Proportion. One thing further should be said regarding Mass. Not everything can stand first or last; some important details must be placed in the midst of a description. These particulars will not be of equal importance. The more important details may be given their proportionate emphasis by relatively increasing the length of their treatment. If one detail is more important than another, it requires more to be 74 said about it; unimportant matters should be passed over with a word. Proportion in the length of treatment is a guide to the relative importance of the matters introduced into a description.
In the description of “The House of Usher,” position emphasizes the barely perceptible fissure. Proportion singles out the crumbling condition of the individual stones and makes this detail more emphatic than either the discoloration or the fungi. And in Newman’s description, the olive-tree, the brilliant atmosphere, the thyme, the bees, all add to the charms of bright and beautiful Athens; but most of all the Ægean, with its chain of islands, its dark violet billows, its jets of silver, the heaving and panting of its long waves,—the restless living element fascinates and enraptures “yon pilgrim student.” Position and proportion are the means of emphasis in a paragraph of description.
Arrangement must be natural. Having settled the massing of the description, the next matter for consideration is the arrangement. In order that the parts of a description may be coherent, hold together, they should be arranged in the order in which they would naturally be perceived. What strikes the eye of the beholder as most important, often the general characteristic of the whole, should be mentioned first; and the details should follow as they are seen. In a building, the usual way of observing and describing is from foundation to turret stone. A landscape may be described by beginning with what is near and extending the view; this is common. Sometimes the very opposite plan is pursued; or one may begin on either hand and advance toward the other. Of a person near by, the face is the first thing observed; for it is there that his character can be best discovered. Afterward details 75 of clothing follow as they would naturally be noticed. If a person be at a distance his pose and carriage would be about all that could be seen; as he approaches, the other details would be mentioned as they came into view. To arrange details in the order in which they are naturally observed will result in an association in the description of the details that are contiguous in the objects. Jumping about in a description is a source of confusion. How entirely it may ruin a paragraph can be estimated by the effect upon this single sentence, “He was tall, with feet that might have served for shovels, narrow shoulders, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, long arms and legs, and his whole frame most loosely hung together.” This rearrangement makes but a disjointed and feeble impression; and the reason is entirely that an order in which no person ever observed a man has been substituted for the commonest order,—from head to foot. Arrange details so that the parts which are contiguous shall be associated in the description, and proceed in the order in which the details are naturally observed.
The following is by Irving; he is describing the stage-coachman:—
“He has commonly a broad, full face, curiously mottled with red, as if the blood had been forced by hard feeding into every vessel of the skin; he is swelled into jolly dimensions by frequent potations of malt liquors, and his bulk is still further increased by a multiplicity of coats, in which he is buried like a cauliflower, the upper one reaching to his heels. He wears a broad-brimmed, low-crowned hat; a huge roll of colored handkerchief about his neck, knowingly knotted and tucked in at the bosom; and has in summer time a large bouquet of flowers in his buttonhole, the present, most probably, of some enamored country lass. His waistcoat is commonly of some bright color, striped, and his small-clothes 76 extend far below the knees, to meet a pair of jockey boots which reach about half way up his legs.”12
Use Familiar Images. When the materials have been selected and arranged, the hardest part of the work has been done. It now remains to express in language the picture. A few suggestions regarding the kind of language will be helpful. The writer must always bear in mind the fact that in constructing a mental picture each reader does it from the images he already possesses. “Quaint arabesques” is without meaning to many persons; and until the word has been looked up in the dictionary, and the picture seen there, the beautiful line of “Sir Launfal” suggests no image whatever. So when Stevenson speaks of the birds in the “clerestories of the wood cathedral,” the image is not distinct in the mind of a young American. Supposing a pupil in California were asked to describe an orange to an Esquimau. He might say that it is a spheroid about the size of an apple, and the color of one of Lorraine’s sunsets. This would be absolutely worthless to a child of the frigid zone. Had he been told that an orange was about the size of a snowball, much the color of the flame of a candle, that the peeling came off like the skin from a seal, and that the inside was good to eat, he would have known more of this fruit. The images which lie in our minds and from which we construct new pictures are much like the blocks that a child-builder rearranges in many different forms; but the blocks do not change. From them he may build a castle or a mill; yet the only difference is a difference in arrangement. So it is with the pictures we build up in imagination: our castle in Spain we have never seen, but the individual elements which we associate to lift up this happy dwelling-place are the things we know and have seen. A reader creates nothing new; 77 all he does is to rearrange in his own mind the images already familiar. Only so may he pass from the known to the unknown.
The fact that we construct pictures of what we read from those images already in our minds warns the writer against using materials which those for whom he writes could not understand. It compels him to select definite images, and it urges him to use the common and the concrete. It frequently drives him to use comparisons.
Use of Comparisons. To represent the extremely bare and unornamented appearance of a building, one might write, “It looked like a great barn,” or “It was a great barn.” In either case the image would be definite, common, and concrete. In both cases there is a comparison. In the first, where the comparison is expressed, there is a simile; in the second, where the comparison is only implied, there is a metaphor. These two figures of speech are very common in description, and it is because they are of great value. One other is sometimes used,—personification, which ascribes to inanimate things the attributes of life which are the property of animate nature. What could be happier than this by Stevenson: “All night long he can hear Nature breathing deeply and freely; even as she takes her rest she turns and smiles”? or this, “A faint sound, more like a moving coolness than a stream of air”? And at the end of the chapter which describes his “night under the pines,” he speaks of the “tapestries” and “the inimitable ceiling” and “the view which I command from the windows.” In this one chapter are personification, simile, metaphor,—all comparisons, and doing what could hardly be done without them. Common, distinct, concrete images are surest.
Choice of Words. Adjectives and Nouns. To body forth these common, distinct, concrete 78 images calls for a discriminating choice of words; for in the choice of words lies a large part of the vividness of description. If the thing described be unknown to the reader, it requires the right word to place it before him; if it be common, still must the right word be found to set it apart from the thousand other objects of the same class. The words that may justly be called describing words are adjectives and nouns; and of these the adjective is the first descriptive word. The rule that a writer should never use two adjectives where one will do, and that he should not use one if a noun can be found that completely expresses the thought, is a good one to follow. One certain stroke of the crayon is worth a hundred lines, each approaching the right one. One word, the only one, will tell the truth more vividly than ten that approach its expression. For it must be remembered that a description must be done quickly; every word that is used and does nothing is not only a waste of time, but is actually in the way. In a description every word must count. It may be a comparison, an epithet, personification, or what not, but whatever method is adopted, the right word must do it quickly.
How much depends on the nice choice of words may be seen by a study of the selections already quoted; and especially by a careful reading of those by Stevenson and Everett. To show the use of adjectives and nouns in description, the following from Kipling is a good illustration. Toomai had just reached the elephants’ “ball-room” when he saw—
“white-tusked wild males, with fallen leaves and nuts and twigs lying in the wrinkles of their necks and the folds of their ears; fat, slow-footed she-elephants, with restless pinky-black calves only three or four feet high, running under their stomachs; young elephants with their tusks just beginning 79 to show, and very proud of them; lanky, scraggy, old-maid elephants, with their hollow, anxious faces, and trunks like rough bark; savage old bull-elephants, scarred from shoulder to flank with great weals and cuts of by-gone fights, and the caked dirt of their solitary mud bath dropping from their shoulders; and there was one with a broken tusk and the marks of the full-stroke, the terrible drawing scrape of a tiger’s claw on his side.”13
One third of the words in this paragraph are descriptive nouns and adjectives, none of which the reader wishes to change.
Use of Verbs. Verbs also have a great value in description. In the paragraph picturing the dawn, Stevenson has not neglected the verbs. “Welled,” “whitened,” “trembled,” “brightened,” “warmed,” “kindled,” and so on through the paragraph. Try to change them, and it is apparent that something is lost by any substitution. Kaa, the python, “pours himself along the ground.” If he is angry, “Baloo and Bagheera could see the big swallowing-muscles on either side of Kaa’s throat ripple and bulge.“
Yet in the choice of words, one may search for the bizarre and unusual rather than for the truly picturesque. Stevenson at times seems to have lapsed. When he says that Modestine would feel a switch “more tenderly than my cane;” that he “must instantly maltreat this uncomplaining animal,” meaning constantly; and at another place that he “had to labor so consistently with” his stick that the sweat ran into his eyes, there is a suspicion of a desire for the sensational rather than the direct truth. On the other hand, the beginner finds himself using words that have lost, their meaning through indiscriminate usage. “Awful good,” “awful pretty,” and “awful sweet” mean something less than good, pretty, and sweet. “Lovely,” 80 “dear,” “splendid,” “unique,” and a large number of good words have been much dulled by the ignorant use of babblers. Superlatives and all words denoting comparison should be used with stinginess. One cannot afford to part with this kind of coin frequently; the cheaper coins should be used, else he will find an empty purse when need arises. Thackeray has this: “Her voice was the sweetest, low song.” How much better this, Her voice was a sweet, low song. All the world is shut out from this, while in the former he challenges the world by the comparison. Shakespeare was wiser when he made Lear say,—
“Her voice was ever soft,
Gentle, and low,—an excellent thing in woman.”
Avoid words which have lost their meaning by indiscriminate use; shun the sensational and the bizarre; use superlatives with economy; but in all you do, whether in unadorned or figurative language, choose the word that is quick and sure and vivid—the one word that exactly suggests the picture.
SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS AND EXERCISES
QUESTIONS.
THE OLD MANSE.
(Riverside Literature Series, No. 69.)
Are there narrative portions in “The Old Manse”? paragraphs of exposition?
Do you term the whole narration, description, or exposition? Why?
Frame a sentence which you think would be an adequate topic sentence for the whole piece.
What phrase in the first paragraph allows the author to begin the second with the words, “Nor, in truth, had the Old Manse,” etc.? Where in the second paragraph is found the words which are the source of “my design,” mentioned in the third? How does the author pass from the fourth paragraph to the fifth? In the same way note the connections between the succeeding paragraphs. They are most skillfully dovetailed together. Now make a list of the phrases in the first fifteen pages which introduce paragraphs, telling from what in the preceding paragraph each new paragraph springs. Do you think that such a felicitous result just happened? or did Hawthorne plan it?
Does Hawthorne generally introduce his descriptions by giving the feeling aroused by the object described, a method very common with Poe?
In the paragraph beginning at the bottom of p. 18, what do you think of the selection of material? What have guided in the inclusion and exclusion of details?
Write a paragraph upon this topic: There could not be a more joyous aspect of external nature than as seen from the windows of my study just after the passing of a cooling shower. Be careful to select things that have been made 82 happy, and to use adjectives and nouns that are full of joy.
Make a list of the words used to describe “The Old Apple Dealer.”
Has this description Unity?
What relation to the whole has the first sentence of paragraph three? the last?
Do you think there is a grammatical error in the third sentence of this paragraph?
By contrasts to what has Hawthorne brought out better the character of the Apple Dealer? When can contrasts help?
AN INDIAN-SUMMER REVERIE, AND OTHER POEMS.
(Riverside Literature Series, No. 30.)
In this poem what purpose is served by the first two stanzas?
Where in the landscape does the author begin? Which way does he progress?
Quote stanzas in which other senses than sight are called upon.
Make a list of the figures of speech. How many similes? metaphors? examples of personification? Which seems most effective? Which instance of its use do you prefer? Has Lowell used too many figures?
Read “The Oak,” “The Dandelion,” and “Al Fresco.”
Are they description or exposition? Do they bear out Lowell’s estimate of himself?
THE SKETCH-BOOK.
(Riverside Literature Series, Nos. 51, 52.)
Why has Irving given four pages to the description of Sleepy Hollow before he introduces Ichabod Crane?
Why, then, seven pages to Ichabod before the story begins?
What gives the peculiar interest to this tale?
In the “Legend of Sleepy Hollow” how many paragraphs of description close with an important detail?
83 In how many with a general characterization?
In all the descriptions of buildings by Irving that you have read, what are the first things mentioned,—size, shape, color, or what? Make a list, so as to be sure.
Does Irving use many comparisons? Are the likenesses to common things? Select the ten you think best. Are there more in narrative or descriptive passages? What do you gather from this fact?
In “Christmas Day,” on p. 51 (R. L. S., No. 52), does Irving proceed from far to near in the landscape? Is this common? Find another example.
How has Irving emphasized the littleness of the minister described on p. 56 (R. L. S., No. 52)?
THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER.
(Riverside Literature Series, No. 119.)
Is the arrangement of the details in the last two lines of the first paragraph stronger than the arrangement of the same details on p. 63? Why, or why not?
In the description of the hall, pp. 67 and 68, do the details produce the effect upon you which they did upon Poe?
Find a description in this piece which closes with an important detail.
Is Usher described at all when Poe says, “I gazed upon him with a feeling half of pity, half of awe”? Do the details enumerated arouse such feelings in you? Would the feeling have been called forth if it had not been suggested by Poe? Is there, then, any advantage in this method of opening a description?
What good was done by describing Usher as Poe knew him in youth?
Why is the parenthetical clause on p. 72 necessary?
On p. 80, should Poe write “previously to its final interment”?
What do you think of the length of the sentence quoted on p. 85?
84 Does Poe use description to accent the mood of the narrative, or to make concrete the places and persons?
Why is “The Haunted Palace” introduced into the story?
Is this story as good as “The Gold-Bug”?
SILAS MARNER.
(Riverside Literature Series, No. 83.)
Why is not the early history of Silas Marner related first in the story?
By what steps has the author approached the definite time?
From the fragments about his appearance, do you get a clear idea of how Marner looks?
Do you approve this method of scattering the description along through the story? Write a description of Marner on the night he was going to the tavern.
Could not the quarrel between Godfrey and Dunsey been omitted?
Describe the interior of Marner’s cottage.
Why should Sally Oates and her dropsy be admitted to the story?
Do you know as well how George Eliot’s characters look as how they think and feel?
What do you think of the last sentence of Chapter IV.? Why does not Chapter V. go on with Dunsey’s story? Why is Chapter VI. introduced at all? What of its close?
What figure in the last sentence of Chapter X.?
Would you prefer to know how tall Eppie was, what kind of clothes she wore, etc., to the knowledge you gain of her on p. 178?
Suppose that Dunsey came home the night he staked Wildfire, recite the conversation between him and Godfrey.
Have Dolly Winthrop, Priscilla Lammeter, and Mr. Macey talk over “The New Minister.”
Write on “What I see in George Eliot’s Face.”
85
THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
(Riverside Literature Series, No. 68.)
Is this piece description or exposition?
In the first stanza where is the topic sentence?
The author has made two groups of charms. Would it be as well to change them about? Give your reasons.
Where has he used the ear instead of the eye to suggest his picture? Is it clear?
What method is adopted in lines 125-128? See also lines 237-250.
Can you unite the paragraphs on p. 25? Why do you think so?
Could you suggest a new arrangement of details in lines 341-362 that would be as good as the present? What are the last four lines for?
EXERCISES.
Enumerative Description may well employ a few lessons. In it accuracy of detail must be studied, and every detail must be introduced.
- The Teacher’s Desk.
- Write a letter to a carpenter giving details for the construction of a small bookcase.
- By telling how you made it, describe a camp, a kite, a dress, or a cake. Narration may be employed for the purpose of description. A good example may be found in “Robinson Crusoe” in the chapter describing his home after the shipwreck.
- Describe an unfurnished room. Shape, size, position, and number of windows, the fireplace, etc., should be definite. Be sure to give the point of view. To say “On my right hand,” “In front of me,” or any similar phrases means nothing unless the reader knows where you are.
In these exercises the pupil will doubtless employ the paragraph of particulars. This is the most common in description. Other forms are valuable.
- Using a paragraph telling what it was not, finish this: 86 I followed the great singer to her home. Imagine my surprise in finding that the house in which this lady lived was not a home of luxury and splendor,—not even a home of comfort. Go on with the details of a home of luxury which were not there. Finish with what you did see. This is really a description of two houses set in artistic contrast to heighten the effect. Remember you are outside.
- By the use of comparison finish this: The home of my poor little friend was but little better than a barn. Choose only such details as emphasize the barn-like appearance of the home. There is but one room. Remember where you are standing; and keep in mind the effect you wish to produce.
- Using a moving point of view, describe an interior. Do not have too many rooms.
- Furnish the room described in number four to suit your taste. Tell how it looks. Remember that a few things give character to a room.
- Describe your childhood’s home as it would look to you after years of absence.
- Using a paragraph of the obverse, describe the appearance of the house from which you were driven by the cruelty of a drunken father.
- Describe a single tree standing alone in a field. It will be well for the teacher to read to the class some descriptions of trees,—Lowell’s “Birch” and “Oak,” “Under the Willows,” and some stanzas from “An Indian Summer Reverie.” Holmes has some good paragraphs on trees in “The Autocrat.” Any good tree descriptions will help pupils to do it better than they can without suggestion. They should describe their own tree, however.
- Describe some single flower growing wild. Read Lowell’s “Dandelion,” “Violet, Sweet Violet,” Wordsworth’s “Daisy,” “The Daffodils,” “The Small Celandine,” and Burns’s “Daisy.” These do not so much describe as they arouse a feeling of love for the flowers which will show itself in the composition.
- Describe a view of a lake. If possible, have your 87 point of view above the lake and use the paragraph of comparison.
- Describe a landscape from a single point of view. Read Curtis’s “My Castles in Spain” from “Prue and I,” many descriptions in “An Inland Voyage” by Stevenson, and “Bay Street” by Bliss Carman in “The Atlantic Monthly.”
- Describe your first view of a small cluster of houses or a small town.
- Approach the town, describing its principal features. Keep the reader informed as to where you are.
- Describe a dog of your own.
- Describe a dog of your neighbor’s. Before the description is undertaken read “Our Dogs” and “Rab” by Dr. Brown; “A Dog of Flanders” by Ouida. Scott has some noble fellows in his novels.
- Describe a flock of chickens. There are good descriptions of chickens in “The House of the Seven Gables” and in “Sketches” by Dickens.
- Describe the burning of your own home. Be careful not to narrate.
- Describe a stranger you met on the street to-day. It is easier to describe a person if you and the person you describe move toward each other. Remember that you begin the description at a distance. Details should be mentioned as they actually come into view.
- Describe your father in his favorite corner at home.
- Describe a person you do not like, by telling what he is not.
- Describe a person you admire, but are not acquainted with, using the paragraph of comparisons.
- Describe a picture.
It would be well to have at the end of this year four or five stories written, in which description plays a part. Its principal use is to give the setting to the story, to give concreteness to the characters, and to accent the mood of the story.
Most passages of description are short. Rarely will any 88 pupil write over three hundred words. One hundred are often better. The short composition gives an opportunity for the study of accuracy of expression. What details to include; in what order to arrange them that they produce the best effect, both of vividness and naturalness; and the influence of the point of view and the purpose of the author on the unity of description should be kept constantly present in the exercises. Careful attention should be paid to choice of words, for on right words depends in a large degree the vividness of a description. Right words in well-massed paragraphs of vivid description should be the object this term.
CHAPTER V
EXPOSITION
So far we have studied discourse which deals with things,—things active, doing something, considered under the head of narration; and things at rest, and pictured, considered in description. Now we come to exposition, which deals with ideas either separately or in combinations. Instead of Mr. Smith’s horse, exposition treats of the general term, horse. “The Great Stone Face” may have taught a lesson by its story, but the discussion of the value of lofty ideals is a subject for exposition.
General Terms Difficult. That general terms and propositions are harder to get hold of than concrete facts is readily apparent in the first reading of an author like Emerson. To a young person it means little. Yet when he puts in the place of the general terms some specific examples, and so verifies the statements, the general propositions have a mine of meaning, and “the sense of the author is as broad as the world.” This stanza from Lowell is but little suggestive to young readers:—
“Such earnest natures are the fiery pith,
The compact nucleus, round which systems grow!
Mass after mass becomes inspired therewith,
And whirls impregnate with the central glow.”14
Yet when Columbus and Luther and Garrison are mentioned as illustrations of the meaning, it becomes 90 world-wide in its application. Still in order to get at the thought, there is first the need of the specific and the concrete; afterward we pass to the general and the abstract.
As abstract ideas are harder to get hold of than concrete facts, so exposition has difficulties greater than those found in narration and description. It is not so hard to tell what belongs in a story; the events are all distinct. Nor is it so difficult to know what to include in a description; one can look and see. In exposition this is not so. In most minds ideas do not have distinct limits; the edges rather are indistinct. It is hard to tell where the idea stops. In writing of “The Uses of Coal,” it is easy to wander over an indistinct boundary and to take a survey of “The Origin of Coal.” Not only may one include what unquestionably should be excluded, but there is no definite guide to the arrangement of the materials, such as was found in narration. There a sequence of time was an almost infallible rule; here the writer must search carefully how to arrange hazy ideas in some effective form. As discourse comes to deal more with general ideas, the difficulties of writing increase; and the difficulties are not due to any new principles of structure which must be introduced. When one says that the material should be selected according to the familiar law of Unity, he has given the guiding principle. Yet the real difficulty is still before an author: it is to decide what stamp to put upon such elusive matter as ideas. They cannot be kept long enough in the twilight of consciousness to analyze them; and often ideas that have been marked “accepted” have, upon reëxamination, to be “rejected.” To examine ideas—the material used in this form of discourse—so thoroughly that they may be accurately, definitely known in their backward 91 relation and their bearing upon what follows, this is the seat of the difficulty in exposition.
Exposition may conveniently be classified into exposition of a term, or definition; and exposition of a proposition, which is generally suggested by the term exposition.
Definition. Definition of a word means giving its limits or boundaries. Of man it might be said that it is a living animal, having a strong bony skeleton; that this skeleton consists of a trunk from which extend four limbs, called arms and legs, and is surmounted by a bony cavity, called a skull; that the skeleton protects the vital organs, and is itself covered by a muscular tissue which moves the bones and gives a rounded beauty to their ugliness; that man has a highly developed nervous system, the centre of which is the brain placed in the skull. So a person might go on for pages, enumerating the attributes which, taken together, make up the general idea of man.
Exposition and Description distinguished. This sort of exposition is very near description; indeed, were the purpose different, it would be description. The purpose, however, is not to tell how an individual looks, but to place the object in a class. It is therefore not description, but exposition. Moreover, the method is different. In description those characteristics are given that distinguish the object from the rest of the class; while in exposition those qualities are selected which are common to all objects of its class.
Logical Definition. On account of the length of the definition by an enumeration of all the attributes, it is not frequently used except in long treatises. For it there has been substituted what is called a logical definition. Instead of naming all the characteristics of an object, a logical definition groups many attributes 92 under one general term, and then adds a quality which distinguishes the object from the others of the general class. Man has been defined as the “reasoning animal.” In this definition a large number of attributes have been gathered together in the general term “animal;” then man is separated from the whole class “animal” by the word “reasoning.” A logical definition consists, then, of two parts: the general term naming the genus, and the limiting term naming the distinguishing attribute called the differentia.
Genus and Differentia. Genus and differentia are found in every good definition. The genus should be a term more general than the term defined. “Man is a person who reasons” is a poor definition; because “person” is no more general than “man.” “A canine is a dog that is wild” is very bad, because “dog,” the general term in the definition, is less general than the word defined. However, to say that “a dog is a canine that has been domesticated,” is a definition in which the genus is more general than the term defined.
Next, the genus should be a term well understood. “Man is a mammal who reasons” is all right, in having a genus more general than the term defined, but the definition fails with many because “mammal” is not well understood. “Botany is that branch of biology which treats of plant life” has in it the same error. “Biology” is not so well understood as “botany,” though it is a more general term. In cases of this sort, the writer should go farther toward the more general until he finds a term perfectly clear to all. “Man is an animal that reasons,” “botany is the branch of science that treats of plant life,” would both be easily understood. The genus should be a term better understood than the term defined; and it should be a term more general than the term defined.
93 A definition may be faulty in its differentia also. The differentia is that part of a definition which names the difference between the term defined and the general class to which it belongs. “Man is a reasoning animal.” “Animal” names the general class, and “reasoning” is the differentia which separates “man” from other “animals.” On the selection of this limiting word depends the accuracy of the definition. “Man is an animal that walks,” or “that has hands,” or “that talks,” are all faulty; because bears walk, monkeys have hands, and parrots talk. Supposing the following definitions were given: “A cat is an animal that catches rats and mice;” “A rose is a flower that bears thorns;” “Gold is a metal that is heavy;” all would be faulty because the differentia in each is faulty. Notice, too, the definitions of “dog” and “canine” already given. Even “man is a reasoning animal” may fail; since many men declare that other animals reason. The differentia should include all the members that the term denotes, and it should exclude all that it does not denote.
Requisites of a good Definition. The requisites of a good definition are: first, that it shall include or denote all the members of the class; second, that it shall exclude everything which does not belong to its class; third, that the words used in the definition shall be better understood than the word defined; fourth, that it shall be brief.
A definition may perfectly expound a term; and because of the very qualities that make it a good definition, accuracy and brevity, it may be almost valueless to the ordinary reader. For instance, this definition, “An acid is a substance, usually sour and sharp to the taste, that changes vegetable blue colors to red, and, combining with an earth, an alkali, or a metallic 94 oxide, forms a salt,” would not generally be understood. So it frequently becomes necessary to do more than give a definition in order to explain the meaning of a term. This brings us to the study of exposition, as it is generally understood, in which all the resources of language are called into service to explain a term or a proposition.
How do Men explain? First, by Repetition. What, then, are the methods of explaining a proposition? First, a proposition may be explained by the repetition of the thought in some other form. To be effective, repetition must add something to what has been said; the words used may be more specific or they may be more general. For example, “A strong partisan may not be a good citizen. The stanchest Republican may by reason of a blind adherence to party be working an injury to the country he loves. Indeed, one can easily conceive a body of men so devoted to a theory, beautiful though it may be in many respects, that they stand in the way of the world’s progress.” The second sentence repeats the thought of the first in more specific terms; the third repeats it in more general terms. The specific may be explained by the general; more often the general is cleared up by the specific. In either case, the proposition must be brought one step nearer to the reader by the restatement, or the repetition is not good.
Speaking of written or printed words, Barrett Wendell writes:—
“In themselves, these black marks are nothing but black marks more or less regular in appearance. Modern English type and script are rather simple to the eye. Old English and German are less so; less so still, Hebrew and Chinese. But all alphabets present to the eye pretty obvious traces of regularity; in a written or printed page the same mark will 95 occur over and over again. This is positively all we see,—a number of marks grouped together and occasionally repeated. A glance at a mummy-case, an old-fashioned tea-chest, a Hebrew Bible, will show us all that any eye can ever see in a written or printed document. The outward and visible body of style consists of a limited number of marks which, for all any reader is apt to know, are purely arbitrary.” (“English Composition.”)
In this paragraph every sentence is a repetition of some part of the opening or topic sentence, and serves to explain it.
Second, by telling the obverse. Second, a proposition may be explained by telling what it is not. At times this is as valuable as telling what it is. Care should be taken that the thing excluded or denied have some likeness to the proposition or term being explained; that the two be really in some danger of being confused. Unless to a hopelessly ignorant person, it would not explain anything to say “a horse is not a man;” but to assert that “a whale is not a fish, though they have many points in common,” would prepare the way for an explanation of what a whale is. The obverse statement is nearly always followed by a repetition of what the thing is.
The following from Newman illustrates the method:
“Now what is Theology? First, I will tell you what it is not. And here, in the first place (though of course I speak on the subject as a Catholic), observe that, strictly speaking, I am not assuming that Catholicism is true, while I make myself the champion of Theology. Catholicism has not formally entered into my argument hitherto, nor shall I just now assume any principle peculiar to it, for reasons which will appear in the sequel, though of course I shall use Catholic language. Neither, secondly, will I fall into the fashion of the day, of identifying Natural Theology with Physical 96 Theology; which said Physical Theology is a most jejune study, considered as a science, and really no science at all, for it is ordinarily no more than a series of pious or polemical remarks upon the physical world viewed religiously, whereas the word ‘Natural’ comprehends man and society, and all that is involved therein, as the great Protestant writer, Dr. Butler, shows us. Nor, in the third place, do I mean by Theology polemics of any kind; for instance, what are called ‘Evidences of Religion,’ or ‘the Christian Evidences.’... Nor, fourthly, do I mean by Theology that vague thing called ‘Christianity,’ or ‘our common Christianity,’ or ‘Christianity the law of the land,’ if there is any man alive who can tell what it is.... Lastly, I do not understand by Theology, acquaintance with the Scriptures; for, though no person of religious feeling can read Scripture but he will find those feelings roused, and gain much knowledge of history into the bargain, yet historical reading and religious feeling are not a science. I mean none of these things by Theology. I simply mean the Science of God, or the truths we know about God put into a system; just as we have a science of the stars, and call it astronomy, or of the crust of the earth, and call it geology.”15
Third, by Details. Third, a common way of explaining a proposition is to go into particulars about it. Enough particulars should be given to furnish a reasonable explanation of the proposition. Macaulay, writing of the “muster-rolls of names” which Milton uses, goes into details. He says:—
“They are charmed names. Every one of them is the first link in a long chain of associated ideas. Like the dwelling place of our infancy revisited in manhood, like the song of our country heard in a strange land, they produce upon us an effect wholly independent of their intrinsic value. One transports us back to a remote period of history. Another places us among the novel scenes and manners of a distant region. A third evokes all the dear classical recollections of 97 childhood,—the schoolroom, the dog-eared Virgil, the holiday, and the prize. A fourth brings before us the splendid phantoms of chivalrous romance, the trophied lists, the embroidered housings, the quaint devices, the haunted forests, the enchanted gardens, the achievements of enamoured knights, and the smiles of rescued princesses.”16
Fourth, by Illustrations. Fourth, a proposition may be explained by the use of a single example or illustration. The value of this method depends on the choice of the example. It must in no essential way differ from the general case it is intended to illustrate. Supposing this proposition were advanced by some woman-hater: “All women are, by nature, liars,” and it should be followed by this sentence, “For example, take this lady of fashion.” Such an illustration is worthless. The individual chosen does not fairly represent the class. If, on the other hand, a teacher in physics should announce that “all bodies fall at the same rate in a vacuum,” and should illustrate by saying, “If I place a bullet and a feather in a tube from which the air has been exhausted, they will be found to fall equally fast,” his example would be a fair one, as the two objects differ in no manner essential to the experiment from “all bodies.”
Here should be included anecdotes used as illustrations. They are of value if they are of the same type as the general class they are intended to explain. They may be of little value, however. It could safely be said that half the stories told in campaign speeches are not instances in point at all, but are told only to amuse and deceive. Specific instances must be chosen with care if they are to serve a useful purpose in exposition.
This example is from Newman:—
“To know is one thing, to do is another; the two things 98 are altogether distinct. A man knows that he should get up in the morning,—he lies abed; he knows that he should not lose his temper, yet he cannot keep it. A laboring man knows that he should not go to the ale-house, and his wife knows that she should not filch when she goes out charing, but, nevertheless, in these cases, the consciousness of a duty is not all one with the performance of it. There are, then, large families of instances, to say the least, in which men may become wiser, without becoming better.”17
Fifth, by Comparisons. Last, a thing may be explained by telling what it is like, or what it is not like. This method of comparison is very frequently employed. To liken a thing to something already known is a vivid way of explaining. Moreover in many cases it is easier than the method of repetition or that of details. By this method Macaulay explains his proposition that “it is the character of such revolutions that we always see the worst of them first.” He says:—
“A newly liberated people may be compared to a northern army encamped on the Rhine or the Xeres. It is said that when soldiers in such a situation first find themselves able to indulge without restraint in such a rare and expensive luxury, nothing is to be seen but intoxication. Soon, however, plenty teaches discretion, and, after wine has been for a few months their daily fare, they become more temperate than they had ever been in their own country. In the same manner, the final and permanent fruits of liberty are wisdom, moderation, and mercy. Its immediate effects are often atrocious crimes, conflicting errors, skepticism on points the most clear, dogmatism on points the most mysterious.”18
The comparison may be a simile or a metaphor, as when Huxley writes, explaining “the physical basis of life:”—
These, then, are the methods commonly adopted for explaining terms and propositions. First, by the use of definitions; second, by repeating the proposition either directly or obversely, adding something to the thought by each repetition; third, by enumerating particulars which form the ground for the statement; fourth, by selecting an instance which fairly illustrates the proposition; fifth, by the use of comparisons and analogies.
The Subject. Some general considerations regarding the choice of a subject have been given. A subject should lend itself to the form of discourse employed; next, it should be a subject interesting to the readers; and third, it should be interesting to the writer and suited to his ability. The last condition makes it advisable to limit the subject to a narrow field. Few persons have the ability to view a general subject in all its relations. “Books” everybody knows something of; yet very few are able to treat this general subject in all its ramifications. A person writing of the general topic “books” would not only be compelled to know what a book is, what may truly be called a book, and what is the value of books to readers, and therefore the influence of the different kinds of literature; he would also be driven to study the machinery for making books, the history of printing, illustrating, and binding books, and all the mechanical processes connected with the manufacture of books. The subject might take quite another turn, and be the development of fiction or drama; it might be a discussion of the influences, political or social, that have moulded literature; it might be a study of character as manifested in an author’s works. No one is well 100 fitted to write on the general topic “books.” A subject should be limited.
The Subject should allow Concrete Treatment. For young persons the subject should be so selected and stated that the treatment may be concrete. As persons advance they make more generalizations; few, however, go so far as to think in general terms. Macaulay says, “Logicians may reason about abstractions, but the great mass of men must have images.” That author depended largely for his glittering effects upon the use of common, concrete things which the masses understand. The subject should be such that it can be treated concretely. “Love,” as a general proposition, is beautiful; but what more can a young writer say about it? Let him leave the whole horde of abstract subjects found in old rhetorics alone. They are subjects for experience; they cannot be handled by youth.
The Theme. After the subject has been chosen, the writer next considers how he shall treat it. He selects the attitude he will assume toward the proposition, his point of view; and this position he embodies in a short sentence, called his theme. For instance, “patriotism” is the subject; as it stands it is abstract and very general. However, this, “Can a partisan be a patriot?” would be sufficiently concrete to be treated. Even yet there is no indication of the author’s point of view. Should he write, “A real partisan is no patriot,” his theme is announced, and his point of view known.
A theme, either explicit or implicit, is essential in exposition. It is not necessary that it shall be stated to the reader, but it must be clearly stated by the writer for his own guidance. It is, however, usually announced at the opening of the essay. Whether announced or not, it is most essential to the success of the essay. It is the touchstone by which the author 101 tries all the material which he has collected. Not everything on the subject of patriotism should be admitted to an essay that has for its theme, “A real partisan cannot be a true patriot.” It would save many a digression if the theme were always written in bold, black letters, and placed before the author as he writes. Every word in a theme should be there for a purpose, expressing some important modification of the thought. For instance, the statement above regarding a partisan may be too sweeping; perhaps the essayist would prefer to discuss the modified statement that “a blind partisan cannot always be a true patriot.” The theme should state exactly what will be treated in the essay. The statement of it should employ the hardest kind of thinking; and when the theme is determined definitely and for all, the essay is safe from the intrusion of foreign ideas which disturb the harmony of the whole.
Another advantage in the theme is that, when once chosen, it will go far toward writing the essay. One great trouble with the young writer is that he is not willing to rely on his theme to suggest his composition. Mr. Palmer well says:—
“He examines his pen point, the curtains, his inkstand, to see if perhaps ideas may not be had from these. He wonders what the teacher will wish him to say, and he tries to recall how the passage sounded in the Third Reader. In every direction but one he turns, and that is the direction where lies the prime mover of his toil, his subject. Of that he is afraid. Now, what I want to make evident is that his subject is not in reality the foe, but the friend. It is his only helper. His composition is not to be, as he seems to suppose, a mass of laborious inventions, but it is made up exclusively of what the subject dictates. He has only to attend. At present he stands in his own way, making such 102 a din with his private anxieties that he cannot hear the rich suggestions of his subject. He is bothered with considering how he feels, or what he or somebody else will like to see on his paper. This is debilitating business. He must lean on his subject, if he would have his writing strong, and busy himself with what it says, rather than with what he would say.”20
The Title. Having selected a subject, and with care stated the theme, it yet remains to give the essay a name. There is something in a name, and those authors who make a living by the pen are the shrewdest in displaying their wares under the most attractive titles. The title should be attractive, but it should not promise what the essay does not give. Newspaper headlines are usually attractive enough, but shamefully untruthful. Next, the title should indicate the scope of the essay. When Mr. Palmer calls his little book “Self-Cultivation in English,” it is evident that it is not a text-book, and that it will not treat English as literature or as a science. Then, the title should be short. The theme can rarely be used as a title; it is too long. But the paramount idea developed in the essay should be embodied in the title. “Partisanship and Patriotism” would be a good subject to give the essay we have spoken of. The title, then, should be attractive; it should be short; and it should truthfully indicate the contents of the essay.
Selection of Material. One of the important factors in the construction of an essay is the selection of material. Though theme and title have already been discussed, it was not because they are the things for a writer to consider next after he has chosen his subject, but because they are so intimately bound up in the subject that their consideration at that time was natural. Before a writer can decide upon the position he will 103 assume toward a proposition, he should have looked over the field in a general way; for only with the facts before him is he competent to choose his point of view and to state his theme. The title is not in the least essential to the writing of the essay; it may be deferred until the essay is finished. It is necessary, however, that the writer have much knowledge of his subject, and that from this knowledge he be able to frame an opinion regarding the subject. When this has been done he is ready to begin the work of constructing his essay; and the first question in exposition, as in narration and description, is the selection of material to develop the theme he has chosen.
The selection of material is a more difficult matter in exposition than in narration and description. It requires the shrewdest scrutiny to keep out matter that does not help the thought forward. In narration we decided by the main incident; in description by the purpose and the point of view; in exposition we test all material by its relation to the theme. Does it help to explain the theme? If not, however good material it may be, it has no business in the essay.
Association of ideas is a law by which, when one of two related ideas is mentioned, the other is suggested. To illustrate, when Manila is mentioned, Admiral Dewey appears; when treason is spoken of, Arnold is in the mind. This law is of fundamental importance in arranging an essay; one thing should suggest the next. But valuable as it is, even indispensable, it may become the source of much mischief. For instance, a pupil has this for a topic, “Reading gives pleasure to many.” He writes as his second sentence, “By pleasure I mean the opposite of pain,” and goes on. “All things are understood by their opposites. If we did not know sickness, we could not enjoy our 104 health. Joy is understood through sorrow. I remember my first sorrow. My father had just given me a new knife,—my first knife,” and so on from one thing to another. And not so unnaturally either; each sentence has suggested the next, but not one is on the topic. The most anxious watch must be kept in the selection of material. Some will be admitted without any question; some will be excluded with a brusqueness almost brutal. There is a third class, however, that is allied with the subject, yet it is not so easy to determine whether it should be admitted or rejected. This class requires the closest questioning. It must contribute to the strength of the essay, not to its pages, or it has no place there.
Scale of Treatment. There is another condition which must be considered in the selection of material, the scale of treatment. If Macaulay had been asked by a daily paper to contribute a paragraph of five hundred words on Milton, he could not have introduced all the numerous topics which have their place in his essay of one hundred pages. He might have mentioned Milton’s poetry and his character, the two main divisions of the present essay; but Dante and Æschylus, Puritan and Royalist, would scarcely have received notice. The second consideration in selecting material is the purpose and length of the essay, and the consequent thoroughness with which the subject is to be treated.
The exhaustiveness with which an author treats any subject depends, first, on his knowledge. Any person could write a paragraph on Milton; Macaulay and Lowell wrote delightful essays on the topic; David Masson has written volumes about him. These would have been impossible except to a person who had been a special student of the subject. Second, the thoroughness 105 of the treatment depends on the knowledge of the readers. For persons acquainted with the record of the momentous events of Milton’s time, it would have been quite unnecessary, it might be considered even an insult to intelligence, to go into such details of history. The shortest statement suffices when the reader is already familiar with the subject and needs only to know the application in this case. Third, the scale of treatment depends on the purpose for which the essay is written. If a newspaper paragraph, it is one thing; if for a magazine, it is quite another; if it is to be the final word on the subject, it may reach to volumes.
An apt illustration of proportion in the scale of treatment has been given by Scott and Denny in their “Composition-Rhetoric.” They suggest that three maps of the United States, one very large, another half the size of the first, and a third very small, be hung side by side. If a comparison be made, it will be found that, whereas a great number of cities are represented on the largest map, only half as many appear on the middle-sized map. If the smallest map be examined, only the largest cities, the longest rivers, the greatest lakes, and the highest mountains can be found; all others must be omitted. On all three maps the same relation of parts is maintained. In proportion to the whole, New York State will hold the same position in all of them. The Mississippi River will flow from Minnesota to the Gulf of Mexico, and the Gulf will sweep in a curve from Texas to Florida. The scale is different, but the proportion does not change.
This principle applies in the construction of themes. In a paragraph only very important topics will receive any mention. In an essay these important topics retain 106 their proper place and relation, while many other points of subordinate rank will be introduced. If the treatment be lengthened to a book, a host of minor sub-topics will be considered, each adding something to the development of the theme, and each giving to its principal topic the relative importance which belongs to the main divisions of the essay. The scale of treatment will have much to do with the selection of material.
Using Macaulay’s “Milton” as an illustration, the analyses below will show how by increasing the size of the essay new subjects come into the field for notice. The first is but a paragraph and has the two main divisions of the essay. The second is an outline for an essay of two thousand words. In the third only one of the sub-topics is analyzed, as Macaulay has discussed it. It would take too much space to analyze minutely the whole essay.
MILTON.