conjunction introduces not a single word but a clause.
That is, the comma prevents the reader from hurrying on
too rapidly; it shows him the relationship of that which
follows to that which precedes. Notice carefully the
following sentences. If the comma were omitted in the
last four, the rapid reader might, for a moment, miss the
meaning.

He said that all was ready.

Please ask him when we may come.

APPENDIX 323

He liked none, but the first and the last of the songs pleased
me exceedingly.

We ran as fast as we could, for the boat left promptly at five.

For supper we had bread and jam, and nothing else could have
pleased us more.

In this room were twenty-five seats, and two long benches up
in front where the children sat when reciting.

10 Use the comma before a short, informal quotation.

When but a few words are quoted, and these words
form a structural part of the sentence in which they
appear, the comma is unnecessary. Thus we write, cor-
rectly, This ''youth to fortune and to fame imknown"
was the poet Gray.

THE SEMICOLON

11 Use the semicolon as if it were a large comma, to
separate phrases or clauses in the same construction when
they are exceptionally long, or when one or both are so broken
by commas that, were not the semicolon used, the eye would
not readily perceive where one phrase or clause ends and the
next begins.

Notice carefully that the word-groups separated must be
in the same construction; for the semicolon should not be
used to separate a principal clause from a dependent. The
following sentences, though long and somewhat compli-
cated, are clear because the semicolon shows at a glance
where each term of a series ends :

There was the honest cock robin, the favorite game of stripling
sportsmen, with its loud, querulous note; and the twittering
blackbirds, flying in sable clouds; and the gold- winged wood-
pecker, with his crimson crest, his broad black gorget, and splen-
did plumage; and the cedarbird, with its red-tipt wings and yellow
tipt tail and its little monteiro cap of feathers; and the blue jay,
that noisy coxcomb, in his gay light-blue coat and white under-
clothes, screaming and chattering, bobbing and nodding and

324 APPENDIX

bowing, and pretending to be on good terms with every songstei
of the grove.

If, then, the removal of the causes of this spirit of American
liberty be, for the greater part, or rather entirely, impracticable;
if the ideas of criminal process be inapplicable, or if inapphcable
are in the highest degree inexpedient, what way remains?

12 Use the semicolon as if it were a small period, placing it
between independent statements so closely related in thought
that it is undesirable to separate them with a period.

This is a dangerous rule for young writers, for their
tendency is to use the semicolon too freely. When in
doubt whether a semicolon or a period is the proper point,
use the period; when hesitating between a comma and a
period, use the latter. Here are examples :

Burke's plan was simple, direct, sure; Lord North's was com-
plex, indirect, and uncertain.

I am her kinsman; let me, therefore, avenge her wrong.

If fortune favors you, do not be elated; if she frowns, do not
despair.

THE COLON

13 Use the colon after as follows, the following, in the
following manner, thus, this, these, and similar expressions,
when they introduce quotations, enumerations, or explana-
tions. Namely, for instance, for example, and that is,

when introducing enumerations or explanatory matter, are
almost always preceded by the semicolon and followed by
the comma.

Notice the following examples:

In the closing paragraph are found these words: "Gentlemen,
let us ever remember that our interest is in concord, not conflict;
and that our real eminence rests in the victories of peace, not
those of war."

According to Newton, the primary colors are these: red,
orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet.

APPENDIX 325

There are many shades of blue; for example, robin's-egg,
turquoise, gobelin, and cyan.

14 Use the colon after the salutation in letter-writing.

QUOTATION MARKS

15 Use double quotation marks to enclose a direct quota-
tion.

This is the general rule, related to which are a number
of minor ones. These must be examined with care.

1. Be sure that the words enclosed are the exact words
of the person quoted. It is wrong, for example, to write
He said "that he would come tomorrow." Either the quo-
tation marks should be removed or the sentence changed
to read He said, "I will come tomorrow."

2. When a quoted sentence is interrupted by a paren-
thetical expression such as said he, two pairs of quotation
marks are needed, one for each section. The first word of
the second section should not begin with a capital, unless
it is a proper noun or the pronoun I. Example: "This,"
said he, "is most fortunate."

3. If the quotation consists of a number of sentences,
all by the same person, do not place marks before and
after each sentence, but simply before the first and after
the last. If the quotation consists of several paragraphs,
all by the same person, place marks before each one, but
after the last one only.

4. Use single marks to set off a quotation within a
quotation. Example: "I think," he replied, "that it was
Pope who said 'To err is human.'"

5. When reporting an extended conversation — some-
thing more than a brief anecdote, indicate by means
of indention where one speaker concludes and another
begins.

326 APPENDIX

THE APOSTROPHE

16 Use the apostrophe (a) to distinguish the possessive
case of nouns, (b) to indicate the plurals of letters and
figures, and (c) to show the omission of letters or figures.

These three uses are illustrated in the following sentence :
^Tis true John's b's and 6's look alike. Do not forget that
the possessive forms of pronouns do not call for the apos-
trophe. It's is not the possessive form of it, but a con-
traction of it is. Who's is not the possessive form of who,
but a contraction of who is.

THE DASH

17 Use the dash to indicate a sudden change in the
sense or the grammatical construction, particularly after a
series the terms of which are in apposition with a word
following the series.

Meanwhile Henry — but that is another story.

Dickens, Thackeray, Scott — these are my favorite novehsts.

18 Use the dash, but with great caution, between short,
snappy sentences, or even between single words or word-
groups, to give the impression of haste or excitement.

The dash has a number of other dramatic uses, but these
will not be given; for, as one manual remarks, the dash
''is more misused and overused than any of the other
punctuation marks."

THE PARENTHESIS AND THE BRACKET

19 Use the parenthesis (a) to enclose figures or letters
employed to mark divisions, (b) to enclose matter which does
not belong strictly to the sentence.

The bracket is employed in much the same way, yet
with this difference: as a rule the words enclosed in a
bracket belong to an editor or reporter. In reported

APPENDIX 327

speeches, for example, we may find bracketed expres-
sions like the following: [Loud cheers!], [At this point the
speaker was interrupted by the member from ].

Note. — For exercises in punctuation see page 23.

FIGURES OF SPEECH

Any departure from plain, ordinary expression, for the
purpose of gaining a desired effect, is called a figure of
speech. There are many kinds of figures, one investigator
recognizing over two hundred varieties. But not a few of
these are so common, and represent departures so slight,
that they may be disregarded. The following are, without
much question, the most important:

A simile is a definitely expressed comparison. Usually
the things compared are named, the point of resemblance
or dissimilarity indicated, and a word denoting comparison
employed, as in the line

Red as a rose is she.

Sometimes, however, the point of resemblance or dissim-
ilarity is not mentioned, as in the fine

Her cheeks like the dawn of day.

But in every case the things compared are quite dissimilar
in all respects save one. No simile is present, for example,
in the assertion James is taller than Henry, since the com-
parison is between things of the same class or kind, and
there is no departure from ordinary, matter-of-fact state-
ment. Similes are an aid to clearness, for through com-
parisons the reader is enabled to get more completely the

328 APPENDIX

thought, the fancy, the image, in the writer's mind. More-
over a good simile brings a degree of pleasurable surprise,
by pointing out that things apparently not at all resembling
each other possess one characteristic in common. Finally,
that which a simile brings to mind is often beautiful in
itself, or stirring, uplifting.

A metaphor is an implied comparison — a simile con-
densed, usually into a single word. MaruUus employs
metaphor when he cries out to the rabble

You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!

So too does Coleridge in the line

Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship.

In each case a likeness is implied, but not fully expressed
as in simile. The Roman citizens are like blocks and
stones in that they are senseless, Marullus thinks; but he
merely calls them blocks and stones, assuming that the
point of resemblance is evident. The ship is like a bird in
that it moves swiftly, as if its sails were wings. Birds are
not mentioned directly but simply suggested in the word
flew. Many similes are easily changed into metaphors;
all metaphors may be changed into similes. Simile is the
quieter, more deliberate form of expression; metaphor is
swifter, often more startHng. Our common speech is
crowded with metaphors, some so worn, so ''faded," that
they are no longer recognized as figures. It is the basis of
perhaps nine-tenths of our slang. ''Jones 'plowed to second
base," writes the baseball editor. "The fielding on both
sides was green, with saffron touches. ' ' The man whose mind
is not right is said to be "off his trolley" — as if he were an
electric car, or to have "bats in his belfry." The son who
goes wrong is a "black sheep"; whatever is disagreeable
"goes against the grain," and the unexpected "beats the

APPENDIX 329

Dutch." It is hardly necessary to multiply examples, nor
to caution against the use of expressions which, even if not
coarse or vulgar, are cheap and commonplace — second-
hand wit.

Personification is a form of metaphor in which some-
thing inanimate — for example a tree, an animal, or a
quality like patience — is treated as if it had mind and
personality. Metaphors which imply that natural ob-
jects such as flowers, or forces of nature such as the winds
or the ocean, are animals of lower order than man are
also classed as personifications. It is a simple figure. Chil-
dren use it unconsciously when talking to their playthings.
Poetry is full of it, for the poet realizes that mind, heart,
and soul are more interesting than inanimate rocks and
trees. Notice the examples in the following passage :

O Cicero,
I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds
Have riv'd the knotty oaks, and I have seen
The ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam.
To be exalted with the threatening clouds. . . .

Scolding^ ambitious, rage, and threatening are terms appli-
cable to persons, not to things.

An allegory is an expanded metaphor taking the form of
a story emphasizing a truth which the reader is left to dis-
cover. When Gareth, who wishes to go to Arthur's court
and become a knight, is urged by his mother to remain at
home till he is older, contenting himself with the harmless
chase and a '' comfortable" wife, he tells her a story. It
is of a royal prince who asked for a bride; and the king, his
father, set two before him.

One was fair, strong, arm'd —
But to be won by force — and many men
Desired her; one, good lack, no man desired.

330 APPENDIX

The king declared that unless the prince won the first by
force, he must wed the other,

A red-faced bride who knew herself so vile
That evermore she long'd to hide herself.

The name of one was Fame; the name of the other. Shame.
Here, then, is a comparison implied between Gareth and
the royal prince. Just as the royal prince might escape
hardship by accepting Shame, so Gareth might, yet not
without shame, stay at home and lead a safe, comfortable
life. Fame, he is trying to show his mother, comes only
through hardship and daring; ease and inactivity are
shameful.

Sometimes an allegory is a metaphor so fully expanded
as to fill an entire volume. Bunyan's Pilgrim^ s Progress
is an example of such. It purports to be the adventures of
Pilgrim on his long and perilous journey to Celestial City;
yet there is a half-hidden meaning. Bunyan is but trying
to show the struggles a mortal must make in purging his
character of sin. The parables in the New Testament,
short, imaginary narratives used by Christ in his preach-
ing, are briefer allegories; so too Sire fables, in which fre-
quently, though not always, the actors are animals or
inanimate things. Yet all, whether long or short, are but
metaphors, or in some cases similes, expanded into stories;
all contain truths left for the reader to discover. They are
impressive because stories are more interesting than plain
statement, more easily remembered.

Metonymy is a figure in which there is a substitution or
transfer of names, a thing being indicated by the name of
something so intimately associated with it that the one
immediately suggests the other. There are at least a score
of varieties, a common form being that in which the name
of a part is substituted for the name of the whole. We

APPENDIX 331

speak, for example, of shop hands, meaning men who work
in shops. Another variety is employed when sailors are
called tars, or salts, tar and salt being associated with the
seaman's life. Many a metonymy is so common that it
goes all unnoticed. We speak of reading Dickens, though
it is his books that we read, not the man. We engage
board without stopping to think that board, through
metonymy, means table, and that it is not the table but
the food that is bargained for. It is a useful figure
in that it often focuses attention on some one detail
of a picture, intensifying the impression. To say that
the general advanced with a force of bayonets con-
veys a more vivid picture than to say that he advanced
with a force of soldiers. It is perhaps more picturesque,
certainly a shade less severe, to say of a man that he is too
fond of the bottle than it is to say that he is too fond of
intoxicating liquor. Moreover metonymy, like metaphor,
is a great time-saver, often making one word do the work
of ten.

Closely related to metaphor and metonymy is what
is called the transferred epithet. This is illustrated
in the line

Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings.

Jealous, grammatically considered, modifies wings, yet
logically it belongs to Darkness. But Darkness shows
jealousy through spreading his wings; hence the transfer.
The poet speaks of the cannon's deadly roar, though the
roar is not deadly at all. But since the cannon becomes
deadly when it roars, the epithet is transferred from cannon
to roar.

Hyperbole is the rhetorical name for exaggeration,when
employed not for the purpose of deceiving but to make a

332 APPENDIX

statement impressive. The waves ran "mountain high/'
declares the poet, not with the thought that his words will
be taken Hterally, but for the purpose of stirring the
imagination, which otherwise may picture waves altogether
too tame. It is a noble figure when nobly employed; a
tiresome, degrading one as used extravagantly by many
young people and not a few of their elders, who continue
to live though 'Hired to death," and declare that things
quite ordinary are ''just heavenly." There is a wide
difference between the language of real, intense emotion
and language that is mere gush.

Irony is quite as common as hyperbole. It is the name
applied to words which state the opposite of what the
speaker or writer intends shall be understood. When
Antony is addressing the Roman rabble, he refers many
times to Brutus and the other conspirators as "honorable"
men. At first he seems to use the word sincerely, but as he
slowly gains the confidence of his hearers, it becomes
apparent that he would have them believe the conspirators
quite the reverse of honorable. Like hyperbole, irony is
used much too freely, thoughtlessly, in daily speech,
especially the contemptuous, scornful, taunting, or sneer-
ing variety known as sarcasm, which cuts and stings.
In short, it is a strong weapon, effective if properly em-
ployed, yet out of place save when the speaker is moved by
righteous indignation or justifiable scorn.

An Apostrophe is a figure of speech in which inanimate
objects are addressed as if they were human beings, or
persons absent are addressed as if they were present. A
stanza in Byron's Childe Harold begins

Oh Rome! my country! city of the soul!
The orphans of the heart must turn to thee,
Lone mother of dead empires! and control
In their shut breasts their petty misery.

APPENDIX 333

In his Ode to Napoleon Bonaparte occur the Hnes

Ill-minded man! why scourge thy kind
Who bow'd so low the knee?

But Napoleon is not present; the words, therefore, are an
apostrophe.

Antithesis or Contrast is a figure of speech in which
things are brought into prominence by being placed in op-
position. It is found in single sentences, as in the famihar

To err is human; to forgive, divine.

But it may extend through several sentences, an entire
paragraph, or even through many paragraphs.

An Epigram is well defined by the Standard Dictionary
as ''a pithy or antithetical observation, as in 'The child
is father of the man'.'' Professor Bain describes it as
*'an apparent contradiction in language, which by causing
a temporary shock, rouses our attention to some important
meaning underneath." It usually takes the form of a
single brief sentence.

Climax is an arrangement by which the interest in-
creases step by step, the more important or the more in-
teresting following the less important or less interesting,
till an impressive close is reached.

Interrogation is a figure in which an opinion is expressed,
more forcefully than would be possible by direct state-
ment, in the form of a question which expects no answer.

Exclamation is a figure in which sudden, deep emotion
is expressed in the form of an exclamatory sentence or
phrase.

Note. — For exercises to accompany this section see page 218.

336 APPENDIX

Iambic trimeter: Hero | ic wo | manhood

Iambic tetrameter: It hailed | the ships 1 and cried | "Sail on"

Iambic pentameter: The qual | ity | of mer | cy is | not strain'd

Iambic hexameter: And oft | en knockt | his breast, | as one |
that did | repent

Trochaic hexameter: Dainty | little | maiden, | whither |
would you I wander?

Anapaestic tetrameter: With the fife | and the horn | and the
war- I beatmg gong

Dactyhc dimeter: Cannon to | right of them

Thus we have convenient names for many different kinds
of lines. Comparatively few of these, however, are com-
mon in English poetry.

But variety does not stop here. A succession of lines
containing none but iambic feet, for example, would be as
monotonously unmusical as the sounds which come from
the builder's hammer. Occasionally the regularity must
be broken. To avoid monotony, or to gain prominence
for some particular word or syllable needing emphasis, a
trochee or an anapaest may be substituted for an iambus.
Loosely speaking, all kinds of feet are interchangeable.
Moreover, not uncommonly an extra unaccented syllable
is found at the end of a line, and occasionally just before
a pronounced pause within the line. A final or an initial
unaccented syllable may be missing. A line with an extra
syllable at the end is called feminine; a line in which
a final unaccented syllable is missing is called truncated.
Notice the following:

1. Run to I your hou | ses, fall | upon | your knees

2. It is I the bright | day that | brings forth | the ad | der.

APPENDIX 337

3. So strange | ly you daz | zle my eye

4. Lilies | whiter | than the | snow

5. Know ye the | land where the | cypress and | myrtle

6. Hated | by one 1 he loves; | brav'd by | his broth | er

In the first foot of the first line a trochee is substituted
for an iambus. In the second example we note the added
syllable at the end, making the line feminine. The fourth
line is truncated. In the third, an iambus takes the place
of an anapaest; in the fifth, a trochee is substituted for a
dactyl. The last line contains three variations, two tro-
chees in place of iambics, and a feminine ending.

Examples might easily be multiplied with a view to
showing still other devices by means of which the poet,
though bound by the laws of verse to adhere to a definite
scheme, manages to keep the scheme from being too boldly
apparent. For instance in many lines there is found what
is known as a cesura, a pause coming sometimes at the end
of a foot, sometimes within a foot, breaking the line into
two phrases, as it were. We notice it in the line

Hated | by one | he loves; || braved by | his broth | er

where it occurs after the third foot ; and in the line

Run to I your hous | es, 1 1 fall | upon | your knees

where it interrupts the third foot. The trained ear gains
not a little pleasure from the cesural pause, which the
skilled poet shifts back and forth from foot to foot, thus
weaving his fines together and softening the mechanical
effect produced by dividing sentences into lines of a pre-
scribed length. Yet no matter what changes are intro-
duced, the cadence or rhythmical swing which charms
the ear is never lost.

338 APPENDIX

By far the most common line in English poetry is the
iambic pentameter. Unrhymed iambic pentameter is
called blank verse. It is the noblest of verse forms, most
dignified, appropriate for lofty themes. It is king of all
English meters. We find it in Shakespeare's plays, in
Milton's Paradise Lost, and in Tennyson's Idylls of the
King. It is not arranged in line-groups of equal size, but
is paragraphed hke prose. Some one has said that blank,
verse is the easiest of all forms of poetry to write, but the
most difficult to write well. It is easiest because it does not
call for rhyming, nor for any variation in the length of the
line. It is most difficult because one who employs it must
manage to make his lines attractively musical and im-
pressive without rhyming them, without varying their
length and combining them in stanza form.

Here is an example of blank verse, with the meter
marked in the usual way; that is, the stressed syllables are
indicated by means of the accent sign ('), and the feet are
separated by means of little lines ( | ) :

t r t t t

1. The qual | ity | of mer | cy is | not strain'd;

t t t t t

2. It drop I peth as | the gen | tie rain | from heav'n

3. Upon I the place 1 beneath; I it is i twice blest,

t t t t ■ t

4. It bless I eth him | that gives | and him | that takes:

f ft t f

5. 'Tis might | iest in | the might | iest : it | becomes

/ » t t t

6. The thron | ed mon | arch bet | ter than | his crown;

/ t t r t

7. His seep | ter shows ] the force | of tem | poral pow | er,

r f r ft

8. The at | tribute | to awe | and maj | esty,

t t t t t

9. Wherein | doth sit 1 the dread | and fear | of kings,

t r t t I

10. But mer | cy is | above | this seep | ter'd sway;

t t t t *

11. It is I enthron | ed in | the hearts | of kings,

APPENDIX 339

/ / / t /

12. It is I an at I tribute | to God | himself;

/ / t f I

13. And earth | ly power | doth then | show Uk | est God's,

14. When mer | cy sea | sons jus | tice.

Notice that each line save the last, which is incomplete,
contains five accents, not all of them equally important, it
is true, yet all falling upon syllables which might receive
some degree of emphasis in prose; and that most of the
feet are iambic, so that nearly every line contains ten
syllables. There are a few exceptions. In the second line,
heaven must be pronounced as if it were one syllable; the
second syllable is barely sounded even in prose. In the
fifth line, mightiest is treated as if it were a word of two
syllables; w^e seldom make three of it, even in prose. Such
slurring, or running together of unimportant syllables, is
common in all poetry. In the sixth line, we note the
opposite device, a word ordinarily pronounced as one
syllable made into two. Final -ed is frequently so treated.
In the seventh hne the fifth foot is an anapaest, unless the
reader prefers to run together two syllables; and the line
has a feminine ending. Or power may be treated as if it
were one syllable, as doubtless it should be treated in the
thirteenth line. Such changes as those pointed out are so
common that the reader hardly notices them; the iambic
swing carries him along from line to line irresistibly. It
is only when we stop to analyze, that they become ap-
parent.

Almost as simple in structure as blank verse is the heroic
couplet — iambic pentameter lines rhymed in pairs. Like
blank verse, it is not, as a rule, arranged in stanzas, but is
paragraphed like prose. It is used in long narrative poems.
Chaucer and Dryden and Pope employ it freely. At its
best it is very good; when poorly managed, it becomes
cheap and singsongy. Some one has called it the rocking-

340 APPENDIX

horse measure, because the first hue of each couplet seems
to go up — up — up, the second down — down — down; and
between couplets there is apt to be quite a pause, as if
the entire poem were divided into two-line links partially
independent of one another. Here is an example taken
from Pope's translation of the Iliad:

Thus hav | ing spoke | th' illus | trious chief | of Troy
Stretched his | fond arms | to clasp | the love | ly boy.
The babe | clung cry | ing to | his nur | se's breast,
Scar'd at | the daz | zling helm | and nod | ding crest.
With se I cret pleas | ure each | fond par | ent smil'd.
And Hec | tor hast | ed to | relieve | his child;
The glit I tering ter | rors from | his brow | unbound,
And placed | the beaming 1 hel | met on | the ground.
Then kiss'd | the child, | and, lift | ing high | in air,
Thus to I the gods | preferred | a f a | ther's prayer:

Two lines rhyming together, as in the measure just de-
scribed, are called a couplet, regardless of their length or
the kind of foot employed. Three lines rhyming together
are called a triplet. Triplets are usually printed in stanza
form. Here are the opening lines of one of Tennyson's
songs :

Oh ! what | is so sweet | as a morn | ing in spring,

When the gale | is all fresh | ness, and larks | on the wing,

In clear | liquid car | ols their grat | itude sing?

I rove I o'er the hill | as it spark | les with dew,
And the red | flush of Phoe | bus with ec | stasy view.
As he breaks | thro' the east | o'er thy crags, | Benvenu!

Far more common than the triple rhyme is the four line
stanza or quatrain. The rhymes may be in various com-
binations. In the first of the following quatrains, it will be
noted that the first line rhymes with the last, the second
with the third; in the second, the first line rhymes with

APPENDIX 341

the third, the second with the fourth. The third quatrain
is made up of two couplets; and in the last quatrain there
is but a single rhyme, that between the second and fourth
lines.

I hold I it truth | with him | who sings
To one | clear harp | in di | vers tones,
That men | may rise | on step | ping-stones
Of their | dead selves | to high | er things.

Once more | the gate | behind | me falls*

Once more | before | my face
I see I the moul | der'd Ab | bey-walls

That stand | within | the chace.

You must wake | and call | me ear | ly, call | me ear | ly,

moth I er dear:
To-mor | row 'ill be | the hap | piest time | of all | the glad |

New-year;
Of all I the glad | New-year, | mother, | the mad | dest, mer- |

riest day;
For I'm I to be Queen | o' the May, | mother, I'm | to be

Queen | o' the May.

It is I an an I cient Mar | iner
And he stop | peth one | of three.
"By thy long | gray beard j and glit | tering eye
Now where | fore stopp'st | thou me? "

By varying not only the rhyme but the length of line, the
quatrain may be made to assume a great many forms, as
any hymnal will show, for the quatrain is a favorite with
writers of hymns.

Of the many other stanza forms, but two will be men-
tioned, the Spenserian and the sonnet. The former, so
named because used by Spenser in his Fosrie Queene, con-
tains nine lines, all save the last being iambic pentameters;
the ninth is an iambic hexameter, or Alexandrine,- as it is
called. The first and third lines rhyme; the second,

342 APPENDIX

fourth, fifth, and seventh; and the sixth, eighth, and ninth.
Here is an example:

At length | they chaunst ] to meet | upon ] the way

An ag I ed Sire, | in long | blacke weedes | yclad,

His feete | all bare, | his beard | all hoar | ie gray, ,

And by | his belt | his booke | he hang | ing had.

Sober | he seemde, | and ve | ry sage | ly sad,

And to I the ground | his eyes \ were low j ly bent,

Simple I in shew, | and void | of mal | ice bad;

And all | the way | he pray | ed as | he went

And of I ten knockt | his breast, | as one | that did | repent.

The sonnet is a complete poem of fourteen iambic pen-
tameter lines, the rhyming scheme varying with different
authors. Here is one of Wordsworth's best :

The World | is too 1 much with | us; late | and soon,
Getting | and spend | ing, we | lay waste | our powers;
Little I we see | in Na | ture that | is ours;
We have giv | en our hearts | away, | a sor | did boon!
This Sea | that bares | her bos | om to | the moon.
The winds | that will | be howl | ing at | all hours
And are | up-gath | erd now | like sleep | ing flowers,
For this, | for ev | ery thing, | we are out | of tune;
It moves I us not. | — Great God! | I'd ra | ther be
A Pa I gan suck | led in | a creed | outworn, —
So might I I, stand | ing on | this pleas | ant lea,
Have glimp | ses that | would make | me less | forlorn;
Have sight | of Pro | tens ris | ing from | the sea;
Or hear | old Tri | ton blow | his wreath | ed horn.

A convenient way of indicating rhyming schemes is by
means of letters. Thus if the first two lines of a poem
rhyme, it is indicated by aa; if the first rhymes with the
third and the second with the fourth, by a b a b. The rhym-
ing scheme of the Wordsworth sonnet would therefore be
represented as follows : a b b a, a b b a, c d, c d, c d; and the
Spenserian stanza thus :abba, bcbc, c. The commas are
perhaps unnecessary, but are sometimes helpful in so

APPENDIX 343

grouping the rhymes that they are more easily remembered.
By means of this device, and the terminology already
given, it is possible to define any stanza. Thus a complete
description of the quatrain beginning It is an Ancient
Mariner would be this : It is a stanza of four iambic lines,
the first and third tetrameters, the second and fourth
trimeters, with the rhyming scheme a b c b.

Closely related to rhyme is the device called alliteration,
or the regular recurrence of an initial letter or sound in
the accented parts of words. Notice the following lines:

1. Elaine the fair, Elaine the lovable,
Elaine the lily maid of Astolat

2. With prudes for proctors, dowagers for deans,
And sweet girl-graduates in their golden hair

In the first quotation, the poet plays a little tune with the
letter I. In the second, p and d form alliterative pairs, and
g is three times repeated. ' A less noble example is found in
the familiar Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.
It is hardly necessary to mention the cheap alliterations
found in newspaper headings and in advertisements.
Skilfully employed, alliteration adds materially to the
charm of verse. In Anglo-Saxon poetry, it takes the place
of rhyme altogether.

Associated in a way with alliteration is onomatopoeia, a
device much simpler than its name, by means of which the
sounds of words are made to suggest that which the words
describe. Onomatopoeia is not always directly imitative
as in the words whiz, bang, gurgle; usually, when employed
by the skilled writer of poetry or prose, it is merely sug-
gestive. In Tennyson's The Northern Farmer, a father is
urging his son to marry for money, or "property". He
introduces the subject in this way:

Doesn't thou 'ear my 'erse's [horse's] legs, as they canters awaay?
Proputty, proputty, proputty — that's what I 'ears 'em saay.

344 APPENEIX

The proputty, proputty, proputty suggests unmistakably
the sound of the horse's hoofs. Though one has never
studied Latin, he can hardly fail to catch the hoof-beat
in the following line :

Quad ru pe | d^nte pu | trem, soni | tii quatit | lingula | campum.

In Browning's Up at a Villa occurs the line

'^ Bang-whang-whang goes the drum, tootle-te-tootle the fife.

And here we have a more delicate degree of onomatopoeia :

I heard the ripple washing in the reeds
And the wild water lapping on the crag.

In these illustrations, the device is easily detected, for in
each case there is direct imitation, or at least the sound
echoes the sense. Sometimes, however, the reader merely
feels that the words are appropriate, feels that the sounds
are not only in harmony with one another, but in harmony
with the sense.

For convenience of reference, the technical terms of
versification are here brought together:

Accent: The emphasis which the voice gives a syllable
to show that it is of more importance than neighboring
syllables.

Rhythm: The swing or movement imparted by the
occurrence of stressed or accented syllables at regular
intervals.

Meter: The rhythmical arrangement of words.

Verse: A line of poetry.

Foot: A group of syllables one of which is always ac-
cented; a unit of rhythm.

Iambus: A foot of two syllables the second of which
receives the accent.

APPENDIX 345

Trochee: A foot of two syllables the first of which re-
ceives the accent.

Anapaest: A foot of three syllables the last of which
receives the accent.

Dactyl: A foot of three syllables the first of which re-
ceives the accent.

Amphibrach: A foot of three syllables, the second of
which receives the accent.

Monometer: A line containing one metrical foot.

Dimeter: A line containing two metrical feet.

Trimeter: A line containing three metrical feet.

Tetrameter: A line containing four metrical feet.

Pentameter: A line containing five metrical feet.

Hexameter: A line containing six metrical feet.

Heptameter: A line containing seven metrical feet.

Octameter: A line containing eight metrical feet.

Feminine Line: A line containing an extra unaccented
syllable at the end.

Truncated Line: A line in which a final unaccented syl-
lable is missing.

Rhyme: Similarity of sound, usually found at the end of
lines.

Alliteration: Regular occurrence of an initial letter or
sound in the accented parts of words of poetry.

Onomatopoeia: Use of words the sounds of which suggest
the sense.

Stanza: A group of metrically related lines; a minor
division of a poem.

Blank Verse: Unrhymed poetry, normally iambic pen-
tameter.

Couplet: Two consecutive lines, usually rhyming.

Heroic Couplet: Iambic pentameter lines rhymed in pairs.

Triplet: Three consecutive lines, usually rhyming.

Quatrain: A four line stanza.

346 APPENDIX

Spenserian Stanza: Eight iambic pentameter lines
followed by an iambic hexameter (Alexandrine) line, the
rhyming scheme being ababbcbcc.

Italian Sonnet: A poem of fourteen iambic pentameter
lines, an eight line group followed by a six line group, the
rhyming scheme of the first being abbaabba, of the
second cdcdcdorcdecde.

Note. — For exercises to accompany this section, see page 209.

D

THEMES FOR ESSAYS AND ORATIONS

The following loosely classified lists of subjects appro-
priate for school essays and orations are from Theme-
book in English Composition.

The mistakes of my high school course

What I shall remember with greatest pleasure after graduation

What mechanical drawing has done for me

What constitutes popularity in the high school

Who's who in high school

The value of the study of English

High school politics

Getting ready for class day

The ideal school paper

The value of art training in everyday life

The English system of education versus the American

Democracy in the high school

A day in the commercial department

An hour in the laboratory

A study in seniors

How our building is heated

A description of the gymnasium on a gala occasion

A review of the latest issue of the school paper

A famous school

APPENDIX 347

The humorous side of school life

The ideal senior

An hour in the studio

The ultimate good to be derived from athletics

The value of the study of the drama

How our school prepares for good citizenship

What I have received from the course in

My bad manners

A shelf of old books

Summer workdays

My very little sister's ways

My summer reading

Some of my relatives

Watching the children play

Getting up in the morning

Looking over a chest of old toys

The transformation of my ideals

My friend the inventor

Dusting my books

What goes against my grain

A driftwood fire

My air castles

Three of my friends and why I like them

October skies

Plant tragedies that I have witnessed

A study of leaves

How spring comes up our way

Harvest time in the wheat lands

A geological expedition

A bird episode

Fishes and their ways

The heavens in November

How nature cleans house now and then

Everyday wonders of nature

The voices of the night

The seashore in winter

348 APPENDIX

How the blind boy knows that spring is coming

When the tide comes in

In the apple orchard

What I found in a tide pool

Between darkness and dawn

How our town wakes up in the morning

Where the cardinals grow

My favorite haunts

The wander-spirit

How birds prepare for the winter

The life of a bee

Watching a spider

The survival of the fittest in plant life

Along the water front

Bird songs

The Audubon Society

A mountain camp in winter

The human eye and the camera

John Burroughs

The sounds heard in ten minutes in the heart of a woods

The sounds heard in ten minutes at midday

Modes of travel, past and present

Self-hardened and air-hardened steel

The steam engine indicator

The history of photography

What became of a tree

The farm of the future

New York in 2000

A visit to a pottery

Modern miracles of science

A blast furnace

A lesson in forestry

History of a plant from germ to decay

A sulphur match

The old housekeeper and the new

The Carnegie Institute for Research

A journey in the carboniferous era

Waste material

APPENDIX 349

Uses of compressed air

Modes of ventilation

The telepost

A gas engine

The gold beater

A stone arch

Street paving

Batteries

A steam turbine

The X-ray machine

Geissler tubes

A talking machine

The kinetoscope

5

My favorite picture

Making an art of a homely trade

The mission of the musician

Something about poetry

What it means to get an education in art

How to study a picture

Does our town appreciate music?

The musical treats of the winter just past

Spires and towers of our town

's sky-line

as seen from a distance at various times

Quaint architecture in our town

A visit to a studio

A talk with an artist

Art in common things

What practical use a schoolgirl may make of her training in art

The oratorio Messiah described

My favorite composer

Some of our little-appreciated art treasures

Our music club

The trials of an accompanist

An appreciation of Whistler

St. Gaudens

Beethoven

Dvorak and his music

Sargent and his work

350 APPENDIX

6
The Children's Crusade
At the court of Louis XIV

Old guilds, forerunners of the trade unions of today
The settlement of Jamestown
Athens and Sparta
A bit of early local history
Sightseeing in London in Elizabeth's day
A day at the Club with Johnson
The Tories of the Revolution
The Puritan spirit
Knickerbocker life in colonial days
Etiquette in colonial times
Life in the South before the war

A balloon trip over England in the days of William the Con-
queror
What it meant to be an Elizabethan
A prowl through Bede's history
Exploring the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle
Shakespeare's Csesar and the Csesar of history
The fate of Finland
Sir Philip Sidney
Beau Brummel
Magellan
Benedict Arnold
Daniel Boone
Pere Marquette
Zenobia

7
This age of chivalry
Uncrowned kings
Keys
Dreamers

The poor millionaire

Saints (no saints — would-be saints — almost saints — saints)
The stone that fits in the wall will never lie by the way.
The little tin god called Luck
The playthings of grown-ups
Windows
Doors

APPENDIX 351

A good word for play

A defense of Peter Pan

The social acrobat

Given: a sense of humor

Fashion plates

"Simon says thumbs up" in society and politics

Vegetable rights

A good word for manual labor

The mind is its own dwelling-place.

Ugly ducklings (after reading Andersen's The Ugly Duckling)

Courtesy at home and abroad

Monuments

The twentieth century knight

Paddle your own canoe.

The world is too much with us.

Latter-day heroines

The joys of the poor

Why keep a dog?

Not so bad as painted

Present-day superstitions

Playthings

Specimen relatives

Gifts and gift giving

Tramps, wise and otherwise

Beggars (of various sorts)

"All the rage"

Patent medicines

The simplicity of housekeeping

The ways of little children

The joy of indiscriminate reading

Waste

The Gloucester fisherman

A library for a castaway

The passing of the woodshed

A plea for simplicity

A stitch in time

Newspaper heroes

Uneasy rests the head that wears a crovm.

Sources of power

Present-day opportunity

352 APPENDIX

Tests

Business honor

Optimism, good and bad

Silent conquests

Popularity

The influence of the picture postal

Human mosquitoes

The croaker

Front yards and back yards

Reforming a tramp

Shopping with a bargain hunter

8

An old man's dream

The story the old house told

The story of an old book

A national exposition of the next century

The magic wand of childhood

The history of a street

An important meeting of a girls' club

Good-by, fairyland •

The reflection of a mirror

The doctor of fifty years hence

A modern fairy-tale

The immigrant child's dream

A dream in the public library

9

George Junior republics

How criminals are made

Street arabs

Undesirable citizens

Conservation of national energies

College settlements

Juvenile courts

Woman's invasion of the business world

Is democracy degenerating?

The power of conventionality

Manual training at home

Billboards

APPENDIX 353

Amusement parks

The New England village

Public calamity is a mighty leveler.

The Red Cross Society

International sports

The cost of municipal ugliness

Workshops for boys

Library curses

In Utopia

The business value of humor

Pure foods

The justice of the jury

The observance of public holidays

The American girl's inheritance

The cartoonist

How children are protected

Our debt to the immigrant

Shotgun civihzation

Advertising

Postal reforms

Good citizenship from a boy's standpoint

10

Nature as seen in Beowulf and the Canterbury Tales

Old English life as seen in Beowulf

Costumes m Chaucer's day

Two heroes: Beowulf and Roland

Present-day pilgrims

Brutus|s speech in blank verse

Cassius's speech in blank verse

Likable traits in Gareth

Hepzibah Pyncheon

National hjnnns

Scottish peasantry as seen in the poems of Bums

Storybook villains, cowards, heroes, or heroines

Greek myths

Homer's comparisons

Addison as a reformer today

The gift of saying things

A ramble with Boswell

354 APPENDIX

Do we need a national theatre?

An expedition in the land of words

A perfectly satisfactory hero

The art of letter-writing

Childhood myths

Helen of Troy's diary

The theatre in 1616

An hour with the dictionary

Dogs in literature

How to use the library

Heroes : Achilles, Palamon, Ivanhoe

Everyman, a morality

Play-tricks and conventions

Louisa M. Alcott

Samuel Johnson

Hans Andersen

Thoreau

Five pictures from the life of Macbeth

Macduff's part in Macbeth

How builds an essay

The literary art of Macaulay

The songs of Scotland

More, an old time dreamer

The Cook's tale (Chaucer) retold for children

Stray thoughts about play-going

A typical work of the eighteenth century

Lady Macbeth

The art of seeing things

Rab and Bob, Son b' Battle

The historical novel

The works of Henty

Self-cultivation in English

National songs

The ideal king

Manhood ideals: Macbeth, Banquo, Macduff

Walden

Good magazines and bad

The secret of Burke's power

The maxims of Edmund Burke

Thoughts from Gray's Elegy

APPENDIX 355

The good and the bad in Macaulay's style

The manufacture of plays and stories

My favorite author

Milton's unreproved pleasures

My favorite play

Readers, old and new

Robinson Crusoe

Gentlemen of the old school: Sir Roger and Dr. Primrose

Goldsmith as story-teller

Athletic contests of long ago

Tragic heroes: Macbeth and Brutus

JEsop

The kingly traits of Arthur

Mark Twain

The love of nature as seen in David's psalms

Story children

Juvenile literature

Review of Last of the Mohicans, Oregon Trail, Bottle Imp, The
Great Hoggarty Diamond, Kenilworth, David Copperfield,
Mill on the Floss, An Old Fashioned Girl, The Wide, Wide
World, Deephaven, Captains Courageous, Waverley, the works
of J. M. Barrie

11

Should cartooning the president be prohibited by law?
Should a senator be guided by his own judgment or by the

wishes of his constituents?
Do national expeditions pay?
Is Macaulay a greater writer than Burke?
Is the Ben Greet idea correct?
Should children read Mother Goose literature?
Is the Conciliation speech a proper classic for seniors to read?
Are Shakespeare's heroines satisfactory?
Is Jack London a nature fakir?

Should the Old Testament be studied in public schools?
Do we need an endowed newspaper?
Should class day be abolished?
For general culture, which offers the greater inducements, a

classical college or a scientific school?
Would it be well for the debating club to devote one meeting

each month to non-argumentative literary exercises?

356 APPENDIX

Is the interest in high school athletics declining? If so, why?

Should sewing be made a compulsory study for high school
girls?

Should all high school boys be made to take a course in car-
pentry?

Which offers the greater inducements, Annapolis or West Point?

Is a general education best for one who is to be a musician?

Should modern novels be read in classroom?

Is a college course necessary for a business career?

Should the prophecy be dropped from the class day program?

Which shall it be, office or drafting room?

Which shall it be, normal school or college?

E

A SPECIMEN BRIEF

This specimen brief, of Lord Chatham's speech on his
motion for the immediate removal of the British troops
from Boston, is taken, by kind permission, from Pro-
fessor Baker's Specimens of Argumentation, Perhaps
those of high school age should not be expected to pre-
pare elaborate briefs; yet there are times when it is con-
venient to have at hand a trustworthy model.

INTRODUCTION
I
The present course of the Ministry suggests unfairness.

II

The Ministry has been guilty of unfairness, namely of mis-
representation, for

(a) Their representations that led to the passage of the meas-
ures obnoxious to the American people have been proved
false, for

(1) The ministers said that these measures would overawe
the Americans, but the measures have solidified the re-
sistance of the Americans.

APPENDIX 357

III

Therefore, the troops should be immediately withdrawn from
Boston.

rv

But a hearer, in considering this attempt at justice, should
remember that to try to be just to America is not necessarily to
exempt her from all obedience to Great Britain

BRIEF PROPER

The removal of the troops is necessary, because

A. It will show the willingness of the English to treat amic-
ably.

B. The resistance of the Americans was necessary because

I. The obnoxious acts of Parhament were tyrannical.

C. The means of enforcing the measures of Parliament have
failed, for

I. The army of General Gage is "penned up — pining in
inglorious inactivity."

II. The objection that the presence of this army in Boston
is a safeguard is untrue, for

(a) It is powerless, and held in contempt.

(b) It is an irritation to the Americans.

(c) The objection that General Gage is needlessly
inactive is untrue, for

(1) Any activity on his part would mean "civil
and unnatural war."

D. If Parliament tries by the aid of the army to enforce its
measures, the result will be bad, for

I. If Parliament were victorious, it would be over an em-
bittered people.

II. The troops are not strong enough to resist three mil-
lion united, courageous people.

III. Persecution of these men whose fathers left their
homes to escape it should cease, since

(a) The objection of the Ministry that the Americans
"must not be heard" is unjust, since

(1) It "lumps the innocent with the guilty."

358 APPENDIX

E. The statement that "the union in America cannot last''
is untrue, for

I. The evidence of the so-called "commercial bodies"
is unreliable, for

(a) They do not really represent the class for whom

they profess to speak,
(6) And they are paid agents of the Government,
(c) Even if they did represent the commercial class of

America, their judgment would be untrustworthy,

for

(1) Not the commercial class, but the farming
class, are the strength of a nation;

(2) And the American farmers are unitedly ar-
rayed for liberty.

II. The evidence of an authority (Dr. Franklin plainly
hinted) proves that the Americans, for the sake of
liberty, would endure far more than they have as yet
suffered, even war and rapine.

F. The statement that the Americans should be punished for
illegal violence is untrue, for

I. A chance for reconciliation should not be missed.

II. Thirty thousand in Boston should not be punished
for the fault of forty or fifty.

III. Punishment means arousing the unappeasable wrath
of the whole American people.

IV. Even if the English people are victorious, they cannot
control the great tracts of conquered country.

V. The resistance should have been foreseen, for

(a) The spirit that resists in America is that of all
EngUsh stock, that which established the essential
maxim of English liberty, "No taxation without
the consent of the taxed."

VI. The resistance will become too strong to be overcome,
for

(a) The English Whigs will aid them, for
(1) The spirit that moves the Americans is that
which has always belonged to the Whigs.
(6) The Irish will aid them, for

(1) They have always maintained the ideas the
Americans support,
(c) The means to oppose this united body is weak, for

APPENDIX 359

(1) A few regiments in America and 18,000 men
at home must oppose three milhon Americans,
milhons of Enghshmen, and all the Irish.

(2) And ministerial tricks against it will fail,
for

(a) The result must inevitably be a "check-
mate" for the ministers.
G. This removal of the troops must precede any other step,
because

I. The fear and the resentment of the Americans must
first of all be remedied;

II. While the troops remain, resentment will remain, for

(a) Any measures secured by force would be, with

the army in Boston, doubly irritating.
(6) When, as is the case, force cannot be used, the
mere presence of the army, though it is itself in
danger, is irritating.
H. The views of Congress are moderate and reasonable.
I. It is an old maxim that the first concession comes most

fitly from the superior.
J. While every policy urges withdrawal of the troops, every
danger warns the English from keeping to the old course,
for

I. That means foreign war, for

(a) France and Spain are watching for an advantageous
chance to interfere.

II. That means domestic trouble, for
(a) The king will lose all his power.

(6) The kingdom will be utterly undone.*

* Note that a conclusion is not printed by itself because, as the propo-
sition, it has been given in Introduction, III.

360 APPENDIX

QUESTIONS ON TYPICAL MASTERPIECES*

GEORGE ELIOT'S SILAS MARNER

Having read a chapter, try to give a summary of its contents
in a few sentences. Invent an appropriate title for each chapter.
Before turning to the questions, try to find things to admire — •
thoughts beautifully expressed, or passages reveahng excep-
tional skill in story-telling. If your copy of the book is an inex-
pensive one, mark passages that please you.

Chapter I

How does this narrative differ from other novels that you
have read in regard to the way it begins? Would it have been
better to begin with lively conversation? with the Lantern
Yard episode? Recall as many reasons as you can why Silas
was viewed with suspicion in Raveloe. What great crisis in the
life of Mamer is dealt with in this chapter? Who were David
and Jonathan? So far as your reading experience goes, are the
most interesting stories about city life or country life? about
people of high degree, or of lowly station? about young people,
or those of middle age?

Chapter II

Purpose? Why are the paragraphs introduced which tell
how Marner helped Sally Gates? Could the passage telling of
the accident to the pitcher be spared? Why is the money-
counting scene placed last? Meaning of Lethean? Do you
recall two similes which are used in describing Marner's life?
Why do you find it necessary to read this novel so slowly?

Chapter III

Note that in this chapter Mamer does not appear. Do you,
at this point, see any way in which he is likely to be affected

* The questions here given may seem, in some instances, not to fol-
low the study plans given in earlier chapters. This is due to the fact
that the questions are designed to be used in daily recitation, and that
seldom is it possible to read an entire masterpiece before it is taken up
in classroom for detailed study.

APPENDIX 361

by the state of affairs at the Red House? Why does not the
author devote a chapter or two to Godfrey's unfortunate mar-
riage, treating it in detail? Does George Ehot wish the reader
to thoroughly despise Godfrey and Dunstan? What explanation
is given of the social supremacy of Squire Cass? What war-time
is referred to in the second paragraph? Was it necessary, in the
fourth paragraph, to mention that Godfrey stood with his hands
in his side-pockets? Is the brown spaniel unnecessary? Ex-
plain: "No! he would . . . rather go on sitting at the feast, and
sipping the wine he loved, than," etc. What parts, if any, of
this chapter do you think might be omitted to advantage? Does
the story move rapidly?

Chapter IV

Pick out the events which seem to hinge upon chance. Trace
the thoughts which pass through Dunstan's mind (a) up to the
time he meets Bryce, (b) from the staking of the horse till Marner's
cottage is reached, (c) while Dunstan is in the cottage. Have
you ever read another story in which mind-workings were re-
corded so minutely? How could a woman like George Eliot
know how men think and talk during a horse-trade? AVhy does
the author have Dunstan take Godfrey's whip? Try to imagine
what the next three chapters will contain. How will the story
end? What do you admire most in this chapter?

Chapter V

Give an account, minute in detail as you can make it, of Mar-
ner's thoughts and actions as pictured in this chapter. Show
that contrast and suspense are finely employed. What are
the most dramatic moments thus far in the story? George
Eliot was a close student of philosophy; what two general
observations concerning the workings of the mind does she make
in this chapter? What will be the effect on Marner's character,
if his gold is not recovered?

Chapter VI

What is the purpose of this chapter? Is Rainbow an ap-
propriate name for a tavern? How could George Eliot know
how tavern frequenters talk? Give an account of (a) the dis-
pute concerning the cow, (b) the hectoring of the deputy clerk,

362 APPENDIX

(c) the minister's mistake, (d) Cliff's holiday. What is the land-
lord's favorite remark? Give Mr. Macey's epigram. Is George
Eliot skilled in making conversation lifelike? Which requires
the greater talent, the creating of characters or the inventing of
plots?

Chapter VII

In what way does VI lead up to VII? What good influence
beings to work on Marner while he is at the Rainbow? Point
out the pathos and the humor in this chapter.

Chapter VIII

Enumerate the several theories advanced concerning what
has become of Marner's money. Why is the tinder-box in-
troduced— solely for humor and to gratify the author's fond-
ness for revealing the workings of the mind? Which is the better
piece of work, the paragraphs dealing with the efforts of the
villagers to discover the robbery, or the paragraphs which tell
of Godfrey's ''inward debating?" W^hat is the meaning of
''foreshadowing," as the term is used in relation to story-telling?
Do you find an instance of it in this chapter?

Chapter IX

Give a clear account of the interview between father and
son. Is the essay on chance, with which the chapter ends, a
blemish? Does this chapter contain a dramatic situation? How
many dramatic situations has the story furnished thus far?

Chapter X

Purpose? Contrast Mr. Macey and Mrs. Winthrop. Is
George Eliot as skilful in delineating women as she is in de-
lineating men? Is Aaron true to life? Why is the youngster
brought into the story? Why are children characters so rarely
found in fiction? What is the purpose of the dialogue with which
the chapter closes?

Chapter XI

Notice that though in the first ten chapters all the acting
characters, save one, are men, chapter XI is distinctly feminine.
Are the delineations as truthful as those found in the Rainbow

APPENDIX 363

chapter? Would it be correct to say that George Eliot excels in
describing the manners of rural society? Is it the main purpose
of the chapter to describe the manners of earlier times, or does
the story proper advance a little? Which is the central figure of
the score of characters who appear at the Red House party?
What (verbatim) is George Eliot's definition of a lady? How
does Nancy differ from the modern heroine? Introducing a
heroine is an important matter; can you determine why the
author gives the reader his first glimpse of Nancy when she is
just arriving at the Red House rather than later in the evening?
Is the dressing-room scene necessary? What purpose is served
by the Miss Gunns? by the villagers? by Priscilla? How are we
made acquainted with Nancy? Has the chapter something of
climax structure? Does it leave the reader in suspense? Is
George Eliot best in the chapters where many characters appear?
What do you admire most in the chapter?

Chapter XII

Point out the dramatic relationship between XI and XII.
Would the effect be as good were the order of these two chap-
ters reversed? Has the chapter been foreshadowed? Does
the author try to arouse in the reader deep pity for the forsaken
wife? Why is not the reader given a nearer view of "a bar-
maid's paradise of pink ribbons and gentlemen's jokes?" Point
out all the little touches which show that George Ehot was a close
and sympathetic observer of the ways of little children? Show
that the coming of the child was a crisis in the life of Marner.
Which should you prefer to have written, this chapter or the
preceding?

Chapter XIII

What is the dramatic effect of having Godfrey the first to
see his child? of Nancy's question to Godfrey? of Dolly Win-
throp's final remark to him? of the fact that the child's eyes
turn from him to the rough-faced weaver? What is your answer
to the question which Godfrey asks himself in the final para-
graph? Has the weather thus far introduced been essential to
the story? Do you recall any instance where rain or sunshine
has been introduced for dramatic effect — as if nature sympa-
thized with the characters? How will the story end?

364 APPENDIX

Chapter XIV

Find specific instances of ''a woman's tender tact." What
is accomplished through the scene in which Mrs. Winthrop
appears? Contrast the influence of the hoarded gold and the
influence of Eppie. In the incident which tells how Eppie runs
away, what is gained by including the item about the red-headed
calf? Is the character of Eppie drawn true to life? In what
ether books have you found attractive children?

Chapter XV

Is this chapter necessary? In what respects would the story
be incomplete if it were to end at this point?

Chapter XVI

What advantage is there in opening Part Second with a
church scene? What is gained by introducing the donkey, the
dog, and the cat? What is Mrs. Winthrop's way of justifying
the result of the trial by lot? Does it satisfy you? Show that
the garden symbolizes the entire story. Does the chapter con-
tain any foreshadowing — any hint of coming events? Is Eppie
as attractive as a young woman as she was as a child?

Chapter XVII

Does the story advance any during this chapter? What
is the chapter's purpose? Why is Nancy unwilling to adopt
Eppie? Why is Godfrey unwilling to confess to Nancy? Do
you recall other chapters which leave the reader in a state of
suspense?

Chapter XVIII

Would the announcement of the discovery at the stone-
pits have been equally dramatic had it been made by another
than Godfrey — for example, by Ben Winthrop to a group of
villagers? Would it have been equally dramatic had the author
confided to the reader, in Chapter IV, what became of Dun-
stan? In what ways does Nancy show nobility of character?
Do you agree that "nothing is so good as it seems beforehand"?
Find a number of things to admire in this chapter.

APPENDIX 365

Chapter XIX

What is the dramatic purpose of the conversation between
Silas and Eppie, before the arrival of Godfrey? What argu-
ments are used in the attempt to persuade Eppie to leave Silas?
What is the most dramatic moment?

Chapter XX

What is the purpose of the chapter? At what point in the
story does Nancy appear most noble? Is she the heroine?
What other characters have shown heroic qualities? Why not
end the story at this point?

Chapter XXI

Is this chapter necessary? Why is not Silas permitted to
clear himself of the charge of theft, and to talk over with the
minister the matter of trial by lots? Try to imagine the life-
career of William Dane. Write a composition under the title
William Dane's Confession.

General Questions

Why do so many stories end on wedding days? Does the
conclusion leave any important question unanswered? As you
look back on the story, what in it seems most admirable? What
character is most attractive? What character is best delineated?
What are the most dramatic scenes? What is the most prominent
underlying truth? What opinion have you formed of the author?

THE DE COVERLEY PAPERS
No. 1

When you read a magazine article, do you care to know
the particulars concerning the author's life? Is the Spectator a
purely imaginary person? In what respects is the Spectator, as
pictured by Addison, one who would please readers of the better
class? What advantages and what disadvantages are there in
writing under an assumed name? Would it be better if all
newspaper articles were signed? Are spectators as a rule better
quaUfied to write than those actively engaged in affairs? What

368 APPENDIX

is meant by a "speculative statesman?" Pick out a few words
or phrases which show that our language has changed shghtiy
since Addison's day. Write from memory an account of the
Spectator's life, character, and purpose; or write a paragraph
beginning with this sentence: In his opening paper Addison
reveals not a little shrewdness.

No. 2

What is gained, considering the purpose of the Spectator,
through inventing a group of clubmen? Are the members
wisely selected? If you were inventing a club for a similar pur-
pose, what classes of society would you wish to have represented?
Which character is sketched with greatest care? What is the
meaning of wit and humorist as employed in this paper? Is it
true (a) that one few of whose thoughts are drawn from business
is apt to be agreeable in conversation; (b) that one familiar with
the writings of the ancients is a keen observer of what occurs in
the world today; (c) that it is cowardly to be backward in assert-
ing what, because of your merit, you ought to expect? Write a
two hundred word sketch of a member of a modern club, pattern-
ing after Steele.

No. 6

Is this paper difficult to understand because the thought is
profound, or because the thought is poorly expressed? Does
some one idea stand out clearly? Was the paper planned with
care? What, if anything, is gained by having Sir Roger speak?
What is gained by concluding with the story of Spartan polite-
ness? Explain: abuse of the understanding, men of fine parts.
Why should none but men of fine parts be hung? What danger
attends cleverness? What danger attends literary skill? Which
class is the more apt to do wrong, the educated or the unedu-
cated? Is the law on the whole successful in catching the people
most dangerous to society? What constitutes true politeness?
Are the charges brought by Steele against his own times ap-
plicable today? Has the paper given you much to think about?

No. 34

Make a simple plan of this paper by giving to each para-
graph an appropriate title. What hints do you find that help

APPENDIX . 367

you in guessing what subjects the Spectator has been writing
about? What is satire? Is it well for the satirist "never to
draw a faulty character which does not fit," etc.? Is it never
wise for the reformer to single out a conspicuous offender and
attack him openly?

No. 37

Do you think this paper was enjoyed by the ladies who read
it? Should you like to read — or write — a similar paper on the
library of a lady of today? What does Addison gain by lead-
ing up to his suggestion for reform through giving an account
of his imagined visit? Would the paper have been as effective
had he stated his reform at the outset? Why does he include an
account of Leonora's country seat? What, in brief, are A.'s
ideas on reading for women? What does he condemn in Leo-
nora's reading? Would it have been wise to follow this paper
with one containing a list of one hundred good books? Point
out bits of humor. Write — or imagine — a letter written by
Leonora to the Spectator.

No. 106

Notice that the Spectator takes his readers to the country
during warm weather. Has this paper a definite plan, or does it
simply drift along? Why are Addison's papers easier to read
than Steele's? Which Sir Roger is more natural, the one we see
in this paper or the one in No. 6? Which Spectator is more
natural, the one in this paper or the one in No. 6; that is, which
one best fits his character as delineated in the first paper? In
what respects is Sir Roger a good master? Why is it so difficult
nowadays to get and keep good servants? Were the instruc-
tions wise which Sir R. gave to the friend who was to select a
chaplain? Do you approve of the plan whereby ministers preach
sermons written by abler men?

No. 107

Is it probable that Steele could have improved this paper
by rewriting it? The beginning of an essay should be inviting;
is it inviting in this case? Would it have been better to begin
with the incident with which the paper concludes? Is the open-
ing paragraph too long? Rewrite in simpler language the second
paragraph. Explain: threatened to distrain^ so good an husband,

368 . APPENDIX

when a tenement falls, manumission. Are Steele's ideas con-
cerning the treatment of servants appropriate for today in
America? If you were writing a paper on the servant problem,
what are some of the suggestions you would make? What do
you imagine Addison thought of this paper by Steele? Try to
imagine a conversation at the Club among men who had just
read the paper.

No. 108

In what respects is Will's letter "extraordinary"? Is the
character of Wimble well brought out? Have we in America
a class corresponding to that to which Will belonged? Are the
names of the characters in the Spectator well chosen? Give the
meaning of the quotation which introduces the paper. Were the
Latin quotations in the Spectator intelligible to its readers? What
purpose is served by the quotations? In the original Spectator
did the essays appear with titles?

No. 109

At what two fashions of the hour is fun poked? Which is
the better of the two tales, the tilt-yard episode or the elope-
ment? Point out little touches which make the narrative life-
like. Point out the ideal in Sir Humphrey's character. Imagine
a coffee-house group reading this paper. What would they find
to laugh at? Imagine Addison complimenting Steele. What
literary excellencies would he think especially praiseworthy?
Imagine yourself writing a similar paper on someone's relatives,
whose photographs you are examining in a family album.

No. 110

Notice how quiet, smooth-flowing, and thoughtful this essay
is compared to the preceding. Try to imagine how Steele
would have treated the same topic. Imagine how you would
build up an essay on present-day superstitions. What, briefly,
is Addison's belief concerning ghosts? What is Locke's? Lu-
cretius's? your own? Does the story at the conclusion of the
paper add much? Pick out a paragraph that you like particu-
larly well, and be prepared to defend your preference. Try to
state clearly and completely the reforms advocated in this paper.

APPENDIX 369

No. 112

Reproduce as accurately as you can the substance of the
opening paragraph. Mention in detail everything that Sir
Roger did to make his parish church a success. With what
thought does the paper close? Do you think Addison's readers
cared for this semi-religious paper? Notice the plan of the
essay: a paragraph of general ideas on church-going, followed by
a series of paragraphs graphically picturing church conditions in
two parishes, one ideal, the other far from ideal. Try to think
of other plans that A. might have followed. Is A. ever guilty of
"fine writing"? Can you imagine, when reading, that he is
talking to you?

No. 113

Is the character of the widow true to life or merely a bur-
lesque? Is Sir Roger's rambling talk natural? Do you think
more highly of Sir Roger after reading the paper? Should you
imagine that Steele was a bashful lover? Does this paper con-
tain satire? Explain: assizes, confidante, desperate scholar,
votaries, Dum tacet hanc loquitur. Is the stanza with which the
paper closes appropriate? What is meant by the phrase keeping
Sir Roger in character?

No. 114

In studying this paper, the main task is to understand what
it means. Explain : shame of poverty. What maxim of economy
was adopted by Sir Roger's ideal ancestor? Do you under-
stand the paragraph in which Cowley is mentioned? Which
class is most to be envied, the rich, the poor, or those neither rich
nor poor? Has wealth anything to do with happiness? If Addi-
son had been writing this paper, would he have begun with the
dinner party? Try to imagine how he would have concluded the
paper.

No. 115

Make a topical plan. What part of the essay do you find
most novel? most interesting? best worth remembering? Which
essay has the better conclusion, 115 or 114?

No. 116

Budgell wrote this essay; can you tell, from its style, whether
it was revised by Addison or by Steele? Give your reasons.

370 APPENDIX

Do you agree with Pascal, or with the Spectator, in regard to
hunting? Why are quotations so often found at the close of
essays?

No. 117

Explain hovering faith. Is the adjective hovering well chosen?
Is hovering faith always the result of a desire to be fair, or
may it result from a desire to avoid responsibility? What kind
of people are apt to ^^jump at conclusions"? Assuming that
A. sincerely wished to bring about reform, show that the open-
ing paragraph is very appropriate. Find one or two examples
that would not be considered good English today.

No. 118

Notice that papers in which the widow is mentioned are
by Steele. Is the opening paragraph a bit flowery? Do you
find it difficult to imagine Sir Roger talking as Steele makes him
talk? Was it not remarkable that just as Sir R. was railing
against confidantes he should light upon an example of a con-
fidante's mischief? Is the game-keeper's language natural?
Which essayist, Addison or Steele, were they alive today, would
make the better novelist? write the better comedy? Can you
account for the fact that A.'s sentences seem so much more
modern than Steele's?

No. 119

Notice how well planned this paper is, and with what skill
transitions are made. What general remarks does A. make
in regard to city and country manners? In what respects does
he think the country better than the city? How does he account
for the coarse language of city fops? Do you agree that ''good
breeding shows itself most where, to an ordinary eye, it appears
least"? Why today is there far less difference between the
manners of city and country than in former times? What would
A. have to say today about dress, conversation, manners? Could
a good essay be written on slang? Are slang and profanity dying
out?

No. 122

Would the account of the day with Sir Roger be as inter-
esting without the little sermon found in the opening paragraph?
Do you accept as true the statement in the first sentence? is

APPENDIX 371

Sir Roger's "much might be said on both sides" a case of "hover-
ing faith"? Comment on "I suppose he is going upon the old
business of the willow tree." Do you recall other sentences, in
earlier papers, introduced for the same artistic purpose? Have
we had other papers which end as simply as this one? Is it a
good plan, when writing an essay, to make the concluding sen-
tence bring the reader's thoughts back to the introductory sen-
tences? Is No. 122 constructed on such a plan?

No. 123

Notice the structure: (1) a specific example of a pampered
son, (2) a few words on pampered sons in general, (3) a story
suggested by the subject. What criticism can you offer con-
cerning the story of Florio and Leonilla? Try to imagine how
a modern author would tell the story. Do you think A. really
means to recommend that children be exchanged? What paper
makes a good companion piece to No. 123? Reparagraph the
story.

No. 125

This paper is somewhat difficult, but exceedingly good, show-
ing A. at his best — fearless, yet writing with commendable
restraint. Tell the anecdotes with which the paper begins, and
note how skilfully it puts the reader into a w^holesome frame of
mind to receive the lecture that follows. Enumerate, as accur-
ately as you can, all the evils resulting from extreme party
spirit. Give very carefully the substance of the concluding
paragraph. Can you recall any other paper in which the man
Addison appears to better advantage? Is the paper one of the
best from the literary standpoint? How would Steele have
treated the subject? Does party spirit run high in America?
Could you write a similar paper on party feeling as it appears in
pubHc schools?

No. 126

Is A. in earnest in his recommendation that honest men of
all parties unite in an association for purifying politics? Has
such an association ever been formed? Notice A.'s list of political
pests: furious zealots; infamous hypocrites; profligate, immoral
retainers. Can you think of other political pests? Does A.
succeed in making his point clearer by means of the ichneumon

372 APPENDIX

and Tartar illustrations? Which is the more interesting half of
the paper? Where in the paper do you find A. most earnest?
May a writer forward a serious purpose by means of humor?
Is there an3i}hirig in this paper at which any of A.'s readers may
have taken offence? Have you noted anything in any of his
papers at which anyone might take offence?

No. 130

In this paper does A. appear as reformer or as entertainer?
Why does he not deal with the gypsy problem seriously as he
deals with the subject of witches? Point out the bits of humor.
Was the story with which the paper concludes added merely to
fill up space? Is the story probable? interesting? Who is Cas-
sandra?

No. 131

What, if anything, is satirized in this paper? What does
the paper contain that would interest A.'s readers? Perhaps the
best thing in 131 is the letter with which it closes; how does it
compare with Will Wimble's? In what respects is the latter
characteristic of Honeycomb? Write a letter to yourself, pre-
tending as you write that you are someone else. Try to recall
every person mentioned by the Spectator during his imaginary
visit to Sir Roger. Which of these people are more than com-
monly interesting?

No. 132

In what respect is this paper characteristic of Steele? Should
you prefer to read none but papers by Addison, or do you find
rehef in an occasional paper by Steele? Explain the pun in
the opening paragraph. What do you learn from the paper con-
cerning travel in Queen Anne's day? What is satirized? Stage-
coaches being out of fashion, is the lesson on manners no longer
appropriate? What might Steele have to say about electric cars
or automobiles, were he writing today? Why was it brave to
say a good word for Quakers?

No. 174

Does Sir Roger talk "in character"? Is Sir Andrew's speech
lifelike? Had A. been writing, would he have permitted Sir
Andrew to make the reference to Sir Roger's portrait gallery?

APPENDIX 373

Why does Steele end his paper without giving the knight oppor-
tunity to reply? What hint is given concerning the best way to
aid the poor? Is Sir Andrew's method always possible? Was it
uncommon in Queen Anne's day for country gentlemen to keep
accounts? Is there a prejudice today against commercial in-
terests?

No. 269

Note that 132 appeared Aug. 1, 174 Sept. 14, 269 Jan. 8.
Note too that A. is careful to recall to his readers the various
characters met, months before, at Sir Roger's. Is his account
of Sir R's. Christmas generosity intended to make his readers
forget Steele's blunder in running down the Knight? Notice the
time-marks: Eugene and Scanderbeg, the Pope's procession, etc.
Do they suggest why the products of journalism seldom win a
permanent place in literature? Was Baker's Chronicle a recent
publication? Is there a hint that tea is supplanting coffee as a
popular beverage? What is gained by telling precisely where the
Spectator and the Knight took their walk, and by giving the name
of the coffee house to which they went? In what respects is this
a better paper than the preceding?

No. 329

What is gained by letting the reader see the Abbey through
the eyes of Sir Roger? Was A.'s principal purpose to reveal
the goodness of the Knight's heart, or to present a true pic-
ture of the monuments? Point out all the traits of Sir R.'s
character as revealed in this paper. Give an account of the
morning's visit, not forgetting the Knight's comments. Shut
your eyes and try to form a picture of Sir Roger in the coronation
chair. In mentioning widow Trueby's waters is A. poking fun
at a quack remedy, or "puffing" a remedy that he believes in?
Did the Spectator contain advertisements?

No. 335

In this paper A. puffs a play by his friend Phillips. Pick
out every favorable criticism passed by Sir Roger. Why would
favorable comment from a country squire who had not seen a
play in twenty years be considered high praise? Pick out all
the little items which make the account of the evening seem true

374 APPENDIX

to life. Do you feel, as you read paper after paper, that Addison
is growing fonder of the character he has created? Are you
growing fonder of him? What have you learned about play-
going in Queen Anne's time? Imagine yourself attending a play
with one of your country relatives. What are some of the odd
things he might do and say?

No. 359

You have read papers by Steele and Addison in which Sir R.
appears, and now comes one by Budgell. Does Budgell handle
the character well? Which of the three writers is most suc-
cessful in showing the lovable side of the Knight's nature? No-
tice the touch of reahsm in the phrase 'playing with a cork. Do
you recall similar touches in earlier papers? Could Steele have
handled the subject of Honeycomb's amours successfully? Why
is Sir R. so interested in the passage from Paradise Lostf

No. 383

Explain: Temple Stairs, Spring Garden, Fox-hall, Temple
Bar. How do you account for Sir Roger's enthusiasm over war?
Were not the land-owners opposed to war? Explain the reference
to the fifty new churches. Is the purpose of the paper to suggest
reforms, or to bring out the Knight's character? If the purpose is
to call attention to reforms needed at Fox-hall, was it wise to con-
fine the criticism to the last paragraph or two? Was it shrewder
to have the criticism fall from the lips of Sir Roger than to have
the Spectator speak directly and boldly? Which is the best
paper, 329, 335, or 383?

No. 517

Can you imagine why Addison put an end to Sir Roger, who
must have been a popular character? Why does he invent
a letter from the butler rather than from the chaplain or Capt.
Sentry? Is the butler in any respects a good letter-writer? Is
the letter in character? What are the essentials of a good letter?
Is Biscuit an appropriate name, or does it displease you? What
would be an appropriate name for the chaplain? Point out the
humor in the paper. Do you note any resemblance "between
this paper and the last scene in a play or the final chapter of a
novel?

APPENDIX 875

General Questions

The avowed purpose of the Spectator was to improve man-
ners and morals by pointing out folUes. How many Spectator
reforms can you recall? What is peculiar in the method em-
ployed by the editors in bringing about reforms?

How many Spectator characters do you recall? Which of
these stand out most distinctly? Are they agreeable people
whom it would be a pleasure to meet? Are they presented as
ideal people or as examples of what we should not be? Are they
all types easily duphcated, or are they ''odd sticks"?

How many incidents do you recall? How do these incidents,
viewed collectively, differ from the incidents in a novel? Would
it have been well to have the widow at last accept Sir Roger?
Could Addison or Steele have written a play? a novel? a good
short story? Is the character of the papers such as to call for
description? Do you recall any descriptive passages?

What have you noticed in regard to Addison's and Steele's
ways of constructing essays? W^hat are some of their ways of
beginning? of concluding? Are the paragraphs closely knit by
means of introductory and transitional words and phrases? Is
the vocabulary of the Spectator a simple one? Which is the more
skilful writer, Addison or Steele?

What new ideas have come to you from reading the papers?
What facts have you learned about Queen Anne times? On the
whole, have the papers been enjoyable? What have you en-
joyed most? least? What opinion have you formed of Addison
and Steele as men? What do you think of Queen Anne times as
compared with today? Has human nature changed much in
two centuries?

MACAULAY'S SAMUEL JOHNSON

In studying this essay it is well to bear in mind that it was
written for the Encyclopoedia Brittanica, rather hastily, when
Macaulay was in his fifty-sixth year — three years before his
death. The numerals refer to paragraphs.

1

What three topics are treated in this paragraph? The ac-
count of Johnson's father contains about one hundred words.
What, if anything, do you see in it to admire? Why is no men-

376 APPENDIX

tion made of Johnson's mother? What, besides the house where
Johnson was born, do travelers go to Lichfield to see? How do
you account for the fact that the bookseller's patrons were mainly
clergymen? How did the contents of Johnson's shop differ from
those of the modern bookstore? How do you account for the
fact that politics and religion were more closely aUied in the
early years of the eighteenth century than they are at present?
Explain the sentence beginning He was a zealous churchmari.
Was Johnson well born for a literary career? Is the sentence
beginning In the child an important one, in any way suggesting
the statement of a proposition in geometry? Why are the details
of the child's trip to London given, together with a description
of the Queen? In this early account of Johnson is M. trying to
prejudice you against him? Is it a good plan to turn boys loose
in bookshops or libraries, or is it better to direct their reading?
Is indiscriminate reading a good preparation for authorship?
Is the study of the classics a good preparation for authorship?
How do the books that the boy Johnson read differ in kind from
the books read by the average American youth? Explain: Attic
poetry and eloquence, Augustan delicacy of taste, public schools,
sixth form at Eton, restorers of learning, Petrarch.

2

Explain either university. How does Oxford differ from an
American university? Is Macrobius a well known Latin writer?
Is the first sentence of this paragraph topical?

3

Explain: quadrangle of Christ Church, gentleman commoner,
Pope's Messiah, Virgilian. Is there a suspicion created by such
phrases as was generally to be seen and in every meeting that
Macaulay was too fond of making sweeping statements? What
is the first essential in writing biography? From what source
did M. get his information concerning Johnson? Should he have
acknowledged his indebtedness? Do you hke Johnson better
or worse after reading this paragraph?

4

Invent appropriate headings for the three paragraphs deal-
ing with Johnson's college career. Point out the dramatic
features in this chapter of Johnson's life.

APPENDIX 377

Is it possible that in this paragraph M. represents as cus-
tomary eccentricities which were but occasional? Find instances
of balanced construction such as "He was sick of life; but he was
afraid of death." Explain: hypochondriac, torpid.

6

Notice that M. is careful, after the preceding paragraph
which refers to a period of thirty years, to let the reader know
J.'s age at the time now to be considered. Enumerate Johnson's
early attempts to make a living. Explain : usher of a grammar
school, ecclesiastical court. When a young man upon leaving
college tries now this occupation, now that, is it a sign of weak-
ness?

7

Notice that While leading this vagrant and miserable life, like
the first phrase in the preceding paragraph, is transitional, the
rest of the sentence topical. What is gained by mentioning the
Queensberrys and Lepels? Can you bring against M., as he
appears in this paragraph, any charge besides misrepresentation?
Was M. a married man? Find an instance of contrast. What
danger attends the use of contrast to gain force?

8

Mrs. Porter was but forty-six when she married Johnson;
how do you account for tawdry painted grandmother? Is it M.'s
purpose in painting J.'s misfortunes — his poverty, his infirmities,
and his marriage — to make Johnson's success in later years
seem the more wonderful? Who was Garrick?

9

How do you account for the brevity of this paragraph?

10

What relationship does the first sentence bear to the rest of
the paragraph? Why is this an important paragraph in an essay
which aims to estimate Johnson's achievements? Explain the
sentence beginning Literature had ceased to flourish. Name
two or three writers prominent in the preceding generation, two

378 APPENDIX

or thre^ in the following generation, and two or three contem-
pcrariee. What Macaulayan characteristic is prominent in the
sentence describing Fielding's poverty?

11
Explain Drury Lane.

12

Explain: ordinaries, a la mode beef shops, sycophancy, Har-
leian Library. Are the graphic details in this paragraph in-
troduced for humorous effect? Does M. hke Johnson?

13

Explain: proceedings of either house, Lilliput, Capulets, Mon-
tagues, Sacheverell, ship money, Roundheads, Great Rebellion,
member of the opposition. How do you account for the length of
this paragraph? M. was a Whig; can we trust him to estimate
the worth of a Tory? Can we make a hero of Johnson after
learning that he deceived his readers in the Debates of the Senate
of Lilliput? Why is this a difficult paragraph to master?

14

What prompted J. to write London? Would the second sen-
tence be as effective if it concluded with a needy man of letters?
What is the poem about?

15

Notice the dramatic structure, suggesting a one act tragedy
with a good catastrophe. The harsh word hack forms an ap-
propriate ending.

16

How is the transition made from London to Savage? Make
as many comments as you can on the rhetorical characteristics
of the third and fourth sentences. Explain: Covent Garden, a
glass house.

17

Explain Grub Street. In reviewing a work, is it best to give
unfavorable criticism first?

APPENDIX 379

18

How is the transition made from Savage to the Dictionary?
Notice that M. tells how much J. was to receive for the Diction-
ary. He has also told how much was paid for London, and how
much J. was left by his father. Do you like this? How much is
1,500 guineas? How much does it cost to make a dictionary
nowadays? Why so much more?

19

What is a prospectus? Was it like Johnson, who was no
sycophant, to curry favor with Chesterfield? Comment on the
fifth sentence.

20

Which do you like better, the paragraphs dealing with The
Vanity of Human Wishes, or the paragraphs dealing with London?

21

Why so short a paragraph?

22 4

Notice how careful M. is to see that the reader follows the
time sequence. Find in earlier paragraphs time-establishing
phrases like A few days after. Point out balanced constructions.
What is the difference between blank verse and heroic verse?
What is a closet drama?

23

Was it necessary to refer to earlier periodical literature?
Do you infer from this paragraph and others that M. was a great
reader with a wonderful memory?

24-25

Study carefully M.'s manner of building up the topic dealt
with in these two paragraphs. Why is so much more space
given to the essays than to the tragedy Irene?

26

Are the short sentences suggestive of sobs? Is the fifth art-
fully constructed? Comment on the sentence beginning She

380 APPENDIX

was gone. Does the last sentence, so business-like, seem out
of harmony with what precedes? Was M. a man of tender
emotions? Does he know how to juggle with words and sen-
tences?

27

Read, if you have access to it, the letter and the preface
referred to. Why has the letter been termed the declaration of
independence of English letters? Explain the term patronage.

28
Explain : etymologist, Junius and SMmier. Name the faults
and the virtues of the Dictionary. Make a topical plan of all
the paragraphs dealing with the Dictionary.

29

Explain spunging houses. What would be an appropriate
heading for the paragraph?

30

Why is the Idler given less space than the Rambler? Is M.
careful to preserve due proportions?

31

Notice the transition. What is gained by placing the word
Rasselas last?

32

Has this paragraph too an effective conclusion — a little sur-
prise for the reader? Who is Lydia Languish? What is Rasselas
about? Is it prose or poetry? How many forms of literature
has Johnson attempted thus far?

33

If you have read Rasselas, answer Macaulay's criticism.
Comment on gorged with raw steaks cut from living cows.

34

Make a careful study of this artfully constructed paragraph.

APPENDIX 381

35

Is the first sentence topical? Should the topical sentence
always come first? What is gained by the repetition of daily?

36

Find examples of word repetition. Is it effective as here
employed? Notice the force of the phrase ''making fools of so
many philosophers;'' then find, later in the paragraph, a similar
antithesis. Do you think the less of Johnson for investigating the
Cock Lane Ghost? for delaying so long his edition of Shakespeare?
Would it be well for our government to pension prominent men
of letters? Would it be well to revive the custom of patronage,
men of wealth supporting needy authors of promise?

37

What praise has Macaulay for the edition of Shakespeare?
What censure? Do you suspect that the censure is partly un-
just? Would M. make a good editor of the plays of Shakespeare?
What is meant by conjectural emendation? Who is Ben? How
do you account for the fact that Johnson received so many
honors at this time? Explain Royal Academy.

38

How is the transition made from the edition of Shakespeare
to the Club? What is M.'s explanation of Johnson's "colloquial
talents"? Explain: pompous triads, casuistry. How do you
account for the fact that skilled conversationalists are rarer
today than in the eighteenth century? Is the Club still in ex-
istence? How do you account for the fact that so many of the
great writers of Johnson's day hved in London? What is Amer-
ica's literary center? If a similar club of American writers
were to be formed, would it exert an influence similar to that
of Johnson's Club? If you wished to make a careful study of
the Club, to what book would you turn?

39

Careful investigation reveals that most of the uncompli-
mentary epithets bestowed upon Bos well are undeserved. Is
M.'s unfair treatment due to prejudice, to lack of correct in-
formation, or to a desire to make the friendship between John-

382 APPENDIX

son and Boswell seem inexplicable? Pick out examples of the
balanced sentence. Read, at random, a few pages of Boswell's
Life, then contrast Boswell and Macaulay as biographers.

40

Notice the transition. Comment on the characterization
of Mrs. Thrale, and try to explain the friendship between her
and Johnson. What is gained by once more reminding the
reader of Johnson's disagreeable eccentricities? Does the
account of the friendship raise Johnson in your estimation?
Should the description of the Fleet Street "establishment" have
been placed in a paragraph by itself. The establishment might
have been mentioned much earlier; why is it brought in at this
point? Does the account increase your respect for Johnson? for
Macaulay? Why does M. note that J.'s books are ''faUing to
pieces and covered with dust"? How do you account for J.'s
kindness toward the "menagerie "? In what ways is M.'s literary
skill shown in this paragraph?

41

Notice the time guide in the opening sentence. Where are
the Hebrides? What works had J. published previous to the
Journey to Western Islands? Comment on the sentence "They
published paragraphs in the newspapers, articles in the maga-
zines, six-penny pamphlets, five shilling books."

42

Why did Johnson, by nature a controversialist, pay little
attention to hostile critics? Explain: sophistry, sarcasm, invec-
tive, apophthegm.

43

Are you willing to trust Macaulay the Whig in his estimate
of a Tory pamphlet? What has taken the place of pamphlets
in political controversy?

44

Notice that in this paragraph the transitional sentence comes
at the end.

45-9

What does M. gain by mentioning specifically the names
of Johnson's literary acquaintances? From v/hat you have

APPENDIX 383

learned of J. in this essay, what traits of character did he possess,
should you say, that a biographer ought to have? Why is
paragraph 48 so brief? Does M. ever say / think, or is he always
sure that he is right?

50

Take a few minutes to imagine what reply the wife of the
"Italian fiddler" would make to this paragraph, were she alive
today. If you care to know more about Mrs. Thrale, consult
Boswell's Life. Do you recall any other scene pictured by
Macaulay more pathetic than Johnson's last visit to Streatham?
Was it necessary for M. to tell when and where news of J.'s
death reached the Piozzis? How do you account for the fact
that on her return to England Mrs. Piozzi was well received?

51

Which is the better written paragraph, this or the one telling
of Mrs. Johnson's death? Who are entitled to burial in West-
minster Abbey?

52

Study this paragraph carefully, and be prepared to show
that it forms an admirable conclusion. Do you agree that
Johnson was a great and good man?

General Questions

Make a list of Johnson's principal works. Which of these
works first brought him to public notice? Which brought him
fame? Which is best known today? Which should you like to
read? Are you sufficiently interested to care to read Boswell's
Life? What scenes in Johnson's life has M. pictured most
vividly? What do you admire most in Johnson's character?

In what respects is M. a good biographer, and in what respects
is he open to criticism? What do you admire most in his skill as
a writer? Have you had to consult the dictionary often while
reading the essay, or is his vocabulary reasonably simple? Have
you had difficulty at any point in grasping the meaning, due to
the fact that sentences were clumsily constructed? Find an
example of each of the following: (1) a transitional phrase at the
beginning of a paragraph, (2) a transition at the close of a para-
graph, (3) a phrase introduced to help the reader to keep the

384 APPENDIX

chronological sequence, (4) a topical sentence, (5) a balanced
sentence, (6) word repetition for emphasis, (7) rapid character-
ization, (8) a passage rendered graphic through vivid details,
(9) unnecessary coarseness, (10) exaggeration, (11) unpleasant
positiveness, (12) careless misstatement. What in Macaulay's
skill as a writer do you envy most? What have you gained
through reading the essay?

SCOTT'S LADY OF THE LAKE
Canto First

1. Explain the following: Ascabart, bland, blithe, boon, cairn,
Caledon, cloister, copse, errant-knight, Ferragus, filial, gauntlet,
high emprise, lave, martial, matins, mere, mien. Naiad, orison,
quarry, reveille, rood, snood, sylvan, target, tapestry, unwonted,
whinyard. 2. Explain the following lines: 114, 194-7, 270-3,
296-7, 309-10. 3. Would the beginning have been equally
effective had Fitz-James met Ellen while he was taking a long
tramp through the Trossachs? 4. Why is the chase made
so furious, all the hunters, save one, outdistanced by the stag?

5. Why does the story-teller have the stag escape, the horse die?

6. Is the description of the Trossachs and Loch Katrine so care-
fully done that you can make a simple topical plan of it? 7. Does
the description read like one written after a visit to the region?
8. Does it show famiUarity with nature? 9. Would the canto
have been equally effective had it begun with a description of
the region? 10. Why does Scott delay describing the personal
appearance of the hunter till his meeting with Ellen? 11. What
hints are given that Ellen is of noble birth? that she has a lover?
12. How do you explain the mystery concerning the invisible
harp that plays while Ellen sings? 13. How do you account for
the knight's dream? 14. The transitions in this canto are inter-
esting; how does the poet pass from the hunt to the description
of the Trossachs, from the Trossachs to Loch Katrine, from
Loch Katrine to Ellen? 15. The canto contains a number of
interesting comparisons — similes and metaphors; without re-
reading, try to recall to what each of the following is hkened:
the stag on hearing the hounds, the hunters passing through the
glen, the rocky summits in the Trossachs, Loch Katrine, the
mountains surrounding Katrine, the Lady of the Lake. 16. Are

APPENDIX 385

these comparisons appropriate? 17. In the third stanza, how
many words can you discover that were chosen, apparently,
because their sound suggests the spirited scene described?
18. Note how quiet the concluding lines of the stanza are when
compared with the first. Are there certain letters which have a
hush sound? 19. Where else in the canto have you noted ex-
amples of onomatopoeia? 20. What in the canto have you en-
joyed most? 21. What questions concerning the rest of the
story are left in the reader's mind? 22. Memorize the fourteenth
stanza, or some other that you hke better. 23. Write a para-
graph beginning with one of the following sentences: (a) The
canto contains not a little that is mysterious, (b) The plan of
the canto is very simple, (c) I know a lake which, like Loch
Katrine, is very beautiful, (d) Fitz- James makes a very good
hero.

Canto Second

1. Explain: assuage, boding, bourgeon, foray, glozing, guerdon,
henchman, Holy-Rood, homicide, meedj pibroch, reave, sable,
strathspey, vindictive, votaress. 2. Explain the following lines:
165, 200, 391-2, 540-1, 577-8, 615-22, 805-6. 3. Explain
clearly (a) what claim Roderick has on Ellen's affections, (b) why
she does not wish to marry Roderick, (c) why an attack from
the royal forces is feared. 4. Without rereading, make a simple
topical plan of the canto, employing but three or four headings.
5. Is the canto somewhat dramatic in construction, the in-
terest increasing toward the end? 6. Is the most exciting in-
cident at the very close of the canto? 7. What mystery in
the first canto is cleared up in the second? 8. What new ques-
tions arise in the reader's mind? 9. What is the purpose of
the stanzas teUing of the stranger's farewell and the conversation
between Ellen and Allan? 10. How is the transition made from
these stanzas to the account of the home-coming of Roderick?
11. Can you think of a good reason why Scott brought Fitz-
James to the Isle during the absence of Roderick? 12. What do
you find to admire in the account of the approach and arrival of
the chief? 13. It has been noted that in the third stanza of the
first canto, the sound suggests the sense. In the Boat Song there
is a successful attempt to indicate the measured swing of the
rowers. Read the Song aloud, stressing the syllables in such a
way as to indicate the stroke of the oars. 14. Compare the way

386 APPENDIX

in which Roderick is brought into the story with the way in
which Fitz-James is introduced. 15. What is gained by having
Douglas and Roderick return at the same time? 16. How many
rival suitors do you discover, and which do you think has the
best chance of winning Ellen? 17. Is the second canto more
interesting than the first? 18. What do you like best in it?
19. Do you recall an elaborate simile, many lines long? 20. Mem-
orize the Boat Song, or some other passage that you hke better.

21. Write a paragraph, using one of the following as a topical
sentence: (a) The return of Roderick is in marked contrast to
the return of Douglas, (b) The tune played by the pipers tells a
thrilling story, (c) The three songs found in the first two cantos
differ widely in character, (d) Ellen's position is most trying.

22. Try to form clear mind-pictures from what is suggested in
the following lines, letting the imagination have full swing:
66-7, 141, 277-82, 592-4.

Canto Third

1. Explain: anathema, augured, Ave Maria, Ben-Shie, bracken,
chalice, compeers, coronach, correi, Druid, execration, fay. Fiery
Cross, goading, imprecation, Inch-Cailliach, murky, patriarch,
sage, satyr, searest, sepulchral, sequestered, snood, strath, un-
wonted. 2. Explain the following fines: 135-44, 161-2, 465,
629-31. 3. Scott has his choice of all kinds of weather; why
does he begin this canto with nature quiet and peaceful? 4. If
you were preparing an ifiust rated edition of the poem, what
eight scenes would you like to have pictured to go with this
canto? 5. Of all the scenes, which stands out most vividly?
6. Why is Brian's history given in such detail? 7. What three
curses does the priest pronounce? 8. Through what similes
are the responses, made by the clansmen, emphasized? 9. Trace
the symbofism of the ceremony, showing why the cross is
made as it is, why it is scathed by fire and dipped in blood.

10. Why does Scott introduce the funeral scene and the wedding?

11. What similes are employed in an effort to show the speed of
the runners? 12. Study the figures in the Coronach. 13. How
does this canto compare with the preceding ones in interest?
14. What do you like best in it? 15. Memorize the thirteenth
stanza. 16. Write a paragraph beginning with one of the follow-
ing sentences: (a) Clan loyalty is well illustrated in the way all

APPENDIX ,387

obey the summons of the Fiery Cross, (b) The close of the canto
is much quieter than the preceding stanzas, (c) Evidently one of
the poet's purposes in telling the story is to picture bygone cus-
toms, (d) The first nine hnes of the canto contain an unusual
number of figures of speech.

Canto Fourth

1. Explain: apprehensive, augury, houne, fane, glaive, imbrue,
inured, kern, pall and vair, weeds, wold. 2. Explain the fol-
lowing lines: 55-6, 100-105, 110-17, 419, 468-71, 743-8, 780.
3. Describe the Taghairm ceremony. 4. Which to you is
the more gruesome, the Taghairm or the ceremony connected
with the preparation of the Fiery Cross? 5. Tell the story
of Alice Brand, beginning Once upon a time. 6. Tell the story
of Blanche of De van. 7. Interpret Blanche's song (xxv). 8. The
boat which bears Ellen and Fitz-James to the Isle is also called
skiff, shallop, and barge. Do you recall any of Scott's favor-
ite substitutes for the word sword? Why does he employ syn-
onyms so freely? 9. The conversation between Ellen and
the minstrel in the second canto serves to explain the situation;
what is learned from their conversation in canto fourth? 10. What
is gained by teUing where the bull came from that was slain for
the Taghairm? 11. What is gained by introducing Blanche of
Devan? 12. What do you find to like in stanzas xxix-xxxi?
13. What is the most exciting moment in the canto? 14. Mem-
orize the thirtieth stanza. 15. Write a paragraph beginning with
one of the following sentences: (a) Allan-bane possesses a wonder-
ful harp, (b) The minstrel is also a gifted dreamer, (c) Evi-
dently Highland hospitality is a favorite theme with Scott.

(d) It is difficult to decide at what point in the story Fitz-James
is most attractive — as a hunter, as a guest at Roderick's lodge,
as suitor at Ellen's cave, or as he appears in the campfire scene.

(e) Among the appropriate similes in this canto are those found
in the following hnes: 199-203, 299-300, 544-7. (f) The Tag-
hairm prophecy and Fitz-James's ring provide hints of how the
story will end.

Canto Fifth

1. Explain: apparition, arraignment, banditti, buffet, burghers,
butts, carpet knight, clemency, cognizance, cumbered, invulner-
able, morrice-dancers, retribution. 2. Explain the following

388 APPENDIX

lines: 75-9, 123, 182, 443-4, 461-2, 543-4, 660, 887. 3. If you
were making a plan of this canto, what three or four topics
would you employ? 4. In their conversation while on the
way to Coilantogle, what three charges does the knight bring
against Roderick, and how are they answered? 5. Would the
combat have been as exciting had there been spectators? had
the combatants not been rival suitors? had Brian's prophecy
been different? had Fitz-James not vowed to avenge Blanche of
Devan? had Roderick not entertained his foe? 6. With which
combatant does the reader sympathize? 7. Does Scott introduce
the games at Stirling because the account is needed in the story,
or because he wishes to show the customs of long ago? 8. Are
the contests interesting and the outcome probable? 9. What is
the purpose of Douglas in going to Stirling? 10. Does Fitz-
James know that Douglas is Ellen's father? 11. How do you
account for the knight's harsh treatment of Douglas? 12. What
are the most dramatic moments in the canto? 13. What ques-
tions are uppermost in the reader's mind at its close? 14. What
figures are found in the following lines: 347, 348, 390, 897-8?
15. Show that the figures in lines 188-9 and 407-10 are appro-
priate. 16. Do you recall anywhere in the canto a series of brief,
sharp contrasts? 17. What do you like best in the canto?
18. Memorize stanzas ix-x. 19. Write a paragraph, employing
one of the following as a topical sentence: (a) This canto contains
good illustrations of "martial Faith and Courtesy's bright star."

(b) The conversation between Roderick and Fitz-James leaves
the reader with a far better impression of the former's character.

(c) The games at Stirling differ in a number of respects from an
athletic contest of today, (d) I see much to admire in Scott's
skill as shown in the account of the combat.

Canto Sixth

1. Explain: caitiff, collation, eyry, fealty, gyve, jeopardy, leech,
proselyte, refluent, requiem, tinchell. 2. Explain the following
lines: 43-4, 621-2, 704-5, 707. 3. Nearly all the characters,
you have noted, come together in this canto. Tell how each
happens to be in Stirling. 4. Some critics condemn the guard-
room scene; does it seem objectionable to you? 5. What is
gained by having Allan tell of the battle? Why have him tell
it to Roderick? 7. Why have Roderick die? Would it have been

APPENDIX 389

equally dramatic to have him pardoned? 8. Why not conclude
with Roderick's burial or Ellen's wedding? 9. Contrast the con-
cluding scene with the opening of canto first. 10. How do you
account for the fact that the similes in the description of the
battle have to do with nature in angry mood — with mountain
cascades, whirlpools, earthquakes? 11. Why do so many similes
take the reader to nature? 12. Of all the scenes in this canto,
which will probably remain longest in your memory?

General Questions

1. How many days are covered by the incidents of the story?
2. Does the story owe much of its interest to the fact that the
setting is one of great romantic beauty? 3. What characters
in the story do you admire, and for what reasons? 4. Which
character seems truest to life? 5. What, on the whole, is the
most beautiful description in the poem? the most exciting in-
cident? the best song? the greatest surprise? 6. What pur-
pose is served by the songs? 7. If you have studied versifica-
tion, give the metrical plan of each song. 8. What evidence
does the poem afford that Scott was fond of history? fond of
nature? that he was an antiquary? that he was a gentleman?
9. Write a paragraph on one of the following topics: (a) The
most brilliant scene in the poem, (b) The duties of a minstrel,
(c) The battle, (d) The signet ring.

GOLDSMITH'S THE DESERTED VILLAGE
Lines 1-34

What is the purpose of these lines? Is Auburn a real place
or purely imaginary? Pick out twenty or more descriptive
adjectives; pause after each and see how much of a picture
it brings to mind. By way of seeing whether the adjectives are
well chosen, try to substitute better ones, or ones equally ap-
propriate. Pick out the five best adjectives. Find Unes in which
some sound, either vowel or consonantal, is pleasantly repeated.
Find hnes where the sounds seem to run together harmoniously,
as colors are sometimes blended. What are some of the more
melodious lines? What makes the last line so effective? Are all
the rhymes perfect? Find ten Unes in which two short syllables

390 APPENDIX

are treated as one. Would the versification be better if per-
fectly regular?

Lines 35-50

Purpose? How do the pictures in this passage, taken col-
lectively, differ from those in the preceding passage? What
is the relationship between the two passages? Which do you
like better? Which picture is saddest? Were you an artist,
which picture would you like to paint? Find lines here and there
in which sound echoes sense. What vowels are prominent in
11. 40, 42, 47, and 50? How many hues containing slurred
syllables do you find in this passage? Are any of the feet tro-
chaic? How do you scan 1. 48? Are all the rhymes perfect? Is
there a shght pause at the end of each line? Is the pause at the
end of alternate lines more pronounced? Do the longer pauses
serve to emphasize the rhyme?

Lines 51-56

Explain 11. 52, 53-6. Do you believe the statement made
in this passage? Why cannot a peasantry be replaced? Are
peasants bolder than others? Why are they, rather than the
merchants, a country's pride? Are farmers more patriotic than
city people?

Lines 57-62

How much is a rood? Express in plain prose, free from figur-
ative language, 11. 59-62; then compare your prose with Gold-
smith's lines to see whether you or the poet has employed the
greater number of words. Is poetry usually more compact than
prose?

Lines 63-74

Explain the meaning and force of unfeeling, usurp, unwieldy,
cumbrous, lawn. Explain 11. 67-8. Is line 74 applicable to
America? Which do you prefer, 11. 1-50 or 11. 51-74? Why?

Lines 75-82

Explain 1. 76. What pictures are suggested to you by tangling
walks? by ruined grounds? What figure of speech does Gold-
smith employ most commonly?

APPENDIX 391

Lines 83-96

Explain: my latest hours to crown, husband out life's taper,
for pride attends us still. How old was G. when he wrote this
poem? Do you know what had been his griefs? Where and
under what circumstances did he die? What do you note about
the letters in 1. 94? What figure of speech in 11. 93-6? Is the
comparison a good one?

Lines 97-112

Explain 11. 103-6. Is guilty used in its ordinary sense? Would
it be well to substitute beggars for famine in 1. 106? Do you like
the expression latter end? Explain 1. 108. What is the force
of bends as here employed? Explain 1. 112.

Lines 113-36

Explain responsive. Is sober an appropriate adjective to
apply to herd? In I. 122, is the adjective vacant uncompliment-
ary? Is loud laughter a sign of low intelligence? Meaning
of sought the shade? Were it not for rhyme, would it be well
to substitute dame for thing in 1. 129? Explain 11. 133, 136.
Do you find any lines, in this passage, where sound echoes sense?
Where else, thus far, has Goldsmith drawn sharp contrasts?
Do you like this passage better than the preceding one? What
are some of the best lines? If you were an artist, what in this
passage would you hke to picture?

Lines 137-62
What is a copse? Explain 11. 142, 146, 151, 155, 162.

Lines 163-70
Explain 11. 164, 167-70. Is the comparison in the last three
lines an appropriate one?

Lines 171-76

Explain the force of champion. What is the antecedent of
his in 1. 175? Who is praised (1. 176)?

Lines 177-92

Explain: unaffected grace, adorned, prevailed ivith double sway^
endearing wile. What word should be emphasized in 1. 185?

392 APPENDIX

Explain with care 11. 189-192. Do you like this comparison
better than the one in 11. 167-70? The fifty-five lines devoted
to the preacher are grouped in four paragraphs; do you see
why G. did not combine them in one paragraph? Could the
paragraphs be rearranged to advantage, or is there method in
their sequence? What paragraph, if any, could be spared? Do
you suspect that the preacher is not imaginary? From what
kind of home did Goldsmith come? Looking upon the fifty-five
lines as a whole, what do you see in them to admire?

Lines 193-216

Explain: unprofitably gay, boding, terms and tides presage.
In 1. 198 should stress fall on every or on tyrant? Does G. wish
us to think the master a scholarly man? Were the villagers
fairly intelligent? Do you know anything about Goldsmith's
schooldays? How does the portrait of the master compare
with that of Ichabod Crane in Legend of Sleepy Hollow? Which
is the more carefully drawn portrait, the preacher's or the mas-
ter's?

Lines 217-36

Do the first two lines belong, logically, with the preceding
paragraph? Do we commonly associate mirth with grey-beards
and smiles with toil? Why, in 1. 225, is imagination represented
as stooping? What is Goldsmith's purpose in noting that the
clock is varnished? Explain for ornament and use. Notice with
how few words G. gives a satisfactory picture, then try to dis-
cover the secret of his art in description. Find lines in which
the vowel sounds harmonize effectively.

Lines 237-50

To what transitory splendors does G. refer? Explain reprieve.
Explain 11. 239-40. Why not news from the barber and tales
from the farmer? In the word careful is there a hint that the
inn-keeper has a keen eye for profits? Is there any sadder re-
frain than No more? Why are the words repeated? Of the
three pictures — the preacher and his flock, the master and
his pupils, and the group at the tavern — which do you like best?
In what respects are all three good? How do they differ from
the pictures that a camera shows?

APPENDIX 393

Lines 251-64

Explain: native charm, gloss of art, I. 254. What does G.
mean when he says the soul adopts spontaneous joys? What
is the antecedent of theij in 1. 257? Explain toiling pleasures.
Is it true that the poor are happier than the rich? Do you think
that Goldsmith's poverty made him unduly bitter towards the
rich?

Lines 265-86

What is meant by a splendid land? Explain carefully, using
no figurative language, 11. 269-70. Is For, 1. 284, a preposition
or a conjunction? In 1. 285 is land used in the same sense as
fields in 1. 280? Explain the force of barren in 1. 286. Is it true
that as the rich grow richer the poor grow poorer?

Lines 287-302

Explain 11. 290, 298, 302. Note that this passage is a simile
worked out in detail. Give this comparison in simpler language.

Lines 303-308
What newly passed law is referred to?

Lines 309-36

Explain baneful, 1. 311. Is artist, 1. 316, used in the sense of
painter? What had G. in mind when wTiting 1. 318? What
is the derivation of dome, 1. 319? There are several fine lines
in this passage; find them. Scan 1. 326.

Lines 337-62

Explain participate her pain. Where is the Altama? WTiich
is the better passage, 11. 309-36 or 11. 341-62? Is 1. 343 in any
way remarkable? Do you like 1. 350? Do you find other at-
tractive lines? Is Goldsmith proud of the fact that the people
upon leaving Auburn did not go to the city?

Lines 363-84

Explain western main, 1. 368; in conscious virtue brave, 1. 373;
thoughtless, 1. 381; neglectful of her charms, 1. 377; native walks,
J. 364. Is the scene described in this passage as graphic as the

394 APPENDIX

scenes described earlier in the poem? Is this passage better
than the preceding?

Lines 385-94

Explain insidious, florid. What two things are compared in
this passage? Is the comparison a pleasing .one? Is it a justifi-
able one?

Lines 395-430

What devastation is referred to in 1. 395? Who make up
the melancholy band? Name the rural virtues. Are these
virtues, should you say, found only in the country? Explain
11. 407-10, 415, 416, 428. How can poetry Redress the rigors
of the inclement clime? Is poetry a powerful force? Was poetry
at low ebb in Goldsmith's day? Does poetry grow poorer as
a country grows wealthier? Does the final paragraph make
an appropriate ending?

General Questions

What have you enjoyed most in the poem? If you could
preserve but one paragraph, which would it be? What pas-
sages have you disliked? What, in studying the poem, has
caused you most effort? Pick out five or six exceptionally good
lines. Could Goldsmith have accomplished his purpose just
as well in prose? What was his purpose? What devices, be-
sides rhyme and meter, has G. employed to make his lines effect-
ive? How does the poem differ from those published today?
What new ideas have you received from the poem? Is Gold-
smith better at preaching or at picturing familiar scenes? Is
your interest in Goldsmith such that you would enjoy reading
a life of the author — Irving's, for example?

MILTON'S LALLEGRO

Lines 1-10

Explain: V Allegro, Melancholy, Cerberus, Stygian, Cimmerian^
uncouth, low-browed. Darkness broods over what and is jealous
of what? What is gained by YAmoAng jealous, which characterizes
Darkness, before wings? Why not the nightingale instead of
the raven? Are the pictures suggested by these lines such as
an artist could paint? Is the indistinctness a blemish? If the
poem were read to one unacquainted with our language, could

APPENDIX 395

he tell that the mood of these lines differs from the mood of the
rest of the poem? The rest of the poem is written in smooth-
flowing tetrameter; why are these lines given a different meter?
What is the most melodious line? the most expulsive? What
would be an appropriate heading for these lines?

Lines 11-40

Explain: Venus, Bacchus, Zephyr, Aurora, Hebe, the Graces;
yclept, sager, breathes the spring, buxom, blithe, debonair, quips,
cranks, wanton wiles, fantastic toe, crew. Why is a second parent-
age for Mirth suggested? Why is Liberty made chief com-
panion? Why is Liberty represented a mountain nymph rather
than a woodland nymph or a sea nymph? Is the word unre-
proved (40) important? Pick out lines in which the sound sug-
gests the sense. Pick out lines which flash pictures. Pick
out melodious lines and try to discover the secret of their beauty.
What would be an appropriate heading for this section?

Lines 41-56

What does the colon after 1. 40 indicate? Can you tell, by
the punctuation, where one pleasure ends and the next begins?
Where is L'AUegro when he hears the lark? What suggested a
watch-tower to the poet? Who is in the tower, and what is
watched for? Why is dull Night startled? What picture does
dappled dawn bring to you? What time is denoted by Then
(1. 45)? Meaning of in spite of sorrow? Who comes to the
window? Contrast the sounds of the words in 49 with those in
50 and 52. What is onomatopoeia? Where is L' Allegro when
listening to the horns? Where does Morn slumber latest? What
picture do you get from hoar hillf

Lines 57-68

Is the phrase not unseen important? What picture do you
get from hedgerow elms? In which direction does LAllegro
walk? What is suggested to him by the rising sun and the clouds?
Meaning of dightf What season of the year is it? Meaning of
tells his tale?

Lines 69-90

Explain: Straight, landskip, lawns, pied, cynosure. By fal-
lows does Milton mean plowed ground? What is there in the

396 APPENDIX

appearance of clouds to suggest that they labor? Where did
Milton find the names Corydon, Thyrsis, etc.? Are these people,
as you picture them, all of the same age? What time of year is
in the poet's mind?

Lines 91-116

What time of day is in the poet's mind? Meaning of
jocund rebecks, secure delight? What picture do you get from
checkered shade? Explain fairy Mab and Friar's lantern. In
92-3, what words need emphasizing to bring out the meaning?
How many old British tales are touched upon in these lines?
Explain shadowy flail. Pick out all the words which convey the
idea that the gobhn is coarse and large. Comment on 113 and
115.

Lines 117-134

What time is intended by then (117)? Think of some adjec-
tive other than towered which might be used in bringing quickly
to mind the appearance of a city. In what way does 118 re-
semble 115? What cities does the poet have in mind? Has
he in mind the city on any particular occasion? What occasion
does high triumphs suggest? Explain 121-4. Explain: Hymen,
mask, pageantry. Explain: well-trod, learned sock. Why is
Shakespeare rather than Jonson called Fancy's child? What
play of Shakespeare's may Milton have had in mind? What
would be an appropriate heading for these fines?

Lines 135-152

By ever does Milton mean that he enjoys music at all times —
derives from it his greatest pleasure? Explain against eating
cares, Lydian, Lap me, meeting soul. Has Milton instrumental
music or vocal in mind? Wanton and heed seem to express
opposing ideas; so do' giddy and cunning. How do you explain
the seeming contradiction? Can you imagine a little story, from
reading 142-5? Tell the story of Orpheus. Note that more lines
are devoted to music than to any other pleasure. Was Milton
a musician? What evidence does the poem furnish that Milton
had a trained ear?

General Questions

Do you find in Milton's list of pleasures any which are not
"unreproved"? Is it a list that taUies with one you would

APPENDIX 397

make out? Would his list have satisfied a courtier of his day?
In what respects is it a poet's list? Is it supposed to be complete?
How do you account for the great number of classical allusions?
Which do you like best — (a) the opening lines addressed to
Melancholy, (b) the invitation to Mirth and her companions,
(c) the hues picturing an ideal day in the country, (d) the lines
dealing with city pleasures, or (e) the lines deahng with music?
Pick out five lines which seem to you most melodious. Pick out
five which present pictures. What, finally, have you found to
like in the poem?

IL PENSEROSO
Lines 1-10

Explain: II Penseroso, bested, fixed mind, Morpheus, fickle
pensioners. Are the pleasures mentioned in U Allegro "vain,
deluding joys''? To what in U Allegro does idle brain corre-
spond? What IS the object of possess? Is hovering an appro-
priate epithet? Do you prefer these fines to the corresponding
passage in U Allegro?

Lines 11-30

Explain: 13-16. Explain: Memnon^s sister, starred Ethiop
queen, Vesta, Saturn. Explain appropriateness of bright-haired
and solitary. Comment on the appropriateness of the parent-
age of Melancholy. Is this the same Melancholy which Milton
has called loathed?

Lines 31-54

Why call Melancholy a nun? Explain: pensive, demure, and
steadfast, and comment on the appropriateness of all the epithets
appUed to Melancholy. Explain: darkest grain, sable stole, cy-
press lawn, decent shoulders, wonted state, musing gait, commerc-
ing, rapt. Explain 41-44. Is the description of Melancholy
more elaborate than that of Mirth? Name the companions
of Melancholy. Can you pair them off with the companions
of Mirth? Which corresponds to Liberty? In naming these
companions is Milton trying to tell us the conditions neces-
sary for the enjoyment of melancholy? If so, should we con-
clude that fasting is necessary? Explain 46-8; 52-4. What
picture do you get from trim gardens? Do you prefer these lines

398 APPENDIX

to those describing Mirth and her companions? How, in melody,
do the two passages differ?

Lines 55-72

In what respect does 1. 55 suggest 1. 116 of U Allegro? Ex-
plain: Philomel, Cynthia, deign, plight. Why is Night's brow
rugged? Explain accustomed oak. Explain 1. 61. Comment
on the poetical quality of 1. 62. Has walk unseen a parallel in
U Allegro? What in U Allegro corresponds to wandering moon?
What picture do you get from smooth shaven green? Is wandering
an appropriate epithet to apply to the moon? Does it apply
equally well to the sun? to the clouds? Can you think of other
adjectives which poetically apply to the moon? Is the fancy
that the moon is led astray far-fetched? Explain curfew. Why
have the bell reach II P. from across the water? What picture
do you get from wide-watered shore? Why should curfew have
a sullen roar? Are 75-6 onomatopoetic? How many pleasures
have been mentioned thus far?

Lines 77-96

Explain 77, 80, 83-4. Explain still removed. Describe the
room as it appears to your fancy. Why does II P. mount a tower?
Explain: outwatch the Bear, Hermes, unsphere the spirit of Plato.
Do you understand 90-6?

Lines 97-120

Are we to imagine II P. still in the tower? How long does
he remain there? L'A. actually goes to the theatre; does II P.?
What tragedies are suggested in 97-102? Is the epithet gor-
geous appropriate? Explain sceptred pall. What is the force
of sweeping? By later age is the Elizabethan meant? Who is
the sad Virgin? Musaeus? What is meant by raising Musaeus
from his bower? Do 105-8 refer to poetry or to song? What
author is suggested in 109-15? Make as complete a hst as you
can of the books mentioned in 85-120. What in U Allegro par-
allels this passage?

Lines 121-154

Explain: civil suited, Attic boy. In what respect does 126
resemble 73-4? Explain minute-drops. How does this early

APPENDIX 399

morning scene differ from the one in U Allegro? What goddess
is referred to in 132? Who is Sylvan? Give in detail the picture
presented in 133. Is monumental an appropriate adjective?
Had Milton read Book I, Canto I, stanzas 8-9 of Faery Queen?
Why rude axe? Is 135 onomatopoetic? In 140, no eye profaner
than whose? Explain honeyed thigh. What consort do the waters
keep? Is dewy-feathered an appropriate epithet? Meaning of
wave at Ms wings? Is the music referred to in 150-4 purely
imaginary? Explain unseen Genius. Have 131-54 a parallel in
L'Allegrof

Lines 155-76

Explain : due feet, studious cloister^ s pale, emhowed roof, massy
proof, storied windows, dight, service high, lines 165-6. Does
Milton mean hterally that in his old age he wishes to become
a hermit? Does he mean that in his declining years he would
study astronomy and botany? Explain 173-4. Why have:
11. 167-74 no counterpart in U Allegro?

General Questions

How old was Milton when he wrote these poems? Where were
they written? What kind of life had he led previous to this time?
Do you think he considered his two hsts of pleasures appropriate
for every one? If you were making similar lists, what pleasures
mentioned by Milton would you omit, and what new ones
would you add? Was Milton a typical Puritan? Was he
effeminate? Was the pleasure he received from nature due
mainly to his imagination? to the fact that his study of the
classics had furnished his mind with myths which gave to natural
objects a new value? to the fact that his eye was sensitive to the
beauty of color and form, his ear appreciative of melody? Which
of the two poems is the better? What are your favorite passages?
What besides rhyme and meter are essential to truly great
poetry? What is a lyric?

SHAKESPEARE'S MACBETH
Act I

Scene 1. If you were arranging a stage for this scene, how
would you represent a desert place? How would you have the
witches enter and how leave the stage? Describe their ap-

400 APPENDIX

pearance and actions. Did those who witnessed the play when
it was first given consider this scene serious or comic? Does
the scene accompHsh anything, either in starting the story or in
throwing Hght on any of the characters? Had the rest of the
play been lost, what conclusion might have been drawn in regard
to the nature of the entire drama? Is the last hne onomato-
poetic?

Scene 2. Arrange the stage for this scene. How old is Duncan
and how costumed? What impression does S. wish him to make?
Purpose of scene? Did scene 1 give any idea of Macbeth's
character? Had the rest of the play been lost, should you have
concluded from scene 2 that Macbeth was a noble man? Why
not have the battle represented on the stage? Why have the
account of the battle given by two narrators instead of one?
Explain lines 5, 13, 18, 19, 25-8, 37, 40, 54-5. What suggests
to Ross (1. 49) that the banners flout the sky? Does 1. 30 remind
you in any way of scene 1, 1. 10? Find examples of personifica-
tion and hyperbole. What do you find to admire in the scene as
a whole?

Scene 3. Would this scene be as effective if it began at once
with the meeting between the witches and the generals? How
old was the sailor's wife? How should 1. 10 be spoken? Explain :
like a rat without a tail, shipman's card, penthouse lid, though his
bark cannot be lost. Is the drum (1. 29) designed to startle the
audience? What action accompanies 11. 32-9? Describe Mac-
beth's dress and general appearance. What is the dramatic pur-
pose of Macbeth's first words. So foul and fair? of the occasional
thunder? How much time has elapsed since scene 1? Which
of the two generals first sees the witches? Explain in detail how
Macbeth and Banquo are impressed by the witches. Do these
two know that witches are in league with Satan? Had Macbeth
guiltily thought of gaining the throne even before the three hails?
Is the Httle word Stay (70) of importance in revealing M.'s
character? Is M. honest in calling Cawdor prosperous? Why
should he lie to the witches? Describe the manner in which the
witches vanish. Is M. sincere when he says (87) Went it not so?
Would this scene be so effective did the audience not know of
the honors awaiting Macbeth? Describe M.'s manner of receiv-
ing his new title from Ross. Is he sincere when he exclaims

APPENDIX 401

The (ham of Cawdor lives? What is the purpose of asides and
soliloquies? Were they more necessary in Shakespeare's day
than at present? Why is M. (117) so tardy in thanking Ross
and Angus, and why (129) does he thank them a second time?
Why (127) does Shakespeare have Banquo draw Ross and
Angus aside? What suggestion is referred to in 1. 134? Is the
thought the same in the two asides (143, 146-7)? To whom are
11. 153-5 addressed? If to Banquo, what is in Macbeth's mind?
Had the rest of the play never been written, what would have
been your opinion of M.'s character? What, viewing the scene
as a whole, do you find to like? Explain : /anias^fca? (53) ; present
grace, nobie having, royal hope (55-6). Try hard to picture
11. 58-9. Explain: imperfect speakers (70), earnest (104). Ex-
pand the metaphor in lined (112) into a simile. Explain the
metaphor in 127-9. Explain 11. 139-42.

Scene 4. What is a flourish? Whose palace is at Forres? Is
the account of Cawdor's execution necessary? What is the effect
of 11. 11-12, coming as they do from the King's lips as M. enters?
Is M. still dressed as in scene 3? How does he act upon hearing
that Malcolm is to succeed Duncan? Is M. sincere in the state-
ment of his motives for hastening to Inverness? Does he in this
scene fully determine to murder the King? What makes the
concluding line of the scene so effective? Has S. thus far made
Duncan appear lovable that his murder may seem the more
awful, or is it his purpose to suggest that there is a certain justice
in M.'s taking the throne from a weak old king? Is a man ever
guilty of a crime before he has actually committed it in deed?
What do you find to like in this scene? Explain 11. 15-20, 22-7,
44, 48-9.

Scene 5. How old is Lady Macbeth? Is she tall? slender? frail?
How costumed? When was M.'s letter written? For what pur-
pose? Is Lady M. reading it for the first time? Does she read
all of it aloud? Does she read slowly? pause after reading it?
How much does she mean by shall be what thou art promised? Was
M. innocent before he met the witches? Had he and his wife
thought, previous to the battle, of killing the king? Is Lady
M.'s analysis of her husband's character one that should lead us
to respect him? Is M. a coward? Does Lady M. yield to tempta-
tion instantly? Did Macbeth? What is gained, dramatically,

402 APPENDIX

by having the messenger arrive before Macbeth? Explain
Lady M.'s manner of saying Thou'rt mad to say it and He brings
great news. Do you think more, or less, of Lady M. after the
soliloquy beginning Coirie, you spirits? Describe the meeting
of Macbeth and his wife. Explain the manner in which they
begin to talk to each other. What earlier lines are suggested by
Your face, my thane, is as a book, etc.? Had the rest of the play
never been written, would you have judged both Macbeth and
Lady M. guilty of murder? equally guilty?

Scene 6. What are hautboys? Has this short scene any pur-
pose other than to inform the audience that Duncan has reached
Inverness? In answering the question, bear in mind that Duncan
now appears for the last time. Explain: temple-haunting, loved
mansionry, coign of vantage, We rest your hermits (20), pur-
■veyor (22), By your leave, hostess (31).

Scene 7. Why is not the banquet scene represented on the
stage? Purpose of M.'s soliloquy before the entrance of Lady M.?
How many arguments against the murder do you detect in the
soliloquy? Is M. a thinking man? Is his hesitation due to
cowardice? What is the dramatist's purpose in showing that
M. reahzes the awfulness of the crime he contemplates? Why
has M. left the banquet? Why has Lady M.? Has Lady M.
any ground for accusing her husband of cowardice? of breaking
his word? When did M. first "break" the "enterprise" to his
wife? Which of Lady M.'s taunts and arguments is most effec-
tive in moving M.? Is her scorn assumed or real? Which is
the more imaginative, M. or Lady M.? the quicker in wit? the
more cunning? Which has the deeper moral nature? W^hich
is the braver? Is Lady M. responsible for the king's death? Is
the audience sure, at the close of the scene, that the murder will
be committed? Do you respect Lady M. more, after this scene,
or less? Explain in detail 11. 1-12, 17, 23, 25-8, 41-3, 44-5, 64-7,
79, 80, 81.

How much has Shakepeare accomphshed in Act I? Which
scene serves as an interlude between two stronger scenes?
Which scene is most impressive? What lines do you hke best?
At what point does temptation seize M.? What incident def-
initely starts him on his downward career? At what point is
opportunity offered for accomphshing his purpose? At what

APPENDIX 403

point does he determine upon the details of the murder? Can
you recall any other play in which the action is so rapid? Give
the substance of each scene in a few words, employing the
present tense.

Act II

Scene 1. Purpose of dialogue between Banquo and Fleance
with which the scene opens? What opinion have you formed of
Banquo? What are the cursed thoughts (1. 8)? Banquo's purpose
in referring to the witches? Is M. sounding Banquo in U. 22-4?
Dramatic purpose of bringing M. face to face with an incor-
ruptible man, just before the murder? Purpose of the soliloquy
beginning with Is this a dagger? Does M. begin the soliloquy
immediately on the departure of Banquo? In what tone of
voice and with what facial expression are the words spoken?
Are there any pauses, or do the words flow smoothly? Would
you have the dagger visible to the audience? Is this the same
M. who took such a bloody part in the recent battle? Does M.
see his wife after the soliloquy and before the murder? What
effect upon the audience has the striking of the bell? Any visible
effect on M.? Describe his manner of leaving the stage. Do you
think more, or less, of M. because of this sohloquy? Is his mind
unsettled at the time of the murder? Why not let the audience
see M. in the act of murdering the king? Explain the following
lines: 4, 14, 17-19, 26-8, 44-5, 48, 51, 59-60, 61. What passage
do you admire most?

Scene 2. What are the weather conditions? Purpose of pre-
senting Lady M. alone at the beginning of the scene? Has she
resorted to drink to keep down her better nature? Does an owl
actually hoot? Why does S. make her say Had he not resembled,
etc.? Describe M.'s entrance. How are the words My husband
spoken — should they express affection, surprise, inquiry, terror?
Describe M.'s condition. Does Lady M. say A foolish thought
tauntingly? Is she alarmed at her husband's condition? In
what tone does she say Infirm of purpose? Does she snatch the
daggers? Are the lines beginning The sleeping and the dead
spoken to M.? Describe Lady M.'s manner of leaving the stage.
How does the knocking at the gate affect M.? How the au-
dience? Are the sympathies of the audience with M.? Are
yours? Is Lady M.'s contempt for her husband, as expressed in

404 APPENDIX

the sentence beginning My hands, real or feigned? How does
the knocking affect her? Explain how the two leave the stage.
Are they equally guilty? Explain 11. 3, 10-11, 37-40, 62, 54-5.

Scene 3. What fancy has seized the drunken porter, and what
suggested it? How does it happen that he is intoxicated? What
effect does the knocking have upon the audience? If S. wrote
any part of this porter scene, what sentence do you attribute to
him? Is the scene introduced to break the suspense, to heighten
the suspense, or to please the groundlings? Describe M.'s ap-
pearance on entering. Have the words of Lennox beginning The
night has been unruly any purpose other than to take up time till
Macduff can reach the king's chamber? Try to picture the con-
fusion of the scene. Have we had any other like it, the stage
filled with people? Describe Lady M.'s appearance on entering,
and try to imagine how she carries herself throughout the scene.
In the lines beginning Had I but died, is M. acting a part, or
speaking unguardedly? Is he acting a part when he speaks the
lines beginning Who can be wise? Is Lady M. feigning when she
faints? If so, why pretend to faint at this particular moment,
and why so quickly recover? Study carefully Banquo's lines
beginning Look to the lady. What is the reason for closing the
scene with the dialogue between Malcolm and Donalbain? What
are the strongest lines in the scene?

Scene 4. Is this scene necessary? How much later than scene 3
is the time? What difference do you note between Macduff's
character and the character of Ross? Does Macduff reveal his
mind to the old man?

How much time does Act II cover? Arrange the scenes in the
order of their effectiveness. Which character presents to the
actor the most difficult part? In what way is the rest of the
story dimly suggested in this act? Had the rest of the play been
lost, what should we have concluded in regard to the moral out-
come of M. and Lady M.? Has the cUmax been reached?

Act III

Scene 1. Time how much later than that of Act II? Pur-
pose of Banquo's soliloquy? Describe minutely the dress and
facial expression of the King and Queen. How do the lords and

APPENDIX 405

ladies bear themselves towards the new sovereign? Is the
solemn supper a coronation banquet? To what iridissoluble tie
does Banquo refer in 1. 17? Why does M. mention to Banquo
the flight of the King's sons? Does M. appear more crafty than
in the preceding Act? Explain with great care every difficult
line in M.'s sohloquy, and the purpose of the soliloquy as a
whole. Is the proposed murder of Banquo of a lower type than
the murder of Duncan? Is there any hint in the conversation
with the murderers that, previous to the battle with which the
play begins, M. had been a wicked man? Explain lines 4, 9, 21,
41-4, 70-1, 79-80, 90, 94, 98-100, 106, 115-17, 127, 129, 133.

Scene 2. Why does Lady M. send for her husband? Notice
that both King and Queen have "terrible dreams;" which is
standing the strain better? To what does this (35) refer? Is
line 38 a hint? Is M.'s mind still "as a book" to his wife? De-
scribe her facial expression while 11. 45-55 are spoken. Why does
not the King tell her of his plan to murder Banquo? What is the
purpose of this scene? Is it in any way in contrast with the
preceding? Point out the wonderful lines. Explain the meta-
phors in 32-5, 46-50.

Scene 3. Is this scene necessary? Who is the third murderer?
At what time of day is the murder committed? Why has M.
been so anxious to get Banquo and Fleance out of the way?

Scene 4. Arrange the stage. Where do the characters enter?
Why does Lady M. "keep her state" rather than mingle with the
guests? Why does not the King "keep his state"? Would you
have the stage well filled with people? Should all be elaborately
costumed? Is it, at the outset, a mirthful company? Should
there be music? How is it possible for the murderer to talk with
M. without being seen and heard by the rest? Does Lady M.
see the murderer? Is the ghost visible but to Macbeth? To
what does this refer in Which of you have done this? Why does
the ghost nod? Where is Lady M. when she says Sit, worthy
friends? Explain Are you a man? Does M. seem to have power
over the ghost? Is M.'s second "fit" worse than the first? Is
the ghost addressed in whispers or in loud tones? Why does
Lady M. dismiss the guests at the moment that she does? De-
scribe the manner of the guests' departure. After all are gone, is
there a long pause? Why does not the Queen rebuke the King?

406 APPENDIX

Describe the physical, mental, and moral state of the King and
Queen at the close of this, their first state banquet. Why does
M. employ spies? What are the strange things that M. has in
head? What do you admire in Lady M.'s character? Which is
the more difficult part to act in this scene, M.'s or Lady M.'s?
Try to imagine, and if you are courageous put into blank verse,
a scene between M. and Lady M. — time, immediately before the
banquet.

Scene 5. Is this scene necessary? What fault does Hecate find
with the witches? with Macbeth?

Scene 6. Is this scene necessary? Practice reading; try to
bring out effectively the fine irony in the speech by Lennox.
Mark the scansion.

Which is the most effective of the first three Acts? In which
is the action most rapid? Had the rest of the play been lost,
what could be guessed in regard to what the next two Acts con-
tained? Pick out what seem to you the most poetical passages
in Act III. Summarize each scene, employing the present
tense.

Act IV

Scene 1. Arrange the stage. Why is the witches' brew made
so loathsome? What use is to be made of it? Describe M.'s
appearance and manner of entering. Had M. ever before met
the witches save by accident? Describe the manner in which
the apparitions appear and disappear. Are they visible to the
audience? Locate Birnam wood and Dunsinane hill. Is the
tone of M.'s voice the same in the lines beginning Thou art
too like the spirit of Banquo as in the passage beginning I conjure
you by that which you profess? Explain the device by which the
witches are made to vanish. Show the dramatic value of the
announcement made by Lennox. Why does M. wish to kill
Macduff's wife and children? Does this scene, more than some
others, need stage representation to show its effectiveness?
Explain fines 83-6, 120-22, 144-8.

Scene 2. For what purpose has Ross come to Macduff's castle?
Was he sent? Is the conversation between Lady Macduff and
her son introduced for relief through humor, or for some other

APPENDIX 407

purpose? Would the scene be as effective without the messenger?
Who sent him? Why is not Lady Macduff killed on the stage?
In what respects is tliis murder worse than the preceding ones?

Scene 3. Macduff has had little prominence in earlier scenes;
what is the dramatist's purpose in now making him the central
figure? What is your final impression of Malcolm? Give in de-
tail the grounds for Malcolm's mistrust of Macduff. Name the
^'king becoming graces." Purpose of the lines which tell of the
power of the English king to cure disease? Would the last part of
this scene, where Macduff learns of the death of his wife and
children, be so effective had we not read the preceding scene?
What character of all that we have met in the play has the
strongest motives for kiUing Macbeth? There are many trouble-
some lines in this scene; pay particular attention to the following:
11. 2-4, 14-17, 19-20, 22-4, 29-30, 32-4, 107-8, 110-11, 112-13,
165-74, 192-4, 212, 228-9.

How does Act IV compare with the preceding Acts in interest?
in poetic excellence? in dramatic skill? Briefly summarize each
scene, employing the present tense. What remains to be done
in Act V? Do you expect to learn of new atrocities committed
by Macbeth? If the remainder of the play is to picture the
punishment of wrong-doers, do you think the penalty should be
the same for the Queen as for the King?

Act V

Scene 1. Arrange the stage for this scene. Does the gentle-
woman show affection for Lady M.? Would the scene be as
effective without the presence of the doctor and the gentle-
woman? Describe in close detail Lady M.'s actions throughout
the scene? By what means may one taking the part of Lady M.
convey to the audience the impression of sleep-walking? Should
Lady M. be represented as actually washing her hands? writing
letters? Should Out damned spot be spoken explosively? How
long a time should the scene take? What is passing through
Lady M.'s mind as she utters the following: (1) One: two: why
then, His time to do it; (2) Hell is murky; (3) You mar all with this
starting? Does this scene throw new light on her character?
Will she die "hohly," or do you detect no signs of repentance?

408 APPENDIX

Can you think of her as one who has committed crimes solely
through love for her husband? Why did Shakespeare prefer to
reveal Lady M.'s mind in this sleep-walking scene rather than
through waking soliloquy? What other scenes in the play ap-
proach this in dramatic power?

Scene 2. Purpose of this scene? What is the most effective
metaphor? Find a simile that presents a vivid picture. To what
earlier scene are we carried back by the words Bimam and
Dunsinane?

Scene 3. Purpose of this scene? Describe Macbeth's appear-
ance and his mental condition. Could the first twenty lines be
spared? the seven lines beginning I have lived long enough? the
lines referring to the Queen? Does M. arouse our pity as Lady M.
does in the sleep-walking scene? Has he absolute faith in the
witches? Did he have in Act I? Is he mad or full of valiant juryf
What was the final cause of Lady M.'s death?

Scene 4. Why is this scene necessary? What is the effect of so
many short scenes?

Scene 5. What is M.'s state of mind before he hears of his wife's
death? Does he show grief or indifference at the news? How
do you explain lines 17-18? Explain the thought in Hues 19-23.
Is M. a deep thinker? Do you admire him for determining to
die with harness on our back?

Scenes 6-7. How was the castle taken? Which should kill M.,
Macduff or Malcolm?

Scene 8. Is there anything of remorse in 1. 5? Why not have
M. killed on the stage? Purpose of 11. 35-53? Would the ending
have been more impressive had M. been taken captive? if the
Queen had survived him? if the King and Queen had died at the
same time? if the King had taken his own life? What is Shake-
speare's way of representing a battle? Why not call the play
The Macbethsf

INDEX

Addison, 287
Alfred the Great, 242
allegory, 329
alliteration, 343, 215
amphibrach, 335
anapaest, 335
Anglo-Saxon Chronicle,

243, 248
Anglo-Saxon Period,

239-244
antithesis, 333
antonj^ms, 27
apostrophe, 332
Appendix, 319-408
Argument, 105-124;

specimen brief, 356
Arnold, 316
Austen, 305

Bacon, 268

balanced sentence, 42

ballad, 151, 154, 249,

256
Beauty, 60-68
Bede, 241, 243
Beowulf, 241
Bible, Kino James, 267
Blackmore, 313
Blake, 296
blank verse, 338
brevity, 40
brief, specimen, 356
Bronte, 313
Browning, Elizabeth,

311
Browning, Robert, 310
Bulwer Lytton, 313
Bunvan, 280
Burice, 296
Burney, 305
Burns, 300
Butler, 283
Byron, 301

Caedmon, 241

Carlyle, 313

Caxton, 260

Caxton's Period, 257-
260

cesura, 337

character study in
drama, 181; in fic-
tion, 161

Chaucer, 253
Chaucer's Period,

251-256
Clearness, 16-36
climax, 43, 77, 159,

180, 333
closet drama, 150
coherence, 18, 20
Coleridge, 302
Collier's Short View,

288
comedy, 145, 150
composition subjects,

346
connotative words, 39
contrast, 42, 333
couplet, 340
Cowper, 296
Cynewulf, 241

dactyl, 335

Darwin, 316

De Coverley Papers,
questions on, 365

Defoe, 286

DeQuincey, 306

Description, 83-91

Deserted Village, ques-
tions on, 389

Dickens, 311

dictionary, exercises in
use of, 11

dimeter, 334

Drama, The Study
of, 169-185; varie-
ties of, 145, 150

Dryden, 284

Edge worth, 305
elegy, 154
Eliot, George, 311
Elizabethan Period,

266-275
English Literature,

Brief Summary of,

237-316
epic, the, 152
epigram, 333
epithet, transferred,

331
Essays, The Study

of, 186-193; essay

409

defined, 147; sub-
jects for essays, 346
exclamation, 333
Exposition, 92-104

faulty English, 12
feminine line, 336
Fiction, The Study

OF Prose, 157-168
Fielding, 293
Figures of Speech,

327-333; exercises,

218
Force, 37-59
Freeman, 316
Froude, 316

Gay, 288
Goldsmith, 294
Gorboduc, 263
Gower, 254
Gray, 296
Green, 316
Grote, 316

Hakluyt, 269
Hailam, 316
Hardy, 313
harmony, 63
heptameter, 334
heroic couplet, 339
Herrick, 278
hexameter, 334
Hooker, 269
Hughes, 313
Huxley, 316
hyperbole, 331

iambus, 335

idyl, 155

II Penseroso, questions

on, 397
interludes, 264
interrogation, 333
irony, 332

Johnson, 297
Johnson, Age of, 290-

298
Johnson, questions on

Macaulay's, 375
Jonson, 274

410

INDEX

Keats, 303
Kingsley, 313

Lady of the Lake, ques-
tions on, 384

U Allegro, questions on,
394

Lamb, 306

Langland, 252

Layamon, 249

Literature Defined,
130-140

Literature, Kinds
OF, 141

Lylv, 269

lyric, 152

Macaulay, 314
Macaulay's Johnson,

questions on, 375
Macbeth, questions on,

399
MacDonald, 313
Malony, 257
Marlowe, 273
Marryat, 313
mask, 150
mass, 18, 20
melodrama, 146, 150
melody, 62
Meredith, 313
metaphor, 328, 220
meter, 334
metonymy, 330
Milton, 279
Milton's U Allegro,

questions on, 394
miracle plays, 263
monometer, 334
moralities, 264
More, 261
Morley, 316
Morris, 311

Narration, 75-82
New Learning, 259
Newman, 316
Norman-English Pe-
riod, 245-250
novel, 144

octameter, 334

ode, 154

Old English Period

239-244
onomatopoeia, 343
oration subjects, 346

pentameter, 334
personification, 329

plot in fiction, 157; in
drama, 177

Poetry, Varieties of,
150-150; Poetry,
The Study of, 194-
233; exercises in ap-
preciation, 226

Pope, 288

Porter, 305

Pre-Elizabethan Pe-
riod, 261-265

pronunciation exer-
cises, 9

Prose, Varieties of,
144-149

Punctuation, Rules
of, 319; exercises in,
23

Puritan and Cava-
lier Period, 276-
281

Puritans, 281

Purity, 6-15

quatrain, 340
Queen Anne Period,
285-289

Raleigh, 268

Ralph Roister Doister,
263

Reade, 313

Reading, 127-135

Reformation, 276

Renaissance, 276

repetition, 41

Restoration Period,
282-284

Rhetoric, The Study
OF, 3-5

Richardson, 292

romance, prose, 144;
metrical, 152; Nor-
man, 248; English,
249

Rossetti, 311

Royal Society, 283

Ruskin, 315

Scott, 300, 305
sentence, the balanced,

42; the periodic, 44;

the loose, 44
setting, 163
Shakespeare, 273
Shelley, 304
Sheridan, 295
Sidney, 270

Silas Marner, questions

on, 360
simile, 327
simplicity, 45
Sir Gawaine and the

Green Knight, 255
Smollett, 293
song, 153; Elizabethan,

270
sonnet, 341, 154
spelling exercises, 10
Spencer, 316
Spenser, 271
stanza forms, 340
Steele, 287
Sterne, 293
Stevenson, 313
storj% short, 144.
Style, 69-74
suspense, 44
Swift, 286
Swinburne, 311
symmetry, 64
synonyms, 25

tale, 151
Taylor, 279
Tennyson, 309
tetrameter, 334
Thackeray, 311
Thomson, 295
topical outline, 29
tragedy, 145, 150
tragi-comedy, 146, 150
Trevelyan, 316
trimeter, 334
triplet, 340
trochee, 335
Tiollope, 313
truncated line, 336
Tyndale, 262
Tyndall, 316

unity, 18, 20

Versification, 334-
346; exercises in, 200

Victorian Era, 308-
316

Walton, 27^

words, connotative, 39;

familiar and precise,

19
Wordsworth, 301
Wordsworth-Scott

Era, 299-307
Wyatt and Surrey, 262
Wyclif, 251

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