A MANUAL

OF

ENGLISH PROSE LITERATURE.

INTRODUCTION.

In the case of the authors chosen for full examination, and to some extent also in the case of the others, the various peculiarities of Style are taken up in a fixed order; and it may help the reader's memory to state this order at the beginning.

The preliminary account of each author's Character is intended mainly as an introduction to the characteristics of his style; and while it gratifies a natural curiosity in repeating what is known of his appearance or personality, does not profess to be a complete account of the man in all his relations, public and domestic.

The analysis of the style proceeds upon the following order: Vocabulary, Sentence and Paragraph, and Figures of Speech, which may be called the ELEMENTS OF STYLE; Simplicity, Clearness, Strength, Pathos, Melody, Harmony, and Taste, the QUALITIES OF STYLE; Description, Narration, Exposition, Persuasion, the KINDS OF COMPOSITION. Upon each of these subdivisions we shall make some remarks, endeavouring to justify the arrangement wherever it seems to be open to objection or misapprehension.

ELEMENTS OF STYLE.

VOCABULARY.

Command of language is the author's first requisite. A good memory for words is no less indispensable to the author than a good memory for forms is to the painter. Words are the material

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that the author works in, and it is necessary above everything that he should have a large store at his command.

Probably no man has ever been master of the whole wealth of the English vocabulary. The extent of each man's mastery can be ascertained with exactness only by an actual numerical calculation, such as has been made for the poetry of Shakspeare and Milton. This has not yet been attempted for any of our great prose writers; and until some enthusiast arises with sufficient industry for such a labour, we must be content with a vague estimate, formed upon our general impression of freshness and variety of diction.

The simple fact of holding a place among the leaders of literature is a proof of extraordinary mastery of language. But can we, without actual numeration, distinguish degrees of mastery? Most probably we can. We could have told from a general impression, without actually counting, that Shakspeare uses a greater variety of words than Milton. We can perceive, without referring to the enlargement of dictionaries, that our language has increased in scope and flexibility since the middle of last century. In like manner we can fix relatively any author's command of words. We may say with confidence that Defoe is more copious and varied than Addison, and Burke than Johnson; and, although our judgment of modern writers is more liable to error, we may venture to say that De Quincey, Macaulay, and Carlyle show a greater command of expression than any prose writers of their generation.

It is interesting, also, to observe on what special subjects an author's expression is most copious and original. Perhaps no one has an equal abundance of words for all purposes. From the inevitable limitation of human faculties, no man, however "myriadminded," can give his attention to everything. Inevitably every man falls into special tracks of observation, reflection, and imagination; and each man accumulates words, and expresses himself with fluency and variety, concerning the subjects that are oftenest in his thoughts. Were we to apply the test of arithmetic, we should find that two men using very much the same number of words upon the whole, have the depths and shallows of their verbal wealth at very different places.

To mark out fully where a vocabulary is weak and where it is strong, we should have to anticipate the qualities of style and the kinds of composition. A man that can write freely and eloquently in one strain or in one species of composition, may be dry and barren in another strain or another species of composition. Most writers have some one vein that they peculiarly and obviously excel in. Thus Addison is rich in the language of melodious and and elegant simplicity, Paley in the language of homely simplicity,

De Quincey in the language of elaborate stateliness, Macaulay in the language of brilliant energy.

Here it may be well to point out-and the caution is of such importance that it may have to be repeated that the divisions in the following analysis are not, in the language of the logicians, mutually exclusive. Following Professor Bain's Rhetoric we consider style under three different aspects-approach it from three different sides; but we do not treat of different things. In each of the divisions, the same things are examined, only from different points of view. Each of these divisions, were our examination to be ideally thorough, should exhibit every possible excellence and defect of style. We might take up all the notable points in an author's style under what we have called the "Elements of Style" -the choice of words, plain and figurative, and the arrangement of these in sentences and paragraphs. We might, again, take up everything remarkable under the "Qualities of Style"-simplicity, clearness, and so forth: a style is good or bad according as it produces, or fails to produce, certain effects. Finally, we might comprehend the whole art of style under the "Kinds of Composition:' every excellence of style is either good description, good narration, good exposition, good persuasion, or good poetry. The divisions are far from being mutually exclusive. Were we to say in one department all that might be said, we should leave nothing for the others. The sole justification of having three, and not one, is practical convenience. There must of necessity be occasional repetitions, but each department has certain arts of style that are best regarded from its own particular point of view.

THE SENTENCE.

The construction of sentences is an important part of style. Sometimes, indeed, it is expressed by the word style, as if it constituted the whole art. With a nearer approach to accuracy, it is sometimes called the mechanical part of style. This designation may be allowed, if sentence-building is loosely taken to include the construction of paragraphs and the general method of a discourse. It is probably true that the construction of sentences and of paragraphs may be subjected to more precise rules than any other processes of the art of composition. And this being so, they may, if a term is wanted to express this distinction, conveniently be called mechanical.

At

SPECIAL ARTIFICES of ConstrUCTION.—One may doubt whether it would be practicable to make anything like a comprehensive collection of all the forms of sentence possible in English. any rate, it has not yet been done. Writers on composition have hitherto attempted nothing more than to distinguish a few wellmarked modes of construction.

I. The Periodic Structure. "A period," says Campbell, "is a complex sentence, wherein the meaning remains suspended till the whole is finished. . . . The criterion of a period is this: If you stop anywhere before the end, the preceding words will not form a sentence, and therefore cannot convey any determined sense." This is the common definition of a period, and it is probably difficult to go farther without committing one's self to general statements that will not apply to every period. At the risk of being slightly inaccurate, it might be well to go a little deeper into the substance of the periodic structure. What exactly do we imply by saying that the meaning is suspended till the close? We imply that the reader's interest is kept in suspense till the close. And how is this done? Generally, it may be said, by bringing on predicates before what they are predicated of, and, which is virtually a similar process, qualifications before what they qualify; letting us know descriptive adjuncts, results, conditions, alternatives, oratorical contrasts, of subjects, states, or actions, before we formally know the particular subjects, states, or actions, contemplated by the writer. Thus, in the following sentence

"On whatever side we contemplate Homer, what principally strikes us is his invention;

the subject-in this case the key-word-is reserved to the last, and the adverbial adjuncts of the predicate are stated before the predicate itself. A statement is made in a form showing that it has a bearing upon something to follow, and our curiosity is awakened to know what something is. "On whatever side we contemplate Homer." The next statement, "what principally strikes us," contracts our curiosity into a more definite field, and thereby sharpens our interest. Still it points us forward. There is a progress from the indefinite to the definite, and, in the case of this particular period, a growing interest, which is not relieved till we reach the very last word. In a loose structure of sentence, which may be called the natural or usual structure in English, the predicate follows the subject, and qualifying adjuncts follow what they qualify we know the subject before we know the attribute predicated of it or annexed to it. In a period, on the other hand, the writer, stating the predicate or qualifying adjuncts of a word before the word itself, may be said to circumvent that word, to make (as the Greek periodos signifies) a "circuit" about it, to bring its predicate or its adjuncts, as the case may be, from behind it and place them before it.

If

Campbell speaks of the period as a "complex" sentence. the above view of the period is accepted as substantially correct, "complexity," in the grammatical sense, must be regarded as an accident of the period, and not part of its essence. The statements

of other writers on composition warrant us in applying the term period to sentences that are not complex. Professor Bain simply says that, "In a periodic sentence, the meaning is suspended until the close," and makes no mention of a periodic sentence being necessarily complex. And Whately gives, as an example of periodic structure, the following "simple" sentence: "One of the most celebrated of men for wisdom and for prosperity was Solomon."

It would be well if the application of the term periodic were a little extended. When qualifying adjuncts are brought in before their exact bearing is known, and in such a way as to stimulate curiosity, a peculiar effect is produced; and we should be justified by the derivation of the word "periodic " in applying it to all marked cases of such anticipation. Practically, indeed, the word is applied in the wider sense. If Campbell's definition were rigorously adhered to, the term periodic could be applied only to sentences that keep the reader in suspense up to the very last word. But, as a matter of fact, the term is applied much more widely. We speak of writers as having a periodic style, although their works contain few complete periods, according to Campbell's "criterion of a period." Since, therefore, the narrow definition of the term is practically disregarded, it would be well to come to a formal understanding of its latitude. The term "period" might still be retained for a periodic sentence, rigorously complete or nearly so. But it would probably better suit the prevailing application of the term "periodic" to accept it as a name for such anticipations as I have roughly indicated-to call every style "periodic " where such anticipations habitually occur. Of this periodic style, the most eminent of modern masters is De Quincey.

In the loose sentence-in a sentence so constructed as to be noticeably "loose"-qualifying and explanatory adjuncts are tacked on after the words they refer to. This might be copiously exemplified from the writings of Carlyle, and, in a less degree, from Addison.

The effect of the periodic structure is to keep the mind in a state of uniform or increasing tension until the dénouement. This is the effect stated in its ultimate and most general form. The effect that a reader is conscious of receiving varies greatly with the nature of the subject-matter. When the subject is easy and familiar, the reader, finding the sentence or clause come to an end as soon as his expectations are satisfied, receives an agreeable impression of neatness and finish. When the subject-matter is unfamiliar, or when the suspense is unduly prolonged, the periodic structure is intolerably tedious, or intolerably exasperating, according to the temper of the reader. In impasssioned writing the period has a moderating effect, the tension of the mind till the key-word is reached preventing a dissipation of excitement.