The Art of Writing and Speaking the English Language

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The Art Of Writing & Speaking The English by Sherwin Cody                                                      2


The Art Of Writing & Speaking The English
by Sherwin Cody

Language, by Sherwin Cody This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no
License included with this eBook or online at


Author: Sherwin Cody

Release Date: November 5, 2006 [EBook #19719]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1


Produced by Andrew Hodson


from frontispiece.



Special S Y S T E M Edition

The Art Of Writing & Speaking The English by Sherwin Cody                                                     3

The Old Greek Press Chicago New{ }York Boston

Revised Edition.








CHAPTER I.                                                        4

CHAPTER II.                5

CHAPTER III.                                          6

WORD-BUILDING---Rules and Applications {EXCEPTIONS}

CHAPTER V.                                                                                                               8



The Art of Writing and Speaking the English Language





in being incorrect. Let us look into this point.

CHAPTER V.                                                                                                          9



the business men who sign the letters.


CHAPTER V.                                                                                                     10
well as forceful, expression{.}



point gained when the necessity for a change is realized.



CHAPTER V.                                                                                                   11
air,---striking cleverly perhaps, but ineffectively.


all that is in us.






infrequently used words.

CHAPTER V.                                                                                                    12


never acquire it unless it is taught them.


cost of making his goods.

expect them to do otherwise than as they do do.



CHAPTER V.                                                                                                        13

pronunciation of the most finely trained voice.

of obscure syllables, or painfully accentuating syllables naturally obscure.



spelling tests by mail or through the medium of books.





The Mastery of Irregular Words.
CHAPTER V.                                                                                                      14
soon acquire a marvellous power in the accurate spelling of words.




most powerful aid of all, it does not need explanation.

The Mastery of Regular Words.




them till they are as familiar as the multiplication table.
CHAPTER V.                                                                                                    15
in a regular way than in an irregular way.

CHAPTER I.                                                                                                      16





called consonants.

for instance wtelthfs.


consonants interchange with each other.



CHAPTER I.                                                                                                      17

ki:te si`t ri:ce mi`ll li:me ri`p

no:te no`t ro:de ro`d so:le To`m


scy:the (like)ly`



A has two other distinct sounds:






rout, bough, etc.

other sounds, as ou in bought).


the sound of one or other of the simple vowels.

following are the leading substitutes:

CHAPTER I.                                                                                                          18

French words;




u has the sound of double o long after r, as in rude, rule;


hearth, etc.;







placed over the second, as in naïve.



the sound is not shortened, however);

is not the best usage, however);

correct pronunciation is between these two.

CHAPTER I.                                                                                                        19
azure) sh w y l m n r h

words are almost always formed quite regularly.

variations are as follows:


consonants, and at the end of words.





Ph has the sound of f, as in prophet.


as in rise (contrast with rice), is, baths, men's, etc.

CHAPTER I.                                                                                                      20



The sound of sh is variously represented:






words ending in the syllable ly.

them, or the diacritical marks, for several reasons:

clearly understands the meaning of the principal marks;


of the principles governing word formation, or spelling and pronunciation.


differences will afford a valuable exercise.
CHAPTER I.                                                                                                          21






si:d we: lookt




bi: a: ste:p ba`nk.

milk, a`z I kood

a`t ni:t

u:zd tºo: sta`nd

hwe`n it wo`z ko:ld



Studies from the Dictionary.

The following are taken from Webster's Dictionary:

CHAPTER I.                                                                                                        22
over a part of the s sound.


CHAPTER II.                                                                                                     23


words which we meet for the first time in reading.



1. Accent.

a. What ac'cent has this word?

b. With what accent'uation do you accent' this word?

2. Concert.

a. Did you go to the con'cert last night?

b. By concert'ed action we can do anything.

3. Contrast.


b. Contrast' good with bad, black with white, greatness with littleness.

4. Permit.

a. I have a building-per'mit.

b. My mother will not permit' me to go.

5. Present.

a. He received a beautiful Christmas pres'ent.

b. She was present'ed at court.

6. Prefix.
CHAPTER II.                                                                                                       24

a. Sub is a common pre'fix.

b. Prefix' sub to port and you get support.

7. Compound.

a. He can compound' medicine like a druggist.

b. Nitroglycerine is a dangerous com'pound.


things are' not what' they seem'.


Two Laws of Word-Formation.



form as far as possible.


CHAPTER II.                                                                                                       25

give its value by dwelling a little on the vowel sound.


being needed to help out the i.

for if it were short the word would be written pinning.

CHAPTER II.                                                                                                       26





methods in use in the English.

syllable beginning with a vowel is added.


CHAPTER II.                                                                                                     27





(a short).


Latin prefixes are:


demands of euphony.

the two m's in commotion, commencement, etc.

CHAPTER II.                                                                                                    28


derived from the Greek.

them here:

with---against, from (withstand)
CHAPTER III.                                                                                                      29


together with a summary of principles already discussed.


referred to.

merely makes the g hard.

almanac, havoc, and a very few uncommon words.

final c, as in trafficking, zincky, colicky.

squatting is written as if squat contained but one vowel.




churches, brushes; changes, services.

CHAPTER III.                                                                                                        30




a hyphen.


babyhood and ladykin.







CHAPTER III.                                                                                                     31






Different Spellings for the same Sound.


be conducted chiefly while writing or reading, not orally.

spelled in various ways.

Vowel Substitutions in Simple Words.

ea for e` short or e obscure before r.

steady thread threaten tread wealth weather

ee for e: long.

squeeze street speech steeple steet sweep sleet teeth weep weed week

ea for e: long.
CHAPTER III.                                                                                                     32

teach veal weave weak wheat wreath (wreathe) year yeast

ai for a: long.

sprain stain straight strain tail train vain waist wait waive

ai for i or e obscure.

bargain captain certain curtain mountain

oa for o: long.

roast road= roam shoal soap soar throat toad toast

ie for e: long.

believe chief= fierce grief= niece priest= piece thief

ei for e long.

neither receipt receive

In sieve, ie has the sound of i short.




Silent Consonants etc.


Unusual Spellings.

The following words have irregularities peculiar to themselves.

CHAPTER III.                                                                                                    33

wagon were where wholly

C with the sound of s.


sauce saucer sentence scarcely since silence service crevice novice

Words ending in cal and cle.


Er and re.


Words ending in er, ar, or.


trifle longer than they do on er.

Common words ending in ar with the sound of er:

altar (for worship) singular

wizard, mustard, mallard, etc.

Common words ending in or with the sound of er:
CHAPTER III.                                                                                                      34
innovator investor legislator narrator navigator numerator operator originator perpetrator personator
predecessor protector prosecutor projector reflector regulator= sailor senator separator solicitor supervisor
survivor tormentor testator transgressor translator divisor director dictator denominator creator counsellor
councillor administrator aggressor agitator arbitrator assessor benefactor collector compositor conspirator
constructor contributor tailor

in England retain this spelling. See {end of a}p{pendix} ..

Words ending in able and ible.

ible is subjoined:

compatible compressible convertible forcible enforcible gullible horrible sensible terrible possible visible=
perceptible susceptible audible credible combustible eligible intelligible irascible inexhaustible reversible=
plausible permissible accessible digestible responsible admissible fallible flexible incorrigible irresistible=
ostensible tangible contemptible divisible discernible corruptible edible legible indelible indigestible


Words ending in ent and ant, and ence and ance.


ent confident belligerent independent transcendent competent insistent consistent convalescent correspondent
corpulent dependent despondent expedient impertinent inclement insolvent intermittent prevalent
superintendent recipient proficient efficient eminent excellent fraudulent latent opulent convenient corpulent
descendent different=

ant abundant accountant arrogant assailant assistant attendant clairvoyant combatant recreant consonant
conversant defendant descendent discordant elegant exorbitant important incessant irrelevant luxuriant
malignant petulant pleasant poignant reluctant stagnant triumphant vagrant warrant attendant repentant

CHAPTER III.                                                                                                  35

ence abstinence existence innocence diffidence diligence essence indigence negligence obedience occurrence
reverence vehemence residence violence reminiscence intelligence presence prominence prudence reference
reverence transference turbulence consequence indolence patience beneficence preference=

ance annoyance cognizance vengeance compliance conveyance ignorance grievance fragrance pittance
alliance defiance acquaintance deliverance appearance accordance countenance sustenance remittance
connivance resistance nuisance utterance variance vigilance maintenance forbearance temperance repentance

Vowels e and i before ous.


eons aqueous gaseous hideous courteous instantaneous miscellaneous simultaneous spontaneous righteous
gorgeous nauseous outrageous=

ious. copious dubious impious delirious impervious amphibious ceremonious deleterious supercilious
punctilious religious sacrilegious


Words ending in ize, ise, and yse.

through the French must always be written with the termination ise:

advertise catechise compromise devise divertise exercise misprise supervise advise chastise= criticise
disfranchise emprise exorcise premise surmise affranchise circumcise demise disguise= enfranchise franchise
reprise surprise apprise comprise despise disenfranchise enterprise manumise


Words ending in cious, sion, tion, etc.





Special words with c sounded like s.

because they are troublesome:
CHAPTER III.                                                                                                  36

condescend effervesce proboscis scintillate= oscillate rescind transcend

Words with obscure Vowels.



secretary deprecate execrate implement maleable promenade recreate stupefy tenement vegetate academy
remedy revenue serenade=

serenity terrify edifice orifice sacrilege specimen

Words ending in cy and sy.










instilled that it can never be eradicated.

rarity and rarefy.
CHAPTER III.                                                                                                   37

of groups of words pronounced alike but spelled differently.

that there can be no doubt or separation.

and think no more about it.



Here and there we found a good picture.

There was an awful crowd.

I stopped there a few moments.

Etc., etc.





CHAPTER III.                                                                                                    38

























CHAPTER III.                                                                                                      39
quotations containing them.

reed beau compliment

pronounced exactly alike.

exhaustively by itself will undoubtedly yield good results.

Division of Words into Syllables.

divided so as to show their etymological derivation.

The following rules will show the general usage in this country:
CHAPTER III.                                                                                                    40






CHAPTER IV.                                                                                                        41




principles govern it.




unaccented syllables, as for instance in the following:


Dactylic-- "This' is the for'est prime'val. The mur'muring pines' and the hem'locks . . . Stand' like Dru'ids of

Hes'perus' That sai'led the win'try sea'."


CHAPTER IV.                                                                                                       42


account in reading prose aloud.



such a word as ac-cuse', for instance.


giving o the aw sound.


Iphigeni'a, Casto'lus, Cas'tores, etc.

CHAPTER IV.                                                                                                           43

which accent is based.

Special Rules for Accent.


accent the antepenult, as dep'recate, etc.

condi'tion, etc.


eum are divided, some one way and some the other.



Sounds of Vowels in Different Positions.

Let us now consider the value of vowels.


the vowel will be short, as in Jo`n'adab.

CHAPTER IV.                                                                                                      44

as ei.



Cultured Pronunciation.



vowel and consonant values.

abdo'men and the other words in the list previously given.


Englishmen should avoid making them too broad.

CHAPTER IV.                                                                                                       45


far. It is about equivalent to o in not.


su`p'-ernumerary, etc.).

CHAPTER V.                                                                                                       46


include these steps:

the copy is perfect in every way.


in every point.

notes and questions, should become habitual.






the y changed to i when r is added.

CHAPTER V.                                                                                                        47

number, to God's mercy and the wild sea.





strength to make toward land as fast as I could.

out of reach of the water.

l's in almost?


words believe and receive.

CHAPTER V.                                                                                                       48





might eat him.)



beasts, for never did I meet any harmful animal.

necessary things for my use.



CHAPTER V.                                                                                                       49

happiness? build?

pronunciations may bow have, and what is the difference in meaning? What two sounds may s have in use,
and what difference do they mark?

What two rules are violated in judgment? What other words are similar exceptions?


11. As I found the water very calm and the ship but a quarter of a mile out, I made up my mind to swim out
and get on board her. I at once proceeded to the task. My first work was to search out the provisions, since I
was very well disposed to eat. I went to the bread-room and filled my pockets with biscuit. I saw that I wanted
nothing but a boat to supply myself with many things which would be necessary to me, and I glanced about
me to see how I might meet this need.

12. I found two or three large spars and a spare mast or two, which I threw overboard, tying every one with a
rope that it might not drift away. Climbing down the ship's side, I pulled them toward me and tied four of
them fast together in the form of a raft, laying two or three pieces of plank upon them crosswise.

13. I now had a raft strong enough to bear any reasonable weight. My next care was to load it. I got three of
the seamen's chests, which I managed to break open and empty. These I filled with bread, rice, five pieces of
dried goat's flesh, and a little remainder of European grain. There had been some barley and wheat together;
but the rats had eaten or spoiled it.

Questions and Notes. In calm you have a silent l; what other words can you mention with this silent l? Note
the double e in proceed and succeed; precede has one e with the silent e at the end. Note that u is inserted into
biscuit simply to make the c hard before i; with this allowance, this word is spelled regularly. What is the
difference between spar and spare? What other word have we had pronounced like threw? Explain tying and
tied. Did any change take place when ed was added to tie? Note that four is spelled with ou for the long o
sound; forty with a simple o. How is 14 spelled? How do you remember ie in piece? What sound has ei in
weight? Mention another word in which ei has the same sound. What other word is pronounced like bear?
How do you spell the word like this which is the name of a kind of animal? In what three ways do you find the
long sound of a represented in the above paragraphs? Make a list of the words with silent consonants?


14. My next care was for arms. There were two very good fowling-pieces in the great cabin, and two pistols.
And now I thought myself pretty well freighted, and began to think how I should get to shore, having neither
sail, oar, nor rudder; and the least capful of wind would have overset me.

15. I made many other journeys to the ship, and took away among other things two or three bags of nails, two
or three iron crows, and a great roll of sheet lead. This last I had to tear apart and carry away in pieces, it was
so heavy. I had the good luck to find a box of sugar and a barrel of fine flour. On my twelfth voyage I found
two or three razors with perfect edges, one pair of large scissors, with some ten or a dozen good knives and
forks. In a drawer I found some money. "Oh, drug!" I exclaimed. "What art thou good for?"

(To a man alone on a desert island, money certainly has no value. He can buy nothing, sell nothing; he has no
debts to be paid; he earns his bread by the sweat of his brow, his business is all with himself and nature, and
nature expects no profit, but allows no credit, for a man must pay in work as he goes along. Crusoe had many
schemes; but it took a great deal of work to carry them out; and the sum of all was steady work for twenty-five
years. In the end we conclude that whatever he got was dearly bought. We come to know what a thing is
CHAPTER V.                                                                                                         50
worth only by measuring its value in the work which it takes to get that thing or to make it, as Crusoe did his
chairs, tables, earthenware, etc.)

Questions and Notes. What is peculiar in these words: cabin, pistols, razors, money, value, measuring,
bought, barley, capful, roll, successors, desert, certainly? What sound has ou in journeys? Is this sound for ou
common? What rule applies to the plural of journey? How else may we pronounce lead? What part of speech
is it there? What is the past participle of lead? Is that pronounced like lead, the metal? How else may tear be
pronounced? What does that other word mean? Find a word in the above paragraphs pronounced like flower.
What other word pronounced like buy? profit? sum? dear? know? ware? What sound has s in sugar? Make a
list of the different ways in which long e is represented. What is peculiar about goes? Make a list of the
different ways in which long a is represented in the above paragraphs. What sound has o in iron? Is d silent in
edges? What sound has ai in pairs? What other word pronounced like this? How do you spell the fruit
pronounced like pair? How do you spell the word for the act of taking the skin off any fruit? What sound has
u in business? In what other word has it the same sound? Mention another word in which ch has the same
sound that it has in schemes. What other word in the above has ai with the same sound that it has in chairs?


16. I now proceeded to choose a healthy, convenient, and pleasant spot for my home. I had chiefly to consider
three things: First, air; second, shelter from the heat; third, safety from wild creatures, whether men or beasts;
fourth, a view of the sea, that if God sent any ship in sight I might not lose any chance of deliverance. In the
course of my search I found a little plain on the side of a rising hill, with a hollow like the entrance to a cave.
Here I resolved to pitch my tent.

(He afterward found a broad, grassy prairie on the other side of the island, where he wished he had made his
home. On the slope above grew grapes, lemons, citrons, melons, and other kinds of fruit.)

17. Aft er ten or twelve days it came into my thoughts that I should lose my reckoning for want of pen and
ink; but to prevent this I cut with my knife upon a large post in capital letters the following words: "I came on
shore here on the 30th of September, 1659." On the sides of this post I cut every day a notch; and thus I kept

(He afterward found pen, ink, and paper in the ship; but the record on the post was more lasting than anything
he could have written on paper. However, when he got his pen and ink he wrote out a daily journal, giving the
history of his life almost to the hour and minute. Thus he tells us that the shocks of earthquake were eight
minutes apart, and that he spent eighteen days widening his cave.)

18. I made a strong fence of stakes about my tent that no animal could tear down, and dug a cave in the side of
the hill, where I stored my powder and other valuables. Every day I went out with my gun on this scene of
silent life. I could only listen to the birds, and hear the wind among the trees. I came out, however, to shoot
goats for food. I found that as I came down from the hills into the valleys, the wild goats did not see me; but if
they caught sight of me, as they did if I went toward them from below, they would turn tail and run so fast I
could capture nothing.

Questions and Notes. Are all words in -ceed spelled with a double e? What two other common words besides
proceed have we already studied? What sound has ea in healthy? in pleasant? in please? How do you
remember that i comes before e in chief? What sound has ai in air? Do you spell 14 and 40 with ou as you do
fourth? What other word pronounced like sea? Note the three words, lose, loose, and loss; what is the
difference in meaning? Why does chance end with a silent e? change? What other classes of words take a
silent e where we should not expect it? What other word pronounced like course? What does it mean? How
do you spell the word for the tool with which a carpenter smooths boards? Mention five other words with a
silent t before ch, as in pitch. To remember the order of letters in prairie, notice that there is an i next to the r
CHAPTER V.                                                                                                     51
on either side. What other letters represent the vowel sound heard in grew? What two peculiarities in the
spelling of thoughts? Mention another word in which ou has the same sound as in thought. How is this sound
regularly represented? What other word pronounced like capital? (Answer. Capitol. The chief government
building is called the capitol; the city in which the seat of government is located is called the capital, just as
the large letters are called capitals.) What sound has ui in fruit? What other two sounds have we had for ui?
Would you expect a double consonant in melons and lemons, or are these words spelled regularly? What is
peculiar about the spelling of calendar? What other word like it, and what does it mean? What other word
spelled like minute, but pronounced differently? What sound has u in this word? What other word pronounced
like scene? Is t silent in listen? in often? Why is y not changed to i or ie in valleys? What other plural is made
in the same way? Write sentences in which the following words shall be correctly used: are, forth, see (two
meanings), cent, cite, coarse, rate, ate, tare, seen, here, site, tale. In what two ways may wind be pronounced,
and what is the difference in meaning?


19. I soon found that I lacked needles, pins, and thread, and especially linen. Yet I made clothes and sewed up
the seams with tough stripe of goatskin. I afterward got handkerchiefs and shirts from another wreck.
However, for want of tools my work went on heavily; yet I managed to make a chair, a table, and several large
shelves. For a long time I was in want of a wagon or carriage of some kind. At last I hewed out a wheel of
wood and made a wheelbarrow.

20. I worked as steadily as I could for the rain, for this was the rainy season. I may say I was always busy. I
raised a turf wall close outside my double fence, and felt sure if any people came on shore they would not see
anything like a dwelling. I also made my rounds in the woods every day. As I have already said, I found
plenty of wild goats. I also found a kind of wild pigeon, which builds, not as wood pigeons do, in trees, but in
holes of the rocks. The young ones were very good meat.

Questions and Notes. What sound has ea in thread? What is peculiar in the spelling of liven? What is peculiar
in the spelling of handkerchiefs? wrecks? What rule applied to the formation of the word heavily? What
sound has ai in chair? Is the i or the a silent in carriage? (Look this up in the dictionary.) What sound has u in
busy? What other word with the same sound for u? Is there any word besides people in which eo has the
sound of e long? In what other compounds besides also does all drop one l? What sound has ai in said? Does
it have this sound in any other word? What sound has eo in pigeon? ui in builds? What other word
pronounced like hole? How do you remember ei in their?

Use the following words in appropriate sentences: so, seem, hew, rein, meet. What differences do you find in
the principles of formation of second, wreck, lock, reckon? In what different ways is the sound of long a
represented in paragraphs 19 and 20? What is peculiar in tough? especially? handkerchiefs? season? raised?
double? fence? already? pigeon? ones? very? were?


21. I found that the seasons of the year might generally be divided, not into summer and winter, as in Europe,
but into the rainy seasons and the dry seasons, which were generally thus: From the middle of February to the
middle of April (including March), rainy; the sun being then on or near the equinox. From the middle of April
to the middle of August (including May, June, and July), dry; the sun being then north of the equator. From
the middle of August till the middle of October (including September), rainy; the sun being then come back to
the equator. From the middle of October till the middle of February (including November, December, and
January), dry; the sun being then to the south of the equator.

22. I have already made mention of some grain that had been spoiled by the rats. Seeing nothing but husks and
dust in the bag which had contained this, I shook it out one day under the rock on one side of my cave. It was
CHAPTER V.                                                                                                         52

just before the rainy season began. About a month later I was surprised to see ten or twelve ears of English
barley that had sprung up and several stalks of rice. You may be sure I saved the seed, hoping that in time I
might have enough grain to supply me with bread. It was not until the fourth season that I could allow myself
the least particle to eat, and none of it was ever wasted. From this handful, I had in time all the rice and barley
I needed for food,---above forty bushels of each in a year, as I might guess, for I had no measure.

23. I may mention that I took from the ship two cats; and the ship's dog which I found there was so overjoyed
to see me that he swam ashore with me. These were much comfort to me. But one of the cats disappeared and
I thought she was dead. I heard no more of her till she came home with three kittens. In the end I was so
overrun with cats that I had to shoot some, when most of the remainder disappeared in the woods and did not
trouble me any more.

Questions and Notes. Why is g soft in generally? How do you pronounce February? What sound ha{ve the
}s{'}s in surprised? Mention three or four other words ending in the sound of ize which are spelled with an s.
What sound has ou in enough? What other words have gh with the sound of f? We have here the spelling of
waste--meaning carelessly to destroy or allow to be destroyed; what is the spelling of the word which means
the middle of the body? Is ful always written with one l in derivatives, as in handful above? Mention some
other words in which ce has the sound of c as in rice. How do you spell 14? like forty? Why is u placed before
e in guess? Is it part of a digraph with e? What sound has ea in measure? What sound has it in this word?
What other word pronounced like heard? Which is spelled regularly? How many l's has till in compounds?
Mention an example.

Use the following words in sentences: herd, write, butt, reign, won, bred, waist, kneaded, sum. What is
peculiar about year? divided? equator? December? grain? nothing? contain? barley? until? each? there?
thought? some? disappeared? trouble?


24. One day in June I found myself very ill. I had a cold fit and then a hot one, with faint sweats after it. My
body ached all over, and I had violent pains in my head. The next day I felt much better, but had dreadful
fears of sickness, since I remembered that I was alone, and had no medicines, and not even any food or drink
in the house. The following day I had a terrible headache with my chills and fever; but the day after that I was
better again, and went out with my gun and shot a she-goat; yet I found myself very weak. After some days, in
which I learned to pray to God for the first time after eight years of wicked seafaring life, I made a sort of
medicine by steeping tobacco leaf in rum. I took a large dose of this several times a day. In the course of a
week or two I got well; but for some time after I was very pale, and my muscles were weak and flabby.

25. After I had discovered the various kinds of fruit which grew on the other side of the island, especially the
grapes which I dried for raisins, my meals were as follows: I ate a bunch of raisins for my breakfast; for
dinner a piece of goat's flesh or of turtle broiled; and two or three turtle's eggs for supper. As yet I had nothing
in which I could boil or stew anything. When my grain was grown I had nothing with which to mow or reap
it, nothing with which to thresh it or separate it from the chaff, no mill to grind it, no sieve to clean it, no yeast
or salt to make it into bread, and no oven in which to bake it. I did not even have a water-pail. Yet all these
things I did without. In time I contrived earthen vessels which were very useful, though rather rough and

Questions and Notes. What is peculiar about body? What sound has ch in ached? Note that there are to i's in
medicine. What is peculiar about house? What other word pronounced like weak? Use it in a sentence. What
is the plural of leaf? What are all the differences between does and dose? Why is week in the phrase "In the
course of a week or two" spelled with double e instead of ea? What is irregular about the word muscles? Is c
soft before l? Is it silent in muscles? What three different sounds may ui have? Besides fruit, what other words
with ui? What sound has ea in breakfast? What two pronunciations has the word mow? What difference in
CHAPTER V.                                                                                                   53
meaning? What sound has e in thresh? How do you remember the a in separate? What sound has ie in sieve?
Do you know any other word in which ie has this sound? What other sound does it often have? Does ea have
the same sound in earthen and hearth? Is w sounded in answer? What sound has o in oven? Use the following
words in sentences: week, pole, fruit, pane, weak, course, bred, pail, ruff.


26. You would have smiled to see me sit down to dinner with my family. There was my parrot, which I had
taught to speak. My dog was grown very old and crazy; but he sat at my right hand. Then there were my two
cats, one on one side of the table and one on the other. Besides these, I had a tame kid or two always about the
house, and several sea-fowls whose wings I had clipped. These were my subjects. In their society I felt myself
a king. I was lord of all the land about, as far as my eye could reach. I had a broad and wealthy domain. Here I
reigned sole master for twenty-five years. Only once did I try to leave my island in a boat; and then I came
near being carried out into the ocean forever by an ocean current I had not noticed before.

they had landed they built a fire and danced about it. Presently they seemed about to make a feast on two
captives they had brought with them. By chance, however, one of them escaped. Two of the band followed
him; but he was a swifter runner than they. Now, I thought, is my chance to get a servant. So I ran down the
hill, and with the butt of my musket knocked down one of the two pursuers. When I saw the other about to
draw his bow. I was obliged to shoot him. The man I had saved seemed at first as frightened at me as were his
pursuers. But I beckoned him to come to me and gave him all the signs of encouragement I could think of.

28. He was a handsome fellow, with straight, strong limbs. He had a very good countenance, not a fierce and
surly appearance. His hair was long and black, not curled like wool; his forehead was very high and large; and
the color of his skin was not quite black, but tawny. His face was round and plump; his nose small, not flat
like that of negroes; and he had fine teeth, well set, and as white as ivory.

29. Never man had a more faithful, loving, sincere servant than Friday was to me (for so I called him from the
day on which I had saved his life). I was greatly delighted with him and made it my business to teach him
everything that was proper to make him useful, handy, and helpful. He was the aptest scholar that ever was,
and so merry, and so pleased when he could but understand me, that it was very pleasant to me to talk to him.
Now my life began to be so easy, that I said to myself, that could I but feel safe from more savages, I cared
not if I were never to remove from the place where I lived.

(Friday was more like a son than a servant to Crusoe. Here was one being who could under-stand human
speech, who could learn the difference between right and wrong, who could be neighbor, friend, and
companion. Crusoe had often read from his Bible; but now he might teach this heathen also to read from it the
truth of life. Friday proved a good boy, and never got into mischief.)

Questions and Notes. What is the singular of canoes? What is the meaning of butt? How do you spell the
word pronounced like this which means a hogshead? In what two ways is bow pronounced? What is the
difference in meaning? What other word pronounced like bow when it means the front end of a boat?
Encouragement has an e after the g; do you know two words ending in ment prece eded by the soft g sound
which omit the silent e? Make a list of all the words you know which, like fierce, have ie with the sound of a
long. How do you pronounce forehead? Mention two peculiarities in the spelling of color. Compare it with
collar. What is the singular of negroes? What other words take es in the plural? What is the plural of tobacco?
Compare speak, with its ea for the sound of e long, and speech, with its double e. What two peculiarities in
neighbor? What sound has ie in friend? In the last paragraph above, how do you pronounce the first word
read? How the second? What other word pronounced like read with ea like short a? Compare to lead, led,
and the metal lead. How do you pronounce mischief? Use the following words in sentences: foul, reign, sole,
CHAPTER V.                                                                                                          54

strait, currant. What is peculiar in these words: parrot? taught? always? reach? only? leave? island?
carried? ocean? notice? built? dance? brought? get? runner? butt? knock?

Derivation of words.

It is always difficult to do two things at the same time, and for that reason no reference has been made in the
preceding exercises to the rules for prefixes and suffixes, and in general to the derivation of words. This
should be taken up as a separate study, until the meaning of every prefix and suffix is clear in the mind in
connection with each word. This study, however, may very well be postponed till the study of grammar has
been taken up.



Authorized by Different Dictionaries.

There are not many words which are differently spelled by the various standard dictionaries. The following is
a list of the more common ones.

The form preferred by each dictionary is indicated by letters in parantheses as follows: C., Century; S.,
the new Oxford differs from the Imperial, it is indicated by O. Stormonth's English dictionary in many
instances prefers Webster's spellings to those of the Imperial.

accoutre (C., W., E.) accouter (S., I.) aluminium (C., I., W., E.) aluminum (S.) analyze (C., S., I., W.) analyse
(E.) anesthetic (C., S.) anæsthetic (I., W., E.) appal (C., S., E.) appall (I., W.) asbestos (C., S., W., E.) asbetus
(I.) ascendancy (C., W.) ascendancy (S., I., E.) ax (C., S., I.) axe (W., E.) ay [forever] (C., S., O.) aye ¨ (I., W.,
E.) aye [yes] (C., S., I., O.) ay ¨ (W., E.) bandana (C., E.) bandanna (S.,{ }I.,{ }W.,{ }O.) biased (C., S., I., O.)
biassed (W., E.) boulder (C., S., W., E.) bowlder (I.) Brahman (C., S., I., E.) Brahmin (W., O.) braize (C., S.)
braise (I., W., E.) calif (C., S., E.) caliph (I., W., O.) callisthenics (C., S., E.) calisthenics (I., W.) cancelation
(C., S.) cancellation (I., W., E.) clue (C., S., E.) clew (I., W.) coolie (C., S., E.) cooly (I., W.) courtezan (C., I.,
E.) courtesan (I., W., O.) cozy (C., S., I.) cosey (W., E.) cosy (O.) crozier (C., I., E.) crosier (I., W., O.)
defense (C., S., I.) defence (W., E.) despatch (C., S., W., E.) dispatch (I., O.) diarrhea (C., S., I.) diarrhºeoa
(W., E.) dicky (C., W., O.) dickey (S., I., E.) disk (C., S., I., W., O.) disc (E.) distil (C., S., W., E.) distill (I.)
dullness (C., I., O.) dulness (S., W., E.) employee (C., S., E.) employé {[male] }(I., W., O.) encumbrance (C.,
S., W., I.) incumbrance (I.) enforce---see reinforce engulf (C., S., W., E.) ingulf (I.) enrolment (C., S., W., E.)
enrollment (I.) enthrall (C., S., E.) inthrall (I., W.) equivoke (C., S., W.) equivoque (I., E.) escalloped (C., S.,
O.) escaloped (I., W., E.) esthetic (C., S.) æsthetic (I., W., E.) feces (C., S.) fæces (I., W., E.) fetish (C., S., O.)
fetich (I., W., E.) fetus (C., S., I., E.) fºetus (W., O.) flunky (C., S., I., W.) flunkey (E.) fulfil (C., S., W., E.)
fulfill (I.) fullness (C., I., O.) fulness (S., W., E.) gage [measure] (C., S.) gauge ¨ (I., W., E{.)} gaiety (C., S.,
E.) gayety (I., W.) gazel (C., S.) gazelle (I., W., E.) guild (I., W., E.) gild (C., S.) gipsy (C., S., O.) gypsy (I.,
W., E.) gram (C., S., I.) gramme (W., E.) gruesome (C., S., O.) grewsome (I., W., E.) harken (C., S.) hearken
(I., W., E.) hindrance (C., S., I., O.) hinderance (W., E.) Hindu (C., S., E.) Hindoo (I., W.) Hindustani (C., S.,
E.) Hindoostanee (I.) homeopathic (C., S., I.) homºeopathic (W., E.) impale (C., I., E.) empale (S., W.) incase
(C., S., I., E.) encase (W., O.) inclose (C., I., E.) enclose (S., W., O.) instil (C., S., W., E.) instill (I.) jewelry
(C., S., I., E.) jewellery (W., O.) kumiss (C., S., E.) koumiss (I., W., O.) maugre (C., S., W., E.) mauger (I.)
meager (C., S., I.) meagre (W., E.) medieval (C., S.) mediæval (I., W., E.) mold (C., S., I.) mould (W., E.)
molt (C., S., I.) moult (W., E) offense (C., S., I.) offence (W., E.) pandoor (C., W., E.) pandour (S., I.) papoose
(C., S., W., E.) pappoose (W.) paralyze (C., S., W., I.) paralyse (E.) pasha (C., S., I., E.) pacha (W.) peddler
(C., I.) pedler (S., W.) pedlar (E.) phenix (C., S., I.) phºenix (W., E.) plow (C., S., I.) plough (W., E.) pretense
(C., S., I.) pretence (W., E.) program (C., S.) programme (I., W., E.) racoon (C.) raccoon (S., I., W., E.) rajah
CHAPTER V.                                                                                                          55
(I., W., E.) raja (C., S.) reconnaissance (C., S., E.) reconnoissance (I., W.) referable (C., S., I.) referrible (W.,
E.) reinforce (C., E.) reënforce (S., I., W.) reverie (C., S., I., E.) revery (W.) rhyme (I., W., E.) rime (C., S.)
rondeau (W., E.) rondo (C., S., I.) shinny (C., S.) shinty (I., W., E.) skean (C., S., I., E.) skain (W.) skilful (C.,
S., W., E.) skillful (I.) smolder (C., S., I.) smoulder (W., E.) spoony (C., S., E.) spooney (I., W.) sumac (C., S.,
I., E.) sumach (W.) swingletree (C., S., W.) singletree (I.) synonym (C., S., I., E.) synonyme (W.) syrup (C.,
E.) sirup (S., I., W.) Tartar (I., W., E.) Tatar (C., S.) threnody (C., S., W., E.) threnode (I.) tigerish (C., S., I.)
tigrish (W., E.) timbal (C., S.) tymbal (I., W., E) titbit (C., S.) tidbit (I., W., E.) vise [tool] (C., S., I.) vice ¨
(W., E.) vizier (S., I., W., E.) vizir (C.) visor (I., W., E.) vizor (C., S.) whippletree (S., I., W., E.) whiffletree
(C.) whimsy (C., S.) whimsey (I., W., E.) whisky (C., S., I., E.) whiskey (W.{, Irish}) wilful (C., S., W., E.)
willful (I.) woeful (C., I., E.) woful (S., W.) worshiped (C., S., I.) worshipped (W., E.)

All dictionaries but the Century make envelop the verb, envelope the noun. The Century spells the noun
envelop as well as the verb.

c) is the noun. The Standard spells both practise, and Webster both practice.

Doubling l.

Worcester and the English dictionaries double a final l in all cases when a syllable is added, Webster, the
Century, and the Standard only when the rule requires it. Thus: wool---woollen, Jewel---jewelled,

Re for er.

The following are the words which Worcester and the English dictionaries spell re, while Webster, the
Century, and the Standard prefer er:Calibre, centre, litre, lustre, manºeuvre (I. maneuver), meagre, metre,
mitre, nitre, ochre, ombre, piastre, sabre, sceptre, sepulchre, sombre, spectre, theatre, zaffre,{.}

English words with our.

All other words, such as author, emperor, etc., though formerly spelled with u, no longer retain it even in

Arbour, ardour, armour, behaviour, candour, clamour, colour, contour, demeanour, dolour, enamour,
endeavour, favour, fervour, flavour, glamour, harbour, honour, humour, labour, neighbour, odour, parlour,
rancour, rigour, rumour, saviour, splendour, succour, tabour, tambour, tremour, valour, vapour, vigour,.



Special S Y S T E M Edition


The Old Greek Press Chicago New{ }York Boston

Revised Edition.

Copyright,1903, BY SHERWIN CODY.
CHAPTER V.                                                                                                    56




CHAPTER II.          58


CHAPTER IV.                          60

HUMOR.---Addison, Stevenson, Lamb.
CHAPTER V.         61

CHAPTER VI.                                                                 62

CHAPTER VII.            63

CHAPTER VIII.                             64

CRITICISM.---Matthew Arnold and Ruskin.
CHAPTER IX.                                                              65

CHAPTER X.                                 66

CHAPTER XI.                                                67

THE POWER OF SIMPLICITY.---The Bible, Franklin, Lincoln.
CHAPTER XII.                                68

HARMONY OF STYLE.---Irving and Hawthorne.
CHAPTER XIII.                              69

CHAPTER XIV.                            70

CHAPTER XV.                                                                                                      71





For Learning to Write and Speak Masterly English.

The first textbook on rhetoric which still remains to us was written by Aristotle. He defines rhetoric as the art

Aristotle's treatise is profound and scholarly, and every textbook of rhetoric since written is little more than a
restatement of some part of his comprehensive work. It is a scientific analysis of the subject, prepared for
critics and men of a highly cultured and investigating turn of mind, and was not originally intended to instruct
ordinary persons in the management of words and sentences for practical purposes.

While no one doubts that an ordinary command of words may be learned, there is an almost universal
impression in the public mind, and has been even from the time of Aristotle himself, that writing well or ill is
almost purely a matter of talent, genius, or, let us say, instinct. It has been truly observed that the formal study
of rhetoric never has made a single successful writer, and a great many writers have succeeded preëminently
without ever having opened a rhetorical textbook. It has not been difficult, therefore, to come to the
conclusion that writing well or ill comes by nature alone, and that all we can do is to pray for luck,---or, at the
most, to practise incessantly. Write, write, write; and keep on writing; and destroy what you write and write
again; cover a ton of paper with ink; some day perhaps you will succeed---says the literary adviser to the
young author. And to the business man who has letters to write and wishes to write them well, no one ever
says anything. The business man himself has begun to have a vague impression that he would like to improve
his command of language; but who is there who even pretends to have any power to help him? There is the
school grind of "grammar and composition," and if it is kept up for enough years, and the student happens to
find any point of interest in it, some good may result from it. That is the best that anyone has to offer.

Some thoughtful people are convinced that writing, even business letters, is as much a matter for professional
training as music or painting or carpentry or plumbing. That view certainly seems reasonable. And against that
is the conviction of the general public that use of language is an art essentially different from any of the other
arts, that all people possess it more or less, and that the degree to which they possess it depends on their
general education and environment; while the few who possess it in a preëminent degree, do so by reason of
peculiar endowments and talent, not to say genius. This latter view, too, is full of truth. We have only to
reflect a moment to see that rhetoric as it is commonly taught can by no possibility give actual skill. Rhetoric
is a system of scientific analysis. Aristotle was a scientist, not an artist. Analysis tears to pieces, divides into
parts, and so destroys. The practical art of writing is wholly synthesis,---building up, putting together,
creating,---and so, of course, a matter of instinct. All the dissection, or vivisection, in the world, would never
all animals solves the problem of creation every minute of the world's history. In fact, it is a favorite
comparison to speak of poems, stories, and other works of literary art as being the children of the writer's
brain; as if works of literary art came about in precisely the same simple, yet mysterious, way that children are
conceived and brought into the world.
CHAPTER XV.                                                                                                     72
Yet the comparison must not be pushed too far, and we must not lose sight of the facts in the case. You and I
were not especially endowed with literary talent. Perhaps we are business men and are glad we are not so
endowed. But we want to write and speak better than we do, ---if possible, better than those with whom we
have to compete. Now, is there not a practical way in which we can help ourselves? There is no thought that
we shall become geniuses, or anything of the kind. For us, why should there be any difference between
plumbing and writing? If all men were born plumbers, still some would be much better than others, and no
doubt the poor ones could improve their work in a great measure, simply by getting hints and trying.
However, we all know that the trying will not do very much good without the hints. Now, where are the
master-plumber's hints--- or rather, the master-writer's hints, for the apprentice writer?

No doubt some half million unsuccessful authors will jump to their feet on the instant and offer their services.
But the business man is not convinced of their ability to help him. Nor does he expect very much real help
from the hundred thousand school teachers who teach "grammar and composition" in the schools. The fact is,
the rank and file of teachers in the common schools have learned just enough to know that they want help
themselves. Probably there is not a more eager class in existence than they.

The stock advice of successful authors is, Practise. But unluckily I have practised, and it does not seem, to do
any good. "I write one hundred long letters (or rather dictate them to my stenographer) every day," says the
business man. "My newspaper reports would fill a hundred splendid folios," says the newspaper man, "and
yet---and yet---I can't seem to hit it when I write a novel." No, practice without guidance will not do very
much, especially if we happen to be of the huge class of the uninspired. Our lack of genius, however, does not
seem to be a reason why we should continue utterly ignorant of the art of making ourselves felt as well as
heard when we use words. Here again use of language differs somewhat from painting or music, for unless we
had some talent there would be no reason for attempting those arts.

Let us attack our problem from a common-sense point of view. How have greater writers learned to write?
How do plumbers learn plumbing?

The process by which plumbers learn is simple. They watch the master-plumber, and then try to do likewise,
and they keep at this for two or three years. At the end they are themselves master-plumbers, or at least
masters of plumbing.

The method by which great writers, especially great writers who didn't start with a peculiar genius, have
learned to write is much the same. Take Stevenson, for instance: he says he "played the sedulous ape." He
studied the masterpieces of literature, and tried to imitate them. He kept at this for several years. At the end he
was a master himself. We have reason to believe that the same was true of Thackeray, of Dumas, of Cooper,
of Balzac, of Lowell. All these men owe their skill very largely to practice in imitation of other great writers,
and often of writers not as great as they themselves. Moreover, no one will accuse any of these writers of not
being original in the highest degree. To imitate a dozen or fifty great writers never makes imitators; the
imitator, so called, is the person who imitates one. To imitate even two destroys all the bad effects of

Franklin, himself a great writer, well describes the method in his autobiography:

How Franklin Learned to Write.

female sex in learning, and their abilities for study. He was of the opinion that it was improper, and that they
eloquent, having a ready plenty of words, and sometimes, as I thought, I was vanquished more by his fluency
CHAPTER XV.                                                                                                     73
answered, and I replied. Three or four letters on a side had passed, when my father happened to find my
papers and read them. Without entering into the subject in dispute, he took occasion to talk to me about the
pointing (which I owed to the printing-house), I fell far short in elegance of expression, in method, and in
more attentive to the manner in writing, and determined to endeavor an improvement.

the continued search for words of the same import, but of different length to suit the measure, or of different
tended to fix that variety in mind, and make me master of it. Therefore I took some of the tales and turned

"I also sometimes jumbled my collection of hints into confusion, and after some weeks endeavored to reduce
them into the best order before I began to form the full sentences and complete the subject. This was to teach
me method in the arrangement of the thoughts. By comparing my work with the original, I discovered my
faults and amended them; but I sometimes had the pleasure of fancying, that, in certain particulars of small
import, I had been fortunate enough to improve the method or the language, and this encouraged me to think
that I might possibly in time come to be a tolerable English writer; of which I was extremely ambitious. My
time for these exercises and for reading was at night, after work, or before it began in the morning, or on
attendance on public worship which my father used to exact of me when I was under his care, and which
indeed I still continued to consider a duty, though I could not, as it seemed to me, afford time to practise it."

A Practical Method.

Aristotle's method, though perfect in theory, has failed in practice. Franklin's method is too elementary and
undeveloped to be of general use. Taking Aristotle's method (represented by our standard textbooks on
rhetoric) as our guide, let us develop Franklin's method into a system as varied and complete as Aristotle's.
We shall then have a method at the same time practical and scholarly.

We have studied the art of writing words correctly (spelling) and writing sentences correctly (grammar).*
Now we wish to learn to write sentences, paragraphs, and entire compositions effectively.

*See the earlier volumes in this series.

First, we must form the habit of observing the meanings and values of words, the structure of sentences, of
paragraphs, and of entire compositions as we read standard literature---just as we have been trying to form the
habit of observing the spelling of words, and the logical relationships of words in sentences. In order that we
may know what to look for in our observation we must analyse a little, but we will not imagine that we shall
learn to do a thing by endless talk about doing it.

Second, we will practise in the imitation of selections from master writers, in every case fixing our attention
on the rhetorical element each particular writer best illustrates. This imitation will be continued until we have
mastered the subject toward which we are especially directing our attention, and all the subjects which go to
CHAPTER XV.                                                                                                       74
the making of an accomplished writer.

Third, we will finally make independent compositions for ourselves with a view to studying and expressing
impress our ideas, and require that we constantly test the results of our work to see what the actual effect on
the mind of our audience is.

Let us now begin our work.
CHAPTER I.                                                                                                     75


"Diction" is derived from the Latin dictio, a word, and in rhetoric it denotes choice of words. In the study of
grammar we have learned that all words have logical relationships in sentences, and in some cases certain
forms to agree with particular relationships. We have also taken note of "idioms," in which words are used
with peculiar values.

On the subject of Idiom Arlo Bates in his book "On Writing English" has some very forcible remarks. Says
he, "An idiom is the personal---if the word may be allowed---the personal idiosyncrasy of a language. It is a
method of speech wherein the genius of the race making the language shows itself as differing from that of all
other peoples. What style is to the man, that is idiom to the race. It is the crystalization in verbal forms of
peculiarities of race temperament--- perhaps even of race eccentricities . . . . . English which is not idiomatic
becomes at once formal and lifeless, as if the tongue were already dead and its remains embalmed in those
honorable sepulchres, the philological dictionaries. On the other hand, English which goes too far, and fails of
a delicate distinction between what is really and essentially idiomatic and what is colloquial, becomes at once
vulgar and utterly wanting in that subtle quality of dignity for which there is no better term than distinction."*

*As examples of idioms Mr. Bates gives the following: A ten-foot (instead of ten-feet) pole; the use of the
"flat adverb" or adjective form in such expressions as "speak loud." "walk fast," "the sun shines hot," "drink
deep;" and the use of prepositions adverbially at the end of a sentence, as in "Where are you going to?" "The
subject which I spoke to you about," etc.

We therefore see that idiom is not only a thing to justify, but something to strive for with all our might. The
use of it gives character to our selection of words, and better than anything else illustrates what we should be
looking for in forming our habit of observing the meanings and uses of words as we read.

Another thing we ought to note in our study of words is the suggestion which many words carry with them in
addition to their obvious meaning. For instance, consider what a world of ideas the mere name of Lincoln or
Washington or Franklin or Napoleon or Christ calls up. On their face they are but names of men, or possibly
sometimes of places; but we cannot utter the name of Lincoln without thinking of the whole terrible struggle
of our Civil War; the name of Washington, without thinking of nobility, patriotism, and self-sacrifice in a pure
and great man; Napoleon, without thinking of ambition and blood; of Christ, without lifting our eyes to the
sky in an attitude of worship and thanksgiving to God. So common words carry with them a world of
suggested thought. The word drunk calls up a picture horrid and disgusting; violet suggests blueness,
sweetness, and innocence; oak suggests sturdy courage and strength; love suggests all that is dear in the
histories of our own lives. Just what will be suggested depends largely on the person who hears the word, and
in thinking of suggestion we must reflect also on the minds of the persons to whom we speak.

The best practical exercise for the enlargement of one's vocabulary is translating, or writing verses. Franklin
commends verse-writing, but it is hardly mechanical enough to be of value in all cases. At the same time,
many people are not in a position to translate from a foreign language; and even if they were, the danger of
acquiring foreign idioms and strange uses of words is so great as to offset the positive gain. But we can easily
exercise ourselves in translating one kind of English into another, as poetry into prose, or an antique style into
modern. To do this the constant use of the English dictionary will be necessary, and incidentally we shall learn
a great deal about words.

As an example of this method of study, we subjoin a series of notes on the passage quoted from Franklin in
the last chapter. In our study we constantly ask ourselves, "Does this use of the word sound perfectly natural?"
At every point we appeal to our instinct, and in time come to trust it to a very great extent. We even train it.
To train our instinct for words is the first great object of our study.
CHAPTER I.                                                                                                      76

Notes on Franklin. (See "How Franklin Learned to Write" in preceding chapter.)

1. "The female sex" includes animals as well as human beings, and in modern times we say simply "women,"
though when Franklin wrote "the female sex" was considered an elegant phrase.

2. Note that "their" refers to the collective noun "sex."


4. "Ready plenty" is antique usage for "ready abundance." Which is the stronger?

5. "Reasons" in the phrase "strength of his reasons" is a simple and forcible substitute for "arguments."

6. "Copied fair" shows an idiomatic use of an adjective form which perhaps can be justified, but the
combination has given way in these days to "made a fair copy of."

7. Observe that Franklin uses "pointing" for punctuation, and "printing-house" for printing-office.

8. The old idiom "endeavor at improvement" has been changed to endeavor to improve, or endeavor to make

9. Note how the use of the word sentiment has changed. We would be more likely to say ideas in a connection
like this.

10. For "laid them by," say laid them away.

11. For "laid me under . . . . . . necessity" we might say compelled me, or made it necessary that I should.

12. "Amended" is not so common now as corrected.

13. For "evading" (attendance at public worship) we should now say avoiding. We "evade" more subtle things
than attendance at church.

There are many other slight differences in the use of words which the student will observe. It would be an
excellent exercise to write out, not only this passage, but a number of others from the Autobiography, in the
most perfect of simple modern English.

We may also take a modern writer like Kipling and translate his style into simple, yet attractive and good
prose; and the same process may be applied to any of the selections in this book, simply trying to find
equivalent and if possible equally good words to express the same ideas, or slight variations of the same ideas.
Robinson Crusoe, Bacon's Essays, and Pilgrim's Progress are excellent books to translate into modern prose.
The chief thing is to do the work slowly and thoughtfully.
CHAPTER II.                                                                                                      77


It is not an easy thing to pass from the logical precision of grammar to the vague suggestiveness of words that
call up whole troops of ideas not contained in the simple idea for which a word stands. Specific idioms are
themselves at variance with grammar and logic, and the grammarians are forever fighting them; but when we
go into the vague realm of poetic style, the logical mind is lost at once. And yet it is more important to use
words pregnant with meaning than to be strictly grammatical. We must reduce grammar to an instinct that will
guard us against being contradictory or crude in our construction of sentences, and then we shall make that
instinct harmonize with all the other instincts which a successful writer must have. When grammar is treated
(as we have tried to treat it) as "logical instinct," then there can be no conflict with other instincts.

The suggestiveness of words finds its specific embodiment in the so called "figures of speech." We must
examine them a little, because when we come to such an expression as "The kettle boils" after a few lessons in
tracing logical connections, we are likely to say without hesitation that we have found an error, an absurdity.
On its face it is an absurdity to say "The kettle boils" when we mean "The water in the kettle boils." But
reflection will show us that we have merely condensed our words a little. Many idioms are curious
condensations, and many figures of speech may be explained as natural and easy condensations. We have
already seen such a condensation in "more complete" for "more nearly complete."

The following definitions and illustrations are for reference. We do not need to know the names of any of
these figures in order to use them, and it is altogether probable that learning to name and analyse them will to
some extent make us too self-conscious to use them at all. At the same time, they will help us to explain
things that otherwise might puzzle us in our study.

1. Simile. The simplest figure of speech is the simile. It is nothing more or less than a direct comparison by
the use of such words as like and as.

Examples: Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel. How often would I have gathered my children together, as
a hen doth gather her broodunder her wings! The Kingdom of God is like a grain of mustard seed, is like
leaven hidden in three measures of meal. Their lives glide on like rivers that water the woodland. Mercy
droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath.

2. Metaphor. A metaphor is an implied or assumed comparison. The words like and as are no longer used, but
the construction of the sentence is such that the comparison is taken for granted and the thing to which
comparison is made is treated as if it were the thing itself.

Examples: The valiant taste of death but once. Stop my house's ears. His strong mind reeled under the blow.
The compressed passions of a century exploded in the French Revolution. It was written at a white heat. He
can scarcely keep the wolf from the door. Strike while the iron is hot. Murray's eloquence never blazed into
sudden flashes, but its clear, placid, and mellow splendor was never overclouded.

The metaphor is the commonest figure of speech. Our language is a sort of burying-ground of faded
metaphors. Look up in the dictionary the etymology of such words as obvious, ruminating, insuperable,
dainty, ponder, etc., and you will see that they got their present meanings through metaphors which have now
so faded that we no longer recognize them.

Sometimes we get into trouble by introducing two comparisons in the same sentence or paragraph, one of
which contradicts the other. Thus should we say "Pilot us through the wilderness of life" we would introduce
two figures of speech, that of a ship being piloted and that of a caravan in a wilderness being guided, which
would contradict each other. This is called a "mixed metaphor."
CHAPTER II.                                                                                                     78

3. Allusion. Sometimes a metaphor consists in a reference or allusion to a well known passage in literature or
a fact of history. Examples: Daily, with souls that cringe and plot, we Sinais climb and know it not.
(Reference to Moses on Mt. Sinai). He received the lion's share of the profits. (Reference to the fable of the
lion's share). Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed by a kiss. (Reference to the betrayal of Christ by Judas).

4. Personification. Sometimes the metaphor consists in speaking of inanimate things or animals as if they
were human. This is called the figure of personification. It raises the lower to the dignity of the higher, and so
gives it more importance.

Examples: Earth felt the wound. Next Anger rushed, his eyes on fire. The moping Owl doth to the Moon
complain. True Hope is swift and flies with swallow's wings. Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, as to be
hated needs but to be seen. Speckled Vanity will sicken soon and die.

(Note in the next to the last example that the purely impersonal is raised, not to human level, but to that of the
brute creation. Still the figure is called personification).

5. Apostrophe. When inanimate things, or the absent, whether living or dead, are addressed as if they were
living and present, we have a figure of speech called apostrophe. This figure of speech gives animation to the
style. Examples: O Rome, Rome, thou hast been a tender nurse to me. Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks.
Take her, O Bridegroom, old and gray!

6. Antithesis. The preceding figures have been based on likeness. Antithesis is a figure of speech in which
opposites are contrasted, or one thing is set against another. Contrast is almost as powerful as comparison in
making our ideas clear and vivid.

Examples: (Macaulay, more than any other writer, habitually uses antitheses). Saul, seeking his father's asses,
found himself turned into a king. Fit the same intellect to a man and it is a bowstring; to a woman and it is a
harp-string. I thought that this man had been a lord among wits, but I find that he is only a wit among lords.
Better to reign in hell than to serve in heaven. For fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

7. Metonymy. Besides the figures of likeness and unlikeness, there are others of quite a different kind.
Metonymy consists in the substitution for the thing itself of something closely associated with it, as the sign or
symbol for the thing symbolized, the cause for the effect, the instrument for the user of it, the container for the
thing contained, the material for the thing made of it, etc.

Examples: He is a slave to the cup. Strike for your altars and your fires. The kettle boils, He rose and
addressed the chair. The palace should not scorn the cottage. The watched pot never boils. The red coats
turned and fled. Iron bailed and lead rained upon the enemy. The pen is mightier than the sword.

8. Synecdoche. There is a special kind of metonymy which is given the dignity of a separate name. It is the
substitution of the part for the whole or the whole for the part. The value of it consists in putting forward the
thing best known, the thing that will appeal most powerfully to the thought and feeling.

Examples: Come and trip it as you go, on the light fantastic toe. American commerce is carried in British
bottoms. He bought a hundred head of cattle. It is a village of five hundred chimneys. He cried, "A sail, a
sail!" The busy fingers toll on.


Indicate the figure of speech used in each of the following sentences:

1. Come, seeling Night, scarf up the tender eye of pitiful Day.
CHAPTER II.                                                                                                      79

2. The coat does not make the man.

3. From two hundred observatories in Europe and America, the glorious artillery of science nightly assaults
the skies.

4. The lamp is burning.

5. Blow, blow, thou winter wind, thou art not so unkind as man's ingratitude.

6. His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff.

7. Laughter and tears are meant to turn the wheels of the machinery of sensibility; one is wind power, the
other water power.

8. When you are an anvil, hold you still; when you are a hammer, strike your fill.

9. Save the ermine from pollution.

of their lives is bound in shallows and in miseries.

Turn each of the above sentences into plain language. Key: (the numbers in parantheses indicate the figure of
speech in the sentences as numbered above). 1. (4); 2. (7); 3. (2); 4. (7); 5. (5); 6. (1); 7. (2 and 6); 8. (2 and
6); 9. (7); 10. (2).
CHAPTER III.                                                                                                   80


There have been many definitions of style; but the disputes of the rhetoricians do not concern us. Style, as the
word is commonly understood, is the choice and arrangement of words in sentences and of sentences in
paragraphs as that arrangement is effective in expressing our meaning and convincing our readers or hearers.
A good style is one that is effective, and a bad style is one which fails of doing what the writer wishes to do.
There are as many ways of expressing ideas as there are ways of combining words (that is, an infinite
number), and as many styles as there are writers. None of us wishes precisely to get the style of any one else;
but we want to form a good one of our own.

We will briefly note the elements mentioned by those who analyse style, and then pass on to concrete

Arrangement of words in a sentence. The first requirement is that the arrangement of words should be logical,
that is grammatical. The rhetorical requirements are that---

1. One sentence, with one principal subject and one principal predicate, should try to express one thought and
no more. If we try to mix two thoughts in the same sentence, we shall come to grief. Likewise, we shall fail if
we attempt to mix two subjects in the same paragraph or composition.

2. The words in the sentence should be arranged that those which are emphatic will come in the emphatic
places. The beginning and the end of a sentence are emphatic positions, the place before any mark of
punctuation is usually emphatic, and any word not in its usual place with relation to the word it modifies
grammatically is especially emphatic. We must learn the emphatic positions by experience, and then our
instinct will guide us. The whole subject is one of the relative values of words.

3. The words in a sentence should follow each other in such a simple, logical order that one leads on to
another, and the whole meaning flows like a stream of water. The reader should never be compelled to stop
and look back to see how the various ideas "hang together." This is the rhetorical side of the logical
relationship which grammar requires. Not only must grammatical rules be obeyed, but logical instinct must be
satisfied with the linking of idea to idea to make a complete thought. And the same law holds good in linking
sentences into paragraphs and paragraphs into whole compositions.

These three requirements have been named Unity, Mass, and Coherence.

The variations in sentences due to emphasis have given rise to a rhetorical division of sentences into two
classes, called loose and periodic.

A loose sentence is one in which words follow each other in their natural order, the modifiers of the verb of
course following the verb. Often many of these modifiers are not strictly necessary to complete the sense and
a period may be inserted at some point before the close of the sentence without destroying its grammatical
completeness. The addition of phrases and clauses not strictly required constitutes looseness of sentence

A periodic sentence is one which is not grammatically or logically complete till the end. If the sentence is
somewhat long, the mind is held in suspense until the last word is uttered.

Example. The following is a loose sentence: "I stood on the bridge at midnight, as the clocks were striking the
hour." The same sentence becomes periodic by transposition of the less important predicate modifiers,
thus---"At midnight, as the clocks were striking the hour, I stood on the bridge."
CHAPTER III.                                                                                                    81

It will be observed that the periodic form is adapted to oratory and similar forms of eloquent writing in which
the mind of the reader or hearer is keyed up to a high pitch of expectancy; while the loose sentence is the one
common in all simple narrative and unexcited statement.

Qualities of Style. Writers on rhetoric note three essential qualities of style, namely clearness, force, and

Clearness of style is the direct result of clearness and simplicity of thought. Unless we have mastered our
thought in every particular before trying to express it, confusion is inevitable. At the same time, if we have
mastered our thought perfectly, and yet express it in language not understood by the persons to whom and for
whom we write or speak, our style will not be clear to them, and we shall have failed in conveying our
thoughts as much as if we had never mastered them.

Force is required to produce an effect on the mind of the hearer. He must not only understand what we say,
but have some emotion in regard to it; else he will have forgotten our words before we have fairly uttered
them. Force is the appeal which words make to the feeling, as clearness is the appeal they make to the

Elegance is required only in writing which purports to be good literature. It is useful but not required in
business letters, or in newspaper writing; but it is absolutely essential to higher literary art. It is the appeal
which the words chosen and the arrangement selected make to our sense of beauty. That which is not beautiful
has no right to be called "literature," and a style which does not possess the subtle elements of beauty is not a
strictly "literary" style.

Most of us by persistent effort can conquer the subject of clearness. Even the humblest person should not open
his mouth or take up his pen voluntarily unless he can express himself clearly; and if he has any thought to
express that is worth expressing, and wants to express it, he will sooner or later find a satisfactory way of
expressing it.

The thing that most of us wish to find out is, how to write with force. Force is attained in various ways,
summarized as follows:

1. By using words which are in themselves expressive.

2. By placing those words in emphatic positions in the sentence.

3. By varying the length and form of successive sentences so that the reader or hearer shall never be wearied
by monotony.

4. By figures of speech, or constant comparison and illustration, and making words suggest ten times as much
as they say.

5. By keeping persistently at one idea, though from every possible point of view and without repetition of any
kind, till that idea has sunk into the mind of the hearer and has been fully comprehended.

Force is destroyed by the---Vice of repetition with slight change or addition; Vice of monotony in the words,
sentences or paragraphs; Vice of over-literalness and exactness; Vice of trying to emphasize more than one
thing at a time; Vice of using many words with little meaning; or words barren of suggestiveness and destitute
of figures of speech; and its opposite, the Vice of overloading the style with so many figures of speech and so
much suggestion and variety as to disgust or confuse. These vices have been named tautology, dryness, and
"fine writing." Without doubt the simplest narration is the hardest kind of composition to write, chiefly
because we do not realize how hard it is. The first necessity for a student is to realize the enormous
CHAPTER III.                                                                                                       82
requirements for a perfect mastery of style. The difficulties will not appear to the one who tries original
composition by way of practice, since there is no way of "checking up" his work. He may (or may not) be
aware that what he is doing does not produce the effect that the writing of a master produces; but if he does
realize it, he will certainly fail to discover wherein his own weakness consists.

The only effective way of making the discovery is that described by Franklin, and there is no masterpiece of
literature better to practise upon than Ruskin's "The King of the Golden River." Unlike much beautiful and
powerful writing, it is so simple that a child can understand it. Complete comprehension of the meaning is
absolutely necessary before any skill in expressing that meaning can be looked for, and an attempt to imitate
that which is not perfectly clear will not give skill. And with this simplicity there is consummate art. Ruskin
uses nearly all the devices described in the preceding pages. Let us look at some of these in the first three
paragraphs of Ruskin's story:

In a secluded and mountainous part of Styria, there was, in old time, a valley of most surprising and luxuriant
therefore, called by the people of the neighborhood the Golden River{.} It was strange that none of these
and was commonly called the Treasure Valley.

Hans, the two elder brothers, were very ugly men, with overwhelming eyebrows and small, dull eyes, which
pay for its eating. They shot the blackbirds, because they pecked the fruit; and killed the hedge-hogs, lest they
they could not work any more, and then quarrelled with them and turned them out of doors without paying
rich; and very rich they did get.

nickname of the "Black Brothers."

to every living thing. He did not, of course, agree particularly well with his brothers, or rather they did not
blows, by way of education.
CHAPTER III.                                                                                                        83
The author starts out with a periodic sentence, beginning with a predicate modifier and placing the subject
last. This serves to fix our attention from the first. The arrangement also throws the emphasis on "surprising
and luxuriant fertility." The last word is the essential one in conveying the meaning, though a modifier of the
simple subject noun "valley." The next sentence is a loose one. After catching the attention of the reader, we
must not burden his mind too much till he gets interested. We must move along naturally and easily, and this
Ruskin does. The third sentence is periodic again. We are now awake and able to bear transposition for the
sake of emphasis. Ruskin first emphasizes "so high," the adjective being placed after its noun, and then leads
the way to the chief emphasis, which comes on the word "gold," the last in the sentence. There is also an
antithesis between the darkness below and the light on the peak which is bright enough to turn the water into
gold. This also helps to emphasize "gold." We have now had three long sentences and the fourth sentence,
which concludes this portion of the subject, is a short one. "Golden River" is emphasized by being thrown
quite to the end, a little out of its natural order, which would have been immediately after the verb. The
emphasis on "gold" in the preceding sentence prepared the way for the emphasis on "Golden River;" and by
looking back we see how every word has been easily, gracefully leading up to this conclusion.

Ordinarily this would be the end of a paragraph. We may call the first four sentences a "sub-paragraph." The
capital letters in "Golden River" mark the division to the eye, and the emphasis marks the division to the
mind. We do not begin with a new paragraph, simply because the subject that follows is more closely
connected with the first four sentences than with the paragraph which follows.

Beginning with "It was strange that none of these streams" etc., we have two rather short, simple, loose
sentences, which introduce us in a most natural manner to the subject to be presented, and prepare the way for
a very long, somewhat complicated sentence, full of antitheses, ending with the emphatic words "Treasure
Valley." These two words are to this part of the paragraph what the words "Golden River" were to the first
part; and besides, we see before us the simple, beautiful picture of the Golden River above the Treasure
Valley, presented in words whose power and grace we cannot fail to appreciate.

The second paragraph goes forward in the most matter-of-course and easy way. The first sentence is short, but
the second is longer, with a pleasing variation of long and short phrases, and it ends with a contrast marked to
the eye by the italic words "them" and "you." The next two sentences are quite short, and variety is given by
the simple transposition in "and very good farmers they were." This is no more than a graceful little twirl to
relieve any possible monotony. The fourth sentence in the paragraph is also very short, purposely made so for
emphasis. It gives in a word what the following long sentence presents in detail. And observe the constant
variation in the form of this long sentence: in the first clause we have "They shot . . . . because," in the second,
"and killed . . . . lest" (the subject of killed being implied, but its place supplied by and), while in the third, the
subject of the verb is again expressed, and then we have the prepositional form "for eating" instead of the
conjunction and verb in a subordinate sentence. Moreover we have three different verbs meaning the same
thing---shot, killed, poisoned. By the variation Ruskin avoids monotony; yet by the similarity he gains
emphasis. The likeness of the successive clauses is as important as their difference. There is also in each an
implied contrast, between the severe penalty and the slight offense. By implication each word gives an added
touch to the picture of hardness and cruelty of the two brothers. Ruskin finds a dozen different ways of
illustrating the important statement he made in the second sentence (the first sentence being merely
introductory). And at the end of the paragraph we have the whole summed up in a long sentence full of

It is easy to see that much of the strength of these two paragraphs lies in the continued and repeated use of
contrast. The first paragraph, with its beautiful description of the "Golden River" and the "Treasure Valley," is
itself a perfect contrast to the second, with its "Black Brothers" and all their meanness; and we have already
seen that the second paragraph itself is filled with antitheses.

In these two paragraphs we have but two simple ideas, that of the place with all its beauty, and that of the
brothers with all their ugliness. Ruskin might have spoken of them in two sentences, or even in one; but as a
CHAPTER III.                                                                                                   84
gives us glints, like the reflections from the different facets of a diamond slowly turned about in the light.
Each is almost like the preceding, yet a little different; and when we have seen all in succession, we
understand each better, and the whole subject is vividly impressed on our minds.

In the third paragraph we have still another contrast in the description of little Gluck. This paragraph is
shorter, but the same devices are used that we found in the preceding.

In these three paragraphs the following points are well illustrated:

1. Each paragraph develops one subject, which has a natural relation to what precedes and what follows;

2. Each idea is presented in a succession of small details which follow in easy, logical order one after the

3. There is constant variety and contrast, difference with likeness and likeness with difference.
CHAPTER IV.                                                                                                       85


Addison, Stevenson, Lamb.

Mere correctness in sentence structure (grammar) may be purely scientific; but the art of rhetoric is so
wrapped up with human emotion that the study of human nature counts for infinitely more than the theory of
arrangement, figures of speech, etc., Unless the student has some idea how the human mind works (his own
mind and the minds of his readers), he will make little or no progress in his study of this subject. Professional
teachers ignore this almost completely, and that is one reason why they so often fail; and it is also a reason
why persons who do not go to them for training so often succeed: the latter class finds that knowledge of the
human heart makes up for many deficiencies.

The first important consideration is good nature. It is not often that we can use words to compel; we must
thought and feeling. Sometimes such a person compels attention, but not often. The universal way Is to attract,
win over, please. Most of the arts of formal rhetoric are arts of making language pleasing; but what is the

We must go at our work gently and good-naturedly, and then there will be no straining or morbidness or
repulsiveness of manner. But all this finds its consummation in what is called humor.

Humor is a thing that can be cultivated, even learned; and it is one of the most important things in the whole
art of writing.

We will not attempt to say just what humor is. The effort could bring no results of value. Suffice it to say that
there is implanted in most of us a sense of the ridiculous---of the incongruous. If a thing is a little too big or a
little too small for the place it is intended to fill, for some occult reason we regard it as funny. The difference
of a hair seems to tickle us, whereas a great difference does not produce that kind of effect at all.

We may secure humor by introducing into our writing the slightest possible exaggeration which will result in
the slightest possible incongruity. Of course this presupposes that we understand the facts in a most thorough
and delicate way. Our language is not precisely representative of things as they are, but it proves better than
any other language that we know just what the truth is.

Humor is the touchstone by which we ought to try ourselves and our work.

It will prevent our getting very far away from what is normal and natural.

So much for its effect on ourselves. To our readers it proves that we are good-natured, honest, and determined
to be agreeable. Besides, it makes an appeal to them on their weakest side. Few people can resist a joke. There
is never any occasion for them to cultivate resistance. So there is no more certain way by which we can get
quickly and inevitably into their confidence and fellowship. When once we are on good terms with them they
will listen to us while we say anything we may have to say. Of course we shall often have many serious things
to say; but humor will open the way for us to say them better than any other agency.

It is to be noted that humor is slighter and more delicate than any other form of wit, and that it is used by
serious and accomplished writers. It is the element of success in nearly all essay-writing, especially in letters;
and the business man will find it his most powerful weapon in advertising. Its value is to be seen by uses so
CHAPTER IV.                                                                                                    86

The student is invited to study three examples of humor. The first is Addison's "Advice in Love." It is obvious
that this subject could not very well be treated in any other way. It is too delicate for anything but delicate
humor, for humor can handle subjects which would be impossible for any other kind of language. Besides, the
sentiment would be likely to nauseate us by its excess or its morbidity, except for the healthy salt of humor.
Humor makes this essay instructive and interesting.

Next we present two letters from Stevenson. Here we see that humor makes commonplace things interesting.
what other method could anything worth reading have been gotten out of the facts?

The selection from Charles Lamb is an illustration of how humor may save the utterly absurd from being
unreadable. Lamb had absolutely nothing to say when he sat down to write this letter; and yet he contrived to
be amusing, if not actually interesting.

The master of humor can draw upon the riches of his own mind, and thereby embellish and enliven any
subject he may desire to write upon.

Of these three selections, the easiest to imitate is Addison. First, we should note the old-fashioned phrasing
and choice of words, and perhaps translate Addison into simple, idiomatic, modern English, altering as little
as possible. We note that the letter offered by Addison is purposely filled with all the faults of rhetoric which
we never find in his own writing. Addison's humorous imitation of these faults gives us twice as good a lesson
as any possible example of real faults made by some writer unconsciously.

In Stevenson's letters we see the value of what has been called "the magic word." Nearly the whole of his
humor consists in selecting a word which suggests ten times as much as it expresses on its face. There is a
whole world of fun in this suggestion. Sometimes it is merely commonplace punning, as when he speaks of
the "menial" of "high Dutch extraction" as yet "only partially extracted;" and again it is the delicate
insinuation contained in spelling "Parc" with a c, for that one letter gives us an entire foreign atmosphere, and
the disproportion between the smallness of the letter and the extent of the suggestiveness touches our sense of
the ridiculous.

The form of study of these passages may be slightly altered. Instead of making notes and rewriting exactly as
the original authors wrote, we should keep the original open before us and try to produce something slightly
different in the same vein. We may suppose the letter on love written by a man instead of by a woman. Of
course its character will be quite different, though exactly the same characteristics will be illustrated. This
change will require an alteration in almost every sentence of the essay. Our effort should be to see how little
change in the wording will be required by this one change in subject; though of course we should always
modernize the phrasing. In the case of Stevenson, we may suppose that we are writing a similar letter to
friends, but from some other city than San Francisco. We may imitate Lamb by describing our feelings when
afflicted by some other ailment than a cold.


By Joseph Addison.

It is an old observation, which has been made of politicians who would rather ingratiate, themselves with their
sovereign, than promote his real service, that they accommodate their counsels to his inclinations, and advise
him to such actions only as his heart is naturally set upon. The privy-counsellor of one in love must observe
the same conduct, unless he would forfeit the friendship of the person who desires his advice. I have known
several odd cases of this nature. Hipparchus was going to marry a common woman, but being resolved to do
nothing without the advice of his friend Philander, he consulted him upon the occasion. Philander told him his
mind freely, and represented his mistress to him in such strong colors, that the next morning he received a
CHAPTER IV.                                                                                                     87

challenge for his pains, and before twelve o'clock was run through the body by the man who had asked his
advice. Celia was more prudent on the like occasion; she desired Leonilla to give her opinion freely upon a
young fellow who made his addresses to her. Leonilla, to oblige her, told her with great frankness, that she
looked upon him as one of the most worthless--- Celia, foreseeing what a character she was to expect, begged

The truth of it is a woman seldom asks advice before she has bought her wedding clothes. When she has made
her own choice, for form's sake she sends a congé d'élire to her friends.

asking advice, which they never intend to take; I look upon it to be none of the least, that they are incapable of
keeping a secret which is so very pleasing to them. A girl longs to tell her confidant that she hopes to be
married in a little time, and, in order to talk of the pretty fellow that dwells so much in her thoughts, asks her
gravely, what she would advise her to in a case of so much difficulty. Why else should Melissa, who had not a
thousand pounds in the world, go into every quarter of the town to ask her acquaintance whether they would
advise her to take Tom Townly, that made his addresses to her with an estate of five thousand a year? 'Tis
very pleasant on this occasion to hear the lady propose her doubts, and to see the pains she is at to get over

I must not here omit a practice that is in use among the vainer part of our own sex, who will often ask a
friend's advice, in relation to a fortune whom they are never likely to come at. Will Honeycomb, who is now
on the verge of threescore, took me aside not long since, and ask me in his most serious look, whether I would
advise him to marry my Lady Betty Single, who, by the way, is one of the greatest fortunes about town. I
stared him full in the face upon so strange a question; upon which he immediately gave me an inventory of her
jewels and estate, adding, that he was resolved to do nothing in a matter of such consequence without my
approbation. Finding he would have an answer, I told him, if he could get the lady's consent, he had mine.
This is about the tenth match which, to my knowledge, Will has consulted his friends upon, without ever
opening his mind to the party herself.

I have been engaged in this subject by the following letter, which comes to me from some notable young
female scribe, who, by the contents of it, seems to have carried matters so far that she is ripe for asking
advice; but as I would not lose her good-will, nor forfeit the reputation which I have with her for wisdom, I
shall only communicate the letter to the public, without returning any answer to it.

"Mr. Spectator, Now, sir, the thing is this: Mr. Shapely is the prettiest gentleman about town. He is very tall,
but not too tall neither. He dances like an angel. His mouth is made I do not know how, but it is the prettiest
that I ever saw in my life. He is always laughing, for he has an infinite deal of wit. If you did but see how he
rolls his stockings! He has a thousand pretty fancies, and I am sure, if you saw him, you would like him, he is
a very good scholar, and can talk Latin as fast as English. I wish you could but see him dance. Now you must
understand poor Mr. Shapely has no estate; but how can he help that, you know? And yet my friends are so
unreasonable as to be always teasing me about him, because he has no estate: but I am sure he has that that is
better than an estate; for he is a good-natured, ingenious, modest, civil, tall, well-bred, handsome man, and I
am obliged to him for his civilities ever since I saw him. I forgot to tell you that he has black eyes, and looks
upon me now and then as if he had tears in them. And yet my friends are so unreasonable, that they would
have me be uncivil to him. I have a good portion which they cannot hinder me of, and I shall be fourteen on
the 29th day of August next, and am therefore willing to settle in the world as soon as I can, and so is Mr.
Shapely. But everybody I advise with here is poor Mr. Shapely's enemy. I desire, therefore, you will give me
wish you could see him dance, and am, "Sir, your most humble servant. B. D." "He loves your Spectator

CHAPTER IV.                                                                                                        88
Addison's object in writing this paper is largely serious: he wishes to criticise and correct manners and morals.
He is satirical, but so good-humored in his satire that no one could be offended. He also contrives to give the
impression that he refers to "the other fellow," not to you. This delicacy and tact are as important in the writer
as in the diplomat, for the writer quite as much as the diplomat lives by favor.

Addison is not a very strict writer, and his works have given examples for the critics by the score. One of
these is seen in "begged her not to go on, for-that she had been privately married:" "begged" and "for that" do
not go well together. To a modern reader such a phrasing as "If we look into . . . . . . I look upon it to be" etc.,
seems a little awkward, if not crude; but we may excuse these seeming discrepancies as "antique usage,"
along with such phrases as "advise her to in a case of such difficulty" and "to hear the lady propose her
doubts, and to see the pains she is at to get over them."

"Fortune whom" is evidently a personification. The use of party in "to the party herself" is now reckoned an
Americanism (!) "Engaged in this subject" is evidently antiquated.

We miss in Addison the variety which we found in Ruskin. He does not seem to understand the art of
fact is, English prose style has made enormous advances since the time of Addison, and we learn more by
comparing him with a writer like Ruskin than by deliberately imitating him. At the same time his method is
simpler, and since it is so we may find him a good writer to begin our study with. In spite of any little faults
we may find with him, he was and is a great writer, and we should be sure we can write as well as he before
we reject him.


By Robert Louis Stevenson.


My Dear Mother,---I am here at last, sitting in my room, without coat or waistcoat, and with both window and
door open, and yet perspiring like a terra-cotta jug or a Gruy{Š} ere cheese:

We had a very good passage, which we certainly deserved no compensation for having to sleep on the cabin
floor and finding absolutely nothing fit for human food in the whole filthy embarkation. We made up for lost
time by sleeping on deck a good part of the forenoon. When I awoke, Simpson was still sleeping the sleep of
the just, on a coil of ropes and (as appeared afterwards) his own hat; so I got a bottle of Bass and a pipe and
laid hold of an old Frenchman of somewhat filthy aspect (fiat experimentum in corpora vii) to try my French
upon. I made very heavy weather of it. The Frenchman had a very pretty young wife; but my French always
deserted me entirely when I had to answer her, and so she soon drew away and left me to her lord, who talked
of French politics, Africa, and domestic economy with great vivacity. From Ostend a smoking hot journey to
Brussels! At Brussels we went off after dinner to the Pare. If any person wants to be happy, I should advise
the Pare. You sit drinking iced drinks and smoking penny cigars under great old trees.

The band place, covered walks, etc., are all lit up; and you can't fancy how beautiful was the contrast of the
middle of the largest patch. In the dark walks, too, there are crowds of people whose faces you cannot see, and
here and there a colossal white statue at the corner of an alley that gives the place a nice, artificial,
eighteenth-century sentiment. There was a good deal of summer lightning blinking overhead, and the black
avenues and white statues leapt out every minute into short-lived distinctness.

CHAPTER IV.                                                                                                     89
My dear Colvin,---Any time between eight and half-past nine in the morning, a slender gentleman in an ulster,
with an active step. The gentleman is R. L. S.; the volume relates to Benjamin Franklin, on whom he
of the original Pine Street Coffee House, no less; I believe he would be capable of going to the original itself,
if he could only find it. In the branch he seats himself at a table covered with waxcloth, and a pampered
menial, of high Dutch extraction and, indeed, as yet only partially extracted, lays before him a cup of coffee, a
roll, and a pat of butter, all, to quote the deity, very good. Awhile ago, and H. L. S. used to find the supply of
For this refection he pays ten cents, or five pence sterling (£0 0s 5d).

Half an hour later, the inhabitants of Bush Street observe the same slender gentleman armed, like George
perpetuation of his fingers. The reason is this: that the sill is a strong, supporting beam, and that blows of the
same emphasis in other parts, of his room might knock the entire shanty into hell. Thenceforth, for from three
he possesses are innocent of lustre and wear the natural hue of the material turned up with caked and
enters or quits the house, "Dere's de author." Can it be that this bright-haired innocent has found the true clue
to the mystery? The being in question is, at least, poor enough to belong to that honorable craft.


The first of these two letters by Stevenson was written very early in his literary career, the second when he
may be supposed to have been at the height of his powers. It is interesting to see to what extent he had
improved his style.

Note now much suggestiveness (apart from the apparent meaning) is contained in such words and phrases as
"the whole filthy embarkation;" "made very heavy weather of it" (speaking French); "Parc"; "artificial" (the
peculiar meaning being indicated by italicizing); "pampered menial" (the reference being to just the opposite).

There is a peculiar mechanical sort of humor in omitting the word street after "Bush," "Powell," etc., and in
giving the cost of his meal so elaborately---"ten cents, or fivepence sterling (£0 0s 5d)."

The chief source of fun is in giving small things an importance they do not deserve. The author is making fun
at himself. Of course since he makes fun at himself it is good-natured; but it must be just as good-natured if
one is to make fun of any one else. Addison was so successful because no suggestion of malice ever crept into
his satire.


By Charles Lamb.

January 9, 1824.

Dear B. B.,---Do you know what it is to succumb under an insurmountable day-mare,---a "whoreson
lethargy," Falstaff calls it,---an indisposition to do anything or to be anything; a total deadness and distaste; a
over; an oyster-like insensibility to the passing events; a mind-stupor; a brawny de---fiance to the needles of a
thrust-in conscience? Did you ever have a very bad cold with a total irresolution to submit to water-gruel
CHAPTER IV.                                                                                                       90
processes? This has been for many weeks my lot and my excuse. My fingers drag heavily over this paper, and
say, nothing is of more importance than another. I am flatter than a denial or a pancake; emptier than Judge
Parke's wig when the head is in it; duller than a country stage when the actors are off it,---a cipher, an o! I
acknowledge life at all only by an occasional convulsional cough, and a permanent phlegmatic pain in the
expense of candles. My wick bath a thief in it, but I can't muster courage to snuff it. I inhale suffocation; I
can't distinguish veal from mutton; nothing interests me. 'Tis twelve o'clock, and Thurtell* is just now coming
out upon the new drop, Jack Ketch alertly tucking up his greasy sleeves to do the last office of mortality; yet
cannot I elicit a groan or a moral reflection. If you told me the world will be at an end tomorrow, I should say
again; my skull is a Grub-street attic to let,---not so much as a joint-stool left in it; my hand writes, not I, from
habit, as chickens run about a little when their heads are cut off. Oh for a vigorous fit of gout, colic,
toothache---an earwig{#} * in my auditory, a fly in my visual organs; pain is life,---the sharper the more
evidence of life; but this apathy, this death! Did you ever have an obstinate cold, a six or seven weeks'
try wine, and spirits, and smoking, and snuff in unsparing quantities; but they all only seem to make me
worse, instead of better. I sleep in a damp room, but it does no good; I come home late o' nights, but do not

*Hanged that day for the murder of Weare.

{#} *An ant

It is just fifteen minutes after twelve. Thurtell is by this time a good way on his journey, baiting at Scorpion,
but on consideration that he may get somewhat by showing 'em in the town, finally closes. C. L.


The danger of not adapting your method to your auditor is well illustrated by the beginning of Lamb's next
letter to the same person:

"My dear sir,---That peevish letter of mine, which was meant to convey an apology for my incapacity to write,
seems to have been taken by you in too serious a light,---it was only my way of telling you I had a severe

Lamb's letter is filled with about every figure of speech known to rhetoricians: It will be a useful exercise to
pick them out.

Any person who does not have a well developed sense of humor will hardly see the force of the reference to
Thurtell, the murderer. It is a whimsical way of indicating by a specific example how empty the writer's brain
was, forcing him to reflect on such a subject in so trivial a manner.

Observe the occasional summing up of the meaning, curiously repeating exactly the same thing---"Did you
ever have a very bad cold---?" "Did you ever have an obstinate cold---?" The very short sentences summarize
the very long ones. The repetition is meant to give the impression of being clumsy and stupid. In describing
harshness we use words that are harsh, in describing awkwardness we use words that are awkward, in
describing brightness and lightness we use words that are bright and light, in the very words themselves
giving a concrete illustration of what we mean.
CHAPTER V.                                                                                                     91



I have said that humor is good-natured and winning. This is always true, though the winning of one reader
may be at the expense of some other. Humor used to win one at the expense of another is called satire and
sarcasm. The simplest form of using satire and sarcasm is in direct ridicule.

Ridicule, satire, and sarcasm are suitable for use against an open enemy, such as a political opponent, against
a public nuisance which ought to be suppressed, or in behalf of higher ideals and standards. The one thing that
makes this style of little effect is anger or morbid intensity. While some thing or some one is attacked, perhaps
with ferocity, results are to be obtained by winning the reader. So it comes about that winning, good-natured
humor is an essential element in really successful ridicule. If intense or morbid hatred or temper is allowed to
dominate, the reader is repulsed and made distrustful, and turns away without being affected in the desired
way at all.

The following, which opens a little known essay of Edgar Allan Poe's, is one of the most perfect examples of
simple ridicule in the English language. We may have our doubts as to whether Poe was justified in using
such withering satire on poor Mr. Channing; but we cannot help feeling that the workmanship is just what it
ought to be when ridicule is employed in a proper cause. Perhaps the boosting of books into public regard by
the use of great names is a proper and sufficient subject for attack by ridicule.


By Edgar Allan Poe.

In speaking of Mr. William Ellery Channing, who has just published a very neat little volume of poems, we
William Ellery Channing. He is only the son* of the great essayist deceased. . . It may be said in his favor that
doubt seriously supposes to be such. They are full of all kinds of mistakes, of which the most important is that
of their having been printed at all.

They are not precisely English---nor will we insult a great nation by calling them Kickapoo; perhaps they are
Channingese. We may convey some general idea of them by two foreign terms not in common use---the
are more preposterous, in a word, than any poems except those of the author of "Sam Patch;" for we presume
we are right (are we not?) in taking it for granted that the author of "Sam Patch" is the very worst of all the
wretched poets that ever existed upon the earth.

In spite, however, of the customary phrase of a man's "making a fool of himself," we doubt if any one was
He should be treated with leniency, and even when damned, should be damned with respect. Nobility of
cannot be handled too tenderly by the critical Jack Ketch. Mr. Channing must be hung, that's true. He must be
hung in terrorem --and for this there is no help under the sun; but then we shall do him all manner of justice,
gracefully, with a silken cord, as Spaniards hang their grandees of the blue blood, their nobles of the sangre
CHAPTER V.                                                                                                     92
*Really the nephew.

To be serious, then, as we always wish to be, if possible, Mr. Channing (whom we suppose to be a very young
man, since we are precluded from supposing him a very old one), appears to have been inoculated at the same
moment with virus from Tennyson and from Carlyle, etc.


The three paragraphs which we have quoted illustrate three different methods of using ridicule. The first is the
simple one of contemptuous epithets--"calling names," as we put it in colloquial parlance. So long as it is
good-humored and the writer does not show personal malice, it is a good way; but the reader soon tires of it.
A sense of fairness prevents him from listening to mere calling of names very long. So in the second
paragraph Poe changes his method to one more subtile: he pretends to apologize and find excuses, virtually
saying to the reader, "Oh, I'm going to be perfectly fair," while at the same time the excuses are so absurd that
the effect is ridicule of a still more intense and biting type. In the third paragraph Poe seems to answer the
reader's mental comment to the effect that "you are merely amusing us by your clever wit" by asserting that he
means to be extremely serious. He then proceeds about his business with a most solemn face, which is as
amusing in literature as it is in comic representations on the stage.

In practising upon this type of writing one must select a subject that he feels to be decidedly in need of
suppression. Perhaps the most impersonal and easy subject to select for practice is a popular novel in which
one can see absurdities, or certain ridiculous departments in the newspapers, such as the personal-advice
column. Taking such a subject, adapt Poe's language to it with as little change as possible.
CHAPTER VI.                                                                                                        93


Macaulay and De Quincey. The familiar style of the humorist is almost universal in its availability. It is the
style of conversation, to a great extent---at least of the best conversation,---of letter-writing, of essay-writing,
and, in large part, of fiction. But there are moments when a different and more, hard and artificial style is
required. These moments are few, and many people never have them at all. Some people try to have them and
thereby fall into the fault of "fine writing." But it is certainly very important that when the great moment
comes we should be prepared for it. Then a lofty and more or less artificial style is demanded as imperatively
as the key-stone of an arch when the arch is completed except for the key-stone. Without the ability to write
one lofty sentence, all else that we have said may completely fail of its effect, however excellent in itself.

There are three kinds of prose which may be used on such occasions as we have described. The lowest and
most common of these, as it is the most artificial and most easily acquired, is the rhetorical, or oratorical,
style, the style of all orators, the style which is called eloquence. Of course we may find specimens of it in
actual oratory, but it is best illustrated in its use for written compositions in Macaulay. The next variety, more
impassioned prose.

It would seem at first that language could go no higher; but it does mount a little higher simply by trying to do
less, and we have loftiness in its plain simplicity, as when man stands bareheaded and humble in the presence
of God alone.

Macaulay's style is highly artificial, but its rotundity, its movement, its impressive sweep have made it
popular. Almost any one can acquire some of its features; but the ease with which it is acquired makes it
dangerous in a high degree, for the writer becomes fascinated with it and uses it far too often. It is true that
Macaulay used it practically all the time; but it is very doubtful it Macaulay would have succeeded so well
with it to-day, when the power of simplicity is so much better understood.

doubt he succeeded wonderfully; but the art is so difficult that no one else has equalled him and prose of the
kind that he wrote is not often written. Still, it is worth while to try to catch some of his skill. He began to
write this kind of composition in "The Confessions of an English Opium Eater," but he reached perfection
only in some compositions intended as sequels to that book, namely, "Suspiria de Profundis," and "The
English Mail Coach," with its "Vision of Sudden Death," and "Dream-Fugue" upon the theme of sudden

What we should strive for above all is the mighty effect of simple and bare loftiness of thought. Masters of
this style have not been few, and they seem to slip into it with a sudden and easy upward sweep that can be
compared to nothing so truly as to the upward flight of an eagle. They mount because their spirits are lofty.
No one who has not a lofty thought has any occasion to write the lofty style; and such a person will usually
succeed best by paying very little attention to the manner when he actually comes to write of high ideas. Still,
the lofty style should be studied and mastered like any other.

It is to be noted that all these styles are applicable chiefly if not altogether to description. Narration may
become intense at times, but its intensity demands no especial alteration of style. Dialogue, too, may be lofty,
but only in dramas of passion, and very few people are called upon to write these. But it is often necessary to
indicate a loftier, a more serious atmosphere, and this is effected by description of surrounding details in an
elevated manner.
CHAPTER VI.                                                                                                          94

One of the most natural, simple, and graceful of lofty descriptions may be found in Ruskin's "King of the

lines of dewy mist lay stretched along the valley, out of which rose the massy mountains,---their lower cliffs
the sunlight, which ran in sharp touches of ruddy color along the angular crags, and pierced in long, level rays,
through their fringes of spear-like Pine. Far above, shot up splintered masses of castellated rock, jagged and
purer and changeless, slept in the blue sky, the utmost peaks of the eternal snow.

If we ask how this loftiness is attained, the reply must be, first, that the subject is lofty and deserving of lofty
description. Indeed, the description never has a right to be loftier than the subject. Then, examining this
passage in detail, we find that the words are all dignified, and in their very sound they are lofty, as for instance
"massy," "myriads," "castellated," "angular crags." The very sound of the words seems to correspond to the
idea. Notice the repetition of the letter i in "Level lines of dewy mist lay stretched along the valley." This
same effect is produced again in "streak of sunlit snow" with the repetition of s. The entire passage is filled
with alliteration, but it is used so naturally that you would never think of it unless your attention were called
to it.

Next, we note that the structure rises gradually but steadily upward. We never jump to loftiness, and always
find it necessary to climb there.

"Jumping to loftiness" is like trying to lift oneself by one's boot-straps: it is very ridiculous to all who behold
it. Ruskin begins with a very ordinary sentence. He says it was a fine morning, just as any one might say it.
But the next sentence starts suddenly upward from the dead level, and to the end of the paragraph we rise,
terrace on terrace, by splendid sweeps and jagged cliffs, till at the end we reach "the eternal snow."


The study of the following selections from Macaulay and De Quincey may be conducted on a plan a trifle
different from that heretofore employed.

The present writer spent two hours each day for two weeks reading this passage from Macaulay over and
over: then he wrote a short essay on "Macaulay as a Model of Style," trying to describe Macaulay's style as
forcibly and skillfully as Macaulay describes the Puritans. The resulting paper did not appear to be an
imitation of Macaulay, but it had many of the strong features of Macaulay's style which had not appeared in
previous work. The same method was followed in the study of De Quincey's "English Mail Coach," with even
better results. The great difficulty arose from the fact that these lofty styles were learned only too well and
were not counterbalanced by the study of other and more universally useful styles. It is dangerous to become
fascinated with the lofty style, highly useful as it is on occasion.

If the student does not feel that he is able to succeed by the method of study just described, let him confine
himself to more direct imitation, following out Franklin's plan.


(From the essay on Milton.)

By T. B. Macaulay.
CHAPTER VI.                                                                                                    95
licentiousness of the press and of the stage, when the press and the stage were most licentious. They were not
occasion, their contempt of human learning, their destestation of polite amusements, were indeed fair game
for the laughers. But it is not from the laughers alone that the philosophy of history is to be learnt. And he
already misled so many excellent writers.


Those who roused the people to resistance, who directed their measures through a long series of eventful
years, who formed out of the most unpromising materials, the finest army that Europe has ever seen, who
trampled down King, Church, and Aristocracy, who, in the short intervals of domestic sedition and rebellion,
their absurdities were mere external badges, like the signs of freemasonry, or the dress of the friars. We regret
Death's head and the Fool's head and fix on the plain leaden chest which conceals the treasure.

beings and eternal interests. Not content with acknowledging in general terms an overruling Providence, they
habitually ascribed every event to the will of the Great Being, for whose power nothing was too vast, for
seemed to vanish, when compared with the boundless intervals which separated the whole race from him on
whom their eyes were constantly fixed. They recognized no title to superiority but his favor; and, confident of
eloquent, on nobles and priests, they looked down with contempt: for they esteemed themselves rich in a more
precious treasure, and eloquent in a more sublime language, nobles' by the right of an earlier creation, and
mysterious and terrible importance belonged, on whose slightest action the spirits of light and darkness looked
with anxious interest, who had been destined, before heaven and earth were created, to enjoy a felicity which
should continue when heaven and earth should have passed away. Events which shortsighted politicians
ransomed by the sweat of no vulgar agony, by the blood of no earthly sacrifice. It was for him that the sun had
CHAPTER VI.                                                                                                     96

suffering of her expiring God.

Thus the Puritans were made up of two different men, the one all self-abasement, penitence, gratitude,
fire. Like Vane, he thought himself intrusted with the sceptre of the millienial year. Like Fleetwood he cried
girt on his sword for war, these tempestuous works of the soul had left no perceptible trace behind them.

the hall of debate or in the field of battle. These fanatics brought to civil affairs a coolness of judgment and an
lost its terrors, and pleasure its charms.

Enthusiasm had made them Stoics, had cleared their minds from every vulgar passion and prejudice, and
ends, but never to choose unwise means. They went through the world like Sir Artegal's iron man Talus with
in human infirmities, insensible to fatigue, to pleasure, and to pain, not to be pierced by any weapon, not to be
withstood by a n barrier.

injured by straining after things too high for mortal reach: and we know that, in spite of their hatred of Popery,
wise, an honest, and a useful body.


The most casual examination of Macaulay's style shows us that the words, the sentences, and the paragraphs
are all arranged in rows, one on this side, one on that, a column here, another just like it over there, a whole
row of columns above this window, and a whole row of columns above that window, just as bricks are built
up in geometrical design. Almost every word contains an antithesis. The whole constitutes what is called the
balanced structure.

We see also that Macaulay frequently repeats the same word again and again, and the repetition gives
strength. Indeed, repetition is necessary to make this balanced structure: there must always be so much
likeness and so much unlikeness---and the likeness and unlikeness must just balance.

We have shown the utility of variation: Macaulay shows the force there is in monotony, in repetition. In one
sentence after another through an entire paragraph he repeats the same thing over and over and over. There is
no rising by step after step to something higher in Macaulay: everything is on the dead level; but it is a
powerful, heroic level.
CHAPTER VI.                                                                                                      97

The first words repeated and contrasted are press and stage. The sentence containing these words is balanced
nicely. In the following sentence we have four short sentences united into one, and the first clause contrasts
with the second and the third with the fourth. The sentence beginning "The ostentatious simplicity of their
dress" gives us a whole series of subjects, all resting on a single short predicate---"were fair game for the
laughers." The next sentence catches up the, word "laughers" and plays upon it.

In the second paragraph we have as subject "those" followed by a whole series of relative clauses beginning
with "who," and this series again rests on a very short predicate---"were no vulgar fanatics."

And so on through the entire description, we find series after series, contrast after contrast; now it is a dozen
words all in the same construction, now a number of sentences all beginning in the same way and ending in
the same way.

The first paragraph takes up the subject of the contrast of those who laughed and those who were laughed at.
The second paragraph enlarges upon good points in the objects of the examination. The third paragraph
describes their minds, and we perceive that Macaulay has all along been leading into this by his series of
contrasts. In the fourth paragraph he brings the two sides into the closest possible relations, so that the contrast
reaches its height. The last short paragraph sums up the facts.

This style, though highly artificial, is highly useful when used in moderation. It is unfortunate that Macaulay
uses it so constantly. When he cannot find contrasts he sometimes makes them, and to make them he distorts
the truth. Besides, he wearies us by keeping us too monotonously on a high dead level. In time we come to
feel that he is making contrasts merely because he has a passion for making them, not because they serve any
purpose. But for one who wishes to learn this style, no better model can be found in the English language.


On the Theme of Sudden Death.*

By Thomas De Quincey.

*"The English Mail-Coach" consists of three sections, "The Glory of Motion," "vision of Sudden Death," and
"Dream-Fugue." De Quincey describes riding on the top of a heavy mail-coach. In the dead of night they pass
a young couple in a light gig, and the heavy mail-coach just escapes shattering the light gig and perhaps
killing the young occupants. De Quincey develops his sensations in witnessing this "vision of sudden death,"
and rises step by step to the majestic beauty and poetic passion of the dream-fugue.

moved Their stops and chords, was seen; his volant touch Instinct through all proportions, low and high, Fled
and pursued transverse the resonant fugue."

Paradise Lost, Book XI.


signs!---rapture of panic taking the shape (which amongst tombs in churches I have seen) of woman bursting
her selpuchral bonds---of woman's ionic form bending forward from the ruins of her grave with arching foot,
with eyes upraised, with clasped, adoring hands---waiting, watching, trembling, praying for the trumpet's call
to rise from dust forever! Ah, vision too fearful of shuddering humanity on the brink of mighty
abysses!---vision that didst start back, that didst reel away, like a shivering scroll before the wrath of fire
CHAPTER VI.                                                                                                    98

mosaic of dreams? Fragments of music too passionate, heard once and heard no more, what aileth thee, that
thy deep rolling chords come up at intervals through all the worlds of sleep, and after forty years, have lost no
element of horror?


Lo, it is summer---almighty summer! The everlasting gates of life and summer are thrown open wide; and on
the ocean tranquil and verdant as a savannah, the unknown lady from the dreadful vision and I myself are
floating---she upon a fairy pinnace, and I upon an English three-decker.

Both of us are wooing gales of festive happiness within the domain of our common country, within that
ancient watery park, within that pathless chase of ocean, where England takes her pleasure as a huntress
deck what a bevy of human flowers---young women how lovely, young men bow noble, that were dancing
together, and slowly drifting toward us amidst music and incense, amidst blossoms from forests and gorgeous
at some signal from heaven, the music, and the carols, and the sweet echoing of girlish laughter,---all are
turned to our crew---"where are the lovely women that danced beneath the awning of flowers and clustering
corynibi? Whither have fled the noble young men that danced with them?" Answer there was none. But
suddenly the man at the masthead, whose countenance darkened with alarm, cried out, "Sail on the weather
beam! Down she comes upon us; in seventy seconds she also will founder,"


I looked to the weather side, and the summer had departed. The sea was rocking, and shaking with gathering
Down one of these, with the fiery pace of a quarrel from a crossbow, ran a frigate right athwart our course.
The deeps in malice opened ahead to receive her, the billows were fierce to catch her. But far away she was
borne upon the desert spaces of the sea: whilst still by sight I followed her, she ran before the howling gale,
chased by angry sea-birds and by maddening billows: still I saw her, as at the moment when she ran past us,
dishevelled, one hand clutched amongst the tackling---rising, sinking, fluttering, trembling, praying---there for
was hidden forever in driving showers; and afterwards, but when I know not, nor how.


De Quincey's "Dream-Fugue" is as luxuriant and extravagant a use of metaphor as Macaulay's "Puritans" is of
the use of antithesis and the balanced structure. The whole thing is a metaphor, and every part is a metaphor
within a metaphor.
CHAPTER VI.                                                                                                  99
This is much more than mere fine writing. It is a metaphorical representation of the incident he has previously
described. In that incident he was particular struck by the actions of the lady. The young man turned his horse
out of the path of the coach, but some part of the coach struck one of the wheels of the gig, and as it did so,
the lady involuntarily started up, throwing up her arms, and at once sank back as in a faint. De Quincey did
not see her face, and hence he speaks in this description of "averted signs?" The "woman bursting her
sepulchral bonds" probably refers to a tomb in Westminster Abbey which represents a woman escaping from
the door of the tomb, and Death, a skeleton, is just behind her, but too late to catch her "arching foot" as she
flies upward---presumably as a spirit.

The novice fails in such writing as this because he becomes enamored of his beautiful images and forgets
what he is trying to illustrate. The relation between reality and image should be as invariable as mathematics.
If such startling images cannot be used with perfect clearness and vivid perception of their usefulness and
value, they should not be used at all. De Quincey is so successful because his mind comprehends every detail
of the scene, and through the images we see the bottom truth as through a perfect crystal. A clouded diamond
is no more ruined by its cloudiness than a clouded metaphor.

As in Ruskin's description of the mountain, we see in this the value of the sounds of words, and how they
seem to make music in themselves. A Word lacking in dignity in the very least would have ruined the whole
picture, and so would a word whose rotund sound did not correspond to the loftiness of the passage. Perhaps
the only word that jars is "English three-decker"---but the language apparently afforded De Quincey no
substitute which would make his meaning clear.
CHAPTER VII.                                                                                                100



It has been hinted that the rhetorical, impassioned, and lofty styles are in a measure dangerous. The natural
corrective of that danger is artistic reserve.

Reserve is a negative quality, and so it has not been emphasized by writers on composition as it ought to be.
But if it is negative, it is none the less real and important, and fortunately we have in Thackeray a masterly
example of its positive power.

Originally reserve is to be traced to a natural reticence and modesty in the character of the author who
employs it. It may be studied, however, and cultivated as a characteristic of style. As an artistic quality it
consists in saying exactly what the facts demand, no more, no less---and to say no more especially on those
occasions when most people employ superlatives. Macaulay was not characterized by reserve. He speaks of
the Puritans as "the most remarkable body of men the world ever produced." "Most" is a common word in his
vocabulary, since it served so well to round out the phrase and the idea. Thackeray, on the other hand, is
almost too modest. He is so afraid of saying too much that sometimes he does not say enough, and that may
possibly account for the fact that he was never as popular as the overflowing Dickens. The lack of reserve
made Dickens "slop over" occasionally, as indelicate critics have put it; and the presence of reserve did more
than any other one thing to give Thackeray the reputation for perfect style which all concede to him.

One of the most famous passages in all of Thackeray's works is the description of the battle of Waterloo in
"Vanity Fair," ch. XXXII:

All that day, from morning till past sunset, the cannon never ceased to roar. It was dark when the cannonading
stopped all of a sudden.

All of us have read of what occurred during that interval. The tale is in every Englishman's mouth; and you
hatred and rage behind to us, there is no end to the so called glory and shame, and to the alternation of
Frenchmen and Englishmen might be boasting and killing each other still, carrying out bravely the Devil's
code of honor.

All our friends took their share, and fought like men in the great field. All day long, while the women were
charges of the French horsemen. Guns which were heard in Brussels were ploughing up their ranks, and
comrades falling, and the resolute survivors closing in. Towards evening, the attack of the French, repeated
Jean, at length and at once to sweep the English from the height which they had maintained all day and spite
of all; unscared by the thunder of the artillery, which hurled death from the English line,---the dark rolling
Then it stopped, still facing the shot. Then, at last, the English troops rushed from the post from which no
CHAPTER VII.                                                                                                      101

No more firing was heard at Brussels,---the pursuit rolled miles away. Darkness came down on the field and

Who before ever began the description of a great victory by praising the enemy! And yet when we consider it,
there is no more artistically powerful method than this, of showing how very great the enemy was, and then
saying simply, "The English defeated them."

But Thackeray wished to do more than this. He was preparing the reader for the awful presence of death in a
private affliction, Amelia's loss of her husband George. To do this he lets his heart go out in sympathy for the
French, and by that sympathy he seems to rise above all race, to a supreme height where exist the griefs of the
human heart and God alone.

With all this careful preparation, the short, simple closing paragraph--- the barest possible statement of the
facts---produces an effect unsurpassed in literature. The whole situation seems to cry out for superlatives; yet
Thackeray uses none, but remains dignified, calm, and therefore grand.

The following selection serves as a sort of preface to the novel "Vanity Fair." It is quite as remarkable for the
things it leaves unsaid as for the things it says. Of course its object is to whet the reader's appetite for the story
that is to follow; but throughout the author seems to be laughing at himself. In the last paragraph we see one
of the few superlatives to be found In Thackeray---he says the show has been "most favorably noticed" by the
"conductors of the Public Press, and by the Nobility and Gentry." Those capital letters prove the humorous
intent of the superlative, which seems to be a burlesque on other authors who praise themselves. One of the
criticisms had been that Amelia was no better than a doll; and Thackeray takes the critics at their word and


(Preface to "Vanity Fair.")

By W. M. Thackeray.

and drinking, making love and jilting, laughing and the contrary, smoking, cheating, fighting, dancing, and

it, by his own or other people's hilarity. An episode of humor or kindness touches and amuses him here and
there,---a pretty child looking at a gingerbread stall; a pretty girl blushing whilst her lover talks to her and
chooses her fairing; poor Tom Fool, yonder behind the wagon mumbling his bone with the honest family
come home, you sit down, in a sober, contemplative, not uncharitable frame of mind, and apply yourself to
your books or your business.

immoral altogether, and eschew such, with their servants and families; very likely they are right. But persons
CHAPTER VII.                                                                                              102
sentimental, and some light comic business; the whole accompanied by appropriate scenery, and brilliantly
illuminated with the Author's own candles.

What more has the Manager of the Performance to say?---To acknowledge the kindness with which it has
been received in all the principal towns of England through which the show has passed, and where it has been
most favorably noticed by the respected conductors of the Public Press, and by the Nobility and Gentry. He is
little Becky Puppet has been pronounced to be uncommonly flexible in the joints, and lively on the wire: the
manner: the Little Boy's Dance has been liked by some; and please to remark the richly dressed figure of the
this singular performance.


London, June 28, 1848.
CHAPTER VIII.                                                                                                  103


Matthew Arnold and Ruskin.

The term "criticism" may appropriately be used to designate all writing in which logic predominates over
emotion. The style of criticism is the style of argument, exposition, and debate, as well as of literary analysis;
and it is the appropriate style to be used in mathematical discussions and all scientific essays.

Of course the strictly critical style may be united with almost any other. We are presenting pure types; but
very seldom does it happen that any composition ordinarily produced belongs to any one pure type. Criticism
would be dull without the enlivening effects of some appeal to the emotions. We shall Illustrate this point in a
quotation from Ruskin.

The critical style has just one secret: It depends on a very close definition of work in ordinary use, words do
not have a sufficiently definite meaning for scientific purposes. Therefore in scientific writing it is necessary
to define them exactly, and so change common words into technical terms. To these may be added the great
body of words used in no other way than as technical terms.

Of course our first preparation for criticism is to master the technical terms and technical uses of words
peculiar to the subject we are treating. Then we must make it clear to the reader that we are using words in
their technical senses so that he will know how to interpret them.

But beyond that we must make technical terms as we go along, by defining common words very strictly. This
is nicely illustrated by Matthew Arnold, one of the most accomplished of pure critics. The opening paragraphs
of the first chapter of "Culture and Anarchy"---the chapter entitled "Sweetness and Light"---will serve for
illustration, and the student is referred to the complete work for material for further study and imitation.

From "Sweetness and Light."

The disparagers of culture, [says Mr. Arnold], make its motive curiosity; sometimes, indeed, they make its
as culture, at all. To find the real ground for the very different estimate which serious people will set upon
motive the word curiosity gives us.

well as in a bad sense. A liberal and intelligent eagerness about the things of the mind may be meant by a
intellectual matters which is futile, and merely a disease, so there is certainly a curiosity,---a desire after the
things of the mind simply for their own sakes and for the pleasure of seeing them as they are,---which is, in an
CHAPTER VIII.                                                                                                   104

Starting with exact definitions of words, it is easy to pass to exact definitions of ideas, which is the thing we
should be aiming at all the time. The logical accuracy of our language, however, is apparent throughout.

Matthew Arnold does not embellish his criticism, nor does he make any special appeal to the feelings or
emotions of his readers. Not so Ruskin. He discovers intellectual emotions, and makes pleasant appeals to
those emotions. Consequently his criticism has been more popular than Matthew Arnold's. As an example of
this freer, more varied critical style, let us cite the opening paragraphs of the lecture "Of Queens' Gardens"--in
"Sesame and Lilies":

From "Sesame and Lilies."

It will be well . . that I should shortly state to you my general intention. . . The questions specially proposed to
you in my former lecture, namely How and What to Read, rose out of a far deeper one, which it was my
endeavor to make you propose earnestly to yourselves, namely, Why to Read I want you to feel, with me, that
whatever advantage we possess in the present day in the diffusion of education and of literature, can only be
teach. I wish you to see that both well directed moral training and well chosen reading lead to the possession
kingly;* conferring indeed the purest kingship that can exist among men. Too many other kingships (however
distinguished by visible insignia or material power) being either spectral, or tyrannous; spectral---that is to
have on;" or else tyrannous---that is to say, substituting their own will for the law of justice and love by which
all true kings rule.

*The preceding lecture was entitled "Of Kings's Treasures."

There is then, I repeat (and as I want to leave this idea with you, I begin with it, and shall end with it) only one
pure kind of kingship, ---an inevitable or eternal kind, crowned or not,---the kingship, namely, which consists
in a stronger moral state and truer thoughtful state than that of others, enabling you, therefore, to guide or to
raise them. Observe that word "state :" we have got into a loose way of using it. It means literally the standing
and stability of a thing; and you have the full force of it in the derived word "statue"---"the immovable thing."
A king's majesty or "state," then, and the right of his kingdom to be called a State, depends on the
movelessness of both,---without tremor, without quiver of balance, established and enthroned upon a
foundation of eternal law which nothing can alter or overthrow.

beneficent, and therefore kingly, power,---first over ourselves, and, through ourselves, over all around us,--- I
am now going to ask you to consider with me further, what special portion or kind of this royal authority,
queenly power,---not in their households merely, but over all within their sphere. And in what sense, if they
benignant power would justify us in speaking of the territories over which each of them reigned as 'Queens'
CHAPTER VIII.                                                                                                  105
Here still is the true critical style, with exact definitions; but the whole argument is a metaphor, and the object
of the criticism is to rouse feelings that will lead to action.

It will be observed that words which by definition are to be taken in some sort of technical sense are
distinguished to the eye in some way. Matthew Arnold used italics. Ruskin first places "state" within
quotation marks, and then, when he uses the word in a still different sense, he writes it with a capital
letter---State. Capitalization is perhaps the most common way for designating common words when used in a
special sense which is defined by the writer---or defined by implication. This is the explanation of the capital
letters with which the writings of Carlyle are filled. He constantly endeavors to make words mean more than,
or something different from, the meaning they usually have.

The peculiar embellishments of the critical writer are epigram, paradox, and satire. An epigram is a very short
phrase or sentence which is so full of implied meaning or suggestion that it catches the attention at once, and
remains in the memory easily. The paradox is something of the same sort on a larger scale. It is a statement
that we can hardly believe to be true, since it seems at first sight to be self-contradictory, or to contradict well
known truths or laws; but on examination we find that in a peculiar sense it is strictly true. Satire is a variation
of humor peculiarly adapted to criticism, since it is intended to make the common idea ridiculous when
compared with the ideas which the critic is trying to bring out: it is a sort of argument by force of stinging
points. We may find an example of satire in its perfection in Swift, especially in his "Gulliver's Travels"---
since these are satires the point of which we can appreciate to-day. Oscar Wilde was peculiarly given to
epigram, and in his plays especially we may find epigram carried to the same excess that the balanced
structure is carried by Macaulay. More moderate epigram may be found in Emerson and Carlyle. Paradox is
something that we should use only on special occasion.
CHAPTER IX.                                                                                                       106


Narrative, Description, and Dialogue.


In fiction there are three different kinds of writing which must be blended with a fine skill, and this fact makes
fiction so much the more difficult than any other sort of writing. History is largely narrative, pure and simple,
newspaper articles are description, dramas are dialogue, but fiction must unite in a way peculiar to itself the
niceties of all three.

We must take each style separately and master it thoroughly before trying to combine the three in a work of
fiction. The simplest is narrative, and consists chiefly in the ability to tell a plain story straight on to the end,
just as in conversation Neighbor Gossip comes and tells a long story to her friend the Listener. A writer will
gain this skill if he practise on writing out tales or stories just as nearly as possible as a child would do it,
supposing the child had a sufficient vocabulary. Letter-writing, when one is away from home and wishes to
tell his intimate friends all that has happened to him, is practice of just this sort, and the best practice.

Newspaper articles are more descriptive than any other sort of writing. You have a description of a new
invention, of a great fire, of a prisoner at the bar of justice. It is not quite so spontaneous as narrative. Children
seldom describe, and the newspaper man finds difficulty in making what seems a very brief tale into a column
article until he can weave description as readily as he breathes.

Dialogue in a story is by no means the same as the dialogue of a play: it ought rather to be a description of a
conversation, and very seldom is it a full report of what is said on each side.

Description is used in its technical sense to designate the presentation of a scene without reference to events;
narrative is a description of events as they have happened, a dialogue is a description of conversation. Fiction
is essentially a descriptive art, and quite as much is it descriptive in dialogue as in any other part.

The best way to master dialogue as an element by itself is to study the novels of writers like Dickens,
Thackeray, or George Eliot. Dialogue has its full development only in the novel, and it is here and not in short
stories that the student of fiction should study it. The important points to be noticed are that only characteristic
and significant speeches are reproduced. When the conversation gives only facts that should be known to the
reader it is thrown into the indirect or narrative form, and frequently when the impression that a conversation
makes is all that is important, this impression is described in general terms instead of in a detailed report of
the conversation itself.

So much for the three different modes of writing individually considered. The important and difficult point
comes in the balanced combination of the three, not in the various parts of the story, but in each single
paragraph. Henry James in his paper on "The Art of Fiction," says very truly that every descriptive passage is
at the same time narrative, and every dialogue is in its essence also descriptive. The truth is, the writer of
stories has a style of his own, which we may call the narrative-descriptive-dialogue style, which is a union in
one and the same sentence of all three sorts of writing. In each sentence, to be sure, narrative or description or
dialogue will predominate; but still the narrative is always present in the description, and the description in the
dialogue, as Mr. James says; and if you take a paragraph this fact will appear more clearly, and if you take
three or four paragraphs, or a whole story, the fusion of all three styles in the same words is clearly apparent.

It is impossible to give fixed rules for the varying proportion of description, narration, or dialogue in any
given passage. The writer must guide himself entirely by the impression in his own mind. He sees with his
CHAPTER IX.                                                                                                  107
mind's eye a scene and events happening in it. As he describes this from point to point he constantly asks
himself, what method of using words will be most effective here? He keeps the impression always closely in
mind. He does not wander from it to put in a descriptive passage or a clever bit of dialogue or a pleasing
narrative: he follows out his description of the impression with faithful accuracy, thinking only of being true
to his own conception, and constantly ransacking his whole knowledge of language to get the best expression,
whatever it may be. Now it may be a little descriptive touch, now a sentence or two out of a conversation, now
plain narration of events. Dialogue is the most expansive and tiring, and should frequently be relieved by the
condensed narrative, which is simple and easy reading. Description should seldom be given in chunks, but
rather in touches of a brief and delicate kind, and with the aim of being suggestive rather than full and

Humor, and especially good humor, are indispensable to the most successful works of fiction. Above all other
kinds of writing, fiction must win the heart of the reader. And this requires that the heart of the writer should
be tender and sympathetic. Harsh critics call this quality sentiment, and even sentimentality. Dickens had it
above all other writers, and it is probable that this popularity has never been surpassed. Scott succeeded by his
splendid descriptions, but no one can deny that he was also one of the biggest hearted men in the world. And
Thackeray, with all his reserve, had a heart as tender and sympathetic as was ever borne by so polished a

As an almost perfect example of the blending of narrative, description, and dialogue, all welded into an
effective whole by the most delicate and winning sentiment, we offer the following selection from Barbox
Bros. & Co., in "Mugby Junction."


By Charles Dickens.

Although he had arrived at his journey's end for the day at noon, he had since insensibly walked about the
town so far and so long that the lamplighters were now at their work in the streets, and the shops were

"O! If you please, I am lost!"


"Yes," she said, confirming her words with a serious nod. "I am, indeed. I am lost."


"Where do you live, my child?"


"What is your name?"


"What is your other name?"

The reply was prompt, but unintelligible.
CHAPTER IX.                                                                                                    108

Imitating the sound, as he caught it, he hazarded the guess, "Trivits?"

"O no!" said the child, shaking her head. "Nothing like that."

"Say it again, little one"


He made the venture: "Paddens?"

"O no!" said the child. "Nothing like that."


A most hopeless business. This time it swelled into four syllables. "It can't be Tappitarver?" said s a i d
Barbox Brothers, rubbing his head with his hat in discomfiture.

"No! It ain't," the child quietly assented.

On her trying this unfortunate name once more, with extraordinary efforts at distinction, it swelled into eight
syllables at least.

"Ah! I think," said Barbox Brothers, with a desperate air of resignation, "that we had better give it up."

"But I am lost," said the child nestling her little hand more closely in his, "and you'll take care of me, won't

What is to be done!"


"Over there," he answered, pointing vaguely in the direction of the hotel.

"Hadn't we better go there?" said the child.


So they set off, hand in hand;---he, through comparison of himself against his little companion, with a clumsy
feeling on him as if he had just developed into a foolish giant;---she, clearly elevated in her own tiny opinion
by having got him so neatly out of his embarrassment.


"Well," he rejoined, "I---yes, I suppose we are."

"Do you like your dinner?" asked the child.


"I do mine," said Polly "Have you any brothers and sisters?"
CHAPTER IX.                                                                                                    109

"No, have you?"

"Mine are dead."

would not have known how to pursue the conversation beyond this curt rejoinder, but that the child was
always ready for him.

"What," she asked, turning her soft hand coaxingly in his, "are you going to do to amuse me, after dinner?"


"Then I tell you what," said Polly. "Have you got any cards at the house?"

"Plenty," said Barbox Brothers, in a boastful vein.


"O no!" said Barbox Brothers. "No, no, no! No blowing! Blowing's not fair."

by saying, compassionately: "What a funny man you are!"

all-conquering Jack, than he to be bound in slavery to Polly.

"Do you know any stories?" she asked him.

He was reduced to the humiliating confession:


He was reduced to the humiliating confession:

somebody else afterwards?"

words: "So this," or "And so this." As, "So this boy;" or, "So this fairy;" or "And so this pie was four yards
boy. Truly he was a fine sight, Barbox Brothers, with serious attentive face, an ear bent down, much jostled on
in it by-and-by and found deficient.

Exercise. Rewrite this little story, locating the scene in your own town and describing yourself in the place of
CHAPTER IX.                                                    110

Barbox Bros. Make as few changes in the wording as possible.
CHAPTER X.                                                                                                    111


Stephen Crane.

A peculiarly modern style is that in which very short sentences are used for pungent effect. If to this
characteristic of short sentences we add a slightly unusual though perfectly obvious use of common words, we
have what has been called the "epigrammatic style," though it does not necessarily have any epigrams in it. It
is the modern newspaper and advertisement writer's method of emphasis; and if it could be used in
moderation, or on occasion, it would be extremely effective. But to use it at all times and for all subjects is a
vice distinctly to be avoided.

Stephen Crane's "The Red Badge of Courage" is written almost wholly in this style. If we read three or four
chapters of this story we may see how tiring it is for the mind to be constantly jerked along. At the same time,
in a brief advertising booklet probably no other style that is sufficiently simple and direct would be as likely to
attract immediate attention and hold it for the short time usually required to read an advertisement.

Crane's style has a literary turn and quality which will not be found in the epigrammatic advertisement,
chiefly because Crane is descriptive, while the advertiser is merely argumentative. However, the
advertisement writer will learn the epigrammatic style most surely and quickly by studying the literary form
of it.

From "The Red Badge of Courage."

along the western sky partly smothering the red.


in the fields. . .

His thoughts as he walked fixed intently upon his hurt. There was a cool, liquid feeling about it and he
his neck to be inadequate.

fingers that clutched into his brain.

CHAPTER X.                                                                                                  112
youthful summer.


After reading this passage over a dozen times very slowly and carefully, and copying it phrase by phrase,
continue the narrative in Crane's style through two more paragraphs, bringing the story of this day's doing to
some natural conclusion.
CHAPTER XI.                                                                                                    113


The Bible, Franklin, Lincoln.

We have all heard that the simplest style is the strongest; and no doubt most of us have wondered how this
could be, as we turned over in our minds examples of what seemed to us simplicity, comparing them with the
rhetorical, the lofty, and the sublime passages we could call to mind.

Precisely this wonder was in the minds of a number of very well educated people who gathered to attend the
dedicatory exercises of the Gettysburg monument, and Abraham Lincoln gave them one of the very finest
illustrations in the whole range of the world's history, of how simplicity can be stronger than rhetoric. Edward
Everett was the orator of the day, and he delivered a most polished and brilliant oration. When he sat down the
friends of Lincoln regretted that this homely countryman was to be asked to "say a few words," since they felt
that whatever he might say would be a decided anticlimax. The few words that he did utter are the immortal
"Gettysburg speech," by far the shortest great oration on record. Edward Everett afterward remarked, "I wish I
could have produced in two hours the effect that Lincoln produced in two minutes." The tremendous effect of
that speech could have been produced in no other way than by the power of simplicity, which permits the
compression of more thought into a few words than any other style-form. All rhetoric is more or less windy.
The quality of a simple style is that in order to be anything at all it must be solid metal all the way through.

The Bible, the greatest literary production in the world as atheists and Christians alike admit, is our supreme
example of the wonderful power of simplicity, and it more than any other one book has served to mould the
style of great writers. To take a purely literary passage, what could be more affecting, yet more simple, than
these words from Ecclesiastes?

From "Ecclesiastes."

windows be darkened; and the doors shall be shut in the streets, when the sound of the grinding is low, and he
shall rise up at the voice of the bird, and all the daughters of music shall be brought low; also when they shall
spirit shall return unto God who gave it.

This is the sort of barbaric poetry that man in his natural and original state might be supposed to utter. It lacks
the nice logic and fine polish of Greek culture; indeed its grammar is somewhat confused. But there is a
higher logic than the logic of grammar, namely the logic of life and suffering. The man who wrote this
passage had put a year of his existence into every phrase; and that is why it happens that we can find here
more phrases quoted by everybody than we can even in the best passage of similar length in Shak{e}spe{a}re
or any other modern writer.

We see in proverbs how by the power of simplicity an enormous amount of thought can be packed into a
single line. Some of these have taken thousands of years to grow; and because so much time is required in the
making of them, our facile modern writers never produce any. Their fleeting epigrams appear to be spurious
coin the moment they are placed side by side with Franklin's epigrams, for instance. Franklin worked his
CHAPTER XI.                                                                                                   114

proverbs into the vacant spaces in his almanac during a period of twenty-five years, and then collected all
those proverbs into a short paper entitled, "The Way to Wealth." It may be added, also, that he did not even
originate most of these sayings, but only gave a new stamp to what he found in Hindu and Arabic records. For
all that, Poor Richard's Almanac is more likely to become immortal than even Franklin's own name and fame.

The history of Bacon's essays is another fine example of what simplicity can effect in the way of greatness.
These essays were originally nothing more than single sentences jotted down in a notebook, probably as an
aid to conversation. How many times they were worked over we have no means of knowing; but we have
three printed editions of the essays, each of which is immensely developed from what went before.

In reading the following lines from Franklin, let us reflect that not less than a year went to the writing of every
phrase that can be called great; and that if we could spend a year in writing a single sentence, it might be as
well worth preserving as these proverbs. Some men have been made famous by one sentence, usually because
it somehow expressed the substance of a lifetime.

From "Poor Richard's Almanac."

Father Abraham stood up and replied, "If you would have my advice, I will give it you in short; for a word to
the wise is enough, and essay words won't fill a bushel, as POOR RICHARD says."

They all joined him and desired him to speak his mind; and gathering them around him, he proceeded as

Friends, says he, and neighbors! The taxes are indeed very heavy; and if those laid on by the Government
Pride, and four times as much by our Folly; and from these taxes the Commissioners cannot ease or deliver us
helps them that helps themselves, as POOR RICHARD says in his Almanac of 1733.

in its service. But idleness taxes many of us much more; if we reckon all that is spent in absolute sloth, or
doing of nothing; with that which is spent in idle employments or amusements that amounts to nothing. Sloth,
by bringing on disease, absolutely shortens life. Sloth, like Rust, consumes faster than Labor wean; while the
used keg is always bright, as POOR RICHARD says. But dost thou love Life? Then do not squander time! for
that's the stuff Life is made of, as POOR RICHARD says.

How much more time than is necessary do we spend in sleep? forgetting that the sleeping fox catches no
poultry; and that there will be sleeping enough in the grave, as POOR RICHARD says.

If Time be of all things the most precious, wasting of Time must be (as POOR RICHARD says) the greatest
prodigality; and since, as he elsewhere tells us, Lost time is never found again; and what we call Time
enough! always proves little enough, let us then up and be doing, and doing to the purpose: so, by diligence,
shall we do more with less perplexity. Sloth makes all things difficult, but Industry all things easy, as POOR
RICHARD says: and He that riseth late, must trot all day; and shall scarce overtake his business at night.
While Laziness travels so slowly, that Poverty soon over-takes him, as we read in POOR RICHARD who
adds, Drive thy business! Let not that drive thee! and Early to bad and early to rise, Makes a man healthy,
wealthy, and wise.

As Franklin extracted these sayings one by one out of the Arabic and other sources, in each case giving the
phrases a new turn, and as Bacon jotted down in his notebook every witty word he heard, so we will make
reputations for ourselves if we are always picking up the good things of others and using them whenever we
CHAPTER XI.                                                                                                    115



By Abraham Lincoln.


world will little note, nor long remember, what we, say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is
so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us,---that from
devotion, ---that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain,---that this nation, under
God, shall have a new birth of freedom,---and that government of the people, by the people, for the people,
shall not perish from the earth.
CHAPTER XII.                                                                                                    116


Irving and Hawthorne.

A work of literary art is like a piece of music: one false note makes a discord that spoils the effect of the
whole. But it is useless to give rules for writing an harmonious style. When one sits down to write he should
give his whole thought and energy to expressing himself forcibly and with the vital glow of an overpowering
interest. An interesting thought expressed with force and suggestiveness is worth volumes of commonplaces
couched in the most faultless language. The writer should never hesitate in choosing between perfectness of
language and vigor. On the first writing verbal perfection should be sacrificed without a moment's hesitation.
But when a story or essay has once been written, the writer will turn his attention to those small details of
style. He must harmonize his language. He must polish. It is one of the most tedious processes in literature,
and to the novice the most difficult on which to make a beginning. Yet there is nothing more surely a matter
of labor and not of genius. It is for this that one masters grammar and rhetoric, and studies the individual uses
of words. Carried to an extreme it is fatal to vitality of style. But human nature is more often prone to shirk,
and this is the thing that is passed over from laziness. If you find one who declaims against the utmost care in
verbal polish, you will find a lazy man.

The beginner, however, rarely knows how to set to work, and this chapter is intended to give some practical
hints. We assume that the student knows perfectly well what good grammar is, as well as the leading
principles of rhetoric, and could easily correct his faults in these if he should see them. There are several
distinct classes of errors to look for: faults of grammar, such as the mixing of modes and tenses, and the
agreement of verbs and particles in number when collective nouns are referred to; faults of rhetoric, such as
the mixing of figures of speech; faults of taste, such as the use of words with a disagreeable or misleading
atmosphere about them, though their strict meaning makes their use correct enough; faults of repetition of the
same word in differing senses in the same sentence or paragraph; faults of tediousness of phrasing or
explanation; faults of lack of clearness in expressing the exact meaning; faults of sentimental use of language,
that is, falling into fine phrases which have no distinct meaning---the most discordant fault of all; faults of
digression in the structure of the composition.

This list is comprehensive of the chief points to look for in verbal revision. Faults of grammar need no
explanation here. But we would say, Beware. The most skilled writers are almost constantly falling into errors
of this kind, for they are the most subtle and elusive of all, verbal failings. There is, indeed, but one certain
way to be sure that they are all removed, and that is by parsing every word by grammatical formula it is a
somewhat tedious method, but by practice one may weigh each word with rapidity, and it is only by
considering each word alone that one may be sure that nothing is passed over. In the same way each phrase or
sentence, or figure of speech, should be weighed separately, for its rhetorical accuracy.

Faults of taste are detected by a much more delicate process than the application of formula+e, but they
almost invariably arise (if ones native sense is keen) from the use of a word in a perfectly legitimate and pure
sense, when the public attaches to it an atmosphere (let us call it) which is vulgar or disagreeable. In such
cases the word should be sacrificed, for the atmosphere of a word carries a hundred times more weight with
the common reader than the strict and logical meaning. For instance, the word mellow is applied to over-ripe
fruit, and to light of a peculiarly soft quality, if one is writing for a class of people who are familiar with the
poets, it is proper enough to use the word in its poetic sense; but if the majority of the readers of one's work
always associate mellow with over-ripe fruit, to use it in its poetic sense would be disastrous.

The repetition of the same word many times in succeeding phrases is a figure of speech much used by certain
recognized writers, and is a most valuable one. Nor should one be afraid of repetition whenever clearness
makes it necessary. But the repetition of the same word in differing senses in adjoining phrases is a fault to be
CHAPTER XII.                                                                                                   117
strictly guarded against. The writer was himself once guilty of perpetrating the following abomination: "The
form which represented her, though idealized somewhat, is an actual likeness elevated by the force of the
sculptor's love into a form of surpassing beauty. It is her form reclining on a couch, only a soft, thin drapery
covering her transparent form, her head slightly raised and turned to one side, and having concentrated in its
form and posture the height of the whole figure's beauty." Careful examination will show that form, used five
times in this paragraph, has at least three very slightly differing meanings, a fact which greatly adds to the
objectionableness of the recurrence of the sound.

A writer who has a high regard for accuracy and completeness of expression is very liable to fall into
tediousness in his explanations, he realizes that he is tedious, but he asks, "How can I say what I have to say
without being tedious?" Tediousness means that what is said is not worth saying at all, or that it can be said in
fewer words. The best method of condensation is the use of some pregnant phrase or comparison which
rapidly suggests the meaning without actually stating it. The art of using suggestive phrases is the secret of

But in the rapid telling of a story or description of a scene, perhaps no fault is so surely fatal as a momentary
lapse into meaningless fine phrases, or sentimentality. In writing a vivid description the author finds his pen
moving even after he has finished putting down every significant detail. He is not for the moment sure that he
has finished, and thinks that to complete the picture, to "round it up," a few general phrases are necessary. But
when he re-reads what he has written, he sees that it fails, for some unknown reason, of the power of effect on
which he had counted. His glowing description seems tawdry, or overwrought. He knows that it is not
possible that the whole is bad:

But where is the difficulty?

Almost invariably the trouble will be found to be in some false phrase, for one alone is enough to spoil a
whole production. It is as if a single flat or sharp note is introduced into a symphony, producing a discord
which rings through the mind during the whole performance.

To detect the fault, go over the work with the utmost care, weighing each item of the description, and asking
the question, Is that an absolutely necessary and true element of the picture I had in mind? Nine times out of
ten the writer will discover some sentence or phrase which may be called a "glittering generality," or that is a
weak repetition of what has already been well said, or that is simply "fine" language---sentimentality of some
sort. Let him ruthlessly cut away that paragraph, sentence, or phrase, and then re-read. It is almost startling to
observe how the removal or addition of a single phrase will change the effect of a description covering many

But often a long composition will lack harmony of structure, a fault very different from any we have
mentioned, Hitherto we have spoken of definite faults that must be cut out. It is as often necessary to make

In the first place, each paragraph must be balanced within itself. The language must be fluent and varied, and
each thought or suggestion must flow easily and smoothly into the next, unless abruptness is used for a
definite purpose. Likewise each successive stage of a description or dialogue must have its relative as well as
its intrinsic value. The writer must study carefully the proportions of the parts, and nicely adjust and
harmonize each to the other. Every paragraph, every sentence, every phrase and word, should have its own
distinct and clear meaning, and the writer should never allow himself to be in doubt as to the need or value of
this or that.

To secure harmony of style and structure is a matter of personal judgment and study. Though rules for it
cannot be given, it will be found to be a natural result of following all the principles of grammar, rhetoric, and
composition. But the hard work involved in securing this proportion and harmony of structure can never be
CHAPTER XII.                                                                                                  118
avoided or evaded without disastrous consequences. Toil, toil, toil! That should be every writer's motto if be
aspires to success, even in the simplest forms of writing.

The ambitious writer will not learn harmony of style from any single short selection, however perfect such a
composition may be in itself. It requires persistent reading, as well as very thoughtful reading, of the masters
of perfect style. Two such masters are especially to be recommended,---Irving and Hawthorne. And among
their works, the best for such study are "The Sketchbook," especially Rip Van Winkle and Legend of Sleepy
Hollow, by Irving, and "The Scarlet Letter" and such short stories as "The Great Stone Face," by Hawthorne.
books should be read and re-read many times; and whenever any composition is to be tested, it may

In conclusion we would say that the study of too many masterpieces is an error. It means that none of them are
fully absorbed or mastered. The selections here given,* together with the volumes recommended above, may
of course be judiciously supplemented if occasion requires; but as a rule, these will be found ample. Each type
should be studied and mastered, one type after another. It would be a mistake to omit any one, even if it is a
type that does not particularly interest the student, and is one he thinks he will never wish to use in its purity:
mastery of it will enrich any other style that may be chosen: If it is found useful for shaping no more than a
single sentence, it is to be remembered that that sentence may shape the destinies of a life.

*A fuller collection of the masterpieces of style than the present volume contains may be found in "The Best
English Essays," edited by Sherwin Cody.
CHAPTER XIII.                                                                                                  119


So far we have given our attention to style, the effective use of words.

We will now consider some of those general principles of thought end expression which are essential to
distinctively literary composition; and first the relation between imagination and reality, or actuality.

In real life a thousand currents cross each other, and counter cross, and cross again. Life is a maze of endless
continuity, to which, nevertheless, we desire to find some key. Literature offers us a picture of life to which
there is a key, and by some analogy it suggests explanations of real life. It is of far more value to be true to the
principles of life than to the outer facts. The outer facts are fragmentary and uncertain, mere passing
suggestions, signs in the darkness. The principles of life are a clew of thread which may guide the human
judgment through many dark and difficult places. It is to these that the artistic writer must be true.

In the real incident the writer sees an idea which he thinks may illustrate a principle he knows of. The
observed fact must illustrate the principle, but he must shape it to that end. A carver takes a block of wood and
sets out to make a vase. First he cuts away all the useless parts: The writer should reject all the useless facts
connected with his story and reserve only what illustrates his idea. Often, however, the carver finds his block
of wood too small, or imperfect. Perfect blocks of wood are rare, and so are perfect stories in real life. The
carver cuts out the imperfect part and fits in a new piece of wood. Perhaps the whole base of his vase must be
made of another piece and screwed on.

It is quite usual that the whole setting of a story must come from another source. One has observed life in a
thousand different phases, just as a carver has accumulated about him scores of different pieces of wood
varying in shape and size to suit almost any possible need. When a carver makes a vase he takes one block for
the main portion, the starting point in his work, and builds up the rest from that. The writer takes one real
incident as the chief one, and perfects it artistically by adding dozens of other incidents that he has observed.
The writer creates only in the sense that the wood carver creates his vase. He does not create ideas cut of
nothing, any more than the carver creates the separate blocks of wood. The writer may coin his own soul into
substance for his stories, but creating out of one's mind and creating out of nothing are two very different
things. The writer observes himself, notices how his mind works, how it behaves under given circumstances,
and that gives him material exactly the same in kind as that which he gains from observing the working of
other people's mind.

But the carver in fashioning a vase thinks of the effect it will produce when it is finished, on the mind of his
customer or on the mind of any person who appreciates beauty; and his whole end and aim is for this result.
He cuts out what he thinks will hinder, and puts in what he thinks will help. He certainly does a great deal
more than present polished specimens of the various kinds of woods he has collected. The creative
writer---who intends to do something more than present polished specimens of real life---must work on the
same plan. He must write for his realer, for his audience.

But just what is it to write for an audience? The essential element in it is some message a somebody. A
message is of no value unless it is to somebody be particular. Shouting messages into the air when you do not
know whether any one is at hand to hear would be equally foolish whether a writer gave forth his message of
inspiration in that way, or a telegraph boy shouted his message in front of the telegraph off{i}ce in the hope
that the man to whom the message was addressed might be passing, or that some of him friends might
overhear it.

The newspaper reporter goes to see a fire, finds out all about it, writes it up, and sends it to his paper. The
paper prints it for the readers, who are anxious to know what the fire was and the damage it did. The reporter
CHAPTER XIII.                                                                                                    120
does not write it up in the spirit of doing it for the pleasure there is in nor does he allow himself to do it in the
manner his mood dictates. He writes so that certain people will get certain facts and ideas. The facts he had
nothing to do with creating, nor did he make the desire of the people. He was simply a messenger, a purveyor.

The producer of literature, we have said, must write for an audience; but he does not go and hunt up his
audience, find out its needs, and then tell to it his story. He simple writes for the audience that he knows,
which others have prepared for him. To know human life, to know what people really need, is work for a
genius. It resembles the building up of a daily paper, with its patronage and its study of the public pulse. But
the reporter has little or nothing to do with that. Likewise the ordinary writer should not trouble himself about
so large a problem, at least until he has mastered the simpler ones. Writing for an audience if one wants to get
printed in a certain magazine is writing those things which one finds by experience the readers of that
magazine, as represented in the editor, want to read. Or one may write with his mind on those readers of the
magazine whom he knows personally. The essential point is that the effective writer must cease to think of
himself when he begins to write, and turn his mental vision steadily upon the likes or needs of his possible
readers, selecting some definite reader in particular if need be. At any rate, he must not write vaguely for
people he does not know. If he please these he does know, he may also please many he does not know. The
best he can do is to take the audience he thoroughly understands, though it be an audience of one, and write
CHAPTER XIV.                                                                                                    121


We have seen how a real incident is worked over into the fundamental idea for a composition. The same
principle ought to hold in the use of real persons in making the characters in, a novel, or any story where
character-drawing is an important item. In a novel especially, the characters must be drawn with the greatest
care. They must be made genuine personages. Yet the ill-taste of "putting your friends into a story" is only
less pronounced than the bad art or drawing characters purely out of the imagination. There is no art in the
slavish copying of persons in real life. Yet it is practically impossible to create genuine characters in the mind
without reference to real life. The simple solution would seem to be to follow the method of the painter who
uses models, though in so doing he does not make portraits. There was a time in drawing when the school of
"out-of-the-headers" prevailed, but their work was often grotesque, imperfect, and sometimes utterly futile in
expressing even the idea the artist had in mind. The opposite extreme in graphic art is photography. The
rational use of models is the happy mean between the two. But the good artist always draws with his eye on
the object, and the good writer should write with his eye on a definite conception or some real thing or person,
from which he varies consciously and for artistic purpose.

The ordinary observer sees first the peculiarities of a thing. If he is looking at an old gentleman he sees a fly
sitting upon the bald spot on his head, a wart on his nose, his collar pulled up behind. But the trained and
artistic observer sees the peculiarly perfect outline of the old man's features and form, and in the tottering, gait
bent shoulders, and soiled senility a straight, handsome youth, fastidious in his dress and perfect in his form.
Such the old man was once, and all the elements of his broken youth are clearly visible under the hapless
veneer of time for the one who has an eye to see. This is but one illustration of many that might be offered. A
poor shop girl may have the bearing of a princess. Among New York illustrators the typical model for a
society girl is a young woman of the most ordinary birth and breeding, misfortunes which are clearly visible
in her personal appearance. But she has the bearing, the air of the social queen, and to the artist she is that
alone. He does not see the veneer of circumstances, though the real society girl would see nothing else in her
humble artistic rival.

In drawing characters the writer has a much larger range of models from which to choose, in one sense. His
childhood up. Each person he has known has left an impression on his mind, and that impression is the thing
he considers. The art of painting requires the actual presence in physical person of the model, a limitation the
writer fortunately does not have. At the same time, the artist of the brush can seek new models and bring them
into his studio without taking too much time or greatly inconveniencing himself. The writer can get new
models only by changing his whole mode of life. Travel is an excellent thing, yet practically it proves
inadequate. The fleeting impressions do not remain, and only what remains steadily and permanently in the
mind can be used as a model by the novelist.

But during a lifetime one accumulates a large number of models simply by habitually observing everything
that comes in one's way. When the writer takes up {the} pen to produce a story, he searches through his
mental collection for a suitable model. Sometimes it is necessary to use several models in drawing the same
character, one for this characteristic, and another for that. But in writing the novelist should have his eye on
his model just as steadily and persistently as the painter, for so alone can he catch the spirit and inner truth of
nature; and art. If it is anything, is the interpretation of nature. The ideal character must be made the
interpretation of the real one, not a photographic copy, not idealization or glorification or caricature, unless
the idealization or glorification or caricature has a definite value in the interpretation.
CHAPTER XV.                                                                                                     122


In all effective writing contrast is far more than a figure of speech: it is an essential element in making
strength. A work of literary art without contrast may have all the elements of construction, style, and
originality of idea, but it will be weak, narrow, limp. The truth is, contrast is the measure of the breadth of
one's observation. We often think of it as a figure of speech, a method of language which we use for effect. A
better view of it is as a measure of breadth. You have a dark, wicked man on one side, and a fair, sunny, sweet
woman on the other. These are two extremes, a contrast, and they include all between. If a writer understands
these extremes he understands all between, and if in a story he sets up one type against another he in a way
marks out those extremes as the boundaries of his intellectual field, and he claims all within them. If the
contrast is great, he claims a great field; if feeble, then he has only a narrow field.

Contrast and one's power of mastering it indicate one's breadth of thought and especially the breadth of one's
thinking in a particular creative attempt. Every writer should strive for the greatest possible breadth, for the
greater his breadth the more people there are who will be interested in his work. Narrow minds interest a few
people, and broad minds interest correspondingly many. The best way to cultivate breadth is to cultivate the
use of contrast in your writing.

But to assume a breadth which one does not have, to pass from one extreme to another without perfect
mastery of all that lies between, results in being ridiculous. It is like trying to extend the range of the voice too
far. One desires a voice with the greatest possible range; but if in forcing the voice up one breaks into a
falsetto, the effect is disastrous. So in seeking range of character expression one must be very careful not to
break into a falsetto, while straining the true voice to its utmost in order to extend its range.

Let us now pass from the contrast of characters and situations of the most general kind to contrasts of a more
particular sort. Let us consider the use of language first. Light conversation must not last too long or it
becomes monotonous, as we all know. But if the writer can pass sometimes rapidly from tight conversation to
serious narrative, both the light dialogue and the serious seem the more expressive for the contrast. The only
thing to be considered is, can you do it with perfect ease and grace? If you cannot, better let it alone.
Likewise, the long sentence may be used in one paragraph, and a fine contrast shown by using very short
sentences in the next.

But let us distinguish between variety and contrast. The writer may pass from long sentences to short ones
when the reader has tired of long ones, and vice versa, he may pass from a tragic character to a comic one in
order to rest the mind of the reader. In this there will be no very decided contrast. But when the two extremes
are brought close together, are forced together perhaps, then we have an electric effect. To use contrast well
requires great skill in the handling of language, for contrast means passing from one extreme to another in a
very short space, and if this, passing is not done gracefully, the whole effect is spoiled.

detail, incident, or even simile. Let us examine a few of the contrasts in Maupassant, for he is a great adept in
their use.

Let us take the opening paragraph of "The Necklace" and see what a marvel of contrast it is: "She was one of
She had no dowry, no expectations, no means of being known, understood, loved, wedded, by any rich and
distinguished man; and she had let herself be married to a little clerk in the Ministry of Public Instruction."
Notice "pretty and charming"--- "family of clerks." These two contrasted ideas (implied ideas, of course) are
gracefully linked by "as if by a mistake of destiny." Then the author goes on to mention what the girl did not
have in a way that implies that she ought to have had all these things. She could not be wedded to "any rich
CHAPTER XV.                                                                                                    123
and distinguished man"; "she let herself be married to a little clerk."

The whole of the following description of Madam Loisel is one mass of clever contrasts of the things she
might have been, wanted to be, with what she was and had. A little farther on, however, we get a different sort
of contrast. Though poor, she has a rich friend. Then her husband brings home an invitation at which he is
perfectly delighted. Immediately she is shown wretched, a striking contrast. He is shown patient; she is
irritated. She is selfish in wishing a dress and finery; he is unselfish in giving up his gun and the shooting.

With the ball the author gives us a description of Madam Loisel having all she had dreamed of having. Her
hopes are satisfied completely, it appears, until suddenly, when she is about to go away, the fact of her lack of
wraps contrasts tellingly with her previous attractiveness. These two little descriptions---one of the success of
the ball, one of hurrying away in shame, the wretched cab and all---are a most forcible contrast, and most
skilfully and naturally represented. The previous happiness is further set into relief by the utter wretchedness
she experiences upon discovering the loss of the necklace.

Then we have her new life of hard work, which we contrast in mind not only with what she had really been
having, but with that which she had dreamed of having, had seemed about to realize, and had suddenly lost for

Then at last we have the contrast, elaborate, strongly drawn and telling, between Madam Loisel after ten years
and her friend, who represents in flesh and blood what she might have been. Then at the end comes the short,
sharp contrast of paste and diamonds.

In using contrast one does not have to search for something to set up against something else. Every situation
has a certain breadth, it has two sides, whether they are far apart or near together. To give the real effect of a
conception it is necessary to pass from one side to the other very rapidly and frequently, for only in so doing
can one keep the whole situation in mind. One must see the whole story, both sides and all in between, at the
same time. The more one sees at the same time, the more of life one grasps and the more invigorating is the
composition. The use of contrast is eminently a matter of acquired skill, and when one has become skilful he
uses contrast unconsciously and with the same effort that he makes his choice of words.


Errors in the Use of Words.

All of. Omit the of.

Aggravate. Does not mean provoke or irritate.

Among one another. This phrase is illogical.

And who. Omit the and unless there is a preceding who to which this is an addition.

Another from. Should be another then.

Anyhow, meaning at any rate, is not to be used in literary composition.

Any place. Incorrect for anywhere.

At. We live at a small place, in a large one, and usually arrive at, not in.

Avocation. Not to be confused with vocation, a main calling, since avocation is a side calling.
CHAPTER XV.                                                                                            124

Awful does not mean very.

Back out. An Americanism for withdraw.

Balance. Not proper for remainder, but only for that which makes equal.

Beginner. Never say new beginner.

Beside; besides. The first means by the side of, the second in addition to.

Be that as it will. Say, be that as it may.

Blame on. We may lay the blame on, but we cannot blame it on any one.

But what. Should be but that.

Calculate. Do not use for intend.

Can. Do not use for may. "May I go with you?" not "Can I go with you?"

Clever. Does not mean good-natured, but talented.

Demean. Means to behave, not to debase or degrade.

Disremember. Now obsolete.

Don't. Not to be used for doesn't, after a singular subject such as he.

Else. Not follow by but; say, "nothing else than pride."

Expect. Do not use for think, as in "I expect it is so."

Fetch. Means to go and bring, hence go and fetch is wrong.

Fix. Not used for arrange or the like, as "fix the furniture."

From. Say, "He died of cholera," not from.

Got. Properly you "have got" what you made an effort to get, not what you merely "have."

Graduate. Say, "The man is graduated from college," and "The college graduates the man."

Had ought. Ought never requires any part of the verb to have.

Had rather, had better. Disputed, but used by good writers.

Handy. Does not mean near by.

In so far as. Omit the in.

Kind of. After these two words omit a, and say, "What kind of man," not "What kind of a man." Also, do not
say, "kind of tired."
CHAPTER XV.                                                                                                     125

Lady. Feminine for lord, therefore do not speak of a "sales-lady," "a man and his lady," etc.

Last; latter. We say latter of two, in preference to last; but last of three.

Lay; lie. We lay a thing down, but we ourselves lie down; we say, "He laid the Bible on the table," but "He lay
down on the couch;" "The coat has been laid away," and "It has lain in the drawer." Lay, laid, laid--takes an
object; lie, lay, lain--does not.

Learn. Never used as an active verb with an object, a in "I learned him his letters." We say, "He learned his
letters," and "I taught him his letters."

Learned. "A learned man"--pronounce learn-ed with two syllables; but "He has learned his lesson"--one

Like. Do not say, "Do like I do." Use as when a conjunction is required.

Lives. Do not say, "I had just as lives as not," but "I had just as Lief."

Lot. Does not mean many, as in "a lot of men," but one division, as, "in that lot."

Lovely. Do not overwork this word. A rose may be lovely, but hardly a plate of soup.

Mad. We prefer to say angry if we mean out of temper.

Mistaken. Some critics insist that it is wrong to say "I am mistaken" when we mean "I mistake."

Love. We like candy rather than love it. Save Love for something higher.

Most. In writing, do not use 'most for almost.

Mutual friend. Though Dickens used this expression in one of his titles in the sense of common friend, it is
considered incorrect by many critics. The proper meaning of mutual is reciprocal.

Nothing Like. Do not say, "Nothing like as handsome."

Of all others. Not proper after a superlative; as, "greatest of all others," the meaning being "the greatest of all,"
or "great above all others."

Only. Be careful not to place this word so that its application will be doubtful, as in "His mother only spoke to
him," meaning "Only his mother."

On to. Not one word like into. Use it as you would on and to together.

Orate. Not good usage.

Plenty. Say, "Fruit was plentiful," not "plenty."

Preventative. Should be preventive.

Previous. Say, "previously to," not "previous to." Also, do not say, "He was too previous"--it is a pure
CHAPTER XV.                                                                                                     126

Providing. Say, "Provided he has money," not "Providing."

Propose. Do not confuse with purpose. One proposes a plan, but purposes to do something, though it is also
possible a propose, or make a proposition, to do something.

Quite. Do not say, "Quite a way," or "Quite a good deal," but reserve the word for such phrases as "Quite
sure," "Quite to the edge," etc.

Raise; rise. Never tell a person to "raise up," meaning "raise himself up," but to "rise up." Also, do not speak
of "raising children," though we may "raise horses."

Scarcely. Do not say, "I shall scarcely (hardly) finish before night," though it is proper to use it of time, as in
"I saw him scarcely an hour ago."

Seldom or ever. Incorrect for "seldom if ever."

Set; sit. We set the cup down, and sit down ourselves. The hen sits; the sun sets; a dress sits.

Sewerage; sewage. The first means the system of sewers, the second the waste matter.

Some. Do not say, "I am some tired," "I like it some," etc.

Stop. Say, "Stay in town," not "Stop in town."

Such another. Say "another such."

They. Do not refer to any one, by they, their, or them; as in "If any one wishes a cup of tea, they may get it in
the next room." Say, "If any one . . he may . . ."

Transpire. Does not mean "occur," and hence we do not say "Many events transpired that year." We may say,
"It transpired that he had been married a year."

Unique. The word means single, alone, the only one so we cannot say, "very unique," or the like.

Very. Say, "very much pleased," not "very pleased," though the latter usage is sustained by some authorities.

Ways. Say, "a long way," not "a long ways."

Where. A preposition of place is not required with where, and it is considered incorrect to say, "Where is he
gone to?"

Whole of. Omit the of.

Without. Do not say, "Without it rains," etc., in the sense of unless, except.

Witness. Do not say, "He witnessed a bull-fight"; reserve it for "witnessing a signature," and the like.

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